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schrijverr · 11 months ago

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The Hearts of Gotham 5

Chapter 5 out of 7

Bruce makes the Justice League believe he has two hearts and is a manifestation of Gotham’s night to throw them off his secret identity, not trusting them. When the sound system breaks, he doesn’t come clean, but lies instead that he split into two to make Robin. From there it spirals as all the Robins make the lies grow and twist it in their own ways, until the truth comes out.

This fic is based on this post and inspired by Bouncing Baby Bat, or so the Justice League is led to believe... by EmpressGeek.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none

~~~~

Chapter 5: How Stephanie Used it to Fuck with Bruce

Steph wasn’t Robin for long enough to ever be introduced to the Justice League, something she takes great offense to. Tim had told her about it and she looked forward to it quite a bit, so she was disappointed when it never happened.

However, Steph has never been beneath causing problems for no reason to get what she wants. So, she is more than happy to temporarily take back her mantle so she can get to meet the Justice League anyway. Especially to prove her honor as a Robin.

Damian is already pretty far along in adjusting to his role as Robin and, while B might have banned him now, she knows that will change at some point. So she has to move before that happens if she wants to fuck with everyone.

B can’t complain though, she thinks, as a Robin she has a right to do this. Besides, it’s not like she’s going to blow their cover, in fact, she might strengthen in. B should be thanking her.

Thus, there is a pep in her step as she runs down the halls of the Watchtower for the first time, Tim in her ear telling her the route and her story planned out in her mind.

She enters a big room with a table, around which all the Justice League members are sitting. They all look up startled when she throws open the door, then turn to look at B, who is definitely sighing and fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Father,” she shrieks shrilly. She has never claimed B as anything close to a father figure, however, for the sake of fucking with him, she is more than happy to. And by the way multiple people whip their heads in his direction, it works. “Something is wrong.”

“What is it?” B asks, he doesn’t sound too concerned, likely already knowing she’s here to mess with him. Though due to his gruffness and distance, it doesn’t appear the others notice.

“I don’t know, but Gotham called me to go to you. I think the darkness is growing,” Steph exclaims dramatically.

“Wait, wait, wait, hold up. Father? Like father-father? What happened to B?” Green Lantern interrupts and over her com Tim tells her that that his name is Hal Jordan.

“Didn’t father tell you, Hal?” she asks innocently, making her eyes go wide.

“How- how do you know my name?” Hal asks, scooting away from her slightly.

“I know a lot of things father knows, silly. I came from him,” Steph laughs. “He’s father, because I physically clawed my way out of his body to shape my own. What did you think splitting into two meant?”

And now she truly knows she’s been hanging out with Tim too much, because she’s referencing conversations she’s never been a part of. However, it is worth it to see both Hal and a few other nearby heroes pale at her words.

“Stop being rude,” Wonder Woman tells them and Steph has to stop herself before she pinches her leg, because holy shit Wonder Woman is standing up for her. Wonder Woman is coming her way. She is talking to Wonder Woman! She loves women superheroes.

Wonder Woman smiles at her and extends her hand for Steph to shake: “It is nice to meet you, Robin. I am Diana.”

“Robin, nice to meet you,” Steph shakes her hand.

“If I may be so bold, you are not like the other Robins I met,” Wonder Woman says and Steph knows that she is going to lord that over the others for the rest of her life. Jason will cry when she tells him.

However, she has a bit she’s committed to (and B will probably leave her to the mercy of Alfred if she fucks this up for him), so she simply curtsies and says: “I came to be under a super moon, when Gotham’s night was bright, not just lively.”

“That is a special thing,” Wonder Woman tells her kindly. “It’s good to have a fellow sword sister in you, Robin.”

“Thank you,” Steph smiles brightly, wanting to bond with Wonder Woman more, but she is here with a purpose. So, she frowns: “Though I fear I might not be for long.” She taps a few time, hoping Tim has caught his cue as she suddenly clutches her stomach and cries out.

“Are you alright?” Wonder Woman asks in concern, catching her as she stumbles and tries to stay in character and not focus on the strong arms.

“Father,” she whimpers, holding a shaking arm out to B.

Tim luckily did catch his cue, because Superman lets out an alarmed sound and says: “Your second hearts are going crazy.”

In the time it took Superman to say that, B has jumped over the table to get to her, likely not wanting to risk her being serious. It is also clear that he’s decided to yes-and it, because he gently tells her: “Robin, I’m here,” as he cradles her in her arms, taking her from Wonder Woman (a fact Steph doesn’t mourn in the slightest, what are you talking about?).

With a weak voice, she says: “I- I think- I think Gotham is-” a cough “-sending me home. We- we’re going to turn into one again, father.”

To others there, it might look like B is worried, but Steph recognizes his annoyed face anywhere. She regularly gets him to make it after all.

She writhes in pain again and pitifully whimpers: “Take me home, father? I- I don’t want anyone to see that. Oh, it hurts. It hurts!”

“Batman, is she okay?” Superman worries, hovering over B’s shoulder.

Steph almost risks sending B a shit eating grin at that, but decides against it. Instead, she coughs again, using some slight of hand to smear liquid latex on her cheek that she rests against B’s chest when she’s done.

B is just assuring Superman that she will be fine, when she lets out a shriek: “It’s already starting! Father, please.”

And indeed, when she pulls her cheek, it is now attached to B, slivers of skin apparently attached to him. Superman startles back and Steph lets out a pained moan.

At that point, B decides that removing her from the situation is the best course of action to prevent her doing more damage. So, he swiftly picks her up bridal style and says: “I must go. A new Robin is coming.”

Without waiting for a reaction, he stalks out of the room and to the Zeta-Beam. Steph continues to let out pained noises all the way, until they’re stepping into the Cave.

Once there, she rips her face from B’s chest and hops out of his arms. Grinning: “That was fun, we should do it again sometimes.”

“Was that really necessary?” B sighs, finally able to let that out and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“No, but it was fun,” Tim says, twirling away from the Batcomputer to grin at them, the cameras in the Watchtower still on the screen. “I mean look at this.”

He pushes a few buttons and one of the videos rewinds, showing B sweeping out of the room, followed by a moment of silence. Then Flash says: “Did- Did Batman just take off, because he’s going into labor? Is he entitled to maternal leave?”

“Don’t be stupid, Barry,” Hal says. “She called him father, it would be paternal leave.”

“Same difference,” Flash pouts, before Tim pauses the video again.

Steph snorts out a loud laugh. She couldn’t have imagined this going that well. She just hoped to cause enough chaos and a weird enough situation that B would have to uncomfortably explain himself next time, but this is gold.

“Why would you do this to me?” B asks her in a suffering voice.

She doesn’t care, she just replies: “You’re lucky I went with father for the creepy factor, I definitely contemplated using daddy, old man.”

Despite it all, B takes a few seconds to count his blessings, deciding to give up. “Thanks,” he settles on, before leaving the Cave.

Once he’s gone, Steph says: “You can get a feed up next B goes up there, right?”

“Oh, yeah, totally,” Tim grins back.

Indeed, next time B goes up to the Watchtower a few days later, her and Tim are crowded around the screen again, watching it unfold. Snickering when everyone seems to be sending B ‘subtle’ glances and being generally unsure of what to say to him.

Superman is the first one to dare, tentatively asking: “Are- are you okay, Batman?”

“I am,” B grunts, obviously wanting to avoid further conversation.

Naturally, Superman doesn’t pick up on that and carefully adds: “And… is Robin?”

“He’s fine,” B says curtly.

“He?” Wonder Woman asks, joining her two friends. “What happened to the Robin we met last time?”

B now realizes the position Steph has forced him in and actually uses more words to answer: “She is no longer Robin. She became one with me, left Robin behind and broke free again as Spoiler.”

“Spoiler?”

“Yes, Spoiler,” B says and Steph get the feeling she made a mistake. “She is all the toxic parts, the pollution in the night skies of Gotham, coming together into one part. We have a lot of companies dumping stuff, it was bound to happen,” B explains, sending a covert look to the nearest camera, knowing that they’re watching him.

“Oh that fucker!” Steph pouts as Tim laughs at her, the traitor.

Superman and Wonder Woman both send him a look, but the three are interrupted by Flash, who comes speeding up to them, asking: “That looked painful? Is it like giving birth or something?”

“Flash!” Superman catechizes.

Meanwhile, B flushes bright red (can’t be seen with the cowl, but Steph knows, she has been embarrassing him for a long time now). With a pinched expression, he grits out: “It’s a complex and very private affair.”

Flash’s apology is drowned out by Steph’s cheer as she triumphantly exclaims: “Ha! Who’s vengeance now, B!”

A/N:

I realize that I may be projecting my crush on Wonder Woman, however, I will not apologize for it, bc I have great taste <3

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devilfic · 2 years ago

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❝where two are joined, relentlessly❞

VIII. happy birthday, mr. wayne.

parts: previously / next plot: celebrating the birthday boy is hard when he doesn’t want to be celebrated. baby steps. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: romance, humor, tooth-rotting fluff, domesticity, bruce wayne is a taurus agenda. words: 4.7k.

a/n: I’ve proofread this once and I think I caught everything. lord help me if I haven’t

May, last year.

The lack of ornamentation should have been your first and biggest clue as to where Bruce Wayne might be today, though you still ask, “Where’s the birthday boy?”

You’d expected the penthouse to be wrought with decorations the minute you arrived, baubles and flowers and desserts being set up around the house for the occasion. Alfred, of course, hadn’t warned you of any such plans before you left work yesterday. You’d just... assumed.

Dressed in his usual attire (not even donning a chocolate covered apron!), Alfred laughs for barely a second, “Hiding away from people who call him ‘the birthday boy’. And what in the world have you got in your hands?”

You roll the piece of ceramic in between your hands with concern, more aware of the lopsided handle than before. You’d worked the thing into the best mug shape your novice hands could manage, carved a “W” on both sides, painted it black and gold, and hoped for the best, “It’s... a mug. Bruce’s present.”

When Alfred comes closer to give it a look, you nearly shy away with it. You’d hoped that if there was going to be a party, no matter how small, your gift wouldn’t draw too much attention to itself, but seeing as there would be no party, every mistake in the cup felt painfully obvious. Alfred takes it from you anyway, examining it with his glasses perched on the tip of his nose. You wait with bated breath for the verdict.

Holding up your mug to the light, Alfred nods once, approving, “I’m sure Master Bruce will love it. I’ll make sure to relay his gratitude tomorrow morning.”

You watch Alfred make off with your mug for all of five seconds before you start skittering after him, looking around for any sign of the billionaire in question. The house is just as quiet as it always is when you arrive bright and early, and while it had been made clear to you that you’d rarely ever see Bruce while the sun still shined, you’d been lucky every once in a while. A dark figure hurrying from the kitchen to the stairs here, the noise of someone coming up the elevator on the second floor there. You’d been told that particular elevator was off limits before, its destination meant to stay a secret between the inhabitants of the tower, and you wondered if he was down there this very moment.

“Wait, tomorrow? Will he not be here today?”

“No, I’m afraid not. He’ll be busy with work elsewhere.”

“He didn’t take the day off? It’s his birthday.”

“He hasn’t for a while,” you think the butler sounds disheartened about that, “it’s just another day of the year. Same with holidays. It’s really nothing to fret about. Master Bruce finds more enjoyment in his work than he would throwing a big, unnecessary fuss. Trust me.”

You suppose you have no right to be sad about that. Everyone was different, after all. It was like any other holiday. It wasn’t unusual for some not to celebrate Christmas, or Thanksgiving, or the Fourth of July. “For a while” just left you wondering when he’d finally decided to stop. You could come up with a million reasons why if left to your own devices.

Instead, you roll with it in spite of your disappointment, “Well, I would’ve really liked to give it to him in person, but I understand. Not a total loss.”

Alfred hesitates setting your mug down on the breakfast table then. The butler casts a scheming side-glance at you, “...If your heart is that set on it, he will be here tomorrow.” When you perk up, Alfred pivots away from the table, placing your mug back into your hands. “Stay late enough and you’ll catch him. Might even be in a better mood.”

The idea is genius. You thank Alfred and put the mug into your bag, careful not to crush it. Maybe you’d get him a card on the way home too. Something to make up for the mortification of your mug being perceived.

Your drive to the convenience store around the corner is a short one, and you quickly head inside to grab a few of the only warm, “fresh” foods they offer and a birthday card from the funny section (something silly, something that won’t end with your prompt termination). You spend such an unnecessary amount of time next to the greeting cards that an employee eventually flags you down to figure out if you need any help.

It isn’t long after that you find you’re not quite ready to go home yet.

There isn’t much waiting for you there, anyway. Due to constant complications, your mother was back to an extended stay at Gotham General, leaving you alone in the apartment. You never enjoyed being alone there while she worked late, but you enjoyed it even less when she couldn’t return at all. Everything was louder in that tiny apartment without her presence to fill it up. You can’t return to the tower, though, no matter how badly you’d like to be sharing stories with Alfred over tea right now.

You consider Robinson Park, though the later hour warns of danger you could do with avoiding. Next, you consider the public library, but it wouldn’t be open much longer. You didn’t often yearn for the simple safety of other cities, but if you could post up on a street corner and be unbothered, you’d jump at the chance.

While in the midst of your contemplation, you follow the road, succumbing to muscle memory. You hadn’t gone this way in years, yet the twists and turns of the city come back to you like second nature, a guiding light in the gritty darkness until you’re pulling up to a building you hadn’t visited since college graduation.

Once upon a time, when you were still a teenager looking for places to get away from it all, your friend would invite you to the rooftop of her apartment building to watch cars pass by. She’d officially moved from Gotham after college for the west coast, but you’d never forgotten that the door to the rooftop had a funky hinge. The landlord thought as long as people gave up on the first tug, they’d think the thing was locked and wouldn’t budge it further. You, on the other hand, knew better.

It doesn’t take much. One of the tenants buzzes you in and up the seven flights of stairs you hike. The door comes open as easily as it did the last time you tried years ago.

You’re not very high above the city like this, though the drop from the ledge is no less terrifying to behold and the view no less stunning. Most people in Gotham had grown desensitized to the little things like this. With the rampant crime, finding beauty despite it all was like finding a needle in a haystack. Even for you, with your well of positivity that struggled to run dry, you found it hard to see the beauty in it sometimes.

But there’s beauty even in the ugly parts of the city. For as much violence that bled through the streets, there was just as much humanity that walked them. Families, lovers, people just like you. You couldn’t hate Gotham when you could see that humanity, not really.

You take in lungfuls of air, sweeping your gaze from the graffitied bridge a few blocks down to the inner city skyline, and from the inner city to-

It’s a bit like making eye contact with a stray cat.

You’d seen him on TV, sometimes in copies of the Gotham Gazette at newsstands, but never in person. He was a bit like a child’s tale, a playground legend: your friend’s cousin’s girlfriend would see him, perhaps saved by him if the storyteller was really bold, and you’d go around telling everyone who’d listen that you’d seen the Batman too.

No one could keep the story straight when asked too many questions, but that was the excitement of Gotham’s very own, living boogeyman. One would simply hope to never see him for the wrong reasons. You hoped you weren’t seeing him for the wrong reason.

He’s perched on the ledge only a feet away from you, hard to make out against the dark night sky if you aren’t paying attention. When you put together that you are looking at a face and not some vague, black shape, you freeze up and wait to see if he’ll make the first move. If he thought you were a threat, you’d be taken care of by now... right?

You both hold each other’s gaze for a few minutes, both perhaps waiting for the other to run first. Neither of you ever do.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing that comes to mind, though you aren’t sure why. It was as much his rooftop as it was yours, “I didn’t know anyone was up here.”

The Batman is too far away for you to make out what he’s thinking by his eyes alone, though you get the feeling that he’s not sure how to respond. He wasn’t alone in that.

What were you even supposed to say? Or do? All those stories were action-packed with nary a dull moment to breathe. None of them could have prepared you for his eerie stillness. When meeting the Batman in a friend’s cousin’s girlfriend’s fantasy, he’s usually a lot more animated.

Leaving him alone and going home sounds like the next best course of action for you. Of course, you do the opposite, “Are you busy?”

“No.”

You shift back at the sound of his voice, feeling more out of place by the second. You knew this rooftop by every square inch, and yet you might as well have never stepped foot in this city at all when standing in his presence.

You clutch your bag to your side tighter. “Do you... need me to leave?”

The Batman pauses then, never looking away from you, “No.”

Was he... giving you permission? Perhaps he was the one who’d leave, leaping away into the night to find another perch to do whatever it was vigilantes did in this city. The thought that he’d leave so soon left you oddly disappointed.

But he doesn’t move. Save for turning to watch the city, the Batman pays you very little mind. You fail at the same task even as you fish out Bruce’s birthday card, hoping to distract yourself with writing your appropriately heartfelt message, body rigid and fingers struggling to loosen enough to hold your pen. No words come out of you when your heart beats out of tune. You don’t know how to be normal when he’s so close by.

You’d come up here to be alone, but had he?

Your pen hovers over the blank inside of the card, ink tip drying in the wind, but no words are coming to you with your mind a stone’s throw away from you.

It’s not clear that he’s side-eyeing you, but you feel like he’s side-eyeing you. Surprisingly, it’s him who breaks the unsteady silence, “Special occasion?”

You have to reel your brain back to your body to answer him. He continues to survey the landscape even though his question is very clearly directed at you, and you wonder at what point during your attempt at appearing unbothered had he looked over at the card in your hands. You’re grateful you’re not under his scrutiny for the time being, “Oh, yeah. It’s a card for my boss. It’s his birthday today.” And then, as if his totally normal silence deemed your explanation unsatisfactory, you continue, “He was working all day today, so I thought I’d give it to him later.”

This time, the Batman turns his head fully toward you. Had you given too much information? Annoyed him, maybe? You make out the small shift of his eyes from your own down to the card in your hand, and you hold it facing him to give him a better look, scooting closer. “And you came up here to write it?”

“Rooftops are peaceful. One of the perks of living in a city like Gotham.” You don’t want to say outright that you don’t belong up here. While you were sure the vigilante had far more pressing matters to handle than harmless breaking and entering, you really don’t want to fuck around and find out. “Is this a usual surveillance point of yours?”

You’re surprised he lets you ask, and even more surprised when he provides an honest answer, “One of them.”

You’d always imagined that the Batman was a shadow, slinking about in the night from empty doorways to streets less travelled by, an all-seeing eye for Gotham. There was a magical aspect to it all, but seeing him here now, tangible, made him appear more man than shadow. He was still shrouded in mystery, but that distance probably kept petty criminals home some nights. Even you had wondered if there’d come a day that all-seeing eye of Gotham would turn to you.

That’s why talking to him now, you could hardly stand to be looked at for too long. Had it not been for the cut of his cowl leaving his very human jaw exposed to you, he might’ve appeared to you more like an omniscient phantom. What did he think when he looked at you? What did he know?

Of course, you know better than to keep going down that road. You were talking to the Batman for Pete’s sake. You could do better than waste an opportunity. “Batman? You said you weren’t busy, right? Can I ask for your opinion on something?”

He stares at you, practically unblinking. You take that as a sign (perhaps not a good one, but a sign nonetheless) to keep going. Putting away your card, you remove Bruce’s present from your bag and present it to the Batman, hands trembling a bit as he inspects it in the city light. His eyes glide up from the mug to you, inquiring.

“I-It’s a mug. I made it. I just... I just wanted a second opinion on it. My... superior said that my boss would love it, but I think he was just trying not to hurt my feelings... but you’re a neutral party. You know?” The more you explain, the more stupid you feel. Who were you, asking the Batman of all people to evaluate your rookie pottery skills? So much for not wasting an opportunity.

But you hope that you’re earnest enough to warrant an answer anyway. If he was truly annoyed with you, he could jump away at a moment’s notice and find another rooftop to survey from. It was his fault he didn’t turn you away earlier when you gave him the chance.

You nearly drop the thing when he reaches for it, cautiously taking the cup into one gloved hand and bringing it closer to his eye. He turns it this way and that, genuine as he looks over every detail. You’re hyperaware of all the blemishes, awaiting a scathing review that would send you back to that pottery class on tomorrow’s lunch break to fix your mess.

Instead of that, the Batman hands it back to you. You hold the mug between both palms awaiting his judgment. “Why make it?”

You blink, “I’m sorry?”

“You could have bought something like this. They sell them a dime a dozen at every gift shop in town.”

Well, you knew that. You’d seen them while perusing the shelves for something he might like. With every option, you’d come back to the same depressing conclusion: “There’s nothing I can buy him that he couldn’t buy better, so I thought I’d make him something he couldn’t find anywhere else. I mean, where else is he gonna find a mug with a lopsided handle and his family’s insignia carved on the side-”

“Not a lot of families in Gotham with insignias these days.”

Shoot. Was that bad? You couldn’t recall hearing if the Batman had something against the Waynes. You surely hoped not. “...I don’t work for Bruce Wayne if that’s what you’re thinking.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say the Batman was... amused by that. “Of course not.” You hug the mug to your chest, worrying the inside of your cheek between your teeth. “He’ll like it. And I can promise you that I don’t care about your feelings.”

You breathe a laugh, and while the Batman doesn’t return it, you can tell he’s pleased you got the joke.

His head snaps up to the sky a moment later. Following his line of sight, you spot a familiar circle of light piercing through the clouds from further into the city. It wasn’t uncommon to see it light up every once in a while, though its unwavering position in the sky was peculiar; it never swiveled or flashed. Most searchlights were beacons of the nightlife drawing Gotham citizens to every club in the city. This one... well, who knew?

Your companion shifts and leans toward the light. “You should head home. Keep off the streets tonight.”

“Oh, do you have to go?” You start, twisting around to put the mug back in your bag, “Thank you for the...”

When you turn back, all that’s left of the Bat is the rush of air from his departure. You lean over the ledge to see if he’d jumped straight down, but you can’t make out anything besides the usual pedestrians. You shiver.

Despite never accomplishing your intended task, you follow orders to a T. You push the rooftop door back into place to ward off any ne’er-do-wells and lock your car doors when you get back inside. On the drive back home, your hands jitter around the steering wheel, and at every stoplight, you think about his eyes. Had the light been any better up on that rooftop, you might’ve even found out what color they were. You wouldn’t rat him out. You’d just like to know.

It’s evening when he begins to show. You’re busying yourself with extra paperwork to justify your business being there past work hours and Alfred entertains you, assuring you that you wouldn’t have to wait much longer. With each second that ticks past six o’clock, your jaw clenches that much tighter.

“Ah, there he is,” Alfred stands to his full height beside you, drawing your attention to the second floor where the mysterious, forbidden elevator rattles up the shaft, “knew he’d make an appearance eventually.”

The first conversation you’d had with Bruce Wayne was the day you were hired. He’d sat across from you at a conference table six stories below the penthouse with Alfred at the head of the table and your former boss sat beside you. While you all discussed when you’d start, what to expect, and getting your access upgraded, Bruce Wayne had kept his eyes low and nodded along, never uttering more than a few words at a time.

He’d been terrifying back then, the scariest man you’d ever met, and when he did look at you, you might as well have been strapped to your seat. At the end of the meeting, you’d all shaken hands to part ways. When you’d reached for Bruce’s hand, he’d given you a long, hard look that you’d mistaken then as threatening (you could laugh now, thinking about it), and told you that he’d “be looking forward to working with you”.

You felt the same way only five months later, waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

“Alfred, I’ll be out late-”

“Master Bruce, we have a visitor.”

Bruce comes to a stop at the top of the stairs. There’s a towel thrown over his shoulder and if it weren’t for the sweat staining the neck of his shirt, you’d think he’d just come fresh from the shower with his hair wet at the ends.

You stand at the very foot of the stairs, trying not to let the clamminess of your palms ruin your gifts prematurely. When Bruce continues to look on, clearly looking for an answer as to why you were here so late, you take the initiative. “I don’t want to hold you for long, Mr. Wayne,” you say, climbing the stairs slowly, “I just wanted to... give you something. For your birthday. I know it was yesterday, a-and I know you don’t usually make a big thing out of birthdays, but... uh. I wanted to say thank you. For everything.” You’re two steps below Bruce when you finally come to a stop, worried that coming any closer might cease your ability to function. “I promise that was a lot less sappier than the card.”

For a few seconds, Bruce doesn’t move, and your palms start to sweat more profusely. When you look down at the mug and card extended toward him, your arms shake the longer he makes you wait. You were almost too embarrassed to look back up at him again.

Then, Bruce reaches for the mug, holding it up to inspect it. One of his fingers traces the engraved, golden “W”, not nearly as fancy as the emblem you’d traced online. “W. For Wayne.” He states rather than asks. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry about the handle, it was my first time handling pottery. The instructor said it’d hold up fine, though! Perfect for Dory’s tea. Or you could put pens in it. Or a... lucky bamboo. For wealth and prosperity.” You worry the joke might be too silly, an unnecessary buffer in case he hated the mug after all.

Bruce shocks you with the tiniest of smiles, “Thank you. I’ll put it to good use.”

You return the smile, giddier than you let on. “Happy birthday, Mr. Wayne.”

May, the present.

“Took you long enough, birthday boy! The ice cream’s gonna melt. Get in here!”

“Just be glad I didn’t escape through the terminus when I had the chance,” Bruce tacks on a smile before you can protest, knowing full well it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for him, “No one else is coming, right?”

The table is made up with minimal decoration: there’s a simple tablecloth stretched from end to end, struggling to cover the octagonal shape in full, and a pair of black and red star-shaped balloons tied to Bruce’s chair. The cake was easier to splurge on, a labor of love between both you and Alfred, baking and decoration included. It gave you both the freedom to draw a bat across the face of the cake in buttercream icing. It’s the first thing Bruce destroys by swiping his finger through it. You smack him on the shoulder as he smiles around his finger.

“Of course not. Miss Kyle didn’t return my call.” Alfred smirks.

You usher Bruce into his seat before retrieving the lighter. How you’d managed to fit so many candles on the cake without ruining the design was largely a stroke of luck, but it takes comically long for you to light them all. By the time the last candle is lit, the others are dripping wax onto the cake. “Okay, okay. Are we gonna sing?” You ask.

Dory cheers at the same time Bruce begs you not to. Naturally, you all sing.

It’s nothing pretty-sounding, though you think Dory really tries, and even though Bruce looks like he can’t wait for it to be over, he does brace it all with a smile.

“Gonna make a wish?” You ask, bending at the waist until your face is beside his.

Bruce raises an eyebrow. He seems to really consider it, and after a moment or two passes, he leans forward and blows out the candles in one fell swoop.

The cake is passed out in even slices around the table courtesy of Alfred, followed by gifts. Alfred presents Bruce with a new watch, Dory gifts him a guitar pick, and you hand him off a new sketchbook. “To draw me more” You joke, watching him go rosy.

By the time the small party has come to an end, Bruce is following you out to the balcony, spooning ice cream out of his mug with soap suds still dripping down his arms from clean up. “I can’t believe you still have that thing.” You remark, the garish, gold “W” glaring back at you in his hand.

“Did you think I was going to throw it out of the window or something?”

“Well, no, but... it was kind of embarrassing giving you that. I thought you were just being polite when you took it from me.”

Bruce leans his elbows on the fence and you do the same, “I know I said I didn’t care about your feelings, but I didn’t really mean it.”

You groan, dropping your head into your hands. “I still can’t believe I showed that stupid thing to Batman.”

“It’s not stupid,” You peek between your fingers at him, mortification no doubt seeping through, “I’ll have you know this mug is on weekly dishwasher rotation.”

That explained a bit of the paint fading. Your heart quietly swells at the thought that your little piece of misshapen pottery was so well-loved. It’s enough to shut up your self-deprecation. “Did you enjoy your party, birthday boy?”

“I did. I enjoyed it even more because it wasn’t a surprise.”

“’Course not! Baby steps, Wayne, baby steps.” You giggle, “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Bruce gets a silly smile on his face peeking down at your lips. Setting his now empty mug on the patio table, Bruce brings you close by the waist and lays a kiss on your mouth, lips still turned up at the corners. It was new, this featherlight repose that Bruce carried around the tower these days. He wasn’t without his dark days, and those days got particularly dark, but you weren’t the only one who’d noticed that there was a change in him. It was a gradual difference; no flip was switched, but things that lasted usually took time.

Bruce wasn’t healed of it all, but his shoulders seemed a little lighter.

You drag Bruce’s bottom lip between both of your own before speaking again, “You taste like ice cream.”

“Sorry.” He whispers, not at all apologetic as he chases your mouth. He’s able to get in one more kiss before something shines in your peripheral.

You’re the first to break away, a little disappointed as you recognize light carving a bat into the clouds: the Batman’s insignia. Bruce seems just as disappointed, though you know he won’t be for long. This is where he thrived, after all.

You release your grip on Bruce, nodding to the balcony doors, “Don’t keep Gordon waiting, handsome.”

“Will you help me get ready?”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. Taking his hand, Bruce leads you to the terminus elevator, letting it lead you both down and into the cave. It had become routine enough for you to know where to go and what to do first. The paint is your most important task, though you help Bruce slip on his utility belt and gloves.

With one foot propped on his desk chair, Bruce laces up his boots while you gently apply the paint around his eyes, always careful not to poke him between his lashes. A gentle tap on his cheek has him turning for better access.

The second you give him the OK, Bruce bends forward and allows you to slip his cowl on after you’ve brushed his hair back (he hated it getting stuck to his forehead when he was in need of a haircut). Fitting it snugly on, you lean up for him to give you one more kiss for good luck. “All set. Stay safe.”

Bruce grunts as the last dredges of his happy-go-lucky mood melts somber. He doesn’t miss out on the opportunity though, passing off the last bit of sweetness on his lips. “Don’t wait up this time.”

You smile and Bruce knows immediately that you aren’t listening to him, “Sure. Don’t be gone long.”

Neither of you expect the other to keep up their side of the bargain, but it’s the thought that counts. After all, it only made sense that you’d be there to wash off the same paint you put on, right? That was your excuse, anyway.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne scenarios #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman scenarios #batman imagine #the batman #battinson x reader #mjwrites

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sohotthateveryonedied · 4 years ago

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I’ll Make a Million Mistakes

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

“Don’t worry,” Dick says, throwing his arm around Duke’s shoulders. “Everyone in this room has had their teeth knocked out at one point or another. It’s a rite of passage around here.”

“I don’t know how to tell you thith, but that doethn’t happen to normal people. We acthually prefer to keep our teeth, believe it or not.”

“Wait until you get your first major battle scar. Trust me, they’re cool.”

“Y’all need Jethuth.”

Bruce likes to think of himself as a patient man. Even more, he’d like to think it’s a trait he earned all on his own, but anyone who’s met him would testify that he inherited his patience from the man who raised him, and Bruce would have to agree. This level of restraint he possesses is an acquired skill—one that is reserved for the world’s best butlers and for fathers of six. Karen from the PTA wishes she were on Bruce’s level. His exceedingly calm temperament is the only reason Bruce doesn’t melt into a puddle on the ground now, his bones turning into a milky froth because Jesus fucking Christ, hasn’t he had a hard enough night as it is? No person should have to spend two hours solving riddles because Eddie was feeling manic tonight and then be forced to come home to human children. Duke smiles around a mouthful of bloody gauze. “In my defenth, I’ve never even had a cavity before.” “No, you just got your tooth knocked out.” “Teeth.” “What?” “Ith acthually teeth, plural. I lotht two of them.” Bruce facepalms. “Goddamn it.” He ignores the giggles from his other kids, all of whom apparently decided they needed to be present for this conversation. He’s picking his battles tonight.

“Ith not my fault!” Duke points over at Tim, standing against the Batcave’s wall minding his own business. “Ith hith fault.” “It is not. Bruce, don’t listen to him.” “Oh, yeah? Who knocked me into the railing in the firtht plathe?” “That was Jason’s fault. He’s the one who threw the football.” “Actually,” Jason chimes in, “that was Cass. I was an innocent bystander.” “Liar,” Cass says. “Don’t call me a liar.” “Liar.” “You’re the liar. She’s framing me, Bruce, I swear to god. I’ve never done anything wrong to my siblings in my entire life.” Dick makes a spluttering noise. “You once threw a pineapple at my head because I was breathing too loudly!” “And I don’t regret it one bit.” Bruce sighs. He doesn’t have the energy for this. He gently grasps Duke’s chin, being mindful of his sore jaw. “Where?” Duke pulls out the wad of gauze and opens his mouth wide. He points at the space where his front tooth used to be, then a canine on the bottom left which now consists of half a white shard. “Ith thith one and thith one.” Bruce hums. “I can get you a dentist appointment tomorrow afternoon. They’ll put a couple of caps in and you’ll be good as new.” He’ll have to rearrange a few things in his schedule. At least now he has a valid excuse to skip racquetball with Clark. There is no logical reason a bumpkin from Kansas should be better at racquetball than Bruce is, there just isn’t. “Tho my thmile ithn’t permanently ruined? Thath a relief. Thethe babieth are my betht feature,” he says, all the while bloody saliva dribbles from his lip like a deranged vampire. Best feature, definitely. “Don’t worry,” Dick says, throwing his arm around Duke’s shoulders. “Everyone in this room has had their teeth knocked out at one point or another. It’s a rite of passage around here.” “I don’t know how to tell you thith, but that doethn’t happen to normal people. We acthually prefer to keep our teeth, believe it or not.” “Wait until you get your first major battle scar. Trust me, they’re cool.” “Y’all need Jethuth.” “At least it’ll make for a good story one day,” Tim says. “Everyone loves scar stories.” Jason snorts. “People actually like death stories more, but go off I guess.” “Nobody cares that you died, Jay. Find new material.” “You want new material? Check this out.” Jason tugs down the collar of his sweater. He shows off the mostly-faded autopsy scar sliced up his torso and to his shoulders. Bruce winces. Dick yawns. “So? You got autopsied. Big whoop. Scars don’t count if you’re dead when you get them.” He tips his head down, parts a section of his hair with his fingers to show off the fresh scar on his scalp. “Talk to me when you get shot in the head.” Tim rolls his eyes. “You realize how stupid this is, right? We shouldn’t be arguing about who has the worst bodily trauma.” “Why,” Jason says, “because you know you’d lose?” “Because I’ve got you both beat.” He pulls up his t-shirt to display the surgical scar on his abdomen. “Missing spleen. Beat that.” “I lost a kidney. Kidney trumps spleen any day.” Cass rolls up the leg of her shorts to show off her bullet-riddled thigh. “Connect the dots. I win.” “But have you lost a vital organ?” Tim asks. “No.” “Spleens aren’t that vital,” Dick says. “Fuck off, at least you still have one.” “I would prefer to keep my organth,” Duke says. “Juth thaying.” “And you will,” Bruce assures him. “Probably.” “Probably?” “Look, I’m tired. We’re all tired. Can we schedule the scar contest for a later time when I’m hopefully not here to witness it?” Maybe he can ask Alfred to drug his tea from now on. At least then he can rest easy in a drug-induced slumber, knowing all the while that he’s missing the kind of petty arguments no parent should have to hear. “No one said you had to be here,” Dick says. “Anyway, Bane once slammed me against a wall and now my hip throbs when it rains.” “At least your wrist doesn’t click when you move it at the right angle.” Jason shakes his wrist next to Tim’s ear. Tim cringes. “You’re all amateurs,” a new voice says, and Bruce wants to die. Damian and Stephanie appear to have returned from patrol, still in their uniforms. “Try having your entire spine replaced.” Tim wrinkles his nose. “Great, it’s time to hear Damian talk about how much better than us he is. My favorite activity.” “Shut up, Drake. You’ve never experienced pain.” “I got blown up once! I still have burn scars all over my neck and shoulders!” “Eh. I’ve had worse.” Steph grins and holds up her left hand, just happy to be included. (Note to self: ponder whether Stephanie is secretly a golden retriever in human form.) “I have no feeling in these three fingers.” She pokes them to demonstrate. “And should I mention that I was tortured by Black Mask once? No? Because power tools were involved, in case anyone was wondering.” “Do I need to reiterate that I once died in an explosion?” “Jason. Little wing. I’m begging you to shut up about your death.” Cass points to a spot on her ribcage. “Two ribs made of metal. Got shattered during a fight. Four years old.” “My dad used to burn me with cigarettes every time I was bad, so...seven times a week, more or less.” “Oh, same!” Jason and Steph high-five. “My grandfather broke my arm in two places when I made a mistake during a training drill. He made me fight assassins for three hours straight afterward without so much as an ice pack.” Duke looks horrified. “Are you guyth okay?” “No offense, but none of you should talk unless you’ve gone through childbirth.” Stephanie rolls up the top portion of her Batgirl suit just enough to show off the scar across her lower belly. “You think getting blown up is hard? Try spending three hours in labor and having a baby ripped out of you. That’s hard.” Jason wipes away a fake tear. “Boo-hoo, someone had a baby when she was a teenager. Human reproduction doesn’t involve being beaten to death with a crowbar.” “Nobody cares that you died, Jason!” “Indeed,” Damian agrees. “Being stabbed by your clone is far worse than being caught in a little explosion. And I can take a crowbar beating in my sleep.” “I’m gonna kill him, Bruce. I’ll kill him right now. Just say the word and I’ll do it.” Bruce sighs, closing his eyes. “Duke, there are painkillers in the medicine cabinet if you need them. I’ll text you the time of your dentist appointment. The rest of you, please refrain from talking to me for the rest of the night.” Bruce walks away toward the manor, silently praying that he can forget this conversation ever happened. “Hey, who wants to see where Killer Croc bit my ass once?”

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melwritesstufff · 4 years ago

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What Kissing Tim Drake Would Be Like - Tim Drake Headcanons

recently I’ve been absolutely obsessed with the DC universe, specifically the Batman universe(s) and little Timmy boy over here has absolutely stolen my goddamn heart. so, uh, here’s a headcanon I wrote about him because I love him. thanks for reading! <3

Tim refuses to kiss you at first as he’s too nervous to do anything, he’s insecure and a little emotionally stunted, thanks Bruce, btw, and he doesn’t understand why you’re with him

It takes a lot a little bit of convincing for him to realize that you actually want to be with him and want to be affectionate with him

After that though, he slowly starts to become more and more affectionate to you.

In terms of kissing, it starts with him giving you simple pecks on everywhere except for your lips

Your cheek, forehead, hands, etc. but just not your fucking lips.

One day though, you’re visiting Tim at the mansion, and Alfred tells you he’s been awake for three days straight.

At that point, you’re trying to do anything to get him to sleep.

And sleep deprived Tim doesn’t really know what he’s saying.

So what ends up happening is you’re trying to persuade Tim to go to bed and he’s not really willing. This is how that conversation went.

“Tim you gotta go to bed baby, it's been three days”

“Let me just finish this one case, then I’ll go to bed”

“No, Tim you know you do better work when you’re fully rested. You can’t even think straight in this state.”

“What of course I’m thinking straight? I’m not gay. Unless you’re a guy, y/n. Which I’d totally be fine with btw, I’ll be with you no matter what.”

“Ugh, Tim.. what is it going to take for you to go to bed? I’ll literally do anything.”

“Anything? In that case, can I have a kiss?”

At this point you’ll do anything to get him in bed so you lean down and give him a kiss on the lips. It doesn’t last long though since you’re there not to make out with him but to get him to bed.

You walk backwards to his bed and he follows you, clearly wanting more. He doesn’t get it though cause as soon as his head hits the pillow he completely knocks out might write a oneshot about this

Ok anyways, on with the headcanon

So anyways, Tim slowly starts to become more comfortable with kissing you after that,

And god damn is he good

Tim is a smart guy and is very observant so whenever you guys are doing something, especially kissing and making out, he takes notes on what you respond to and how you respond

Oh boy he knows all your weak spots

He has somewhat thick lips so kissing him feels so nice

His eyes are closed, his hands on your waist, he’ll pull you as close to him as he can

He wants you to be as close to him as you can possibly be

He’s slightly taller so he’ll have to bend down just a bit

He tilts his head to the left ever so slightly, as you do to your right

Sometimes, you’ll tilt your head to the left to throw him off. You guys’ll bump noses or foreheads and giggle a bit before going back in to kiss again

He tastes sort of bitter, all that coffee for sure, but also hints of sweetness. He’s bittersweet in its most literal form

When things start to get heated, he has this habit of squeezing the dip in your waist from getting too excited

He really just wants you to have fun, be happy, and feel nice

He’ll kiss your neck and give you more hickies than you can count

When he hits your sweet spot and you moan ever so slightly? It’s absolutely adorable to him. The hottest and cutest thing he’s ever seen

The thing is, if you turn things on him and you’re the one giving him hickies?

The boy will not stay quiet

It’s just hours of

“God, y/n, please don’t stop”

Moaning, very loud moaning

“Ahh, Right there”

“Dick and them are going to hear us”

“Ahh.. Baby, please… more…”

He really just isn’t silent at all

He’s just so vocal

Definitely the most vocal out of the bat brothers

(Though Damian might come in as a close second but I’ll talk about that later)

When ya’ll aren’t making out like the world depends on it, he’ll give you random little pecks on different spots on your body, just as a small sign of how much he loves you

He loves and I mean LOVES kissing the palm of your hand

When you two holding hands he’ll bring yours up to his face and just kiss them is delicately and sweetly

Or when you’re holding his face in your hand he’ll grab your hand and hold it still as he turns and pecks your palm

Or even when you guys first see each other for a date or something, he’ll take your hand and kiss it like you're a princess. He’ll bend down and look up at you and you’re just a blushing mess and he loves it

It tingles a bit but once you get used to it you start loving it as much as he does

Soon you’re both doing it to each other

It just becomes a new way for y'all to express affection

Nothing beats really kissing tho

When he’s sleepy is when he gives the best kisses

There’s nothing holding him back as he’s so tired that no insecurities or worries of hurting you get to him

He just becomes a big ball of sweet romantic-ness

His kisses are just pure candy sweetness

You can really feel how much he adores and loves you with how passionate he is when ya’ll kiss

He just really really loves you

Whether he’s said it yet or not

Thanks for reading this yall :)

Batfam Master List

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lauwrite1225 · 4 years ago

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Somebody to die for.

Finan x OC; The Old Guard inspired Alternative Universe

Summary : Victoria’s life is rather simple until she has a car accident from which she ends up miraculously unscathed. A series of weird events animates her daily life, everything seemingly bringing her to a strange man. Until this very man knocks at her door.

Spotify Playlist • Masterlist

A/N : Happy Finan Friday dear readers!! So this chapter we have more of Finan and Vicky getting to know each, and god I love them. Anyway! I'm having fun finding song lyrics for my chapters titles, it makes them look ✨cool✨

Warnings : blood and death (again lol)

Chapter 3 : We've opened the door, now it's all coming through

Victoria couldn't help but develop a real fascination for the way she's now so easily healing. Most of the time it's only accidental, she drops a glass and cuts herself when she throws the debris or cooks and burns herself. Each time, any wound has disappeared in a matter of minutes. She's still not used to it, but she realizes it doesn't affect her everyday life at all, in fact, she's even starting to like it and finding it pretty useful. She even contemplates talking about it with Rebecca, there’s no secret between them, and this is definitely a big secret.

And in matters of secrets, Rebecca doesn’t forget that Victoria didn’t talk about the person who was in her apartment a few days ago. “Are you going to tell me about him?” She asks before bringing her frapuccino to her lips while they are sitting at a Starbucks table.

“About whom?” Vicky raises an eyebrow, feigning misunderstanding.

Becca rolls her eyes, leaning back in her chair. “The boy that was at your flat.”

“There was no boy.”

“A girl maybe.”

“Neither.” Rebecca narrows her eyes, she’s always been hard to convince. And in all honesty, it will be very hard to convince her that there was no one, because when it comes to Vicky’s love life, she’s tough. “I just have plumbing problems.” She lies, looking down to her own coffee.

“Oh, of course, my bad.”

Her friend doesn’t search further, but Vicky is pretty sure she won’t give up and will ask again and again. When she goes back to her place, she doesn’t expect to find Finan sitting on her staircase. She stops a few stairs below, staring at him with wide surprised eyes, waiting for him to raise his nose from the book he is reading.

“The hell are you doing here?” She finally asks, upset by his lack of reaction.

He looks up to her and smiles, pointing at a small plastic bag next to him. “I came to return ya the sweater.”

Vicky frowns, climbing the last stairs to unlock her door while he is closing his book and standing up. “You know, it was my ex’s, I didn’t particularly want to see it back.”

She can feel Finan behind her, looking down to her. “Ya got a point.”

She watches him for a brief moment above her shoulder. This time his beard is shorter, which undeniably suits him in her opinion, even if she never had a particular thing for bearded men before. Her ex couldn’t grow a single hair on his chin. “Have you been waiting here for long?”

“Two hours.”

“Creepy.” She replies, opening the door. “Do you want something to drink?”

“If ya’re proposing.” He shrugs.

Once again, they were both standing in her flat, though this time she hopes Finan wouldn’t end up dead on her parquet. She comes back from the kitchen with two glasses of water, handing one to Finan before leaning against the table.

“So…” She begins, determined to know more about the strangest man she has ever met in her life. “I guess you're not living in London, right?”

He takes a long sip of water before shaking his head. “No, in a small house lost in Ireland.”

“Alone?” She asks curiously.

“Yes.” He answers after a pause. “Believe it or not, but I try to not make myself too known.” He says slowly, agitating the water in his glass by moving his hand in small circles, his gaze fixed on it.

Vicky tilts her head. “Because of the theorists?”

“In part.” He looks up to her for a brief instant, his deep brown eyes meeting hers. “Before the Second World War, I could live in some place for ten or fifteen years then just move away.” Then he sighs, almost nostalgically. “Now, it’s more complicated, with all the technology.” He meets her gaze again, but this time it’s more intense and severe, making her feel nervous. “No one must know about it.”

“It’s hardly something I can hide.” Vicky replies, trying to keep the atmosphere light, but she can already feel the unpleasant outcome of this conversation.

Finan is silent for a long moment, walking to the table to rest his empty glass on it. He’s now close enough for her to have to raise her chin to stare at him, but he avoids her eyes. “That’s why ya’ll have to leave too.”

“What?!” She gasps. “No! I have my family, my friends…”

“Ya don’t understand.” He cuts her off and meets her eyes. “Your family, your friends, everyone is goin’ to grow old and suffer and ya…” He pauses to take a deep breath. “Ya’ll still be yourself and won’t be able to do anythin’ for them.”

Victoria is breathless, both because of what he has just told her and because of how she can read in his eyes that he knows what he is talking about. Though, letting everything behind, all her life, doesn’t sound like an option to her. She straightens, as if she could tower him, but she’s still a head smaller.

“And where would you want me to go? I’ve not been living on my own for a century, if I disappear, it won’t go unnoticed.” She replies, her arms tightly crossed over her chest.

Finan sighs. “Listen Victoria, maybe ya're family is wonderful and will accept it. But nowadays, one person knowin', and it's potentially the whole word who would know.”

Victoria frowns, understanding the warning behind. “Do you think people could want us bad if they knew?”

“It wouldn't be the first time.”

She bites her lips, her teeth sinking into the tender flesh as she looks down to her glass. She has to admit it, if the knowledge of their existence ever fell into the wrong hands she doubts scientists, politicians or whoever could find interest in their abilities would let them live freely. It feels so surreal, she’s always lived a rather simple life, not that she’s ever complained about it, but since she let Finan step into her apartment a week ago everything has been shaken out.

“Ya still have time.” He adds, his hand resting on her shoulder in a gentle way.

Victoria nods. “Are you going to stay around? Or go back to Ireland?”

Finan hesitates, his palm leaving her shoulder to rub his face. “I don’t know yet.”

“Well…” She says and he stops scratching his beard. “I still have a lot of questions. So if you could stay around for a short while.”

Vicky is surprised by how endearing she finds the smile that grows on Finan’s face, small wrinkles appearing in the corner of his eyes. “If ya want me too.”

And so, Finan remains in London, spending his time in the mediocre hotel, of what Vicky has seen on TripAdvisor, that he is renting. The rest of the time he is with her in her apartment, answering every of her questions. She enjoys learning about his life, usually over a beer, and it seems Finan does as well. In the course of a few days she learns that he was born in Ireland sometime during the ninth century and that he left for England where he fought for a saxon lord, during Alfred the Great's time. He’s easily the most interesting man she’s ever met. But he also has the talent to make every story more interesting than any of her history teachers ever succeeded. He describes each battle he took part of with so many details Vicky wonders how he can remember everything.

“Fightin’ was the only thin’ I was good at, so I kept doin’ that.” He says after she has asked why he devoted his life to fighting.

Vicky uncaps a new bottle of beer and sits next to him on her sofa. “But you don’t fight anymore.”

“Nah…” His eyes darken in the same way as when he remembers a sadder part of his life, which Victoria is getting used to having only brief explanations of. “After the Second World War, I felt like I needed some peace.”

“I can understand.” When she was small, she remembers her grandmother talking of how the war changed her father from a lively and smiling man to a silent and constantly gloomy one. Finan had fought in more wars than she can count and to know that this one has signed the end of his warriors life reminds her of how it was a war like no other.

But her time with Finan isn’t only about morbid battles, the warrior had his share of travels. When he’s talking of them, it doesn’t sound like the world she knows. He describes places still untouched by the desire of humanity to build its own tower of Babel.

“Have you been to America? After Christopher Colombus discovered it.” She asks curiously another day.

Finan chuckles. “Nah, I’ve never liked the sea. So crossin’ a whole ocean for some lands...”

“Some lands? It’s like one of the greatests discoveries in history!” She answers feigning offense, her hand pressed to her chest. “You’ve never been curious about all the gold you could have found there?” She leans back on the couch, bringing her bottle to her mouth. “Maybe you’d have been rich.”

“Pity.” He smirks, being rich clearly being the least of his ambitions.

Besides their discussions about Finan’s life they also have normal conversation. She lends him books from the shop, crossing her fingers that no one would notice some of the books are disappearing for a few days. The second time she does that, she adds a phone to the small pile of books she hands him. Finan frowns at it and then at her. He slides the books in his bag before studying the cell phone. It’s the simplest and cheapest she has found, just a screen and a keyboard, it only cost her 10£.

“Why are ya givin’ me that?” He mutters, doubtful. Vicky finds it amusing, despite having lived through all the evolution of modern technologies, Finan seems to be as comfortable with it as her with administrative paperwork.

“Well...” She starts, putting the groceries she just bought in her refrigerator. “I just thought it would be easier for me to send you a text when I’ve finished work. Not that it bothers me that you wait for me in the staircase, but I doubt it is comfortable.”

“I was getting used to it. I haven’t bein’ waitin’ in front of a Lady’s door for ages.”

Vicky looks at him from above her shoulder and can’t help the redness rising in her cheeks when he grins amusingly. She immediately looks in front of her again when his gaze travels from the phone to her. “I doubt I correspond to your definition of a Lady.”

“I’ve got a very broad definition.” She could hear his smirk as he speaks, the one that she has started to notice being so characteristic for him and all she can do is to answer with an awkward giggle.

When she’s done, she turns around and crosses her arms against the counter, Finan standing at the other side. “Have you… Have you had many relationships since you first died? I mean, serious ones.” She’s almost certain he won’t answer this question, but living eternally without anyone to love has been scaring her for a few days.

“One.” He answers surprisingly fast. “It didn’t end well.”

Victoria nods slowly, his answer being enough and understanding it isn’t a subject he wants to dwell on. Apart from the arrival of Finan, her life doesn’t change at all. She keeps working at the bookshop, drawing in her sketchbook when there are no customers. Vicky has always loved to draw, a passion she has inherited from her mother. Sometimes, she wishes she had the guts to apply to art school after high school instead of getting herself into business studies that she grew to dislike. When Finan asks her why she didn’t follow her dream, she answers that did it to stay with Rebecca. Her best friend has always been better than her when it came to school, and her parents always felt the need to compare them. Doing the same studies as her was more to prove to her parents she could do it too. At the end it has been an absolute failure, Vicky giving up her studies and finding a job in the bookshop.

One day, she has a call from her mother while she walks back to her flat.

“Do you think Rebecca would still like to join us for dinner one night?” Vicky’s mother asks through the phone.

“Sure, especially if you make her lasagna.” She smiles.

Her mother laughs. “Rebecca loves beef stew.”

“True, but I crave for lasagna.” Vicky justifies herself, the simple idea of her favorite food creating a hole in her stomach.

“Alright sweetheart. This weekend then?”

“Great! I’ll tell her.”

When she hangs up, her attention on her phone, she doesn’t realise she’s walking into someone until two strong hands grip her shoulders to stop her. She jumps and looks up in surprise, about to step back until she recognizes the man with sunglasses and a hoodie as Finan, whom she texted earlier when she walked out of the bookshop.

“Watch out, lass.” He warns, smiling anyway.

“Sorry, I was texting Rebecca.” She explains, easing under his grip. He removes his hands, his fingers lightly grazing her arms. They walk together to her flat together, Finan silently following her while she finishes her text. When they reach the building and climb up the stairs she finally starts to talk to him. “I won’t be here on Saturday.”

“Oh?”

“Family dinner.” She unlocks the door and Finan answers with a low hum.

Their evening goes as usual except that this time, Victoria proposes to him to stay for the night.

“I mean it’s late, and it’s raining. I would be a really bad friend if I kicked you out.” She says, waving her hands while he stares at her with a raised eyebrow.

“So we’re friends now?” He grins, leaning over the table.

Victoria looks away. “I still consider you the creepiest man I’ve ever met. But if you’re the only person I’ll have to support for eternity, I guess I’d better consider you as a friend.”

When she finally dares to look at him, he has the broadest smirk pulling at his lips and she has to admit it, he really is handsome, with his dark, however sparking, eyes. “Friends we’re, then.”

After she has prepared the couch for Finan to sleep, she joins her bed. As usual, since she had her accident, Victoria struggles to find sleep, and knowing that Finan is sleeping in her living room isn’t helping. Not that she fears him, but she can’t help but overthink about her reaction around him. It’s been a while since she’s found a man truly attractive, not only physically, but his whole being. And in all honesty, with how awkward their meeting has been, it definitely is not a feeling she expected.

She finally falls asleep listening to a Florence + the machines playlist. But much to her dismay, her sleep isn’t peaceful. Since she has met Finan, the dreams have seemed to disappear, but tonight is different. Victoria is back in the forest where the Irishman died, she can even see him from the corner of her eyes, but her attention is mostly focused on the young blond man she has drawn. He is fighting as well, until he is hit by a shield. He stumbles, falling on the floor and catching his breath after the rough impact. And Vicky can feel his fear when a Dane, of what Finan told her of this night, slices his throat in a sharp blow. The young man chokes in his own blood and she shakes in horror as she can feel the life leaving his body as she did with Finan.

A/N: Ehehe So what do ya'll thing this dream means 👀 ?

Also, for the great fans of TOG that would read that, I am taking liberties regarding how dreams works during all this fic, I haven't read the comics, only seen the movie and to transcribe such thing is kinda hard. I hope yall won't mind and appreciate how work with them 🤷

Tag : @for-bebbanburg @naps4bats @osferth @maggiescarborough @finansarms @dumbledoreisnotmyhubby

#finan #finan the agile #finan the last kingdom #Finan x OC #The Last Kingdom #tlk #tlk finan #tlk fanfiction #the old guard

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king-finnigan · 4 years ago

Note

Please do 2 and 49 for the geraskier prompts!

2: Royal AU + 49: Fake Married

Sorry it took me a while, anon! School’s been eating me alive.

***

Geralt’s always loved horses. He loves their elegance, loves their strength, loves their personalities and the way they press their noses against his pockets, looking for treats.

He’s always loved being around them, he’s always loved brushing them and spoiling them after a hard day of ploughing the fields that surround the farm.

Today is Wednesday, though, and his dad always forces him to take the day off on Wednesday - he’s not sure why Wednesday, specifically. Vesemir never dignified him with an answer, when he asked.

So, he gets up early in the morning, like he does every day - he’s never been one for sleeping in, anyways - and goes to the stable. He should brush Roach and Beetle, before maybe taking one of them on a ride through the hills - probably Roach, since Beetle is getting a bit older, and she’s never really been the adventurous type. He doesn’t blame her of course, after all the hard work she does day in day out, she deserves to stand around and do nothing all day if she wants to.

He walks out of the cottage, the late spring mist swirling around his feet as he walks through the orchard. He stops by one of the trees, reaching up to pick three slightly-too-ripe apples that would never make it to the market, before he continues walking to the stables.

“Mornin’,” he greets Beetle, feeding her one of the apples. She munches on it happily, her big, brown eyes looking at him intently. He frowns a bit. She never looks at him like that. He shrugs it off, walking to the next stable, where Roach is. “And good morning to you,” he mutters, giving her the second apple, putting the third one in his pocket for later.

Roach eats it, but butts him with her nose immediately after, shaking her head when he looks at her curiously. He walks back to the door, taking a brush off one of the hooks on the wall as he talks: “Something the matter, girls? You two seem a bit agitated.”

The horses, of course, don’t reply. He’s always loved them for that.

“Alright,” he mutters, a she turns back around. “Who first?” Roach neighs, shaking her head again. “Alright, alright. Impatient today, aren’t we?” he says, chuckling a bit as he opens the door to her box, stepping inside.

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees someone huddled in the corner.

“What the hell?” He’s only aware of the fact that he’s dropped the brush when he hears it clatter on the floor.

Blue eyes shine up at him, red-rimmed, half-covered in a mess of brown curls. He steps forward, towards the young man curled up in the corner, hands balling by his side. He doesn’t care if he gets attacked, he can defend himself, he only cares about the horses. The stranger is so close to Roach’s hind leg, and if he were to break it, Geralt would have to put Roach down - and he definitely does not want to lose his best friend.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

The young man sniffles, wiping his face on his dirty sleeve. His clothes look fancy enough, like they cost a lot of money, but they’re all torn and bloodied, seemingly from a gash in the man’s forehead, and the scratches on his cheeks and hands.

“Sorry,” the stranger whispers, “it was cold last night, and I had nowhere else to go.”

“Why not?”

“What?”

Geralt sighs, crossing his arms in front of him. This is his only fucking day off in the week, he doesn’t have time to question the stranger that’s broken into his stable. “Why’d you have nowhere else to go?”

The stranger rubs his reddened eyes again, before clasping his hands around his stomach - Geralt can hear it growling from here. “Ran away.”

Geralt sighs again, sitting down on the ground. “Why?”

“It was...” the young man clears his throat “it was... a prison.”

Geralt clenches his fists. “You escaped from prison?” He plants his hands on the ground, ready to get up and get on Roach to find the nearest palace guard - if this man is a criminal, then Geralt does not want to be caught red-handed harbouring him, even if he didn’t really consent to it.

“Nonono!” The young man reaches forward, trying to stop Geralt. “Not literally. I mean- I uh...” He rubs the back of his neck, frowning. “Shit. I’m so sorry, I thought I would be able to leave before you found me, I didn’t know you’d be getting up so early.” He waits for an answer, but Geralt merely purses his lips, jaw clenched.

The young man rubs the back of his neck again. “My dad, he uh... he’s a bit... very... incredibly overbearing. He wants to control my life, and I don’t want that. So I ran away.”

The young man’s stomach growls again, and the delicate features scrunch up in pain. Geralt sighs, and takes the last apple out of his pocket, the one he intended on eating himself, and rolls it towards the other man.

Wide, blue eyes look at him in wonder and gratitude, as nimble fingers reach for the fruit. “Thank you, uh...”

“Geralt.”

“Thank you, Geralt.” He’s about to take a bite, when he stops himself. “I’m uh... Jaskier, by the way.” He bites into the fruit, face relaxing as he sighs deeply, a soft hum at the back of his throat.

“You’re welcome, Uh-Jaskier.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes and smiles at him, cheeks stuffed with apple. Geralt can’t help but smile back. Jaskier may be strange, and kind of off-putting, familiar in a way that Geralt feels like he should know the man, but not in a personal way, and he may look like a bit of a poncy prick, with his fancy clothes and neatly cut hair, but Geralt can also see the relief in those blue eyes, see the weight of the world lift off those thin shoulders.

And maybe he feels a little bad, sure. And maybe he decides not to chase Jaskier away the first chance he gets. But he’s definitely chasing the young man away the second chance he gets.

“So, Geralt,” Jaskier says, muffled through the bits of apple, “do you always talk to horses?”

Geralt frowns, shrugging. “I suppose so. Do you always run through the woods like a madman?”

Jaskier frowns, indignant look on those delicate features. “What makes you think I was running like a madman?”

Geralt looks him up and down, in a way that’s clearly saying: Did you even look at yourself? “You’re covered in scratches and bruises and your clothes are ripped. Either you were behaving like an idiot, or you got beaten up.” It’s silent for half a beat. “Though those two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Jaskier gasps at him, nimble fingers on his chest, mouth agape. “How dare you. I’ll let you know I’m-” He cuts himself up, his finger hanging in the air between them.

Geralt pulls his eyebrows up. “You’re what?”

The young man shakes his head. “Nothing,” he mumbles.

Geralt shrugs again, turning around when he hears the thunder of hooves on the dirt, outside. A distant shout: “Julian! Julian Alfred Pankratz!”

Geralt frowns, shaking his head lightly, as he turns back to Jaskier, who’s blushing from his slender neck to his messy hair. “Wait,” he mutters, “are you Julian? Are they calling out for you?”

Jaskier looks at him, wide, blue eyes guilty and sad, so incredibly sad.

“What’s this noise all about?” He hears Vesemir shout in the distance, probably standing in the doorway to the cottage.

Julian Alfred Pankratz. He’s heard that name before.

He squints his eyes, raking through his memory. Oh no. It makes sense now. The clumsiness in the woods, the fancy clothing, the familiar-but-not-that-familiar face. Julian Alfred Pankratz. The crown prince of Kaedwen.

He stands up abruptly, heading for the door. He’s not going to get himself and his dad arrested for harboring a runaway prince, for the love of the gods.

“Wait!” Jaskier calls behind him, still on the floor, and for some reason, Geralt does stop. He doesn’t turn back, though, and simply waits for Jaskier’s explanation.

“He was gonna marry me off. My dad. To some noble lady from Nazair. I don’t wanna marry a noble lady from Nazair.”

Geralt sighs, rolling his eyes. “I completely understand. Your life must be so hard.”

He can hear Jaskier sniffle behind him, probably crying again. “I know you don’t understand. I wouldn’t, either. I mean, she’s pretty and she’s nice and she’s a noble lady from Nazair. But-” it’s quiet for a second or two, as the palace guards keep shouting the prince’s name, outside, “but my dad doesn’t understand that I don’t wanna marry a lady.”

Geralt looks over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t wanna marry a lady,” Jaskier whispers again, tears in his eyes, blush creeping up his neck, hands trembling in front of him as he stares at the floor. “He doesn’t approve.”

“Oh.” Geralt thinks for a second, lets Roach bump his shoulder with her nose, lets her snort against his frown. “And if you go back now, you have to marry her?”

Jaskier nods, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

“And if you were already married? He can’t break the sanctity of marriage, once it’s completed.”

Jaskier looks up at that, frowning at him. “I guess, but I don’t know anyone who’s willing to marry me right here and now.”

Geralt sighs, and looks at Roach, who looks right back at him. He can’t believe he’s gonna do this.

He turns around, kneeling in the straw, as the footsteps of the guards approach the stable. It’s only minutes until they find Jaskier.

Geralt takes a piece of straw, taking Jaskier’s left hand, tying the straw around his finger. He holds his hand out. “You do the same.” Jaskier does as he’s told, eyes confused but realization slowly dawning, hands trembling.

“But- the ritual of getting married takes longer, this isn’t marrying, we’re not-”

“Yes, I know that,” Geralt hisses impatiently, then beckons to the door with his head, “but they don’t know that. We just have to keep pretending.”

He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, doesn’t know why he’s basically about to throw his whole life at the farm away for a life at the court, but he feels bad for Jaskier, feels the same anger and frustration and sadness mirrored in himself about not being understood, not being accepted for who you love.

He remembers a summer love, long ago. He remembers Vesemir chasing him away.

“This is just temporary, okay? Just until you find someone you actually love, and then you can marry him and reveal that this was all fake, alright?”

Jaskier’s finally finished tying the straw around his fingers, but his hands clasp Geralt’s before he can move away. “Thank you,” he whispers, and Geralt loses a little piece of himself in those ocean eyes.

He shakes the sudden dizziness away, and pulls Jaskier up, taking his hand, leading him outside.

Immediately, they’re surrounded by guards, their swords aimed at Geralt’s chest. He swallows thickly. “Let the prince go!” One of the guards says, the point of his blade pushing into the fabric of Geralt’s shirt.

“No!” Jaskier shouts, standing between them, clasping Geralt’s hand in his. “Don’t, McKinley. He’s-” his voice catches in his throat “he’s my husband?” he whispers.

McKinley takes a step back. “What?”

Jaskier smiles hesitantly, holding up his hand with the piece of straw around his finger, then holds Geralt’s hand up, showing the matching makeshift ring. “I got married?”

McKinley pales. “Oh, gods, Julian, I don’t want to be the one to tell your father about this.”

Jaskier shrugs. “It’s okay, I’ll explain, don’t worry about it.”

Geralt’s eyes are drawn by Vesemir, standing outside the semi-circle of guards, looking just as confused as they are. “Married?” he mouths at Geralt.

“Explain later.” Geralt mouths back.

Oh, gods, he thinks to himself, as the guards bow to him and Jaskier, one by one, muttering ‘our royal highnesses’. What have I gotten myself into?

#Anonymous #drabble #squish answers #royal au #fake married #geraskier #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier #not long but still #short and sweet and messy #like me

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moonfox281 · 4 years ago

Note

Ooooooh number 70 for jaydick please! Thank you for doing this:)

click the cookie for prompt list 🍪

70: “I got into some trouble today. I sort of punched an Alpha in the face when he touched me. Long story short, there’s a couple of officers at the door who would like to talk to you about getting control of your omega.”

“Breath in and out, let the water flow guide your inner peace to the jour-”

“Ah fuck this shit!“

Jason got up from the mat, rolled his sleeves up all the way to his shoulders and packed his stuff.

“Sir, please sit down. Our session is not over yet.”

“Fuck the session.”

Meditation is good for impulse-control, he said. It was going to be a way to get his anger tempered down, he said. They couldn’t just have angry sex as the resolution for every fight, he said. Well, Dick could shove all of those reasons back up his ass, because Jason wasn’t getting any near this stupid shit anymore. The only reason he actually agreed to this in the first place was Dick’s stupid puppy eyes anyway.

“Sir! You’re not allowed to leave before the class is dismissed!”

“Well fuck you too!”

He was playing a shit show now, Jason knew. Not even 5 sentences and he had already made it to the third “fuck”.

“I know this is not comfortable, we understand. But this is why your mate sent you here.” Ah, that goddamn yoga teacher in pants tighter than the Nightwing suit, was tougher than Alfred’s cookies after 3 days.

And what he knew about Jason?

“Listen,” Jason sucked in. Swallow it down. Swallow it down. He told himself. The last thing he needed was the center to make an informal call to Dick saying Jason called the staff here a shrimp head.

“I don’t want to be here. You don’t want to be insulted. Nobody wants a scene. So get out of my way and we can have it at peace, okay?”

“Sir, not everything can be resolve with explicit languages and violence.“

“Ah you fuc- Wait, who said anything about violence?”

“The reason of this session is not only for you to live a better, stree-free life, but also to secure the safety of your loved one.”

Jason’s forehead twitched. “Fucker, are you implying I’m an abusive mate?”

Him? Abusive mate? Him, the one going down his knees to cut Dick’s toenails, cooking a 7 days frozen foods every weekend to make sure Dick never skip a meal, and letting Dick accidentally throw a wingding at his head without any complaint when he sneaked into their house through the window like a petty thief after a blood bath at Blackgate?

Him?

“Everything has a starting point. Alphas have a high tendency of natural instinct overlapping reasons. And when the water surface of your temper is already unsteady. Nothing can be assu-”

Jason snapped and threw his fist.

He was fucked. That was the only thing Jason had in mind when sitting at the kitchen island of his and Dick’s shared apartment. Dick was going to kill him.

Dick was so going to kill him for breaking the yoga teacher’s nose and sent about five security guards of the center into mental shock. At best he would beat Jason with a meat hammer until the Red Hood was unavailable for patrol for about two weeks. At worst, he would probably put an end to this and pack his stuff, saying he needed space until Jason sorted himself out.

Jason couldn’t have that. He would literally die if Dick ever walked out of their door with a duffle bag over his shoulder.

So when the door sprang open and Dick walked into the living room, Jason hopped over the couch and slides both knees down the floor, hugging Dick’s legs. “Please don’t leave me!”

“Jason,” Dick blinked. “What the hell?” But then he collected himself back before Jason even got a chance to open his mouth. “Whatever. Anyway, the police are here.”

“What?” So the center called and decided to sue him? Great. Now Dick was so leaving him, and the Demon Brat would laugh at his face, and Bruce would spit at his face.

“They're here for me?“

“No, they're here for me- Wait, what did you do?”

“For you? What did you do?”

They stared at each other, not blinking. Dick sorted through the chance if he should say it first or later. And Jason sorting his chances if Dick’s thing was big enough so he could get away with what happened today.

In the end, Dick gave up. He sighed. “I got in some...trouble, today.” He stopped, scratched his head. Maybe Jason did get a big shot of getting away with punching the yoga teacher. “I sort of punched an Alpha in the face when he touched me. Long story short, there’s a couple of officers at the door who would like to talk to you about getting control of your omega.” Dick babbled the rest at speed force.

Jason went speechless. The officers standing outside the corridor finally poked their heads in and waved “Hi”.

Jason slowly got up on his feet. “You punched someone!?”

Dick snapped back. “He touched me! Is that all you care about?”

“Please, is he even alive?!”

“Well, he’s hospitalized and in a coma, but that’s not the point!”

“And you made me go to a treatment center?!!!”

“Guys, we just want to send a message...It’s past our shift so...Can we go home now?”

In the end, they both agreed to never talk about anger management anymore and decided to exercise their heats on Gotham criminals.

#jaydick #My writing #writing prompt #Jason Todd #dick grayson

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watchtower-feed · 4 years ago

Text

Death Do We Part (Part 14)

SSA Spin-off ✧ Jason Todd ✧ Physical Link ✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧ Words: 2,100+

“Think about Y/N!” Bruce shouts, making you stop and stare at your hands, a pen hovering over Jason’s last words.

Jason’s grip falters. Of course, he’s thinking of you. Every single minute of every single day, all he’s done is think of you. All of the things he’s done is for you. You and him. That’s why he has to do this.

His voice comes out like a low growl. “Decide now... Do it.”

Bruce is shaking his head and holding the gun with both of his hands, trembling. Jason glares at him and pushes the barrel of the gun harder against Tim’s temple.

“Him or me! Decide!”

“Y/N!”

Alfred’s voice forces your eyes toward him, his trembling hands gripping the back of the couch, and you see the screen, Bruce’s feed closing in on Tim’s face, eyes wide, body struggling, and his head is moving like he’s yelling through the gags despite the gun pressed against his temple.

The gun Jason’s holding.

“You have to do something.”

The pen is still hovering over your skin. You move its tip from your forearm toward the back of your palm and you clench your teeth before you stab yourself.

Jason gasps in pain and drops the gun as blood leaks between his thumb and index finger.

Bruce’s instincts kick in before the gun drops. He comes up from under Jason and kicks him in the chest, forcing him away from the gun and Tim.

Jason reacts quickly and tugs on the rope tied around Tim’s arms to throw Robin behind him. Tim’s body hits the foundation of the stage, breaking in the platform’s scaffolds.

Your whole body freezes as Bruce immediately catches sight of what’s hidden underneath the stage. It’s a bomb with a timer that has 10 seconds left on the clock.

Jason straightens himself up, “I was really hoping you would make the right choice.” His voice no longer sounded angry or broken. He’s disappointed. Slowly he takes out the trigger from his pocket and presses it without another word. The timer on the bomb starts counting down.

Bruce moves quickly and lunges toward Tim. But Jason grabs his legs midair, making both of them slam hard on the tiled floor just a few feet away from Tim.

“Not doing so will only get everyone you love killed!“

Bruce doesn’t even take a moment to look at his son. He keeps his eyes on Tim and kicks Jason's nose.

You throw your head back and quickly use your arms to brace yourself on the counter. You can feel blood coming from your nose and your ears are ringing. But you fight through the pain and try your hardest to focus on the screen.

Bruce is holding Tim in his arms and running out of the club. Alfred is already holding a cloth over your nose but you grab his hand. “Wait. What about Jason?”

Your eyes are immediately drawn back to the screen, to Bruce staring at the club as blinding light consumes its interior. You drop your hold on Alfred and your arms hang limp by your side. You stare at the screen with wide eyes and big tears stream down your face.

“Jason…” Bruce whispers and stays unmoved on the ground until the light finally dies down. Helpless. Useless. Numb.

Tim is still struggling against his restraints. He tries to kick himself toward Bruce. When Bruce finally notices him he takes his mouth gag off first.

“Bruce, it’s fake! It’s all fake!”

✧ ✧ ✧

A few hours before the sun had gone down and hidden itself from Gotham, Tim woke up in Black Mask’s club ungagged and unbound. He quickly jumps up and eyes Jason warily who’s rummaging through a duffle bag.

Jason throws Tim his Robin costume, stolen from the cave during Scarecrow’s raid on the Wayne manor.

“Put that on before the others arrive.”

Tim stares at his suit in his hands before his brows furrow and he looks back at Jason.

“Is this a joke?”

“You could always just stay in your civs and let the whole Arkham gallery know your secret identity.” Jason takes something from his pocket and reads out the card. “Timothy Drake-Wayne. Business. Heh. Pegged you for a sciency guy.”

Tim doesn’t respond to his provocation. Jason snorts. He knows Tim is too smart for that. But he still hoped they could indulge in some small talk before getting right down to business.

“What the hell are you planning, Jason?”

“What I have to to keep Y/N safe.” He walks over to the bar and settles himself in front of his drink. “And you.”

Tim doesn’t know what to say to that or what to make of it. He keeps quiet. Jason stares into his glass.

“Bruce needs to know that he can’t protect using his methods. That being a symbol can only get through to those who are weak.” He clutches the glass in his hands and glares at it. “But what about the ones he can’t intimidate-- the ones who have greater fears than a Bat-- bigger than death.”

“So... you just plan on killing them--”

“Yes, Tim. Every single one until Gotham has no need for places like Arkham fucking asylum!” He slams the glass on the table and finally turns to Tim. “It’s a breeding ground for crazies funded by the people’s taxes!” He clenches his teeth. “It’s where they’re keeping the Joker alive. Fed. Rested. Alive.”

Tim narrows his eyes. And there it is. His motive. “You’re delusional, Jason. This is all just about revenge--”

“Do you know--!” Jason interrupts but quickly stops himself, bothered by the way his volume keeps rising. He takes one deep breath before he speaks again, forcing himself to be more calm and reasonable. “Do you know what he’ll do, if he finds out that I’m alive? About what he’s been itching to do to the new Robin? Or god forbid if the psychotic lunatic finds out about Y/N?”

Tim visibly flinches. He doesn’t. He can only guess as far as his imagination can take him but if the Joker ever finds out about your physical link, it would open a whole new avenue of ways to torture Jason and Bruce.

“We can help you. Both of you.”

Jason shakes his head. “I can help you-- I am helping you.”

His phone vibrates against the table and he immediately points his gun at Tim. “Don’t even think about it.” He keeps it trained on Tim as he answers. When he finally hangs up, he gets up and walks toward Tim.

“Put the suit on. The others are coming.”

“I won’t--”

“They know I caught Robin and you’re holding the fucking costume. Do you want your identity revealed? Do you want to expose Bruce, Alfred, Dick, and Y/N, too?”

Tim clenches his fist and thrusts his chest out at Jason until there’s only a foot distance between them. “You already did that, you coward! You sent Scarecrow--”

“Yeah!” Jason’s fiery voice rings inside the empty club. “And I killed Scarecrow! Shot him in the head before he could breathe a single word to anyone. I told them Batman’s a fucking socialist who’s using billionaire Bruce Wayne’s power supply to run his whole operation and the other dumbfucks bought it! But when Crane saw the manor-- and Y/N coming out of there-- he put two and two together!”

Tim’s eyes are wide and his posture falters.

“Scarecrow’s… dead? You murdered him...”

Jason wants to snap at him. But instead he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Robin! So is Black Mask-- killed him this morning. And tonight the rest of them are goners too! Blowing them up to high heavens before their much-awaited descent into hell!”

Jason suddenly grabs Tim’s arm, “And you--” He stabs him with another tranquilizer but it’s not as strong as the last one. Tim’s mind and senses are still active but he can’t move any part of his body. Jason catches him and gently lays him on the ground. He starts stripping Tim’s clothes to dress him in his Robin costume.

“Tonight I’m going to prove to you that Bruce is no better than me. That when everything he loves is in danger right in front of him-- when he’s really forced to choose between saving his family and subjecting a murderer to death…” He pauses when he puts on the tunic over Tim’s chest.

“He’ll choose you.”

He finishes putting the costume on in silence. Then he props Tim up on his side and starts tying his legs and arms behind his back with some rope.

“When he realizes that I might actually kill you-- You know, after he sees me kill the Joker in front of him with this gun.” He takes it out of his holster and shows Tim that the magazine only has one bullet inside. “I’ll give it to him and he’ll shoot me in the face. Well… for your sake, I hope he does.”

“I hope he’s grown a pair and finally understands that you have to kill the bad guys or no one is safe.”

Jason turns to face Tim.

“If he doesn’t, this will definitely do the trick.” He moves toward the stage and lifts the curtain of the scaffolds to reveal the bomb. Tim’s pupils dilate at the sight of it.

“Don’t worry, Timmy. The bomb’s not real. Nice touch on the timer, huh? I bet it’ll knock all common sense right out of Bruce’s head. He won’t even know. He’ll act on instinct and save you.”

Jason walks back to Tim and places a strong plaster over his mouth.

“Finally, he’ll be able to save Robin.”

✧ ✧ ✧

When Bruce and Tim make it back to the safehouse, there’s tension between them. Tim doesn’t even look at you or Alfred before he shuts himself in his room. Bruce stands awkwardly by the door as he takes off his cowl.

None of you say anything. None of you know what to say. After Tim’s outburst, Bruce had quickly ran back into the club and only found the Joker’s corpse inside. They searched Arkham all night but they couldn’t find Jason. They couldn’t find Dick in the river either.

You finally force your legs off the couch and head off to your room. Bruce stops you. You turn to find him looking at you with a forlorn look on his face. “I’m sorry,” he says as he points to your nose. Then in a softer voice he says, “Thank you.”

You turn away from him. “What for? It was all fake anyway--”

“Thank you for choosing to save Tim.”

You flinch. You clench your fist and punch Bruce on the jaw. Immediately you start nursing your hand because it hurts you more than him. But your anger is still seeping over. “Of course I would save Tim-- Of course I would help you-- But you should have saved Jason, too!”

Bruce keeps quiet as he looks at you.

You know it’s unfair because if you had been in that situation, you don’t know what you would’ve done-- How could you save both Tim and Jason? But Bruce is Batman, and just like his children, you expect him to know.

Your eyes scrunch up and you purse your lips before you walk off into your own room.

When you close the door and turn on your lights, you jump at the sight of Tim sitting in the chair by your desk. He doesn’t say anything.

“What are you doing in here, Tim?”

Tim tenses at the irritation in your voice. You watch as his shoulders slump forward and he holds the back of his neck with one hand. His mask is off and his eyes are downcast.

“Dick’s… not here. And I need someone right now…” He extends a hand toward you. “For one night, can we pretend to be friends again?”

Your body suddenly relaxes and you finally see the hurt expression on his face. You walk forward and embrace Tim.

“I don’t want to pretend. I miss having you as a friend.”

Tim pauses before he hugs you back. When you break away, he waits for you to settle yourself at the foot of your bed before he starts talking.

“Thank you… For doing what Bruce couldn’t.” He looks at you and watches as you nurse your hand. There’s another pause before Tim speaks again.

“Jason was right. I still won’t agree to murder but… to know the truth that… if it came down to my life and a villain’s life-- I can’t count on Bruce.”

“That’s not true,” you interrupt softly. “Bruce saved you. He got you out of the building, even if it was a fake bomb.”

“And he left Jason to die. You would have died.” You stare at the ground and bring your knees close to your chest. When you watched the blinding light in the club go out, you braced yourself for the blast, waited for death again.

Tim rubs his head and messes up his hair before he sighs deeply. Thinking about everything is only messing with his head. He groans before he speaks again, irritated.

“He told me his plan. Jason wanted Bruce to save me. Wanted him to make the hard choices he didn’t make for Jason.”

“Jason wanted to make sure Robin doesn’t die again,” you whisper.

You rest your head on your knees as you look at Tim. Your lips tremble as you watch him struggle with his thoughts.

He stares at his hands with narrowed eyes before you hear his broken voice.

“... I don’t know if I want to be Robin anymore.”

✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

#ssa #Jason Todd #Red Hood #DC imagines #Death Do We Part #DC fanfiction #DC reader insert #Jason Todd imagine #Jason Todd fanfiction #Jason Todd x reader #Red Hood imagine #Red Hood fanfiction #Red Hood x reader #watchtower-feed #atbucud

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overthefjords · 3 years ago

Text

I Do (Finally)

The proposal I wrote out months ago and forgot to post here >:3c

June 2008.

Aleks had been watching the storting like a hawk for the past few months. A gender-neutral marriage bill was being passed around between the members, and they were considering having it put into effect in the new year should it pass. Sure, there were already protections in place in Norway for same-sex partnerships, but… Marriage was something different. Something Mathias and himself had been longing after for literal centuries.

It was one thing to say this is my partner, my significant other, my love. But it was something else to have the proof in the eyes of the law, in the world, that you were wed.

So, when Aleksander got the heads up that the storting had passed the bill and it would be announced later in the week, he started concocting a plan.

He was going to propose to Mathias as the news was breaking. He was going to get all of their loved ones and go out to dinner altogether. A quick call to the other Nordics, the Low Countries, and their other friends was the first order of business, and then going about the restaurant reservations. KöD Oslo, one of the favorite places that the pair usually reserved for special occasions like anniversaries and birthdays.

The ring was plain and nothing fancy, but the runes engraved on the inside spoke louder than the platinum band would suggest. They were tiny, wrapped around the entirety of the inside of the band itself.

From the dawn of the realms until the end of time, you are my one love, unrivaled. No mortal man nor beast could take you from me.

It would be a lie to say that Aleksander had not had this planned out decades in advance, that he did not set down a deposit on Mathias' engagement ring during the 1950s as the Dane was recovering from his brush with death. They both had been waiting for this for literal centuries, and Aleksander would be damned if he wasn’t almost entirely prepared for this.

The last call he needed to make was to the jeweler, putting down the rest of the money on Mathias’ wedding band, paying the extra charges for it to be started on immediately.

Now, all he had to do was wait, and not say a thing to Mathias.

Such a feat was easier said than done, especially because the both of them had been waiting for this for almost forever, the chance to be fully married in the eyes of everyone; the law, their nations, the world. It was lucky that he was able to control himself when he saw his boyfriend every day for the next week, lucky that he didn’t just drop to one knee as soon as the neurosurgeon had stepped out of his car that evening.

But wait he did, and it was luck that the Norwegian had an endless supply of patience. If he was going to do this, he wanted it to be perfect.

The day was perfect and warm, the arrival of summer in Norway called for extraordinarily long and comfortable days in Oslo. Mathias had the window rolled down, his hand extended out from the car and waving through the air currents as they drove from the house into the city, the both of them dressed up for the occasion. As far as Mathias knew, there was no special occasion, just a get together with friends and loved ones at their favorite place

The ring box was inside of the pocket of Aleks' dress pants, the same pocket where he stowed his keys and wallet so as to not arouse suspicion for him carrying something in his pockets.

"Who all is supposed to be here, Aleks?" Mathias asked, fingers sliding between his partner’s as Aleks’ hand was resting on the center console.

"Mm," Aleks tapped his thumb against the steering wheel for a moment. "Bastian and Christiane, Ludwig, Sigfrid, Sigurd, Mikael, Gunnar, Timo, Emma, Willem, Gemma, Toni, Naia, Arthur, Francis, and I invited Alfred and Matthieu but I’m not sure if they’ll be here.” He said it as if inviting their overseas friends was no big deal, as if collecting so many of their friends at all was nothing more than a casual summer dinner. He failed to mention the Aussie and New Zealander that he’d invited as well, Kyle and Cae. That, surely, would throw up more red flags than inviting the North Americans.

“Quite a gathering,” Mathias replied, “Are we getting an entire section to ourselves, then?”

“It’ll most likely end up that way if they all seat us in one section, anyway.” Aleks did in fact reserve the dining room off of the garden, but that was his little secret. He had requested at least half of them to get there ahead of time, that way the rest would trickle in at a somewhat normal pace once Mathias and himself had arrived.

Aleks pulled the car into a spot outside of the restaurant, leaning over to exchange a small, sweet kiss with his partner before brushing a stray ball of lint from his shirt. “I think my brothers are already here.”

“I have no doubt,” Mathias replied with a slight chuckle, brushing his nose against Aleks’ as he leaned over the center console. “They are nothing if not exceedingly early to everything.”

“You’re telling me,” Aleks says with a laugh, sliding out of the car and rounding to the passenger’s side. “Mikael likes to show up at my office an hour before our meeting and then pester me until I’m ready.” Once Mathias was standing on the curb next to him, Aleks went ahead and locked the car, resting a hand on the small of the Dane’s back and walking with him into the restaurant.

Already waiting for them were the Nordics, of course, taking up one of the central circle tables in the dining room, leaving two seats side-by-side for Aleks and Mathias.

From there, the dining room began to fill with their friends, usually arriving in pairs and with bright, cheery smiles. The room swelled with chatter, a small gathering of nations joined together for only one thing, kept hidden from one Danish doctor.

The chatter gave way to dinner, which did nothing to hush the rabble in the room. They were surrounded by so much happiness, so much joy, and Aleks could not be more grateful that so many of their friends were able to make it, and could pack the dining room for this.

The volume in the room only fell to a hush when Aleks stood up, resting a hand on Mathias’ shoulder.

“I wanted to thank all of you for coming on such short notice,” He started, giving a small smile to the tables surrounding the one the Nordics were all sitting at. “I know I only gave you a week to get here, but the fact that you’ve come means the world to me. To us.” Aleks catches Mathias’ slightly confused expression out of the corner of his eye.

Good.

“The storting has signed into legislation a marriage bill,” Aleks continued, his voice even and careful. “That, come the first of January, will change the definition of marriage in Norway.”

This was it.

“That being said, I have a very important question to ask.” Aleks turned to Mathias, who was staring at the Norwegian with those wide icy blue eyes of his. He took Mathias’ left hand in his, smoothly dropping to one knee before the Dane with a navy blue ring box in the palm of his hand.

“Mathias Nikolas Anker, you have been my steadfast companion for nine hundred and fifteen years. You are unendingly kind, intelligent and I have had the absolute privilege to be the man that is allowed to love you. You have shown me and taught me more than I could ever in my entire life begin to thank you for. You took a blood-soaked and scarred young man and loved him until his edges were not so sharp, and until he learned how to love you in every way you deserve to be loved. We have tested one another, and have been tested in countless ways. There is no one else on this planet that I would rather see every sunrise and sunset with until the end of our time here on Earth. Would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Nestled in the navy velvet of the box was a gorgeous platinum band, the center of the band bearing a brushed look while the edges were kept reflective. And of course, the inside had the raised runes that Aleks had meticulously chosen.

There were barely a handful of heartbeats between Aleks’ question and Mathias flinging himself into the Norwegian’s chest, Mathias’ arms thrown around his shoulders while he pressed his face into Aleks’ neck. The Dane was sobbing, fingers curling into the short hairs at the back of Aleks’ head and clinging to him as if his life depended on it.

There were a slew of garbled questions interspersed among those heart-wrenching sobs, mostly asking if he was dreaming or if this was really happening. Aleks did his best to answer the questions, resting his head against Mathias’ and rubbing at his back, the ring box still sitting open in his other hand.

Aleks didn’t really need that yes; he took the hysterics as one.

“You’re alright,” Aleks murmured against Mathias’ temple, slowly standing up and letting the ring box snap shut so he could stow it in his pocket once again. Even as they stood, Mathias’ arms remained around Aleks, the Dane standing up on his tippy toes. “C’mon, let’s go outside,” Aleks suggested softly, guiding the inconsolable Dane out of the dining room and onto the patio.

Aleks, with his arms wrapped around Mathias, walked the both of them over to the raised garden planter that took up the center of the patio. He slowly sat down on the edge of it, Mathias sitting in his lap automatically. He didn’t want to be apart from Aleks, even in the slightest at the moment.

With Mathias still roughly sobbing against the Norwegian’s neck, Aleks rubbed slow circles into the Dane’s back. “I found out about a week ago that they were passing it,” he said quietly, head resting atop Matti’s. “It’s been officially signed by Harald as of noon. The official announcement comes tonight. I wanted to ask you the afternoon I found out, but I needed time to get your ring finished and everyone here.”

“Aleksander,” Mathias cried, gripping the Norseman tighter and making Aleks laugh softly as he continued to rub at the Dane’s back. “We can get married…”

“Mathias,” Aleks echoed, rocking his sweetheart slowly and kissing the top of his head. “We can, but only if you say yes.”

Mathias sniffled, lifting his head to look at Aleks and butting their foreheads together. “I haven’t wanted anything more. For as long as I’ve loved you. So yes, of course, I’ll marry you.”

Aleks lifted his hands to Mathias’ face, wiping his tears away before kissing him for just a moment, a bright smile growing on his face. “We’re getting married.”

“Uh-huh,” Mathias mirrored that smile, thumbs rubbing against the side of Aleks’ face. “Can I see my ring?”

Aleks chuckled, stealing another little kiss before digging in his pocket and presenting the ring box once more. He popped the box open, pulling the ring from its confines and taking Mathias’ left hand in his own.

“No, let me look at it,” Mathias insisted softly, taking the gorgeous band from Aleks’ fingers, turning it over in his hands. It was beautiful, the afternoon summer sun catching the polished edges and diffusing from the brushed parts.

That is when the Dane caught sight of the raised runes on the inside, slowly rotating the ring as he read them. What was written there choked him up, looking up at his fiancé with a watery smile. He was getting all choked up again, letting Aleks slide the ring onto his finger before throwing his arms back around the Norwegian and tucking his damp, splotchy face against his neck once again. “I love it,” He warbled, hiccuping through another bout of sobs.”I love you…”

Aleks lost track of time from there, merely continuing to rock his sobbing husband-to-be, letting him cry against his shoulder and his neck. There was nowhere he’d rather be right now, even with a dining room full of their friends and family.

That early evening dinner service bled into warm twilight, and their friends and family slowly joined the pair in the garden, wine glasses and dessert plates in hand. Taking in the pair sitting together, all smiles and gentle affectionate touches, they all knew that of course Mathias had said yes.

“When’s the wedding?” Christiane asked with laughter, passing a glass of dark liquor to the Dane, who took it gratefully with his left hand, now bearing that lovely silvery band. The wedding would not be for a good while. They’d waited so long for this chance, the ceremony would be perfectly intimate, and the reception full to bursting with life. Just as Mathias would want it.

Seasons passed between that teary-eyed proposal and the warm spring day of their ceremony, the new greenery of the trees glistening with dew from the night before. They were witnessing two births on this day, one of the land in spring and one of two lives being officially joined as one after deserving of such a gift for so long.

Of course, things would go smoothly for all who witness it. The same could perhaps not be said for the grooms in question. Anxiety came easily to the Dane, who was pacing his hotel room with shaky hands and a pale face despite all of the efforts from his groomsmen to help him relax. He was naturally high-strung and high energy, and with nothing to focus on besides getting ready, his head was running away with itself.

That was what Aleksander was told when Bastian came to get him, the Norwegian busy fitting his cufflinks into his button-down.

“He won’t settle down.” The Belgian looked rightfully concerned, standing in the doorway, half-dressed with concern etched on his young features. “I’d say I’m surprised, but I’m not,” Aleks said with the barest of knowing smiles. His own groomsmen, his brothers, were all getting ready in their own rooms. There was no need for him to lord over them right now. He had a sinking feeling that he’d have bigger things to help with than fixing Mikael’s tie. “Send him over here, Bastian, if you would.”

With a sharp nod, the young man left the room, leaving Aleks alone with his dress uniform spread out on the end of the bed. He knew Mathias hated the bowties that came with the Naval outfits, but he had wanted them both dressed in them for the occasion. It’ll just give Aleks all the opportunities to fix them when they get crooked and steal little kisses in the process.

“It’s bad luck for you to see me before the wedding,” Came the quietest voice from the doorway a few minutes later, a familiar hand wrapped around the doorframe.

Aleks cast a soft glance in Mathias’ direction, moving to rest a hand over the Dane’s where it gripped the door. “My love, I don’t know if that applies here.” He says this tenderly, twisting his fingers through his husband-to-be’s and coaxing Mathias in from the hallway. “You’re not exactly a bride, and neither am I. That’s the entire point.”

Aleksander’s words make his partner laugh, though it's weak and uneasy as Mathias is brought into the room, the door shutting with a soft click behind him. There was nothing here that they had not seen before; dress uniforms were standard, and they’d seen each other in a plethora of other states than half-dressed. And yet, the anxiety did not listen to reason.

As soon as that door was closed, Mathias was in the Norseman’s arms, head tucked against his chest. This was his safe place, Aleks knew this, and the Norwegian wrapped his arms snugly around his love.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Matti?” Aleks murmured after a few minutes of silence, the quiet hum of a fan in the background the only noise besides their breathing.

“I’m scared.” It was a lot for Mathias to admit this, and Aleksander knew this. His love was the one to put on big, happy faces to cover up his concerns, to push it away to deal with later, so the plain admission spoke to the depth of his fears.

Though, Aleksander could not fathom why the Dane was so afraid. They’d already done all of the really hard things that couples do, and even more so because of who they are. The taller of the pair was going to ask why when Mathias just supplied the answer outright. “It’s…” He takes a shaky breath, turning to put his cheek against his love’s chest and lifting cerulean eyes to meet navy. “Scary to show just how deeply I love you. It's just been for us for so long. Showing how deep everything for us goes is terrifying.”

Aleks gets it, he does. They had to hide their love for literal ages. It makes sense to be apprehensive about putting all of that on display, though it's not ever been a secret. “Making it official is a lot.” An affirmative hum from the Dane was followed with a soft huff. “We should’ve eloped.”

“There’s still time. I can book us a flight to wherever.”

“No. I'm tired of hiding us. You know how I am.” Mathias finally leans back a bit from Aleksander’s embrace, chin tipped up to gaze up at the man he loved.

Making an affirmative noise in the back of his throat, Aleks just smiles at his beloved. His hands lift to cradle Mathias’ face, gently butting their foreheads together. “Just so you know, I have been proud to love you for every single moment of all nine hundred and sixteen years, and I am just as proud today as I was our very first night together.”

Aleks watched tears flood Mathias’ eyes, and brought his sweetheart into his arms once again, feeling the doctor’s fingers curl into the back of his shirt. “I know you’re very private about your feelings, but no one can take us from one another. Not anymore. Not ever again.”

Those sniffles devolved into little sobs, with Mathias’ arms slung around his partner’s neck in an attempt to get as close as humanly possible to Aleksander, who merely lifted Mathias off of his feet and held him in his arms.

Lucky for Mathias, Aleksander was always prepared. A quick wardrobe change later and the pair were just lounging on the bed, Mathias in one of the Norwegian’s sweaters and a pair of the Dane’s own joggers. They had hours until the ceremony, and Mathias was dozing off in Aleksander’s arms, far calmer than when he’d arrived.

“Wake me up a half-hour before?” He’d groggily murmured against Aleksander’s tear-stained shoulder. Thankfully, he’d also brought backup suits for the both of them. Aleks didn’t think their dress shirts would survive an impromptu nap. “I still need to look handsome for our ceremony.”

“Of course, kjærlighet.” Aleks would not argue that Mathias never looked anything less than, even when the Dane was exhausted out of his mind from work and wearing those awful green scrubs.

He’d loved Mathias in sickness, in health, in life, in death, through good times and bad, and all of what those standard vows would say. He’d love Mathias to the ends of their existences, from the dawn of time until the end of the world.

#drabbles;#also shoutout to some of my friends who let me borrow their muses for this

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fishfingersandjellybabies · 5 years ago

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After Party - freedom au

Characters: Jon Kent, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, some Dick Grayson and Alfred Pairing: jondami Summary: After a night of shmoozing with local elites, they just want to spend some time together, alone. Of course, their superhero dads just have to drop in, right then - literally. A/N: This is probably maybe a year or so after The Easiest Difficulty and they’re both upper-20s Jon’s just really REALLY in love with Damian, mkay. No straight up mention of Lois being informed because in my brain, when Damian called the fam, they relayed it to the Supers. Though in the other two fics, I know Damian was very stoic about not being a hero anymore, he still struggles with the choice himself, especially in situations like this. Sorry if ending is awkward. If you like what I create and want to support me more/get more bts kind of stuff, support me on Ko-Fi or Patreon!

Freedom AU

Jon couldn’t stop staring at Damian as he said goodnight to his coworkers, as they left the convention center. The fundraiser for the animal shelter went off without a hitch. Nothing had been counted yet, but they all had the feeling they’d doubled their goal – at least.

But Jon watched as Damian smiled and waved – genuine smiles – while he shot off a few last text messages, and they walked to Jon’s old beat up truck with the last of the decorations from the event. But he didn’t stop staring, even as Damian shut the door to the truck bed, and they both climbed into the cab.

He started the car, but didn’t take it from park, glancing around the lot, watching the last few volunteers drive off after a job well done. Then he grinned and laid his arm along the back of the bench seat, looking back to Damian, who was still typing away on his phone.

So, it took a few moments before Damian fixed his glasses and murmured, “You going to hit the gas any time soon?”

Jon silently shrugged, watching as Damian loosened his bowtie. This shindig had been a semi-formal affair. That didn’t stop Damian from dressing to the nines, of course.

With no verbal response, Damian looked up himself, and narrowed his eyes at Jon’s attention. “What? What are you looking at?”

“You, obviously.” Jon smirked. “You look great.”

“You said that earlier this evening.” Damian mumbled, breaking eye contact. “You do too, by the way. Old Mrs. Barundy couldn’t stop talking about how handsome you were. Pretty sure that was the only reason she donated as much as she did. Also asked if I would raffle a date with you at next year’s affair.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“I told her I’d think about it.” Damian admitted. “I will gladly sell you for the wellbeing of my animals.”

“Good to know.” Jon laughed, shifted a little. “…You did great tonight too, you know. I’m really proud of you.”

“…Thank you.” Damian put his phone down and smiled. “And thank you for accompanying me this evening. I’m sorry I couldn’t spend more time with you.”

“You’re the head of the most successful shelter in the tri-state area at a fundraiser for your work, of course you were going to be pulled in every big wig’s direction.” Jon waved off. But he shifted again along the seat, stretched his arm a little further so his fingers now brushed the back of Damian’s neck. “But now it’s done and over with and just you and me.”

“Mhm.” Damian smiled a little bit now, and Jon knew he was onto his game. “…You still haven’t put the truck in drive.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Do you plan to any time soon?”

“Not really.”

Damian barked a laugh, turning in the seat to face the other. “Jonathan Kent.” He warned playfully. “We are not making out in the cab of your truck.”

“Why not?” Jon grinned like a Cheshire cat, giving up all semblance of subtly, practically throwing himself across the seat. “Everyone’s left.”

But Damian was still laughing, even as Jon tugged at his bowtie, pulling it off completely. “We are not some horny teenagers after a school dance.”

“No, but you do look great, and you just raised probably almost a million dollars for the animals.” Jon was already brushing his nose along Damian’s jaw, voice getting quieter and breathier by the syllable. “So I think you deserve a reward.”

“…I can wait until we get home for my reward.” Damian whispered, slowly wrapping his arms around Jon’s neck anyway.

“Yeah, but I entertained madam mayor’s drunk husband all night, so I deserve a reward too.” Jon returned. “And I think I’d like my reward right now.”

He didn’t wait for a response, gently pressing his lips to Damian’s. Damian instantly returned the gesture, practically dragging Jon on top of him in the process. Jon grinned, gleefully boxing Damian in against the passenger door.

“You’re…lucky.” Damian breathed when he could. He still had one arm around Jon’s neck, but the other had returned to his front, and was swiftly and expertly unbuttoning the first few clasps of Jon’s shirt. “I like…you.”

“I am.” Jon agreed, as Damian ran his fingers along Jon’s bare chest up to his throat. He ducked his face along Damian’s own neck, kissing until he found the spot he wanted to mark. “I’m the luckiest guy in the whole damn world.”

Damian gasped a breath as Jon bit gently into his skin, and dug his own nails into Jon’s back, clinging like Jon would disappear if he didn’t.

When Jon pushed a little too deep, sucked a little too hard, Damian laughed at the sensation, and a little mumble of “Tickles…!” was whispered into Jon’s ear. So, at the insistence of Damian’s hands framing his jaw, Jon backed up a little, a small tease – What, a little hickey too much for you, the great Damian Wayne? – already starting vibrate in his throat.

But when he looked into Damian’s ocean green eyes, half-lidded and adoring, his throat went dry, and his heart stuttered. He couldn’t say anything, he could barely even breathe.

Damian just smiled up at him, cheeks flushed and chest heaving slightly. Quietly, fingers of one hand stroking along Jon’s face, he reached up and tugged Jon’s glasses off.

“Much better.” Damian hummed, dropping the glasses to the floor of the cab while pulling Jon back in. When their lips met this time, Damian took control, and Jon was instantly putty in his hands. All he could do was stabilize himself with one hand along the window seam of the passenger door, the other wrapped as tightly around Damian’s rising hips as he could hold.

So they weren’t paying attention to anything else – of course they weren’t. Too wrapped up in each other, in the sensation of loving and being loved, of being alone with the one he held most dear.

So they didn’t see the body falling from the sky. Didn’t notice until it crashed into the bed of their truck.

At the sudden motion of the deafening crash, after their teeth clacked together in surprise, Jon immediately dropped his body onto Damian’s, instinctively trying to protect him as quickly as possible. Damian, for his part, went along with it, arms wrapped around Jon’s torso.

The truck bounced for a few more seconds, and it wasn’t until the car was completely still that Jon raised his head.

“What the fuck was that?” Damian spat beneath him, already trying to shimmy upwards to look for himself. Jon held him down for a second more, just to make sure the coast was clear.

“Not sure.” Jon murmured, looking around the still-empty parking lot. His eyes narrowed, though, as he reached the grass field nearby. “But something landed over there.” He nodded towards the dust rising in the dark, then back to his truck bed. “…And in our car?”

“Fuck.” Damian cursed again, even as Jon finally deemed it safe enough for him to sit up. He shifted back to his side of the car, kicking the door open, just as Damian did the same on his side.

As soon as they got into the open air, they heard an agonized groan coming from the mass that was feet away from landing on top of them. Jon had his fists and powers at the ready, even as Damian all but ran up to the lump, grabbing at the fabric that seemed to cover it.

But he’d barely moved it at all before he gasped, eyes going wide behind the blue frames.

“Batman?!”

The figure shifted a little, revealing Batman’s face, his mask half torn off. Not that you could recognize Bruce Wayne under the blood his face was covered with.

Damian was already climbing the side of the bed, not even bothering with the door, shoving the now crushed boxes Batman landed on to the side.

“Father…” He whispered, trying to turn Bruce to a better position than the one he landed in. As he did, he glanced up the sky, where his father clearly came from. “What happened?!”

“Luthor.” A wheezed reply came from the side, and Jon whirled around, gripping his fists even tighter, eyes lighting up red. He released his strength almost immediately, though, as he recognized his own dad limping pathetically towards them. “Being…asshole.”

His uniform was no better than Batman’s, a large slash right through the S-shield on his chest being the most prominent flaw.

Jon ran at him instantly, barely catching him before Clark collapsed.

“Dad…” Jon breathed. “…Dad!”

“Help…Bruce.” Clark drawled, head lolling to the side. “I…I d-dropped him. He’s…he’s hurt bad…”

“Jon!” Damian called. Jon glanced back, and saw Damian staring at them. He raised his hand to point towards Clark. Jon followed the gesture to his father’s side, and found the hilt of a glowing green dagger sticking out of his skin. Jon’s eyes widened as he looked desperately back at Damian, whose face was grim. “…Get him in the truck.”

Jon nodded, and began dragging Superman towards his truck bed.

Damian sighed as he hung up the phone, absently staring at it in his hand as he lowered it from his face. After a moment, he shook his head, and slowly climbed back up the stairs. When he reached the landing, he went to the closest room and leaned against the doorframe, watching Jon for a moment, as he held his father’s hand.

“Pennyworth and Grayson are on their way. Should be here soon.” Damian whispered under the beeping of a heart monitor. Of two heart monitors, with one attached to his own father in the other room. “Drake is looking into whatever conflict they had with Luthor tonight, and will update us when he can.”

Jon nodded, leaning back in his chair. Damian winced as he exposed all the blood still on the sheets, and mess of bandages on the floor. He’d done the best he could, with the medical knowledge he had. But, admittedly, he was years out of practice, since leaving the capes and masks behind, and these days tended to only work with patients of the four-legged or feathered variety. Not humans, and most definitely not Kryptonians.

“They’re going to make it, Jon.” Damian reminded, both for himself and his lover. “They’ll be okay.”

“I know.” Jon sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose. He looked back at Damian and smiled sadly, holding his hand out. Damian took it, and allowed himself to be pulled to Jon’s side. Jon kissed his fingers and wrapped that arm around Damian’s waist. “This must be how Mom feels.”

“Hm?”

“Helpless. When he comes back like this from missions.” Jon muttered. “I mean…there’s nothing we can do. We can’t go out there and chase Lex down.”

“…We could.” Damian countered quietly.

Jon looked up at him, leaning his chin on Damian’s stomach. “No. We made our decision.”

“Do you regret that decision, right now?”

“…No.” Jon admitted. “I don’t regret it for a second. Not even now.” He squeezed Damian’s hip. “Do you?”

Damian shook his head. “I do feel guilty about it, though.”

“Feel guilty about not feeling regret?” Jon asked. Damian shrugged. “You only feel that at this moment. Because back in the day, you and me might’ve been out there fighting with them, and it’d have been our job to watch their backs.”

“We’re their sons. It’s always our job to watch their back, isn’t it?” Damian countered.

“I don’t think they’d see it that way.” Jon chuckled. “Besides, I’d like to think we watch their back in other ways.”

“Like?”

“Emotionally.” Jon offered. “Being actual human beings – yes, I see the irony of that for my dad.” He smiled. “Moments like now.”

Damian returned the smile, running his hand over Jon’s hair.

“Besides, even if we were still in the game, we don’t have any intel on what went down tonight, where it happened, or who besides Lex was involved.” Jon closed his eyes, and leaned into Damian’s hand. “So we couldn’t do anything even if we wanted to.”

“We could.” Damian repeated. “…We would just be going in blind and probably make complete fools of ourselves.”

“Yeah. Pass.” Jon laughed. He turned his head and kissed the palm of Damian’s hand. “…We aren’t anywhere near Metropolis.”

Damian blinked. “No, we’re not.”

Jon sat up, looked back at Clark. They’d removed the Kryptonite dagger as soon as they got to the house, but there was still a sickly green tint to his skin, though it was thankfully slowly fading. “We’re not near Gotham either.”

“Your point?”

“Where did whatever happened…happen?” Jon wondered out loud. “I mean…if it happened in either of the cities, they’d have to of come incredibly out of the way to end up…here.”

“Maybe that should be question number one when one of them wake up.” Damian suggested. “Or…Grayson can ask, when he starts his investigation.”

“I vote Dick.” Jon grinned again, but this time there was a little gleam in his eye. “Because I’m tired, I don’t want to be involved in that crap, and because our dads interrupted some very important business-”

Damian was about to laugh when a groan came from the other room. Instantly, he untangled himself from Jon, who was already moving to stand, and darted across the hall.

Bruce was still on the bed – their bed, as he was in their room – but was struggling in an attempt to sit up. Jon stopped at the door even as Damian rushed forward, pushing his father back down as gently as possible.

“You’re alright.” Damian called sweetly. “You’re safe. You’re at my house.”

Bruce blinked even as he collapsed back down. “…Damian?”

Damian smiled, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Hello, Father.”

Bruce glanced back to Jon, eyes immediately became sad. “…No.”

Jon smiled and waved, even as Damian chuckled a little. “It’s alright. You didn’t bring any baddies here.”

“You shouldn’t be involved.” Bruce slurred, fingers twitching. Damian immediately took his hand in both of his, and glanced at the heart monitor nearby. “You shouldn’t have to even see-”

“Deep breaths, Father. Don’t panic.” Damian soothed. “You did nothing wrong.”

“I’m sorry.” Bruce breathed. “I’m so sorry, Damian…”

Damian kept his smile. “Pennyworth and Grayson are on their way. Drake is conducting the investigation. We’re just…the accidental middlemen.”

“Good. That’s…” Bruce winced in pain as he shifted a little. “That’s good.”

“…May I ask, though?” Bruce looked up at him. “What happened tonight? And how’d you end up here?”

“Luthor was trying to have a pissing contest with Clark again.” Bruce sighed. “Caught us off guard with a little more muscle and henchmen than normal. Got a few lucky shots in.”

“Oh, just a few?” Damian smirked. Bruce laughed, but grabbed at his side with his free hand after a moment.

“It was in a city not far from here. We had to retreat. We were…” Bruce frowned. “Clark grabbed me. I thought I heard him say something about maybe hiding out here for a while, to regroup or…or something. He said he was going to try to call first, to ask if we could stop by…?”

“Father, you know you don’t ever have to ask. You’re welcome here whenever, whatever the reason.” Damian promised.

“Sorry Dad apparently dropped you out of the sky before y’all made it, though.” Jon chimed in. Bruce waved him off.

“Glad he at least was able to drop me somewhere somewhat…soft.” Bruce shrugged a shoulder. “…Where did I land anyway? Did Clark get in contact with you two? How did you find us?”

“We never got a call, but you fell into the back of Jon’s truck.” Damian sounded almost apologetic. “On the left over decorations from the shelter’s fundraiser this evening.”

“…Your fundraiser.” Bruce breathed. “Did my donation come through?”

“Father, I think there are more important things right now than if your donation made it to the fundraiser.” Damian snorted.

“It’s something you worked hard at. Something you’re proud of.” Bruce rambled. “I want to be there for you. I know I’m not…”

“And I want you to rest.” Damian retorted, cutting him off. He knew his father felt enough misplaced guilt, not coming around much as Bruce Wayne, as a normal person; they didn’t need to rehash it now. “We can talk about mundane things later. Alright?”

Bruce stared blearily up at him for a moment, then twisted the hand Damian was still holding to grasp his back. Tears began to well in his eyes. “It’s so good to see you, son.”

“And you, Father.” Damian promised with a smile. “And once Pennyworth gives you and Clark the all clear, Jon and I would love for you two to stay a few days, if you can spare it.”

Bruce opened his mouth to respond, but was drowned by the sound of a doorbell, and the various animals answering its call with howls and meows of their own. So instead, he just smiled and nodded, as Jon ducked away to answer the door.

Bruce and Damian sat in silence, Bruce’s eyes fluttering slightly, as they listened to the faint conversation at the door. Moments later, the sound of heavy, frantic footsteps up the stairs.

“I’ll start with your father.” Damian heard Alfred tell Jon. He moved to stand and no sooner had he settled on his feet, he was being dragged into the arms of his eldest brother.

“Are you okay?” Dick mumbled against his hair. Damian huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes, even as Dick pulled back, eyes darting across his body.

“I’m fine.” Damian chuckled. “As I’m sure Jon tried to tell you, we weren’t involved in whatever happened. Just so happened to be in the right place at the right time aft-”

“What is that?” Dick demanded, pointing at Damian’s neck. Damian put his hand against his throat, but felt nothing, so turned to look in the nearby dresser mirror. “A bruise? Or a…”

Oh. Right.

“…It’s nothing.” Damian lied. But the heat was already rushing to his cheeks, and Dick was already smirking knowingly.

“Gross.” Dick winked. He spun Damian around and shoved him towards the door. “Please get out and let me talk to Bruce before I barf over how precious you and Jon are.”

Damian scoffed, but did as he was told. As he stepped into the hallway, he found Jon doing the same out of Clark’s room, closing the door behind him. His worried face melted into a smile when he saw Damian, though.

“You got kicked out too?” Jon asked.

“Of course.” Damian sighed, stepping into the circle of Jon’s arms. “Civilians only get in the way of investigations.”

“So…what do we do now?” Jon asked, leaning his chin on top of Damian’s head.

“Go downstairs and wait, I suppose. Make Grayson and Pennyworth some coffee for their troubles.” Damian listed. “Try to ignore the desire probably brewing to jump back into the old uniforms and avenge our fathers. Maybe sleep.”

“Could we…” Jon hummed in thought. “…Maybe continue where we left off in the truck?”

Damian hesitated a moment, then looked up at him.

“Or,” Jon tried sheepishly. “I’d even take grabbing a blanket and having hardcore cuddle time. It is almost two in the morning after all.”

Damian blinked, waited another moment, then said. “I guess Grayson was right.”

Jon tilted his head.

“You and I are absolutely, ridiculously, childishly gross.” Damian groaned in defeat. But he gently took Jon’s hand anyway, and together they walked down the stairs. “But…I’d be content with one leading to the other.”

Jon laughed, but let himself be dragged into the kitchen. As Damian started the coffee machine, he absently searched for a few blankets, setting some to the side for Dick and Alfred.

“Hey…Dames?”

“Yes, Beloved.” Damian hummed.

“…How long until everyone else in our families show up and stay for a few days?” Jon wondered allowed. “I mean, surely Mom and Conner know by now too…”

As the machine dripped, Damian plopped onto the couch, and Jon came trailing after him, fluttering the blanket over them both. As soon as the blanket stilled, a few of the animals jumped onto the couch to join them, while others puddled around their feet. “Oh, I’d be surprised if they weren’t all kicking our door down by sunrise. Even Todd.”

Jon laughed as Damian threw his arm around his shoulders. “Impromptu family reunion, with us as hosts.” He curled into Damian’s side, and closed his eyes as Damian kissed his cheek. “Can’t wait.”

#jondami #Damian Wayne #jon kent #bruce wayne #clark kent #freedom au

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pokeasleepingsmaug · 5 years ago

Text

Under the Crumbling Mistletoe

A Let’s Be Danes for Yule gift for @oddsnendsfanfics, I hope you like it!!

Osferth x Brynna (OC, I tried to pick a vaguely Anglo-Saxon/old sounding name)

TW: Mild sexual innuendos

“What is he even doing?” Osferth deadpans, craning his neck to look halfway up the firepole. He doesn’t even want to watch, but he realizes in horror that it’s impossible to look away.

“Didn’t you know? Sihtric loves pole,” Finan answers with a smirk. He spares a quick glance for the red-faced man at his side, delighting in his discomfort.

“You know it,” Sihtric calls, batting his eyelashes as he glances down at them, rubbing his chest against the firepole. His strong thighs are clenched around it, locking himself in place as he gyrates to Santa Baby, singing along badly in what Osferth assumes is supposed to be a sultry purr that sounds far more like a yowling cat. He’s alternating between actually hanging the lights and stroking the pole suggestively, throwing searing glances at his wife. She looks up at him, face alight with love, her eyes soft and luminous in the gentle glow of the Christmas lights. Osferth loves the way she looks at him, like he’s hanging the moon and stars when all he’s doing is stringing Christmas lights and being mildly disgusting.

“You’re supposed to be hanging lights,” Osferth protests laughingly, falling into his usual role more out of habit than anything. He turns pointedly from Sihtric’s weird little dance. “This is obscene. Finan, there are children here.”

Finan shrugs, nonchalant and smiling. “They’re his kids, Os. They probably see way weirder things at home.”

The more Osferth watches, though, the more impressed he becomes. It’s a marvel of physics, really. “How can he even do that?”

“Aelswith taught him, probably. She was a dancer in college,” Finan informs him, like Sihtric’s unexpected skill at pole-dancing on a firepole is the problem, and not the fact that he’s moaning theatrically, head thrown back, eyes closed. Osferth’s face burns. This is maybe a little too far. He mumbles something about going to find the rest of the decorations, and hurries into the storage room.

The fire chief, Uhtred, is there, grimacing as he adjusts his light-up bow tie in the dusty mirror hanging on the back of the door. “Nice tie,” Osferth snickers, knowing it’ll irritate him.

Uhtred rolls his eyes, giving up with a dramatic sigh. “Fucking commissioner made me do it. He says I have to be festive.” He steps back from the mirror, face going serious as he eyes Osferth. “Are you sure about this tonight? You know if she says yes, I have to move one of you to a different crew. Can’t have a married couple on the same crew. Fucks with team cohesion, or whatever. Alfred’s rules.” He holds his hands up, palms out, like if it was up to him, it wouldn’t matter. It probably wouldn’t, honestly. Uhtred’s wife still works dispatch for them, but Osferth knows that’s different from actually being in the same fire crew.

Osferth rolls his eyes. “We’ve been living together for two years anyway, so it’s a stupid rule.”

Uhtred laughs at that, then looks him up and down again. “I never thought you would question the rules. How are you feeling?” He has a direct way of looking at people that makes them feel truly seen, but the full force of that gaze can be a little intense. Osferth’s gotten used to it after all this time, though, and he’s come to appreciate how fiercely loyal Uhtred is. He hopes, someday, that he’ll do something worthy of that trust. Sometimes, around Uhtred and Finan and Sihtric, all he feels is small and unremarkable.

Osferth shoves all that aside and takes a moment to evaluate himself. It’s been a busy couple weeks, between all the community events they do this time of year, plus their routine fire and EMS calls. He’s tired, but relaxed. Certain. “I’m good, actually.”

“Alright, well if you need to talk after Brynna says no, find me.” Uhtred laughs and ducks out of the door as the stuffed reindeer Osferth launches at him bounces off the doorframe. He takes a moment to savor the quiet, running a finger over the small velvet box in his pocket.

Osferth steps back into the warm chaos of the firehall, eyes darting to the thankfully-empty firepole. He’s ambushed by Brynna as soon as he closes the door. She’s grinning, mini Christmas lights twinkling in her hair like a crown, and she greets him with a quick kiss as she plops a set of antlers on his head. He doesn’t protest, too caught up in the tide of her laughter, because even after three years she still steals his breath in moments when he least expects it.

The eggnog-drinking contest is nearly over already, and a cheer goes up as someone finishes their carton. Osferth and Brynna glance over to see Hild, victorious, empty carton clenched in her hand, laughing as Sihtric and Finan hoist her onto their shoulders, cheering like she’s just won a marathon. The sight warms Osferth, and he gratefully accepts the cup of mulled wine Brynna presses into his hand. He brings it to his mouth and takes a moment to admire the color, the same shade as Brynna’s lipstick, before he takes a sip. For all that it looks like her smile, it isn’t nearly as intoxicating as her kiss.

“Come on babe, it’s almost time for Finan to lose the ugly sweater contest again.” She laces their fingers together as they walk toward the front of the firehall, carried along by the crowd.

“You’d think he would have figured out what ugly sweater contest means by now,” Osferth muses. “I’ve seen his sweater. And like yeah, it’s ugly, but it’s not ugly.”

“Is it the beige one that he wore at Thanksgiving?” Brynna asks, eyes scanning the row of contestants. “Ugh, it is. Oh man, Steapa’s got this one in the bag!” Steapa’s sweater is a hideous green-and-red striped number with Santa squatting over a chimney, pants around his ankles. Brynna cackles, amused and horrified at the same time, and he could listen to her laugh forever. He will, if he has anything to do with it.

“That’s horrifying,” Osferth remarks mildly. “But you’re wrong, he’s not going to win.” And he knows this with certainty, because he may have rigged the contest, with Uhtred’s blessing and the agreement of all the participants, of course. He winks at Brynna, slips his fingers from her grip, and darts toward the front of the firehall to line up with the rest of the contestants. The sound of her surprised giggle follows him all the way to the line. Finan tosses him his sweater, and he pulls it over his head as he turns around.

It’s nothing special, just a generic ugly sweater he got off the internet, full of garishly blinking lights and a reindeer eating a snowman’s carrot nose. Uhtred is judging, and he makes a big show out of it. He knows how to play to an audience, how to take his time and build up the anticipation even for something as insignificant as an ugly sweater contest. He pauses in front of each contestant, ostensibly to judge them, but Osferth knows the real reason.

Uhtred takes each of them by the hand and arranges them in the proper order, then steps back with a flourish. Right on cue, Steapa pulls his sweater over his head to reveal the shirt underneath. BRYNNA is printed on the t-shirt in a simple font. Next is Sihtric, his t-shirt sporting the word WILL. Then Finan, YOU. And Aethelflaed, MARRY emblazoned across her shirt. Osferth is careful to take off not only his sweater, but the first shirt underneath to reveal his third shirt, bearing the final word. ME?

A delighted gasp goes up from the crowd as everyone assembled reads the shirts. Osferth drops to one knee, bringing the small box from his pocket and flicking it open as Brynna breaks from the crowd. She wipes a few tears from her cheeks as she nods frantically. "Osferth. Oh my God, yes!"

She closes the distance between them and he wraps her in a tight hug, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of her hair, drinking in the feeling of her body against his, feeling the slight hitch in her breathing. He releases her after a moment to slide the ring on her finger. He grabs her hand and holds it up over her head, and they're both laughing. He could drown in her laughter, he thinks.

Sihtric steps forward with a joyful whoop, pulling a crumpled bunch of dried mistletoe from the pocket of his jeans and holding it over Osferth's head. Brynna laughs, half-hysterical, and brushes small pieces of the plant from Osferth's hair as she leans in close. When she presses her soft mouth to his lips, Osferth feels like he could fly, like his heart might burst out of his chest.

He doesn't even care when Uhtred pronounces Finan as the winner of the ugly sweater contest.

Also tagging: @whenimaunicorn, @thewildbeauty, @tiyetiye, @laketaj24, @kawennote09, @ceridwenofwales, @goldentailedmermaids, @geekandbooknerd

#the last kingdom #the last kingdom fic #let's be danes for yule #let's be danes ⚔️#osferth #osferth imagine #osferth x oc #modern au #firefighter au

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snickletastic · 6 years ago

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My Boyfriend's Back {Jason Todd x Reader + Batfam}

warnings~ SEXUAL ASSAULT, uncomfortable situations, seriously don’t read this if you have any problems with sexual assault scenarios!!! cursing, and extreme angst.

summary~ inspired by the song my boyfriend’s back, by the angels, reader is waiting for jason to get back home from a mission, but comes upon some serious problems when a boy begins throwing accusations with her name in them around the school and super duper angsty things follow.

a/n~ im back! hi! at first i must admit i felt really rusty at first when writing this, but i cranked this whole thing out in one sitting because i was having so much fun. i actually love how this came out, and ive had it in mind for some time now. its a bit cliche, but cliches arent always bad. hope you guys like it! :)

54 days of school left until graduation. Then that’s it. You’re finally out of highschool. You rapidly tapped your pencil against your desk while staring at the old wall clock, daydreaming about summer and the beach and finally getting to spend time with Jason again. He graduated last year, leaving you behind to fend for yourself in a school of vile beings. Lucky asshole, you thought to yourself. You kept your relationship under wraps because of the infamous reputation the big bad Jason Todd had at your school. You both knew people would be scared of you if they knew he was your boyfriend, so you decided to keep it a bit of a secret. It made things more exciting, anyways. As the clock continued to march towards the time the bell, your pencil tapping became faster and faster. That is, until the boy in front of you grabbed the pencil from your hand.

“Hard to focus when someone is beating up an innocent pencil behind me,” Jacob sarcastically whispered, careful not to catch the attention of the grumpy math teacher.

“Sorry,” you apologized, “I totally tuned out…but let’s be real. You totally weren’t focusing on the lesson to begin with,” you teased.

“Well let’s just say it wasn’t the pencil distracting me in the first place,” he said in a low voice, “you’ve been breathing down my neck for the past 20 minutes.”

You blushed, “I-sorry, I-,” you stammered, “I-”

“Don’t be sorry,” Jacob interrupted, “sorta turned me on,” he snickered at your facial expression and gently put the pencil back into your hand, then turned back around in his seat.

Absolutely baffled by the interaction you just had, you sat there dumbfounded for a full minute. Your intentions were definitely not to flirt with him, you really just breathe from your mouth sometimes. You scratched your head and cringed at the thought of Jacob possibly liking you. He wasn’t bad looking at all; maybe he was even sort of cute. But you certainly did not need a boytoy, because your boyfriend probably wouldn’t approve. Only 3 more days until he returns from that damn mission. You shook your head to yourself and sunk into your seat. Should I tap his shoulder and tell him straight up that I’m not interested? you thought to yourself. Deciding it was best to do it in order to avoid any more awkward encounters, you went to gently tap his shoulder and assure him you had a boyfriend. But before you could, the bell rang and everyone stood up and funneled out of the classroom.

Jacob stood up from his seat and picked up the books on your desk, “I’ll carry your books to your car, m’lady.”

You awkwardly smiled at his pure intentions, “Um-thanks.”

He followed you out to the school parking lot, and the two of you searched for a black BMW. Alfred decided to take it upon himself to drive you to and from school way back in freshman year, but he had never been late before. You worried for a brief moment before checking your phone to see a text message from the man himself.

I’m very sorry, Miss. Y/N, but I will not be able to pick you up from school today. Master Bruce has requested that I help with the surveillance of the most recent mission. You can call for a taxi, and once you get home I will repay you the money.

Alfred always types out the longest of text messages, and you laughed whenever he sent a paragraph to you about where the car is parked or asking what you would like from the grocery store.

“So….no ride coming?” Jacob awkwardly bounced up and down on his heels.

“No, I guess not,” you smiled. Before you could tell him that you would call a taxi, he spoke quickly.

“Great! I’ll give you a ride home, then.”

“You really don’t need to,” you tried to decline his offer, preferring a taxi or Uber rather than an extremely awkward ride home with the teenage boy.

“Nope. I do. Come on,” he carried your books to a silver car and put them in the backseat. He gently removed the backpack from your shoulder and put it next to the books. Then, he opened the passenger door to allow you to get inside. He was being awful chivalrous, which was kind, but it still made you uncomfortable. You almost felt as if you were leading him on, but then decided to speak your mind after he drove you home. It would definitely avoid a tense car ride.

Jacob pulled up to the Wayne Manor, then put the car in park. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, clearly hesitating to ask you something.

You didn’t want to wait around to hear what it was. “Listen, Jaco-”

Before you could talk, he smashed his lips against yours and put his hand around the back of your hair. You attempted to pull away, but he pushed your head closer to his. Finally you pushed him off of you, furious at what he had done.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” You yelled at him.

He blinked a few times, confused, “What?”

“What?! You practically attacked me! I don’t even know you! I have a boyfriend!” You threw your arms in the air, bewildered and upset.

“Oh come on, we both know that I’m way better than whoever your boyfriend is,” he snarled, “I know you want it.”

You scoffed at him then opened the door to get out, but he grabbed your arm, “Wait-” he tried to stop you, but you broke out of his grip. You slammed the door and angrily marched towards the steps of the manor.

“Your backpack!” he yelled from the window.

“Forget about it! Fuck you!” you didn’t bother to turn around and continued to walk towards the manor.

He turned his car into the driveway and threw your books and book bag out of the window, and into a puddle of water from the rainstorm the day before. You turned to see your stuff soaked in dirty water, and your math papers destroyed. Holding back tears, you turned away and walked into the front doors, slamming them behind you.

This caused Tim to turn around from the TV and look at you. He had stayed home sick from school, and elected to watch HGTV shows instead. Springing up to his feet and dropping his blanket, he hurriedly walked towards you to ask what had happened. It would be a bad idea to tell anyone in this family, because even though Jacob was a cunt, you didn’t want to see him get beaten to a pulp. So you ignored Tim’s questions and sulked up the stairs with him following closely behind you. “Y/N-” he whispered sadly, as you slammed the door to your bedroom behind you.

The next morning, the sun shined brightly in your eyes, causing you to groan and pull the pillow over your head. You felt the pillow being pulled from your face, and saw Tims face, staring back down at you. “Y/N. Look, I understand if you don’t want to talk about whatever happened, but could you at least tell me who threw your backpack into the mud?”

You rubbed your eyes and sat up, looking at your adoptive brother. With a gentle pat on his shoulder, you assured him, “Don’t worry about it. Really,” you made your best attempt to change the subject, “Are you feeling better?”

Tim noticed you dodging the question, but felt defeated. “Yeah. I’m definitely going to school today,” he said, eyeing you.

You could hear that his nose was still stuffy and noticed how red his eyes looked, but you knew it would be useless to argue with him. The two of you got dressed and ate breakfast, and Alfred then drove you both to school. He offered you back the taxi money, but you gently shook your head, “No thank you.”

Tim was noticeably walking way too close, and constantly checking your facial expression to ensure that you were alright. You appreciated how much he cared, but were starting to get a little annoyed. As the two of you walked through the halls, you noticed how everyone was turning their heads to look at you. Two of the cheerleaders even stopped their conversation, to look you up and down. At first you thought nothing of it, until a random boy came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

You flailed for a moment, being lifted by a boy twice your size, and let out a screech.

“Me next! Me next!” the guy shouted, “Show Ricky what a bad girl you are! Are you as good at giving head as they say you are?”

Before you could elbow him in the face, Tim knocked the guy down and punched him in the face. You landed on the floor, sobbing as the entire school laughed at you. Once you looked up, past Tim pummeling the the asshole, past the cheerleaders, and past the security guards pushing through the crowds, you met eyes with Jacob, with a wide grin on his face. You knew what he did. And you knew what you needed to do.

It took 3 security guards, 4 of the biggest teachers, and 2 janitors to pull Tim off of the boy who grabbed his sister. Even when they all held him down at once, he was still giving them a run for their money. Eventually you both went to the office, then got sent home immediately. Bruce picked you up this time, and he was not as warm as Alfred would have been on the ride home. You and Tim sat in the backseat, sulking. Every once in awhile, you’d silently reach over and massage Tim’s knuckles, because you knew how sore they had to have been.

When you all got back to the manor, Tim immediately went down to the batcave to get his hands bandaged by Alfred. Bruce sat in the massive living chair by the fireplace, seemingly distracted by how he’s meant to react to his daughter getting attacked and how quickly Tim lost his temper. The house really was silent.

You snuck up to your room, and dialed your boyfriend. You knew you weren’t meant to call him on missions, because you always distracted him too much. But before the first ring could even finish, he answered the phone call.

“Hey princess,” his deep voice soothed your emotions.

“…hi,” You fought to hold back tears. You missed him so much.

“What’s wrong?!” His tone changed within seconds and you could almost hear his heart rate going up.

“Nothing….I just,” you started to cry, “I really really miss you, Jay.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, “Only two days,” he reassured you, “then I’ll be back. And you know what? We can watch your favourite movie and eat your favourite snacks- I’ll bring you back some candy from this place.”

“What place?”

“You know I’m not allowed to tell you until I’m home,” he sighed, “but maybe I’ll take you out to eat at that Italian restaurant you love so much…Alfonso’s?”

You smiled through your tears and played with the hem of your shorts, “I’d really like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jason’s end of the call was quiet again, but he finally spoke, “Something else is wrong, baby.”

You stayed silent.

“What happened? You know you can tell me anything.” You heard his voice tense up, “Did someone hurt you?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean by that?” He suddenly got worried.

“Jason I promise I would never ever cheat on you. You know that. This guy at school told everyone I had sex with him. Tim and I were walking in the hall-and-and- this guy- he just grabbed me…I-he,” your voice trailed off as you began to cry again.

Jason stayed quiet, but you could hear his heavy breathing.

“Please say something. Oh, Jay…please talk to me,” you begged through your tears.

“I’m coming home right now.” Then he ended the phone call. You threw your phone across the room and began to sob. He sounded so angry, but you couldn’t tell if it was towards you or the boy. Bruce barged into your room, his eyes wide in panic. You looked up at him, but then quickly away, ashamed.

He swiftly sat next to you on your bed and wrapped his arms around you as you cried gently into his shirt.

You heard a loud banging, waking you up. You sat up to look at your alarm clock; 2:46 a.m. The rain was pounding against the glass window, so you just assumed the storm was causing the loud noises. Again, you heard a loud bang, but then a booming voice coming from downstairs. You hastily grabbed an old baseball bat that Dick once gave you for moments exactly like this one, and you ran to see what was happening.

Instead of being met by a criminal, Jason was standing in the middle of the entrance room, drenched in rain. Water was dripping from his hair onto the marble floor. Alfred stood next to him in a robe, trying to calm him down. Bruce and Jason were arguing, loud enough to wake people up on the other side of Gotham. When you stepped down the stairs, they all stopped to look at you. Jason dropped his duffle bag on the floor and opened his arms to you. Swiftly, you ran down the stairs and leaped into them, wrapping your arms around his neck and breathing in his cologne. He lifted you from the floor and squeezed you, unaware of his own strength. You didn’t dare complain; though. You longed for this hug for two months, now.

After what seemed like an eternity, Jason put you down and held your face, staring deeply into your eyes. “Princess, I need you to tell me exactly who this boy is, okay? Do you know where he is?” He spoke so gently, so sweetly, about something so terrible that he was about to do.

Bruce intervened by putting his arm between the two of you, “No, Jason,” he scolded.

Jason’s soft demeanor vanished and he became hostile, “Look what he fucking did to her! The fact that you have done nothing but sat on your ass since this happened doesn’t fucking surprise me,” he spat.

Bruce remained calm but you could see that the words bothered him, “You can’t go around killing teenagers, Jason.”

Jason narrowed his eyes, “Joker did.”

Bruce’s eyes grew, then he shut them tightly, shaking his head. “Alright. As long as you don’t kill him,” Bruce demanded.

Jason hesitated, before nodding. Then he looked back at you, and his face was filled with a terribly sad emotion. Not anger. Not frustration. It was guilt.

He planted a kiss on your forehead, then took your chin into his hand, gently pushing it upwards to look at him, “I’ll be right back.” He then took a chocolate bar out of the pocket of his jacket and put it in your hand. Before you could say anything, he was walking out of the door and into the storm.

masterlist

#jason todd #redhood #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason #red hood #batfamily #batman #batfam #batboys #batman comics #jason todd x y/n #bruce wayne #tim drake #tim drake imagine #dc #dc comics #angst

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dottie-wan-kenobi · 5 years ago

Note

hi !! uhm so i just saw your lil bingo card thing on Ao3 and i wanted to know if you would write the panic attack on ab Duke and Jason (Duke being the one to have it) thanks in advance love 💕

Here you are! Thank you right back for the prompt, and I hope you like it

Written for the @badthingshappenbingo square “Panic Attack”. X’s are finished, asterisks are requested, and the rest are free!!

---

Duke takes a bite of his ice cream, settling back into his seat. Ever since he first got officially fostered by Bruce, it’s been difficult to go out without the paparazzi hounding after him. He hasn’t been able to come back here, his favorite ice cream place, in months and he’s missed it more than he thought he would. Smiling happily, he scoops another bite off the top. He can’t help but hum at the taste of the fudge topping. He never could afford it before, and though he doesn’t love using Bruce’s money, why not take advantage here? It’s just fudge.

Jason sits across from him, licking absently at his ice cream cone. He’d offered to bring Duke out, saying, “If we’re brothers now, I should probably get to know you, don’t you think?”

And, well. Yeah. The good thing about Jason? He’s still legally dead, meaning that, other than a few paparazzi who are always trying to get pictures of him, there’s a lot less attention on them. Also, when Duke said, “Wanna get ice cream?”, Jason said, “Hell yeah.”

Usually when Duke asks that, it’s to Damian, who has lots of feelings about dairy products.

Anyway, it’s nice to just sit and chill. Jason doesn’t force conversation, but he listens when Duke speaks, and it’s really all he can ask for. (Something they don’t tell you about being brought into a big family? The daily fights for attention. Duke is still learning how to win.)

“How’s yours?” Duke asks, eyeing the Rocky Road Jason had ordered. He’s never had it before, but according to Cass, it’s a family favorite, so he’s curious.

Jason tunes back in, shrugging. “Pretty good. This place is way better than the kind we usually get. How’d you find it?”

“Grew up three streets over. We’d come here every weekend we could afford it.”

“Nice,” Jason says, and he sounds sincere. “You always get that monstrosity, or is it new?”

Grinning, he exclaims, “Hey, tutti frutti isn’t a monstrosity!”

“It’s healthy ice cream. Such a thing shouldn’t exist,” Jason replies seriously. “It’s a freak of nature.”

“Is not,” Duke says. After a quick bite, he continues, “And to answer your question, yes, I always got this here. No one else does it as good as they do.”

“I bet Alfie could.”

“Oh, don’t bring him into this!” Duke laughs.

Smirking, Jason asks, “Scared to talk shit about his food?”

“Hell no! I just. I don’t want to compare that and this.” He doesn’t want to say why—that while Alfred’s food is delicious, this ice cream is more special than any the butler could ever make. This ice cream has good memories of his parents attached to it, and he’s holding onto as many of those as he can. “They’re just—different.”

Jason doesn’t respond for a second, just looks at him. Then he licks at where it’s dripping down his fingers. “I get it. I love his noodles, but nothing can beat box mac and cheese. Me and my mom used to eat that all the time.”

Unsure if he’s allowed to ask—or if he even wants to, knowing from the others that Jason’s mom isn’t someone they’re supposed to talk about—Duke says, “Man, I’m glad you’re around. The others just don’t get it. Gourmet shit is good, but like, yeah, nothing beats Kraft.”

“You should talk to Steph,” Jason says, reaching his free hand out for a fist bump. “She argues with Tim and Dick about stuff like this all the time.”

Duke returns the fist bump, feeling like he’s the coolest kid on the block. Okay, that’s cheesy as hell, but whatever. It’s nice to be around Jason, who’s his cool older brother. Foster brother. Whatever.

Before he can reply, the worker behind the counter turns up the TV in the corner loud enough everyone in the shop can hear it. Where they’re sitting, they have to half-turn to see it properly.

On the screen, one of the local news people is giving a report on the latest Joker toxin incident. It was a few days ago now, and Duke thankfully hadn’t had to help with containing it.

“The last of the antidotes have been administered,” the news person says. “Other than the three deaths which occurred soon after the victims were brought to the hospital, no other deaths are being reported. GCPD is still recommending wearing face masks in the area….”

And okay, maybe there’s a reason Duke didn’t help out with it. It took place right around dusk, when Duke was heading home and the others were coming out. He’d been around when it happened, much closer than the rest. The crazed laughter that had filled the street has been plaguing his dreams the past few nights.

Bruce says Duke shouldn’t force himself to face the Joker. He says it could just make everything worse, and Duke knows now that he was right.

Seeing the accompanying videos to go along with the report, Duke is thrown right back to being a child. To watching his parents get infected, worse than those people were, and hearing as they laughed. His mom’s laugh was loud and she snorted all the time. His dad’s was wheezy and low pitched. Except, that day they were totally different, like something out of his worst nightmares. Maniacal and dangerous and empty.

“Duke?” Jason asks, but Duke hardly hears him. He’s tuned out, the background noise from the shop being replaced by the sound of his heart beating in his ears.The day before he lost his parents, they came here. Mom got cookies and creme, Dad got strawberry, and Duke got tutti frutti. They sat in a booth, and Duke kicked his heels against the seat, too short to reach the ground. Dad got ice cream on his nose, and Mom laughed and she took a picture.

The next day, they were gone. Not dead, he doesn’t think, doesn’t know, but gone. Never to be seen again. Because of that goddamn clown.

Someone takes the cup of ice cream out of his hand, and he hears Jason say, “You’re gonna make a huge mess, so let’s just put that down, okay?”

His chest hurts. He wonders what was going through his parents’ heads when they descended to the sewers, high and insane. Were they scared? Did they think they were going to die? Did they think about him?

“He’s fine, just back off,” Jason says, somewhere, and Duke ducks his head, trying to breathe. Why is it so hard to breathe? It was easy a few moments ago. Minutes? He doesn’t know.

There’s a hand on his back and on his chest, and they force him to sit up straight. His arm gets tucked against a chest, and he can feel it moving up and down. Then Jason says, “Come on, breathe with me, okay? You got this, man. Just do it with me.”

It takes ages, he thinks, to come down. To come back to earth, to his favorite ice cream place, where people are looking at him. Jason is next to him, stooped really low in a position that must kill his ankles, but he doesn’t complain.

Searching Duke’s eyes, he asks, “You good?”

That’s another unofficial rule around the family—no one ever asks that unless it’s serious. Unless they expect an honest answer and won’t take any bullshit. But he doesn’t want to say anything here, not when he can see the camera phones pointed their way. Being spotted is already inconvenient at the best of times, which this definitely isn’t.

Jason seems to understand. He stands up straight, sighing in relief. His ice cream is gone, and Duke doesn’t ask. Just stands with him and grabs his own cup, wanting to get the hell out.

He shouldn’t have come. He should’ve known better. It’s too close to the anniversary, too hot off the heels of the last incident. It’s been so long, he could’ve waited. He should’ve waited.

Jason pulls him outside, leading them right for the car he borrowed from Bruce. They don’t speak as they get in, Jason in the driver’s seat.

“You’re not gonna ask?” Duke says after a few minutes, feeling like he’s going to throw up, either from the attack or the anticipation.

“None of my business,” Jason replies, shooting him a kind look. “If you wanna talk, you can. But it doesn’t seem like you do.”

“I don’t.” And he doesn’t. He wants to go back to his room in the Manor and he wants to pretend this never happened. Wants to ignore the headlines and the concerned looks from everyone. But—”Uh. Thanks. For being cool, I mean.”

Duke winces at how he sounds, wondering if Jason will think he’s some stupid kid now. He doesn’t think he’ll be surprised if that’s the case.

Jason shrugs, reaching out a second later to give a friendly punch to Duke’s shoulder. “That’s what Robins for, you know? Being cool.”

Duke blinks. And then he laughs, and it feels good, cleansing. “Hell yeah.”

#badthingshappenbingo #duke thomas #jason todd #the signal #red hood #batfam #batfamily #my writing #asks #Anonymous

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thepurplebutterflythings · 5 years ago

Text

Together (Part 2) - Jason Todd

Gif: Unknown on Tenor

Word Count: 1.2K

Paring: Jason Todd x (f)Reader

Summary: After their night together, Y/N fears talking about it and bolts.

Warnings: N/A

Masterlist

Requested: Anon

Tagging: @bella-0104-123

________________________________________________________________

Y/N groaned and buried her face into the pillow as the light came through the windows and hurt her eyes. She had the worst hangover imaginable and couldn’t even clearly remember the night previous. She remembered drinking (obviously) and a bar and Jason, but things were pretty fuzzy after that. Y/N shifted in the bed and became acutely aware that it wasn’t her bed, and that she wasn’t wearing anything. Oh God! Did she really go home with some random guy? It was with great reluctance that Y/N turned over to see her conquest from the previous night. Nope. Not a random guy, it was much, much, much worse. Jason Todd laid there, totally nude and sound asleep, looking peaceful.

“Dear Lord,” she whispered as she climbed out the bed quickly and started getting her clothes together, pulling on her knickers, throwing her bra in her bag, then getting dressed, all the while looking at Jason to see if he woke up. It wasn’t until Y/N reached the door and grabbed the door handle that Jason began to stir. Y/N didn’t even think twice before running from the room and slamming the door behind her. One of the top assassins in The League, scared of practically nothing, except having to talk to a guy she had sex with about what it meant next.

She was near the front door of Wayne Manor when she crashed into Bruce, who stared at Y/N in shock.

“Job went well, I take it?”

“Goodbye!” She blurted before running out of the door, leaving Bruce staring after her. Y/N slammed the door behind her and ran off.

Jason walked into the room where Bruce was and looked at the door that Y/N ran out of.

“Something you wanna tell me, Jason?”

“No.”

________________________________________________________________

For three weeks Y/N dodged calls and meetings with Bruce and Jason. There was no way she could face Jason after that. God, he must think she has no self-respect, that she’s easy. It was too embarrassing. After all that she had faced and done in her life, this was the thing to scare her to her very core. What did that say about her?

“You know,” said a crisp English voice behind Y/N as she got her coffee. She knew Alfred was there the whole time, Y/N was a trained assassin after all. “You can’t avoid them forever – Gotham is only so big.”

“I know,” Y/N said as she walked to the said, gesturing for Alfred to walk with her.

“So why don’t you bite the bullet and talk to him?”

“I assume you know why I haven’t been about lately.”

“The noises coming from Master Jason’s bedroom left little to the imagination,” Alfred admitted.

“Oh, God!”

“As you said that night,” Alfred chuckled.

“You’re better than that, Alfred,” Y/N scolded.

“You’re right, apologies,” he bowed his head slightly, “but please, Ms Y/N,” Alfred sighed, “Jason is miserable. He likes you an awful lot, always has.”

“Has it?” Y/N frowned in confusion, “never seemed like it.”

“Oh, emotions have never been Jason’s strong point,” Alfred tutted, “the boy never knows what to do when he likes a girl.”

“So what do you suggest?” Y/N asked as she leaned against the wall, “mmm? I come into the Batcave and have him huff and puff at me?”

“You and I both know he wouldn’t act like that, and that is exactly why you snuck out of Wayne Manor after your rendezvous, cause you knew when he woke up, he’d have asked you on a date, or to be his girlfriend,” Alfred said, “and you couldn’t handle that.”

“Oh, and Jason could?”

“That is beside the point here, young lady,” Alfred pointed at her, “he didn’t sneak away and would want to have that conversation.”

“He lives there, how the hell can he sneak out?”

“If Jason wants to sneak out, Jason will sneak out, my dear, trust me,” Alfred said, “it’s happened in the past.”

“Alfred…”

“Y/N, my dear,” Alfred sighed, “what is the worst thing that can happen if you speak to him about the night?”

“That I get my heart broken,” Y/N whispered.

________________________________________________________________

“Are you going to go in?” Alfred asked as Y/N stood outside Jason’s bedroom door.

“Yes, yes,” Y/N snapped in a hushed voice, hearing Jason’s movements behind the door. “Stop bugging me, I’m just building up to knocking.” Alfred just sighed, rolled his eyes and knocked on the door for Y/N before quickly bolting off, leaving Y/N standing there in shock hissing after him, “evil old git!”

Alfred just looked over his shoulder and waved a little as he disappeared behind a corner.

“Y/N?” Jason said as he opened the door. Y/N gulped and quickly moved to face Jason.

“Hey…” She mumbled, “can I come in?”

“Sure,” Jason nodded in bewilderment as he stepped aside letting Y/N in.

“Nice room,” she said, “It was dark last time, so I never really saw it…”

“Thought you saw it perfectly lit when you snuck out.”

“Kinda deserve that,” Y/N tried to give an awkward smile but Jason wasn’t amused.

“Whatever, why are you here?”

“To talk about it,” she said, “Look, Jason, I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to do and I have no clue what came over me.”

“Kinda shitty really,” Jason mumbled as he looked at the ground, “I really hoped me and you could… talk about being a… couple…”

“I know. That scared me.”

“It did?” Jason lifted his eyebrow and looked at Y/N.

“Well, yeah,” she nodded, “I didn’t exactly have the most standard upbringing being raised as the perfect assassin, so things like… relationships, and… love, and… normality kinda… freak me out.”

“You should have told me,” Jason said sympathetically as he smiled softly and stepped forward, taking Y/N’s hands in his own and rested his forehead against hers. Y/N didn’t pull back from Jason or shake him off, she simply moved her hands to hold on to his and smiled as she nudged her nose against his.

“See, that would consist of me having to stay that morning and… you know… be normal, which I’m not,” Y/N chuckled a little, “how many people do you know that knew how to kill a man with a paperclip by the age of ten?”

“Good point,” he chuckled, “Paperclip? Really?”

“I can show you if you want.”

“Not at this moment, please, and not on me – I quite like living.”

“Drama queen,” Y/N teased with a smile as she laughed and pulled back, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her body against him. “Look, I’m telling you right now that this isn’t going to be a normal easy relationship, cause I have zero clue what to do, but if you’re willing to be patient and help me learn then I’d like to do this with you, be your girlfriend, do that cringe matching couples outfits crap and Netflix and Chill.”

“Yes,” he smiled and nodded, “And where’s the fun in a normal relationship anyway?

“Gee, aren’t you a flatterer.”

“Look, I’m not used to this kinda stuff too,” Jason said, “so we’ll figure this all out together, yeah?”

“Together?” Y/N pondered with a smile, “I’d like that. Together!”

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