#blueberry x nickel

[whipedcream]

dont ask me why i made this idk either

[angst-star]

WOOO NEW POLL TIME!!

Who should we post next?

[haveyouseenthisflower]

II fandom opinion:D

[cometlolz]

inanimate insanity fandom takes or smth idk

[sour-screaminginagony]

INTRO POST!!

Heyy! You may call me any one of these: - PP - Sour - 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂/j she/he/they! I don't mind which ^^ TAGS!! #PP's dumbshit - shitposts / random dumb stuff #PP's STUPID FREETIME DRAWINGS - drawings NOT requested #PP's art reqs - drawings REQUESTED I'm a minor, under 15, so please, no heavy NSFW jokes directed towards me!! I'm a bit funky, especially ship + headcanon + au wise. BY THE WAY! These are my opinions, and as far as I know, no ships are canon in Inanimate Insanity. (except for maybe SilverCandle) You're allowed to ship whatever you want! This is just my preference and for everybody else's comfort, I will list ships I like! Will I give an explanation? A brief and stupid one. I won't be blocking anybody because of their ships and what they don't ship, but I just thought I should say this. Things I like (bold = hyperfixation): - Inanimate Insanity - Objectified - osc / object shows - BFDI (all seasons ig) - Nichijou - Shikanokonokonoko - Puella Magi Madoka Magica - Semi-dark humour - oc x canon - My Ocs?? - Vocaloid music - Spotify - Satire/Crack/Rare Ships - Inanimate Insanity, if you didn't know - uh uh plushies - drawing STUPID FUCKING SHIT - idk true crime?? - Smosh ~ DNI: - Pro$h1pp3rs - All the usually dni stuff ~ INTERACT SLPSSLLS: - Inanimate Insanity Fans! - Objectified fans!! - idk what to add!! <3 - bi Taco supporters :3 ~ Characters I fw!! (favourite children) ((Will constantly change)) Inanimate Insanity: Taco Blueberry Silver Spoon Trophy Test Tube Suitcase Baseball Nickel Candle Soap Pickle Clover MePhone3gs Objectified: Wagyu Mushroom Comet Dynamite Painkiller Razor Brandy Citrus Fossil BFDI / BFB / TPOT: Snowball Golfball Fanny Four / 4 Blocky Flower idk I don't watch this one as much :( FFALW: USB Cloudy Fsh Bowl Spear Mint Nail Polish Xavier Ace ~

@w33zerbluealbum for the blinkie thing, i think? :3

[xinnamonbun]

EPIC: The Musical x Inanimate Insanity

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Except there's one problem- I can't figure out who Odysseus is- So how this will work is that I'm putting what the role would be for Mephone4, Test Tube, and Nickel in that order. (Below it I will also explain why)

Odysseus: MePhone4/Test Tube/Nickel

IS the main character of Inanimate Insanity so makes sense to be the main one in this. Also a very morally complicated character, similar to Odysseus. Has many relations that make casting easier and is also intelligent like Odysseus. Tbh...I kinda want excuse to make a Nickel focused AU- ok but actually casting for him is decent and he's also morally...hmmmm. different-y.

Penelope: MePad/Fan/Baseball

MePad is like the only one that makes sense for Mephone4 (unless there's someone better y'all can think of, I'm happy to hear it!) Ship.

Telemachus: Bot (?)/Bot/???

I don't know what would make sense here??? But he has a close-ish relationship with Bot so eh- It's her and Fan's child. LITERALLY w h o?

Eurylochus: Toilet/Paintbrush/Balloon

It fits with the whole betraying thing and Toilet being the right hand man makes sense in this case. Main thing off is personality. Fits personality pretty well and makes sense for Test Tube. It's like how Balloon and Nickel becomes friends but backwards. (also just imagining in Puppeteer Balloon saying "those dumbasses got in there just because there was a woman-" as a demi flag just appears.)

Polites: ???/Lightbulb/Suitcase

Tbh, I don't know who this would be for Mephone4. She LITERALLY gets Test Tube to see things from a different perspective JUST like Polites. She just IS Polites (early season 2 at LEAST)

The Infant: Bow/Bow/???

Parallels Bow's death in season 1. The song mentions "you low-key remind me of my son" which makes a lot of sense for Bow and Bot. Slight problem with Nickel, he's less of a "how could I hurt you" and more of a "give me that baby and I'd yeet it off a tower" so idk

Athena: Cabby/Cabby/Tea Kettle

This is mainly for God Games honestly, as in defending MePhone4 against the unvitationals. Feels like Test Tube would just yell "YOU'RE ALONE" to her ass. Okay but actually their dynamic works pretty well here. Tea Kettle's got the sass for this role as well as well as the badassery for it.

Polyphemus: MePhoneX/MePhoneX/MePhoneX

He's just a good symbol of death. Plus I think the X makes sense to be one eye.

Aeolus: Clover/Clover/Clover

The goofiness just straight up works for her in this, I would also like to mention it works extra well for nickel but it definitely fits the other two.

Poseidon: Silver Spoon/Silver Spoon/Silver Spoon

This is mainly just because of who I'm planning to be Circe... Yeah maybe not the best but I don't have much else.

Circe: Candle/Candle/Candle

She is Circe.

Hermes: Springy/Springy or Goo/Springy or Goo

Springy is PERFECT for this being weirdly friendly because he wants something out of it but never clear exactly what it is, that laugh, just being goofy, trying to make some kind of weird deal with MePhone4, it WORKS. For the other two main reasons for pretty much the same the only reason who is a possibility is because of the GOOfiness and honestly I just want him to be in this-

Mom: ???/???/Tea Kettle (?)

I just don't for these two. For Nickel Tea Kettle is kinda motherly towards him, the only thing is I wouldn't know who to do for Athena-

Prophet: Blueberry/Blueberry/Blueberry

Depressing little bitch. (He right tho)

Sirens: BFDI contestants

EXTREMELY random but I would honestly just love to have this as a dumb reference and I'd love to just kill a bunch of your favs just because.

Scylla: Four/Four/Four

To keep this being the dumb little BFDI section and also because I just want some horrifying Four.

Zeus: Steve Cobs/Steve Cobs/Steve Cobs

Powerful evil yellow man.

Suitors: MePhone4 Haters/Test Tube Haters/Nickel Haters

The greatest evil.

Calypto: Simp

Just a simp.

Gods in God Games: Unvitationals

More specifically: Dr. Fizz as Apollo, Ballpoint Pen as Hephaestus, Walkie Talkie as Aphrodite, Springy as Ares (IF he is not Hermes; if he is it's swapped with Walkie Talkie and the Cameras are Aphrodite), Groscar as Hera, and as said before Steve Cobs as Zeus.

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

originally I was going to draw designs for this and THEN post this, but when the wisdom saga came out I started rethinking who would be who, even rethinking what kind of style the designs would be clothing wise and if I would limit myself to things that would actually be worn in ancient times

This post probably isn't going to get much traction, but I NEEDED to rant about this it's been stuck in my head for months.

[oscconfessions]

out here with my dr fizz ships. bluefizz/fizzberry. (blueberry x dr fizz) fizzickel (dr fizz x nickel) (sounds like physical which I find funny). groscerfizz (groscer x dr fizz). zoefizz (zoetrope x dr fizz). fizzpoint (dr fizz x ballpoint pen). mefizz except I'm not really that interested in it anymore (mephone4 x dr fizz). twofizz (two bfdi x dr fizz) (thanks emmett). what's next? we'll have to wait and find out.

TWOFIZZ MENTION

the dr fizz, zoetrope and floory related asks are the only reason im still here.-📻

[asbestos-boy-68]

i am not a proshipper. i feel the need to put this here because people have been wishing death on me because of the fact that i ship phonepad. instead of sending me death wishes, please learn your ii lore. mephone and mepad aren’t related. thanks. anyways, intro post.

hi. i’m alex , aka asbestos boy 68.

about me

i’m 16

i am a boy

i’m also a cripple

i’m a scene kid

i’m he / him

i love my boyfriend

i like music a lot (please talk to me about music)

i draw sometimes

i also write sometimes

i also sing and act

i also do photography

i’m cringe ❤️

fandoms i’m in

inanimate insanity

hfjone

smiling friends

superbad

zach stone is gonna be famous

scott pilgrim

garfield

non fandom interests

computer viruses

musicccc<3333333

eas

linguistics

graphic design

photography

ben folds

littlest pet shop

my ships

mephone 4 x mepad (inanimate insanity)!! <3

mecintosh x mephone 3gs (inanimate insanity)

silver spoon x the floor (inanimate insanity)

balloon x tissues (inanimate insanity)

trophy x knife (inanimate insanity)

fan x cheesy (inanimate insanity)

microphone x taco (inanimate insanity)

nickel x baseball (inanimate insanity)

pickle x bomb (inanimate insanity)

test tube x lightbulb (inanimate insanity)

salt x pepper (inanimate insanity)

paper x oj (inanimate insanity) (i was verbally threatened to put them here (jk i love payjay))

candle x cabby (inanimate insanity)

bow x clover (inanimate insanity)

apple x marshmallow (inanimate insanity)

suitcase x soap (inanimate insanity)

toilet x mephone4s (inanimate insanity)

blueberry x lifering (inanimate insanity)

steve cobs x ballpoint pen (inanimate insanity)

airy x liam (hfjone)(yeah yeah throw your tomatoes)

coiny x firey (BFDI)

pen x eraser (BFDI)

gelatin x fries (BFDI)

zach x greg (zach stone is gonna be famous)

seth x evan (superbad)

charlie x pim (smiling friends)

garfield x odie (garfield)

scott x wallace (scott pilgrim)

kim x ramona (scott pilgrim)

my fav characters

cheesy (inanimate insanity)

mephone 4 (inanimate insanity)

zach stone (take a fat guess which one this is from)

odie (garfield)

wallace wells (scott pilgrim)

dni

phonepad antis. leave me alone.

proshippers. i am not one of y’all.

basic dni criteria

true crime community

under 13

thin ice

swifties

music i like

too many to list here but i’ll list the big ones

ben folds / ben folds five / majosha / etc (my beloved !!!) <333

they might be giants

nine inch nails

weezer

orchestral manoeuvres in the dark

descendents (the punk band. NOT disney.)

uncle outrage

millionaires

depeche mode

babymetal

mitski

pet shop boys

joost klein

jonathan coulton

lesley gore

crochetcatpause

party cannon

i am very opinionated. this blog is mostly my opinions. if you don’t like them, just don’t read them. don’t attack me! thanks!

^^ art by @realflops ^^

[acidy-stars]

I created a tdos x ii au!(its actually just the tdos characters in place of the ii characters 🤠)

Basically...

Card is in apple's place

Blogger is in ballon's place

Snowman(a tdos mini contestant) is in blueberry's place

Toast is in bomb's place

Bomb(tdos) is in bow's place

The equivalent of bot is called boom here

Shoe is in box's place(yes shoe is just a normal show here jsjsk)

Science Fair Project(a tdos mini again contestant) is in cabby's place

Emerald is in candle's place

Volcano(a tdos mini contestant) is chessy's place

Tin, yta and cos are the equivalent of the cherries

Xenom Lamp(a tdos mini galactic contestant) is in clover's place

Meatball is in dough's place

Post-it is in fan's place

Ghosty(a tdos mini again contestant) is in goo's place

Lemon is in knife's place

Earth(one of the characters that was up for debut in tdos mini) is in lifering's place

Moonlight is in lightbulb's place

Smores(a tdos mini galactic contestant) is in marshmallow's place

Skull is in mepad's place

Computer is in mephone4's place

Cobalt blue is in mephone4s' place

Fire alarm is in nickel's place

Lava bucket is in OJ's place

Blood bag is in paintbrush's place

Water bottle is in paper's place

Cringe pill is in pepper's place

Nori is in pickel's place

Despacito pill is in salt's place

Check mark(a tdos mini contestant) is in silver spoon's place

Envelope is in soap's place

Evil Computer is in cobs' place

Cable(a tdos mini galactic contestant) is in suitcase's place

Journal is in taco's place

Pants(a character that was up for debut on tdos mini) is in tea kettle's place

Tablet pen is in test tube's place

Acid(a tdos mini contestant) is in floory's place

Tissue (a tdos mini contestant) is in tissues' place

Evil blood bag is in toilet's place

Sketchpad is in trophy's place

Yin is cauldron and yang is a oc called potion that u created just for this au

If you are interested in this au you can ask me things abt it on my ask box!

[pebiejeebies]

PART 8 OF MY CABLOON ANALYSIS! GO TO MY #CABLOON-ANALYSIS TAG TO FIND THE FIRST POST! (Or go all the way down for the link :D)

Sorry blueberry, only one blue devil around here (aka sonic) Stop copying him! !/silly

Ahahahbabsb balloon’s late reaction 😭

Sigh, I feel ya girl, cause, I literally am ya girl,…,,,.. 😞

Babies!! OH SHI—

WOAH!!!! I DIDNT EXPECT HIM TO GET THIS ANGRY WHEN I WATCHED THIS LMAO!!

HOW DID HE GET SO STRONG?!?! — Cabby

Ig this goes both ways, for blueberry, and silver lmao

FOR THE SAKE OF THE GAME!! YIPPIE HAPPY HAPPY (no wait balloon isn’t happy yet GRRRR)

SAME FACE SAME FACE!! How much times is that already?! 

*takes a peek*

THE (I have horrible math and I can’t count more than the number four/ref /vsrs) TIME ?! GOD FUCKING DAMN! THATS.. THATS A LITTLE TOO MUCH..

STOP THATS ALL HE WAS THINKING. THATS LITERALLY ALL HE WAS THINKING. YOU CANT SAY NO. YOU LITERALLY CANT

I’m gonna cry yall they love each other, look at this interaction I’m actually gonna cry

I love their wacky poses here :D

ANOTHER BLUE DEVIL!! GGGGGGGGGGAAASSPPPP!!!

WHAT. he’s thinking, I need to literally sacrifice myself for my bbg! How thoughtful <33 plus, kinda intrigued by how again, he focuses on Cabby rather than Nickel, despite still not being on good terms with both of them, he picks to interact with Cabby!

I’m actually evaporating

My most favorite screenshot so far

LOOK AT MY RAISIN,, look LOOK LOOOKKKKKKKKK!! AAAHHHHHHHH I JUST WNNNANAANDBGEGWGGWGGGDHDJWKKD—

Raisin x Cabinet real

See ya in the next post.. AGAIN.. cause .. 30 img limit.. I’m not angry.. you are………………….

(First post) — (Next post)

[c10v3r]

if it doesn't make you uncomfortable, can I request nickel x blueberry? (Mood yaoi) If this makes you uncomfortable, I apologize.

love than name its the best when a ship is just called "(word) yaoi/yuri"

[angst-star]

WOWOWOW!!

This poll was pretty HUGE!!

Blueberry received the most votes this time!! We have a bless blue ribbon (trophy x blueberry x tissues) ship kid we’re really excited to share soon! We loved drawing the guy and hope y’all like this!! While this is more of our earlier work we’re super happy how it came out as we think it’s VERY cute! We have a HC that Bless Blue Ribbon crew all help with the moral of the hotel after everything that’s happened, BlueBerry being an extremely (surprisingly) good therapist!

A new poll will be shared very soon but we’ll be switching gears a bit as we have a lot of cool stuff we wanna share with yall!

For now you can vote which GlassLight One pilot character you wanna meet next!

Nickels post will be Shared next week Tuesday and we’ll have plenty of art to share throughout the week! Make sure to request before this next week Thursday to see your favs doodled!

Please repost and like!!

[smile-files]

Blueberry x Nickel?

(You don't have to draw it if it makes you uncomfortable)

clover wants them to break up

[goldentail-readswarriorcats]

i would do this

lemme just *goes into my clipboard and steals this*

BFDI/DreamClan/DreamClan Again/nalCmaerD/BattleClan/PowerClan:

Blocky: Blocky ' Gleam

Bubble: Bubble ' Bounce

Coiny: Copper ' Coin

Eraser: Eraser ' Gleam

Firey: Firey ' Glow

Flower: Flower ' Petal

Golf Ball: Golfball ' Asteroid

Ice Cube: Icy ' Whisper

Leafy: Leafy ' Breeze

Match: Match ' Flame

Needle: Needle ' Pounce

Pen: Pen ' Gleam

Pencil: Pencil ' Tail

Pin: Pin ' Tail

Profily: Profile ' Heart

Rocky: Rocky ' Heart/Paw

Snowball: Snowball ' Claw

Spongy: Spongy ' Fur

Teardrop: Teardrop ' Silence

Tennis Ball: Tennisball ' Stripe

Woody: Woody ' Heart

Announcer: Announcer ' Box/Star

Bomby: Bomb ' Talon

Book: Half ' Book

Donut: Donut ' Frost

Fries: Cold ' Fries

Gelatin: Gelatin ' Skip

Nickel: Nickel ' Pounce

Puffball: Puffball ' Rain

Ruby: Ruby ' Dash

Yellow Face: Yellow ' Face

TV: Pixel ' Spirit

8-Ball: Slate ' Claw (unintentionally but conveniently the saw saying EIGHT thing would still work with this name :D)

Balloony: Balloon ' Flight

Barf Bag: Clever ' Heart

Basketball: Basketball ' Heart

Bell: Bell ' Song

Black Hole: Blackhole ' Stare

Bottle: Bottle ' Claw

Bracelety: Bracelet ' Screech

Cake: Cake ' Heart

Clock: Clock ' Foot

Cloudy: Cloudy ' Sky

Eggy: Egg ' Heart

Fanny: Whirlwind ' Snap

Firey Jr.: Flame ' Dash

Gaty: Gate ' Fang

Grassy: Grassy ' Heart/Paw

Lightning: Lightning ' Heart/Paw

Lollipop: Lollipop ' Scribble

Marker: Marker ' Splash

Naily: Nail ' Tail

Pie: Pie ' Foot

Pillow: Pillow ' Claw

Remote: Remote ' Berry

Robot Flower: Robot ' Flower

Roboty: Robot ' Snarl

Saw: Saw ' Blade

Taco: Taco ' Fish

Tree: Tree ' Leaf

Foldy: Folded ' Sky

Liy: Light ' Claw (formerly Lightswitch, a loner)

Loser: Loser ' Wing

Stapy: Staple ' Tooth

Four: Bluejay ' Screech/Star

X: Sunny ' Wing

Purple Face: Purple ' Face

Price Tag/Taggy: Pricetag ' Step

Winner: Winner ' Flight

Two: Forest ' Leap/Star

Five: Moon ' Snap

Six: Sage ' Flick

Seven: Night ' Tooth

Eight: Quiet ' Stone

Nine: Swift ' Pounce/Jinx (random fact: I've seen more people draw Nine as a she/her than a he/Him for some reason- i mean theyre not wrong tho so- [nine goes by all pronouns] but i usually call them a he/him)

Ten: Quick ' Leap

Fourteen: Chaotic ' Fang

Fifteen: Lone ' Snap

Zero: Empty ' Gaze (good name for an oc tbh i like the name Emptygaze)

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

II/InanimateClan:

Apple: Apple ' Haze

Balloon: Balloon ' Heart

Baseball: Baseball ' Blaze

Bomb: Bomb ' Stutter

Bow: Bow ' Hop/Bow

Knife: Knife ' Talon

Lightbulb: Light ' Beam

Marshmallow: Marshmallow ' Skip

Nickel: Nickel ' Strike

Orange Juice: Orange ' Fang

Paintbrush: Paintbrush ' Splash

Paper: Paper ' Leap

Pepper: Pepper ' Flick

Pickle: Pickle ' Tail

Salt: Salt ' Flick

Taco: Taco ' Slip/Hawk

MePhone4: Phone ' Pounce/Star

MePhone4S: Phone ' Claw

Box: Box ' Foot

Cheesy: Cheese ' Throat

Cherries: Cherry ' Tail

Cherry 1: Cherry ' Pelt

Cherry 2: Cherry ' Fur

Dough: Dough ' Fur

Fan: Fan ' Flight

Microphone: Microphone ' Flight

Soap: Soap ' Foot

Suitcase: Suitcase ' Stripe

Test Tube: Ooze ' Shuffle

Tissues: Running ' Nose

Trophy: Trophy ' Breeze

Yin-Yang: Yinyang ' Patch

Yin: Yin ' Fern

Yang: Yang ' Claw

MePad: Galaxy ' Phone

Toilet: Toilet ' Yowl

Blueberry: Blueberry ' Puddle

Bot: Bot ' Spring

Cabby: Cabinet ' Foot

Candle: Candle ' Flame

Clover: Clover ' Spring

Goo: Goo ' Leap

Lifering: Ring ' Pool

Silver Spoon: Silver ' Snap

Tea Kettle: Kettle ' Cloud

The Floor: Island ' Whisker

Dr. Fizz: Fizz ' Pool

Springy: Rabbit ' Spring

Walkie Talkie: Running ' Jaw

MePhone3GS: Phone ' Stare

MePhone5C: Phone ' Bounce

MePhone5S: Dust ' Phone

MePhone5: Phone ' Whisper

MePhone6+: Metal ' Phone

MePhone6: Phone ' Storm

Steve Cobs: Corn ' Frost/Star/Steve

Nick Le: Nick Le

Sprinkles: Sprinkles

Montgomery: Montgomery/Sprinkles 2

N-Slash-A: N-Slash-A

Utter Filth: Utter Filth

Diamond Crusher: Diamond Crusher

Flamina: Flamina

Nickel Jr.: Nickel Jr.

Quack: Quack

Tootsy Wootsy: Tootsy Wootsy

im normal

[makes warriors au astrobiology hypo kits]

[jangofctts]

Feel the Heat (Batman/Bruce Wayne x fem!reader)

PART ONE  PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: !!spoilers!!, some fluff!!, twisted the timeline a bit sorry ig, smut, explicit language, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, squirting, jealousy, unashamed lesbian smooching, slight praise kink, mentions of violence/death, (lmk if I missed anything please!!)

a/n: aha thanks for your patience!!!

This is a stupid idea—going back to the Wayne Tower.

What are you even hoping to gain from this? 

A stupid apology? An explanation? 

You don’t know. 

Bruce Wayne will always have his secrets—this you know. Middle school—sitting in the nurse’s office after class—Bruce holding his bleeding nose between his crimson stained hands while you did your history homework on the counter, littered with bloodied tissues and cotton-balls. He told you the other kid swung first—you promised him you wouldn’t tell Alfred. You remember the emergency room—junior prom night—broken collar bone and road rash all up the right side of his body. A piss poor attempt at driving his father’s motorcycle—you ditched your date to come pick Bruce’s ass up. When he tried to unwrap those stale muffin’s they give you as consolation, he burst into silent sobs when he couldn’t do it. His tears weren’t over the broken bone or icky muffin—rather the bike. The paint was scratched to hell. These sorts of things you’re privy too. The rest? You’re not so sure.   

Not all of it is intentional. Isolation has a keen way of threading through one’s social life, binding together the art of conversation. He’ll never jump to share unless you jam the rusty pliers between his teeth and wrench his jaw apart. Unravel and sort through the mess of words to find a sensible answer—but that’s more of your mother’s way of things. 

It still doesn’t stop you from throwing yourself at all those stupid walls he throws up. They’re flimsy when it comes to you. So, while the request to see you a day later from the whole funeral fiasco is not a surprise, your annoyance certainly is. It’s not really…aimed at Bruce. More of a cumulation of stress that has no outsource other than your morose friend. So when you arrive to the Wayne Tower, snappy and lightly rained on, you’re ready to tear into him.   

Too bad you’re too much of a fuckin’ crybaby to follow through. 

When those stupid nickel plated elevator doors slide open, you startle—completely throws you off your game. You don’t expect Mr. Bruce Wayne himself to be waiting to greet you. 

Disheveled, shoulders drawn inward, hair an utter mess. God, he looks like shit. Why does he always look like shit? It’s the vampiric nature of this penthouse—you know it. Or his complete disregard for eating something other than a singular blueberry. 

Bruce fiddles with his fraying sleeve. He attempts to smile but immediately drops the act the second you pointedly quirk a brow. He scowls. “Blue—”  

True. You’re a coward when it comes to verbal confrontation, but pettiness? Oh, you can manage that just fine. 

You mash the close door button. The metal squeaks on its hinges, shuttering as Bruce shoves his forearm between them. The doors snick back open. “Oops. Wrong floor.”

“Blue,” he protests, stepping to the side as you pout and shove past him. “Blue—wait.” 

You wave him away and flee to the dining room. You fling your bag over one of the chairs and stalk towards the little bookshelf tucked away in the corner. Watery light streams through the gothic windows, highlighting the swirling dust motes. Bruce’s bare feet pad over the tile and then the plush rug, lingering behind you as if he were your shadow. You tense when his fingers touch your shoulder—he pulls back. 

“I’m sorry I left you,” he murmurs, words mournful and reaching.      

Your throat tightens, fingernails biting into the sot flesh of your palms. “You didn’t pick up the phone—I was so worried.” 

No answer. You grit you teeth. 

“I called almost every hospital, you know.” 

Still nothing. Only a hollow exhale and a shuffle of loose fitting clothes. 

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth. “Where did you go, Bruce?”

You were left there alone, swept into the crowd and mass panic—and you only wish he was there too. And at the end of it all, you don’t really care where he’s been or where he goes, just that he cares. You willingly outstretch your hand into the burning house, will watch it corrode and blacken all for his sake, but he chooses to sit and let the flames devour him. 

This time, he reaches out. 

“Carmine Falcone,” he says. You recognize the name from the funeral. A pause. He works his jaw, rubs at his arms, then sighs. “He knew my father." 

Oh.

Gives the situation more a basis for understanding—still doesn’t excuse the abrupt depart. You watch him out of the corner of your eye. There’s more to this story—but now’s not the time to pry. Not yet. 

Goosebumps rush down your spine as his fingertips meet the base of your neck. When you don’t turn around to bite, he sidles his body up to yours. “I’m sorry, Blue.”  

“No,” you sneer, shrugging off his advances. Your feelings are still a bit tender. It doesn’t do much of anything—it’s just a strange dance of avoidance and of weaving limbs attempting to ensnare you. “I’m mad at you.” 

Bruce’s hand slides down your forearm and slots around your wrist, pinning your arm across your waist. The other arm soon follows, trapped against your body with Bruce’s own limbs acting as the restraint. It’s a flimsy hold—one push and he’d fall away quicker than grains of sand through a sieve. Yet, as Bruce tucks you against his chest, most of your resistance ebbs. “Blue.” 

“Don’t,” you whine, eyes squeezing shut. You’re angry for fuck’s sake—you’ll be damned if you simply give up your grievances just because Bruce is caging you close. You’re not some cheap-ass date nor feeble willed. You grit your teeth and dig your heels in. “Didn’t you hear me?”

Goosebumps rush up your arms as Bruce’s thumbs rub light circles on the delicate outcrop of your wrist bones. You feel his nose press into your hair, his exhale ruffling the strands atop your head. “Hm.”

His little hum is posed more as a question—quiet and lifting in the way questions do in the case of feigning innocence. Bastard. “I said I’m—”

Dry lips and scratchy stubble brush the dip of your shoulder. He mouths your name inaudibly into your skin like a patchwork of saccharine blessings and devotion—so sugary sweet that the roof of your mouth tastes like fuzzy static. Bruce imbeds devout kisses up your throat that curves out for him as offering. “You’re what?” His lips vibrate as the words tumble out, goading you into finishing your fallacy.       

His plush lips latch onto the line of your jaw. You swallow and claw at the fleeting strands of your sensibilities and blink away the haze of desire. “I said I’m angry at you.” 

You shiver, bitting back a gasp as his tongue trails a slick line up to your earlobe. One arm unlatches itself, fingers moving to sweep your hair off your shoulder. Though as they trace the slope of your shoulder, they hesitate over the the base of your neck. A dull flare of pain radiates out as Bruce curiously kneads the skin. “Did I leave this?” 

A stab of panic lacerates your gut. Your first thought is to lie—tell him that yes, the mottled skin matching the teeth of Vengeance belongs to Bruce—but the guilt tastes bitter on the tongue. You clench your teeth. “I’ve uh…there’s someone else.” 

The admittance does not deter him. Bruce’s hands find the hem of your shirt and skate up your bare stomach and sensitive sides. “Do I know them?” 

“Why would you?” You sigh, smoothing your palm down his forearm. “You don’t have any friends.” 

Bruce’s chest rises, intending to disprove the accusation. You beat him to it. “I don’t count.”  

He snorts and runs his thumbs over your ribcage, setting the nerves alight. “Do you like him?”

You swear you feel Bruce’s lips upturn into a smirk, but just as you think it, it dissipates. Bruce’s lips touch your cheek as his hands rise higher, brushing the underside of your breasts. A noise of approval rumbles through his chest as you lean more of your weight against him. “Why?”

Bruce shrugs. You inhale sharply through your nose as he pushes one hand under the elastic band of your sports bra, deft fingers curling around the pliant flesh. “Competition,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. 

“Tall, dark and handsome,” you say, eyes fluttering shut. He rolls your nipple between his fingertips, other hand traversing back down the line of your sternum, over your stomach and to your navel. It’s pathetic how easily he’s lit a fire under your skin—hot and pressing, working up your body until it only craves him. “H-hard to beat.” 

Bruce toys with the hem of your leggings, waits for your breathy consent, and then wiggles his hand into your pants. He dives past the thin elastic of your underwear and past your curls to touch your clit. Bruce smiles into your neck. “It is.” 

Your head tips back against his chest, knees buckling at the raw pleasure that sparks from his fingertips to your body. He cinches closer, the sinew and muscle of his arm flexing to keep you from falling. A ragged gasp tears from your throat as his fingers brush teasingly over your clit, only to delve further between your wet cunt. He spreads the gathering wetness, gliding his fingers through your folds at an achingly slow pace—a prideful show of self satisfaction—how easily you unravel for him. Delicious heat simmers in the pit of your stomach, increasing tenfold as his middle finger experimentally circles your entrance. Your breath stutters as he dips only the first half inch of his fingertip inside of you—you clench around him and whine. 

However, the angle is a little too awkward to fully seat his finger inside of you. Instead, he slips his finger up, dragging it back up to your clit. You jolt as he catches the underside of your clit, unprotected and searing. You claw at his forearm circling your front, nails harpooning into his skin. Bruce’s other hand unlatches from your breasts, slides out of your shirt and slots his hand over your jaw. He carefully twists your head, inviting you to look up at him. Dark hair spills over his forehead, irises blown wide and mouth parted. If anything, you’d say he’s the one who’s splitting apart at the seams. 

You squint—there’s a smudge of something black under his eye—you hadn’t noticed it before. Like dust, or paint maybe. Before you can wiggle a hand between your bodies to inspect it further, Bruce nudges your nose with his.    

“Kiss me,” it comes out in a strained gasp, because desperation is the venomous snake that’s bitten you both. Holding each other on the razorwire and the ivory snake fangs of your bodies—the burning a solid boundary of trouble and hysteria alike. “Blue—”  

You neck strains at this angle, but you’ll bear the discomfort. His lips meld to yours, tasting like blueberries and mint tea. His lips are always forgiving, soft and feathery like he can’t quite fathom that you’ve decided to kiss him. You understand—loss decorates his chest like medals of war. Better the aloneness than the hurt—days that feel scripted and arduous. Barely fumbling his way through habits and requirements as if each of his bones were made from concrete. You’d carve him a slice of sunlight if you could, but you can’t. The only thing you can offer are your outstretched fingers and a promise not to leave again.

You cry into his open mouth, hot tongue sliding against yours as you part your lips. Bruce’s fingers don’t stop rocking against your clit, your slick arousal making a mess of your underwear. His fingers split, massaging the swollen nerves between the two digits, breaking away from your mouth to tuck his chin over your shoulder. Your head rolls back as your hand jumps up to bury your fingers into his hair. You’re nearing your end already. “Fuck—Bruce.”     

He pants into the crux of your neck. “How many?”

Your hips roll into his hand, confusion blooming. “W-what?”

“How many times,” Bruce says lowly, “did your friend make you cum?” 

You keen. What the fuck—what the fuck. You shouldn’t react in the way you do—swallowed by a wicked rush of arousal and heat—your cunt clenches hard and fuck, you’re right on the edge of orgasm. “I-I don’t—don’t know.” 

Teeth pinch around your tender flesh, marking the space right above Bats’. Bruce paws at your breast. “How many? Once?” 

Tears push at your eyes, squeezed shut as you scramble for an answer. You nearly burst into tears right then and there as his fingers cease their movements—you were so close, but now you’re plummeting down the mountain of ecstasy. You arch against him and yank at his hair—you don’t care that it’s bratty, nor the way the sound of his name filters past your teeth like a petulant princess. “Bruce.”

“Blue,” he mocks. Your fault for forgetting that Bruce is an only child—he gets what he wants. 

You wet your lips and nuzzle your nose into his throat. “T-twice…” 

Bruce’s lips draw into a grin. “I can do better.”

You hips stutter and jerk as his fingers leap into action. They roll over your clit, tight and fevered circles that shove you off that edge—your body seizes. You cum onto his fingers with a strangled cry, sparks of blurry white alighting behind your eyelids as you twist in his arms—jittery with nowhere to go. Bruce continues to swipe his fingers around your throbbing clit, your nerves burning hotter than wildfire, spreading from your core all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. You're shaking, and over the roar of your pulse, you hear Bruce murmur his praise. And maybe, if you were a better person, you’d tell him he’s competing with a shadow. You don’t even know his name or what he looks like—but it’s too late now. 

Your stomach drops as Bruce’s hand loosely curls around your throat, his fingers over your clit refusing to give you a chance to recover. You don’t scrape the bottom, you’re swept into a wild whirlwind of scraped nerves—too blistering. The discomfort doesn’t last long. Another orgasm bursts through your core, quick and bright as Bruce’s fingers twitch around your throat. It singes your insides and fuck—your vision goes a bit fuzzy. 

A broken groan falls from your lips as Bruce mercifully retracts his hand. His fingers are drenched, leaving behind shiny spots of wetness over your tummy as he flattens his palm over it. You’re still twitching, panting and swimming through the clouds of lust. Your throat bobs under Bruce’s hand, and as he slots his hips closer, you feel the bulge of his cock pressing against the base of your spine. 

Bruce plants a kiss to your temple, the soft skin cool to your flushed skin. You sniff and clumsily wipe at your watering eyes. Bruce’s laugh is soft—reserved. “You ok?”

“Peachy,” you croak. You tilt your head and dot a quick kiss on the underside of Bruce’s jaw. His grim mouth upturns into the traces of a smile. He boxes you in against the window and slips his hands up your shirt. 

“Can I take this off?” He murmurs into your ear. You nod, lifting your arms for him to slide it off. You bra comes next. A appreciate groan rumbles through his chest upon seeing your bare chest. You shudder when Bruce cups your breasts and thumbs over your nipples. His palm skates to your pants. “These too?”

You shuck them off faster than the blink of an eye. There’s a ruffle of fabric behind you and then Bruce is just as bare as you. His hands drift over the dips and swells of your body, his warm chest molding to your back.                    

He threads his fingers with yours, pinning your hand against the frigid glass. The city is shrouded in fog today, ghostly towers and the brief glimpses of the road down below swimming in and out of view. Raindrops splatter over the glass, the beads rolling down the flat surface until they conjoin into rivulets of water that mimic branches of lightning. A deep rumble of thunder reverberates through the window—typical weather for early November. A soft touch on the swell of your hip, draws you back into the present.

Bruce peppers kisses over your bare shoulders. “I want you.”  

“What’s stopping you?” You goad, dipping a hand between your legs to touch his cock, nestled in the apex of your thighs. He hisses between his clenched teeth, fighting the instinct to mindlessly take you without regard. Your fingers roll over the head of his cock and then, inpatient, you guide him inside of you. “Shit—” 

Your breath catches in your throat, no time to adjust as Bruce rocks his hips forward, pressing you tight between the cold widow and his body, splitting you open on his thick cock. You’re wet enough to take him with little resistance—soft and searing. Bruce whispers a curse, his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes, obscene in the quiet space. Your breath fogs the window and when you catch his blissed out reflection, you clench around him. Bruce throbs, thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, hands tightening around your hip and hand.  

You claw uselessly at the glass as you try to acclimate, sucking in tapered breathes while pleasure seeps through every pore. Bruce’s groan is rougher than gravel, a sound that has you tightening around him like a vice—threatening to cum again. It feels different like this, bent over in a way that his cock reaches a place you’d never be able to get to yourself. Bruce allows you a moment before he starts thrusting into you, sparking a sensation deep inside you with each movement so hard that it becomes sharp—not painful—but fuck, you’re gonna walk with a limp tomorrow.  His hips roll into you, setting a rough pace that drags out a punched sigh every time he rocks up—

There’s no easing into it, nor does Bruce dare tease. It’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and a touch of pain blasting through you all at once, throwing you to the flames.

“Fuck,” Bruce gasps. His grip tightens around your fingers, then falls away to trade in his hold for your breast. You squeak and hook onto his forearm. “Fuck—you’re perfect.”

Bruce drops his head into your neck, his grunts now muffled. Bruce’s fingertips move from your hip to between your legs, seeking out your abused clit. You flinch and press your forehead into the glass, welcoming the bitter chill as distraction until your nerves become used to his touch once more. “Y-you’re—ah—gonna kill me.”

He laves his tongue over your flushed skin, tasting the salt of your perspiration and the sweetness of your perfume. “Little Crybaby Blue—you’re tough.” 

You’re not sure why the words pluck at such a visceral part of you. Shredding you apart for the third time without mercy. Your teeth pierce your bottom lip as you cum—everything surging up hot and molten. Bruce peels off your back, fucking you through it, and you can’t distinguish anything in the haze aside from his burning skin under you, in you, on you—the only anchor you have as the euphoria rockets through you. His name comes out garbled as you wail for him, the only warning either of you get before your knees buckle under you. 

Your aching cunt weeps at the loss of Bruce’s cock as he catches you before you topple to the floor. Christ—your limbs are a mess—a feeling akin to being drunk. Your back meets the plush rug, the remnants of your orgasm still radiating out through your veins and arteries. Your legs are splayed open, your hip joints winging in protest as Bruce hooks his hands under you knees and pries your thighs further apart. You squeak as he suddenly yanks your legs over his knees, cock pulsing at the seam of your pussy as he folds over you, strong arms posting above you. 

Your murmur his name and cup his stubbled cheeks. A lopsided smile graces your face as you push a strand of his hair behind his ear. Your gaze drifts back to that black smudge under his eye—you wipe the oily substance away with your thumb. Huh. “You wearing eyeliner now, Brucey?”       

Bruce swallows and drops his chin. His shoulders lift with a shrug. “Something like that,” he says faintly. And then he kisses you. You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, devouring and greedy.

Bruce leans his weight onto one arm and breaks the kiss. He doesn’t go far, your lips just barely graze his. His hand finds his cock, flushed and twitching as he drags the blunt tip of himself through your folds. You both gasp as he finds your entrance, seating himself only partially inside of you. What the fuck. You arch and claw at his bicep, begging for all of it. Bruce doesn’t budge.

He quiets you with a kiss and rolls his hips. Your entire leg twitches and jerks over his hip, praying he’ll go deeper or something. “Bruce—please.” 

You’re not expecting him to start moving the way he does—oh fuck. It’s a twisted, deep, burning pleasure that sparks through you, diffusing outwards from each calculated thrust. This pace is controlled—slow—but the brutal up and down thrusts that meet that little pleasurable spot inside you dead on, make up for the near-teasing tempo.  

Bruce sits up, gripping your hips to counteract your ceaseless wiggling. You grab at him, clutching onto his arm and his bare chest, leaving behind red lines upon his pale flesh. You cry at the overwhelming sensation, straining and babbling for mercy or more. You can’t rightly tell. Your toes start to curl as the feeling overtakes your very soul. God—fuck, this is so fucking unfamiliar. Shoved down your throat and you can’t do anything about it but take it. You face the pleasure heard on, pure fire blurring the seams of your mind, hot and amorphous through your entire body. Fuck—you feel like crying. Are you crying? Probably.

You hiccup. Bruce murmurs gentle praise and yep—you’re crying. Blunt, white hot pressure builds up, tightening like a drawstring pulley against all the muscles below your waist. The strangled cry you make, like some wounded thing, should embarrass you as Bruce pulls out completely—ashamed by how desperately your cunt clamps down around nothing for what seems like an eternity.  Bruce doesn’t seat his cock back into you until you stop writhing and clawing at his arms. Fuck him. Fuck this—

Bruce reaches out, cupping your cheek and thumbing the tears that dribble into your hairline. His thumb drops to your lip, toying with the plush skin until your tongue flicks out to taste his skin. Bruce grunts. “You’re so pretty.”

It’s right then that you realize you couldn’t be friends anymore. You’ve fallen into the arch of his fingerprint, the tender loops of his heartstrings. The tiny scars of childhood and the creases in his skin that you’d know numb and blind. You’re no different to him—he knows you—knows all the little ugly bits of yourself and still finds them beautiful. He’s handing you this secret insecurity of displaying desire. Something he is so afraid of—of it being stripped away. You don’t get to bask in the vulnerability— 

Bruce shoves back inside of you and everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again. You clutch at his wrist and mouth his name, strong hips rolling into with devastating accurate and poise—you’re falling apart. Bruce pulls out again but this time, as your cunt spasms and arches with the loss, wet heat suddenly coats your inner thigh. His voice trips into a ragged moan, threaded in awe. “Shit—you liked that.”

Sparks zap and crackle through you long after his touch is gone. You don’t—fuck, what—

It clicks quite abruptly, what’s happened—a blush that encompasses your whole body burns through you. Christ—you didn’t even know you could.

His slides back inside you and you wail his name. “Do it again,” Bruce breathes, jerking his  hips into you hard. You don’t know how he’s doing this to you—does this count as an orgasm? Fuck, you don’t know—you’re on the knife’s edge. All you know is Bruce, his cock spearing into your wet heat and the cloud of ecstasy. You don’t know where Bruce’s burst of confidence came from—it’s unlike him to just take.  Almost like targeted vengeance on behalf of all the times he’s let you slip through his fingers, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you. You blink up at him, your vision blurry with tears as he leans down to whisper against your lips.

“Does he make you feel like this?” It’s spoken so delicately in contrast to the force and persistence of his movements, that it’s jarring. Is he really still thinking about that? It doesn’t fucking matter—  

Even if you wanted to voice your opinion—you can’t fucking speak. It just tumbles into a realm of beyond worse as Bruce yanks himself out one last time. You can feel your floor muscles automatically flex against the sudden emptiness inside you. Your cheeks burn as he chokes out a broken moan, self satisfied and glued to your thighs that have become wet again. “No,” he answers for you, pushing your shaky legs off his hips. His keen eyes bask in the fruits of his labor, watching you struggle through the aftershocks. You shiver each time his hand rubs at your exposed thigh. “He doesn’t.”

You feel like lead, your limbs don’t work properly, as if you’ve severed the nerves that connects you to them. Fuck—your eyes, still blurry, drift to his tummy…then lower. He’s still hard—glistening in your arousal and flushed an angry red. You spare not a moment nor a thought as you reach out to touch him. He slides easily into palm—Bruce curses and drops his chin to his chest.You pump his cock the best you can at this angle, appreciative of the way he bucks his hips up to help you. Bruce crumples atop you a moment later, leaving just enough space for you to jerk him off, but close enough that you’re both melded together. 

He mouths at your jawline, that dark and jealous streak seeping out of his body. His demeanor softens, drawing back into the familiarity of the Bruce you know. Your pussy clenches as Bruce whines into your ear—his hand pawing at any available skin that he finds. You can feel his cock throb—he’s close. You whisper his name and bury your other hand into the hair lining the nape of his neck and tug. His lips curl into a snarl. 

“My B-Blue—”

Bruce’s teeth latch over the skin of your collarbone, one more thrust into your fist, and he’s spent. Bruce cums in your hand, over your hip and upper thigh. Fuck—that has no business being that fucking hot—covered in his spend while he shakes and grips you like you’re his only tether. 

You let your hand fall lax. Bruce unlatches his teeth over your now mottled skin, and jumps to steal a kiss. You still can’t fucking talk—he’s robbed you of your ability to form words. He peppers kisses over your forehead, down your eyes and over the bridge of your nose. Memorizing each inch of skin with his plush mouth. Your heart aches for him—you hope your hand, threaded through his hair and tenderly massaging his scalp, conveys the message. 

You like it here—crushed under his weight and the plush rug under you that’s probably given you rug burn on your ass. You like the way you can feel his heartbeat pound through the ivory makeup of his ribcage and the way his breathing evens out to a gentle puff against your neck. 

However, the universe has a funny way of ruining a perfectly good moment, doesn’t it?   

Footsteps echo down the hall—Bruce’s head rears, eyes widening as Alfred steps around the corner. There’s no time to give warning nor throw on a shirt or something. “Bruce? Everything—”

Alfred’s eyes drift down to your disorderly selves. Quicker than you can say Wayne, Alfred spins on his heel, throws a hand over his eyes and books it back the way he’s come. “Chrissake,” you hear him announce, carried by the tall ceilings and the echoey nature of the Wayne Tower.  

You start giggling—what else is there to do? You’re soaring on endorphins—so much so that everything is bathed in humor. 

Bruce blushes. A deep red that stains the hollows of his cheeks, his throat and the tips of his ears. You snicker and sweetly touch his scarlet skin. “Oops.”

Bruce groans and buries his face into your neck, holding you tight to escape the embarrassment. You cradle his head, carding through his hair and running your fingers over each inch of skin you can reach. This feels normal—right.   

You wish you knew if he feels the same. But tragedy looms over Bruce like a cloud. You don’t know how to stand between this darkness of his life and the curled, shaking fist around the heart of his past. How to tell him that he has always been loved. But every time he opens up the book of his life, leafing though the thin, opaque paper, it is always the same story about aching. The same rabid hymnal of flight, of fingers breaking and twisted lungs. He’s strangled the light of better things between his fist like the ocean floor, the vacuum of space. You think it’s probably cathartic to him—to suffer the same pain everyday. Bruce could be be loved like an explosion and still be left cold. Whatever is broken inside of him only wants to devour. The love just slips right off from where he can’t feel it, a tiny swirl of mint toothpaste in the sink of his childhood. The little white menthol fingerprints spelling out apologies, guilt—  

It’s an uphill battle to love him—but what fault is there in trying? 

“I’ll drive you back.” 

“What?” You ask, called back to the present. 

Bruce kisses your shoulder. “Tonight, when you leave—I’ll drive you back home.” 

“Tonight?” You echo, eyes drifting to the window. “It is eleven in the morning.”

Bruce shifts and turns his head to smatter kisses up your cheek. His quiet mhm vibrates over your skin.

“Is this your way of asking me to hang out with you?” 

He nods and finds your lips. It’s a languid kiss—sweet and long.  

“Fine.”

                                   -=-=-=-=-

Selina knows this depraved club like the back of her hand. The vile happenings and the shameful acts that the upstanding arms of justice in Gotham should avoid at all cost. Yet here they are—greedy hands and lecherous eyes that can’t help themselves. Less of them have been down here as of late—happens when a serial killer is targeted men like them—but again, these stupid fools can’t quit. 

And neither can Vengeance. 

Selina only agreed to it for Annika—to wear this dumb earpiece and recording lenses so Vengeance could creep on all the unlucky souls here. The DA’s office, cops, social workers—all of it incriminating evidence that could land their asses in jail for life. Selina isn’t sure what exactly Vengeance is looking for. Loose ends maybe—a trail that leads back to this supposed rat that’s got everyone in a twist. 

Vengeance is muttering in the earpiece, reading off names and loosely directing Selina to a mark worth sinking her claws into. It all falls to shit the moment Selina’s eyes drift to the bar, illuminated by a rainbow of LED and neon lights. She’s a pretty little thing, hugging the wall as her fingers fidget around the rim of a half empty tumbler. The black, sequined cocktail dress, hugs her frame like a glove, and every other moment or so, she tugs the hem of her dress back down her thighs. There’s plenty of hospitality workers, and though Selina works topside now, she knows or knows of the girls down here. While Vengeance’s sharp inhale that crackles through the earpiece solidifies Selina’s assumptions, the girl on her own, sticks out worse than a crayon in a box of colored pencils. 

Selina sidesteps a drunken patron, eyes locked on the girl. “You know her, hun?” 

“Talk to her,” Batboy orders sharply. Raw desperation laces his tone. Oh, he really must like her.  

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Selina sighs. “She’s a looker, huh, Batboy?” 

No answer is given. Selina, quickly traverses the space, the bass of the heavy music vibrating through the air. The girl’s eyes flick to Selina, a quick look over to analyze he potential threat she may pose. They double back when Selina flashes her a smile—the girl squirms in her seat, touching one foot to the floor to bolt if she needs. Selina tiptoes he finger over the mahogany bar top, forcing back her snicker as panic wells in the girl’s flighty eyes. When she tries to leave, Selina slides a hand over her forearm. Selina leans in close, lips brushing her ear. She freezes. “Vengeance says hello.”

Blue shifts her weight in her seat. Her eyes, painted in neat eyeliner and glittery eyeshadow, widen. The ends of her mouth quirk into a faint smile. Innocent. Kind. You don’t find much of that in Gotham anymore. Then again, the girl shouldn’t be so trusting of Selina simply because she uttered a name she was familiar with. She settles back in her seat and offers her hand. 

Selina eyes the outstretched limb and slips her hand into hers. They’re a little dry compared to the softness of Selina’s skin. They’re warm, though. “Blue.”

“Selina,” she smiles, allowing her hold to linger a little too long to be considered friendly. “Whatcha’ drinking, hun?”

“Selina,” Vengeance warns in her ear. “Careful with her.” 

Selina heads him no mind. After all, he’s the one who directed Selina over here.

“Oh, uh—” Blue flounders and tucks a hair behind her ear. It’s a deliberate move—a wire is taped behind her ear—damn kid works for GCPD. Not that the signal will ever reach down here. Falcone and the Penguin have this place safeguarded and jammed. She lets the strands of her hair fall back into place. “Fizzy water and lemonade.”

Selina’s shoulders bounce with a laugh. “Never heard of that before.” Blue ducks her head and shyly offers her glass. “I used to get it as a kid—wasn’t allowed to drink soda.” 

Selina takes up her offer and wraps her lips around the straw. Mauve lipstick stains remain on the white plastic. It’s alright—the lemonade is too sweet for Selina’s liking. She places the glass back into Blue’s hand. “Sounds like a boring childhood.” 

Blue’s nose scrunches and waves her hand in dismissal.  

“Ask her why she’s here.”  

Selina inwardly sighs. 

“So—what’s a girl like you doin’ in a place like this?” Selina purrs, crossing her legs and leaning closer. She props her chin up with her hand, limiting the chances of someone overhearing their little chat. Maybe, if fortune favors, Blue knows something about Annika. 

Blue sips her drink. Her tongue rolls out to collect the excess moisture. “Same as you—and Bats. Looking for familiar faces.” 

“It’s not safe here,” Bats harps, “She needs to leave—tell her.”

Selina lays a hand on Blue’s knee. Blue’s eyes drop, brows lifting in mild surprise. She doesn’t pull away. Selina smirks and rubs her thumb over the soft flesh, cooing softly as Blue clears her throat. Oh, she’s a treat to tease. “Hey—why don’t we help each other out? I think I know what you need.”  

“Selina.”  

Blue twists a strand of hair around her fingers, curiosity piqued. “Yeah? Like what?”

Selina lightly traces her fingernails further up Blue’s leg, the head pounding music and the nodes of her sweet perfume a perfect mix of risk and stupidity. Though just as Selina parts her lips to dangle a tidbit of information for Blue, an unwanted third party blunders through. Blue and Selina jerk apart, startled, hackles raised—

“How much do you—hic—ladies want,” a man, dressed in a disheveled three piece suit, slurs, “for a little—y’know...two on one.”  

Selina scowls at the idiot in question who gestures to himself, shit-eating grin plastered across his aging, perspiring face. Blue blinks rapidly, the muscles in her jaw jumping. She recognizes this man—

“Jackson Pollard—DA’s office,” Vengeance supplies. “Get Blue out of there before he notices it’s his boss’ daughter.”    

Shit.

Selina grabs Blue’s hand, and slips out of her stool. Blue follows. “Sorry, hun. We gotta run—girl stuff, y’know?”

The man’s lips, covered in a thick, graying mustache, purse. He squints and jabs a meaty finger at Blue. “Wait…don’t I—”    

Selina grimaces and wrenches Blue out of the corner and into the fray of dancing girls and suited men. Blue grips Selina’s hand like a lifeline as thy navigate through the club. Vengeance nags in her ear—it’s drowned by the music and the thumping of her heart. 

Selina herds Blue into the little side hallway, leading to the dressing rooms. She pins blue against the wall—her eyes shine in the dim lighting, her lips parted in protest. “Listen, baby—you a detective?”

“Crime scene tech,” she specifies. Selina feels her voice vibrate under her hand that presses on her sternum. “Why?”

Selina chews her cheek. “My friend—Annika…she’s missing.” 

Blue’s brows dip into a worried furrow. “I-I’m sorry—she’s the Russian girl, right?” 

“Yeah, exactly,” Selina nods, hope flickering in her chest. “You gotta help me out—you have access to police records, you can look for her. See if she pops up anywhere.” 

“Don’t ask her that—she already risks her job for me.”  

Selina’s hope sputters out like a candle as Blue frowns. She looks away, eyes finding the floor to stare morosely at. “I don’t think—”

“Please,” Selina grovels. “I can get you a list of regular patrons—Falcone keeps it as blackmail.” 

Her face lights up. Blue contemplates for a moment. She outstretches her hand. “I can’t promise I’ll find anything.” 

Selina takes her hand to shake on it. “Deal—wait here. I’ll be back in ten.”

“No—don’t leave her,” Vengeance protests in the earpiece. “Selina—“ 

Selina smirks. She lifts her hand to cup Blue’s face and runs her thumb along her cheekbone, shimmering with highlighter. “I’ll kiss her goodbye for you, Vengeance.”    

                                               -=-=-=-=-

The second you stepped into the underbelly of the Iceberg Lounge, you go radio silent. The wire and the camera tap out instantaneously, becoming a static blur. You suspect that who ever manages this place installed a jammer—weaselly bastards.      

You have no choice to navigate blind. Your word is not reliable on its own in the court of law, but you’ll have to make do. You make a game of it—memorizing all the faces, the girls, who’s downing Drops like M&M’s. You recognize some of them. Lawyers that work under your dad—you turn your head to hide you face each time one of them passes by the corner you’ve chosen to occupy. This was a stupid idea. 

Yeah, you fit the bill for this kind of undercover work, and the ID you use looks similar to you, but damnit. Gordon should have known you have too many ties in Gotham now. The police, the DA’s office, your mother’s senatorial shit. You just hope the gaudy makeup and your skimpy dress is enough to pass under the radar.  

It doesn’t. 

But not by who you’d suspect. 

Batboy’s colleague. Selina is what she calls herself—if it’s even her actual name. Regardless, it’s your saving grace—plucks you from the jaws of danger and offers you exactly what you’ve come for. A list of names.  

Nothing comes without a price—you figure you could poke around for her friend but the chances of finding her are…slim. Everyone knows that you have about 24 hours or less to find the victim alive—it’s been four days. Whatever. It’s worth checking. 

The kiss is unexpected—not unpleasant in the slightest, though—a little too short if you were to complain. Her lips are soft and yours taste like lemonade. A thrilling blend of voracious passion and firecrackers that explode in your chest. You wonder what Bat’s will say to you later—it’s kinda funny. 

Selina pinches your cheek and promises she’ll be back in ten minutes. So you wait, huddled in that dark hallway and twiddling your thumbs as working girls pass in and out. None of them pay you any mind. Ten minutes pass—then twenty. 

You gnaw at your thumbnail—dread making a home inside your head. Selina isn’t coming back.

Left with no other option than to escape or keep digging—you bolt from the hallway and towards the gold-plated doors that lead to freedom. Your heartbeat drums in your chest as you reach security. They glare down at you with indifferent eyes, and just as they crack the door open for you—a hand clamps down over your arm. At first you think it’s Selina—

Wouldn’t that be fuckin’ nice?

Your blood runs ice-cold—panic lacerates through your veins and kicks your pulse into overdrive. You don’t have to know his face to realize who this man is. Dark sunglasses, silver teeth and a sharp suit. His sly grin curls up his withered face as yours crumbles into despair.  

Carmine Falcone.    

[hops-hunny]

Distance Makes the Heart Grow

CHAPTER 1

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: (Y/n) lives a normal life. But that’s the issue, it’s normal, it’s plain, and it’s growing boring. Everyday she wishes for something, anything to spice up her life. But, when her old school friend (and crush) shows up at her bakery with a new look (and what looks like a new life), what will it bring for her? Will their puppy love grow? Will his big secret lead to the end of them or will it spark a new beginning?

Warnings: None for this chapter!

A/N: Nothing major happens in this chapter, this is sorta just like the beginning stages.

(Y/n) let out a load groan, hand searching aimlessly for the alarm clock on her side table. “Where is it?!” she continued to slap her hand around on her table, many objects falling to the floor before her hand finally landed on the right one, the rooster noises ceasing as her hand collided with the big snooze button. She rolled over, sighing as she stared at her speckled ceiling. “Perhaps I really should take the time to learn how to use the alarm on my phone.” it wasn’t that she was bad with technology persay. It’s just if it was produced after the year of 2008 you could forget it. Could you really blame her though? During all her years at Hogwarts, she had never made the switch her fellow classmates made with modern technology. Sure she had a smart phone but the only thing she could manage to do with it is call, text, and make notes in the notes app (something she had just recently learned as well).

Unwillingly, she crawled out of bed, stretching as she let out a large yawn, bones snapping and cracking like a New Year’s firework. She made her way to the bathroom, looking into the same mirror she always did, watching the light in the center flicker the same way as always. Life for (Y/n) was seemingly unchanging. Day after day, month after month, was spent exactly the same. She’d wake up, get ready for work, and then travel a few blocks down the street to open the bakery. Her bakery.

It wasn’t that (Y/n) didn’t enjoy what she did. She happened to enjoy her job very much. All her friends at Hogwart’s had encouraged her, giving her the push she need to travel the journey of opening her own business. It was something she had always wanted to do but her parents begged her not to. In their words they didn’t want ‘an over zealous and unrealistic’ daughter on ther hands. However, their rude words simply were fuel to the fire. During her 5th year, she began to busk tables at various shops in Hogsmeade. It was hard work, balancing long shifts at 3 different shops and still maintaining decent scores in each class. But, she knew if she couldn’t handle that then there was no way she’d be able to handle running a bakery. So day in and day out she’d work, and work, and work and by the end of her 7th year she had a decent amount of money saved up! 

The first issue had been finding a place in a good area that would gain traction and attention while the second one was finding someone willing to sell to someone fresh out of school with no prior business experience. She’d spoken to many people in various different places, some good, and some bad before she finally had been blessed with the chance of meeting Mary and her wife Denise. It was a miracle really. (Y/n) was short on the money, exponentially so however, Mary had sold to her anyways. She said she saw a passion in the girl that she hadn’t seen for a very long time and that it was something she wanted to help foster considering she had had her time to live her dreams and explore passions of her own. So with that, a handshape was exchanged for a beat up envolope filled with the entirety of the girl’s life savings. She had invested every nickel and dime she had ever earned into the place and she prayed it wouldn’t blow up in her face.

Which brought her to where she was today: a proud owner of a highly successful business. And of course, with great business comes a nice chunk of money which caught her parents’ attention. They had began to call her everyday but when that they didn’t work, they showed up at her shop unannounced. At first, she had felt warm inside. Her usual cold and distant parents had come to visit her! However, when they started crunching out numbers and percentages, that short lived happiness was replaced by irritation in which she quickly kicked them out, placing a charm on the building that when they’d attempt to enter (if they really, truly, had the balls to come back), their bodies would be flung right back onto the sidewalk into the heaping piles of trash on the city side walks. Now, (Y/n) was by no means wealthy, but she made a nice amount of money to be engaging in something she enjoyed so heavily, which is why she was confused where they had gotten the idea she had money to share with the main two people who were the cause of her insecurities. Plus, every extra dollar she had she put right back into the shop. Paying her workers, building maintenance, ingredients. She wasn’t a fan of having too much money, her family had shown her what that could cause (and how easily you could lose it all). 

Yet still sometimes she found herself wishing she could live the lavish lifestyle her parents once did. She mainly dreamed more so of the more engaging parts instead of the status and power that came with it. As she frosted various different cakes with thick buttercream, her mind would wonder to vivid imagery of beautiful hotel rooms, with breath taking views. Michelin five star meals, coated in delicious cream sauces. Endless adventure waiting to be discovered.

And yet here she was, sitting at a table as she stuffed her face with a raspberry marzipan cupcake. It was a Wednesday, first one of the month and as per usual, her and Twyla were set together, sampling cakes, chocolates, and other treats for the upcoming days. Wednesday had been the official day  they had chosen due to the slowed flow of people that would come in. (Y/n) liked to have a different theme each day of the week. The customers lived for it and she had massed a group of frequenters who came each day, wondering what the theme would be that day.

“You know boss, I’ve gotta say it. Working here and sampling all these cakes with you is giving me quite the ass!” Twyla said, turning around as she wiggled her ass in the girl’s face for emphasis. (Y/n) giggled, rolling her eyes as she swatted at the girl, missing as she jumped away from her last minute. “Hey! You gotta take me out to dinner first for that.”

“Just because we’re sampling cakes doesn’t mean that the store is closed! Anyone could walk in at any moment and would you really want that to be their first experience here?” she asked, eyes scanning the silver platter in front of them. She decided on the new dessert flavored chocolates she had been working on. Popping it into her mouth, she let out a moan of approval.

“I mean, I dont’ see why not! We’d definitely make a lot more money with a cake like mine!” the blue haired girl said, sitting down as she grabbed a chocolate as well. “Besides, I don’t think those little noises you’re making would help the scene.” she stated, snickering as the girl across from her tensed up.

“It-it’s not like that! The chocolate- it just- I just- ugh!” she stuttered out, huffing as she crossed her arms over her chest, pouting at the girl. “If you’re gonna keep being mean we can end this process. Just tell me what you think of the blueberry pie chocolate so I can know if we’re adding it to tomorrow’s spread.”

“Oh come on (Y/n) it’s good! Every first Wednesday we sit here, you overly critique yourself, then me and Tiana end up picking out our favorites for the next day!” Twyla was right, even their patterns for trying new things remained the same. (Y/n) wiped her messy hand on her aprons, sighing as she stood up to go back to her position behind the counter. Her employee followed, grabbing the platter to put back into the kitchen before joining her boss behind the counter.

“You’re right. I swear everyday is beginning to feel the same.” She opened her notepad, beginning to take inventory of the sweets they had in the display counter. “I’m grateful for everything I have, I really am. But sometimes I just wish I could have something, anything….”

“New?” the green eyed girl added, catching the (h/c) haired girl’s attention. She nodded, looking at the girl who had snuck a cookie out of the glass case. “I feel ya, girl. Everyday feels the same. Sometimes even when new people come in, I can already tell how they’re going to be. How they’ll act, what they’ll order, what method of payment they’ll use.” (Y/n) eyed the girl up, raising a brow.

“Are you sure you’re not just using legilimens?” she questioned, watching as the girl shifted on her feet, scratching the back of her neck.

“Okay so maybe I do sometimes. But a lot of the times I don’t! Like the other day this weird guy came in and- woah. (Y/n) I don’t wanna freak you out but I have a feeling those hotties in suits across the street are going to be walking in here soon.” Twyla said, in an uncharacteristically quiet tone. The shorter girl followed her friend’s gaze, looking out the glass doors across the street. Three unfamiliar men were crossing over, all in suits that she could only assume cost as much as four months of rent. However, the one in the middle really caught her eye.

Before she knew it, the bell chimed and the three of them made their way in. They looked very out of place in the brightly decorated shop. The one in the middle looked the most important, towering over the other two men. He had dark slicked back hair, an eyebrow piercing, and tattoos that were visible on his neck and hands (which had a few beautiful looking rings on them (none of which were a wedding band…)), yet his hazel eyes held a soft look to them. To his left was a redhead boy, freckles danced all along his face. His eyes were bloodshot from god knows what. He had tattoos as well (not as many as the middle man) and a few unique ear piercings. The guy to the hot tall guy’s right was attractive too but not nearly as serious looking as the other two. In fact, he was humming a song under his breath, a smile causing the tattoo on the right side of his face to crease. 

As she went to open her mouth to greet them, the man in the middle eye’s grew wide, his mouth gaping as he stared at her. He walked closer, examining her face closely which caused her to grow confused.

“I’m...I’m sorry. Do I know you?” she asked.

“(Y/n)?” she gasped at the sound of the familiar voice, her notepad and pen dropping from her hands. She made her way around the counter, staring up at the tall man.

“Neville?!”

NEXT||

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