#batman shows up with a neck brace

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Poor wife reader having a bad day and just wanting to be held but Bruce locked himself in the cave to work and her just “I thought having a husband meant I’d have someone to hold me at night” (not in a mad or petty way just a “I’ve had a bad day and so I’m really sensitive and maybe saying things without thinking or filtering them”) and it shooting bruce right in the heart.

I just want to see bruce learning how to be a healthy partner after shutting everyone out for so long

"Are you alright?"

You glance up from your mug, cradled carefully in your hands and force yourself to smile. "Just a long day."

Alfred nodded, "Is there anything-"

"No, I'm alright, thank you. I'm just going to finish my drink and go to bed."

"Very well," Alfred said. "I think Master Bruce is... preparing for a trip if you'd like me to alert him you've returned home."

You shake your head and card your fingers through your hair, "I'll leave him to it. When I called him earlier he seemed... busy." And grumpy. You add silently. And you can't regulate other people's emotions right now. Today was hell. And Bruce was busy. A case he couldn't tell you about.

When you looked back down at your mug, curled around yourself for comfort, Alfred suspected it was more than a long day. You had a full plate. And it seemed like more was added every day. Meetings, appointments, and now interviews and adjusting to having a very public marriage... He didn't envy you.

Or wonder why you might not particularly want company. Just the breif glimpses he's had into your day to day made him wonder how you didn't pull your hair out. So he took his leave. Letting you enjoy some semi silence and a few moments just to have no one speaking to you. And made a mental note to keep more of that particular tea in the pantry. You seemed to enjoy it more than the others. Or at least... you were most familiar with that one. He shuttered to think what would have passed for tea in your house growing up.

____________

When you slipped into the bedroom, rubbing your neck, Brucce looked up from his packing.

He might be going to Dubai as Batman but... Who knew if Bruce Wayne could smooth some things over for him. It happened like that some times.

"I didn't know you were home," he said blinking. "I thought you had a late meeting."

"I wasn't feeling well," you shrug. "I just wanted-" You break off. What you wanted was to curl up in his lap and go to sleep. But. If he was getting ready to go there was no point.

"Sweetheart," he said, frowning slightly, "If this is about earlier-"

"When you hung up on me? No."

"I had another call- Hal-"

"You're a part time super hero. I get it. I just-"

"Spit it out," he prompted, smiling a little. You didn't want to hurt his feelings. And you were tired.

"I just wish I didn't feel like a part time wife."

That hurt. And he tried not to let it show on his face, but it must have. Because you winced and started stammering apologies.

"Oh sweetheart," he sighed. He knew you'd been lonely. Almost from the start. As soon as the honeymoon was over and real life slammed back into focus.

"I know Gotham has to come first. And the the Justice League but I just... I'm sorry I shouldn't have said anything."

He can see you bracing for a fight. That you were reading his body language and it told you he was angry. Yours of experience telling you that he could hurt you. That he could use things you'd told him in vulnerable moments to smack you back in line- and that you're ready to roll over to avoid the pain- and that hurts too.

Because he is angry. But not at you.

All you ever wanted was him. His time. His attention. All the gifts he bought for you were nice. You appreciated them. But all you wanted was a quiet night in, half asleep on his chest.

No diamonds, new cars, or fancy dinners would do that for you. He could hand you his credit card and send you to Paris on a shopping spree and you MIGHT buy something but- more probably you'd just shrug and go look for a stand that sold fresh pastry. It was one of the things he loved about you. You'd learned to march to the beat of your own drum. To love generously. And that's why as you stood there apologizing, all he could do was let the words wash over him.

"You should come first," he corrected.

"Bruce-"

"No listen," he said, crossing the floor to you carefully and taking your hands. "You should come first. And I'm sorry that you can't right now. I'm going to make it up to you-"

"You don't have to," you murmur, looking away.

"Yes, I do," he said, tilting your chin up slowly. "I don't know how. Or when. But I'm going to make this right."

"I'm a big girl, I understand that you have responsibilities-"

"And taking care of you is one of them," he reminded, pulling you against his chest and hoping that he could hug you hard enough to make you understand."And it's an honor. And a privlige. And a responsibility all that the same time. You shouldn't feel like a part time wife, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry-"

"I'm not," he said simply. "Because now that I know there's a problem I can fix it."

[apocalypse-shuffle]

BRUCE WAYNE | BATMAN (generalized canon)

—

“Staked Claim” (Bruce Wayne x Gn!Reader)

| Bruce and the Reader take stock of each other’s scars. That’s it, that’s the story.

| SFW, scar examination, poor expressions of emotion, fluff -vigilante!reader

| Pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story. (Picture source: Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice 2016 & Zack Snyder's Justice League 2021)

| 800+ words

The barely noticeable weight of the blanket shifts when you move under it. Soft cost-more-than-most-people’s-rent sheets gliding against your skin.

The muscles in your arm ache in tandem with you reaching up to rest your palm flat against the warmth of the owner of the bed you’re in.

“What about this one?”

You watch, genuinely taken for a second, the hairs on his arm stand at the feeling of your breath ghosting across his bicep.

He doesn’t waste a beat before he answers.

“Firefly,” rumbles right after you ask. Of course. Why would he need to think that hard about the marks on his person? They might not actively be on his mind but it’d be hard to forget a memory that’s physically staked its claim on your body.

Firefly made sense though. The scar tissue was as erratically placed as the pyromaniac’s own personality. It also, like many of his scars, has the added bonus of looking twice healed over. Considering Bruce’s clear allergen to sitting idle that doesn’t surprise you.

“Why the sudden interest?”

Laying on your side you shrug with the shoulder not attached to the arm you have braced on the bed. Bruce’s eyes have sparked with a level of interest that you’ve figured out means he’s reading you. Or trying to at least.

“I mean, there’s a lot. Why? You don’t want me to be curious?”

“Most people refrain from asking questions.”

The wry lilt he takes on has you scoffing while you drag your free hand down to his abdomen. The area’s so tense that when you push down the muscles stubbornly refuse to give.

“Most people are scared of hurting your feelings.”

“My feelings?” he grunts.

You sigh out an agreeing “Uh huh,” and press down more incessantly with your fingers. Still no give but you know he gets the message when he forces himself to relax with a heavy exhale. You grin. “Not that I don’t care about your feelings, of course. I just know that if you didn’t want to talk you wouldn’t.”

If you were a different person now would probably be the moment you’d lean in to brush a kiss to the pink tissue left behind from the burn, show Bruce the little bit of kindness he doesn’t often get. As it stands you only hum, hand already moving to the next mark. Already searching for another answer, brown skin stark against Bruce’s deathly pale.

As usual Bruce indulged you.

“You’re looking for yours.”

It’s not a question. You answer him like he’d posed one anyway.

“No,” you say, but when he grabs your hand - hard earned calluses rubbing against your own similarly worn skin - you don’t stop him.

The scarred patch of skin he directs you to is on the other side of his torso, out of sight from your angle, and when your fingers brush up against it you don’t hesitate to laugh. An amused puff of air hits cool skin and Bruce shivers minutely at your warmth.

You croon lowly at him and press a kiss over the spot on his chest your breath hit. Only when he lets out a grumble of a sigh, relaxing just that much more into the bed, do you press more firmly against the knot beneath your fingers.

“This was the poison arrowhead too, wasn’t it?”

Bruce doesn’t even react in any major way, just gives you an exasperated, even slightly amused look.

“If I’m remembering constantly having to reopen the wound to flush it out correctly, then yes.”

Another grin pulls at your lips, you move your head to press another lingering kiss to the side of his neck. It’s not an apology.

“Glad I could make a lasting impression,” you say and Bruce chuckles like that was at all a sane response in the way only someone else who went around the world doing what you both did would understand.

From where his left arm is wrapped around your waist Bruce slides his fingers low and then slides them backwards until the pads of his fingers make contact with a thick line of matted skin. He caresses his physical claim on you with his own brand of tenderness.

It’s your turn to shiver then. You can feel how Bruce smiles against your head; fingers pressing down more firmly on the scar.

“Batarang,” he whispers in your ear. He noses at your hairline and presses a kiss on your temple next and it’s all you can do to keep quiet.

That peace can only last for so long once your gazes meet.

Simultaneously the two of you burst into quiet breathless laughter, curling into each other’s spaces and bodies slotting into one another like you were cut from the same cloth then mercilessly separated but had finally, miraculously, found each other again.

Palm curling almost protectively over that mess of destroyed tissue on his pelvis - your mark - you smile the realist smile you have in months, lungs aching with laughter and a comfortable warmth settling just under your skin.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it! this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

[rainycat2]

Though I Could Not Stop For Death / Death Kindly Stopped For Me

Chapter Three: Make the Plan

Danny’s list of things to do in Gotham was simple. Truly.

Step one: Get into Gotham without getting Batman on his tail. Easy. He’s not a meta.

Step two: find Red Hood and figure out what in the hell is so wrong with his Vibes that Lady Gotham herself asks for help. Lady Gotham never asks for help.

Step Three: find the Joker, knock his shit out, and drag his soul back for sentencing.

Step four: get the hell out of dodge.

Simple! Quick, easy, something that won’t take more than a week if all goes well, Danny reasoned as he packed a suitcase. And if it takes longer, well, the family had had a conversation a day ago about this situation.

His parents were understanding, if a bit disappointed that Danny had to go off elsewhere, but Jazz quickly turned their moods around by mentioning that she had a college tour at Gotham University for their psychology partnership with Arkham. Her car was therefore packed, pressed suit jackets and slacks hanging up on a rod in the backseat, her suitcase tucked neatly into the trunk, ready for Danny’s to join it.

One more checklist, just to be sure.

Clothes for a week? Check. Cash in his wallet? Check. A backpack full of weapons, ectoplasmic shots, Ecto-Dejecto, bandages, and Fenton fishing line? Check. His sword hilt? Check.

Danny hesitated, looking back at the armor folded carefully in the back of his closet. After a moment’s thought, he transformed into Phantom, shaking the armor out and holding it up to himself in the mirror.

He was taller, now. More filled out in the shoulders, his body put through hell and back. His fighting style had shaped him, shifting from the lean, smaller, quicker physique of his past into a stronger, more muscled brawler type. The armor wouldn’t fit, naturally-- he was fifteen, now, not eight.

Danny examined his jumpsuit in the mirror, looking himself up and down. Pauldrons, wrist braces, shin guards… He could do without the front flare of the tunic, though. Heavier armor on his knuckles, an empty sheath on his hip for a sword he no longer had.

It would do, for his purposes. Besides, Frostbite and Fright Knight had been bugging him to add more armor to his Phantom form, given the amount that he got knocked around. Mainly into buildings. Yeah, it made sense.

A white ring split from his waist, his clothing shifting, new pieces appearing. A crown resting on his brow, his ring on his finger. Danny looked at himself again, at the armor from his past and his present mixed and melded together.

A nod, then Danny shifted back, dropping the few inches back down to the ground-- right in time, too, as Mom stuck her head in the door. “Are you almost ready, sweetheart?” she asked, entering his bedroom with a thermos in hand. “I know you’ve probably packed plenty, but I made you an ectoplasm smoothie.”

Relief flitted across his face as Danny grinned, ducking in close for a quick hug. “You’re a lifesaver, Mom,” he praised, taking pleasure in his core purring. Family-content-safe-family. “I could go for a pick-me-up, I just changed my outfit a little.”

“Ooh!” Maddie laughed, getting on tiptoe to kiss his forehead. “You’re going to keep it from us until you get home? Despicable,” she teased.

Danny flushed, rubbing his neck embarrassedly. “Oh, psh, mom. I’m only changing it for Gotham specifically-- a HAZMAT jumpsuit tends to stand out a little, you know?”

Maddie’s smile softened as she pushed the thermos into Danny’s grip, dancing nimbly away to the duffle bag on the bed. One last checkover- because of course, she’s a mother, she has to make sure he has everything he needs (and if Danny’s core warmed slightly at the gesture, the care she showed, that’s for him to know). “I think you have everything, honey. Just.. be careful, okay?” she asked, zipping up his duffle and clipping it to the handle of his suitcase.

“Mom, I’m going to be fine. At most, this’ll take a week, maybe three,” he brushed off, taking the handle from Maddie as he offered her his arm. “Jazz is going to look at her college, and I’m going to investigate as best I can. If I have a free day or two, I might go with her. Now-- do you want to take the fast way down, or the boring, normal way?”

Mom blinked, then beamed. “Oh! Of course, Danny, just let me get ready,” she fretted, adjusting her suit before linking her elbow in his. She nodded, and Danny let gravity slip away, shifting them both intangible as she gasped in delight.

God, Danny was never going to get used to this. His parents delighting in his powers, letting him show them off, trusting them with his secret. It was a relief and a joy that he wished he could reassure his fourteen-year-old self about. That a year later, things would be looking up again.

Danny let them drop, falling from the second floor to the first by the front door, then let their presence in the world slip back into existence, dropping to the ground with a faint thump. Maddie just beamed at him, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “I’m so proud of you, Danny,” she said softly. “You’ve come such a long way.”

The blush from earlier only flamed up as Danny laughed, deflecting instantly. “Ah, well, the only reason I’ve progressed so much is yours and Dad’s help.”

Maddie just shook her head fondly, opening the front door. “Alrighty, Mr. Humble, let’s get you packed up and on the road. You’ve got about five hours to your first stop in Cincinnati, then another five to Pittsburg. If you push it, you might be able to get to Gotham before nightfall, but don’t drive if you don’t feel like you can-- and Danny, that does not mean you can shift and pick the car up invisibly,” she scolds. “You have your permit, and Jazz can be the licensed driver in the car, so you can get some practice hours in. Lord knows you need it.”

Danny just snickered as he opened the trunk, sliding his suitcase on top of Jazz’s, then closing it, his duffle bag on his shoulder. “Mom, we’re going to be fine,” he assured her. “We can get a hotel if we need, I may or may not have Vlad’s credit card, and have plenty of gas and snacks. I’m not going to do anything stupid on a finite amount of ectoplasm, honestly.”

“You know, I’m going to discard the comment about Vlad right now, just because I’m worried about you,” Maddie sighed as Jazz leaned against the car, Jack double-checking the tires. “There should be enough ambient ectoplasm in Gotham, but we can’t be sure--”

“Lady Gotham has already agreed to host us, Mom,” Jazz snorted. “If there’s enough ectoplasm for a city ghost, let alone one as old as her, Danny’s gonna be just fine. And besides, he can always open a portal into the Realms.”

“Okiedokie, can we stop loudly discussing this in the street?” Danny protested. “Let’s get this show on the road, c’mon.”

“Okay, Danno, okay,” Jack hummed as he got back to his feet before patting Danny on the shoulder. “I know you’re anxious to get this done, so we’ll not drag this out, but…” Swiftly, Jack pulled his son into a hug. “Just be safe, okay, kiddo?”

Danny smiled back, letting his core rumble audibly. “Dad, we’re going to be fine. Jazz has the Peeler, I have weapons aplenty, so I won’t even need to shift to Phantom. We’re gonna be fine. In and out.”

“Just humor me, and text us when you get to your stops,” Jack sighed exasperatedly, ruffling Danny’s hair, proudly ignoring the protests as Danny tried and failed to get his hair back into a somewhat manageable floof.

“We’re going to be fine,” Danny repeated. “Red’s covering my patrols, you guys are helping out, and Vlad’s agreed to keep an eye out and play nice. Sam and Tucker are going to meet us next week for that Gala you got us tickets to. We’ll all head back together, now stop fussing, jeez. Prince of the Infinite Realms, and I’m gonna get fussed to death,” he grumbled, no heat in the action as he climbed into the passenger seat.

---

Okay, so maybe Danny underestimated how goddamn boring this drive was going to be. Logically, okay, he understood that Illinois and Indiana were, like, 90% farmland with the exceptions of Indianapolis and and Chicago.

But man.

Staring out the window listening to Jazz’s pop music playlist for three hours straight was really starting to get to him. Idly, he dug into the duffle bag for a set of Fenton Fones, tucking one into his ear as he set the other one on the center console. “Jazz, I’m going to go insane if I listen to one more goddamn boy band,” he said seriously. “I won’t go far, I’m just gonna fly above you. Is that okay?”

Jazz sighed, then nodded as she tucked the earbud into place. “Stay somewhere you can see me and get to me fast,” she instructed. “And don’t explore! At most, fly a mile ahead and tell me about the traffic.”

“Okay, okay,” Danny snickered, dropping intangible and invisible, shifting to Phantom before he’d even left the car. “Come in, Worst Shot, can you hear me?”

The comm link crackled slightly, then came in clear. “Loud and clear, Inviso-Bill, if we’re doing stupid nicknames.”

“You wound me,” Danny said dramatically, flipping onto his back as he lazily flew above the car, a good two hundred feet up. “I’m around, J. Directly above you, in fact, going sixty-five miles per hour. Really, the exact speed limit?”

“I really, really don’t want to get pulled over with ectoplasmic shots in the car, much less weapons.”

“...You know what, that’s fair, actually. Ooh, there’s a wreck on the road a bit ahead, maybe a mile and a half? If you take the next exit, then get back on the highway, you should be able to circumvent it.”

“Better than satellite GPS,” Jazz teased as Danny watched her take the exit. “I’m gonna stop and stretch. Are you needed at the wreck?”

“I don’t think so,” Danny mused as he watched her pull into a truck stop. “But I’m gonna go look, just in case.”

“I figured, Little Brother. Go, do your thing. I’ll get you a Mountain Dew.”

Danny laughed as he muted his microphone, flipping around and shooting towards the ground, letting himself slow down gradually. A check to ensure he was still invisible and intangible before he looked around the scene of the accident. One car flipped, the other swerved off the road. He winced as he looked at the flipped car, then glanced at the swerved one. The second driver was going to be fine, he could tell, but the first…

The tether between the driver and life was growing thin, Danny could tell from here. Gently, he let himself land, slowly approaching the car before he crouched next to the broken window. “Hey there,” he greeted, looking at the driver.

She couldn’t be more than her mid-twenties, blonde hair sticky and strawberry pink with blood. Bruising across her face and chest, her breathing wheezy and wet. “Who’s there? Please… help me?”

Danny glanced at the other car, ensuring he was out of view of the road and the other driver before he let himself slip into visibility. The girl gasped softly, her eyes unfocused but determined to look at him. “You-- what?”

“Hey, hey. You’re going to be okay,” Danny murmured. “It’s just… I’m sorry, but I can’t help you as you are. But I can help you, in a way. You have a choice, here-- your tether to life is fading, but I can either strengthen it or cut it.”

The girl stared for a moment at him before coughing. “W-why on earth would you make me pick? Aren’t you Death?”

Danny waved his hand. “Ah, not quite, more like her errand boy,” he joked. “As for the choice… it’s yours to make. This accident is serious enough that you will not recover, not fully. From experience, you’ll most likely be in a vegetative state, if you don’t have a DNR. But if you choose to pass, I can escort you to your afterlife, and make sure you won’t feel any more pain,” he says simply.

“Are you an angel, then?”

“Again, not quite,” Danny laughs. “I’m more like… Charon, if you’re familiar with Greek mythos. A ferryman, or an escort to the afterlife.”

“I…” the girl glanced around, looking tiredly at herself, then back to Danny, her head falling backwards. “Okay. Okay, um… can you…?”

Danny just smiled softly, reassuringly, as he reached out to her and gently took her hand. As he stood up, she stood up with him, stepping out of the car with a sigh. Her aura was small, a low silver glow as they stood, looking back at the car. “Is.. is that it?” she asked, examining her body in the car. “That’s everything?”

“That’s it,” Danny confirmed, waving his hand as a door appeared. It was white, gold filigree decorating the otherwise plain door. “Alright, this is your stop. Catholic, right?”

She nodded. “Y-yes. Yes. I’m ready,” she said, stepping slightly towards the door. “Is… is it okay?”

“Go on,” Danny encouraged, squeezing her hand. “You’re going to be great.”

She smiled shyly, her free hand landing on the handle before she twisted, opening the door as golden light spilled out. “It… what’s your… name?”

“Phantom,” Danny answered. “Go on, Emily. You’ve got a lot of family waiting on you.”

Emily paused, then ducked towards Danny, pulling him into a tight hug. Danny tensed briefly, then laughed, hugging her back. “Go on, Emily,” he grinned, ushering her on. “Go rest.”

Emily smiled one more time, then stepped into the doorway, the door shutting behind her.

Phantom smiled back.

---

They made it to Pittsburg before both siblings gave up the ghost (ha) and paid for a hotel, texting their parents and sending a location pin before turning in. The next day, Danny took the wheel for the rest of the drive, but the closer and closer they got to Gotham, New Jersey, the more and more anxious he got. Gotham was… if the rest of the state was quiet (which was a bad description for pretty much everywhere of note in the United States, but especially the East Coast), Gotham was a big old set of discordant church bells all going off at once. Not literally, thank the Ancients, but that was the closest description he could give.

But once they crossed the city border? All of that silenced for a moment as Danny took a breath, let it out. A presence rubbed his shoulder, a motherly laugh in his ear.

“I will await you on the Wayne Hotel roof, young King,” Gotham murmured, then dipped away.

Danny grumbled, shaking it off with a shiver. “Ancients help me from intentionally spooky and vague city spirits,” he huffed, getting a laugh from his sister as she looked up from her phone.

“That bad?”

“She awaits me,” he snorted. “Man. I know she’s been around for kind of forever, but still.”

“Your guardian is literally the God of Time.”

“Well, yes, but-- oh look our hotel!” Danny quickly changed the subject as they turned off the main road. When Vlad had heard that they were visiting Gotham, well. The billionaire practically couldn’t help himself in setting them up in one of the nicest hotels in the city.

It’s not what you can do for nepotism, it’s what nepotism can do for you. And what your godfather’s incessant need to both show off, provide for you, and also upstage another billionaire in his own city.

Danny was out of the car first, tossing the keys to Jazz as he rubbed his face, taking a deep breath before letting it out. Ah, Gotham.

The last time he was here, he was.. What, seven? A year before…

He rubbed his chest, then shook his head as he went to get a luggage cart. Not worth thinking about, that part of his life was long gone. He just had to stay out of the path of the Bat and his Birds, check in with the Red Hood, then get out.

Of course, he wasn’t as oblivious as he pretended he was, once. There was the intrinsic flaw that Red Hood was a former Robin, and had returned to working with the Bat-Clan, albeit on and off. Not to mention dragging that dumb fucking clown back to the Realms to face justice was definitely going to get attention.

At least only attention on Phantom, who the League had no idea about. And even if they did figure out who he was, they assumed he was dead. Nothing they can do about death.

…Shit, right, the Pits. Okay. Later--

Danny grunted, jerked out of his musings as he clipped his toe on a wheel, doing a bit of fancy footwork to fix his balance as he looked at the woman. “Oh, hell, I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. Shit, wheelchair. Shit, he just kicked her wheelchair.

The woman looked back at him strangely, tucking a piece of red hair behind her ear as she shifted herself back. “No, it’s-- don’t worry about it, you looked like you were thinking pretty hard,” she said, setting her hands in her lap. “Are you new to Gotham?”

“Just visiting,” Danny confirmed. “I don’t plan to stay long, just a week or two.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“Business,” Danny laughed. “Unless you count ‘college tour’ as pleasure, which I don’t.”

She tilted her head. “You don’t look old enough for college-- but pardon me if you’re a child prodigy, or whatever.”

Danny waved his hand idly as he started stacking the luggage. “My sister, she’s a psych student. Said that if she can make it here, she can make it anywhere. I argued she could do that in New Orleans or any other big city, but alas, Arkham or bust,” he snorted, setting his duffle bag on top.

“Ah. Well, just… as a Gothamite, just make sure she’s aware that most of our psychology students either turn into Rogues, get kidnapped by Rogues, or leave after a semester. Sometimes both.”

“Oh, she’s aware. Honestly? Can’t be crazier than home,” Danny hummed, glancing over her shoulder to the front desk. “I’m sorry, she’s calling me over. It was nice to meet you, though, Ms…?”

“Barbara,” she answered, blue eyes glinting in the light, meeting his own. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

“Danny,” he confirmed. “Sorry about tripping on your chair.”

“No worries, kid.” She shook her head fondly as Danny walked off, pulling the cart behind him. With years of stealth and practice, she slipped her phone out, switching to camera mode before taking a picture.

Wayne Family Dumbasses:

Eyeinthesky: damian clone or incoming adoption bait? Place your bets here.

Everyone is typing…

TAGLIST: @mynameisnotlaura @fisticuffsatapplebees @screamingtofillthevoid @lizisipancardo @digitizedworld @dahliasandrosemary

NEXT CHAPTER: ==>

[saintfromkrypton]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐆 ➪ "i thought you loved him."

𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤'𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐮𝐥𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬; 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐥, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲, 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐠-𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐯𝐮𝐥𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞: 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭.💫

The knowledge is acidic, that his intentions had been misconstrued after all of these years, even after his letter documenting how he burned for his best friend and the subsequent friendship-turned-feelings for Batman he had sought to fill the gap of @gothamsaved's absence.

Lex Luthor? He had admired him as a friend, yes, and had maybe had a crush on him, but when he realized he was simply seeking Bruce within the other, he knew it wasn't right. Bruce was the only one for him. He had long since been spoiled by the other's existence.

Kent's breath is minty as he leans in close, "I forget you haven't read the letter. I admitted everything, B."

Something wild, hot and heavy, shifts at the implication of the other's words, and Kent's hands move up to brace strong shoulders against the chair. He grows ever closer, noses almost touching, ghosting along the billionaire's. Clark's eyes are an intense shade of blue now, specks of emerald reflecting in an almost-too still, crystal clear, & azure mountain stream.

"No, you're the only one I've ever loved," he whispers, watching for that characteristic halt and shiver, and feeling the other under his fingertips, satisfaction floods his being. Bruce's scent shifts, full of confusion and worry, a slight happiness and desire curling around him, and Clark's hand moves to stroke down along the other's throat.

"The only one I still love," he whispers, lips twitching, almost closing the gap between them, but drawing back at the last second.

"You're the love of my life." His thumb swipes back and forth across Bruce's Adam's apple, "Always have been." Lacking the courage for a full on kiss, Clark brushes his lips to the corner of Bruce's mouth. He moves to the other side before speaking again, his emotions so easily readable upon his features.

"Lex Luthor was just a friend, before he became my enemy. I did like him. I think? But only because he reminded me of you. It's always been you."

Clark pulls back, and he's reminded of all the time he'd show him the stars as a teenager. Of the memories in Smallville. Watching the fireworks in the back of the family pickup. The sleepovers and farmer's markets. The agony of the last letter. All the calls to Mr. Pennyworth, the weeks and half a year before he gave up asking his parents to call.

"If you don't love me, tell me. I'll go and forget this ever happened. We can just ignore things. But..." A smirk tugs a corner of his mouth upwards. He's all Kent charm, blue eyes confident and wide, Superman curl squarely in the middle of his forehead. That sweetness melts like baking chocolate, and something richer takes the place of typical softness.

Clark's voice drops to a honeyed whisper. He leans down to Bruce's ear, lips almost brushing the soft flesh of his earlobe.

"I hear your heart, B. It picks up when you look at me, when I touch you." As if to prove it to himself, Clark moves his hands and slides them up to either side of Bruce's neck, one tangling into the dark strands at the base of his skull. B's heartsong gets more intense, thundering, and Kal smirks devilishly.

"Mm. It's pounding. Your heartbeat gets louder when I get nearer. I wonder how it'll sound when I - "

He closes the gap between them and kisses him, hard, the fact Bruce's heart is excitedly pulsing in his ears enough to bolster him. It's open mouthed and hot, nose pressed to B's cheek, tongue gently prodding in and swiping along the roof of the other's mouth, before Clark sucks B's tongue between his teeth and gently nips it, just to hear more of that heartbeat sputter under his watchful gaze. He draws back finally, smirk deepened, and the hand that had cradled his neck moves to lazily brush his thumb across his bottom lip.

" - kiss you."

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

From The Ashes

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/H0GkO62

by scandalsavage

He knows what Bruce will find. There’s hardly an inch of unmarred skin below his neck. Burns, cuts, bullet holes, places where broken bones have ripped through the flesh, tears and punctures, and gashes from various “toys” the Joker wanted to show Jason how to play with…

He holds his breath as Bruce carefully pulls off his shirt, as he slowly drags down his pants and underwear. He doesn't even realize he’s crying again until Bruce thumbs away the tears.

Bruce’s breath is ragged and not in a good way. In a wet, horrified way. Jason braces himself for disgust. Tries to steel himself for the inevitable rejection.

“My brave, beautiful boy,” Bruce hums as he starts to pepper little kisses up and down Jason’s body, one for each scar. He lingers on the bullet hole at Jason’s shoulder.

The one Joker filmed.

“I thought I lost you,” Bruce breathes, voice thick with emotion. “I thought you were gone forever. But here you are. Returned to me. My miracle.”

Words: 2774, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Batman: Arkham Knight (Video Games), Batman: Arkham Knight Genesis (Comics), Batman - All Media Types

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne

Relationships: Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne

Additional Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Second Chances, Loss of Virginity, First Time, First Kiss, Body Worship, Praise Kink, Sad and Sweet, So many emotions, Men Crying, Love Confessions, Explicit Sexual Content

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/H0GkO62

[theodorecanaryhood]

Arkham Knight, his Everything, the fallen hero

Jason Todd / Arkham Knight / Red Hood x Male reader (Reader is now Red Bat)

You stood atop the roofs of Gotham City as the rain poured down hard, harder than it seemed to fall before.

Helicopter’s flying around, distant Gun shots, car alarms. The sounds of terror flowed through the streets, you were scared for the first time in a while. You were told not to show it, as Scarecrow could get you easily.

‘Red’ Barbara almost shouted over the comms, grabbing your attention.

‘Oracle?’ You smiled slightly, as Barbara chuckled at you.

‘Been calling you for ages, what’s going on?’ She asked you, slightly humoured but also concerned for you.

‘Was miles away, what did you find?’ You grappled to a higher part of the building.

‘Bruce isn’t going to like it, it seems the Arkham Knight is untraceable’ you rolled your eyes in response.

‘B is gonna be pissed’ Barbara only nodded in return.

‘Hold tight baby Bat, Dick is on the line too’ you hung up the call swiftly as Barbara threw her attention elsewhere.

You swooped low and glided to the streets below as a woman seemed to stumble onto the streets, the thugs laughed at you as they saw you land effortlessly on your feet.

‘Gonna pick on someone your own size?’ You mocked as their stances changed to a ready position, readying their weapons.

Four against one - seems fair enough, however if you let your guard down for one second, they can catch you off your feet.

The first was easy to take down, a roundhouse kick to the face took him out. The second, a punch to the gut, neck then face followed by a kick in the groin. The third, grabbing his bat from his hands and swinging it for a knockout blow. The fourth, he threw punches but you never faltered as you wrestled him. Wrapping your legs around his neck and swinging him to the floor.

‘Thank you’ the woman said as she rushed off once finding her feet again.

‘Red Bat’ Batman boomed over the comms, ‘what is your position?’ He followed once you took the call.

‘On the streets, working on finding a way through ace chemicals but a Lady needed my help’

‘Good work, now Commissioner Gordon needs our help, meet me outside Ace Chemicals in 5’ he said as he abruptly ended the call.

Commissioner Gordon stood as he watched the two Bat’s land on the bridge, open fire followed shortly.

‘Friend of yours?’ Gordon asked jokingly as Batman stood up.

‘We’ll find out’ he said as he confidently walked to the chopper above him, the Knight threatening to shoot him but falling back as Scarecrow ordered.

‘Bats?’ You shouted as Batman made his way into Ace Chemicals.

…

Batman stood in the glass case as the Militia entered, holding their guns up to him, the Arkham Knight falling gracefully through the glass roof. With you, the Knight’s grip on your arm never loosened.

‘Keep your guns trained in him, if he even looks like he’s trying to escape, open fire. Oh, and avoid the bat symbol’ The Knight ordered his team, holding onto you still as you looked around. Seeing the Knight argue with Bruce, it almost seemed like they knew each other…or rather the Knight knew Bruce personally.

As Knight spoke to Scarecrow through the comms you noticed Batman looking ahead with a blank expression, then the Bat mobile opened fire.

‘Get down, take cover’ the Knight shouted to you as he carefully and quickly threw you the ground out of harms way as he grappled out of the building.

All the militia members fell unconscious as Batman came over to you with the Ace worker.

‘Red Bat, are you hurt?’ He asked you, you just looked at him confused.

‘No, the Knight saved me’ Bruce looked almost shocked for a second as the chopper appeared in the sky outside the Chemical factory.

…

The night was seemingly a never ending one as Bruce was off to the next level of battle. You having a new job to do, Dick appeared once the news Barbara had been taken broke out.

‘Hey’

A voice broke your thoughts once again as you turned to see a militia member behind you, you braced yourself for a fight but before you could do anything there was smoke in your face and you were out.

‘Y/n, is that you? Batman?’ Jason spoke in his sad, broken voice.

‘Batman’s not coming for you Jason, no one is’ Joker said as he laughed maniacally behind him.

The screams of torture that Jason endured filled your ears, the torment, his pain and cries. You cried so hard as you could feel your heart break again. You were in Arkham when it happened. Only hearing it from a distance, for some reason Harley let you go. But not him, not your Jason.

‘Why did you spray him with fear toxin?’ The Knight roared, his men standing confused.

‘We thought you would like the fact we took out one of Batman’s men’ one man spoke.

‘Jordan, get out of my face before I shoot it’ Knight roared again as they left, you mumbling something under your breath.

‘Jason, please baby, please’ you cried a little, the Knight was close to tears, Jason remembering how you got out safely and apparently had a breakdown shortly after.

‘Y/n’ Jason whispered, his modified voice not recognising it as a whisper, only a noise.

‘Get the fuck away from me’ you belted out as the Knight approached you, you crying harder.

‘Y/n’ he spoke louder for you to hear, he removed your mask as you spat on his mask.

‘This is your fault, you took my Jason to monster, you took him away from me and I will fucking kill you’ you screamed, Jason cried under his mask as you tried to kick. Jason catching your ankle.

‘Y/n you need to calm down’ Jason spoke to you calmly as you shook a little to break free. Only to be useless as his grip was too tight.

‘Fuck you’ you spat again, Jason becoming concerned for you. You were in a fit, under the influence of the fear toxin.

‘I’m so sorry Baby’ Jason whispered softly as he punched you to knock you out.

He instantly grabbed you and held you as he cried, he was angry his men used fear toxin on you and also angry at himself for striking you.

‘I’m so sorry, sorry, please forgive me’ Jason cried as he removed his visor and kissed your sleeping figure.

…

‘You did this to me, you left me in that abandoned wing of Arkham for over a year. Left me with him’ Jason cried to Bruce who stood over him, watching as his Son let out his pent up anger.

‘I’m sorry, it’s not too late. We can fix this’ Bruce offered his hand to the young Man who only lowered his weapon as he let out a sad sigh.

‘Alfred it’s. I found Jason’ Bruce said to Alfred on the comms.

‘Forgive me Sir, I may have misheard you, I thought you said you found Master Todd?’ Alfred replied a little confused.

‘You heard me’

‘My God, is he all right?’ The butler asked in a panic as Bruce turned around to see Jason gone.

‘No’ was all Bruce replied a little sadness fell from his tone as he saw the man gone.

You ran out of the side room over to Commissioner Gordon as Bruce looked at you, a sad expression on his face.

‘What?’ You asked, Bruce placed a hand on your shoulder as Jim smiled gently towards you.

‘It’s the Knight, he’s Jason’ Bruce revealed as you went wide eyed, then choking up.

‘No, it’s not, he’s not’ you denied as Bruce tightened his grip in your shoulders, you shook your head as you began to cry.

‘Jason, where is he?’ You sobbed as Bruce rubbed your back, comforting you.

‘He’ll be back soon I’m sure, he will be back for you’ Bruce reassured you as you sobbed into the discarded Arkham Knight helmet.

…

It was all over in the matter of one night, it began and then it ended. But it was long, a long a fight that seemed to go on for days and days.

Scarecrow was down, Barbara was safe, Dick had been and gone, Tim was ok. Bruce was now leading himself back to the Manor after he allowed himself to be revealed as Batman.

Making sure the streets of Gotham were safe before he went home, he let the GCPD take their city back.

You stood atop a roof once again as you watched the news on your IPhone, Bruce was officially identified as Batman, he was walking into Wayne Manor and then…

BOOM…..

You felt the Earth shake as the Manor went up in an explosion, Bruce told you not to go too near the Manor. But stay close.

Tears threatened to fall as you watched it from a distance. Seeing from afar your home, your only family go up in flames.

‘Y/n’ a voice called your attention away, you turned around to see Jason, he was wearing his Arkham Knight get up, just not the helmet and visor. You could see his face.

‘Jason? Jason’ you questioned as you thought you were still in shock but you could feel him, his arms, his hands.

‘Baby’ was all he said as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hungry kiss, a kiss you had so desperately needed for a while.

‘I love you’ you panted as you broke apart from his face, he smiled.

‘I love you so much’ he beamed, returning the feelings. You buried your face into his chest as he held you against him.

‘Please don’t leave me’ you whisper cried as Jason kissed the top of your head.

‘Never, never again’ he returned words from his heart as you kissed him again.

It seemed the world had stopped still around you in that moment as you kissed Jason, the love of your life. The man of your dreams. The owner of your heart.

[quandaryqueen]

Big finale to the ex-spouse hero saga! After dance they go to one of theirs apartment when they have sex and next morning they decide to give it one last chance. YJ, BTAS, Harley Quinn 

... Letting old flames burn ya

Edward Nygma X Reader

As continuations to these posts, Part I and II

🔞 MINORS DNI

Ahem so I'm quite frankly new to writing smut, excuse my inadequacy but this fic will contain: Blowjobs, against the wall fucking, anal and aftercare.

💚 Young Justice

After ditching the dancefloor, you happen to catch his lips within yours, in which he wasted no time to reciprocate with the same fervour. Pulling a moan from him was an easy feat, you just simply push him against a wall, take his shirt off and don't kissing him, bite his lip and let your hands feel around his body. It comes a point your hand rests upon his neck, where you stilled to feel his pulse beating vigorously under your touch.

He was about to ask you if there's something wrong, when your lips peppered gentle kisses to his cheek, his jaw, his neck with your thumb still pressed upon his pulse point. Your fluency with his body had your lips locked on his sweet spot, the juncture between his neck and shoulder. His pulse beats against your thumb erratically, making you smirk. Gently licking and nipping at this spot of his made his knees buckle, his only source of balance being the wall and you, as his grip on your clothes tightened.

He whines against your ear, biting his lip to supress his moan. Taking your thumb from his neck, you slide it between his lips and pried it open. Instinctively, he sucks on your thumb while he followed the way you lifted your head to gaze upon him.

"You're not going to silence yourself alright? Scream for me." Under your gaze, he was entranced and nods. "Good boy."

Continuing to mark his sweet spot, you pulled your thumb from his mouth and inserted your index and middle finger instead. Wanting nothing but your approval, he laps away at your fingers, not bothering to supress his moans.

Progressively you got lower and lower and find yourself on your knees, unbuckling his pants, unzipping his fly and pulling his underwear down just enough for his entire length out of its confines. Wasting no time, you give a few experimental strokes with your palm coated with you had coated with his spit before you knelt down, as you looked up to see his head lolled back, his chest heaving.

"Look at me... There, there..." He peers from half-lidded eyes, down to see your lips approaching his tip. "Wouldn't want to miss the show, don't we?"

Before he can think of a response, you take him in your mouth catching him off-guard, along with the garble of vocal nonsense trapped at the back of his throat. Thanking you, worshipping you... It's all sweet really, look up and you'd see a trail of his saliva on the side of his lips. Rewarding him, you braced yourself and bobbed your head further, letting his tip touch the back of your throat, where he came with no warning.

Pulling away, you had a mouthful of the remnants of him staining your lips. You looked up at him with narrowed eyes while he basked in the afterglow, as he pants against the wall whilst running a hand through his hair. Pulling him on the floor with you, you kissed him with cum-stained lips.

💚 Batman the animated series

Claiming his lips, a moan was suppressed as he continues to piston in and out of you. Sucking your tongue, he groans softly in your mouth when your legs tighten around his hips, along with your arms around his shoulders, where your grip had climbed at the back of his neck. Deprived of breath, he pulls away and remains close, his forehead pressed against yours.

You feel his chest heaving heavily against yours, wondering if he could feel how he made your heart raise. Then you felt it, the familiar coil that you knew full-well that Edward knows he was doing a good job.

You showed the same signs of your approaching orgasm, he notes mentally. Having to finally hold you always has a place in his daydreams when you parted ways, how he always dreamt of your touch, your warmth, that no matter how many times he tried to recreate it with others they can never suffice in the way you could. To have you by his side again felt like a dream and he would never want to wake up from it again.

Your trembling legs clamped tightly against his hips, burying your flushed face against his shoulder.

"Keep going... Keep going..." Said in a hushed voice, through shuddering breaths.

Pressing a kiss on your temple, he continues his pace as you wished and bites his lip when his own orgasm started building up.

"I love you..." Without his knowing, those words slips from his lips in the heat of the moment. Though he knows he had dropped something like this, he continues to thrust in spite of his head raising with thoughts when you fell silent... Maybe he should have stayed quiet?

"I love you too..."

Upon his ejaculation, your orgasm followed soon after, your thighs around his hips falling limp. He rests his head against the side of yours, basking in the afterglow of sex. Gently pulling out, he sweeps you from the back of your thighs and carries you to his room.

💚 Harley Quinn

His face was buried on the mattress, his grunts muffled, wherein he was ass up, receiving you on his backdoor. His trembling hands clutched the sheets as he felt his orgasm rise with your continuous pace, held with steady firmness. You knew which buttons to push, brushing by his prostate in just the right way.

You've denied him long enough of his bliss, as you'd pull out in moments of him finally achieving it, just goes to show how you still knew old territories. Not to mention how you deal with him when he doesn't get what he wants, he doesn't glare at you, oh no, he begs. And the Riddler, never begs.

In no time he reaches his peak and ejaculates on the sheets, and all he can think was fucking finally. Pulling out, you press a kiss on his temple. After catching his breath, he turns from his stomach and onto his back, to capture your lips in his, thanking you under laboured breaths.

"Hold on... Let me run you a bath for a moment. Would you like something to drink?" You muttered against his lips, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

"We can do that later, I want to cuddle first."

"Eddie..." Your tone came as a playful warning tone.

"Fine. Water sounds nice. And some lavender scent on my bath."

"Gotcha. I'll be right back." Before you stood on your feet, you press a kiss on his cheek before leaving for said things.

[branded-witha-j]

This request started one way and then took a whole other turn that I'm going to blame on the pain meds they gave me. I hope you enjoy it, anon reader. 😘💚💚💚

♤♡◇♧☆

Something went horribly wrong. It wasn't expected and no one saw it coming despite weeks of planning. The coppers showed up as expected, but something fell through when someone didn't do their job. A post that should have been manned was left wide open and that's how the GCPD got the upperhand.

You were there, holding your own, the armored truck on its side and smoking. The bags you helped carry were heavy and you were distracted, not noticing the officer until he had you restrained. They didn't make a fuss, pulling you away from the scene as discreetly as possible, but it didn't take J long to notice your absence.

He wheeled in place, scanning the street, and that's when he saw them dragging you away, his rage palpable. They thought you were a hostage, surely a nice, rich girl like you forced to commit such heinous crimes. They had no idea that you were important to The Joker or that you were madly in love with your so-called captor.

You fought and clawed to get back to him, but the cops threw you into a police van, the back empty except for you. Now that they had you in their custody, they intended to get you away from the scene, your father waiting for the phone call that you were safe.

You were a Daddy's girl, growing up privileged and rich. Things were planned out for you, your father the puppeteer. It didn't take long for you to tire of his control, a new Daddy altogether pulling your attention and keeping you captivated.

The Joker was just as rich, but dangerous and unpredictable. The night you met him at the annual Gotham Gala was the best of your life and you never looked back.

The van shifted as it pulled away from the curb, a single police car following while the others stayed behind to deal with and round up J and his crew. At least that was their plan. But the cops would fair no better, The Joker's men creating such a scene that J managed to slip away in your pursuit.

He wasn't alone, a handful of goons tagging along, and they were the ones to open fire. The tailing cruiser caught the first wave of bullets, the back tires popping and sending it into an uncontrollable spin. A row of parked cars cushioned the wreck, but the car was inoperable and left behind as the van tried to race for the station.

You were in the back, unable to hang on as a curve was taken too fast, crying out as you were thrown against the bare, metal wall. You found yourself on the floor, clutching for the bench leg that was bolted down, using it to pull yourself under for coverage as bullets ricocheted outside. You could hear shouting from the front, returning fire sounding close and making you scream as a bullet tore through the metal above you.

You rolled yourself into a ball and braced, not seeing the collision coming, but safe as the van slammed to a stop. It was no longer moving, but the shouting continued, eventually two single gun shots marking the silence.

Nothing happened, the van whining as someone cranked the engine and finally got it to start. You stayed under the bench shaking, beams of light shining through the bullet holes as the van started to move again. Even as the ride continued on for what felt like an eternity, you stayed on the floor unable to move out of some fear that The Joker had been hurt, or even worse, killed.

Eventually the van came to a stop and you held your breath, hearing the front door open, and approaching footsteps. They crunched in what sounded like gravel and stopped at the back doors. Then there was unnerving silence. You continued to hold your breath, eyes closing as the screech of metal unlocked the doors and light flooded over you. It took you a moment to open your eyes, the sunlight blotting out the figure that peered inside. You blinked, trying to clear your vision, and a hand at your ankle made you lash out. You kicked hard, snarling in anger as they avoided your booted defense and dragged you closer.

Hands groped at you, pulling you upright, and that's when you were finally able to focus. The Joker leaned over you, a gash at his forehead sending a steady stream of blood down the side of his chiseled cheek. He was bleeding, but seemed unharmed and very much alive. With a gasp, you clutched for him, anchoring your hands at his face and kissing him hard.

His metal teeth hurt against your own, but you didn't care, deepening it until you felt certain you could drown. He was the one to break the kiss, eyes darting and taking inventory. You were unharmed, maybe a little bruised, but not hurt. The relief made him purr and he pushed forward, kneeling at the metal floor and hovering over you.

You let him lay you back and didn't protest as his hands slid over your body, making sure you weren't damaged or in pain. As his exploration continued, you reached for him, pulling him on top of you, your arms and legs trapping him. He grimaced, a single droplet of blood falling on your cheek, and you couldn't stop yourself from kissing him. He tasted like blood and gunpowder and you savored it.

In the distance, you could hear approaching sirens, your moment ending almost as quickly as it had started. Surely the van could be tracked and they would be here soon, both of your hearts racing as you fled the scene. You took back alleyways, hiding in the shadows, ducking into dark doorways as police cruisers rolled past.

It was in one of these doors that J cornered you, smiling in his mischievous way. You smiled back, head tilting as he leaned in for a kiss. It was slow and deep, ending with a purr.

"Are you my girl?" You nodded to his question, feeling his hands on you, fingertips digging into your hips. You let out a gasp of surprise as he slid a hand over, cupping you and pushing you harder against the door. It creaked with your weight but held as J frantically pulled at the waistband of your leggings. You joined in, flipping his belt loose, and popping the button to pull down his zipper.

A single slam against the door made you both groan, The Joker not stopping until he was buried deep. He burned and stretched you in the most delicious way, his face burying at your neck. Another thrust of his hips made you cry out, the sound echoing around the alley and building as his movement grew frantic.

Voices yelled out nearby, causing you to tense, and a shift of your hips sent you over a dangerous edge. Your cries of pleasure bounced off the walls, dissolving into the air and mixing with the sounds of the city. The Joker had reached his end, as well, and held you in place, nuzzling at your neck until he left a purple mark with his mouth.

For a long moment, nothing else existed, the sounds of the city fading away. You relished in his touch and taste, his crimson smeared lips leaving no doubt that you belonged to him. It was a bubble of happiness that you lived in precariously, not ready for it to pop so soon.

But pop it did, and you were both on the run again, dragging your pants up with laughs and tripping away. The cop that discovered you was close, but not enough to catch you, both of you sliding out onto the crowded sidewalk, people rushing out of your way as you ran.

You felt like Bonnie and The Joker was your Clyde, hands joining as you ran, more fits of laughter falling from your lips as you veered off the sidewalk and into traffic to avoid another cop.

You didn't see it coming, so lost in your delirious happiness that the delivery truck went unnoticed. Brakes squealed as the large vehicle tried to stop, but too much weight and speed kept it coming in your direction, both of you freezing on the spot.

There was a second where you realized you were about to die, turning towards J, but feeling yourself lifted and flung in the opposite direction. You waited for the pain, but it didn't come, instead air whipping past and making your hair swirl. And then your ride was abruptly over, Batman releasing you on the far sidewalk.

Stunned to see him this close up, it took a moment for you to wheel back in search of The Joker, horror making you cry out at his still form on the road. You pulled and screamed, tearing yourself away from your savior to run to your lover.

No one tried to stop you, everyone frozen and watching as you collapsed by his side, hands shaking and touching him. You were frantic, pulling at him, screaming his name, but getting no response. He was gone, his body broken and bleeding before you like a living nightmare.

You tried to revive him, performing CPR, pushing and thumping at his chest until Batman pulled you away. His arms locked around you like a vice and carried you from the horrible scene, your pleas falling on deaf ears.

Your eyes pinched shut, your cries turning into begging, everything fading until you jolted awake in a cell you couldn't remember. The pressure around you that had once been Batman's arms was a straitjacket keeping you secure. It was an embrace you could never escape, eyes heavy and sweeping the empty, dim room.

Who knows how long you had been here, time meaning nothing. Who knows if anything was real, the pain in your heart the only reminder that something had been taken from you.

The ground vibrated but you barely noticed it, the extinguished lights above you swaying and sending dust down upon you. Your neck was stiff as you slowly looked up, the hanging light swaying back and forth. Another much harder vibration caused it to pick up momentum and you were mesmerized by it, not hearing the screams in the hallway.

A fresh explosion buckled the door, leaving a gaping hole filled with smoke. You stared at it, unable to move even if you felt the desire, a single figure stepping through as a floating silhouette. They crossed the room, kneeling before you, and a tug at the helmet they wore revealed a shock of green hair and icy blue eyes.

He smiled at you, your own lips twitching and pulling until the corners lifted and mirrored him. His laugh came next, eerie and almost mournful, but your own joining in until it was deafening and terrifying to all that could hear it.

Again you felt yourself lifted, this time in the arms you wanted more than anything, The Joker carrying you from the cell and into the fiery hallway. Bodies lay before you, framing your escape route, and J didn't let you go until he reached the getaway vehicle, slowly placing you in the backseat. Leaning down, his lips ghosted over yours, a new scar across his cheek catching your eye. His kiss was brief, a peck at your lips, and then he spoke the words you had been dying to hear for so long.

"Let's go home."

[amarits]

They heard footsteps running towards them through the open door long before they saw the figures they belonged to. Clearly more concerned with time than stealth right now, then. Jason wondered how long the three of them had been sitting there, how much time would have been left on the main countdown if they hadn’t already stopped it.

Even without the second bomb, he thought Nightwing and Batman might have been too late.

Tim and Steph were still holding his hands, one on each side. He didn’t like the burst of embarrassment he felt at the idea of Nightwing and Batman seeing them like that, the shame that immediately rushed over him at the idea of being seen as not being able to handle things on his own.

He hadn’t been able to handle things on his own. And that was okay. It was okay to need help.

He still let go of their hands as the three of them started slowly pushing themselves to their feet, but only because he needed the use of his hands to keep from falling over where he stood.

Nightwing and Batman burst in, all pizazz and frantic energy that quickly fizzled out as they stared at Jason’s little group in confusion. Jason leaned heavily against Tim, and Steph wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him steady.

“You’re a little late,” he said.

Batman looked from the darkened screen of the disabled bomb directly in front of him, to the full room of explosives while Nightwing just stared at them in utter bafflement.

“Oh, sorry,” Jason said casually, like they were at a gala and he’d just realized he’d forgotten to introduce his guests. “Let me introduce you to Robin—” He motioned at Tim, who stayed still. “—and Robin.” He motioned to Steph, who waved cheerfully. “We already took care of it.”

Nightwing's eyebrows slowly raised above his mask as Jason talked. Batman was stiff in a way that Jason could recognize by now as uncertainty. “What happened?”

Jason rolled his shoulders. God, that hurt... well, everything really. Pain shot through his shoulders as they moved, but also his back, and his neck, and he could feel a burgeoning headache, but there was something of a release too. He felt like he’d stretched and all of his bones had cracked, but now the tension that had settled there was gone. “Turns out Copycat was just pretending to be the Joker, but then the real Joker showed up to make his life miserable, set two different time bombs, and a whole lot of explosives.” He motioned around the room at the explosives that were still there, even if they weren’t in immediate danger of going off. “It’s fine. We got it.”

Batman’s lips pressed into a thin line, and Jason braced himself for the anger. For the berating that was sure to come for not following orders, for putting himself in danger, for running off to school when he’d been forbidden from doing so.

Batman stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Jason in a suffocating hug. Oh. He… didn’t know how to handle that. His shoulders went stiff, arms motionless at his sides as both Steph and Tim moved aside to give them room. He still wasn’t used to this new, more emotionally open Batman. Bruce. It was… weird.

...he guessed the warehouse had left them all with scars. Maybe a slightly more emotive Bruce wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

He haltingly raised his arms to hug back and let himself be comforted, if only for a few minutes.

Read more on AO3

[legends-live-in-memories]

Focus On Me

i want yall to pretend i dont have outstanding wips i need to finish lmao. Have this instead:

Dickinette One-shot 1.9K words

Summary: 

“Dick is pissed as hell after arguing with Bruce.

His solution? Go to an underground fight club to get the shit beaten out of him.”

without further ado

Richard Grayson was many things. He was a professional acrobat. He was a dedicated vigilante. Son of freaking Batman himself. And now? Now he was pissed as hell. The fallout between him and Bruce wasn’t supposed to get this bad. Wasn’t supposed to go on this long. The radio silence was deafening and the cold shoulder burned hotter than any flaming hoop he jumped through as a kid. He knew Bruce had issues about Dick’s decision but that had nothing to do with his capabilities as a vigilante and everything to do with Bruce’s own fears and insecurities. Thinking about it just gets him riled up and he keeps replaying the harsh words they threw at each other before fists started flying too.

He needs to get out of his head for a few hours before he plans what his next move is. No. He needed to get out of his head, yes, but he needs to breathe and maybe punch someone who he doesn’t fear disappointing or someone who hasn’t dumped a ferry’s load of emotional bullshit on him. Planning what comes next can have the decency to at least wait a week. 

Trying to distract himself, he went to an underground boxing club he discovered when he was sixteen. The club was deep in the East End, hidden between the Black Bass Bar and 83rd Street. He’s been sneaking there every now and again when he wanted the time to recenter himself and get grounded before facing the world. It was therapeutic, the bruising knuckles, the blistered lips, the burning sweat in his eyes. It was rough, jaded and unpolished. Everything he wasn’t allowed to be. 

He snuck in through the regular back entrance that was reserved for fighters. The air reeked of tequila and piss and cigarettes. He could already hear the cacophony of roars and jeers from the club’s patrons as a match went on in the center ring. Making his way to the side of the ring to put his name into the bracket, he sees the current fight come to a close with a knockout. The poor guy was lying limply with a twisted ankle and a suspiciously dark bruise forming on his left side. The mat is soiled with blood, spit and what was possibly bile in one corner. Dick swung his gaze over to the fighter left standing. 

His breath feels punched out as he takes in the absolute powerhouse before him. A lean figure clad in simple matching black spandex and sports bra that left nothing to the imagination. Her bare feet were bruised and taped in seemingly random places but Dick recognised an arch to them that was only achieved through professional dancing or gymnastics. She was light on her feet, strong on her toes. Chiseled abs that put Superman to shame were marred by scars on pale skin and a fresh bandage over what could possibly be a recent stab wound resting near her hip. He eyed her wrapped fists that were caked in blood and dirt as she flexed and curled her fingers repeatedly. 

If he was left breathless by her physique then her face left him dead and buried. Bold blue eyes narrowed in concentration with her busted lips curled up in a sneer. Her cheeks were flushed and her entire face was covered in a light sheen of sweat. Her hair is pulled back into a regular ponytail with loose strands framing her face. Her hair, pure black, except for bleached blonde ends, looks greasy and unkept, highlighting her lack of care regarding her appearance. Her shoulders are hiked up to her ears and her muscles twitch and flex with pent up energy. She carries herself like someone who’s addicted to pain and the worst parts of themselves, desperate for a quick fix; the perfect reflection for how he feels right now.  Dick can’t wait to get in the ring.

“I’ll pay you $50 to get me in the ring with her right now.” He turned his neck to the fight coordinator who was counting a wad of cash. The balding man barely looked at him and just held out his hand for the payment. Dick couldn’t get his money out fast enough and before he even confirmed that he was the next fight, he was already taking his shirt off and going between the rope barriers to the floor.

The loser of the last fight was being dragged off with no concern for his well-being, while the victor stood off to the side guzzling some water. She barely side-eyes him, a quick sweep of her eyes without turning to face him, and he already feels himself flushing hot from the attention. He preens and starts stretching out his shoulders, rolling his ankles and warming up his legs at the same time. 

He barely registers the presence of the announcer, ears filled with cotton and eyes narrowing at his opponent. He looks for weaknesses, anything that would get him an edge, as he crouches into a starting position. Her wound is an obvious target and she’s short enough for easy face and neck shots. Hair pulling is also an option if he feels particularly brutish. She mirrors his stance, crouch closer to her feet and legs wider to increase lunging distance, and the full force of her gaze almost bowls him over. His eyes harden into ice shards, not willing to be swayed by twin pools of blue fire. The bell dings. He charges.

He swings an uppercut that just grazes her chin and she recoils, spins back and jabs an elbow in his ribs. He grabs her by the same elbow and twists his wrist. She twinges in pain but the hold doesn’t last long. She follows the rotation of her arm and faces him. He smells faint traces of beer on her lips and his mind swims. Pain erupts in his nose as she smashes her forehead into him. She kicks into his knee and sweeps his other leg out from underneath him. She clasps her fists together and drives them into the protruding knobs of his spine, ramming him into her awaiting knee. She moves to pin him and he uses this to his advantage. He grabs the arm that was about to press into his throat and spins her around on top of him, his chest to her back. He locks one leg around hers and cants his weight to the side, pinning her face first into the disgusting mat; he completely blankets her with his much larger body. This position doesn’t hold for long either. She still has an arm free and she uses it to punch into the side of his head. It’s not a particularly strong hit, but with the pain in his nose, and his brain feeling like it’s underwater, it is enough to disorient him and she pushes him off by her hips. 

Her narrow escape lights a fire under his skin and he reaches to grapple for her again. She slips away, again, and stands. He scurries to stand as well and immediately ducks from a leg swinging for his ribs. 

“What brings you here?” Dick almost gets whiplash from how fast he has to move. He was not expecting her to engage in conversation, much less initiate it. But she doesn’t sound malicious, just curious, and she pauses in her assault in attacks to display how genuine she was.

“Same as everyone else,” he says. He swings right for her head and follows left when she ducks, knocking her in her shoulder. “I want to pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist and get slapped around for a while. You?”

She snickers at his honesty and drops into a leg sweep. He jumps over the leg but clearly she was expecting it. She rides her momentum into a roundhouse that knocks him flat as he descends. She doesn’t hesitate and charges to pin him again. 

He lets her.

“Why does someone as pretty as you want to risk ruining that nice face of yours?” Her face is close, much closer than this pin requires but he doesn’t want to push her away. But the show must go on so he kicks her in the stomach, digging his toe into her bandaged side to get her off. She recoils like a snake about to spring and regards him with cold resentment. She clearly doesn’t like the reminder of her injuries. 

“I could ask you the same thing, sweetheart. What’s a lovely lady like you doing here getting down and dirty with the local dogs?” She is many things he regards, but lovely is not one of them. ‘Stray cat’ would better describe the scrappy woman before him. The address sets her on edge and he almost regrets describing her as such. Almost. Her next series of punches have him on the defensive and he’s pushed back all the way until he feels the ropes rubbing into the bare skin of his back. The flurry of sensations is exhilarating. Suddenly it’s too much and not enough. He ducks the next punch and grabs both wrists. He made the mistake the first time and knows better now. She won’t escape him unless he lets her. Not one to be outdone, she pulls one more trick out. She doesn’t resist his grip and instead leans up closer to his ear. Her chest is pressed flush against him and he knows she’s tipping just to reach him. Her lips, damp with sweat and cooling blood, brush against his ear and a weight settles at the base of his spine.

“Got a firm grip there?” her voice is soft, almost delicate, and he almost doesn’t register the question. His tongue feels like lead and his mouth has run dry; his brain can’t make the right connections to form words. He tightens his hold on her as an answer instead. She gets it though because she chuckles a swift ‘Good’ before she’s leaping and bracing her feet against his stomach. She leans back and uses her weight to pull them both to the ground, then she lifts her feet and flips him over. His fingers loosen and she slips out of his hold again. She follows the momentum of her roll and sits firmly on his hips, one leg pinning each of his down. She grabs both of his wrists in her small hand and uses the other to tip his chin back, his skull crashing into the mat harshly, blunt nails digging into his skin.

Her face looms over his, again closer than is strictly necessary, and she smirks at him. Her tongue peaks out and swipes at the sweat above her upper lip. He holds his breath, waiting to hear what she has to say next. His patience doesn’t reward him that satisfaction, however. A ding echoes into the room, cutting through the shouts and growls of their captive audience. She won. 

Her victorious smile is a thing of beauty, he can’t really lament his loss. Before he could overthink and get lost in his head he takes a dive headfirst and gives into his impulses.

“I’m Richard Grayson. Call me Dick.” He sounds breathless and rung out. 

“I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” her name is perfect like her. She releases his arms and moves to get off him. She offers a hand to help him up and he takes it. Before he could say something stupid she continues her introduction.

“You can call me Nette. I hope to see you next week.”

She will.

[butwhyduh]

Hello! idk whether requests r open, but hope they r. just feel like reading a random damian wayne x reader where reader is his best friend. Any horror will do. Thx!!

In the Darkness

Damian Wayne x BFF!reader

Warning: scary stuff, blood, horror

It was a dark stormy night in Gotham. That terrible temperature that hovered just above freezing until almost morning where it dipped just enough to make an awful icy morning commute. Normally you would be bracing yourself for your next morning trip to school. And forget about being warm, your apartment could barely keep up with being above freezing.

But this night you sat on plush velvet with a roaring fire in a gigantic stone fireplace at one of the Wayne’s penthouses in the city. The wall sized windows showed Gotham through streaming water. It almost looked peaceful.

Breaking you from your revery was a bowl of popcorn being plopped in your lap. You looked up to see Damian with a half grin before he sat down beside you. Titus sat down on his other side.

“We have that film you wanted to watch in theatre,” he said grabbing the remote.

“D, it’s still in theatres,” you said surprised. “How did you get it?”

“A, my father is Bruce Wayne. I could probably buy it. And B, I saved a certain theatre from being robbed and they owed me one and they lent me the film. You’re welcome,” he said, still looking at the screen. For Damian, that was practically the biggest compliment, that he thought about you.

“Thanks. Yeah, I usually just block out the fact that your dad is Bruce Wayne to be honest,” you said eating the popcorn.

“Be less honest,” he said with a gentle shoulder shove. “Let’s watch the film. I have to train tomorrow.”

It was a good movie. Scary with a bit of gore, though you weren’t prepared for Damian to tell you how blood patterns worked differently.

But with only 10 minutes left and the killer almost revealed, the power went out. You groaned and moved to grab your phone. Damian stiffened and looked around.

“Great, my phone is dead,” you said rolling your eyes. Damian quickly looked at his, dead too. At this point he was tense and Titus was on alert.

“Nothing should be out,” he said quietly.

“It’s a big storm, dude,” you said about to ask about flashlights.

“We have 2 main power supplies and 3 back ups. There should be no outage. And my phone was fully charged before the movie. There was a power pulse. This is a Wayne Enterprise owned building and we are in the penthouse. This could be an attack or coop,” he said standing. Titus stood by him and you couldn’t help but stand.

“There’s 2 ways to this floor. The main elevator and the service elevator that is in the guest bathroom,” Damian said. Knowing your location could save your life.

“You think someone is coming up here,” you said quietly. He nodded and moved over to the wall and grabbed a sword from a stand on the wall. You had thought it was decorative. Of course it was real. It was Damian’s.

“Here,” Damian said, reaching in his pocket to grab a large pocket knife. You blanched. “Worst case scenario only. You could hurt yourself before someone else because you aren’t trained. But if your cornered, this could save your life. Only open it if you really need it. Got it?”

“Yeah, D,” you said with frown. He stood a few feet in front of you and Titus was a safe distance away on alert. Your heart was pounding. You really regretted not taking Damian up on the offer to teach you some self defense. At the time the idea of bruises all over your body was the last thing you wanted.

The elevator dinged. It shouldn’t have. You needed a passcode and finger print to operate it. Not to mention, the power was supposed to be out. The door opened and a green mist wafted out and Damian stepped back to avoid it. Gotham villains loved toxins and he didn’t want to be under the power of fear toxin or pheromones or something. Titus got a dose and began barking wildly.

Damian pushed you back with his arm not holding the sword. “Try not to breath it,” he said as the mist filled the apartment. He could make out the shape of a person but couldn’t identify them. Within a minute, Damian realized that they were just some poor victim of whoever set up the toxin. They were screaming silently while their eyes darted around the room. Great, it was probably fear toxin.

Damian pushed a panic button he kept in his jacket pocket at pretty much all times. Hopefully the energy pulse didn’t affect the button. You shoved your shirt over your nose but it was futile. Damian stood in front of you looking around wildly. His eyes were dilated and his breathing was rough.

“Don’t move. It’s all fake! Don’t fall for it. It’s all fake!” He yelled and swung his sword away from you at nothing. Your vision blurred.

Damian and Titus fought some invisible monster in front of you. You turned to see the windows melting. You gasped loudly as the glass slid down like wet gelatin. The floor grew heavy. You weren’t even facing the same direction as Damian any more. You heart thumped painfully in a hard slow rhythm.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You heard screaming laughter. Was the fucking Joker here?? You looked around to see no one.

“It’s in your head,” Damian yelled. He was still fighting an invisible foe. “It’s fake!”

The wall began to cave in. You could feel your body slide slowly towards the gaping window. You grasped at the couch but it too began to slide towards the edge of the wall. You were 50 floors up. There was no way to survive it. You shrieked and grabbed at the slick tile floor. The cold marble bit at your hands.

You could see your blood stick to the floor before defying gravity and floating to the ceiling. It pulsed with your heartbeat. You could hear the laughter in your head. It was so loud. You grasped at your skull. Your bloodied fingers left little streaks of blood all over your face.

Damian was calling you but he was the most dangerous one in the room. He was wildly swinging a sword and he and Titus were furiously fighting a battle. Was he fighting a past foe? The man in the elevator picked the wrong moment to move because Damian came closer and closer to him.

You watched as Damian killed him. His sword sliced the man’s arm first and he barred his teeth before growling at Damian. His eyes were wild and movement was more like an animal over human. Damian slashed him, this time in the abdomen. Dark red blood pooled from the wound and the man bellowed in pain. You cried and rocked. The world was collapsing.

The man was like a wounded beast and he tried to gnarl and slash his hands at Damian. Damian jabbed quickly, almost faster than you could see, and the man breathed his last breath as Damian’s sword pierced his heart. Blood pooled out almost lazily post death. The man’s eyes froze wide and terrible. You cried freely. Damian didn’t stop. He clearly was fighting another foe in his mind.

You balance turned on you and you almost threw up as you gripped the floor. “Stop! Stop!” You yelled as Damian and Titus both continued their battle with nothing.

The floor was turning again. This time, it became sticky as the ceiling melted down towards you. Little bits of melted plaster burned the floor. You rolled away as a large chunk hit the ground. The laughter sounded again and you saw a flash of white face pulled tight in a chaotic laugh.

The second elevator sounded and you scampered away and to behind the couch. Your fingers were white as they gripped the fabric to keep from falling out of the window. Monsters, beasts, men in black suits hurried towards you. Damian screamed and slashed at the air between him and the attacker.

“Don’t touch her! Don’t fucking touch her,” he bellowed. But it was too late. A monster in red grabbed you. You screamed and fought, landing a hit to their chest and a bite to their hand.

“She fucking bit me! Goddamn,” the big man groaned. He wrapped his arms around you tightly and you bucked but it was useless. He had you and you couldn’t escape. A man in black and blue shot Damian with a taser. This was how you were going to die, in a melting building with men as monsters grabbing you. How could you possibly fight them when they took Damian down? He’s the son of Batman.

A monster with a shifting face, once a man and another a beast, came towards you with a syringe. His mouth gaped and swallowed blackness. “No! No,” you moaned. Your throat was raw from screaming. He quickly jabbed you in the neck. Before you passed out, you saw the screaming laughing face of the Joker.

—————————————

12 hours later you woke up. You sat up quickly only to see Damian’s bedroom in the manor. Your head spun for a moment before stopping. His crisp white sheets and blue blanket and red ornamental rug laid on wooden floor. You were alone. You felt a small bandage on your neck and your fingers had small scabs along the nail lines on both hands. One of your fingernails was cut jagged to the quick. You grimaced as you touched the injured skin.

The walk from his bed into the hallway showed you two things: the floor was really cold and that you were wearing Damian’s clothing. A simple grey sweatpants rolled up and black Superman shirt was not enough in the chilly manor. You opened the door to an empty hallway. The floor had a thick soft rug that covered the sounds of your feet. You heard the sound of voices from the library at the end of the hall.

“I almost killed her,” you heard Damian say. His voice sounded pained and raw.

“It was the fear toxin. You didn’t do anything,” said one of his brothers. You couldn’t tell who yet but probably the oldest.

“I almost eviserated her, Grayson,” Damian said flatly. “The fear toxin made her cry in the corner and I almost cut her in 2.”

“She managed to bite me,” said another deeper voice.

“You left yourself open to be attacked,” said a third voice.

“Enough. She’s awake,” said a final voice that you definitely recognized as Damian’s father. “Come in.”

Damian sat on the edge of a wooden desk. Bruce sat in the desk chair behind the desk. Dick sat on a chair in the corner. Jason stood by Dick’s chair and Tim paced by a bookshelf. The other bat kids must have been out working.

“Hey,” Damian said searching your face and body for injury. He almost looked... vulnerable. His eyes stared at the bandage on your neck.

“Hi,” you said and your voice felt raw and painful. You rubbed your throat.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asked. Damian quickly got you a chair. You sat down slowly. Your head still throbbed.

“Okay I guess. What happened?” You asked.

“Someone got ahold of a new street drug that uses a certain variety of fear toxin that is fast acting but short term and they atomized it and released it into the tower. They did it through a vent from the top down so you both got the largest dose. Luckily the security guard on the bottom floor only had some anxiety and a racing heartbeat and was able to recognize the situation. Damian’s tracker was activated and we got you both out as fast as we could,” Tim said.

You rubbed your temple. That didn’t sound right. What about the elevator? The man?

“Does your head hurt? We can get you something for that,” Damian said.

“I’m okay. Thanks. How long was I out?” You said trying to put things together.

“12 hours, give or take. You should probably get back in bed until tomorrow. Your mind and body need a break,” Bruce said. You nodded. Your head did hurt and you were tired but you couldn’t relax. There was just something off about everything. Maybe a side effect of the toxin. Damian offered to walk you back into your room.

“I’ll give you some medication to help with your headache. It might make you sleepy, okay?” He said pulling a syringe from a drawer in the room.

“Okay, I guess. My head does hurt,” you said climbing back in bed. Damian smiled and injected your arm.

His face. He smiled widely. Wider than he ever had before. Wide enough to have a gaping blackness. You went to scream but you were too tired. You tried to grab him to find you were tied in place. The manor’s neat clean walls faded to dirty dingy peeling mess and you could smell must and mildew. Your vision blurred.

The sound of a screaming laugh from a pulled back face was the only thing you could hear.

Let me know what you guys think 😀

It’s a part 1 of 2. The second part might be out Friday or next Friday depending on my schedule.

[triscribe]

Swing Batter Batter

Part of a larger fic posted on AO3 over here, in which token metahuman abilities are pretty common, and it’s not unusual to encounter a circus kid who can fly, or a cop who gets impressions of a person’s intentions when shaking their hand, or in this case, a street thief with super strength. 

-Swing-

When he registered the Bat standing over him, Jason didn’t think, he just grabbed and swung as hard as he could. If he’d been a regular scrawny street kid, he didn’t doubt the tire iron would just bounce off with barely a bruise to show for the effort. But Jason stopped counting as ‘regular’ last year, and his skinny arms were plenty strong enough to land a blow that knocked the Bat clear off his feet.

Jason then promptly ran for his life.

He made it to the end of the alley and swerved first around the corner, and again into the narrow gap between wall and dumpster. There he froze, heart pounding, hands shaking, as he waited for either Batman’s footsteps to go past his hiding place like so many others, or for one of those big hands to grab his hoodie and yank him out into the open.

...a couple minutes of nothing went by.

...and then a few more.

Jason’s heart kept pounding at breakneck speed, but shifted from running on adrenaline to fear. He eased himself back out from behind the dumpster, and peeked around the alley corner. Just to double check; maybe the Bat decided to chase him from above, and that fourth tire could be retrieved after all-

Except two thick-soled boots were laying next to the fancy car.

Shit.

He’d killed the Bat.

Shit shit shit - every crook in Gotham would be out for Jason’s blood, looking to curbstomp the little pest trying to make a name for himself. Or worse, someone nuts would show up like the effing Joker in order to get revenge over not getting to off the Bat himself-

One boot shifted. A deep voice wheezed. Jason nearly fell over in relief.

And then, because the Bat didn’t move again, and because Jason was an idiot of the worst kind, he edged his way back towards the car and the crimefighter lying prone beside it. “Uh. Batman? You gonna be okay?”

Another wheeze. Jason got close enough to peek around the car’s fender, and saw the man just staring upwards through the narrowed lenses of his mask. It took a second, but the Bat could apparently tell when he was being watched, because he tilted his head and the lenses opened up a little more so he could stare back. “...’f Robin were here,” the man grumbled, “He’d ask, if you swing for the Knights...”

Jason’s face spasmed as he tried not to laugh. “Nope. Maybe when I’m older, if they pay good.”

Batman snorted, and then wheezed again, one hand starting to grab for his stomach only to stop and clench into a fist. “Got the same spot, as Killer Croc, two nights ago.”

At that, Jason winced. He’d only ever seen Croc in newspaper pictures before, but the guy was definitely huge, and it didn’t take a leap of logic to assume he hit hard, too. “Uh. Sorry?”

The Bat gave an aborted huff. Slowly, he pushed himself up, palms flat to the ground. Then he rolled, to pull one knee underneath himself, and gradually stood while leaning against the car. Jason made sure to keep out of arm’s reach.

After that, the man just braced himself and breathed for a minute, before shifting enough to once again peer down at Jason. “I assume you took the tires to sell.”

He nodded.

“How much?”

Jason lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Depends on which chop shop I take ‘em to. At least a hundred apiece, maybe a bonus if I get all four.” That probably wouldn’t be an option, seeing as he’d wasted enough time for the Bat to get back to his feet. Honestly, Jason needed to run at this point, but he still felt kinda bad. Batman was just about the only good thing in Gotham as far as working folks were concerned, and even if he wasn’t dead, it didn’t seem right to leave him alone and hurting in Crime Alley...

Jason blinked when a roll of green suddenly appeared in front of his face. “Five hundred,” Batman said dryly, “If you bring back the other three.”

Well hot damn.

In the space of twenty minutes, Jason not only brought back the tires he’d spirited off, he went ahead and put ‘em back on the car, just ‘cause the Bat didn’t seem inclined to bend and use his stomach muscles any time soon. And besides, five hundred dollars. That would be food and rent and even new clothes when the weather turned cold. 

As he worked, though, Jason couldn’t help but feel Batman’s gaze on him. It didn’t seem angry, didn’t raise the hairs on the back of his neck like when certain guys leered, but he still started to feel just the slightest bit antsy. And then, right as he was tightening up the bolts on the final tire, the Bat made his move. “You don’t want to go into foster care, do you.”

Jason scoffed at that.

“Have you been flagged as a meta?”

“‘Course not, never told anyone. Didn’t get strong until after I was on my own, and I’m not stupid enough to put a target on my back to get ‘recruited’ by any of the gangs.”

The Bat hummed.

-Swing-

Jason Peter Todd-Wayne

Date of Birth: August 16th, 1996

No Known Meta Abilities

“Man, rich people get away with anything,” Jason huffed. “Park wherever you want, buy shit you’re not s’posed to have, falsify your paperwork...”

Bruce just grunted, but it was an agreeable sound rather than an annoyed one. And, privately, Jason couldn’t help but feel pleased by the adoption paperwork, his brand new name right at the top of the page.

Which just left the matter of deciding on his other name.

When Bruce had found the pages torn out of a notebook with costume designs sketched out and messy notes in the margins, he’d glanced at Jason out of the corner of his eye and haltingly said he could be the new Robin. And part of Jason felt thrilled by the idea, but-

But.

Robin flew. He soared around skyscrapers, did somersaults mid-air, zipped along just above the ground to take crooks out at the knees. Jason didn’t do that - Jason couldn’t do any of that. The closest he’d ever get to flight would be grappling from perch to perch like Batman did. Which, admittedly, was really insanely awesome, but still.

Jason couldn’t be Robin.

-Swing-

...at least, not until he sat on the Manor roof one evening a few weeks later with Dick Grayson, who sighed and smiled at him. “You could wear them, y’know. My colors. My suit.”

“But- our powers-”

“Are different,” Dick agreed, “But that just means we bring different strengths to the playing field. Literal strength, in your case.” He grinned and ruffled Jason’s hair.

Batting away the playful fingers, Jason took a few moments to consider it. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I will.”

(Dick still argued viciously with Bruce in nine out of ten conversations. But every so often he’d come by to pick up Jason, and they’d go flying over the forested property, or drive into the city to get ice cream, or a dozen other things Dick very firmly insisted on referring to as Civilian Brotherly Bonding Activities. And a couple years later, when Jason started having his own problems with Bruce, and found his birth certificate in an old box with a different woman’s name listed as his mother-

Well.

He knew just who to go to with it.)

[writingblock101]

Doctor’s Orders (Jason Todd x Reader)

Yeah, so this wasn’t the next request. I wrote this in the notes of my phone (it was suppose to be a few lines of dialog oops) then I was going to wait to post it until after I finished the request, but then I was really unhappy with how the last Duke request came out so I wanted to give y’all something I was actually happy with. Enjoy! 

Word count: 1300 

Warnings: Got a little horny on the main, but kept it low key cause I wanted it to be gender neutral. 

Tags: @idkmanicantenglish @mayahoelland2013 @incrediblysadstudent (I wanted to tag you in a fic I was actually happy with but bless you for reblogging the last one!) 

You walk into your apartment but immediately groan at the sight of Jason slumped on the floor, under your window. He's holding his side, meaning he's bleeding...again. 

"Jason, this is the third time this week you've tried to bleed out on my living room floor," You whine, crossing the room to squat in front of him. 

He chuckles weakly. 

"Old habits die hard." 

"Yeah, so do dumbasses with very little self preservation," You mutter, pulling his jacket back to examine the wound. "You need better armor." 

"I'm on a budget," He argues with a grimace. 

"Your dad is Batman," You roll your eyes. "I'm sure he can spare a few dollars if it means his dumbass son won't bleed out on some poor nurse's floor." 

"I think he'll be more focused on the nurse than on my corpse," Jason grins then winces as you prod at the bullet wound. 

"Please tell me you can walk," You beg. “Because there is no way in hell I can carry you to my bathroom." 

"Not with that attitude," Jason bites. 

You blink, a small smile trying to force its way into your face. 

"Are you using my own line against me?" 

"I hope to use a lot more than just a line against you," He winks. 

You roll your eyes again, and pull Jason's arm over your shoulder then shift your weight, ready to stand. 

"Alright, we're going to stand on three, you ready?" 

Jason grimaces then braces his hand on the window sill. 

"One, two, three," Jason groans in pain and you clench your teeth under the weight but push with your legs more and are able to stand with Jason weighing down on you.

"Wow," He grins weakly. "You work out?" 

"Shut up," You mutter, slowly guiding him to the bathroom. 

Luckily, Jason is using you more as a crutch than you actually lifting him. He seems lucid so clearly he hasn’t lost too much blood, he just needs some guidance. 

"With an ass like that, you clearly don't skip leg day," Jason continues, his hand slides down your back to grab your butt. 

"Jason," You sigh, trying to maneuver him through the doorway. 

"It's that college drop out music, every day leg day she be too thick," Jason sings. 

"Will you stop flirting with me while you're actively bleeding out?" You snap with no real heat while lowering Jason onto the toilet lid. 

"Does this mean I can hit on you once you stitch me up?" He asks hopefully. 

You sigh again, pulling out your first aid kit. 

"Sure. I think two years of dating has earned you that right." 

"Good," Jason grins as you help him pull his jacket and shirt off. "Cause what fun is it to have a hot nurse if you don't get to let them know?" 

"I can think of a lot of things," You mutter, cleaning away the wound. 

"You're right!" He exclaims. "Role play." 

"Oh my gosh," You roll your eyes again with a small smile as a blush works it way into your cheeks. 

"You're blushing!" Jason exclaims. "You're into it!" He drops his voice to the one you've dubbed his "Red Hood" voice. "You would like that, wouldn't you?" 

You're truly ashamed at the shiver his low voice sends down your spine but you regain your composure as you prepare your sutures. 

"What did I say about flirting with me while you're bleeding out?!" 

"Sorry," Jason grins with an completely unapologetic smile. His voice drops again. "I'll be sure to make it up to you." 

You shiver again, feeling heat pool in the last place you want heat pooling when you're about to stitch someone up.

"Stop it!" You snap, leaning forward to start stitching up Jason.

"Sorry, baby," He pulls you closer by your hips into a long, heated kiss. "But you just do things to me," Jason growls against your lips, his voice dropping again. 

You nearly moan, melting into the kiss, then remember you are in fact holding a needle and pull away. 

"Jason! We're talking five minutes to stitch you up!" 

He grins again, and even soaked with sweat, and covered in blood, he's still so damn handsome (hell, you might argue that the blood and sweat are what add to the effect, but you're not going to admit that to anybody.) 

"I'll let you work," He holds his hands up innocently. "But I can't promise I'll keep my hands to myself after," The look he gives you is downright sinful. 

"Yeah," You mutter, leaning forward and stitching the wound together. "Well, you're not going to be able to do much with your stitches." 

"Good thing I've got someone to help me out," Jason brings his hands back to your hips and kisses the side of your head. 

It takes a single glare for him to grin at you unapologetically again. 

"Sorry." 

"Uh huh, sure you are," You roll your eyes. 

"Trust me, baby, if you could see what I see every day, you'd get my inability to keep my hands to myself," He pulls on you again, his voice lowering to a growl again. 

"I thought I banned you from flirting with me while stitching to up," You mutter, pulling tight on one of the stitches. 

"Can't help it, gorgeous," Jason kisses your neck, making you shiver again. "You make me lose my self control." 

He kisses your neck again, making you shiver and close your eyes for a moment. He's about to make you lose your self control too. You breathe in sharply, and snap your eyes open, and hone in on threading the last stitch. 

"There!" You declare, securing gauze and tape over Jason's fresh stitches.

He immediately lifts you by your thighs and pins you to the wall, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. 

"Started thinking about you on patrol," Jason growls in his low voice. "About how I can't wait to have you under me, moaning my name," He begins to suck a hickey on your neck.

You moan softly, knotting your fingers into his hair, and your legs around his waist. 

"I want you sprawled out on the sheets, begging and desperate," He continues, biting lightly where your neck and shoulder meet. "I want to feel your fingers in my hair, your nails scratching down my back," Jason thrusts against you, showing how hard he is. "You feel that?" He murmurs to you. 

"Yeah," You respond breathlessly. 

"That's all for you, baby," Jason growls back. "Do you have any fucking clue what you to do me?"

"I might need a demonstration," You reply, grinding down against Jason. 

His hand slips into your pants. You groan, your head hitting the wall, his fingers moving in all the right ways, stroking, rubbing. Jason leans back from his spot against your neck to watch your facial expressions as he speeds his movements up. Your nails dig into his shoulders and you gasp. 

"Open your eyes, baby," He murmurs to you. 

You manage to force your eyes open, and lean forward to rest against his forehead. 

"Jason," You moan shakily. 

"That's right," He murmurs. "I want to hear you," Jason kisses you again, your mouth going slack against him. 

He slows his movements, making you whine.

"Jay," You beg, grinding into his hand. 

"Something wrong, baby doll?" Jason grins, leaning forward to pepper more kisses down your neck. 

"Please," You beg, grinding against him. "I need you." 

Jason pulls you into another long kiss.

"Well, since you asked so nicely, why don't we move this to the bedroom so I can show you my gratitude." 

He carries you to the bedroom and sets you on the bed before crawling over you, and boxing you in with his huge form. Jason gives you another long kiss as his warm hands run under your shirt. As your fingers curl back into his hair, pulling him closer to you, you don't care about his stitches reopening, especially if it means you'll get to ride Jason. You suppose being Red Hood's nurse has it perks.

I don’t know why it’s been hard to motivate myself to write, but I promise that Damian request is coming soon! Hope y’all liked my blackbear reference.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

From The Ashes

by scandalsavage

He knows what Bruce will find. There’s hardly an inch of unmarred skin below his neck. Burns, cuts, bullet holes, places where broken bones have ripped through the flesh, tears and punctures, and gashes from various “toys” the Joker wanted to show Jason how to play with…

He holds his breath as Bruce carefully pulls off his shirt, as he slowly drags down his pants and underwear. He doesn't even realize he’s crying again until Bruce thumbs away the tears.

Bruce’s breath is ragged and not in a good way. In a wet, horrified way. Jason braces himself for disgust. Tries to steel himself for the inevitable rejection.

“My brave, beautiful boy,” Bruce hums as he starts to pepper little kisses up and down Jason’s body, one for each scar. He lingers on the bullet hole at Jason’s shoulder.

The one Joker filmed.

“I thought I lost you,” Bruce breathes, voice thick with emotion. “I thought you were gone forever. But here you are. Returned to me. My miracle.”

Words: 2774, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Batman: Arkham Knight (Video Games), Batman: Arkham Knight Genesis (Comics), Batman - All Media Types

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne

Relationships: Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne

Additional Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Second Chances, Loss of Virginity, First Time, First Kiss, Body Worship, Praise Kink, Sad and Sweet, So many emotions, Men Crying, Love Confessions, Explicit Sexual Content

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/44381299

[bluegarners]

“someone slips on ice and gets hurt... hurt/comfort pls!” ~anon

For 12 Days of Batfam prompts! 

Gotham is cold.

He doesn’t mean that metaphorically, like Batman would normally brood over. Sure, Gotham was pretty heartless when it came to certain things, and yeah, Bludhaven wasn’t any better, and sure, Gotham sometimes felt like one endless cycle of insanity day after day, but he’s getting away from the point.

He’s talking about the frigid kind of cold. Not the kind of cold where snow falls lightly from the sky and dusts the world in white. Not the kind of cold where it’s just chilly enough to put on a jacket and some gloves and start a fire (a contained and safe fire, mind you- arson is not part of that description) and maybe sip some hot chocolate and roast a couple marshmallows for the heck of it. 

That’s the kind of crisp weather Dick would like, but as he said: Gotham is cold.

Which brings him to where he is now, jogging in place and trying his best to stay warm on what may be the most boring stake-out he’s done in months. His suit isn’t built to be warm. It’s not bulky and though it has kevlar in it, the material is meant to help stop bullets and deter knives from gracing themselves into his, unfortunately, vulnerable organs. Point being, the skin tight and relatively thin suit he’s wearing isn’t built for Gotham’s icy chill. 

His fingers had gone numb a while ago, and Dick’s absolutely sure he’s sporting a new shade of blue lipstick from Fenty Beauty, and were someone to see him, Dick’s also certain they might mistake him for Rudolph. He wouldn’t mind being recognized as such an icon, but it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing to intimidate criminals with.

Efforts at staying warm prove futile, and the exercise he tries to do without being obvious also does little to put back some feeling into his toes. He’s thinking about calling it a night, the drug deal he’d been hoping to catch the last few weeks a bust, when a classically suspicious white van pulls up. It’s laughable, in a way, how stereotypical some of Gotham’s “lesser” villains could be, but Dick’s not one to complain.

Makes his job easier after all.

Two men exit the van, shuffling through some contents in the back. They’re both wearing ski masks, somewhat appropriate for the weather actually, and seem to be in a hurry. Hushed whispers go between the two as they wait stoically by the front doors of the van, what looks to be a small ziploc back clutched in one of the goons hands. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it’s a drug deal, or at least something related to it, and Dick feels a smile creep onto his frozen face as another person slowly walks up to them, shifty and anxious.

A newbie then, Dick thinks, crouching down and carefully making his way closer to them from his vantage point. Must be a kid then.

Based on the height and general demeanor of the newcomer, it’s safe to assume that the buyer is indeed a teenager, at most a young adult. Perhaps not even old enough to buy alcohol. How they heard about the new drug, and where to get it, was a bit surprising, but seeing as the deal was happening in the poorer districts, Dick was sadly not perturbed. 

There are few quick words exchanged, an envelope of cash being handed over for the ziploc baggie, and Dick knows it’s time to finally take action. A good thing too, seeing as it feels like the soles of his boots had become suspended to the frozen concrete.

His entrance startles both parties, the men in ski masks immediately reaching for weapons and the teenager backing away, stumbling over himself in an effort to run. Perhaps if they were more experienced, or at the very least a second more prepared, they would have been able to put up some sort of defense. As it were, though, Dick had been stalking this particular drug for weeks. He knew where most of the suppliers were, knew what areas they liked to sell in, knew their demographics and the supply chain, and also knew who and what the dealers consisted of. 

This “new” drug was really just a potent mixture of PCP and bath salts. A dangerous combination, but not valuable enough to have competent dealers and proper weapons for protection. 

Which is why the take down of both men lasts all of about seven seconds, Dick easily knocking them out before they could reach for any weapons they happened to have in that van of theirs. He’ll give them props for trying though- it’s not everyday Nightwing, of all people, decides to ruin your one job.

With the dealers out of the way, Dick turns back around to see the teen, baggie in tow and still clutched tightly in his fist, booking it across the street. It’s dark enough to the point where the boy just looks like a flighty shadow in the night, but the flickering lamp-posts give just enough light to show exactly where he was heading. The confidence in his gait suggested that he knew where he wanted to go, and if Dick had to make a hypothesis, he’d say the kid was heading home. 

The only place in the world that could feel safe after something like this.

Dick feels a frown pull on his face, the skin tight from being exposed to the bitter air, and not for the first time, feels a smidgen of sympathy for the situation. He brushes it off though, shelving that particular thought of his to the back of his mind, and grapples onto the building over, pulling himself over the ledge. 

He follows the kid from the rooftops, leaping over gaps and darting across fire-escapes to keep up with the twists and turns the teen took. If he knew he was being tailed, then the kid was doing a pretty good job at evading, but he was no match for someone who had trained for years doing this exact thing. Dick may live in Bludhaven now, but Gotham would always be his first home. He knew this city almost as well as Bruce, and the only reason he didn’t know just as much was because he hadn’t given his soul away to it just yet. Bruce had shaken hands with the city and signed away his being when he donned the cowl. 

Dick was attempting to do the same with Bludhaven.

The kid bolts into an alleyway, coat flying behind him in his mad dash, and Dick thinks now is the time to stop the chase. He descends from the rooftop, landing in front of the breathless teen, and holds out a hand firmly. It’s a little funny, the scene he makes. Not only does he look like Rudolph, but with the pose he’s made for himself, he might as well be a crosswalk guard with his hand up to halt speeding cars.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he says, not unkindly. “Let’s do this the easy way, kid.”

The teen takes a step back, the drugs held tightly against his chest. “You’re… you’re Nightwing.”

“The one and only,” Dick smiles, taking a step forward. 

“But-but this is Batman’s city. Why are you here? You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Honestly, kid, that’s not your biggest concern right now. If I were you, I would be worrying about how to explain those drugs you’ve got there.”

As if realizing the contents of the baggie for the first time, the teens eyes dart to it, panic setting in as the situation’s gravity, and what it could mean for him, overwhelms him.

“Th-These aren’t mine,” the kid tries. “I-I swear I wasn’t gonna use them.”

“Uh huh,” Dick says, taking another step closer. “Why don’t you try again, uh, what’s your name?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Okay,” Dick shrugs, easing his way nearer. “That’s fine, I’ll just call you Buddy. Now, Buddy, there are two ways this can go. One, you give me that bag and you’ll only be reported for minor drug possession. Gotham has a fine ranging from 30 to 50 dollars for that sort of crime, so it won’t be too bad. The second option is, well, I don’t think you want the second option. So, what’s it going-”

Now, Dick could blame about ten different things for what happened next. He could blame his mouth, as he gets too chatty with the younger ones sometimes. He could blame the poor lighting, seeing even more difficult at this time of night. He could even blame the wind for being too loud, lest he would’ve heard the quick intake of breath and shuffling feet. 

Dick could blame many different things, but as it were, Nightwing was being pushed, hard, and he hadn’t seen it coming. 

The unexpected shove throws him off balance, arms waving in the air for some sort of hold, and Nightwing probably would’ve been able to stop the fall on any other night, but, as he keeps being sorely reminded, Gotham is cold tonight.

Gotham’s cold was unforgiving and instead of snow, it produced ice. And, lucky him, a patch of black ice presented itself right where his unfortunate footing was trying to find some stabilization. His feet fly right out from under him, all four appendages now in the air and flailing comically.

Dick has the awareness to at least look where he’s falling, craning his neck just so, and he internally groans as the sight of an open garbage can meets him. For whatever reason, Gotham liked using metal cans, of all things, and this one did not have a lid on it. 

Fantastic.

He can’t catch himself, his arms out of his control (Dick also blames the cold for the numbness in his hands and, hence, lack of grip), and it’s all he can do but brace for impact. Oh, he’s so going to-

The side of his head slams into the rim of the metal bin, and the world goes white. He crumples against the frozen ground, boneless and suddenly without vision. Something warm, or decidedly extremely cold, slides down his neck and Dick can barely keep his eyes open. There’s no pain, at least not yet his muddled head reminds him, but he can’t seem to move or do anything for that matter. Sensations fail him and the lack of any visuals besides the blaring white and static in his eyes scares him. His tongue feels fuzzy, and there’s something smooth and metallic dribbling past his lips, but his biggest concern right now is getting up.

Laying here, injured, was a big no no. Vulnerability was a dangerous thing. If he could just… If he could just move his arm, he might be able to do something. Call for backup maybe. There’s a drug bust that’s going to go down soon and he’s been tracking these guys for weeks now and it would be a shame if they were to get away. Those drugs were dangerous after all, and in the wrong hands could get someone killed. It could get kids killed. It could get his… his buddy killed. Did he have a buddy? Buddy?

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.”

Dick hears the distorted voice from above, the sound crackly and pitchy. 

“Oh, god, I-I swear- oh my god. I didn’t mean to do that, I swear, I swear. Oh my god, what do I do. What do I- oh my god, I killed him. I killed him.”

If he could, Dick would roll over and try to console the obviously panicking person. He can’t exactly make out everything they were saying, but it sounded bad. What happened? Were they hurt?

A hand is jostling his shoulder now. 

“Sir, Nightwing, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please wake up, I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Wake up, wake up please. I’m sorry, oh my god, I didn’t-”

Another sound pings in his ear, like the toll of a tiny bell, but Dick doesn’t have the presence of mind to really register it. It’s the last thing he hears before the static overpowers him and the white disappears.

.

.

.

Tim hates being sick. He hates being benched even more, but he’s only benched because he’s sick. So maybe he actually hates being sick more than being benched. He’s not sure.

The head cold he’s been nursing, begrudgingly, the past few days has been steadily getting better. He woke up this morning without feeling like his head was being squeezed into a compressor, so it was progress. Alfred still won’t let him drink anything but water, something about hydration being key, but as he sips some hot chocolate from his favorite mug, Tim thinks that what Alfred doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

He’s on monitor duty currently, a task assigned to anyone who wasn’t out on patrol. Barbara was on a break tonight, taking the time off to sleep and try to catch up on other things, so it was left to Tim to handle the comms. It’s boring, horribly so, but it’s the only thing he’s allowed to do without being wrestled to his bed to rest.

He begins pinging everyone for their hourly check-in, a new protocol Bruce decided to implement after “the incident” (Tim still believes that the check-ins are unnecessary- it only happened one time! One time!), and waits for their response. He gets a few pings back, Spoiler being the only one to actually say hi, and waits for Nightwing to answer. 

A minute go by and Tim pings Nightwing again. Most likely, Dick was distracted. He’d said he was on a stake-out tonight, hopeful to catch some dealers in the act. Maybe he finally did. Maybe he didn’t. Tim doesn’t really care; the warm drink in his hands was making him sleepy.

Another minute passes, and Tim lethargically pings again. Concern is slowly seeping into his stuffy brain, but he’s deciding to give Dick a little more time to answer. Dick was a chatter-box sometimes, and though he doesn’t have a headache right now, Tim’s not eager to gain one.

“This is Red Robin, requesting a check in,” he says into the comms, frowning a bit when there’s still no answer. “Nightwing, report.”

He’s technically not supposed to do this, privacy being a very important part of all their lives, but the silence was making him nervous. With just the slightest bit of hesitance, Tim opens the communication line so he can listen to what, exactly, Dick is doing. The comms are two way, and with Tim having access to the main port, he can time into anyone's’ comm and hear the situation. Typically it’s yelling or curses on the other end, the normal reason for not answering the ping being a fight or some unavoidable situation.

What Tim isn’t prepared for, however, is the labored breathing that sounds horribly wet and pained. Like someone was breathing through a straw and drowning at the same time. Okay, not a great analogy, but he’s caught off guard and suddenly very aware of the fact that Nightwing is injured and, probably, incapacitated. 

There’s someone in the background as well, their voice not quite decipherable but panicked all the same. It’s definitely not a voice Tim recognizes and that amps up his anxiety a bit more. 

Quickly tuning to the shared channel, Tim urgently says, “Nightwing’s down. I’m sending out his location. Whoever is closest needs to get there ASAP. Someone’s with him as well, but I don’t know who it is. They might’ve been the one to attack him.”

“Robin and I are close. ETA two minutes,” Batman grunts, the slight pitch change an indication of his worry. “Is Nightwing’s comm broken?”

“No,” Tim sighs, unable to do anything more but listen to it all unfold. “He didn’t report in for the hourly. For whatever reason, he can’t respond. He’s injured, but I don’t know to what extent. He might be unconscious.”

“How long has he been down?” Robin demands.

“I don’t know,” Tim responds, growing frustrated. “He didn’t say anything earlier or call for backup.”

“Have Agent A prepare things,” Batman orders. “Treatment for hypothermia may be needed. Batman out.”

“Robin out.”

The moment of silence after is haunting, but the feeble breaths that come through a second later make Tim’s stomach churn. It fills the Cave, echoing and reverberating sounds of sickness and hurt.

He can’t turn it off though. He has to make sure Dick is okay. That he’s still breathing because although it’s grating and gut-wrenching to listen to, it’s a sign of life.

Tim hates being benched.

.

.

.

The one hundred and twenty three seconds it takes to get to Richard’s location is tense. It’s a blinking blue dot on the radar, flickering in and out as they draw nearer and nearer to the dank alleyway Nightwing was laying in. 

Batman and Robin had opted to patrol with the Batmobile that night, the bite of Gotham’s frost a needless pain to endure. Damian hadn’t made a comment about Richard’s foolish idea to do a stake-out in below freezing temperatures, it wasn’t his place to ridicule the man he looked up to on something so trivial, but Damian thinks he’s regretting that decision a bit. 

Richard listened to him. Not all the time, and frequently the older man possessed more knowledge on what was to happen, but he did consider Damian’s advice and for that, he was grateful. Now, Damian wished he had just slapped the man to get him to see straight. Clearly, the plan had been inane from the beginning, and now Nightwing needed to be rescued and assisted. 

An imbecilic situation.

They reach the entrance, or perhaps exit, of the alleyway, the path too dark to see clearly through. As soon as he opens the door, Damian hears the sounds of flighty footsteps and immediately plunges into the dim. He can see the figure now, a gangly and awkward excuse of a man running to the other end of the alley. Damian can sense Batman behind him in his pursuit, the comfort of backup strange. 

If this man, who they were chasing, was strong enough to incapacitate Nightwing, one of the best fighters in the world, then they may have a problem on their hands. 

Damian stops short though, almost falling onto his face as the gleam of ice appears in his peripherals. It catches the light of a dull and yellowing streetlamp, but it’s just enough to reflect onto the ice and reveal yet another figure, slumped over and unmoving.

Careful of the ice, Damian approaches cautiously, peering closely at the lump of mass laid against the brick wall. Batman keeps in pursuit, and soon, his cape disappears from the alley, determined to catch the fleeing perpetrator. Robin is alone now.

Taking out a flashlight from his belt, Damian directs its beam to the form and nearly gasps.

It’s Nightwing. Richard.

Immediately rushing closer, Damian is startled to see the sheer volume of blood weeping down the older man’s face, a stream of red that flows down his jaw and soaks the hemline of his suit. Taking in the situation, Damian sees the knocked over trash bin, a corner of the top suspiciously rust colored. Additionally, the ice patch that’s near the base of Richard’s feet, and the position he currently lays in, would suggest that Richard had fallen or been pushed over, slipping due to the ice. 

The amount of blood still flowing out of Nightwing is concerning, but if it was from a head wound, then it wouldn’t be surprising. As Richard liked to say, head trauma was the most dramatic trauma. 

The older man is unconscious, lips blue and face much paler than would be healthy. He doesn’t respond to Damian’s attempts at waking him up, including shining the flashlight directly into his eyes after peeling away his mask. However, in doing so, Damian also learns that Richard may be suffering from a concussion or worse, as his pupils barely contract when he passes the light back and forth.

“I have the suspect,” Batman says into the comms. “A teenager named Ben Purole. He claims he pushed Nightwing, resulting in him hitting his head on a garbage bin.”

Damian nods to himself, satisfied with the confirmation. “That is likely,” he responds, applying pressure to the now located head wound. “Nightwing is suffering from head trauma, perhaps a concussion, but appears to have no other wounds. He is bleeding and unconscious though. It would be wise to get him treated quickly.”

There’s a grunt on the other end to signal affirmation and less than twenty seconds later, Batman appears, carefully taking Nightwing into his arms and walking towards the Batmobile still parked at the entrance of the alley. Without prompting, Damian opens the side door, crawling in after Richard had been set to lay down.

The movement and sudden change in temperature seems to rouse him, a groan escaping his lips. Before Damian has properly fastened his seatbelt, the Batmobile is off, gliding easily across the icy roads. Father doesn’t like to drive fast during this kind of weather, though he knows the tires of the vehicle are built to grip onto slick surfaces, but there is a sense of urgency in the way he weaves between cars and runs lights.

“Wh’ happn?” Richard slurs from where his head rests in Damian’s lap.

“You were being brainless,” Damian responds, sniffing slightly, “and slipped gracelessly into a trash bin.”

“Skate?”

“No, you did not skate. What you did could hardly even be called falling. It was tasteless.”

“M’ head hurts.”

“Like I said,” Damian whispers, annoyance fading, “You fell. I believe your head collided with the edge of a metal bin.”

“Bleedin’?”

“Yes.”

“Con..concuss...con…”

“Yes, it is likely you have a concussion. You will be scanned when we arrive at the Cave to be sure.”

A moment of silence passes, nothing but the growl of the Batmobile’s engine to shake it.

“Richard?”

“Mmfph?”

“Are you… Are you alright?”

Two seconds.

“M’ cold.”

“Oh,” Damian says, slightly embarrassed. That was obvious, really. Why had he not provided a blanket yet? Or any sort of jacket or heat pad? Perhaps it was not just Richard being brainless tonight.

Gingerly, Damian shifts about, searching for anything that might provide warmth for the duration of the drive. He finds nothing though, the majority of their winter equipment most likely in the trunk. Richard’s lips are still blue and his shoulders shake in what might be shivers. His skin is cold to the touch, eyes squeezed shut and pained, and Damian cringes at the drying blood beginning to crack around his cheeks.

Now, Damian could provide multiple excuses for his next course of action. Not excuses, no, not that. He’d come to the reasonable conclusion that Richard was cold and may have hypothermia. There was also the conclusion that Richard most likely needed comfort, as he was still greatly disoriented and concussed. Damian’s actions were for the sole purpose of providing means of ensuring Richard’s safety as well, as even though Father was a good driver, one could never be too cautious, especially on such icy roads.

So, yes. Damian draping himself over Richard’s body in an awkward hug was purely for safety reasons. He intended to provide warmth with his own body heat and it was purely for Richard’s comfort. Nothing else. It was to help Richard. Damian did not need anything nor did he seek comfort. 

The hug was for survival reasons. Yes, survival. Exactly that.

Damian will never admit to the small smile that crept up his face when Richard hummed, a small and frozen grin of his own spreading.

The rest of the drive was spent in easy silence and when they arrived at the Cave, Tim and Alfred were waiting for them. By then, Dick had become slightly more coherent. Not exactly lucid, he still slurred his words just the slightest bit, but it was safe to conclude he was in no real danger.

Of course, as soon as he was cleared, Bruce took one last glance at Dick before heading back out again. Damian stayed in the Manor, watching his brother sleep on the cot they kept out for occasions like this. Dick had been given three blankets and a hot pack to hold onto. Hypothermia hadn’t set in, but the bright pink of his fingers and toes were a sign of future trouble if they didn’t immediately correct it.

Hours later, some time in the early morning when the sun had just barely begun to rise, did Bruce return. Alfred had sent both Tim and Damian back up to the Manor, a reprimand of something along the lines of, “Heaven forbid you two be the ones to catch a cold rather than Master Richard tonight,” shaming them enough to carry themselves to their respective rooms and settle in.

Taking off his cowl, Bruce’s eyes instantly travel to his eldest, still swamped with absurdly fluffy blankets and a ridiculous amount of pillows. He’s by his side in seconds, gazing at the color that had returned to Dick’s cheeks. Running a hand carefully through his son’s hair, Bruce frowns as he feels the familiar bumps of fresh stitches, his mouth pulling down further when he sees Dick’s brow twitch in irritation.

He keeps his hand there for a moment longer though, closing his eyes in what might be thankfulness. He’d left to check the garbage bin Dick had slammed into, scanning it for signs of rust or other ill-effects of time. Bruce had felt a surge of relief when he found no signs of oxidation in the metal, calling Alfred to tell him that tetanus was unlikely. Seeing Dick lay there, unresponsive and slurring, had scared Bruce more than he wanted to accept.

He’s a man always prepared for the worst, but never knowing what to do in the aftermath. That part of him that whispers his greatest fears screamed at him tonight, only subsiding once he’d returned. He was a coward, he knew this, but there was hardly anything else he could think to be.

“Bruce?”

He opens his eyes to look down, taking in the sight of his eldest son, rosy cheeked and smiling, no longer covered in red stains and frost. It was a good sight. A great sight. Bruce isn’t religious, but he might even call it a blessing.

“Hey, chum. How are you feeling?”

Dick responds by leaning into Bruce’s touch, content and warm. There’s a suspicious wetness building in the graying man’s eyes, but neither make a comment. It was rare, these moments between them. Far and few between, but appreciated nonetheless.

“I hate the cold,” Dick grumbles, sinking further into the mass of blankets. “Winter in Gotham sucks.”

As if on cue, a hearty sneeze erupts from out of Dick’s nose, startling the both of them. Dick sneezed like he was a married man with three children; purposely loud, dramatic, and with enough force to throw his back out. Bruce blinks, processing the sneeze and trying to decide if something like that was even meant to come out of a person, much less a concussed person. 

He needn’t think too hard about it though as a giggle, yes a giggle, makes itself known, filling the Cave with a lightness it doesn’t often experience. 

Dick is laughing and it’s one of the most beautiful things Bruce has ever heard, and he can’t help but chuckle too.

Gotham is cold, but the small med-bay felt like the warmest place in the world.

[side-shawty]

Don’t Hate Me

Fandom: DC 

Type: one-shot

Prompt/Summary: “Hello! Can I request a Damian Wayne x reader where the reader can communicate and control animals, so when the batfam sees her fight for the first time, they're like, hella surprised and Dami is very pleased that the reader treats the animals so kindly? 💜💜👽”

Pairing(s): Damian Wayne x Reader

Requested? YES by @comicnerd557​

I mostly focused on the controlling part but the communication is implied. I hope you enjoy :)

-Duckie

“Come on Y/N just show me what your power is please~” Dick begged for what felt like the millionth time today. Ever since Damian had let it “slip” that you had an ability that even he didn’t know about all of the Wayne boys had become curious.

“Just give us a hint,” Tim pressed as you sat on one of the sofas, getting ready for a post-patrol movie night.

“I’m telling you she’s not going to give it up,” Damian said as he sat beside you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, you were quick to snuggle into his side.

“How about this,” Jason began settling into one of the armchairs, “If we guess right or even pretty close then you have to tell us that we’re right, okay?”

“Deal,” you said as Dick started the movie but it was pointless considering they spent the entirety of it trying to guess at your power. They were close a couple of times but not enough to call them right.

“Okay can you, um, teleport people?” Dick asked as the credits rolled.

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’ and repositioning to place your head in Damian’s lap.

“Alight how about —“ Jason started but was interrupted as all of your phones began to chime with a crime alert from Bruce, who was already suited in the cave when you all arrived, he probably hadn’t taken it off.

“Sorry to interrupt movie night but I could use a hand with something,” Bruce said, “Get suited up, I’ll brief you in 5.”

“So much for a quiet night,” you said before you all suited up for a second time that night.

When you all got back there were already images and CCTV footage on the Batcomputer and Bruce didn’t hesitate to begin.

“At approximately 3:45 AM Killer Croc and Gorilla Grodd released all the animals from the Gotham Zoo from their cages but have yet to release them into the city. They’re trying to wait until sunrise for their ‘animal liberation.’

“The police are there but it seems they have lions and tigers barricading the entrances. We’ll go in, take down Crock and Grodd, and put the animals back. Hopefully before breakfast,” he finished and you saw Damian’s hands become fists, you knew he had a soft spot for animals and it was one of the reasons you hesitated to tell him about your powers.

You controlled them, for lack of a better word. Yes, they might have been drawn to you but like Grodd, it didn’t take much for them to bend to your will.

“One last thing,” Bruce continued, “You’ll be needing these. Attach them to your temples and Grodd won’t be able to get inside your head.” He looked to you, “Y/N, you’ll be needing this too,” Bruce said and handed you an amplifier. You looked at him and shock but he only winked at you.

Damn, he really was the world’s greatest detective. 

“What why does she get a special gadget?” Jason asked.

“It probably has to do with her powers, idiot,” Tim retorted.

“Shut up replacement. Y/N you told B about your powers before us? I’m hurt,” he said throwing a hand over his heart as you all made your way to your vehicles.

“Let’s be honest, nobody tells B anything,” you said before hopping onto your cycle and revving the engine.

———

The Zoo was controlled chaos when you got there. Gordon already knew what Grodd’s powers were so he had fewer men than with a regular villain. Just in case the gorilla somehow managed to be able to control the animals and the police there wouldn’t be too many at his disposal.

You split into two teams Bruce, Tim, and Dick would focus on Killer Croc whilst you, Damian, and Jason went after Grodd. They had barricaded themselves in the middle of the zoo along with crocodiles and gorillas because they truly were that cliche.

Killer Croc put up a good a fight as ever but he couldn’t do much when Grodd turned on him and forced the animals to defend only himself. Croc went down cursing Grodd’s name as Batman and Nightwing left to take him to the authorities.

“Now that the nuisance is out of the way I can focus my energy on getting rid of all you pests,” he said and began his onslaught. You fought but waited for Batman’s signal before hitting the amplifier on your neck and stretching your powers.

“Stop,” you spoke, holding a hand in front of Grodd and he immediately went lax before you.

Damian and his brothers also froze as Batman and Nightwing returned to the battlefield.

“What the hell?” Grodd spoke angrily, “What are you doing to me girl?!” He screamed at you.

“You’re strong Grodd but your downfall is that you’re also an animal and I control animals,” you told him, a smug smile on your face as he roared at you.

“Silence,” you commanded and he found himself unable to speak.

“Take his helmet, Robin, it’s still controlling the animals but they can’t move if he can’t. The cuffs are on my belt,” you told him and Damian quickly removed it and disabled it. Within minutes he was in police custody with the proper utilities to ensure he wouldn’t be using his powers any more tonight.

“Nice work Y/H/N,” Batman complimented and you smiled at him.

“Couldn’t have done it without this,” you told him tapping the amplifier. 

“Feel free to keep it. Now let’s get these animals back in their enclosures,” Batman said and you all instantly got to work.

You took the lead mostly, coaxing the larger animals back to where they should be but stopping often to pet them or appreciate how beautiful they were. At some point, Robin had joined you in or rather stared watch you as you were getting the polar bears back to their place.

Even though you weren’t looking at him you could feel his eyes on you from your crouched position rubbing at the polar bear cubs belly. 

“What?” You asked as the cub rolled over and stood up to join its mother behind the gates.

“So this is your power? It is truly“ you braced yourself for the worst, “amazing,” Damian finished and you had to do a double-take.

“Huh?” You said dumbly, not expecting that at all.

He grabbed your hand so you stood next to him but still avoided eye contact.

“Why did you not tell me sooner?” Damian questioned softly, releasing your hand because you were still in uniform even if your only witnesses were animals.

You thought about beating around the bush or making a joke of it but instead, you said, “I thought you’d hate me.”

“Hate you?” He said, incredulous, so much so that you spared a glance at him and suddenly you took interest in anything but him.

“Yes, I’m no better than Grodd,” You said fingers grazing over the feathers of a passing peacock.

“Tsk, I assure you that you are not similar to that overgrown monkey in the slightest. Let’s go home,” he said and you nodded.

——

When you got back you took a long shower and didn’t see Damian again until you found him reading on his bed as the sun rose.

He looked at you, all smiles as if nothing had changed and it made you look away again as you sat next to him.

Damian sighed at your silence and put his book down, holding your hand instead.

“What’s wrong beloved?” He asked, noting your lack of eye contact.

“I just don’t understand why you’re so okay with my power. I mean I can’t stand it and I hate using it,” you told him and risked a glance into his blue orbs, suddenly you couldn’t look away.

“Y/N do you want to know one of the reasons I fell in love with you?” When you said nothing he continued, “It’s because Ace, Titus, and Alfred don’t like anyone outside of the family for at least a month but the moment you stepped through the door they were as smitten with you as I was,” he told you and your eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Really? ” You asked, you hadn’t even noticed.

“Yeah, and then when you told me you were studying to be a vet I fell a little harder. And when I came back from patrol and found you and Titus sleeping on my bed. And when you carried that bird half a mile in the rain because of its broken wing,” he said and before he could continue you interrupted.

“Robin, it was a robin. I found it a day after we told each other about our night lives. I thought of you that entire half-mile,” you told him smiling as the rising sun began to make his eyes shine.

“There you go again,” he said and you tilted your head slightly in confusion, “Making me fall in love.”

You felt your cheeks warm beneath your chocolate skin as he used his free hand to cup your face.

“I don’t hate you or your power beloved, I know people who would be more than happy to abuse an ability like yours but you only use it for good. Hell if it was up to me I’d use it to make Alfred attack Drake non-stop,” he smiled at you and you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips.

“That laugh too, I have always loved your laugh,” he told you.

“Okay now you’re getting cheesy,” you smiled as he released your hand to mimic the one on your face.

“Oh am I?” He teased inching closer and closer to your face.

“Absolutely,” you told him before closing the space between you and falling into a kiss that was all smiles and love.

Suddenly you didn’t hate your power so much.