#all we can do is stuff that lines up some billionaires pockets but never our own and never helps anyone instead makes everyone's life worse

[rosalesbeausderholle]

I like how in my life I went from: "I am intrinsically different from other human beings because I'm smarter and a better person than everyone else, but I will always be alone for it, though" as a child, to "Well, people are very different and not everyone is as bad or as dumb. There's lots of people who are worth it and lots of people who are good and smart. It's not just me!" as a teen, then back again to "I am intrinsically different from other human beings because I'm smarter and a better person than everyone else" as an adult. And yes, I am on antidepressants.

[imagine-loki]

The Slutty Webs one Weaves

Title : The Slutty Webs one Weaves

Chapter NO. 3 of 10?

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki’s Asgardian wife learns women write fanfiction about him on a trip to Midgard. She’s edgy for the duration and lets him have it when they get back.

Author: lokilover9

Rating: M

Notes: Hello everyone. I will get to writing another chapter of Irked, but for now, here’s a mini crack fic. Should be good for a laugh or two.

Thor was bodybuilding to a song by Right Said Fred, when his phone rang. ...'I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy, it hurts…' "Hello?"

Tony held the phone from his ear and yelled. "DO YOU…" The music suddenly stopped. "...ever look at your call display?"

"Sorry, flying human. Was working my gluteus maximus."

"To the detriment of my earius drumius."

"Oops. How's life?"

"Riveting in the last twenty four hours. You alone?"

"Jane's in Vegas with Darcy."

"Perfect. Think you can you put aside selfies with groping seniors and visit me ASAP?"

"The cougars are more troublesome. Their claws resemble a bilgesnipes. Bloody frightening."

"Buy Hulk bandages. Well?"

"Sounds serious."

"It is. I've a friend that wishes to meet you and it's mandatory you oblige."

"Who?"

"Can't say until you agree to abide by our terms of said meeting."

"Tony, are you in cohorts with an enemy?"

"Thor, are you on crack?"

"Don't know what that is."

"The universe is grateful. Please listen. You cannot hitch a ride with Mjolnir, or come by plane. You must drive here and take every precaution to avoid being recognized or followed. Most importantly, keep it secret."

Thor gave his word and was blown away by what he learned. "Spoil her rotten if need be, I'll foot the bill. Do 'not' let her leave."

"I'm a billionaire ya silly arse, remember? Start packing."

After gathering his suit pieces from the sixtieth floor, Stark went to tell Brianna, but she'd fallen asleep following a bathroom break, halfway through the movie. When Pepper went in there to clean, it looked like a photo from Architectural Digest.

Upon waking, Little Warrior was thrilled to hear the news. "Thanks, Iron Man. Where's Pepper?"

"Out buying you clothes."

"Yaaay!" *****

Thor arrived two days later and instantly fell in love with the girl. She showed him similar acts of magic Tony saw, but still wouldn't reveal anything more about herself. Her abilities and resemblance to Loki were so uncanny, he was ninety percent convinced she was his.

"Your quite talented, Brianna. Why is it you wish to meet my brother?"

"Based on in-depth research, I believe he's a sorcerer, yes?"

"He is."

"Good. I was hoping to ask him some questions about my abilities. Do you think he'll come?”

"I'm sure of it. Will you please stay with Tony and Pepper until we return?"

“I’ll be here.”

Tony rode the elevator down with him.

"How did she know Loki is a sorcerer?"

"I'm questioning the same. Only Fury, his bosses and the other Avengers know. None of us would spill the beans. I suspect Brianna's abilities are more extensive than she's letting on. How will you convince Prince Jezebel?"

"Who?"

Tony deadpanned. "Loki?"

"Threaten to tell Astrid."

"If it comes to that, have mercy and offer the guy some earplugs. Her drama queening is like fingernails down a blackboard."

"My sister in law's wrath will be a walk in the park compared to our Mother's. She's my backup plan."

Stark recalled Ellen Ripley's experience with an angry, Alien queen then pictured a seidre in its hand. "Have a nice trip, big guy." ***** On the morning Thor returned to Asgard, Astrid woke early to find Loki pensively staring out their bedroom window. "What's wrong?"

"There's no easy way to say this, my lovely. You continuously speak of longing to start a family, but this sneaking off realm without a word..it's left me hesitant to believe you're ready."

"Why?"

"Your temper flares and you often act without thinking. I keep questioning had we children…"

"They would've stayed with your Mother." She angrily started searching for attire. "But no problem. I'll stay on the pill."

"Is this reaction not a perfect example?"

"Maybe I'm insulted you think me so dumb!"

She slammed the bathroom door, started the shower and he walked out. "Nice talk, Astrid. Love you too."

Following a meeting with Odin, Loki saw Thor hastily approaching within the corridor. "Brother!" He called in a disingenuous pronounced tone. "How art thou?"

Loki was dragged by the collar into a side room and assertively shoved him off. "I've repeatedly warned your bullying days are over. Do that again and find yourself in another dimension. Painstricken."

Thor locked the door. "I'm disappointed in you."

"I've an extensive list of mutual sentiment. Make an appointment and we'll talk."

"We'll talk now. Stark and I believe you've fathered a child on Midgard."

Loki proceeded to laugh. "Impossible...ludicrous. There isn't a female there nor here I haven't used a termination spell on."

"While they slept?"

"Precisely."

"What about the time you woke naked in a dumpster in California? With no recollection of how you arrived there after leaving a club with three women? Which one did you fuck?"

"None. The last thing I remember were two pleasuring each other on a bed while the third was on her knees pleasing me, when everything faded into blackness. Crazy bitches drugged me. I never saw the route travelled, the house number, nothing, but the inside of a bedroom and then the dumpster when a pigeon rammed its beak into my nostrils."

"You aren't making sense."

"I let them blind fold me in the car."

Thor choked back a laugh. "Midgardian females tricked the trickster?"

"Do I look amused? That was the last time I drank from a bottle I didn't personally open."

"Just listen?" ~ A half hour passed. ~ "I understand your lingering skepticism. At least come help the child. If you don't, Tony fears she may leave without him knowing."

"Fine, but what exactly am I to tell Astrid?"

Loki returned to his chambers to find a note on their bed; 'Gone to my parents for a week to cool off seeing as though you think I'm always angry.' He tossed it in the trash and left one for her; 'My turn to disappear. Janes on vacation so I've returned to Midgard to bond with big brother. Do say hello to your parents, my lovely. Kisses.'

"Satisfied, Thor? Now how do we keep Heimdall from tattling?"

"By leaving immediately. His new trainee is on duty."

"Maxome? That nincompoop will send us into orbit."

"Don't let appearances fool you. He looks like a troll, but knows his job. And Maxi Waxi takes bribes."

Loki's eyes narrowed. "Who are you? Impersonating a Prince of Asgard is punishable by death." *****

The bifrost vanished and Thor's phone immediately rang. "Slow down, Tony. We can take portal taxi to…" The call suddenly ended. "...the Towers underground."

Stark exited the elevator in hyperdrive. "Holy shit, am I glad to see you guys!" He poked Loki's arm. "E..specially..you, fornication fabler. Whatever big guy here told ya? I've an update. Not only is my guest up there adorable and a bonafide genius, but definitely of a life form I've yet to encounter."

"Have you been eating Count Chocula again?"

"No, but I know what you're thinking and get in line. Pepper already threatened to duct tape me to a wall."

"Relax, flying human."

"I'm relaxed every second I'm around that kid. Can't a guy unwind a little? This is me unwinding, okay? Stop talking because I'm talking."

Both Gods locked their lips with imaginary keys.

"The day after you left, Thor, I suggested Brianna and I bake cookies with M&M's, but asked she not tell Pepper as I get in trouble for sugar highs. Then I jokingly asked if she'd ever hidden cookies in her pockets and she said yes. 'Interdimensional pockets'."

Loki cocked a brow.

"Pshh, yeah, hello? The next day, she demanded to know where the clothes she'd arrived in were. Pepper had put them in the wash and Brianna raced to the laundry room, swung opened our front loader with magic, gathered them into a ball and screamed at us while her skin turned blue and eyes Ruby red. 'DON'T TOUCH MY STUFF! DON'T 'EVER' TOUCH MY STUFF!' I just about fucking shit myself!"

The God sighed. "You 'have' encountered that life form."

"Notta, buddy boy. I would've remembered."

"Are you wearing a diaper?"

"Huh?"

"Maybe you should be." Said Thor.

Loki stepped away and partially revealed himself. His skin turned blue, but remained human in texture and eyes reddened like Brianna's.

Stark backed into a pillar. "What the hell are you?"

"Remember I said he was adopted and later educated you on the nine realms?"

"Uh hu."

Loki returned to Aesir form. "I'm a Frost Giant from Jotunheim."

"Ha! I'm not a loon, after all!"

"No one thought you were."

"I knew Brianna was yours and Pepper wouldn't believe me! Wait, isn't that realm mostly ice? Can you conjure it out of nowhere?"

"Yes to both questions, but it's exhausting without the Casket of Ancient Winters. Why?"

"Whatever that is. Little Warrior can too."

"What did you just say?"

"After yelling at us she ran into her ensuite and we followed to find ice crystals forming around the edges of the closed door. It wouldn't budge and with our calls going unanswered for a good ten minutes, I panicked, took an axe to it and hacked into a thick inch layer of ice on the other side. Brianna was out cold in the tub, slept through the hacking to reach her, then for another seventeen hours. We were frantic."

"Take me to her, now." He commanded.

"Why the sudden urgency?" Asked Thor.

Loki had a foresight he opted not to share. "Shouldn't we both be eager to meet a child so skillful without the casket?"

The trio entered the elevator.

"You better not be thinking of turning Heimdall into an icicle again."

Loki bypassed him and eyed Tony. "Eh he he he."

"Screw you, Snowflake. These are jeans and a shirt. Not a silk, pink robe and yes I'm wearing underwear."

Thor smirked. "Ah, the Boopsicle story."

"That's nice. I'll bet he told you the pink fishnets story too."

Loki pursed his lips and Thor stopped smirking. "No. No he didn't."

Stark tried a witty save. "Pepper looked great in them. Sucks to be you for missing it."

"You let my brother see your lady in fishnets? I'd never let another guy see Jane in lingerie."

Thor was being so daft, Loki laughed harder and Tony frowned at him. "Asshole."

They exited and as Virginia approached with Brianna, amusement never left Loki so quickly. Thor had said she was young, but this child craning her head to look up at him barely reached the height of his hip. From everything learned of her, he'd imagined one sturdier, yet she resembled a miniature ballerina. So delicate and beautiful, how was she the daughter of a Frost Giant? Yet the evidence couldn't be denied. He was staring into a mirrored image of himself in female form. Her body structure, ivory skin and elegant features. The striking eyes, thick lashes and hair so black, hints of blue danced upon it like the feathers of a Ravens in daylight.

'"Hello. I'm Loki."

She offered a tiny hand to shake which vanished amidst his as her voice invoked a strange sense of familiarity. "Hi. I'm Brianna."

'Og Min Lille.' He quietly whispered. Then as overwhelming guilt struck from not knowing of her existence, she made him chuckle.

"Mythology states you're the God of Mischief, right?"

"Correct."

Her smile was enchantingly impish. A perfect replica of his own. "Then I believe we'll get along splendidly." She addressed the others. "Kindly excuse us. I wish to speak with Loki alone. Right this way." Brianna closed her bedroom door gesturing to a chair, then sent a blast of light from her hand towards the ceiling.

He watched it spread in a clear ripple down every wall and politely asked. "What did you do?"

"Created a special sound shield. We'll hear them, but they can't hear us. Unless I allow it." That and bypassing Jarvis, was how she'd snuck back to the sixtieth floor the previous night to retrieve a backpack hidden there.

Loki concealed astonishment as he hadn't mastered that trick until his early teens. "Very impressive."

"Thanks and for coming."

"A worthy venture to meet a fellow magician."

Brianna sat on the bed and gave him the strangest look. A combination of curiosity, bewilderment and resentment were he to guess. "I did tell Thor my questions regarded sorcery, but those can wait. First, tell me everything about your ancestry."

She couldn't have asked an odder question based on his secret foresight. "Why do you wish to know?"

"Because you're the only person who can explain exactly what I am, 'Dad'. Now start talking or Jarvis bites it."

[justalittlelitnerd]

Pretty Reckless by L.J. Shen

This book really surprised me not only because of the characters, but the writing itself was truly beautiful. In my own personal experience with romance novels they’re not always the best written and I think that has more to do with the industry and the genre and the lack of support romance novels and their authors get than a lack of talent on the writer’s part. Most romance novels are self-published with whatever resources or connections the author has in terms of editorial work which in the end just means the final result is *typically* (note: not always obviously) a little rougher than say if it went through the traditional publishing process where an agent works with the author for months to fine-tune the story before it goes to an editor who will then work for months to fine-tune the writing and on and on until it’s finally published. 

Sorry that was a long tangent just to say that I’ve gotten into a habit of skimming romance books because I’m in it for the characters and the romance and the HEA more than the writing itself (honestly characters and their relationships are far more important to me than writing), but I found myself taking my time with this book because there were so many beautiful lines that I wanted to savor. 

Basically, Daria Followhill and Penn Scully meet at age 14 when both their lives are falling apart in very different ways. Daria is teeming with the jealousy only a fourteen-year-old girl who feels her mother loves another girl more than her can feel and she finds herself in possession of a letter that would change everything. Penn enters, unaware of the letter’s contents or the effect it will have on his family, and in an attempt to win Daria’s attention he trashes the letter, leaves her with a piece of sea glass, her first kiss, and a promise of more. But the letter contained his sister’s future and when she thinks she didn’t get in she runs away from Penn and their abusive family, never to be seen again. 

Fast forward four years to Penn’s 18th birthday and it’s clear that a lot has changed, but there’s still an undeniable pull between the two. When Penn’s mother dies and his step-father kicks him out, Daria’s mom (who feels residual guilt over his sister’s disappearance) offers him a place to stay and he makes it his mission to make Daria pay for the role she played in what happened. But Daria’s already paid and is still paying. What neither of them expected was love. Or the return of a ghost.

*TRIGGER WARNING* in general there’s quite a bit of violence, mentions of rape/assault, and an abusive relationship between the principal and Daria which started when she was 14. 

All in all if you like classic enemies-to-lovers, fated romance, complicated family dynamics, tough guys with soft hearts, and dark elements with your romance than this book is probably worth a shot.     

Keep reading for the quotes!

Boys can smell heartbreak from across a continent. Even at fourteen. Even in the middle of an innocent summer afternoon. We girls have an invisible string behind our belly button, and only certain guys can tug at it. This boy…he will snap it if I let him.

He studies me with quiet interest as though I’m a painting, not a person. My heart is rioting all over, and the dumbest thought crosses my mind. Ever notice how the heart is literally caged by the ribs? That’s insane. As if our body knows it can break so easily, it needs to be protected.

My voice hardens around the words. Like tin. I’m desperate. I have no lead. I want to rip the world apart to find her, but the world is not mine to destroy. The world just continues turning at the same pace, because kids like Via and me? We disappear all the time, and no one notices.

His scent messes with my head. I want to reach out and caress his face. Kiss his wounds better. Beg for forgiveness. Curse him. Push him away. Cry on his shoulder for what we’ve done. For how it ended. For what we became afterward. Because I’m full of crap, and he is totally empty. We ruined ourselves the day of our first kiss.

She stares at me with the same wild gaze that made me give her the sea glass four years ago. As though I’m the most fascinating creature in the world. I want to pocket that look and save it for the next time the world lets me down. Which should be in the next twenty minutes.

Normally, he’d drag my ass out and give me a piece of his mind. Not today. He and I both know he can’t be that much of a hypocrite. If he saw someone hitting on Luna, he would rip them to shreds and dump whatever’s left of them on the side of the road. I’ve seen him screw people up for less than looking at her. The only problem is, Penn is not my Luna. We don’t have some long, elaborate, angsty childhood friendship that’s dancing on the edge of more.

“And miss out on all this delicious teenage angst?” I murmur, mesmerized by how beautifully she fits under my palm. As though she was born to have my hands on her. “It’s practically Netflix for free.”

“You’re Saturn,” she whispers. “Made of iron-nickel and surrounded by protective rings of ice and rock.” “How do you know that?” I smile, and I know the smile is warm. I know it’s fucking up something in her chest, and even though I shouldn’t, I like it. After all these years, I still want to ruin her. Then put her back together. Then do it again and again and a-fucking-gain.

He stops, cupping my face in his hands. His eyes twinkle, but maybe I see what I want to see. I didn’t mean to save him all my firsts. But it happened, and a part of me is glad that it did. Because he was the first boy to give me a gift. The first boy to kiss me. To want to become my friend not because I was popular, but because I was me. He was the first boy who noticed the injured animal behind the camouflage of hostility and tried to give it water and shelter.

Luckily, I have a lot of experience when it comes to fakeness. My personality is basically one hundred percent recyclable plastic. The only person who can still scrape a bit of authenticity from me is her brother.

The Scullys are too smart to fall for this type of Riverdale nonsense.

She is wrong. I can look at her face all fucking day. I wish it were a legit job so I could make money doing it. I would put in all the extra hours and become a billionaire within a year. (The math doesn’t add up, by the way, so don’t try to do it.)

My world, however, is narrow-pathed and dingy. I don’t believe in fairy tales. I think Shakespeare got it right. When two people try to go against the grain, they get fucked up. End of story.

“It’s not like that,” I say hurriedly. If I have to tell him what’s going on with Prichard, I will. I’m not proud of it, but pride is a very slippery slope where love is involved. Marx. Love. I don’t use the L word lightly. I don’t go around telling people I love pizza or chocolate or Riverdale. I like those things. Love, I save for the important stuff. But I am hopelessly, tragically in love with Penn Scully. That’s why I can’t really hate his sister. Not entirely, anyway. She is an extension of him, and he has my heart.

Love. Four letters can’t cover what I feel for Daria Followhill. They seem too trivial, too small, too overused.

And love IS humbling, I know now because I want to punch myself in the face for being the smug bastard who assumed he’d just walk out of this shit unscathed. The tin man didn’t ask for a heart—but got one anyway. I love you, Daria Followhill, and I think you love me, too. In fact, I think we fell at the same time. You, like rain, in drizzles, over the weeks. Me, like the fucking sky above my head, all at once, crashing without the faintest chance of stopping.

My mouth goes dry, and I shake my head slowly. She takes a step closer and folds my shirt under her palm so that the hole in my chest looks like it’s closing in when, in reality, it opens up like a shark’s jaw. “Everything I touch is tainted, Penn. Everything I want turns to ash. I spent the entire semester trying to be yours, but you’ve never once claimed my heart. I’m sending you to Adriana’s arms, not because I don’t care, but because I do. So much. Maybe too much. Because I screwed up so many relationships, the only way for us to heal is if I take myself out of the equation.” You are the fucking equation, I want to yell in her face. The riddle and the answer and the numbers within it. You’re math. You make sense.

“You were never a drizzle, Penn Scully. When I fell for you, you came beating down, and I felt you everywhere. You were hail.”

“I’ve loved you in secret, and I’ve loved you openly in front of both our worlds, and if you think I’ll stop loving you if you put an ocean between us, you’re dead wrong.”

I want her to tell me that I’m not the only one here feeling like every breath is a fucking nail jammed straight into my lungs. If this is what love feels like, it’s complete bullshit. I want my money back because Shakespeare was right all along. True love truly sucks ass.

I’ll go wherever Daria goes. Even if it’s straight to hell.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. You know that, right?” No, I don’t, and I’m trying to tell myself not to get my hopes up because they are slamming their little fists against the door of my brain’s basement, wanting to gush out.

Last time we spoke to each other, she promised not to leave, but she did. I’m not taking any chances. She might as well file a restraining order because I’m not letting her out of my sight.

[greenhanded-redthumbed]

I Have A Hero Whenever I Need One

Bruce watched his parents die when he was twelve. People said it was a tragedy - and it was. But that doesn’t mean his life was. He had Alfred, a man who cared for him more than any amount of money could compel someone to. Alfred drops him off at school, talks with him over meals and helps out with school projects last minute. Many blood parents of his school-mates do far less. 

It’s under his tutelage Bruce thrives. He teaches him languages, business skills, fighting styles. Everything Alfred learned in the secret service, and anything they can figure out together, they learn.

Bruce grows up loved and happy and successful.

It’s then, after delving deep into his parent’s company he learns of the limits they met - the ones that probably got them killed. A business - even one as large as Wayne Enterprises - can only do so much. They’re bound by laws and codes - ones put there for good reason, but still hindering any efforts to reform the city and take criminals off the streets.

At this point, Bruce only gets the first inklings of what he has to do - that he will need to move out of the public eye and fight Gotham’s crime in an arena outside of his company. He starts to get a reputation, not with the law, but with the papers. He needs Bruce Wayne to be completely open, his life spotlighted so that no one would ever believe he could be planning something more serious. And the best way to get the paper’s attention is a scandal. 

Sex is the easiest avenue, and while its pretty clear to Bruce that its not as enjoyable for him as it is for others - he feels no particular compulsion to seek it out beyond making the gossip pages. He has other things to keep his mind on. (Bruce makes sure none of the girls ever think he’ll love them. It’s just a basic courtesy, but also helps nourish the growth of his bad reputation.)

Wayne Enterprises makes the leap from successful to infallible due to what is arguably the biggest break in Bruce’s business career. He manages to hire the highly sought-after Lucius Fox - colloquially known in the upper-business circles as having the Midas Touch - who can make any business, no matter how small or how deep in remission, a resounding financial success. 

Bruce greets Mr. Fox in his office, eager to see the commerce wizard in person and glean his thoughts. Mr. Fox himself is rather humble looking, a small black man with silver wire-rimmed glasses and short-cropped black hair. He wears a tweed suit and red bow-tie: the kind of outfit one can only picture older British men and professors in. 

Bruce decided it must be the latter as the man said in a strong New Jersey accent, “Good to meet you, Mr Wayne.”

“Good to meet you too, Mr Fox,” Bruce replies as the man settles into the seat on the other side of Bruce’s desk.

“Now, Mr. Wayne,” Lucius starts, “I’m sure you’re aware I’ve got a few job offers at the moment. Why should I pick Wayne Enterprises?”

Bruce cracks a smile, “More than a few probably. And you should pick Wayne Enterprises because we’re doing a lot of good for this city-”

“How?” Lucius interrupts him, and at Bruce’s briefly startled face expands, “I apologise for my abruptness, but if I did detailed research into everyone contacting me at the moment I wouldn’t ever get to the actual interviews. I’ll look at the more intriguing offers in more detail after I’ve heard them out.”

“Seems efficient,” Bruce answers. And he supposes it is the only practical for someone that sought after. He’s reminded exactly how large a juggernaut he has in his office. 

“Well, for the city we have the Wayne scholarships, our homeless hiring initiative and consistent proposals for Gotham’s development to work with the mayor’s office to make the city more prosperous. And of course we offer fair pay and decent hours to all our employees. For you, I have a branch planned where you can head the development and testing of technological products. I’d be loosely supervising, but it would be you leading the team. It comes with a board membership and the salary of one. Any other questions?”

Mr. Fox smiles at his efficiency, “No, I think that’s enough for me to consider. If I need anything, I’ll be in touch.”

Two weeks later, Lucius Fox calls back to accept the offer. The board toasts champagne at the news. 

Mr. Fox and carefully selected staff members move into complex in the warehouse district filled with all the specialist equipment Mr. Fox can think of. It’s at this time Bruce makes a few purchases of his own - its out of his own pocket of course, but it’s a good excuse if anyone asks why a playboy billionaire needs kevlar body armour and workable leather. (Bruce decides not to simply order specialised pieces, but to learn how to make them. He wants to be untraceable.)

Alfred knows everything of course, and while he doesn’t fully understand why Bruce wants to dress up in a suit and fight criminals in person, he does everything he can to support him. (Except allow him to pull more than one-all nighter or skip one too many meals. “It’ll still be there in the morning, Master Bruce. And you’ll work faster if you’re not completely exhausted.”)

Bruce never really finishes the suit, he keeps finding different ways to upgrade it, to make this more pliable or that more sturdy, but he gets the first chance to use it when he hears that a partner in a rival company, Mr. Theodore Lambert, has been stabbed to death. 

It’s the secretaries that know first - it almost always is. There’s about a dozen of them in the Wayne’s main building and each knows at least three others from their many attempts to get their bosses talking at a convenient time. So when Lisa from Apex Chemical Corporation calls Rob from marketing to tell him about Lambert’s death it doesn’t take long for the whole building to know.

 Bruce leaves work early (one of the perks of being his own boss) and stops by the commissioner's office. Gordon’s an old friend, met when he failed to find the man who killed Bruce’s parents. (Bruce has long ago decided not to track him down himself. If he’s a criminal, he’ll come up against him eventually and put him behind bars. Bruce is a man of obsessions, and he doesn’t want to test how thick the line between justice and vengeance really is.) Tragic circumstances, good friend.

“You can’t tell the papers any of this yet,” Gordon says seated behind his desk, “Or god forbid use the information for a business deal. Not only will I stop telling you stuff, I’ll have you in a cell so fast…”

Bruce had ignored the other chairs in the office to sit on the edge of the desk itself. Relaxed, rascally, child-like bordering on disrespectful. It fit his image to any number of outsiders. And Gordon himself simply acted as if he was a slightly adventurous nephew.

The commissioner was an older man, with white hair streaking from his hairline back across his scalp. He wore a scratchy, budget suit and dull green tie, both pressed and clean, as perfectly in order as everything else Gordon did. 

“When have I ever?” Bruce asks innocently, “But in all seriousness, should I be worried about a serial killer targeting big company members?”

He says this with a smile that tells Gordon he’s anything but serious.

“No, you’re safe to live another day,” Gordon acquiesces, “The officers think its Lambert’s son - fingerprints on the knife. He claims different, so I’m having them check out the partners-”

“Crane, Stryker and Rogers,” Bruce remembers aloud. 

“Those are the ones.” There’s an edge to Gordon’s eyes now that Bruce believes are there to warn him against interfering. But the suit in the back of his car out front pushes him in another direction. 

Bruce gets back into the car out front and drives a few blocks away before he turns on his radio. He’s set it up to pick up police transmissions, which was one of the first skills Alfred had taught him. He sits and listens, not knowing if he’ll step in yet. It’ll be his first appearance as the Batman, he needs to keep it as clean-cut and efficient as he can. There’s some general chatter, dispatchers sending cops out for noise complaints and possible robberies. A nice reminder of Gotham’s crime. He doesn’t need to wait long. 

“Dispatch, we have a possible homicide. Send Alvarez out, pretty sure it’s Steven Crane. Looks like it’s part of the Lambert case.”

Bruce is driving  before they finish the report. He knows where each of their offices are, and Rogers is the closest. He parks a block away and considers whether or not to wear the costume. He could simply walk in as Bruce Wayne and inquire about Rogers. It’d cause the least suspicion. But if he walked in on a fight or a crime scene, he wouldn’t be able to step in without giving himself away. And of course, if word got back to Gordon he was here, he could lose the trust of one of his oldest friends and accidental informant. 

It’s that that decides it for him, more than anything. He pulls the suit on in the back of the car, fumbling with the confined space. Bruce supposes he’ll just have to get better at it. 

Rogers has an office in a new office building - glass walls stretching up with nowhere to hide. He could still climb it, but the windows would be sealed all the way up. The easiest way in would be the roof, which meant fourteen storeys would have watched him crawl past, belly bared to all inside. Ground floor, then. But at least he can take a back door. 

Bruce finds it slightly embarrassing, he imagines this must be what it feels like to be a teenager sneaking in drunk hoping not to be caught in a parent’s disapproving stare. He has no personal experience doing this, for a number of reasons. (Apart from the obvious, he tends to avoid drinking to get drunk and Alfred would rather he just uses the front door so he can ensure Bruce is safe. Even as a fully grown adult.)

He makes it up to Rogers’ floor unchallenged, although he does note a security he makes an appearance on. It doesn’t matter to him then, he’s in a mask, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Bruce makes a note to figure something out for next time. (He optimistically assumes there will be a next time.)

The door to Roger’s office is open, and Bruce can see its empty even from the shadowy corner by the door. Roger’s secretary, a tall brown-haired woman with thick black glasses and a stylish crimson shirt, is sitting at her desk in front of the empty office absorbed in her computer. The best source of information - secretaries hear about everything.

He’s standing right in front of her desk before she acknowledges his presence.

“Can I help you?” She asks, eyes raking over his suit with silent judgement.

“I’m looking for Paul Rogers,” Bruce growls out. It’s harsh and grating where his normal voice is warm and playful. Ideally unrecognisable.

“Ok,” she says, now ignoring the screen in front of her, “And you are..?”

Batman. He wants to say it. He’s been planning it since he was fourteen years old and bats were the scariest thing to him. It feels kind of childish, but still scarier than something like institutionalised-prejudice-man or dying-alone-and-being-eaten-by-cats-man. Still, maybe it would be a good idea if he actually solved a case before spreading the name.

“Who I am doesn’t matter,” Bruce continues, “I just need to find Paul Rogers.”

“‘Kay,” she says in bewilderment, “He’s not here. He went to visit a business partner: Alfred Stryker.”

“Thank you,” he says, still growling. Not intimidating, he tells himself immediately. He’ll get the hang of it.

“‘Kay,” the secretary says again, turning back to her screen. He knows by the time he leaves the building secretaries all across the city are getting of the alerts of the strange costumed man looking for Paul Rogers.

He drives to Stryker’s office, cowl down and suit covered by a long coat. His cape is tied around his waist - a part of him thinks its childish, another, smarter part knows it masks some of his body type, movements and hides any special gadgets. If anyone stopped him now, it’d be extremely suspicious. He needs a vehicle, he realises, something that won’t link back to Bruce Wayne so he won’t have to change back and forth. 

Bruce pulls into an alley near Stryker’s office - this one is in a sprawling old building, with cut stone walls and only three storeys, so he doesn’t need to repeat the back stairwell routine. He remembers from his corporate briefings that this is because Stryker likes to keep a personal eye on the manufacturing of Apex’s heavy-duty industrial strength chemicals, primarily used as extreme sterilization or to be watered down to at-home cleaning solutions.

Cowl on, he climbs to the third storey window roughly where he remembers Stryker’s office being. As he jimmies open the lock, he hears voices yelling from the next room. 

“What the hell? What are you doing!” comes the first voice, and despite its panic, Bruce recognises it as Rogers.

“Just shut up,” hisses the second voice. Not Stryker, Bruce notes. 

 He (gracefully) crawls over the window into the deserted room beyond, staggering to his feet and darting into the building’s main corridor. He moves quickly and quietly along it, with all the grace of someone well-practiced in sneaking midnight snacks around an ex-MI6 agent, until he finds the right doorway. He pauses on the threshold and takes in the scene - not panicking, he’s learned, is far more important to remember than most of his learned skills. A second of recon can make or break his success. 

Inside the room, Rogers is taped to a chair, with another burlier man looming over him with more tape and a plastic bag attached to an air hose. Next to them is a canister of helium. 

“It won’t even hurt,” the larger man says, “Way more humane than being stabbed.”

This does not seem to reassure Rogers, who continues to struggle to keep the bag from being placed over his head. Bruce decides this is a good time to step in.

“Get away from Mr Rogers,” he says, crossing the threshold. The big man whirls to face him, abandoning Rogers.

He looks Bruce’s costume up and down, brow furrowing. “You’re that guy,” he says, and Bruce tenses, “The weirdo who was looking for Rogers.”

An assistant then, if he’d already heard about that.

“I’m here!” Rogers helpfully yells from behind the assistant.

Bruce pulls a pair of handcuffs from his belt, “Surrender yourself to the police.”

The assistant looks unconvinced, “I’m not going to hand myself in because some goth vampire dude-”

“Batman,” Bruce interrupts, purely because he would rather not have people call him Goth-vampire-man.

“Whatever,” the man says exasperated and then lunges forwards. Bruce sidesteps, bringing his elbow down hard against the assistant’s back and sending him crashing to the floor. Before he can get his bearings, Bruce has him pinned and is cuffing his hands behind his back. He drags the assistant to a radiator and uses a second pair of cuffs to lock him in place.

Rogers looks on in shock. “Batman,” he says testing it out, “Cool name. I like it. The whole thing: great-”

He’s interrupted by a voice from down the hallway, “Jennings? Is it done?”

Rogers looks over panicked at Bruce. “That’s Stryker,” he whispers frantically, “And it’s not done. I’m not done. Completely not done.”

Bruce raises a hand to quiet him, then slips behind the door. He’s not giving up the element of surprise.

“Jennings?” Stryker’s voice is closer this time, almost right outside. “What’s-”

Bruce can tell the moment Stryker reaches the doorway because he breaks off mid sentence. It’s then that Bruce launches himself at the place he knows Stryker will be standing. Bruce catches a glimpse of him before he makes impact, built more slender than Jennings and eyes wide with surprise. But where Jennings had confidence, Alfred Stryker has wit and wariness and speed. He launches himself down the hall, leaving Bruce clutching at the coat ripped from his shoulders. Bruce curses under his breath, abandoning the coat and racing after Stryker.

The man in question has reached a heavy looking door emblazoned with warning signs with phrases such as ‘Extreme Caution’ and ‘Chemical Storage’. Stryker’s frantically pushing his passcode into a security matrix beside the door and Bruce knows if Stryker gets the door closed behind him he’ll probably get away. 

The door opens and Stryker hurries inside. Bruce slams into the closing door, bracing himself on the carpeted hallway to keep it open. He knows he’s stronger than Stryker, and sure enough the door starts to inch further and further open. 

Stryker must know it too, because he abandons the door, using the Bruce’s stumble as the door unexpectedly gives way to get a headstart along the narrow metal catwalks that hang across this section. Beneath them, Bruce can see large open vats full of steaming liquids that slowly eddy and bubble as they continue mixing. 

The catwalk shakes as the two sprint across it, and a flash of fear runs through Bruce at the thought of it breaking. Who knows what raw chemicals would do to a man?

Stryker seems to be tiring, slowing slightly and failing to pick up speed again after a sudden ninety-degree turn. Bruce runs farther than this on a daily basis and shows absolutely no signs of fatigue. He gains quickly on Stryker until he’s within arms reach. Bruce launches forward grabbing firmly onto Stryker’s shoulder. Still desperate to escape, Stryker jerks violently to the right, hitting the narrow metal railing hard. 

For a moment he flails wildly. Arms in the air. His feet leave the catwalk. The swirling pale green vat beneath them bubbles invitingly.

Then Bruce’s instincts kick in. He grabs Stryker by the arm and pulls him back from the edge. By the time Stryker’s panicked breathing returns to normal, Bruce has already handcuffed both of hands to the railing.

“The police will be here shortly,” Bruce informs him, then heads back the way he came to release Rogers. 

Later that night, Bruce sits beside Alfred on a plush leather couch at Wayne Manor and watches a news report of the mysterious black-clad figure dubbed ‘The Batman’ who foiled a murder attempt. Paul Rogers raves praises for his actions to a reporter. It’s a good first step.

Strangely enough, Bruce isn’t the first person go sneaking through the city in black leather. As he continues his crime-fighting escapades he runs into a kindred spirit - albeit one that’s a little less into the law upholding aspect. 

He first sees the woman scaling up the side of an expensive apartment block. Gotham’s latest luxury living project for millionaires looking to downsize their older relatives. Bruce would usually be inclined to think this is another run-of-the-mill thief with a leather fetish, but the suit’s very similar to his. Ears on the cowl, utility belt - all its missing is a cape. He watches from a neighbouring building as she disables an alarm system and slips in a window - and yes, maybe he could report her, but he’s never seen anyone work with this level of efficiency and he’s new to patrolling rooftops so he’s pretty sure she’d easily outmaneuver him. She sees him as she’s slipping out the window again, probably a few thousand dollars better off than when she entered, and for a moment they both freeze. 

Bruce points to a neighbouring rooftop adjacent to both of them in what he hopes is a nonthreatening manner. I just want to talk, he tries to convey. Whatever he does with his arms somehow communicates enough to convince the woman to move towards the rooftop. Either because she’s curious too or to tell him to leave her the hell alone.

She’s a better climber than he is, he notes. Far more practiced. 

He can see her more clearly when she’s on the rooftop, her cowl covers all her main features and hair like his, and her suit’s clearly hand-stitched. It’s tight too, and Bruce realises that and the lack of cape probably allows her to better squeeze through tiny windows and openings to steal. She’s quite short, with a small build like that of an acrobat and scowling slightly.

“I suppose you’re this new Batman person,” she says by way of introduction.

“And you are?” Bruce asks.

“People call me Catwoman,” she answers, “But you don’t really need to call me anything. Just stay out of my way.”

“I just watched you steal from that apartment right there-”

“Yeah, steal,” she breaks in, “I’m not hurting anyone. The ultra-rich can live without a few pieces of jewellery Surely you’ve got better things to do. I don’t like getting into moral fights, go stop the people from raping and murdering in back-alleys. Then I’ll be able to focus on stealing rather than dropping into fights all the time.”

Bruce really can’t fault her logic too much. She does need to stop stealing stuff eventually, but he can’t stop every crime in the city. He doesn’t get the chance to tell her this though, as she darts off the side of the building and onto a fire-escape Bruce didn’t even know was there. 

An ally, Bruce thinks, albeit a reluctant one. If he ever gets out of his depth, he’s pretty sure this Catwoman would help him against someone truly evil. 

Two weeks later, Bruce hosts a Wayne Enterprises gala at his manor and among the guests he notices a small woman with curly brown hair he doesn’t remember inviting. He watches her as she slips through the crowd in a long purple dress and while he never sees her take anything, when he runs into her conversation partners they’re missing cuff-links and earrings and watches that they’re yet to notice have vanished. 

Bruce waits until she’s alone beside a table stacked with champagne before approaching. 

“Hey,” he says wearing the smile he reserves specifically for these events - it’s not quite the playboy on the front of magazines but also not an expression he’d ever use when it was just him and Alfred.

The woman looks over at him and smiles. It doesn’t show her teeth. Bruce notices her lips are painted the same shade of purple as her dress.

“So,” he continues, “Taking a break from theft?”

She laughs, light and short as if he’s just said something extraordinarily funny, “Theft? Let me guess; I’m stealing hearts.” She’s incredibly charming and for a moment Bruce thinks he might be wrong, and maybe this really isn’t the same woman he met on the roof at night. 

“Perhaps.” He offers her his hand to shake. “I’d stay out of your way,” a flicker of recognition flashes through her eyes, (they’re brown. He didn’t notice that in the dark.) “but I’m the host so I kind of have to greet everyone.”  

“So you’re the Batman,” she says, “Mr Wayne?”

He nods, “And you’re the Catwoman, Ms..?

“Kyle,” she answers, “Selina Kyle. I should probably give this back.” 

Selina hands him his own watch. (He’s suitably impressed.)

They spend the next thirty minutes gossiping about the other guests, with Bruce steering her clear of certain people - the Cobbs, who’ve just had their son die and should really be allowed to grieve, others like him who wear their dead father’s watch on their wrists like a catholic wears a cross - and which people just got found not-guilty of embezzlement on technicalities.

“This has been very educational Mr. Wayne,” she says. 

“Bruce,” he corrects immediately.

“Bruce,” she amends, “But I have to get back to meeting those guests you pointed out.”

She slips away into the crowd and Bruce thinks that maybe Gotham’s new vigilante now has a friend. (He finds Alfred later and tells him to invite one Selina Kyle to all Wayne events henceforth. She may be a thief, but Alfred’s just thrilled he has a friend.)

As Bruce keeps patrolling the city at night, his list of needed gadgets keeps growing. Some of them he and Alfred can figure out together in the old cavern beneath the manor where Bruce stores all of his Batman-related possessions. (Alfred’s setting up a computer system to combine the hacked files of different police departments and emergency services. A sort of overhaul database with all the information stored in one place.) Other things are beyond even them, but Bruce knows exactly where to turn. (At least after extensive background checks and many pros versus cons discussions with Alfred.)

Lucius Fox (graduated MIT, top of his class, wife: Tanya, four children in various stages of schooling) seems to have enjoyed his transition to Wayne Enterprises. The sprawling laboratory is filled with various gadgets and engineers of all kinds flitting from table to table talking of different ideas. 

“Mr Fox,” Bruce greets him, taking a seat opposite the man in his office, “I have another proposition for you.”

Lucius looks at Bruce over his glasses and says, “Go on.”

After a lengthy discussion ends in an optimistic, “I’ll consider it”, Alfred convinces Bruce to take the night off. 

“You’ve made excellent headway, Bruce,” Alfred says. They’ve long forgone the master, “Why not a night to celebrate?”

Bruce gives in, because it’s not just a night off for him, it’s one for Alfred too. And in between late nights preparing the new computer system for the cave and insisting Bruce get more sleep, Alfred’s read raving reviews about one Haly’s Circus that’s travelling around America. Alfred’s always harboured a soft spot for carnivals since his childhood novel heroes all talked about running away to join one.  

Bruce goes with him, with slightly less excitement but a willingness to relax. For the first half it’s as entertaining as Alfred promised, with aerial silks, a strongman, clowns. Then the trapezists are brought on. ‘The Flying Graysons’ the ringleader announces gesturing to a family of three. There’s a man and a woman and a young boy who sports the woman’s dark hair and the man’s bright blue eyes. 

They perform without a net, to raise the stakes. The audience holds its breath and wait to see if they’ll slip up, be off by a few centimetres and be sent plummeting to the floor far below. They don’t miss, they fly from one trapeze to the other with perfect flips that make them look as if they’re flying.

Then something above them snaps and they fall anyway. The man and the woman are both lying on the floor of the ring, limbs at wrong angles while the boy swings above, looking down on them in disbelief. 

It’s a while before someone remembers to convince him to come down. 

Bruce leaves with the rest of the crowd, but he doesn’t sleep at all that night. He keeps picturing the kid hanging onto the trapeze and looking down at the floor. At 3am, he can’t take it anymore and calls Gordon.

“Is it an emergency?” Gordon answers sleepily.

“No,” Bruce says, “It’s about the Haly’s Circus accident.”

“A 3am worthy question?”

Bruce sighs, “I was there, Jim.”

“Oh,” there’s a moment of rustling as Gordon presumably moves to a better location for a serious dead of night phone call, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Bruce answers him, “Just...what’s going to happen to the kid?”

“The circus can’t provide the right education, financial security or stability to officially adopt him, so he’s being sent to Gotham foster care so they can find him a home.”

Bruce remembers the feeling of not-knowing. But at least he’d had Alfred. This boy has no one. (Bruce asks himself who the greatest hero he knows is. The answer isn’t Batman, or Silena or Fox or Gordon. His biggest hero is Alfred, and he knows right now that the boy from the circus is in exactly the same position he was in. And he needs a hero.)

“I’ll take him.”

[paradisobound]

Sail Away With Me: Part 2

Summary: It was a fluke. Dan shouldn’t have ever gone with Sam to a party on a yacht. He shouldn’t have trusted her to go. But in a chance encounter, he ends up in bed with Phil Lester, a billionaire CEO of a luxury clothing company. When he thinks he’s screwed up enough, he realizes he’s in way too deep. Because Phil Lester has fallen in love with him. The catch: Dan gave Phil a fake name and all Phil has to remember Dan by is the tattoo on his hip and the necklace he left behind.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: A semi-explicit solo sex scene

Pairing: Instagraminfluencer!dan and CEO!Phil

This is a chaptered work. Updates every Monday around 1pm EST

**MASTERLIST | ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN | WATTPAD**

Phil’s POV 

Phil awoke with a startle in tangled sheets with the screaming of his alarm coming from a distance. He groans to himself and rolls a bit as he tries to figure out where he put his glasses last night and where he put his phone. He knew from the slight swaying that he had stayed the night on his yacht but that didn’t mean he was able to forget all of his current obligations. 

His head was pounding and there was a steady pressure behind his eyes as he found his glasses and pushed them on, sitting up in bed. His duvet gathered down onto his lap and he looked around to see if he could find his still screaming phone. He hated early morning meetings and he was definitely hating that he had one for this morning. 

He finds his phone in a mountain of blankets and he manages to turn off the alarm long enough to see he has a missed call from Geoffrey. He quickly dials him back and puts it on speaker as he stands up and walks to his closet where he pulls out a fresh pressed button down and a pair of newly steamed slacks. 

He’s putting them on as Geoffrey answers and begins going off about this months quotas. 

“We’ve doubled our profit in the last month,” Geoffrey begins. “I was going to wait to talk about this at the meeting in an hour but I wanted to share the good news with you.” 

“Glad to know our focus on LGBT families paid off. It was an endorsement close with my heart so I’m glad to see it work.” 

Phil puts his phone on speaker and sits back on his bed again, smoothing out his shirt and pants with his palm. When had so many wrinkles shown up in his clothing? He should really learn how to steam and iron his own clothes and stop relying on other places to do so. 

His call with Geoffrey continues until Phil ends it to shower and get ready as he lays back on the bed and squeezes the bridge of his nose between his fingers. A headache was beginning to take residence in his temple and he wasn’t appreciating it. Sure, he could pop a few paracetamol and call it a morning but he also probably needs some water and a proper shower first too. 

Phil lets out a loud sigh and rolls on his side, snuggling back into his pillows for a moment when he feels something sharp jab into his ribcage. He hisses, sitting up quickly as he reaches under where he was sat for the intruding object. He moves his hand around for a moment before coming into contact with a chain. 

He picks it up in his hand and studies it for a second. It’s a necklace with a a small ring on the chain. He looks at it closer and it’s nothing like anything he’s ever owned. He’s puzzled to say the least. Phil’s not sure where this came from and why it ended up in his bed. 

Then it hits him. 

Ethan. 

It had to be Ethan’s right? 

Phil thinks back to the night before. He doesn’t remember a lot of it, that’s definitely sure. But he does remember the chocolate eyes with matching curly hair. He remembers how lovely those lips felt against his and how pliant and soft he was around him. 

Fuck, he was beginning to get hard in his pants remembering just how incredible Ethan was. He reaches down and squeezes himself, willing to stave off the need to get off for just a bit but all the touch serves to do is make him more eager to get off. 

He pulls down his pants low enough to pull his cock out of its confines and give himself a few strokes. He lets out a breath through his nose and a moan threatens to break through his lips. 

Ethan was just so…great. And it wasn’t even the sex that Phil was thinking about, even though that was definitely the blunt of it in his head right now as he stroked faster. Phil can still feel his breaths against his skin and his nails digging into his arms. He can still feel how warm he was around him and how soft his walls were when they squeezed him tightly. 

He strokes a bit faster and feels the heat pooling in his abdomen as he finishes with a rush of air and an arch of his back. He lays his head back on the bed and shuts his eyes. He can still see Ethan in his head when he closes his eyes, see the way his tattoo sat on his hip. 

His tattoo was beautiful, Phil supposes. But Phil doesn’t think a man that beautiful should have a tattoo. Not that having tattoos was bad, but just that Phil believed that Ethan was like a marble statue and his body shouldn’t be marked up like that. 

Now that Ethan’s in his head, Phil can’t get him out. He sits up, tucks himself back in, and stands up from the bed. He grabs the necklace from where it laid beside him and sat it down on his bedside table. 

Hand now sticky, he frowns and figures this is a good time to go to the shower so he walks to his bathroom and takes a quick shower. The shower isn’t ideal like it in is his flat but it works for the purpose of getting him clean. His chest is still heaving and he’s still a hit out of breath. 

Afterwards, Phil gets dressed in his clothes and goes to meet his driver out on the dock. As he’s getting ready to leave his yacht for the time being, he sees Ethan’s necklace out of the corner of his eye and he quickly grabs it and stuffs it into his pocket. He doesn’t want something happening to it. 

Phil leaves his yacht and makes his way to his car with his driver. Once inside, he answers some of the emails and important messages he’s neglected over the weekend and then decides to check out social media. 

Phil wasn’t one to say a lot on social media. All he had was a twitter and most of the time, he didn’t tweet from it himself. He had his personal assistant do so. Of course, his personal assistant was off for the weekend and he’d been meeting up with them again now at the office so his twitter had gone a bit quiet. 

He scrolls through twitter and suddenly gets the idea to search for Ethan. He doesn’t know his last name. But he does know what he looks like and his first name so maybe by some slim chance, he can find his twitter. That way he can message him about his necklace. 

But there is also something panting in Phil’s chest. When he thinks of Ethan, despite their short encounter, he can’t help but feel his heart flutter a bit. He’s used to having one night stands with men. But Ethan was different. There was something about Ethan’s cunning nature and his cheeky smile that made Phil want to get into contact with him again. He wanted nothing more than to spend another night with the mysterious male. 

All too fast, he’s at one of the many headquarters for his business. This one just happened to be the Italian one. He’s greeted at the door by his colleagues and his personal assistant Jeanna waiting for him. Jeanna is already telling him about how his meeting is in fifteen minutes and how he has a phone call with someone at 1pm and Phil’s head spins a bit. 

He should be used to all of this but he doesn’t think he ever will be. 

Instead, he heads straight for the conference room and ends up sitting at the head of the table with a coffee and some cookies waiting for him and the other workers filing in, ready to fill their own seats. There is a PowerPoint screen behind Phil and he already knows someone is gonna present something to him and he groans inwardly at the thought. He dislikes meetings so much. He wishes he never had to attend but it’s only business, he supposed. 

The meeting starts by Geoffrey greeting them all and standing up in his chair. “As you all already know, our sales quota is up 15% since we started showing LGBT families in our advertisements. I think displaying LGBT families shows people that this is the norm and our clothing is going to show that.” 

Another male that Phil doesn’t know the name of raises his hand. “So does this mean our clothing is going to be LGBT aimed now?” 

The male seems a bit temperamental. Phil doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like that at all. 

“With all do respect,” Phil chimes in causing everyone to turn and divert their attention to him. “Our primary sales for our clothing are young adults between the ages of 18-25.  Therefore, we shouldn’t be marketing LGBT as a way for our sales to increase. Our sales are doing fine. But our target audience is seeing us include LGBT themes and they’re seeing it’s normal. Because it should be normal.” 

The males eyes get a bit wide as he slouches back in his leather seat and folds his arms over the table. Phil cocks an eyebrow. 

“You’re all well aware that I’m gay,” Phil says, as if that would come as a surprise. He’s sure that most of the world knows he’s gay. “My former partner Lukas and I were the ones that founded this company.” 

Everyone nods and Geoffrey clears his throat, adjusting his tie a bit as if he’s uncomfortable. Phil knows it’s not about the topic at hand, but mostly because Geoffrey always hated confrontation, much like Phil. But Phil’s not afraid to defend his company if he needs to. He built this company from the ground up. 

“On other news,” Geoffrey begins. “I think we should also begin to talk about next seasons line as fall is approaching soon.” 

The meeting draws on for far longer than Phil would have liked hut by the end of it, they had all discussed new advertising techniques and how they were going to market their next season. They also discussed target pieces like clothes and themes for the material and Phil was told by his colleague Drew—or Dre, Phil couldn’t remember, that they would begin looking into the production. 

Phil makes his way out of the conference room with Jeanna at his side, reminding him about the 1pm phone call that he had to make and he was honestly fed up with the idea of having to make said phone call. So he asked Jeanna to take it instead and then he asks to be alone and sits in his office. 

He has mounds of paperwork to do and his computer has a bunch of emails and files he should be looking at. But he can’t be bothered because every time he tries to think, his mind is plagued by Ethan and his beautiful eyes. 

Phil can’t stop thinking about him and the necklace in his pocket feels like it’s burning a hole through Phil’s trousers. He reaches down and feels it, breathing in a sigh. He should begin looking for Ethan. 

But would he even see Ethan again? 

His head begins to pound again and he bends over, rifling in a drawer in his desk as he finds a packet of paracetamol and he opens it, pouring the two pills in his hand. He takes his mug of cold coffee and swallows down the two pills, wincing at the stale taste. 

Just as he’s getting ready to rest back in his chair, Jeanna knocks on the door and Phil calls for her to come in. She comes in with her tablet in hand and takes a seat in front of him. “So I took your phone call for you like you asked and it was a clothing company called Luxor. They were hoping to do a future collaboration on some pieces since they specialize in jackets and tailored blazers.” 

Phil sighs. “I’ll think about it.” 

“That’s what I told them too.” She says with a nod. “I told them we would get back to them about it.” 

Phil lets out a long sigh and then looks at the perky blonde in front of him. Jeanna is a nice girl. She really is. But sometimes Phil thinks she tries a bit too hard to impress him. Phil’s already impressed by her skills and how well she follows directions. Not to mention she’s much more organized than he would ever be. She doesn’t need to try as hard as she does. 

But Phil doesn’t say that. He just smiles and nods at her and then asks if she can go through his emails and star the important ones he should look at. She agrees and Phil tells her he’ll let her know if he needs anything else. He doubts he will though. 

Just as she shuts the door, it’s opening again and Geoffrey is walking in. His hair is slicked back and his suit is a bit ruffled by Phil excuses it. 

“So how was the party last night?” He asks, taking  a seat across form Phil as he leans back in his chair and throws his feet on Phil’s desk. 

Phil just laughs. “It was party.” 

“How fucked up did you get?” Geoffrey asked with a smirk. “Be honest.” 

“I didn’t.” Phil smirked. “You know I don’t do that anymore. Not since…” 

The words not since Lukas has been gone sit on his tongue but he doesn’t finish the thought. He tries not to think about his past if he doesn’t half to. It’s partly why he throws his parties: because there has always been one person willing to sleep with him to help him get his mind off from everything. 

Geoffrey chuckled. “Who did you go to bed with?” He asked. “Any nice blokes?” 

Phil scoffs. Not only at his words but also at how Geoffrey phrased it. 

“One nice bloke.” Phil said. “He told me his name was Ethan but he was incredible.” 

“Incredible?” Geoffrey asked. 

Phil nodded. “I can’t get him out of my head.” 

“Good or bad?” 

“A bit of both.” Phil answers honestly. “It’s just...I can’t stop thinking about him.” Phil lets out a sigh. “The first time I ever met Lukas, I felt sparks and I knew instantly I wanted to get to know him better. Since Lukas is gone, it’s been so long since I’ve felt that with someone else. And last night, I think I felt them again.” 

“With this guy?” Geoffrey clarified and Phil modded. “Did you get the guys number?” 

Phil shook his head. “He didn’t seem too keen on staying.” He said, his voice a bit sad. “He quickly got up and dressed and then left. I asked for his name and he told me it was Ethan.” 

Phil reaches down to put his hands on his thighs and he suddenly was shocked with the memory that he still had Ethan’s necklace in his pocket. 

“His necklace also fell off in my bed last night...” 

“Wow, that rough, Lester? Nice!” 

“Shut it,” Phil chuckled. “But I found it this morning and I want to give it back to him. But I’m not sure where to find him.” 

“You didn’t get a last name, you don’t know this guys number, and all you have is his necklace?” Geoffrey asked. 

Phil nods. 

“You’re fucked mate.” 

Phil lets out a loud sigh and puts his head in his hands because he knows he is but it feels even worse when someone else is saying it. He knows that there isn’t much he’s going to be able to do but even if a chance encounter like last night leads to him being with Ethan again, he’ll take it. 

Geoffrey offers for them to go to lunch and since Phil probably could use the food, he agrees to go. The headache in his temple is still there but it’s slowly diminishing and his bones still feel a bit like jelly. But he knows sitting in his office all day won’t help that any. 

When lunch is done and Phil checks in on Jeanna one last time, he decides to go back to his home for the day instead of his yacht. He didn’t feel like spending another night sleeping on it. He texts Jeanna quickly to call for a cleaner for it and then he calls for his driver to take him to his home on the Amalfi Coast. 

It wasn’t as big as his London penthouse but it was enough for him to stay for a few months out of the year to work in Italy a few months out the year despite his company being based in the UK. 

Getting to this house, he walks inside the big double doors and heads upstairs for his bedroom, eager to lie down and spend the rest of his day resting. As he lays down in bed, pants and button down still on, he rolls onto his side and feels the necklace press into his thigh. 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls it out, looking it over again. When he closes his eyes, he can see Ethan wearing it around his neck when they first met. It’s a bit funny actually, Phil supposes. It wouldn’t be a lie for Phil to say that him spilling his drink was a perfect opportunity for them to meet. 

Phil had intended to go up to him, that much was true. But it also just so happened that he turned at the same time Phil stood up from his chair and they collided. Maybe fate had really brought them together, he’s not entirely sure. 

He tosses the necklace onto his bedside stand and closes his eyes. 

He’ll take a quick nap and then figure out what to do later. 

[iamartemisday]

Merry Christmas, Miss Foster! Part One

A/N: For Lokane Week, I am resurrecting the Miss Foster series!

Well sort of. The next official part of the series has been half written for... some time now. I’m working on it, but there’s a lot of other stuff going on. You know how it goes.

For those unfamiliar, the Miss Foster series is an all human AU in which Jane is a second grade teacher who ends up with Loki’s three children in his class. Said kids are a bit too smart for their ages and decide Jane is exactly the kind of person their billionaire single father needs. And since there are LOKI’S children we’re talking about, they get into some wacky hijinks along the way.

This story is honestly in kind of a grey area in terms of continuity. It’s sort of like an anime movie where the timeline isn’t clear and it’s kind of just contained within itself. Semi-canon so to speak.

Regardless, whether you know this verse or not, I hope you all enjoy and I’ll see you again tomorrow!

**

The Odinson family had a log cabin nestled on a hilltop in the heart of Lake Placid. The only thing that shocked Jane was that it wasn’t three stories. 

Snow was freshly fallen, just in time for the holidays. The sky was bright white, clouds masking the sun in preparation of another wintery onslaught. Riding in the back of a limousine, Jane flipped through several hundred stations, almost all of which were playing the same old Christmas music she knew by heart. Some of them were her favorite songs of all time. Many others she’d happily tear her eardrums out before she listened to them again.

At least the roads were clear, at least for now. The forecast called for clear skies until the 20th, when Jack Frost descended to unleash the full force of his icy fury upon the unsuspecting New York populace. Or so the weatherman rather hammily declared.

Which begged the question: why did Loki want to spend Christmas in the middle of the woods?

Another question: why did Jane agree to go with them?

It was the kids. She needed to face facts and admit to herself that for all her posturing and assertion of authority as their teacher, those three little angels wielded the power of the puppy dog eyes, and they were not afraid to use it.

“We bought this cabin from an old man who used it as a hunting lodge,” said Jormungandr. He flipped through the book in his lap. As always, it was roughly the size of his entire body. “He used to come out here with his two sons during deer season. Then one of them moved away and the other decided to be a vegan. Now he’s in Florida with his wife. He said the weather would do wonders for his aching joints.”

“I’m surprised you remember all that,” Jane mumbled. 

“Dad’s offer nearly gave him a heart attack,” said Fenrir, stretching out in his seat like he was desperate to move. “His asking price was way lower.”

“But it was worth the money,” Hela proclaimed, beaming so hard her entire face glowed. Even the scars were less apparent. “And we fixed it up real nice. We go out and chop down a giant tree, and we decorate it and we put up lights and-”

“We don’t need a play-by-play,” Fenrir snapped, shoving his sister. “And quit yelling in my ear.”

“I wasn’t yelling!” Hela yelled. “Maybe you just need to clean your ears out.”

“Maybe you do!”

“Do not.”

“Do too!”

“See?” Jormungandr smiled. “Not even any hair-pulling. They’re already in the holiday spirit.”

“They most certainly are,” said Loki. 

He drove over a rough patch in the road, the tires grinding through the rocks and making the inside jostle. Jane held tight to the dashboard until the road smoothed out. As expected, Loki had no reaction to it at all. He guided the car along the dirt path like he’d been doing it all his life. Like maybe he came out every summer to hunt deer now.  Jane tried to picture him in a plaid shirt with a vest over it and a hunter’s cap. She wished she could laugh at the ridiculous idea, but like everything else the asshole wore, the idea just made her cheeks warm.

The mountains were lovely, she couldn’t deny that. Swathes of fir trees and a pure white sky gave the jagged cliff sides that picturesque quality Thomas Kinkade painting were made for. In fact, Jane was pretty sure she had seen these mountains in one of his greeting cards. Maybe Loki owned land around the cabin and licensed it out. For all she knew, they filmed Hallmark movies out here. Hell, maybe she was about to star in her own Hallmark movie. 

Rich, handsome single father locked in a cabin for a week with his children’s second grade teacher. It practically wrote itself.

“What’s funny?” Loki asked.

Jane started. “Huh? I wasn’t laughing.”

“But you were smiling.” 

“Smiling doesn’t mean something is funny,” Jane sat up straighter in her seat, “I might just like to smile.”

“Like Buddy the Elf?”

“Yes, exactly. Thank you, Hela.”

The little girl beamed, her lips lined with chocolate as she reached for the bowl of M&Ms. “Maybe we can watch it tomorrow. Tonight is The Muppet Christmas Carol.”

“Since when do you get to decide what movie we watch?” Fenrir snatched the M&Ms away. “I want to watch Die Hard.”

“Die Hard is for the 26th, Fenrir,” Hela retorted. 

“Guys, come on,” Jane said, adjusting the rear view mirror to see them better. “We can decide when we get there what to watch. And don’t eat all of those. You’re going to get sick.”

“Don’t worry, they’re sugar free,” said Fenrir. “Otherwise, we’d have Jormungandr tied up in the trunk so he can’t get at them.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Jormungandr said, slamming his book shut.

“Welcome to the Odinson family Christmas,” he muttered in her ear. “Are you happy you said yes?”

Jane stared out the window as another pile of rocks whizzed by. “I’ll let you know.”

The car crawled higher and higher up the hillside. Every time Jane thought she saw a wooden roof in the distance, Loki turned a new corner. The town below had long since vanished. She wondered if they’d ever see it again. Someone had turned the radio on. The children sang along to Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, their off-key but passionate interpretation earning applause from Jane and a smile from Loki.

By the time the shadow of a slanted roof came into view, they’d gone through Christmastime Is Here and that Alvin and the Chipmunks song. Now the music faded into the background as Jane beheld a palace of a cabin in the woods. Polished wood with a stone chimney. A covered patio and an observation deck overlooking the trees. In the back was a small structure, possibly a shed or even an indoor jacuzzi. Jane had learned never to assume with this family, and always expect the unexpected.

“By the way, our basement pool is currently closed,” Loki said as they pulled into the driveway. “We’re having issues with the heating system, but someone will be out to fix it shortly.”

“Great. I didn’t even pack a suit…” 

The cold smacked Jane in the face as soon as she was out of the car. Looking around, there were ice patches everywhere. Some had been dissolved with rocksalt, but what remained made the front lawn resemble a minefield. It was a sentiment not shared by the kids, who raced to the front porch, cheering all the way.

“We’re going to have so much fun!” Jormungandr hopped in place. “We’re going to put up the tree and sing Christmas carols and bake cookies and wrap presents and build snowmen and-”

“Are you sure those M&Ms were sugar free?” Fenrir asked Hela, who shrugged.

“Now now, children,” Loki chided them, “remember we’re not alone this year. Grandmother, Grandfather, Uncle Thor, and Aunt Sif will be along in just a few days. We want to kept this place clean and presentable for them, don’t we?”

“Yes, Dad,” the triplets said. They walked up the stairs, speaking softly, and didn’t start screaming again until they were safely inside. 

“A whole week out here,” Jane said, taking in the crisp mountain air. “Here I thought I’d just spend Christmas with a bowl of cereal again.”

“It won’t be that much of a change of scenery,” Loki said as the second car trailing behind them finally caught up. Out stepped a man glaring daggers at Loki. Luckily, Jane had convinced him not to actually bring any weapons. “I was nice enough to invite your dear brother along.”

“Yeah, you’re a saint, pal,” Bucky said, pushing past him. He managed to smile at Jane. Not even Loki’s presence could completely dampen his mood. 

“Whoo! That was a hell of a ride!” Bucky’s passenger proclaimed, stumbling out of the car.

Loki sniffed. “And your… Darcy.” 

Jane nodded. “Yeah, that was real nice of you.”

“You guys are lucky I couldn’t afford to go home this year,” Darcy said, flashing them a thumbs up. “By the way, I brought my own Menorah. Any place in there I can put it up?”

“The mantle should do nicely,” Loki said. “Just don’t touch anything.”

“I will do my best to respect your humble abode, Major Moneybags!” Darcy skipped along, leaving the pair, finally, completely alone.

“She needs to think up some more creative nicknames,” Loki observed, hand on his chin. “Why does she follow you everywhere?”

“Well, when I first moved into my apartment, she came over to ask if I had one of those whipped cream makers,” Jane sighed, “and then she just kind of never left.”

Loki hummed, and with that, they started for the porch. Luck, as it turned out, was on Jane’s side. She made it a full three steps before she slipped. With a yelp, she grabbed blindly for the nearest sturdy object. She hung on tight as her eyes unclouded and her mind reoriented itself. It was only then that rough leathery material in her hand shifted. Loki raised his arm, pulling Jane with him. She continued to cling to him, blinking stupidly at his chiselled features. It hit her all too late that they probably shouldn’t be doing this. 

“Uh…” Jane said, stepping away and almost slipping again. “Thanks. Sorry.”

Loki pocketed his hands and glided across the ice patches, like he controlled them as much as he did everything else in his life. “Do be more careful next time.”

“Right.” Jane shuffled after her, head bowed, face boiling. 

This was going to be a long Christmas.

[mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog]

The Batman x Reader Ep.1 THE BAT IN THE BELFRY

I’ve never done an xReader before, but I’ve always wanted to. So this is my attempt at an xReader.

It is mainly based off of The Batman, meaning most of it will be pulled directly from the show itself and the reader will just be inserted. This is where you can find the series. Some parts will be removed while others added, please watch the show and understand that I am taking things from the show directly.

 Please be kind to me when you leave your thoughts on how I did.

*Line Break Inc.*

You hear Rupert Thorne breath heavily as Bruce hid in the shadows, causing the mobster a scare. “He’s here.” Thorne breath out in anticipation, his voice barely being picked up by Bruce’s mic.

You always feel better with his mic turned up all the way so you could hear what was going on while he crusaded around Gotham, so in case anything were to happen, either you or Alfred would be able to respond immediately.

“Where, Mr. Thorne?” One thug with a terrible scratch to his throat, you felt bad for his throat and felt like you should send that thug some cough drops.

The next few moments were confused sounds and soft thuds as Bruce continued to mess with the mobsters.

“There! I-I I saw him!” Oh, Thorne just sounded plain desperate at this pointed, thinking he himself have gone crazy.

“Wha…What’s that?” You started to type into the batcomputer looking up that thug’s name and where you could send some cough drops to. A louder thud this time, something was dropped.

“Take him!” Thorne had demanded his lackeys. You just roll your eyes as you continue to find information on the thugs, apparently there is two of them there. Turning away from the computer once you have sent in the requests of two bags of cough drops to be sent to them, you turn back to the pile of essays that you have to read and grade.

Sounds of Bruce fighting two lackeys that have not had his training, and are such easily taken down, come through as you mark up one essay.

“Okay… uhhh, we split the take 30, 70.” Thorne sounded nervous.

You smirk as you write something on another essay, “Only thirty percent?” You made a noise of disapproval. “Drop his ass.” You could physically feel Bruce restrain himself from smirking.

Your heard Thorne gasp out before stuttering over his second offer. “50, 50.”

“Weak!” You called to no one, not even paying attention to the comm feed anymore trusting Bruce to wrap things up from that point.

Thud from landing and panting from running was heard as Bruce most likely had to pursue the mobster. A loud impact was heard over the comm before Rupert Thorne moaned out, “Whoa… How you do that?”

“I’m the Batman.”

You started laughing at Bruce’s response.

“‘I’m the Batman.’” You laughed some more at your pour intimidation of Bruce’s dubbed ‘Batman’ voice, “Were you trying to intimidate the guy?”

“Yes.” Bruce sounded like he was deeply offended, but you just couldn’t stop laughing.

You had been with Bruce for two years and had been helping him with the whole capped crusader for the past year. A chance meeting had turned into so much more.

You had taken a deep breath as you start to clean up the essay’s scattered around the desk leaving Bruce to drive home in quiet, so he didn’t run over anything or anyone. You were surprised by Alfred placing a cake with three candles on it on one end of the desk. Raising an eyebrow in questioning Alfred simply held a finger to his lips and turned around, hiding the cake from view when Bruce rolled in.

Bruce came up the pole and took off his cowl, smiling at the two of you.

“Surprise.” The first word out of the butler’s mouth. Alfred lead Bruce over to the cake, only adding to both of your confusions.

“I’m touched Alfred. But my birthday is not until October.” Bruce spoke the truth. He was 26 when he became the Batman, and when he met you, Bruce had only just turned 29.

“It’s an anniversary, Master Bruce. 3 years ago, tonight, you first dawned cape and cowl.” The father figure of your lover’s life explained to the two you with disbelief, most likely because neither of you remembered.

“Crime flies.” You mumble as you snuggle into Bruce’s side while you both looked at the three burning candles.

“Chop Chop. Make a wish.”

Bruce stood there for a moment before attempting, “I wish…” He didn’t seem to be able to get them out the first time, so he tried again. “I wish…” Only to meet with the same results. Instead he closed his eyes and hugged you a little closer.

“I wish they were here too. Very much so.” Alfred spoke from the other side with his hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

“To the memory of Thomas and Martha Wayne.” Bruce leaned forward blowing out the candles. “The reason I became the Batman.”

*Line Break Inc.*

“Chief Rojas, can you verify rumors that it was the Batman that apprehended crime boss, Rubert Thorn and his gang last night?” You paused in getting ready to leave for work, a proud high school English teacher, to take in what the police had to say about last night.

“Do you know of anyone who actually seen this Batman?” The Chief of police actually had the audacity to put finger quotes around ‘Batman’. You leaned over the back of the couch that Bruce sat on eating his breakfast.

“I uhm…” The reporter fumbled for an answer.

“Because he’s what’s called an “Urban Legend”.” Those dang finger quotes once more.

“Why that cheeky…” Both you and Bruce looked over to Alfred with slightly raised eyebrows. “Brand flakes sir.” Alfred leaned over and poured more into Bruce’s bowel.

“Easy Alfred. The Batman is right where he likes, hovering below the radar.”

“You never did like taking the spotlight for yourself.” You leaned over even more to give Bruce a kiss on the cheek while the news continued on.

“Well there you have it. In only 3 years time, our crime rate has plummeted to a nationwide low. Thanks to Gotham’s finest. Back to you, Jim.”

“Next up, Billionaire Bruce Wayne contributes an unprecedented sum to Gotham Children’s Hospital.” Bruce held up a hand which you automatically slapped, all without looking at one another. “And in Sports, Gators kick off a new season with tonight’s home game.” Bruce turned the TV off, allowing you to finish getting ready for work, and Bruce to start getting ready.

“Which billionaire Bruce Wayne and his girlfriend (Y/N) (Y/LN) will be there to enjoy.” Bruce set his bowl down as Alfred held out two tickets. “Your season tickets, sir and madam.”

“Ohh, tonight? Aw, but I had…” Bruce started to whine like causing you to straighten your back and fold your arms over your chest.

“Work to do in the Batcave?” Bruce looked behind him to you.

“For the Batman to remain under the radar, Bruce Wayne must occasionally venture above it.” Alfred spoke before Bruce could retaliate.

The billionaire sighed before looking back to you, “Pick you up from your apartment or the academy?”

“My apartment will do just fine.” You gave him a smile and a quick peck on the cheek before finishing getting ready for work.

*Line Break Inc.*

“You know,” Bruce leaned over to whisper into your ear while you tried to make sense of the game. Sports are not a specialty of yours. “I once toyed with the idea of buying the Gators.” You turned your head ever so slightly with a single raised eyebrow, waiting for the punch line. “Buying them lunch.”

“Weak.” You look back to the game while Bruce gave the most offended sounds.

“That is some of my best stuff.”

“Then you need,” You were interrupted by a beeping from his suit coat pocket. You bit your lip and looked over to Bruce who looked at the phone like item. “to be the bat?”

“Major Arkham breakout, all cells in the east wing.” Bruce didn’t look up until he finished speaking. Bruce put the item away and put his arm back around your shoulders. “I can look at the evidence after the police have left, like usual.”

“Bruce, it’s Arkham. The police aren’t going to leave anytime soon.”

“All the better to wait after the game.” A moment of silence came between the two of you before Bruce stood up and held his hand out to you. “The camera just rolled over us, Alfred knows that we were here. So does most of Gotham.”

“Time to be the bat then, I guess.” The two of you smirk at each other before you take his hand and sneak out of the game together.

The two of you got into the alleyway connected to the building, you called the bike while Bruce called the car. The motorcycle stopped right in front of you while the car almost ran over Bruce. “Gotta work on though stops.” You rolled your eyes and went to change behind a dumpster while Bruce changed in the batmobile. Your emergency suit, worn only when Bruce needed a pickup, is skintight and has a marble effect of navy blue and silver.

Just as you are about to put your helmet on you walk over the batmobile and tap on its window. Bruce opens the top, already in his suit and buckled, ready to drive off. You give him a chaste kiss on the lips and said against his lips, “Come back to me alive.” 

While you walked back to the batbike you put the helmet on. Sadly no comm in the helmet so you don’t have a chance to talk with Bruce as he heads to Arkham and you to the Batcave.

You get back to the batcave and turn on the comm just in time for you to hear Bruce comment, “That was theatrical.”

“What was?” You asked while changing back into your date clothes. A white off the shoulder shirt with bell sleeves, blue skinny jeans and nude sandal heels, one of your more favored date outfits.

“Someone just blew up the bridge to Arkham, not allowing the police over to prison.”

“Someone wants to be alone.”

The two of you were quite while Bruce slipped through Arkham without alerting the police outside. At the same time you sat the computer working through Arkham’s system to get to the security cameras so you could see everything.

“Takes after his Pa wouldn’t you say?” You heard a new voice over the comm.

“Who is that?” You abandone hacking into the system to focus on Bruce and whoever it is that he is confronting.

“What did you do to him?” Bruce asked instead.

“Just some laughing gas, drag. Don’t tell me you’re… not an inmate? What rational being dresses like you? And speaking of threads, think that this is a good look for me?”

“Who are you?”

“Finally asking the right questions.” You mumble as you get back to the task of hacking into the system. Which is taking longer than necessary, while your father worked IT your whole life and taught you how to fix just about any problem a computer could be having, he never taught you how to hack into another computer or system that wasn’t right in front of you.

“Joker.”

“Not what, Who?” Bruce argued, his patience running thin.

“Smear free. It’s perma-clown! Ohh, tough crowd. Look! Nothing up my sleeves!” The Joker is mentally twisted. You can tell just by the way that he chuckles. “Nothing that won’t put a smile on your face. Say cheese!” The Joker’s pure laugh was worse than his chuckle. “I’m out of gas…”

“And I am out of patience!” You heard something rip and you just hopped that it wasn’t anything important.

“We know how to spoil a coming out party. How do you expect me to spread mirth and whimsy without a proper hideout?!?”

“Bats, he needs help. Like real help and not the kind that Arkham offers.” You had finally gotten through the system and are now looking through the cameras trying to find the one with Bruce and the Joker.

“Listen Joker, you’re sick. You need help.”

“Well, maybe I am a little off.” You heard grunts and a thud like a body landing on the ground. Just as the Joker started speaking once more you found the right camera. “But what are you going to do? Lock me in the loony bin? I’m already here!” No audio from the cameras, but you have audio from the comms, so you weren’t worried, too badly.

You watched Bruce get up and start to fight the Joker.

“You know, I really love this place. My old hideout a shamble, and these digs just scream me!” They stopped for a moment letting you listen to the Joker pant and Bruce breath heavier, like he just finished a workout. “Okay…Take back the asylum but mark my words: this town has happy days ahead!” You had followed the fight through the cameras and had followed the Joker the same way until the cameras had stopped working and you weren’t able to follow him anymore.

“Smile Gotham!” You hear the Joker’s voice and you leap back through the cameras until landing on the one with Bruce, only to find him laying on the ground with some sort of contraption in the hallway.

“Cameras went out a few hallways down and I can’t track him anymore.” You sigh while leaning back into the chair.

“I’m headed back to the cave. With some evidence.”

“I’ll see if I can get Alfred to warm up some dinner for us.”

“Play a bit of buffer for me?”

“Get him use to the thought that we both skipped out the game and that you have evidence that we’ll be going over tonight and possibly tomorrow.”

You stand up and go up to the manor, receive a lecture from Alfred and help him make two plates, one for you and one for Bruce. When you both had gotten back to the cave Bruce was already back with someone on the gurney.

“Sir? A stranger in the Batcave?” Alfred spoke for the two of you, but once you had seen his face you dropped the plates you were holding for yourself and Bruce before covering your mouth with your hands. The feeling of bile in your throat. The mans face stretched to the extreme with a sick smile that had stretched his lips so wide and big they were bleeding, and his eyes, the pupils were barely there, so much of them were white.

“Tonight, we’ll make an exception.” Bruce walked away from the body and over to you, wrapping you up in a hug hiding the body from your view.

“Oh my, chap could use a dentist.” You wanted to smack Alfred for that comment.

“Or a medic.” Bruce looked over to Alfred.

“Right then.” Sounded like Alfred regretted his comment after seeing your state, thankfully enough.

Bruce walked you into the manor and into your bedroom where he took your shoes off and helped you lay down before quickly changing in the bathroom and joining you in bed, wrapping you up in his arms, seemingly to protect you from the world.

*Line Break Inc.*

“Chief Rojas, any suspects yet on this bizarre Jack in the Box hostage incident?” You and Bruce were listening to the news on the radio. Your head in his lap and his finger carding through your hair. You were taking the Saturday to just relax and not fret over the body down in the cave, which you will not be going down to until the body is gone. And Bruce was still working on the case, thankfully outside of the cave.

“I’m not at liberty to reveal whom.” You heard the chief say over the radio.

“They have no leads.” You mumble out being put to sleep by Bruce’s fingers.

“But, I feel confident our best detectives are closing in on them as we speak.”

You heard the radio turn off before you heard Alfred speak, “And Gotham Gator fans Bruce Wayne and (Y/N) (Y/LN) with nearly an alibi.”

“How’s our patient?” Bruce asked about the body instead of commenting on their absences at the game.

“Despite the ghastly grimace, fit as a fiddle. Poor fellow is simply a prisoner in his own body.”

“A sample of Joker’s Gas is our only hope of deriving an antidote. And I need to find it, before this madman puts a permanent smile on all of Gotham.” Bruce didn’t speak for a moment, his fingers stopping in your hair causing you to wake up and look up at him. “If I find the old hideout, I find this Joker.”

Just as you open your mouth to give him hope, Alfred spoke up. “Master Bruce, someone to see you.” You sit up as Bruce asks who it is, the door to the personal family room opened revealing Detective Ethan Bennet, one of the leading detective’s in the GCPD. “The police.” Alfred spoke in the most obvious of tones, some reason feeling the need to announce Detective Bennet’s presence though they all could see him.

“Detective, am I under arrest?” Bruce stood up first hiding the card he was looking at in his back pocket. You stood up as well and grabbed onto the arm that had put the card in his pocket. It was a tense moment before Ethan started laughing and the face you had pulled at the police officer.

“Yo Bruce!” Ethan, Bruce’s best friend since high school. The same high school that you currently teach at.

“Hey! Ethan!” You release Bruce so the two of them could do their strange man hug.

“Where’d you been my friend?” The detective had released Bruce and held him at arm’s length.

Thankfully Alfred answered before either Bruce or your self could fumble out an answer. “Master Bruce and Madam (Y/N) were at the game last night.”

“Speaking of, thought we were on set to shoot some hoops last week.” Ethan faked a punch to Bruce’s shoulder which Bruce dodged and faked one of his own.

“You’re not the only one that he’s skipping out on plans on.” Ethan stopped their fake boxing match and looked over at you for a moment before doubling over in laughter.

“You said that you’d never do that to (Y/N)!” He cackled some more, causing a not fond, fresh memory of the Joker’s laughter. “But here you are! Skipping out on (Y/N)! (Y/N) man! The woman you literally have never shut up about.” Ethan had wrapped an arm around Bruce’s neck and brought his head down so Ethan could rub his knuckles against Bruce’s head.

“Hey, what happens on the court stays on the court.” Bruce was annoying good at that whining thing.

“We never agreed to what was said on the court.”

“Well we should!”

“Not in this lifetime!” Bruce had gotten Ethan’s arm from around his neck just as Alfred came back with a tray of three mugs, emanating steam, and a brush. 

You took the brush and helped Bruce straighten out his hair while Bruce took both of your mugs and waited for you to finish with his hair before moving. He gave you your mug just as you handed the brush back to Alfred. The butler placed the brush on the tray and handed Ethan his own mug.

The three walked over to the chairs and couches, on the way Bruce asked, “So, why the sudden visit?”

“Not that we are complaining.” You reassured Ethan while sitting next to Bruce on one of the couches.

Ethan sat on the chair next to Bruce before leaning back into it with a sigh. “Just, I needed to talk to someone. Other than the guys at the station I mean. This is going to sound weird Bruce, but last night, I saw the Batman.” Across the room Alfred had dropped a vase shattering it on the ground causing you three to look over to see if he was okay.

“Only a Ming.” Alfred told the three of you. “And no, Madam (Y/N), I do not need help.” You pouted as you picked your mug off of the coffee table and took an annoying loud sip from it.

“So, he’s for real? What does he look like?” Bruce looked back to Ethan while patting your knee.

“Dude like you or me. ‘Cept he wears Bat jammas.” You hid your snickers in your mug while Ethan got to openly chuckle. “Tough part’s this Bruce, I really believe the Bats helping Gotham. Even if he is on the wrong side of the law, but he is getting a bad rap and the heats on me to take him down.” A moment of silence washed over the three of you, you tried to think of ways to help your boyfriend best friend. A glance at a picture frame on the coffee table had you smiling.

“Why don’t you two go play a few rounds of HORSE in the back?” You gave the two of them a gentle smile while taking Bruce’s mug from him and placed it on the coffee table. The two men looked to one another before racing to the backyard.

*Line Break Inc.*

The next day you were driving in your car on your way to meet up with a friend, after having spent the night at your own apartment not being able to be in the Manor and not be in the Batcave with Alfred and that body, listening to the news as the reporter talked about a hot air balloon in the sky last night over Gotham. The reporter went on to say the culprit was caught in Gotham Bay and was now serving time in Arkham.

Once you reached the park you were meeting your friend in, you looked to your phone seeing that you have received a text from Bruce.

BW: I missed you last night. Still do, and I wish you have a safe day.

(You): I missed you too. Just being in the Manor and in our room when you’re out crusading, doesn’t sit right with me. Even then I didn’t really sleep last night. I didn’t know for a fact that you had gotten back alive and safe. I am glad that you are alive to see another day.

BW: You called it our room.

(You): Don’t you have a meeting or something?

BW: On a Sunday?

You didn’t text him back once you saw your friend and the picnic that they had laid out. You can continue to argue with your boyfriend, once you have spent time with your friend.

*Line Break Inc.*

Mean while in Arkham Asylum. A guard, the same one that fell victim to the Joker Gas, was walking down a hallway checking rooms. “Steiner... Check… Mcswang… Check... 223… New Arrival… Check.”

Joker gave a laugh before speaking, though the guard had already moved on. “They all said I was sick in the head. They said, “I needed help.” Well, maybe I am a bit batty. Blame it on the Bats in my Belfry.”  The Joker gave his trademark laugh, even though he is locked up tight.

[spongeekat]

Life as a Super powered Omega Sucks (Chapter 3)

read on ao3

Masterlist Here

“So we’re just hanging around until you need us?”

“Pretty much. Is that an issue?”

“No, Mr. Stark.” Peter answered immediately, before the dejected tone in his voice could be called out. He glanced over at Wade, who was grinning mockingly at him.

“ No, Mr. Stark .” Wade repeated in a whispered girlish tone, and Peter grabbed a pillow to launch at his face. It was a little harder than he intended, he could admit, especially when the impact caused Wade to go tumbling off the side of his bed.

“Great. Things were a little difficult today with Romanoff and she had a close call when she was nearly discovered. Once we verify that our blueprints of the armory are correct, we’ll commence with our plans. Until then, we have to assure that we have no chance of alerting these guys to our presence. You two have a funny way of drawing attention to yourselves.” Mr Stark paused on the other end of the line, and his voice lowered suspiciously. “You haven’t done anything to make people notice you, have you?”

“Uhhh…” Peter paused thoughtfully, scratching the side of his head. The bed shifted underneath him, Wade pathetically crawling back up onto the mattress like a wounded puppy. “I don’t think so. Besides like, the usual going out for food and stuff.”

“Terrific. So you’re already pulling your weight. Sorry, kid, I know this probably sounded faster paced and more exciting at the meeting, but things sometimes have to take their time. SHIELD has been planning the dismantlement of these terrorists longer than you’ve been Spider-Man.”

“It’s okay. Just happy to help.”

“If babysitting Diaperpool gets too annoying, call me or Steve. We’ll send someone over to muzzle him until he’s needed.”

“Wade’s been fine. Annoying, but fine.” Peter returned, snickering at Wade’s offended expression.

“I gotta go before Barton and Romanoff decide to sneak off and mess with Coulson. Stay safe.”

“Will do, Mr. Stark. Thanks.”

Mr Stark hung up with a click, leaving Peter to stare at his burner with disappointment. He’d hoped things would maybe have progressed further, especially considering he was usually consistently busy in his daily life, and at the present moment, he was so insanely bored he almost wished he had a term paper due tomorrow. It wasn’t like they could go sight-seeing, either; the others had made it painfully clear that they were to stay put in the small city until someone came to collect them.

He still had more pressing matters hanging over his head as well, and every hour he spent on suppressants he felt like he was going insane.

Peter had taken his fourth dose of suppressants a few hours back, and he could already feel his body begging to be let off of them. His skin was hypersensitive, and even the brush of a blanket was enough to make him throw the entire comforter onto the floor. Wade had been his only distraction- his presence somehow endearing despite the fact his scent was overwhelming at times- but even witty banter wasn’t enough to keep his focus entirely off of the symptoms plaguing his system. He quietly turned his head towards the window, peering past sheer curtains to stare at the sky dripping with thick, grey clouds. The dreary town seemed just a bit heavier, especially with the trickling of rain pattering against the paths and pulling up dirt into the air.

He just wanted to feel needed. Was that too much to ask?

“Sooo, we’re sitting ducks?” Wade asked from behind Peter, and he felt Wade inching closer towards him. He shot a look back at the man, who retreated to instead stand a foot or so away. “Wanna go out?”

“We’ve looked through the entire place twice. I don’t think we’re gonna find any new food places just because we walk around again.” Peter groaned.

“No, no, no, I don’t mean here. We’re, what, 45 minutes out of Moscow? You’d love it there, Pete! I know you said some other time, but I can tell you’re going crazy here, and I’m supposed to be the only unstable one.”

Peter sat without a word, waiting in amusement for him to say he was joking. The look of determination on Wade’s face made him realize he was dead serious. “Moscow? Just so we can mess everything up if someone recognizes you?”

“Not the nice parts with cameras and mafias, obviously. The shitty parts is where you have all the fun. And anyone who recognizes me there probably paid me to kill their rich cousin at some point. We could find a party, or an orgy if that’s more your style. Oooo, you’ve never been to a party, have you? It’d be so fun!” Wade didn’t respect Peter’s wish for space this time, bounding directly onto the bed to sit inside his personal bubble. “Russian parties are the coolest, because there’s no rules and everyone here is fucking depressing. So they go hard to have a little bit of fun before drowning their sadness in vodka.”

“I’m not going to a party. Or another city. I’m not leaving the hotel room. Mr. Stark would kill me.” Peter said in irritation, rolling off the bed to stand near the window. The breeze coming through reminded him of his pathetic blanket and uncomfortable bed he’d have to huddle for warmth again that night, as he grimaced. “This is my one chance to prove I can do things right.”

“And you still will! Just after having a wild night.”

Peter stared at him wordlessly.

“Okay, a slightly crazy night that you don’t wake up too hungover from.”

“Wade.”

“Fine, fine, Pete, be a drag. But I’m getting on the next party train to Moscow with or without you. And I really hope it’s with you, because I need my arm candy to get into these things. Looking like a burn victim only gets me so far, honey buns.” Wade jumped off Peter’s bed, crossing towards the door. When he reached it, he threw a look back over his shoulder with the saddest puppy-dog look he could muster. “You can still go on this infiltration mission later. You’re travelling. I know you don’t usually have the money to do that. Why not enjoy it for one night? You deserve a reward for being a hero every once in a while.”

Peter sucked in a breath, but didn’t comment. He didn’t deserve anything. He had the power to help people, so he was obligated to do whatever he could.

But as Wade left, Peter could feel the comfort he’d had in his presence ebbing out of his body as well, being replaced by the tense achiness he’d been feeling for the past 2 days. Being left alone sounded like the last thing he wanted right now- even though it was usually how he preferred to spend days he didn’t feel so hot- and he wasn’t so sure Wade would even make it back to their motel in one piece if left alone to make bad decisions.

If Mr Stark were here, he would tell Peter not to listen to Wade and to stay put as he was instructed to do. But Mr Stark wasn’t here, and Wade’s reasoning for why he should go was weighing heavily on his mind. He didn’t get to travel often and so far he was spending this vacation couped up in a small town waiting to be useful for an hour. Who cares how he spent the other 96, so long as he didn’t jeopardize the mission?

He was pulling his shoes on quicker than he could make a decision, and had his door locked and a dose of suppressants in his back pocket a moment later. Wade lit up when he stepped out into the hall to find Peter already waiting for him.

“Glad to see you still know how to have fun.” The merc beamed, extending an escorting arm to Peter he refused to take. “I promise I’ll make rebelling worth it.”

“No Moscow.” Peter said, his voice stiff. “But there was that cool looking bar up the road- the one with the skylight? - and we still have enough cash to get both of us at least mildly drunk, right?”

“I like the way you think, Spidey.” Wade chuckled, leading them down the grimy hallway towards the exit of the hotel. “I’ll drag you to Moscow or Paris some other time. And if we run out of money for drinks, I’ve got a few Xanys in my back pocket. Either way, I can’t wait to see what you’re like when you’re fucked up, baby boy.”

--

Wade spent the entire walk there detailing his past crazy adventures and near-death experiences when visiting Russia. Peter nearly regretted agreeing to follow him, particularly when he started to delve into the R-rated details, but he had to admit the distraction was nice. Even the worry that Mr. Stark would find out where they’d gone was preferable to sitting alone in his room, trying to ignore the cramps deep in his abdomen.

The bar exterior was a bit busier than it had been the night before, but this spot seemed to be the only social gathering place in the entire town, so it wasn’t a surprise to find a mixture of people of all ages laughing and drinking with one another. Music played faintly from inside- some Russian pop music, Peter guessed- and the lights inside were dim, making it conveniently easier for Peter and Wade to keep up some anonymity.

Wade pushed through the doorway with a grip on Peter’s wrist to drag him, the back of Wades body melting into a dark blob as they entered the space. As they approached the actual bar, Wade drew Peter up next to him, giving him a toothy grin. “What do you normally order?”

“At..bars?” Peter asked, hushing his voice. “I’m 20. I’ve never been inside of one.”

Wade chuckled in a way that made Peter’s face immediately light up in embarrassment, leaning cooly against the counter. “You’re a superhero, friends with a billionaire scientist that has access to all his cool gadgets and gizmos and shit, and spend your nights probably stopping bar hits, and you don’t have a fake ID?”

“No? I mean my friend and I have drank like wine coolers and stuff before from her parents’ fridge.”

“You’re lucky the drinking age here is 18, you’re cute enough that no one can say no to that face, and I can speak the language.”

Wade turned to speak to the bartender as Peter’s stomach twisted, and he waited impatiently beside him to get their drinks so he could get some space back between him and Wade’s overpowering scent.

It took a minute of negotiation for Wade to finally get the man to fork over 2 double-shots and 2 mixed drinks, and Wade passed him a bill that looked way too big for the amount of alcohol they were handed. Peter grabbed his offered glasses and they picked their way through the crowd to an open loveseat furthest from the speakers to protect Peter’s sensitive hearing, and give them their privacy from the rest of the bar goers.

“Bottoms up, Petey pie!” Wade saluted with his shot, making Peter mimic the motion.

As they both chugged their shot, Peter couldn’t help but think that was definitely how he wanted to be right now with the hormones raging through his system, effectively making him choke on the last ounce of alcohol.

“Whoaaa, you really are inexperienced, huh?” Wade laughed, patting Peter on the back as he sputtered for air. “You gotta hang out with me more if you can’t even handle a vodka shot.”

“I-I’m fine.” Peter gagged, finally managing to get oxygen back to his lungs as his throat stopped spasming in alarm. He settled back into the cushions of the loveseat as far from Wade as he could get without making it obvious he was avoiding him, but the merc made no comment on the increased distance.

“You can wash it down with your martini.”

“I at least know what that is, and it’s definitely not gonna help.”

“Worth a try.”

Peter rolled his eyes and reached for it anyways, to give him something to do with his hands. The feeling of the alcohol sitting warm in his stomach at least helped to mask some of his other symptoms, which he was grateful for.

“So, I know they gave you the choice to stay in an actual house and not in some sleazy town more infested with bugs than Stark’s pubic hair.” Wade mused as he took shockingly large drinks of his own martini. “Why’d you pick here?”

“They don’t know my face or name or...anything else about me. At least, everyone but Mr Stark.” Peter stared into the glass, briefly considering telling Wade the predicament he was in. Wade was kind, and he was the one who was least likely to judge him for being an omega, or try to get him to drop the mission. But he was also a blabbermouth, and Peter wasn’t sure he wouldn’t sell his secret out for street cred with the rest of the team. “Plus, I don’t think I’d ever have the guts to do this if I was stuck in a house with Natasha. She’d have me running laps for hours or Clint would make me clean his bows or something.”

“While they got it on in the other room?”

“Ew.” Peter reeled automatically, then really considered it and looked incredulously at Wade. “You don’t think they’re…?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Wade laughed.

“I didn’t think about it.” Peter paused, then repeated, “Ew.”

---

An hour later, Wade had spent way too much of their money shoveling shots down Peter’s throat, and the both of them had successfully gotten pretty tipsy.

The later it got, the louder the other patrons grew, which meant Peter and Wade could giggle stupidly over cheesy jokes while remaining inconspicuous among the public eye. Peter could feel a slight tingle on the surface of his skin, which meant he’d have to head back to the hotel soon, but he was admittedly having too much fun to be overly-cautious. He hadn’t let go and relaxed like this in over a year, and sitting so close to Wade just felt good in ways he couldn’t really explain.

And of course, as soon as the universe had handed him one good moment, it was ready to give him two bad ones.

The chorus of Take on Me started to play from Peter’s pocket, his burner ringtone, and he reached clumsy fingers to dig for the device.

“A-ha! Gotta say, I love your choices.” Wade drawled, strewn out over the loveseat.

Peter managed to fumble the cheap flip-phone open, and the initials TS made his heart stop in his chest. “M-Mr. Stark.”

Panic punched into Peter’s gut, and his stomach gave an unbidden lurch. He gaped at the screen, feeling as if the phone call was his martini playing with his eyes. Yet, after a few gasps of air to steady his nerves, he determined it really was Mr Stark calling him.

“You gonna answer?” Wade was gazing down at the name over his shoulder, closer than Peter remembered, which only served to make him jump.

“I have to, I think.” Peter swallowed, hopping off the couch as his mind whirled. The heat symptoms were a bit worse now, amplified by the sudden panic. “Um, I’ll be back.”

He staggered to the entrance of the bar, past a few concerned onlookers that whispered incoherently- likely about the stress evident in his expression. Peter stepped out onto the lightly populated street, gulping down frozen air, before he finally clicked the green ‘answer’ button and pulled the phone to his ear.

“H-Hi, Mr. Stark.” Peter smiled stupidly into the air, trying to remember what he sounded like sober. “Um, what’s up?”

“Checking in. I feel like I was too short with you earlier. I know it can’t be easy to sit around in a gross hotel and being kept in the dark due to SHIELD clearance.”

“I’m okay!” Peter insisted in a forceful manner, biting his lip to keep from letting his mouth wander into a tangent as he often did when nervous. “I mean, I’m having a good time.” He stopped. “I mean, it’s not that bad.”

“Right.” Mr Stark responded with apprehension. “I just wanted to be sure. Surprisingly. I do have a shred of a conscience and know you weren’t entirely thrilled about this mission in the first place.”  

“Yeah, yeah but I’m like totally glad to help.”

“And it’s appreciated. ”

Peter didn’t have a good response, so he fell silent for God-knows-how-long, unable to actually tell due to the alcohol in his system.

“ Are you drunk right now?”

The accusation made the vodka that had settled in his stomach turn ice-cold.

Peter wracked his brain for an answer, though it was clear Mr. Stark had already made up his mind.

He disappeared from the line for a moment, cursing with a hostile tone under his breath, before returning with an aggressive hmph of breath. “ You’ve got to be shitting me. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I-I, I was just-”

“ You weren’t thinking is the simple answer. You never do. You know this isn’t just about you, or the Avengers, or proving to SHIELD I wasn’t completely insane for thinking a 20 year old was competent enough to work with us. This is about proving to me you weren't the child you were when I met you. But it looks like I was wrong. ”

Peter felt a stab of pain in his gut, and tears sprung to his eyes. Oh god, he couldn’t start crying now, standing outside of a bar and looking pathetically out of place. Mr Stark’s words hurt, and they made him feel sick to his stomach. The last thing he had ever wanted to do was break his trust or disappoint him.

“ I’m sorry, Mr Stark.”

“Sorry’s aren’t good enough. You’re too smart for this, Peter. I’m disappointed.”  

Peter felt another sharp strike in his abdomen, and he faltered. It was different. This wasn’t just guilt wringing his insides. Below the top layer of his skin, he could feel a slight fever beginning. Shit.  

“ I’m coming to get you.”

“ No!” Peter blurted out, berating himself silently a moment later. “I-I mean I’m...I’m not at the hotel right now. Wade and I went out to a bar in town and he’s in the bathroom right now. Plus I-I still gotta pack.”

Mr Stark made an upset noise. “ Fine. I’m driving over when the sun comes up in the morning, then. Don’t do anything else to fuck up any worse, got it? ”

“Yes, sir.” Peter swallowed, curling his fingers tighter around the phone. The cramps were hitting hard. His entire stomach felt like it was being flooded with fire. “I’m really sorry.”

“ Drink water and try to eat something before you go to bed. The last thing we need is to explain a hangover to Coulson in the morning .” Mr Stark paused with a sigh, clearly distressed. “ I know you’re young. I know you wanna do things kids your age should be doing. But you can’t be both a kid and an Avenger. You have to pick one or the other. I’ll call you when I’m almost there.”

The phone call ended as Peter’s breath hitched, and he leaned back against the wall of the bar, clutching his stomach. His eyes burned and his body was giving clear warning signs of impending heat symptoms. They had to get back, before Peter threw up vodka and everything he’d eaten for 2 days in Shcherbinka, or worse- broke down into tears.

He just had to find-

“Ooooooh shit. Did I get you in trouble?”

Peter started as he stood straight, Wade watching him from the entrance of the bar.

Peter ran fingertips fast under his eyes but it seemed to be too late, the merc striding towards him with concern strewn across his features.

“Petey, hey, what’s up?” Wade asked in a softer voice, maintaining his distance but holding out a comforting hand. “Was he that mad? Fuck, baby boy, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think he’d find out.”

“Let’s head back.” Peter muttered, brushing his hand out of the way so he could head down the sidewalk. He could feel Wade walking behind him, but was grateful that he gave him his space.

------

Peter nearly jumped out of his skin when there was a pounding at the door.

In reality, it was likely just a normal-volumed knock, but the pressure in his head was growing exponentially, and coupled with his distraction, he hadn’t heard anyone approaching. His grasp tightened around the syringe in his fingers, feeling the glass splintering slightly, but he finally released it onto the top of his TV stand and pulled himself to his feet. For reasons beyond his control he felt annoyed at being interrupted. Even if the person on the other side of the door didn’t know the suffering he was subjecting himself to at the moment, his shoulders were tense and he was ready to give them an earful about invading his space. It was close to midnight. Who felt the need to show up and bother him now? All he wanted was to crawl into bed and wind the covers tight around himself, so tight he would be unable to breathe- just to feel surrounded by warmth and darkness. Not answer the door to some late night housemaid or the receptionist trying to remind him he was checking out tomorrow.

He yanked the door open until it nearly slammed against the wall, ready to snap, when Wade’s face came into view. He stopped, swallowing back all the surprise rooted in his stomach, and managed a meek “what?”

“I forgot to give you back your wallet.” Wade said as he held out the pleather tri-fold, staring strangely at Peter. He knew he probably looked wild-eyed and angry, but he was barely keeping himself in control at this point. Everything felt uncomfortable in his body, as if his muscles couldn’t find a point in which they didn’t feel strained. “Petey? You look like shit. Is Iron Man being an Iron Bitch still bothering you?”

“No, it’s nothing.” Peter muttered and reached for his wallet. He tensed when Wade’s gloves wrapped around his lithe wrist, squeezing lightly. The pressure was enough to set his skin on fire, and he couldn’t bring himself to move away from the contact.

Alpha…

“Hey, hey, you’re shaking.” Wade’s voice was clearly concerned now, and Peter cursed his inability to drop things. He made another move for his wallet, but the other drew it further back. “Are you sick? Peter?”

“I’m fine.” Peter grunted, his eyes blearily focusing on the texture of Wade’s sleeve. This close to Wade his scent was intoxicating, stronger than it ever had been, and the smell of burnt pine and expired rain wafted up through his head. It made him dizzy, and electricity sparked over his arms and down into his stomach. His scent alone was enough to make him quiver.

Suddenly, his pants felt too tight, and the realization of what Wade’s presence was doing to him had his dreary vision snapping back into focus. But it was too late, because the taller man was already steering him back into the room towards the bed.

“Do you need anything? I can run to the store, or call Daddy Stark or something. I don’t want you dropping dead on me, baby boy.” Wade’s mouth was so close behind his head, Peter imagined he could feel his hot breath on his ear and neck. Every step they took towards the bed was another cramp knotting in his stomach, and he wanted to scream from the pressure. Suppressants were supposed to eliminate the symptoms of heat, not just stop it in its wake. But he’d also never been on them for 2 days before, so he wasn’t sure when their effectiveness started to falter. “Here, lay down. I’ll get you all snug and then I’ll grab anything you want.”

Alpha… smells good.

Peter’s body moved on its own, making the painful crawl into his covers, before he collapsed in the middle of the bed onto his back, dropping his head back in the pillows. The world spun a bit before his eyes finally settled on Wade, who was sitting on the edge of the mattress staring at him. He gazed down at his arms, his pulsing muscles begging to be released from the tight hoodie material, and trailed back up to his broad shoulders and neck. Everything about Wade screamed dominance and strength, and his omega side was begging him to reach out to be held. Still, Wade didn’t seem to be paying attention to him, his eyes cast lower down on the bed. Peter followed his gaze, trailing over the blankets and down to his hips, where the blankets had stopped.

His erection was standing tall in his jeans, making every effort to escape the confines of the uncomfortable fabric and seek out Wade’s attention. And Wade was staring directly at it.

His expression was unreadable,  but Peter assumed he was completely freaked out as to why his friend had a clear hard-on after being touched by him, and he grabbed a pillow to shove down on his waist.

“Oh my god.” Peter whispered in mortification, his voice gravelly. He squeezed his eyes shut as the heat in his stomach rose to mirror on his cheeks, rolling onto his side just so Wade would stop gawking at him. “I-I’m so sorry, I’m just tired and you showed up and I can’t help it-...”

“Me?” Wade finally asked, his voice a pitch lower and focused. Peter felt the bed shift, and then a hand lightly settled onto his shoulder, as if he would break him if he put any weight on him. “Pumpkin, hey, it’s okay, look at me.”

Peter shook his head, refusing to face the humiliation as he buried his face further into the pillows. He wanted to scream and cry at the same time, and curse his biology for being so fucking inconvenient it was ruining everything about this weekend. Why couldn’t he just be a beta? Why an omega? Why did the world hate him so much?

Wade applied a bit more pressure onto his shoulder and forced him to return to laying on his back, his other hand moving to lightly rest on Peter’s abdomen. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.” He murmured, his gloved fingertips rubbing light circles right on the spot there was the most tension in his stomach. “Can I help?”

“What?” Now Peter finally looked back up at him, red eyes widening drastically. The question sent another wave of warmth crashing through his pelvis, and he knew the swelling wasn’t about to go down any time soon.

Wade’s hand inched lower, grazing the waistband of his jeans, though his fingers didn’t dip inside, clearly waiting for full, and clear, permission. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I left you here alone like this.” He murmured, his voice sounding tighter. Peter swallowed back his jumpiness and looked down at the hand dancing over his hips, willing his body not to buck up needily for the attention it craved. “I won’t do anything you don’t want to do. But if you want me to make you cum, I will. Just say the word.”

I need it.  

“Wade, I…” Peter didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have the strength to tell him no, to save himself from the humiliation of letting his friend get him off, but he also didn’t know if he wanted to tell him no. Maybe it was his heat still getting shoved back in his body, or the nights he’d spent jerking off to thoughts of Wade (only on occasion; he had said some pretty suggestive things in the past) but denying him felt like the wrong option.

“If you don’t want to see me you can keep your eyes shut and pretend it’s someone else. I won’t mind. This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Peter knew that wasn’t true, that taking this step would result in a lot more confusion and tension filtering into their relationship, but the thought of Wade’s warm mouth swallowing him down his throat sent a shiver up his spine.

If there was anything he knew about Wade, it was that he had a lot of experience in that department.

Peter nodded numbly, draping one arm over his eyes so he didn’t have to face reality.

“I need to hear you say it, angel. I don’t want to cross any boundaries unless you’re sure you want this.” Wade added as his fingers tugged and undid his button, the zipper audibly being drug down.

“I want it.” Peter croaked, instantly feeling his temperature spike. “Please don’t make me say anything else.”

Peter couldn’t see Wade, but he could practically feel his smirk of satisfaction. As promised, Wade moved on the bed so that his weight was bridged over Peter’s legs and pulled his pants and boxers down without asking any more of him.

The cold air rushing over his dick almost made Peter moan in relief, but he bit his lip to keep the sounds at bay. In the darkness he could hear every movement Wade was making, from the rub of denim against itself to the creeks of the cheap bed springs underneath them. Wade’s mouth was absent, and the only real reminder he had that he was there was a hand pressing steady into his thigh, gripping bruisingly against the skin, while his other hand fondled with part of his own clothing. He almost wanted to ask if this was alright, reassure Wade he didn’t have to do this, but then, God , Wade’s face returned close to his pelvis with a hot breath brushing over the tip of his cock.

Peter almost came right then.

“Just try to relax,” Wade spoke lowly, each word sending a puff of breath over his sensitive flesh that had him twitching. “You smell delicious.”

He didn’t have a chance to ask what he meant before an overwhelming warmth enveloped the head and continued down. Each inch Wade took into his mouth sent more and more stars flashing in Peter’s eyes, and his entire body went tense. Whatever self control he had before melted away, as his mouth hung open in utter awe at the sensations. He’d gotten head before, though he was in his heat, so he didn’t quite remember it. Now, however, when his nerves were extra sensitive from his symptoms falling off but he was otherwise mentally alert, he was choking on the pure bliss. Eventually he felt Wade’s nose press snug into his pubes, and he realized, with an embarrassed gulp, that his dick was pressed in the back of Wade’s throat.

Then the mercenary swallowed, and Peter’s voice shot out in utter ecstasy.

“G-God, Wade, p-please…” Peter didn’t know what he was begging for, possibly relief from the mind-boggling fever he felt twisting his gut, but Wade seemed to comply. His mouth retreated until his cock once again bobbed free, and Wade tongued precum dribbling from the slit. Peter picked his head up in reaction only to drop it back against the pillows, a groan echoing from his chest. Wade hadn’t been exaggerating when he said his scars were everywhere. His dick once again penetrating his mouth and brushing along the inside of his cheeks proved that. The texture had him crooning instantly.

Wade apparently decided that toying with Peter was more important than actually pleasing him, if his slow, firm pace was any indication. Everything about Wade normally was erratic and unruly, dangerously unpredictable, and yet now he demonstrated perfect control, unwilling to let the twitches or whines leaving Peter’s throat to deter him from his perfectly measured beats. His lips tightened and a slight suction drew more pressure to the surface of Peter’s groin.

There was a low grunt from Wade’s mouth, almost like garbled words attempting to be formed around the length, and Peter drew his arm away enough just to glance down at him. The scandalous sight that met him as his vision readjusted to the light had his heart leaping up into his throat, a throb echoing through his limbs and making his stomach churn. “What?” He panted, on the edge of going absolutely insane from his taunting.

Wade repeated his hum, the vibrations enough to make Peter jolt, but he maintained eye contact, growing a bit annoyed as all he wanted was to focus on chasing his orgasm. “I can’t hear you.”

Wade’s lips drew back, his tongue being the last to peel away from his cock, as he swallowed back the mixture of fluids that must have been gathering on his tongue. He looked rather flustered himself- from what Peter could see of his exposed nose and chin from under his mask. “I asked if you just showered.” He grinned, teeth flashing bright as ever into a crooked, but breathtaking, smile. “Whatever soap you use is really working for you. You smell just..” His nose pressed into the crook of his thigh, causing Peter to tremble from the tickling sensation. “Like dessert.”

Peter didn’t want to ask him to elaborate, knowing that whatever scent he thought he smelled was pheromones playing tricks on his brain, so he flopped back against the pillows instead. “That’s all you had to say?” He asked impatiently, toes burying into the cheap polyester sheets under him.

Wade’s laughter had Peter self consciously curling back into himself, but then his hands were tugging his thighs back open until he was in a vulnerable position, similar to earlier. “You’re wanting more?” He asked in a low, but teasing voice. Despite all his pride, Peter nodded weakly, throwing both arms back over his face to cover as much of it as he could without suffocating. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll stop playing. I’d rather hear you screaming my name, anyways.”

This time, when Wade took him back into his wet mouth, he didn’t give Peter any mercy or room to breathe.

Fingers dug hard into Peter’s hips, anchoring them down to the squeaking mattress, causing a frustrated huff to leave his lips. However, his complaints fell short when that wonderful pleasure blanketed his shaft again, warming his body from his toes to his chest. Wade’s throat opened to allow nearly every bob to force more of his dick to cram down into the tightness, not an inch left unattended to. Any rational thought floating in Peter’s head was obliterated, replaced by the image of red fire, of a tingling spreading through his fingertips and his feet, and the twisting of his stomach.

And by Wade, abusing his cock and forcing so much sensation onto Peter he thought he might cry.

It didn’t take long for Peter’s orgasm to build. He had already been on edge for days, and he didn’t doubt even a brush on his shoulder or a grab of his hip could have made him break down by now. But this was oh so much better than any feeling he could have jerked out with his hand. This was ecstasy, and he wasn’t just going to get off. He was going to cum, and he was going to cum hard.  

Peter’s arms found Wade’s head on instinct, his fingers gripping tightly at his temples. Wade noticed, his tongue putting in twice the effort and one hand raising to squeeze lightly on Peter’s aching balls. He mouthed Wade’s name, though no sound was able to escape his lungs, his voice strangled in his tight airway. His muscles clenched, his hands held harder onto his skull, and a second later his back slammed again into the mattress before bullets of hot cum shot down Wade’s throat. Peter squeezed his eyes shut so hard he could only see crimson, the other man’s mouth greedily sucking down his semen without so much a sound of disgust or displeasure.

Wade didn’t release his overly sensitive dick from his mouth until he was sure his quivers had stopped, and he took his sweet time doing so. When he finally released him, his grip disappearing from Peter’s hips, he realized how empty he felt, and his hands twitched with the need to reach out to Wade, to ask to be held by the alpha, but he suppressed every indecent desire and instead settled for opening his eyes.

Wade was redressed fully by the time he looked, and disappointment shot through Peter’s chest.

“Hopefully you feel better now, Spidey.” Wade hummed in clear amusement, adjusting his sleeves so they went back down to the joint of his wrists. “I’ll let you get back to sleep. If you need anything else, well, you know where I am. Feel free to crawl right in.”

Peter watched in silence, unable to fathom a proper reply or reaction now that his heat was finally withdrawing. Every step felt like a heavy weight on his chest, and he felt the need to say something, anything, even if it was to confess everything that he had been suffering through. He rationalized that was just the needy omega side of his brain, though, and some things were better left unsaid.

Peter tossed himself onto his side, his back facing towards the door, to try to get proper rest. The door squealed open behind him as Wade started to exit, and he swore he heard Wade pause in the doorway to take a breath.

But then the door shut lightly a second later and Peter was bathed in darkness. Alone, exhausted, and his mind struggling to make sense of everything that had just happened.

[a-heart-inscribed]

Operation Eros - Part 4

Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1810

One afternoon as you are just leaving the tower from hanging out with Steve, you hear your name and turn to find Tony chasing you down.

“Hey, hey I wanted to catch you before you took off.” He smiles as he falls into step beside you. “I was going to text you this invite but I thought maybe it would be better given in person.”

You take the envelope Tony is holding out to you and gently start to peal it open. When you read it, you know Tony can read the shock on your face because he chuckles waiting for you to respond. “Tony… I’m touched. I mean, I’m not sure why you want me there, but I don’t own a dress nice enough for this… I don’t even think I can afford one…”

He throws an arm over you shoulder to guide you off to the side of the lobby. “Not a problem darling. Pepper is going to take care of everything, your wardrobe, styling, all the good stuff. We just want you there.”

“We?”

“The whole team.” He nods and shrugs lightly, taking his arm back to stand across from you.

“The Avenger’s Benefit Gala. Tony, these invites are like super exclusive and like really coveted…” You look up to see him smirking at you. Of course, he knows that. “Why me? I’m just the local barista. Well, I mean… I’m the store manager, but still…”

“No,” He cuts off your rambling. “You’re a lot more than just the barista. Y/n, do you know how many people who aren’t on my payroll that we let have a passcode into the tower?”

You bite your lip and shrug. It was just a code into the main floor, you still had to be buzzed up to living quarters.

“Five. Including you. And the rest of those we don’t ever let up to living quarters. Meanwhile, you… you buzz FRIDAY and she lets you in.” His face gets serious as he looks you over. “Y/n, you’ve been good to this team. You’ve treated us like real people when we needed that most. Even Loki likes having you around. The Gala is a night we have to put on our best, be our best. It helps to have people around that keep us grounded too.” Reaching out he twirls some of the hair falling over your shoulder around his fingers fondly. “We want you there. All of us.”

Fighting tears, you shake your head. This was the kindest and most genuine Tony had ever been with you and it was throwing you a little. “I- I don’t know what to say.” Letting out a laugh you move forward and throw your arms around Tony’s neck. “Thank you.”

“Hey, no problem.” He hugs you back tightly. “Thank you… for the moral boost.”

Tony wasn’t kidding when he said Pepper would take care of it all. By the time the Gala arrives you have a striking gown, killer shoes, your hair and make-up done by a team, and are decked out in a necklace and earing set that costs more than you’ve made in the last five years. You feel awesome, powerful, and you can’t help but stand a little taller.

Waiting for the elevator from the level on the towere where you were taking to get ready, you hear people approaching behind you.

“Wow, Y/n. You look stunning.” Tony comes up and wraps an arm around your waist, quickly pecking you on the temple, holding you warmly to his side.. He is followed by Bucky, Natasha, Thor, and Pepper who are all looking at you as equally stunned.

“Well thank you, Mr. Iron Man. Getting out of that coffee stained uniform probably did some good.” You pat him on the chest with a smile. “And you don’t look half bad yourself.”

A myriad of complements follow as you all get on the elevator to the floor of the Gala. You know your cheeks are burning red but it’s nice to be with your friends like this and to be there to support them. The elevator has almost reached your destination when Natasha speaks up.

“You’re going to give Cap a heart attack in that dress you know.”

You run your hands over the lace covering your hips and straighten up. The dark floor length formal dress Pepper had helped you pick out was all lace with a slight v neck in the front but an open back that exposed down to just above the small of your back. It had quarter length lace see through sleeves and a sheath skirt. The matching heals gave you just few inches more height but a good boost of confidence. You felt good, but your brow furrows as you look to Natasha, processing what she meant. “What?”

Bucky laughs. “Oh, for sure. The old man’s around 100! She’s gonna knock him dead.”

“Steve?” You blink at them as the doors slide open. “We are talking about Steve Rogers, right?”

Bucky just raises and eyebrow and smirks at you as he steps off the elevator. You don’t get the chance to have them clarify as they are rushed off in the direction they will make their entrance from and you are ushered into the room with the other guests.

Honestly its magnificent. You had never been to this part of the tower before and the size of this hall is amazing, the length decorated in golds and whites. Tables line the walls and one area, there is a large bar across from the wall of windows and balcony, and an open area for dancing. It isn’t long before they start introducing the Avengers in sets. They don’t all come out at once in order to help with the crowd control. When they come out like this, they can mingle out into the party instead of being swarmed. Eventually you are located by Bruce and Natasha, both of whom have a glint in their eyes as if they are excited about something, but they introduce you to some high and up in the city that approached you just as the two had found you. He seems interested in you but you want nothing to do with that. You are so busy talking and trying to steal away with Bucky, who had just joined the group, that you miss catching a glimpse of Steve when they announce him.

To yours and Bucky’s dismay, you don’t escape the conversation that easily as some other well-off citizens have joined the group. You’re just giving a look to Bucky that gives praise to all things good that the chatty billionaires had left when your name is spoken softly from behind you.

“Steve.” You turn to look at him and your stomach flips a little at the site. His suit is amazing, perfectly fit to him, and his tie and pocket square match your dress.

“Captain!” A loud and unfamiliar male voice booms from off to your right but Steve give only one glance that way before darting his eyes back to you. Without looking away from Steve you hear Natasha address the man and lead him off, Bucky and Bruce quickly coming up with something and excusing themselves as well, taking any straggling chatty guests with them.

“Y/n, you look- wow.” The little smile that spreads across his lips and the glint in his eyes makes butterflies twirl your stomach and tighten your chest. “You look… fantastic.”

That familiar heat is in your cheeks again. “Thank you, Steve. You look very handsome as well. That color is gorgeous on you.” You’re pleased at the red tint that spreads over his ears.

He clears his throat and moves closer. “Thank you for coming. It means a lot to the team to have people here we actually like.”

The chuckle that comes out is almost involuntary and Steve joins you, realizing what he said. “Thank you, Captain. It’s honestly my pleasure, and an honor.”

Before either of you get the chance to say anything else Natasha saunters up to you while Bucky approaches Steve. Natasha says nothing but moves you closer to Steve, pats your shoulder and leans in to you ear, “Watch your back at these things. Stay close to those you trust, just in case.” She slinks away as you watch Bucky lean in and say something lowly in Steve’s ear.

You don’t hear what he says but when Steve rolls his eyes and looks exasperated, Bucky punches him on the arm and clearly says, “Just do it, man,” before he too walks off.

Quirking a brow at Steve, you don’t mind the proximity the other two had moved you into. “What was that?”

Steve sighs and his ears go pink again. “Those two just being… well, themselves.” He looks away for a moment, scanning the crowd, then he looks back to you with a small and almost shy smile. “Would you like to dance?”

You nod in response with a smile and take the hand he offered quickly. Before you know it, he has maneuvered you out amongst the other dancing couples and pulled you close as a new, slow song started. One of his hands holds yours and the other rests in the small of your back, the heat from where his hand brushes the bare skin of your exposed back spreads through you, and you know you flush.

Steve is a good dancer, no matter how many times he tries to tell you otherwise, leading you in slow circles and holding you close. Your heart is beating fast and you tune out the people around you that you know are watching. “You look beautiful, Y/n.”

Even with heals on he is a good deal taller than you, so you have to smile up at him. “Well Captain, I do declare, I believe you said that already.” You mock and wink up at him.

He laughs softly at your feigned Southern accent. “I think I did, you’re right. But your hair down like this is nice. You normally wear it up for the coffee shop.”

“Oh, you noticed. Thank you.”

“Of course.” He twirled you around and pulled you back in. “So, how do you like the party?”

You pass the evening pleasantly, talking with all the team, meeting some of the people who are big givers to some of the charities this Gala supports. You dance with Thor, Clint, and Bruce once, twice with Tony and to your surprise and delight Loki, who is an excellent dancer, three and a half times with Bucky, and five times with Steve. Pepper, Natasha, Wanda, and Gamora make sure you have a drink or two with them and you mingle throughout the night with the rest of the team.  You aren’t surprised that you have an amazing night at the Avenger Gala.

Tag List:

@georgialeighc13  @denzmallows

[gahye0n]

Candy Rings

pairing: siyeon / reader

word count: 1.7k

genre: angst, fluff

request: @chocolatemakeupbratzdoll asked → hi can you do a siyeon x idol reader where the reader is a billionaire and siyeon gets a lot of hate from the readers fans because the reader buys her a lot of stuff and a lot of fluff at the end please?

--

Excitement in every step, Siyeon fluttered around the room like a child with a sugar rush, never lingering in one place for too long. Bright green encompassing her face, the pixelated 'GAME OVER' written across the screen brought a pout to her lips. She turned towards you and you pressed your hands to either side of her cheeks, squishing them between your palms and wishing you could lean forward and kiss her frown away. Giggling behind your face mask, you intertwined your fingers with hers. “Let's go play something else, I'll go easy on you, promise.”

“You better not!” she warned, letting you take the lead as you weaved through the crowded room. A grin spread across your lips when you found the machine you were searching for, surprised and delighted that it was still there after all those years. Her dark eyes twinkled as she held the plastic gun and you could almost see the memory replaying in her mind. The smile that gradually brightened her face brought flashbacks of your own to fruition and you saw the visage of the girl you fell in love with so many years ago.

You almost missed that time, back when your life wasn't buzzing with managers and fans and tight schedules, back when you could have a lazy day by yourself – that was how you met Siyeon after all. The pretty stranger, with her faded jeans and worn out sneakers – similar to your own – and how she accidentally stole your heart in that little arcade still lingered sweetly in your memory. Neither of you could have imagined that when she slid into the booth beside you, picking up that beat up plastic gun and asking to join your game, that she'd become the love of your life one day.

“You better not go easy on me,” she reiterated, pointing the gun towards the screen. “I'm definitely going to win this time!”

“We'll see about that,” you challenged, raising your own weapon. Occasionally, she would glance over at your counter, whining when she noticed that your number was higher than hers. “You know, you'd do better if you paid attention to your own screen, babe.”

“You're totally cheating!” she accused with a stomp of her foot. “Look, you have more enemies to shoot than I do!”

You wouldn't have known whether her allegations were true or false, as you were not looking at your screen but, rather, the pout forming once more on her lips. Eyes doing a quick sweep of the room, you lowered your mask and pressed a quick kiss against them until you felt them curve into a smile. The timer buzzed as you pulled away, displaying that you'd finished with more points than her.

Teasingly, she stuck her tongue out and poked a finger against your side until you were squirming away from the slight tickle. “Cheater!”

You laughed, pulling your mask back up in the hopes no one had seen your face. “Me? I would never.”

She pointed towards the screen and then to her lips. “Then explain that.”

“Hm... I love you very very much and always want to see you smile?” She scrunched her nose at your cheesiness but made no more accusations. “However can I correct my terrible wrongdoing?”

She hummed thoughtfully before placing a hand against her stomach. “Food? You did say we were going out to eat earlier.”

“I did say that, didn't I?” You rubbed the back of your neck guiltily. “What do you feel like eating? Seafood? Steak? I'll buy whatever you like. It's getting pretty late, should I just call over Ms. Kim and have her cook for us at home?”

Siyeon chuckled at your babbling, intertwining her fingers with yours and leading you towards the adjoining food court. “How about chicken and cola?”

“Your wish is my command, beautiful.” Briefly, she swung your hand up to her lips and pressed them to the back of it, leaving a hint of sangria lipstick on your skin. Glancing over at her, you noticed her smug grin. “What are you scheming?”

“What? I'm not aloud to kiss you?” She played innocent, batting her lashes. When you narrowed your eyes, indicating towards the mark she left behind, she relented with a sigh. “I was hoping they'd realize we’re not interested in company.”

Peering behind you, you noticed the group you'd amassed, whispering to themselves and gesturing in your direction. Out of habit, you ducked your head down and pulled your hood closer to your face even though you were sure they’d already saw you.

“Excuse me!” one of them called and you suddenly wished you could have rented out the arcade beforehand. Sighing, you turned towards the voice. “Are you who we think?”

Donning a practiced smile, you finally removed the mask. “Maybe, are you a fan of mine?”

The small group bounced on their heels, excitement shaking their frames. One of them stepped forward, nervously fumbling with their phone. “Is it okay if I ask you for a picture?”

The rest of them chimed in behind him with a lilted 'me too' and you complied, shooting Siyeon an apologetic glance. Nearly blinded by the flash of their cameras, you finished their request before rushing back to her side. “I appreciate your support as my fans but I really have to g-”

“Isn't that your girlfriend? I read an article about the two of you last month.”

You swallowed thickly, unsure of which direction he was headed. You'd had a plethora of responses since the two of you went public, most were supportive but envy colored more than a few and, unfortunately, Siyeon took the brunt of it. “She is, I'm very much in love with her.”

He nodded silently, gaze settling on the diamonds lining her neck. Shifting uncomfortably, she clasped the top notch of her button-up in an attempt to hide the expensive jewels. “I'm glad you’re happy but you should be careful, people might take advantage of your status.”

Your smile faltered a bit as you barely managed to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. “You're not implying that she's using me for my money are you? Who do y-”

Siyeon's hand tightened against yours as she shook her head. “Thank you for being supportive of us, I hope you'll continue to be in the future too. Since you know so much about us, I'm sure you know we're very busy people so we have to be on our way.”

Her words were sweet yet sharper than anything you could have managed, and you followed her in stunned silence as she led you back to the gaming portion of the arcade. Stopping suddenly, you pouted. “You should have let me talk to them. I'm tired of them thinking they can talk about my girlfriend like that.”

Siyeon shook her head. “And what would they think about you? The sweet idol who cares so much about their fans, the royalty of fan service, telling them off? I'm not going to ruin your reputation like that.”

“What does that matter when the woman I love is being hurt by them?”

She hesitated a moment before shaking her head. “It doesn't bother me.”

Tears of frustration pricked your eyes. “You really think I didn’t notice? Ever since we went public, you've been refusing more and more of the things I try to buy you. Your sister called the first few nights and told me how you were crying. I even saw you reading their comments on the way here. Why do you think I brought you here to begin with?” you sniffled, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I just wanted tonight to be special.”

You thought about the fancy restaurant you'd rented out months prior in preparation for your proposal. You'd wanted to reveal your relationship after you'd proposed, yet you'd been caught red-handed. A flicker of hope tricked your heart into believing that, despite the exposure and jealous comments, you could still go through with your plans. In hindsight, you should have waited instead of letting the excitement and impatience rule your judgement.

The ring in your coat was an anchor, rows of diamonds sinking to the bottom of the blue velvet pocket. The only thing heavier was the look in her eyes as she switched off her phone and gazed blankly out of the car window. Afraid that she'd feel even more suffocated in such an expensive place, you asked your chauffeur to drive you to the opposite side of the city, to the arcade where you and Siyeon first met, yet it seemed to have ruined everything instead.

Wiping your tears, she drew you away from your straying thoughts. “It is special. You think my night was ruined because of some jealous fans? I've already forgotten them, and besides, there's still something you have to do.”

You tilted your head in curiosity and she giggled, wrapping an arm around you and leading you towards the vending machines at the back of the arcade. Fishing a coin out of her purse, she placed it in one of the candy machines, twisting the knob until a plastic sphere popped out of the dispenser. She pressed the container to your palm, closing your fingers around it before wrapping her hands around yours and leaning forward to kiss you.

“What was that for?” you whispered, mind annulled of all thoughts except the taste of her still lingering on your lips.

Bright specks of light twinkled in her eyes as she pretended to think. “Because I love you very very much and always want to see you smile?” She hummed and you breathed out a laugh at the sound of your own words. “Also, I was waiting for you to ask me something but that wasn't it, angel.”

Hands falling from your own, she gestured towards the ball still pressed to your palm. Popping open the lid, bewilderment swirled in your eyes at the sight of a candy ring. “You knew?”

“I'm not saying Gahyeon accidentally let the secret slip but...” You never thought you'd be thanking her for spoiling your proposal yet, you suddenly couldn't be more grateful. 

Bathed in pink and violet neon, Siyeon smiled sweetly and nothing felt more right in that moment than dropping to one knee and offering a ring of blue raspberry. “Lee Siyeon, will you marry me?”

[onlyinmyimagination]

Love is Blind

Jason Todd X Reader

This did not turn out how I wanted at all ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Maybe I’ll attempt a rewrite in the future but right now I am so tired of this story. I sincerely hope you guys like it more than I do. I’m so done.

Very loosely based on this prompt: “As a dating company professional, I never thought that I’d be able to match you with anyone because honestly, you’re such a terrible human being. But, in our search we found someone who fits your profile, and since you paid us to help you find a match, here is their information. God Help us.“

Also inspired by those social media au posts that float around the fandom. those are bomb af.

Genre: Romance, fluff I guess idk

Sorta social media au/celebrity au??? idk (someone tell me what kind of AU you think this is)

Warnings: Some foul language.

.

It started when Jason needed to quickly get a date to a launch party of some clothing brand by Wayne Enterprises (he never really cares for whatever new business venture Bruce Wayne busies himself with). He was supposed to glam it up with a partner at his side but he had put it off until the very last minute. His solution was to call up a reputable dating company because he simply didn’t have the time to screen the potential candidates on Tinder. And just like that, you were the dating professional assigned to him and he became your client.  

He hadn’t been the politest over the phone. He had been curt, a little aggressive, and much too particular about his preferences. Right away you knew he was trouble. But you resolved to do your best and stay professional. You had to compile his profile quickly and it was then that you found out that your newest client is a local celebrity. Hearing the name Jason Todd over the phone didn’t ring any bells at the time, but upon further research on your client you knew he’d be a challenge.

He had said he needed a date in less than a week and to his relief, you were able to meet him the next day with a potential match. Upon seeing your client in person you realized why his demands were so high. Not only is he the son of a billionaire, he’s also ridiculously good-looking and oddly intimidating. It must’ve been hard to find a suitable partner all by himself.

He had introduced himself, even though you knew very well who he was. He didn’t have as much attitude as he did over the phone, and he didn’t act as haughty as you expected him to be. With a practiced script and a customer service smile plastered on your lips, you invited him to sit at a nearby café while you reviewed the file of his potential partner with him.

He took the information with satisfaction and thanked you for your time. Unfortunately he didn’t last long with the match you found him, and you got another call from him a few weeks later. He needed another partner for an upcoming gala. And thus, the cycle continued to repeat itself, with your patience wearing thin and professionalism quickly dissipating with a few months. Before you met Jason Todd Wayne you’ve had a near perfect reputation, with an almost one hundred percent success rate with your clients. But he was ruining your reputation and it upset you tremendously.

“Jason, did you seriously ditch her last night?”

“It’s not what you think!”

“What do you...” you pause to take a deep breath and calm yourself.  You continue, “You literally ditched her at a party you brought her to.”

“Yeah, but for a good reason!”

“And what reason would that be?”

“Uhhh...I can’t say. But it really was a good reason!”

You give a skeptical look. “Did you even call her afterwards? Did you even think to apologize for leaving her alone?”

“...No. I got a little sidetracked, but I’ll do it right now!”

“She doesn’t want to see you again. I doubt she’ll want to talk to you.”

“Well that’s her loss.”

“Is it really, though,” you mutter to yourself.

“She seemed more than happy with me last night.” Then he adds, “Before I left her anyway.”

“What a coincidence—she said the same thing to me. I painstakingly searched through hundreds of files for her, and this is what you do? After you messed up all those other dates, it’s been near impossible digging up more matches for you.”

“I know, I know. I’m an asshole. But I also know you’ll find me another date in time for Bruce Wayne’s next big gala.”

“Can you at least try to be nice,” you say while shaking your head and rummaging through your files. “Nicer, I mean. I’m trying to find a potential lifelong partner for you here.”

“No guarantees, cupid.”

You eye him as you press your lips into a thin line. “I found a realtor who lives less than an hour away. Her profile is similar to your past matches and she seemed like she’d be able to put up with you. Realtors tend to have a lot of patience. Very admirable.”

“That’s pretty cold of you to say.”

“At this point, the one I feel sorry for is her.”

“Brrr...chilly.”

“From all the complaints I’ve been getting, you’re not exactly the easiest to be around.”

“You’re holding up just fine.”

“It’s part of my job.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that we’ve hung out longer than I’ve dated any of the partners you’ve set me up with. Technically you could say,” he says slowly, suggestively, “I’ve been on more dates with you than any of those matches of yours.”

“Like any of that is my fault. You get dumped after one date almost every time and I’ve got to set up a new match for you in time for your next big party.”

“Why don’t you just be my date from now on?”

“Not gonna happen. I don’t get involved with my clients.”

“A little uptight, aren’t you?”

“If you’re just going to pester me about how I do my job, then this meeting is over. I’ll see you in a week after this next one dumps you.”

“That’s ice cold.”

“We’ll see what happens in a week.” You plaster a professional smile on your face as you bid him goodbye but once you turn around you bite your lip anxiously. You didn’t want to admit his nonchalant invitation to be his date made your chest squeeze. Just the slightest interest toward you has you feeling a little too giddy even when you keep reminding yourself how much of a jerk he is. The more he flirts with you, the harder it is to stay professional. You feel awful and guilty about it, but you don’t get many chances to feel this way.  

Being a professional matchmaker left you on the sidelines as you constantly watch couples meet and fall in love. Finding love for yourself just seemed to be out of reach for you when you’re busy finding love for other people. And pursuing romance with Jason Todd is entirely out of the question. It became impossible the moment he became your client. So, you vow to keep him at a distance.

Just as you had predicted, a week passes and Jason Todd Wayne contacts you again for another meeting to discuss another partner.

You glance at the time and see that he’s twenty minutes late. You roll your eyes at this. It’s nothing new. His lack of punctuality is part of the reason his dates got so fed up with him. Bored, you scan your surroundings and see an ice cream shop next to the café. Seeing no harm in getting yourself a treat, you buy a scoop of your favorite flavor. You choose the cone over the cup to savor your treat. The purchase takes only a few minutes and you’re soon back at your meeting spot, with still no sign of Jason, of course. It’s a few more minutes later when you hear your name being called.

Pausing mid-bite, you turn to see Jason and don’t bother with a greeting. “See? What’d I tell you? It’s been a week.”

He chooses to ignore your jab and says, “Is that ice cream? You bought ice cream without me?” You’re caught off guard for a moment and you open your mouth to answer but he continues childishly, “Let me have some.” His hand is suddenly around your hand that’s holding the ice cream cone, and he’s guiding it to his mouth.

You’re fumbling over your words as he takes a bite and you finally say, “Go get your own!” You snatch your hand out of his grasp and gesture to the ice cream shop. He licks the ice cream from his lips as he looks over to the shop. That’s when you see the side of his face where a greenish-yellow bruise adorns the outer corner of his eye, just below his eyebrow.  

“What the hell? That was not there last week” you say, lifting a hand as if to touch his face. Then you realize what you’re doing and drop your hand again. “That looks bad. Did you ice it?”

“I did. But you should’ve seen it last night, it was so much worse,” he says good-humoredly but then clamps his mouth shut as if he had just revealed a secret.

“I don’t even want to know,” you remark with a shake of your head. You had heard about Jason’s mysterious bruises and wounds, but you never saw them on the visible parts of his body. Your clients on the other hand had often complained about him showing up with mysterious injuries, suspecting him of getting into brawls, fooling around with other lovers, and God knows what. You understand now why they chose to break up with him. Showing up with serious injuries and refusing to offer an explanation as to how he got them (or making some outlandish lie) would make anyone in his company uncomfortable. It’s disconcerting. But the longer you stare at his bruised face, the more you pity him. “Let’s just get you some ice cream.”

“For my face?” His fingers lightly brush over his bruise.

“I was thinking for your mouth or your stomach.”

He laughs and makes his way into the ice cream store. “What flavor should I get?” he asks as you follow him inside.

“Just get your favorite flavor,” you suggest curtly.

“But that’s boring. Predictable.”

You roll your eyes. “Then try a new flavor.”

“What if I don’t like it?”

You act annoyed to keep up a withdrawn attitude toward him. But if you didn’t know better, he seems like he’s biding his time on purpose and you can’t help but wonder why. “Please just choose something, Jason.”

He’s not fazed by your snippy attitude and asks, “You don’t want to share with me?” He stuffs his hands into his pockets as he examines the choices beneath the glass.

“You can share with your next date partner,” you suggest as you continue consuming your treat. He narrows his eyes at you and you hide your smile behind your ice cream.

“You’re no fun,” he mumbles.

It takes an agonizingly long time with a lot of back and forth between you before he could successfully pick a flavor. Then, in an unexpected turn of events, you both end up walking around while finishing your cold treats. You discuss the next profile with him as you both stroll leisurely through a shopping center. During this time, you find Jason isn’t all that bad. The complaints about him have been mostly regarding his carelessness after all, rather than his attitude. But you hate that you find him so charming. As if his good looks didn’t make you curse him enough already.  

The next time you see Jason is after a few weeks and you’ve agreed to meet at a local bookstore. You’re not surprised to find that once again, Jason is late and nowhere to be seen. While skimming the shelves, a book catches your eye and you flip through it curiously.  

“That book isn’t very interesting.”  

You turn to the familiar voice and shut the book. “Then what do you recommend?” you ask lightly, remembering that reading is listed as one of his hobbies.

“Well, you can’t go wrong with the classics.”

“Classics? As in?” you prod with a raised brow.

“Well there’s Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters,” he says. “What kind of stories do you like? Or do you like poetry? Plays?”

You hadn’t expected him to ask so much about your interests. But you remind yourself to stay professional, so you steer the conversation to the purpose of the meeting. “We can discuss books next time. I have another client’s profile for you.”

“Still as uptight as ever. Thought you eased up a little since we last met.”

“It was...a unique occasion. I won’t let it happen again,” you say while turning away in case your face gives anything away.

“So I have to get knocked around a little for you to be nice to me?”

“I am nice to you,” you say indignantly. “I’m just trying to do my job and find suitable partners for you.”

“Alright, cupid. Then who do you have for me today?” he asks with annoyance, holding out his hand for the file. He acts almost... sulky.

You hand him a folder and he flips through it quickly. You explain, “They live almost two hours away but—”  

“Too far,” he states as he closes the folder and gives it back to you. His dismissive attitude stuns you and you look back at him with a bewildered expression. Jason had never declined the potential partners you’ve presented to him before. Then he says, “Can’t you just be my date from now on, cupid?”

You blink and take a moment to gather yourself. “I told you, I don’t get involved with my clients.”

"What do I have to do to get a date with you? Am I supposed to fire you? Even for me, that’s kind of a douche-y thing to do.”

Your breath still at this. The thought of being fired distresses you, but at the same time, Jason’s intention behind his words has your heart racing.

“Are you serious?” you ask.

“Yeah. You gotta admit we have fun together, right? And don’t say it’s because it’s your job.” He is interrupted when his phone suddenly goes off and he takes out the device as if he had just gotten an important notification. You cross your arms while waiting for his attention to return to the conversation. As he scrolls through his phone, you wonder fleetingly if he’s simply just tired of all his failed partners you’ve matched him with. “Listen, I gotta run,” he says while stuffing his phone back in his pocket. “But how about we meet again tomorrow? Are you free?” Realizing he’s ready to speed off, you stop him with a pointed finger.

“Hold it right there! You can’t just ditch our meeting today!”

“But—but it’s an emergency!” he insists.

“Then come back after!” you reply. “If you really need to talk to me then meet me in front of the library at eight tonight. That’s where I’m meeting my last client today and I should be done by then. Will you be able to come?”

“Uh, I guess I could do that.” He looks unsure as he glances at the time.

“Try, Jason. I have meetings with other clients tomorrow so unless you can wait a few more days, that’s the best I can do.”

“Okay, okay. Tonight in front of the library, got it.”

You don’t manage to get another word in as he takes his leave. This must be the infamous disappearance act where he just ups and leaves, ditching his partners. Despite being annoyed with his flaky attitude, you’re more bothered by the conversation that just transpired. Did he really want to fire you?  

Regardless of whether he fires you or you resign as his matchmaker, you aren’t even sure it would work out with Jason if you agree to a date him. You didn’t exactly approve of his attitude after all, and who’s to say the relationship would last? You wouldn’t even be able to go back to being matchmaker and client if you ended up breaking it off, and then you would have no reason to contact him again. The thought leaves you feeling strangely forlorn, so you push the thoughts away and continue your day.

Later that night you bid your last client goodbye and you loiter around the supposed meeting spot. As expected, Jason is nowhere to be seen, and you lazily sit on the cement planters in front of the library to wait for him. After thirty minutes, you toy with the idea of calling him. But you conclude that he’s just being his usual self.  

While waiting, you pass the time on your phone. You visit Jason’s Instagram profile, telling yourself the action is strictly professional and for the sake of research. You notice a post from yesterday. It’s a picture of a playbill for A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He must’ve gone to see the play locally. You scroll down a bit to read the accompanying caption he wrote:  

“Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”

“Cupid, huh,” you mutter under your breath. The post has half a million likes and hundreds of comments, most of which are heart emojis. Did Gotham even have that many people in it? You don’t dwell on it too long and proceed to add the activity to his dating profile.

It’s another thirty minutes later when a noise behind you draws your attention and makes you flinch. It sounded like a thud, like something had fallen.  

“Why are you still here?” a voice asks, and you turn to face the infamous vigilante in the red helmet. “It’s late. You should be home.”

Red Hood is addressing you and it stuns you. But you’re distracted by the way he slowly staggers forward while leaning on the side of the building for support. This guy is not in the best shape.

“I’m supposed to be meeting someone,” you say unsurely as you stand. Not many people have had the opportunity to converse with Gotham’s vigilantes. Not as common an occurrence as one would think. “Am I not supposed to be here? Um, should I go?” You can’t help but dwell on his wording, the way he had phrased his words. A sudden thought creeps into the back of your mind that you didn’t want to surface, that you didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Heh. I’ve always thought that seriousness of yours is pretty cute.” Then he loses balance and falls forward.  

“Are you okay?!” you exclaim. Instinctively, you move forward to catch him and the next thing you know, you’re holding up half his body weight. As you help lower him to a more comfortable position on the floor you slowly register his words, and when you do, your breath stills. You had tried to push it down, keeping it at the back of your mind, but the implication is impossible to ignore. The timing is too perfect to simply be a coincidence. You nervously scan Red Hood’s appearance as you sit next to him. “Jason?” you try, not sure what answer you are hoping to hear.

He hums in response then he vaguely says, “You know me pretty well, cupid. Looks like you don’t need your eyes to see me at all.”

His words throw you off but then you’re reminded of Jason’s most recent post on his social media. If you hadn’t seen it, you probably wouldn’t have understood what he just said to you. “Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind,” you say softly and slowly, trying to recall the quote. “And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”

“Didn’t know you were a fan of Shakespeare. Or have you been stalking me?”

“I have to keep up to date with my clients’ interests, okay?” you say to defend yourself. “I needed to update your profile.”

“Oh. Right, right.” A short chuckle escapes him but he groans right after and he clutches his side in pain. He leans his head back against the wall behind him.

“Are you okay?” you ask in panic, completely forgetting he came to you barely standing. Your hands hover just over his wounded body, wanting to help but unsure how to. You don’t care that you’re losing your cool in front of him. Professionalism be damned. It’s impossible to control the turmoil of emotions flowing through you, especially the guilt. All this time, you had criticized his awful habits and nonchalant behavior. Now everything about him is suddenly clicking into place.  

“You should be going to the hospital or something with these injuries,” you say while eyeing the blood seeping from his side. You notice cuts all over his body and even the helmet is cracked. “Why did you come here when you’re this hurt?”

“Well I said I’d come, so here I am.” His tone is light-hearted despite the heaves of his chest as he struggles to intake air.

“You’re already super late anyway, idiot,” you snap back, though you can feel tears pricking your eyes. “You shouldn’t have bothered. I was about to leave.”

“Kinda relieved you didn’t.”

“What was so important that it couldn’t wait until our next meeting?” you demand. You figure the sooner you get the reason out of him, the sooner you can get him some help.

“Come on, don’t be mad. It makes it harder to say if you’re mad at me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and say in a controlled tone, “I’m not mad.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” he says before taking a deep breath. “I just didn’t want you to find me another date. I needed to tell you...God, this is going to sound so sappy but to hell with it. I don’t want any more matches, or profiles, or whatever. I’m in love with you. I don’t want to see anyone else. Look, I know you’re wary of me but give me a chance. Even Cupid was able to fall in love, right?”

For a moment you’re speechless but you organize your thoughts and say, “I consider Cupid’s love story more tragic than romantic. He really shouldn’t be a source of inspiration... or object of affection.”

“You’re totally missing the point of my speech.”

“You’re the one who likened me to Cupid,” you reply, trying to keep your emotions under control.

“Oh, so we’re just going to ignore my heartfelt confession, then.” He moves to sit up straighter and groans while doing so. You reach out to help support him but he grabs your hand instead. “I’m serious about you, really. Give me a chance. I promise I’ll be more honest. I’ll try harder to be on time. I’ll keep our dates. I’ll be better, I promise.”

“Okay, okay!” you hastily answer out of nervousness. “But how am I supposed to date you if you’re dying right in front of me?!”

“This is nothing. I just need to make a call, and everything will be fine. Easy-peasy.” He groans again as he leans back. He continues to grip your hand, clutching it to his chest. “But more importantly, now that we’re officially dating, can I publicly announce it?”

“You should be making this call of yours the priority right now,” you say while desperately trying to ignore the heat creeping across your face.

He sighs dramatically. “Can’t you let me savor this moment a little while longer?”

“Well excuse me for worrying! If you weren’t bleeding out, I would let you savor this moment however long you wanted.”

“I can’t help it if I want to celebrate. I’ve finally caught Cupid, after all.”

You study his expressionless helmet. "What would you have done if I still said no?” you ask curiously.

“Remember how I said I didn’t want to be an ass and fire you? Well I would probably try to get you to quit instead. Then ask you out.”

An incredulous expression crosses your face and you ask, “Get me to quit? How?”

“Oh, probably a little bullying here and there. Just me being more of a jerk than I already am,” he says while using one hand to slide his helmet off. You’re glad to see his familiar face after staring at his mask for so long.

“Wow, that is just as bad,” you remark, your voice laced with humor. “That’s an equally terrible thing to do.”  

“Doesn’t matter now, cupid. I don’t have to do any of that stuff anymore.” He grips your hand again and tugs you closer, making you lean over him slightly as a result.

“Yeah, because you made me a promise,” you quip, attempting to maintain your composure despite how close you are to him.

"Indeed, I did,” he says in agreement, his voice dropping lower and making your legs weak. He tilts his head and his lips ghost just over yours. “So now I can be cupid’s match.”

Your lips stretch into a smile. “Then, as of now, I officially resign as your matchmaker.”

.

.

.

[supersoldierfreak]

Devotee

Slowly making my way through requests after a long writing hiatus......

Request: Hi Phee!! I’ve read all your fics and they’re so goooddddd! I was wondering if you could do a con-artist!reader x bucky where he knows her before joining with the avengers and he calls her (unbeknownst to the Avengers) and she turns up and stuff?? 

Whoop, so here we go I’ll be trying to make my way through the list over the next couple of days and I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long and this has taken so long to get written :( xx

Masterlist

“The painting ‘Starry Night Over The Rhone’ has been stolen in transit from the Musee d’Orsay in Paris to The Metropolitan Museum of Art here in New York.”

Stark scoffed. “We’re the Avengers; why are you coming to us over art theft?”  

“Because it’s not the first theft. There have been several other high-level thefts of a similar nature and we believe they’re all related.”  Fury stared him down with his one eye. 

Steve looked up from the file in front of him. “And by similar nature you mean?”

Fury leaned off the table. “All of them have been art thefts or valuable items. Moreover, they’ve all had the same signature left at the scene.” He pulled out an item and placed it on the table before flicking his coat and walking out the door.

On the table laid an origami swan.

A man who had been silent all the way through the meeting made eye-contact with femme fatale sat opposite him before walking out the room alongside everyone else.

Later that day, Bucky Barnes sat on the bed of the room Stark had given him spinning the burner phone in his hand. Coming to a conclusion he dialed a number and waited with baited breath.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

You slipped past a businessman, sliding his wallet from his suit pocket and smirked before extracting the notes from the wallet, putting them into your own bag before doubling back and slipping the wallet back into the man’s pocket and continued down Fifth Avenue, no one any the wiser.  You had barely moved when your phone began to ring causing you to raise it to an ear, only barely glancing at the Caller ID.

“Hey Barnes, it’s been a long time since you’ve decided to show face.” Your tone was light, showing nothing was meant by the comment.

“What can I say? It’s been rather busy.” The man replied with a chuckle.

You rolled your eyes. “Somehow, through magic obviously, I don’t think this is just a social call.”

“Damn doll, how could you have known; it must be the magic.”

You laughed into the phone at his sarcasm as you moved south. “How can I help?”

“Heard of the collectibles thefts going on at the moment? Well we’ve been assigned the case by Fury.”

“Wait Nick Fury as in the dead but now apparently not dead SHIELD director?”

“Yeah, but that’s not common intel so mind out. Thought the case may be of some interest to you if you wanted in, Y/N.”

“Consider my interest caught but tell them I want a 10% cut when I’m done because I already have it down to three people anyway. Are you based at the tower or some other ex-government secret base?”

Bucky laughed. “No, we’re at the tower. I’m guessing you’re on your way?”

“Make sure they’re ready for me. And tell Nat I’ve missed her.”

The line went as you ended the call, the Empire State Building and Avengers Tower coming into sight.

The doors loomed over your head as you pushed your way through the spinning door. you scanned the crowd before picking an employee. You flashed a smile onto your face bumping into the poor woman.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to! Here let me help.” You grabbed the files she had dropped on the floor with her help and as you handed them over you slid her badge off waist. “Once again miss, I’m so sorry!” Flashing an apologetic smile at her as you walked backwards to reach the gates. You scanned your new security card so the guard could buzz you through and you waited till you were out of sight in the elevator.

Scanning the card one more, the buttons became illuminated so you could choose the one you wanted. Ascending to what you knew to be the Avengers floor, you happily sipped your Starbucks drink you had acquired from reception and watched the numbers flash.

When the elevator opened with a ping you strolled out and surveyed it all. The modern design showed an open plan kitchen and living area with a large dining table to transition the two.  Various things were scattered around the place: papers, files, a gun, and a few books on the kitchen island. Bucky stood there, arms crossed looking at you amused.

“Was the Starbucks necessary?”

You looked affronted. “Absolutely.”

You opened your arms and walked towards him as he did the same, his tightly wrapping around your waist and yours swung around his neck in a tight hug.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N.” He whispered.

“You too, James.” You pulled away and took a few steps around the kitchen, your hand just barely brushing over the gun on the side. “So now I’ve gone through weapon checks and reunions...”

The sound of a gun being cocked sounded behind you and you trailed off staring at James sending telepathic help signals.

James who was leaning forward on the island, smiled at the person and shook his head. “Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

A familiar female questioned it. “Why?”

You rolled your eyes sarcastically as you turned around head down. “Well for one it would bloody hurt.”

You could see the gun lowering through your hair before the grip tightening and a loud click was audible. And again. And again. And..

“Looking for this?” You lent back on the island, armed folded, holding the missing magazine from the gun.

“Y/N?” Natasha’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped ever so slightly.

“Hey Nat.” You smiled as she zoomed to embrace you in a tight hug.

“What are you doing here? Not that I’m not loving the fact you’re here.” Natasha took steps until she was with the rest of the team again.

“Well, mon cherie,” You moved around to lean on his shoulder in mock adoration. “Our darling soldier gave me a ring.”  

James shrugged you off with a chuckle.

Steve Rogers, Captain America, stepped forward. “Who are y-”

“Oh my god! You guys could have told me that there was a legend in the building. Y/N L/N, I am a huge fan of your work and your innate ability to piss off almost any figure of authority there is. I mean it’s truly incredible and-”

“ Mr Stark. Thank you.” A deep voice cut the billionaire off as a man dressed in purely black garments walked in, an eye-patch and all. “Avengers, this is Y/N L/N, the best con-artist in the world.”

“Hey! Alleged con-artist. They never actually proved I did any of my alleged work. Besides I’m touched; you think I’m the best?”

“You said it yourself: everybody knows you did your ‘alleged’ work but they can never tie it to you making you the best, Y/N.” Natasha interrupted as she clicked the gun magazine back into place.

“Prove it.” Sam Wilson aka The Falcon. 

You laughed. “Okay, sure. Can I borrow your wallet a second?”

He patted around his pockets only to look up and see you smirking, holding the wallet. “What? How? You haven’t even come near me?”

“You shouldn’t underestimate me, Wilson, it’s rather provocative.” You raised an eyebrow and twirled the wallet in my hand before tossing it back to him.

He opened it only to see brown leather. 

“Missing these?” Your hand held his card and $65 in bills

“Yeah give ‘em back. That’s mine.” You laughed at him before sliding it along the counter to him.

“Yeah, I think I’m alright.” Although as you said this you were testing the balance of one of Barton’s knives he kept on him at all times.

Clint just stared at you entirely confused but accepted the knife gingerly when you held it for him.

“So, as your new Art theft consultant I will take the liberty of narrowing down the suspect list to three people.” You threw three folders from your bag onto the counter as Bucky stood next to you. “Yeah you have him to thank for this.”

TAGLISTS:

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@nyxveracity @ariii271 @pointlesscasey  @tahiti-island-dream @jayzayy @kapolisradomthoughts @curlycalscastellagreen @chipz4dayz@camibirdieboo @darkmelodies1 @saltymaddiee @lalalahgh @sammysgirl1997 @woofstar64 @marvel-lously @madamrubrum @ailynalonso15 @laqueus-ludovicus @evyiione @shawnsassymendes

[fordarkisthesuede]

At the Brink of Midnight - Chapter 6

It’s finally here! .ﾟ☆(ノё∀ё)ノ☆ﾟ. My tumblr and Ao3 updates will now be synchronized on the same day from here on out! As always, thank you for your continuous support!!!

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(Read on Ao3 or continue below)

Chapter 6:  Your Old Dark House

"You know, I'm surprised you didn't take the Batmobile last night," John commented as they rode the elevator up to the billiard room. He held his hands behind his back, loosely clasping his wrist with one hand, while standing completely straight and exuding an aura of unbelieving excitement. He smiled over at Bruce, light shining brilliantly in his eyes, looking every bit as charming as he had at the Stacked Deck.

"I thought it would be less conspicuous if I rode along in Jackie's car," Bruce offered with a light shrug. "I thought she was on our side..."

"I only ever saw her when she was tagging along in sessions now and then," John started smoothly, "but that was a woman whose hamster wheels were always turning. Just never quite knew what they were turning for..."

The elevator came to a halt, and Bruce pushed the section of wall open.

The parlor was barely lit and only slightly warmer than the cave. Bruce let John get out first, making sure the clock's wall shut firmly.

Bruce wanted to just make a bee-line for the door. He didn't want to look at the picture hanging above the mantle. His parents' kind eyes as they posed with him, the younger, innocent child that had no clue as to what they really did with their lives. The picture was taken two months before their assassination in Crime Alley, and Bruce sometimes wondered why his father didn't look more like the manic crime lord he turned out to be.

He couldn't find it in him to take it down. It was part of him, and it felt strange not to have their picture somewhere in the house, despite what they had done. It used to be a constant reminder to prevent senseless deaths like theirs. Then it became a reminder to be better than his family's name.

John seemed to scan the room, his excitement not waning in the slightest. "Wow, I knew it would be fancy, but... Still! Even have a family portrait!"

Bruce had a hard enough time looking at it. He certainly didn't want to talk about it, much less with the person his parents' would have undoubtedly disapproved of having in their home the most. "You haven't seen anything yet," Bruce said with as much charm as he could muster.

"Then lead the way, Lord of the Manor." John gestured his arms at the door, a small grin stretched on his pale face.

The foyer had strips of light coming in through the tall window above the door.

"Ha! It looks just like the pictures! Just, uh, darker."

Bruce felt his spirits lift at that. He figured it wouldn't hurt to switch on the light at the top of the stairs.

John winced and rubbed his eyes, but still seemed to instantly soak up the visuals. "Talk about classy. Just looking at all this makes me want to rob you," he joked, laughing a bit. "Just a little, though."

Just as Bruce suspected, John stood out in stark contrast to the color palette of the mansion. It was nice, seeing something so bright and lively in the otherwise empty space.

Bruce did agree to give a bit of a tour, despite what they had to do, and he figured the best way to get them both to move was to just start talking from the top. "So... Main kitchen's to the right of the stairs, in the back, dining room's through the second door across the hall..."

"Woah, woah - main kitchen? You have little sub-kitchens?" John grinned over, inching towards the staircase.

"No, just one other kitchen, on the far side of the house."

"Why does one guy need two kitchens?"

"It was either meant for long-term guests or live-in servants... I'm honestly not sure. There's a lot of rooms I don't bother going into."

"Ooh, let me guess!" John deliberately covered his eyes with one hand and posed with the other pointing up in the air. "I bet...you have a theater, and...a gym...and a conservatory!"

Bruce let out a slight chortle. "Got it in one. Though I do use the gym."

John pulled his hand away from his face, grinning triumphantly back at him. "I knew it! Don't think I haven't noticed you've been working out," he added with a look that Bruce felt was rather... flirtatious . "Miss the nightly excursions on rooftops?"

The usual awkwardness that came with John's honesty bubbled up; it was worse knowing that John had been completely right. Since giving up Batman, Bruce tended to work out until exhaustion, if just to give his mind the illusion that he was working like normal.

"Let's head upstairs - there's at least five closets for us to go through."

John laughed to himself as he started to ascend the stairs. "No need to feel embarrassed, Bruce," he said, humor weaved into his tone, "I get it."

"You're the only one who does."

John put a hand over his chest as he gave the billionaire a soft look. "Aww, Bruce! I'm touched..." He tore his gaze away to continue taking in the decor. "I hope the feeling's mutual."

Bruce wasn't sure what to say to that.

"Say, your Dad... He seems like he was the same height as you. Was he the same size as you, too? It's hard to tell from the pictures."

"I'm not sure," the former-vigilante answered honestly. "Alfred and I donated a lot of my parents' stuff years ago. There's only so much left."

"You have a sewing machine?"

Did he? Alfred was a man of many talents, including mending... He couldn't remember ever seeing a machine. "I know Alfred has a kit, but I don't think he has a machine."

"Hmm... No worries! As long as I can get my hands on some Stitch Witchery, we'll be good to go."

Was...was he planning on fixing something to fit him?

Bruce thought about telling him they didn't have time for that, but the reality was that they did. "Master bedroom's on the right."

"We're starting with your closet?"

"Might as well. Alfred's is off-limits."

"Naturally."

John's face lit up as they went through the bedroom's double-doors. Bruce didn't think there would be much to get excited about at first.

But then he realized he was letting John into the second most personal space he had. Few people had seen inside that room, and those that spent the night usually didn't find their way back inside afterward. Even fewer had the same observation skills John had.

It was strange, though, that John seemed to bypass everything in favor of the walk-in closet.

Or maybe he was being sneaky about where he was looking. It was hard to tell with him sometimes. It was why Bruce hadn't realized how much a "watcher" he really was until their conversation in the Fun House.

John immediately set upon going through the suits. "Let's see, black, dark blue, black, black - ooh, there's gray! Your spring color of choice!" He teased, grinning at him as he played with the sleeve between his fingers. "Have any suits you hate?"

Bruce blinked. "You can take whatever one you want, John. I'll get another."

John pursed his lips. "I'd feel bad if I took your favorite."

He was tempted to say that his favorite was downstairs, but it wasn't quite true. Or maybe he didn't want it to be true. "In that case, anything but the pinstriped black in the middle."

"...do you really trust me?" John asked carefully, flicking through the rack of carefully-hung suits. "Enough to do this again...? Work with you...?"

"Of course I do."

"Even though I messed things up?"

Bruce knew he had to choose his words carefully. John already felt - and looked - guilty enough. "We both messed up, John."

"But you didn't kill anyone."

He felt his heart squeeze at the thought and crossed his arms. "You've...come a long way since then." Bruce watched John's face carefully, trying to read him; his expression had softened. "Are you worried you're going to do it again?"

"Do you think Tiffany will?" He asked suddenly, turning towards him with a piercing, accusatory stare. "Or is it just me?"

"John -"

"No," he interrupted, his voice raised. "I want the truth, Bruce. Why did you let her go and put me back in Arkham?"

Bruce felt like he was aching all over. He hated seeing John like this. He hated feeling the stomach-gnawing guilt that came with it. But the only thing he could do was to be honest with him.

"It was the best way I knew how to help her. Putting her in Black Gate would have only made more problems for the Fox's. And...Arkham was the only way I knew I could help you." Bruce let everything come out, feeling like he was laying himself bare, and hoped to hell that John was seeing. "I didn't want to put you back in there. I had no choice." He breathed in, hating the angry hurt on full display on John's face. "I know what you two have done. But I also know you're trying to be better."

John sighed, his lean body slacking halfway. "You had seven months to tell me, Bruce. Lying by omission still counts as breaking our promise." He pouted slightly, glancing at the taupe suit he had been handling, and an unnerving smile broke on his face. "So you're going to make it up to me."

Bruce wasn't quite sure how to take that.

"I want one of your batarangs," John continued in a low tone that send a slight shiver up Bruce's spine.

Well... He did know how to use it. Neither of them knew what would happen outside, either. It could come in handy. And they did promise not to keep secrets, and he had a point, no matter how much Bruce could have protested that he had been going to tell him. Bruce supposed there was no harm in paying a penalty so simple. "...sure, that's fair."

"To keep."

"I'm not letting you take it back to Arkham."

"Of course not," John replied silkily, "You're going to hold onto it for me."

It was hard to guess exactly what John was thinking, asking for something like that. One batarang for putting the issue aside. He supposed John would never be able to get the rest of the Jokerrangs out of policy custody... "Fine. But just one."

John gave a mischievous grin as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a familiar sharpened bat-shaped tool. "Oh, good! That means I only have to give one of these back."

The vigilante's eyebrows rose to his hairline, staring at the batarang just being held out to him like a playing card.

"I know I should've asked, but like I said, you looked like you hadn't slept in a week, buddy," John said with a playful shrug. "Sorry."

Bruce nearly snatched the batarang back, glaring at the green-haired man.

John pulled the taupe suit off the hanger and folded it neatly over his arm. "I'm gonna need a couple of other things, too, now that I think about it..."

Bruce didn't know why he always ended back up in the parlor. Maybe it drew him in with it's natural coziness, despite the judgmental stares of his parent's picture. Maybe it was because it was the in-between for both sides of his life. (Used to be, he reminded himself.)

He'd left John on his own upstairs, who focused intently on his sewing project after a lengthy discussion about what Bruce had to order for him if he was going to step outside at all. At least it was easy enough for the warehouse to drone-deliver later.

But that had been an hour ago. Occasionally, he would hear movement from upstairs as John rooted around in the other four closets that might have held something for him to use. It had been silent for a little too long.

All Bruce had for noise for the past half-hour was the little blips from the drone he was controlling through the mobile gear he brought up from the cave. He'd flown around the city, checking up on Jackie's apartment (empty), the whereabouts of her car (unknown), and trying to find any sign of Crane's car (none) as he virtually sat outside the doctor's condo.

There had been no sign of life there - not so much as a twitch in the curtains, all of which were drawn shut. There wasn't so much as a desk lamp on inside, and at six-thirty in the morning, Gotham's penchant for cloud cover made it pretty dark. It was unlikely that Jonathan Crane was home, and Bruce was struggling to think of where he could have gone or what he was planning to do.

Arkham's server hadn't shown any key-card use for either him or Jackie Lant since the night before. Trying to track their phones came up as empty as they had the night before - likely switched off, but hopefully not dumped. Jackie Lant at least had a couple of social media accounts Bruce could cobble together information from; she had friends in the area, so she might have stayed the night at one of their places.

Bruce flew the miniature drone around the back of the condo again, parking it in the corner of the patio next to a cluster of potted plants by the tall fence. He and John would either have to pick the lock on the front door or jump the fences to break in the back way. For right now, he'd keep an eye on the back to see if there was any movement through the windows there...

A loud buzzing sound would have made Bruce jump if he were anyone else but himself, but it did shake him out of his thoughts. The gate's intercom was activated; he rushed to get to the panel by the front door and take a peek at the video, grateful that they couldn't see him.

Detective Bullock's round face glared at him from the driver's side of his unmarked Crown Victoria.

Bruce had expected as much. He didn't think Bullock would ever forget being punched in the face, even if it had been for a good reason at the time. He breathed in, willing himself to sound as just-woken-up as possible before pressing the call-button. "Yes?"

"Detective Bullock of Gotham City Police Department, Wayne. Open up."

Bruce feigned surprise as best he could. "Oh, sure - I'll be right down."

He pushed the button for the gate and rushed to strip and pull on the bathrobe he had thrown on the billiard table an hour ago, praying silently that John wouldn't pick now to make any indications he was in the house.

He waited a minute, knowing he shouldn't appear to rushed to see anyone, and took as many even breaths as he could before opening the door.

Detective Bullock was standing there with two armed officers, the Crown Victoria parked crooked in front of the GCPD squad car in the path.

"Good morning, Detective - officers," he added with a smile in their direction. "How may I help you?"

Harvey Bullock grimaced. "You'll do us a favor and cut the crap," he growled. "Your pal John Doe escaped Arkham Asylum sometime last night. You seen him?"

Bruce rose his eyebrows and let his shoulders slump. "He escaped?" He took a deliberate pause, pretending to search Harvey's face. "No... No, I haven't." (Bruce had blinked. He hoped Harvey wouldn't notice.)

"Right. Here's how it's gonna go, rich boy - we figure he's gonna try to get in touch with you, and seeing as how he's a homicidal lunatic-" Bruce felt himself frown before he could really stop the reflex - "we have to make sure we have someone around to stop your ass from getting sliced up. So officers Flemmot and Derming here will be keeping an eye on your place. We already have a couple guys situated on Wayne Tower, in case he tries there."

It was a perfectly sensible thing to do, despite it being a matter of public knowledge that Bruce took an active interest in Arkham's reformation and John's well-being after the Joker incident. Tabloids had run themselves ragged trying to dig up whatever they could in the first few months of Bruce's visits to the asylum, but Bruce had the sense of mind to pay the more talkative orderlies off before things would get too out of hand. He didn't care that people knew they were friends, considering what they knew already, but he didn't want any wild accusations to start flying. There was a couple of baseless theories in the trashiest rag about potential love affairs between the two, but one call from Bruce's lawyer cleared that up before anyone could say 'Wayne'.

Still, Bruce knew he had to feign some ignorance, if just to keep up appearances, so he put his hands in his pockets like he was being thoughtful. "You really think he'd try to go to Wayne Tower?"

"It's not a matter of what I think, moneybags." Bruce almost winced at the nickname. "It's a matter of what the commissioner thinks. And what he thinks is that either Doe or you are gonna do something stupid, given your guys' history. So you listen to me," Bullock growled, stepping up to get in Bruce's face, "If you so much as get a glimpse of your freaky little boy-toy while you're held up in either one of your ivory towers, you get us on the line asap. Else you're gonna be in shit so deep you'll need a snorkel. Got it?"

Bruce felt the urge to break the detective's nose for a second time. He could practically hear the satisfying crack it made. "You didn't have to put it that way," he answered, clenching his fist to try and quell the desire to punch, "but yes, I understand."

"Good." Bullock started to retreat, turning to the two officers waiting at the base of the steps. "You two, start sweeping the grounds, and keep a close eye on Wayne, you got me? I want to know if he so much as leans out the window. Oh, and Wayne?" He shot up a look from the bottom step as he shoved a cigarette into his mouth. "You got a small package," he added with a smirk, pointing to the medium-sized box sitting by unopened side of the door. Bruce rolled his eyes and picked it up, deciding not to dignify the distasteful jab with a response.

"I think I'll work from home today," he said aloud as he closed the door on the police officers now going their own ways, knowing that they heard him well enough.  

God, what he needed now was coffee. He went through his mental catalogue of the kitchen as he went, wondering if he had anything John would actually like, and thought about whether or not he should go looking for him.

Bruce stepped through the kitchen door and found that the idea was completely unnecessary - John was leaning against the counter island, fully-dressed in the modified taupe suit taken from Bruce's closet, seeming to watch the coffeemaker on the opposing counter. Bruce gently placed the box on the counter nearest him.

As if he sensed his presence, John turned his head, and immediately lit up. "There you are! Your eggs are getting cold!"

Bruce shot a glance at the table tucked away by the darkened window. Two plates, both covered with a different set of plates to keep them warm. Mugs were already sitting there, too, as well as the carton of half-and-half, the sugar bowl, two jars of jam (did he have two kinds? Bruce only remembered strawberry in the fridge...), and the maple syrup for some reason.

"How did you do this so fast?"

"Bruce, I've been down here for twenty minutes," John said with a somewhat flat look as he turned around to lean against the counter on his elbows. "You looked busy, so I was going to wait and get you, but then the fuzz showed up and... I figured you'd find me eventually."

"...what would you have done if they'd come in?"

"They can't come in without a warrant and they don't have...you know, that thing. What is it - uh, probable clause?"

"Probable cause."

"Yeah, that!" John emphasized with a snap of his fingers. "I knew you wouldn't let them in since I was here anyway, so there was only a mild panic attack for a couple of minutes back there."

Bruce felt almost like he was having one of those right now. The kitchen windows had their rolling shades drawn, but there was still a slim chance they could be seen through the sides... And the fact that John had crept around downstairs without a sound was as startling as it was impressive.

He really was full of surprises...

"Well, just...don't sit by the window," Bruce said lamely. "There's going to be two officers patrolling the grounds."

John let out a giggle. "Good thing they don't know how I escaped in the first place," he said teasingly, his green eyes twinkling up at Bruce. "They'd neeever guess."

"Hopefully they never will."

"I doubt it," John hand-waved, standing straight as the coffee machine beeped, "You're Gotham's golden boy, Bruce. You could visit me every single day and they'd still doubt you'd actually break me out. You could probably tell them that you were Batman and they'd never believe you..."

"I don't know about that... Avesta was sharp enough to pin Batman's identity on me after one meeting with me. She's a Gothamite, and I don't think she doubted it for an instant."

"That's different," John scoffed, moving the coffeepot to the table, giving Bruce a full view of the seamless job John had done on the suit.

It was... perfect, actually.

It accentuated his shoulders and waistline, leaving just enough room for the grappling gun at his back, and made a slim fit on his legs; he'd even found a dark green tie somewhere that complimented his hair.

John seemed to notice him staring (he was not staring, he was observing, he was not letting himself linger on any particular area, certainly not his swan-like neck, exposed due to not buttoning up the shirt all the way...) and turned to beam at him, posing his hands on his hips. "What do you think?"

Bruce shoved down the honest flattering compliments that popped up in his head that he would've said unabashedly with anyone else. Still, he didn't want to say anything rude just to cover his own feelings, either.

"I think I should hire you as my tailor," Bruce said genuinely, "You look great."

John looked as if Bruce had said he was handsomest thing he'd ever seen. "Thanks! I'm impressed with myself, actually, since I had limited supplies to work with..." Bruce almost felt like as if he had passed some kind of test with him, somehow...

He took the seat next to him at the table and puzzled over how strangely domestic this entire scenario was, despite the threats just walking around outside. He knew they had time, considering Crane and Lant were nowhere to be found, but there was always the nagging feeling in the back of his head that they had to move.

"So what were you up to?" John asked, smearing a heaping knife-full of strawberry jam on his toast.

"I was using the drones to try and find Crane. I haven't been able to find his or Jackie Lant's cars, so I decided to part the drone outside of Crane's condo for now. He doesn't seem to be home." He watched as John picked up the syrup and squirted it in streaks all over his plate, covering the eggs and half the toast like it was the only way to eat them.

"Crane drives a Lexus, doesn't he?" John asked with a forkful of syrup-coated egg poised to be eaten. "He seems like the type..."

"Yes, actually. I haven't been able to see any sign of it on traffic cameras, either."

"He probably parked it and swapped the plates with something else," John advised, pointing another bite at Bruce's face to emphasize his point. "Our glorified intern is probably still driving her crummy little sedan around."

He honestly couldn't imagine Jackie Lant as the type to steal a car. She seemed to be the kind to hide it. He wondered if she wasn't just going to try and continue life as normal today, considering John would've gone after Crane right away regardless of whether or not Bruce Wayne had a darker side. "...why do you think she wanted to kill him?" Bruce asked, sipping his coffee. (John had apparently opted for the dark roast rather than the French in the cupboard. Strange, considering John was now pouring quite a bit of half-and-half into his cup...)

The green-haired man just hummed in response, a calculating look coming over his face. "If I were the betting kind of guy," he started, "I'd say she was aiming to steal from him, first."

"You think she's after his formula?"

"Maybe," John replied with a secretive sort of smile. "But Crane was using it on us for a reason, Bruce. All those notes about how we reacted under extreme stress, seeing our worst fears manifested before our eyes by a nasty chemical reaction..." John's face twisted into something serious. "Crane might have had to kill his way in, but it doesn't change the fact that people pay a lot of attention to him."

Bruce thought back to the strange figures sitting on Crane's office shelf. "How did you know he's killed people?"

John looked down at his plate with a reminiscent expression. "I had some sessions with Dr. Kessler before I got released. He had that little souvenir floating pen on his desk since day one." John stabbed the yolk with his fork, watching the yellow goop leak out like a bloody wound. "I liked him."

"I'm sorry."

"They never found either of their bodies, did they? Kessler and his replacement, whatever her name was... Just empty homes and not so much as a goodbye note from either of them," John commented, meeting Bruce's gaze again with a dry smile.

"No. He and Dr. Norris are still on the missing persons list." Bruce let coffee wash out the bad taste that came along with the words. "I'm sure that Jackie Lant is going to go after Crane. That look on her face when she left..."

"You'll have to tell me," John pointed out with a wider smile.

"Sorry," Bruce said reflexively, remembering the punch he had thrown at the side of John's head. "She was...determined. Whatever Crane's planning to do, she might know what it is already. I wouldn't put it past her to already have some of his formula, too."

John leaned on his elbow, propping his head in his slim, pale hand to observe Bruce with a familiar, playful smile on his lips. "Hmm, decisions, decisions... Are we going to look into the home of the disturbed doctor or the treacherous trainee this morning?"

Bruce thought back to Crane's empty condo. He had no idea how long it would stay empty; and he wouldn't be surprised if Crane kept his formula - or at least an earlier version of it - at his house.

Then again, Jackie Lant's apartment was also temporarily deserted. There was no guarantee that she wouldn't try to go back to work. She might have a few answers scattered around, too, both for herself and Crane's actions.

But Crane's face when he had walked out... He'd been so assured of himself. Like he already knew what he was going to do next, despite there being no way he could have predicted John's escape and Bruce's intrusion on his office.

"Crane might have kept to himself, but his house will give us the best chance at finding out what he's up to. And if he tries to go back while we're there, we might be able to stop him prematurely."

"Good choice," John grinned, passing him the blackcurrant jam. Bruce didn't even know he had that kind... It must have been in the back of the cupboard. "But I wouldn't recommend going on an empty stomach."

Bruce felt his cheeks burn slightly as he started in on his own food, John watching him happily. He had a feeling he would watch the whole time if left to his own. "Your stuff came, by the way," he said with a nod towards the package sitting on the counter.

"Ooh, better get started, then!" John practically downed the rest of his own drink. "See you back in the billiard room, Bruce!"

With that, he rushed out of the kitchen, pausing at the door to peek out and see if he had a clear shot outside or not, and left Bruce on his own in the large, empty kitchen.

Bruce felt like he was waiting for a date to finish freshening up before they went out on the town. He'd passed the time by sending off the email notifications that he wouldn't be coming into the office and rescheduling his meetings. He'd still have one to do at home that he wouldn't be able to get out of or push aside, but that wasn't until the afternoon. He had lots of time before then.

He wished he had kept the Batmobile parked in the cave, now. He already had to take one of his other car's plates off so they could drive the stolen Honda around without being randomly looked up. Hopefully no one would notice. Bruce had already changed into plain street clothes and hadn't bothered shaving.

"Sorry for the wait, Brucie."

For a moment, it looked like a well-dressed stranger had broken into Wayne Manor. With his hair dyed temporarily dark brown and his face covered in a more naturally-toned foundation, the only thing that gave John away was the bright greens of his eyes.

He seemed to have applied the works:  nude lipstick, natural smokey eye-shadow, eyebrow pencil, and even brown mascara. He was completely unrecognizable to any stranger.

He'd clearly found something else in one of the closets upstairs, too. Bruce almost did a double-take - he was pretty sure that was his father's light trench-coat over Bruce's taupe suit. The matching hat was being twirled around on John's hand.

(He did tell him he could take whatever he wanted. It was too late to go back on that now... Bruce would just have to deal with it. It wasn't like he'd seen it that often when his father was alive, either.)

"What do you think? I kind of disassociated a bit towards the end while applying everything. It feels like I'm looking at a me from another world..."

It struck Bruce that this was very likely what John had looked like before he had woken up in Arkham, before he'd had whatever accident had bleached his skin and warped his D.N.A. to dye his hair green. It was rather handsome, if Bruce was being completely honest, but it didn't feel right. It was as if John was supposed to always have his unnatural color palette.

"You...definitely look different," Bruce answered.

John looked at his (very new) shoes. "It's weird, isn't it."

"No - well, yes, but only because I know you." Bruce fumbled, not wanting to see John hurt. "You look good. Just...not your usual good."

That brought a smile back, at least. "Thanks, Bruce. I needed that." He clapped his hands together, standing completely straight. "Well! I'm ready to go when you are!"

Notes:  John’s new look is totally inspired by Jack Napier in Mask of the Phantasm. Picture it, but combined with that tan trench-coat+hat combo other Jokers wear sometimes...

If only John was in Villain!Joker’s makeup... ♡( ૢ⁼̴̤̆ ꇴ ⁼̴̤̆ ૢ)~ෆ♡

[imjustthemechanic]

The French Mistake

Part 1/? - A Visitor Part 2/? - The Kulturhistorisk Museum Heist Part 3/? - Cutscene Part 4/? - The Marvel Cinematic Universe Part 5/? - Breathless Part 6/? - Escape at Last Part 7/? - Fox in Socks Part 8/? - Things Go Wrong Part 9/? - Downey and Out

Steve and Nat are rescued by the most unlikely person imaginable.  A lengthy and embarrassing misunderstanding ensues.

Steve stared.  He would never have thought Tony Stark would show up to rescue him – and if he had, he might have thought he’d refuse to be rescued.  Under the circumstances, however, he would take what he could get, even if it came with the Dorito joke.

That didn’t make it less of a surprise, though. “What are you doing here?” Steve asked.

“Bailing you out,” Stark replied, tucking his phone back in his pocket.  “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

Steve had a thousand other questions, ranging from how did you get here after Thor broke the rune stone? to did you really think the apology letter was douchy?  For the moment, however, those could all wait.  “Then let’s get Natasha and go.”

Stark gave him a sidelong look.  “You okay?” he asked.

“I’ve been better,” Steve admitted.  “You?”  They were going to have to talk about it now, he realized.  Maybe not right away, because this situation with Loki was so much more important, but sooner or later they were going to have to sit down and talk about the whole mess with the Accords and possibly end up fighting again.  Steve wasn’t looking forward to that, but again, it was better than being in prison.

“Not bad,” said Stark.  “We going?”

“We’re going,” Steve said.

Natasha was escorted out to join them, and one of the cops brought Dodger on a leash.  Steve knelt down to greet the dog while Stark posted bail for the two prisoners. Once their things had been returned and all the paperwork had been signed, Natasha immediately began asking Stark questions.

“Since you’re here,” she said, “I assume you’ve got a way back.”

“Well, I didn’t take the bus,” Stark said.

In the parking lot he took out a fob and pressed the button, and Steve did a double-take as this got a beep from an extremely un-Tony-Stark-like Dodge minivan.  Stark himself didn’t even flinch, though.  He just opened the driver’s door and climbed in, and Steve had to remind himself that neither the vehicle nor the body of the man driving it actually belonged to Tony Stark.  Maybe the actor who played him wasn’t such a big star as Scarlett Johansson with her pink corvette and her Malibu mansion.  It would also explain what Stark was wearing: a tweed peaked cap, black track pants, a striped cardigan, and a faded t-shirt with the words Enjoy Mello Yello on the front.  He looked more like a particularly embarrassing suburban househusband than a billionaire superhero, or even an actor.

Steve climbed into the back of the van, while Natasha got in the front passenger side.  “How did you find us?” was her next question.

“Well, when celebrities beat up their husbands, word kind of gets around,” Stark replied, doing up his seat belt.  “I told Ridley I’d bail you out as a special favour.” He put the van in gear, and got out onto the road.

Steve leaned forward between the seats.  “Why didn’t you get us out?” he asked Natasha.

“I didn’t have my stuff,” Nat replied.  “Even I can’t pick a lock with lip gloss.”

“Well, there go my illusions,” said Steve.

Stark didn’t say anything right away, which was odd – Stark usually couldn’t resist weighing in on anything and everything. Now, he waited until they were out on the road, heading east towards Santa Monica, before he spoke.

“All right,” he said.  “Now that we’re all stuck in this car with each other for the next sixty miles, who wants to tell me how you got into this fine mess?”  He sounded like he was their father – not mad, just disappointed.

“Where should we start?” asked Steve.  How much did Stark already know.

“At the beginning,” said Stark.  “I’ll follow along.”

“The beginning,” Steve said.  “That would be Natasha coming to see me in Wakanda a few days ago, to tell me Thor was back on Earth.”

“Thor was back on Earth,” Stark echoed.  It was a question, but only by implication, not by tone.

“The reason he didn’t go see you,” Natasha put in, “is because I told him not to. We didn’t want to make a big production out of it and get the politicians involved.  That meant Rogers and I were about the only people available.”

“T’Challa gave us a flight as far as Morocco,” Steve went on.

“Because we were going to Oslo,” Nat agreed.  “Loki needed something from a museum there, so Thor wanted us to meet him.”

They continued that way, telling the story in bits and pieces while constantly interrupting each other to fill in the missing details.  Stark, once again, sat silent.  He kept driving on the dark Pacific Coast Highway, his eyes on the road ahead, and Steve began to wonder if he were even listening.  It was so unlike Stark not to have anything to say that at one point Steve just stopped talking and waited for him to stay something.  Anything at all.

“Go on,” Stark said finally.  “I’m honestly curious where you’re going with this.”

They took him through their rather violent transfer between dimensions, skipped over most of the embarrassing things that had happened on the movie set, and brought the story up to where they’d had to defend themselves from Johansson’s husband.  There they stopped, because they figured Stark already knew what had happened after that.

Stark nodded thoughtfully.  “So that’s why Hiddles threw a fit, is it?” he asked.

Steve and Natasha both perked up.  “Hiddles?  Hiddles… Hiddleston is Loki, right?” Steve asked.

“Sure is,” said Stark.  “He’s run off to plot our doom, has he?”

“Where is he?” Steve asked eagerly.  “Or where was he, before he disappeared?”  That would at least give them a place to start from.

“Last I heard he was up in the Rockies in Canada, playing Sir John A. McDonald in some railway movie,” Stark said, “but I think he had the weekend off for a convention appearance anyway.  Conquering the world, on fangirl at a time.”  He chuckled, but then turned serious again. “Okay, that was fun.  Now, really, what happened?”

“What?  But we…” Steve said, and then his heart sank as he realized he’d seriously mis-judged the entire situation.  He’d never questioned that this was Stark come to look for him – and even if he had, being addressed as Dorito would have settled it for him.  The Doritos bag existed in this universe, too, though – Evans had it framed in his trailer.  Could it have originated on the internet and had Stark’s alternate pick it up, just as had happened in their own world?

“But what?” asked Stark.  “The only buts I see here are your butts I just bailed out of jail.  You realize how serious that is, right?  You’re going to be charged with assault.  Scarlett, if Romain files for divorce on the grounds of abuse, he’s going to get custody of Rose.  Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” said Natasha firmly.  “Yes, I do.”

“Okay, then.”  Stark’s voice was a little gentler now – he could tell that she meant it. “Remember when I said you guys could tell me anything because I’ve probably done worse?  Just tell me.  No judging,” he promised.  “I know people make mistakes.  Before I can help you, I need to know what I’m helping you with.  For starters, how long has this affair been going on?  I know you two have been working together forever, but you’ve always told the media you were just friends.”

There was a moment of silence as Steve and Natasha both mulled over the possible consequences of this latest mistake.

“You’re not Tony Stark, are you?” Steve asked, just to be sure.

“Right now?” the man in the driver’s seat said. “No, I am not Tony Stark.  And you are not Steve Rogers, and she is not Natasha Romanov, so let’s talk about our problems like adults, please.”

For a moment Steve couldn’t decide what to do, and it was clear that Natasha couldn’t either.  They’d already told him the whole story, and he hadn’t believed it. Where did that leave him?

“Okay,” Natasha tried.  “Um… Robert.  It’s Robert, right?  Robert Downey?”

“It is,” the man said, unamused.

“Let’s pretend that everything we already told you is true…” Nat began.

“Let’s not,” Downey interrupted, “because this really doesn’t seem like the time for that.”

“Let’s do,” Nat insisted, “because it is true. You can call Thor and ask him – he’s got Hemsworth’s phone.  We talked to him on Skype earlier.”  She pulled out her phone, which the police had given back to her.

“He’s going to come meet us as soon as we can arrange a place,” Steve said.  “You said Loki was in Canada.  Where, exactly?”

“I’m going to pull over and make you two walk in a minute, if you can’t take this seriously,” Downey threatened them.

Nat was dialling her phone.  “Do you always treat your colleagues like children?” she asked.

“When they act like it, yeah,” said Downey.  “I’m gonna take you two back to Ridley so you can finish your movie.  I know I can’t force you to accept help, but if and when you want it, you know where to find me.  If you’re gonna make a game of it, I’m out.”

Nat turned around and handed her phone to Steve. “Talk to Thor,” she said, and then undid her seat belt.

She climbed into Downey’s lap and grabbed the steering wheel – he yelped in surprise, and the minivan lurched unpleasantly to the right, taking out several garbage and recycling bins lined up in front of the beach properties there.  A moment later it swerved to the left again, and got back on the road. Somebody behind them honked.

A woman’s voice answered Natasha’s phone.  “Hello?”

“Hi, Mrs. Hemsworth?” asked Steve.  “Can I talk to Thor?”

“Just a second,” she said.

The van continued to wind back and forth across the lane of traffic.  Then it straightened out, and a hand grabbed the top of the headrest on the passenger’s side.  It was too big to be Natasha’s.  Leaning forward a little, Steve saw Downey climb into the seat, with Nat now at the wheel.

“What the hell are you doing?” Downey asked.  “Scarlett, for crying out loud…”

The line picked up again.  “Captain?” asked the voice of Thor.

“Thor,” said Steve.  “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Have you found my brother, then?” Thor wanted to know.

“Maybe,” Steve said.

Natasha was now in full control of the van, and the driving was correspondingly smoother.  She sped up.  “Tell us where Loki is,” she ordered.

“If I tell you, will you let me out?” Downey asked.

“Maybe,” said Nat.

“Captain?” asked Thor.

“Sorry,” said Steve.  “Yeah, we’ve found somebody who might know.  Romanov’s questioning him right now.”

“Well, a wise individual will tell her quickly,” Thor said.

“Can I ask you something?”  Steve frowned.  “Hemsworth’s wife seems… she’s weirdly okay with this.  Did she… what did you tell her?  Or what did she say to you?”

“The lady Elsa?  I explained the situation to her, and she seemed quite agreeable,” Thor said.  “She told the doctors that her husband does this all the time, for the entertainment of children.”

That explained a lot.

“I know where he’s supposed to be,” Downey said.  “He’s supposed to be at some convention in Calgary!  I don’t know whether he’s actually going to show up.”

“That’ll do,” said Nat.  “Steve, did you hear that?”

“Yes,” said Steve.  “Okay, Thor, according to the guy who isn’t Stark, Loki is supposed to be in Calgary, Canada.”  Steve had a vague idea where that was.  “His actor was working on a film near there, so we can start our search.”

“I shall set off for the airport at once,” Thor promied.

“Great,” said Steve.  “We’ll meet you at arrivals in Calgary.”  He covered the phone with one hand.  “Anything else I should ask him, Natasha?”

“That ought to do for now.”  Nat pulled over.

“It will be good to return to our own realm,” said Thor.  “Until we meet again, Captain.”

Steve disconnected, and Nat reached over and opened the passenger-side door for Downey.  “There you go,” she said.

He looked out, then back at her.  “This is my van,” he protested.

“You asked if you could get out once you told us where Loki is,” Nat reminded him.  “I said yes.  Now I’m letting you out.  I’ll leave a note for Evans and Johansson to call you once we’ve found Loki and gotten out of here.  I’m sure they’ll appreciate the help.”

Downey climbed out.

Natasha shut the door and put the turn signal on to drive away.  Steve looked back, and saw a light fall on Downey’s face.  He had his phone out.

“He’s making a phone call,” Steve said.  “What if he’s calling the cops?”  If this were Downey’s van, he definitely knew the license plate number.

“Shit,” said Natasha, and stopped the van again.

[smokeybrand]

Don’t Call Me Shirley

A guy i know replied to a Facebook post I made with something pretty superficial and aggressively nationalist on the post i made about how the government bribes people with socialism in order to throw themselves into war. He believes that Vets deserve all of that stuff because they defended our country but the common man doesn't for reasons? Buddy, have i got news for you! Buckle up because I woke up this morning and, like US International Policy, I chose violence.

Every war that the US has fought after WWII, was in defense of its interests not the country. Those two things are not the same. No country since the fall of Hitler has ever directly threatened the sovereignty of the US. Maybe Russia but we haven't technically gone to war with them and our beef is basically just a dick measuring contest over who can have te most influence (Spoiler warning: It's us because we have the most guns and the most money and act like f*cking D-Bo to the world at large) so what have you been defending? Freedom? Democracy? When has that sh*t ever worked? Every war we have ever fought to stave of the entrenchment of Communism or install a democratic leader, has ended in failure. The Korean War gave us the Ils. You ever see Iran before the US installed their first puppet dictator? Don't get me started on how spectacularly we failed in Vietnam. I'm not even going to touch the shambles we left basically any country to our immediate South. Motherf*ckers are real aggressive about that border. Probably because they want to keep out the couple decades worth of displaced Brown people from getting in here, after we kept failing at coups for the last three or four generations. What about the two Iraq Wars? Surely those were fought to defend our way of life. They killed a couple thousand of us that one time. Surely these last twenty f*cking years of imperialist aggression were more than just the US trying to steal sovereignty away from a country because of oil? Surely all these f*cking lives lost were definitely given in service to freeing the shackled people of... Whatever sandy and Brown country we were supposed to be liberating, and not to line the pockets of profiteering billionaires right? Well, i got news for you kid...

We "won" the original Iraq war because the Saudis told us to stop pursuing the fleeing Saddam, another one of out installed puppet dictators that went rogue. We didn't win, we stopped. Like in Vietnam. That wasn't and embarrassing retreat, we stopped. You see, Hussein was setting Saudi oil wells on fire as he fled, so the Saudis demanded we protect their bottom line instead of actually finishing the job. The war had it's effect, though. Hussein ceased aggression on Saudi Arabia, mostly, and went back to terrorizing everyone else in the region. Keep in mind that the people there, the one's Hussein was torturing and murdering and raping and whatever else, remember that it was the US who put him in power. They can't forget. They have all those scars as reminders. That's going to play into what comes next. The second Iraq war, the one that has lasted a bit more than half my life, was another grab at that oil by the US, with a sprinkling of personal presidential revenge, coated in the the saccharine sweet of US Nationalism and fear-mongering of the "other", in order for the American people to swallow it all. And swallow it they did. And, f*cking two decades later, we are all still choking on it.

My older brother fought in the same war that his oldest kid can now fight in. That's f*cking dumb and objectively terrifying. F*cking why? Iraq didn't even have anything to do with 9/11. Nothing. Bush II lied to get us in there. That's been proven. Al-Qaeda didn't move in there until after we destabilized it. The Taliban, another problem we f*cking created for ourselves, were based in Afghanistan. We ran through there and, in less than a month, brought that whole organization to it's knees. Then we bailed at the behest of Bush II, leaving those motherf*ckers to evolve into ISIS. We did that. We made that. That's on us because we didn't cut the head off the snake. We went in there and ignored the aftercare after beating the sh*t out of that Afghan ass. How could ISIS not be a thing? Both times, actually. Bin-Laden wasn't in Iraq, he was in Palestine. The whole goddamn time! Hell, not one of the hijackers who started this sh*t were from Iraq. But there were Saudis on that motherf*cker, though.

The Military Industrial Complex of the United States is f*cking absurd, man. There are more guns than there are people here. The international community looks at us like we're an infant with a loaded revolver. No one is coming over here to invade us. No one is shooting missiles off at us. No one is going to press us because we'd destroy everything with our many, many, nuckes, before we let our zealous, nationalistic, ego be pressed. Sure, motherf*ckers well posture and flex but to a point but they know we'll push the f*ck out of that button because we're 'Murrica! Guns and NASCAR and McDonalds and Racism, Hooraw! We spend an average of six hundred, fifty, trillion, yearly, on "defense." China spends the second most and they only spend half. The second strongest military force in the world, spends half as much we do. No one is f*cking with us so why are we f*cking with everyone else? Seriously, and without hubris, ask yourself why?

Why do we keep sewing strife throughout the world? None of the countries we ever liberate, stay liberated, if we actually liberate them at all and don't just f*cking stop. We never stay long enough to install stable rulers, just decimate it and quit it. All this sh*t does is breed US resentment and gives rise to anti-American terrorist groups so why the f*ck do we keep doing it? The answer is simple: Money. War is profitable to a select few, more profitable than even the oil we all seem to covet. That sh*t goes back to the inception of this country. The DuPonts and the Rothchilds played both sides of the American Revolution and got dummy rich off of it. It's why Louisianians speak French. That region was basically a gift to France after the war. The US has been exporting what can only be described as terror and imperialism, ever since.

So, no, you're not defending our country. No, you're not defending our rights. No, you are not justified to go overseas and kill a bunch of brown kids because some assholes in Washington wanted to line their pockets with blood money. You are not fighting to keep America safe or spread freedom or whatever the line is for Democracy. The patriotism you espouse as reason enough to fight a war on foreign soil, is and has been a lie for decades. You are murdering and terrorizing innocent people, in a sovereign foreign country, for the financial benefit of billionaires who probably have skin in both sides of the conflict. They will actually fly to space before bettering this country. And when you come back with the blood of innocent people on your hands, remember that the devastating alcohol addiction you developed to cope with the constant stress of being part of a terrorist outfit, will dog you for the rest of your life because the VA is so grossly underfunded  that the socialist help you think only people who have seen conflict deserve, is going to be topical at best. Remember that as you limp around the house you bought with your GI bill because shrapnel in your leg from the IED that killed the rest of your squad right before your eyes, couldn't be removed in time because the VA didn't have enough volunteer doctors to make that surgery happen. Be sure to keep the Camaro you bought at discount under 120 or you might lose that, too, just like you lost the love of your life after being away for so long perpetuating a conflict that has done little to safeguard the homeland.

Remember that, if these socialist programs were available to everyone, that the quality would increase considerably because the funding behind them would multiply dramatically. Remember that, with these programs accessible to everyone, the GDP would increase substantially over time, probably less than the twenty years of this god awful f*cking war, partly satiating the capitalist greed to make money by any means necessary so, maybe, your f*cking kids won't have to be state sanctioned mercenaries. Remember that, if these programs were open to everyone, the collective intelligence of the populace could increase and we'd have the understanding in order to question this sh*t so we don't have to nuke everyone in the world for scuffing our proverbial Puma. But, you know, thank you for your service, regardless. Sorry for the chronic nightmares.

[onebourbon-oneshot-onetear]

Aquatica

Chapter 9- Christmas Eve

I do not own D.C Comics, and I only own my OC and my versions of the plots.

Christmas used to be my favorite time of year. When I was really young I always loved coming home after school, backpack full of Christmas crafts that I had made during recess. Mom used to hang them up all over the house, saying that they made our house feel like home. My sister never really got into the Christmas spirit like I did. I always helped my mom decorate the house and made sure that cookies were made, a tree was decorated, and everything was ready for when Santa came. My sister helped a little, but she was never as enthusiastic as I was. My dad used to call me his little Christmas elf, because I helped so much with everything.

After they died, I couldn't find it in me to celebrate it anymore. The warmth that the holiday used to fill me with was replaced with a chill that I couldn't make go away. I usually spent Christmas with a different foster family, and was never the same as being with my actual family. Seeing all the warm lights that decorated people's houses reminded me that my parent's house now had a different family in it, and it probably looked completely different. The smell of cookies baking gave me flashbacks of my mom and I in the kitchen, and it always made me sad. The entire holiday season just reminded me of how alone I was. That's how, on this Christmas Eve, I found myself wandering around the empty streets of Gotham.

At first I was sitting in my apartment reading, but I couldn't focus on the words. My mind was wandering to a past that I didn't want to remember. I decided to bundle myself up and go for a walk. Sure, it was freezing, but because of my powers the cold didn't bother me as much as it did other people. I put my dark blue pea coat over my tan sweater, threw on a pair of low heeled boots, and headed outside.

I wasn't really paying that much attention to where I was going, and soon I found myself in one of the sketchier parts of downtown. Even some of the run down houses had a few Christmas lights up. I ignored them and kept walking. I stopped at a corner and looked across the street and noticed a small bar that was open.

It may not have been the most responsible decision, but I decided that I might as well try and drown some of my sorrows in alcohol. I walked into the bar and let the heat wash over me, a nice contrast to the freezing cold that was outside. I shrugged my jacket off and hung it up on a hook by the door. Scanning the bar I realized that it was mostly empty, the only exception being a few people sitting at a table in the corner, and a broad shouldered, dark haired man sitting at the bar.

I made my way over to the bar and sat on a stool a few seats down from the dark haired man, not really caring enough to spare him a glance. The bartender walked over and asked what I wanted. "Bourbon on the rocks, please," I replied, running my hand through my wavy hair.

"Bad day?" he asked.

"Something like that," I said.

He put the glass of ice in front of me and poured the bourbon in. "Thanks," I said, raising the glass up in a small toast. I took a sip of the brown liquid and shivered a bit as it burned going down.

"I didn't take you for a bourbon kind of girl."

I sighed and rolled my eyes. I turned, about to tell this guy that he didn't know a thing about me, when I finally noticed the familiar black hair and really strong jaw line. "Bruce?" I asked, my jaw falling open in shock.

Bruce Wayne chuckled and sent me a smirk. "Hello Evie," He said, holding up his own glass of brown liquid.

"W-what are you doing here?" I stuttered still in complete shock that of all places in Gotham on Christmas Eve, Bruce Wayne would be sitting next to me in some crappy bar.

He stood up from his barstool and walked over next to mine. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

"Um, no. Of course not," I said, pulling the stool out for him.

"Thanks," He said sending a small smirk my way. He sat down and downed the rest of his glass. "I think the question here is, what are you doing here on Christmas Eve?"

I could see that he was avoiding the question and I sent him a smirk of my own. "I believe that I asked you first."

He chuckled, and shook his head. "Yes. Yes you did." The bartender came over and refilled his glass. Bruce swirled the brown liquid around in his glass and stared down at the counter. "The holidays aren't necessarily my favorite time of year," he said quietly. The atmosphere between us suddenly seemed a lot sadder. I felt a little guilty asking him about it. Everyone knew that Bruce's parents were killed when he was younger. He was probably here for the same reason I was.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," I said, taking another sip of my drink. He glanced up at me, his brows were furrowed and I knew he was silently asking what I meant. I took a deep breath and blew the air through my nose. "My parents and sister died when I was twelve. We were in a car accident. Christmas isn't easy for me either."

Bruce was silent for a minute. "I'm sorry," he finally said. I couldn't help but snort into my glass.

"I should probably apologize too. I shouldn't have pushed the subject for you either." I looked up at him to see a small smile on his face.

"It's fine. It isn't like you don't know my history anyway. Everyone does. I figured you would since you grew up in Gotham." He must have seen my face fall because his eyes widened and he quickly said, "Don't worry, it's okay. I've had a long time to get used to it."

I relaxed a bit, relieved that I wasn't offending him any. I thought about how he knew that I was from Gotham. I took another sip of my drink and figured that I had mentioned it the last time that we had met.

I decided to change the subject away from our dead families. "Okay, I can understand wanting a drink, but that doesn't explain why you are in a crappy place like this. You could afford anywhere in Gotham, and I'm sure there are other places open that are much better than this."

Bruce merely shrugged. "I know the owner. He keeps the photographers away and in return I get him some of the good stuff," He said, holding up his glass.

"Hm, that's pretty smart."

Bruce smirked again, "Yeah, I have my moments." We sat in silence for a few moments before the clock in the corner of the room chimed 11. I hadn't realized just how late it was.

"Well, I should probably go," I said, setting my money on the counter and standing up. "Who knows when I'll need to be up tomorrow."

Bruce stood up and put a fifty dollar bill on the counter. "Here, let me walk you home."

"You don't have to. It's only a twenty minute walk. Besides, I'm a superhero. I don't think there is anything here that I can't handle," I joked. Bruce shrugged his jacket on and gave me a look that said he wasn't going to let me go alone. "Alright, whatever."

After putting on my coat, we walked out of the bar and headed in the direction of my apartment. "I meant to ask you something," I said.

"Go ahead."

"Do you remember when we first met? At the bookstore?" I asked, looking up at him.

He chuckled, "Yes, you ran into me and then fell."

I felt my cheeks go red and I cleared my throat. "Yeah, anyway. You started calling me Evie that day, but I never told you that I went by that. I only told you my name was Evelyn."

He faltered in his steps for a second and sent me a wide eyed glance. He cleared his throat and looked up the street. "Oh, well, I guess I just heard it from somewhere. That's all."

I quirked an eyebrow, not quite believing the billionaire walking next to me. "Mhmm, sure…"

Bruce looked over at me, "I swear!" I studied his super handsome face for a few seconds before deciding to drop the conversation. If he didn't want to tell me than I certainly wasn't going to be able to make him.

I thought of both instances where Bruce and I had been together. He seemed to have popped up out of nowhere and he has quite a good bit of knowledge about me. I remembered the night that Batman had put me to bed in the Watchtower. At the time I had thought that the two men had been similar, though I believed it was due to the concussion I had that I made that connection. Now, after spending enough time with both of them I could see even more similarities.

No way, Bats isn't Bruce Wayne, I thought. I mean, Bruce is a loaded billionaire, and Bats is a superhero…who probably needs a lot of money for his equipment…and their smirks are similar…and Bruce does know a lot about me…

"You know, I have a friend that reminds me of you," I said, shoving my hands in my pockets, figuring that I would see if I could get a reaction out of Bruce. "He likes to answer questions with other questions, he is always soo mysterious, and you two have quite a similar smirk."

Bruce completely stopped walking this time and he turned to look at me. "Really? Does this friend have a name?"

"I'm sure he does, but I don't actually know it. I only know his, well, I guess you could call it a nickname," I said, looking up at his really dark eyes. Something seemed to flash in them, but it quickly disappeared.

"Well, if he's like me then he must be a really great guy," Bruce said, giving me another of his famous smirks.

I hesitated before smiling and nodding. "Yeah, he really is." We walked in silence for a few more minutes and I tried sorting my thoughts. Okay, look Evelyn. Just because both men have similar characteristics does not mean that they are the same person. And if they are the same person then they will tell you when they want to, so stop being a bother.

I shook myself out of my thoughts when I noticed we were at my building. "Oh, we're here," I said as I stopped walking. Bruce seemed to have come out of his thoughts as well, because he looked a bit startled.

"Oh, so we are. Well, I guess this is goodnight," He said, stopping in front of the steps of my building.

"I guess it is," I replied as I turned around on the first step. Now I was at the same height as Bruce. "Thanks for walking me home," I quietly said while tucking some of my hair behind my ear. I could feel a heat creeping up on my cheeks and I bashfully looked down at my boots.

Before I could react I felt something soft on my cheek, and I realized that Bruce had leaned over and gave me a quick peck on it. "Merry Christmas, Evie." He said, stepping off my stairs and onto the sidewalk.

My blush felt like it was on fire as I tried to fight the giant grin that was making my way onto my face. "Merry Christmas, Bruce." I said. He started walking away when I called out to him. "Are you okay walking by yourself?"

He let out an actual laugh this time and turned around. "Don't worry, I think I'll be fine." I let out a quiet laugh and gave him a small wave, which he returned. I turned around and went into my building, up the stairs, and unlocked my front door. I made my way through the dark room and changed into my pajamas. Then I climbed into bed, and laid awake for a few hours, thinking about what I thought I had found out; Bruce Wayne could be Batman.