#cough harley quinn cough

[were-wolverine]

one of the most misunderstood dc villains is killer croc and it makes me sad

every single time he finds happiness and a bit of mental stability, it’s ripped away from him and he is literally tortured into madness again

he is shown to be a caring and loving person! he is not a mindless killer unless he’s made to be one (through torture / drugging / etc). he is taken in by a loving homeless family that he cares for and is fiercely protective of.

he forms bonds with the men in his gang, and is protective of them instead of considering them replaceable (like many others do)

when he is stable, he is able to have a family, and later on in arkham he makes actual friends

he was bullied and abused his entire life, like can you really blame him for being unstable and a bit murderous after that?

when in control of himself, he only kills for a reason. it’s not always defendable, but it’s not senseless animalistic murder that people seem to attribute to him

[oncillabrigade]

Consider:

The Bats all have personalized ring tones for one another, but everyone has both a civilian and a Bat ring tone. The civilian ones are chaos, with everyone choosing whatever they want for their various family members and friends. BUT! Everyone has a single Bat tone that all other team members use for them.

The catch? Bruce forbid them from choosing their own Bat ring tones because he proposed this plan back in Dick's Robin days and he IMMEDIATELY picked "Toxic." The choice was not well received.

Bruce: Dick, I will not be alerted to the fact that you're in danger by some Britney Spears song.

Dick: First of all, it is not some Britney song, it is the Britney song. That song finally won her a Grammy.

Bruce: *sighs*

Dick: Second of all, it won't tell you when I'm in danger... it'll tell you when Robin is.

Bruce:

Bruce: I'm taking the Walkman out of the Robin kit.

Dick: *offended gasp*

(Yes, Dick is old enough for a Walkman. No, you will not change my mind. Yes, the Tim-and-on siblings all find that hilarious. Yes, Jason has to be VERY careful not to mention that he borrowed that Walkman for years because he was uncomfortable taking expensive electronics out and about with him.)

Anyway!

Dick then proposes a slew of other songs for the whole team to use, all of which are pop culture references, e.g. the Scrubs theme because they're not Superman and also they're a dysfunctional family of coworkers; the theme from the Godfather because "let's be honest, B, we are basically our own mafia"; "Where is My Mind" by the Pixies because lol identity shenanigans, etc. The list is endless. Bruce spends weeks groaning every time his son texts him.

Eventually, they compromise on the version of "The Entertainer" from The Sting because they're hiding in plain sight to enact a mission defending good people in a hard world. Bruce, Dick, and Alfred are all so pleased with this that they each take a different section of the song as their ring tone.

Then Barbara becomes Batgirl, so she gets a section... and then Jason becomes Robin and gets one, too... and then Tim, then Steph, and then Cass is taken in, and... uh oh. That's a lot of people for one song.

But it's family tradition! They can't stop now. That would be so unfair to the new kids, B!

So they start using alternate arrangements of the song. Bruce has mellowed slightly on the "no choosing your own" thing. As long as it's a version of "The Entertainer" (within reason) he'll allow it.

Tim retroactively changes his ring tone to a weird groove-ska arrangement Bart randomly sent him on YouTube because have you met Tim Drake? Of course he went for hilarious obscurity. (Bruce grits his teeth and approves it after lots of prompting from Dick and Alfred). Steph makes it her mission to find a weirder one (Bruce agrees because he's too tired to deal with accusations of favoritism).

Cass creates her own arrangement on theremin because apparently she knows how to play the theremin. No one is sure why. Upon inquiry, she just says, "spooky noises are fun," but does not elaborate further even when she's asked to do so. A Batgirl's gotta have her secrets—Babs taught her that.

When Jason starts working with his family again, he pays an aspiring music producer within Red Hood's ranks to create a minor key remix of the original Robin II ring tone. His siblings (minus Cass) are VERY jealous he has his own personalized arrangement. Dick, Tim, and Steph end up paying this goon who owns Garage Band to do ones for them, too. Duke does the same when he joins the team.

Meanwhile, in a fit of little brotherly pique, Damian steals Tim's original ring tone. He hopes to rub salt in the Robin replacement wounds. He fails! Tim finds it beyond funny that Damian's ring tone is groove-ska. So Damian quietly pays the amateur producer to make him one that's cooler than Tim's. He pays a ludicrous amount, though, because Steph paid for one cooler than Jason's and Tim paid for one cooler than Steph's.

(Dick wanted one cooler than Jason's too, but he had $63.02 in his bank account at the time and Bruce flat out refused to use the Batbudget on "a super cool ring tone that's better than Jay's." Eventually, Dick just paid himself for an averagely cool one. In installments.)

At this point, the Bats have single-handedly given this fledgling producer enough money to quit being a goon and start an indie music studio. His first customers are mostly superheroes from out of town who like what the Bats have going on and want their own team ring tones. Harley and Ivy get in on that action, too.

Then, as word spreads, every local crook/henchperson with a side band (there are many) flocks to the studio to have their stuff produced by one of their own. Gotham rogues suddenly have an unemployment problem, while the city finds itself with a flourishing indie music scene that puts Metropolis' to shame. The entire state of New Jersey is celebrating the dual victory.

Dick has never been so glad someone doesn't like Britney Spears' magnum opus.

[starliteonearth]

So there's this theory going around that Todd Phillips may have flipped the dynamic and made Harley the aggressor/manipulator in the relationship and Joker the down bad one instead. And before anybody gets their panties in a twist, I think we need to remember that this version of Joker is a Loser. Very much a Loser. He's not the aggressive, dominant type we're used to (in his dynamic with Harley). This is a sad, sad little beta male who has severe mommy issues, who has never felt the touch of a woman in his life, and who fully imagined having a girlfriend in the first movie. Do you really think he's gonna be aggressive towards the first woman to pay him any attention? And not only that but a woman who seemingly matches his crazy and perfectly understands him? Yeah, no. He's going to be head over heels, Madly in Love.

Now he can still snap and turn against her because you know, Joker, but I do think that for most of the movie he's going to be giggling and kicking his feet like a schoolgirl in love.

[shiresome]

COUGHING UP BLOOD. LISTEN TO ME

[yellowgaloshes]

this is so fucked up

[lea-andres]

Only good thing about accidentally sending myself into multiverses last night (aka, got *way too fucking high* last night) is I have a pretty good idea how "Alicia caves to peer pressure and joins Harley in taking Scarecrow's fear toxin recreationally" is going to go now lmao.

I should probably write that while the incident is still fresh in my memory.

[aloysarrow]

KURO LOVES ME THIS TIME 😭❤️😭❤️😭 I got Camellya in my first ten-pull this patch!

The weapon banner was more like 50 pulls but I will never hate the guaranteed weapon banner 🥰

I'M SOOOO HAPPY, THANK YOU KURO FOR NOT MAKING ME EXTRA GRIND OR FEEL DESPERATE!!!!

[lovelylonelymoonlight]

Alright I’m gonna tell you to take several fucking seats

I’m sorry if my interpretations of fake fun silly fictional characters is different that yours but Jesus Christ chill out maybe?? It’s not like there’s about idk 8 quadrillion different iterations of these characters or smth

In this case it was also Alfred who gave Robin to Tim, which most people would say yeah sure but Bruce ALLOWED it as Batman he ENABLED it. The same way dick did with Damian.

Now saying that it totally makes sense why he did!! As I literally said above it makes sense to give the kid who needs structure Robin and then one who keeps demanding independence independence!! and dick does that cause he ultimately isn’t in the place to be An Adult and he’s not thinking about all of the nuisances that come with making these choices for children. He may technically be an adult but that doesn’t mean his ready to take on parenting kids, and that works with his character not against it.

He treats this situation the way a big brother would Not A Parent or at least not an established parent. It’s also drawn from him seeing robin as Batman’s Son as seeing robin as a sidekick DESPITE demanding robin be an equal partner. In this way he is taking on the responsibility of Damian and trying to allow Tim room to grow. Again it makes sense he’s not stupid for doing it!! That’s what makes it tragic!! That’s what makes it good writing!! Because he gets to see his dad as a person and his little brother as a child!!! That’s interesting!!

Not whatever noncharacter bullshit where he just sits I guess??? Doesn’t say anything to Tim or Damian about the whole situation?? Just fucking twiddles his damn thumbs??? Like at the very least this gives him agency????? Cmon now

Dick: you would’ve done the same thing! I Had to take robin away from Tim and give it to Damian!

Bruce: you took it from the child craving independence and gave it to the on that needed structure. I wouldn’t have done the same thing- I have already done the thing

Dick: …

Bruce: what’s Harvey always say, ‘you either die a child or live long enough to understand your parents’

[amphibiahawks321]

Harley Quinn : Come on pick up! Pick up!

[RING RING RING]

Harley Quinn : Why do I have to be the one doing the talking?

Poison ivy : Maybe because you're the one who started it?

Harley Quinn : ......Fair enough

[M!Reader picks up]

M!Reader : Hello? Who's this?

Harley Quinn : Heeeeeeeeeeey deeeeeeear....

M!Reader : ......That's your nervous voice what happened?

Harley Quinn : WHA?! PFFTT! Nothing Happened! Me and Red just want to borrow.... Some money

M!Reader : Harley dear define "some money"

Harley Quinn : ......10k?

M!Reader : .....Explain

Harley Quinn : Ok me and Red-

Poison ivy : [cough] Harley...

M!Reader : Got that

Harley Quinn : may or may not have gotten into a restaurant brutal fight because the waiter was cat calling us....

M!Reader : Wait a minute are you guys calling from-

Harley Quinn : JAIL YEP!

M!Reader : [Sighs] Fine I'll be there in about 20 minutes

Harley Quinn : Thanks dear!

Poison ivy : We promise we'll pay you back sweetheart

Harley Quinn : By rubbing banks!

Guard 1 : What was that!?

Harley Quinn : I-I MEAN BY R-RUBBING PLATES! WE'LL PAY YOU BACK BY CLEANING THE DISHES! YEP!

Guard 1 : Hmmmm...

[The guard walks away]

Poison ivy : ......Nice save

Harley Quinn : why thank you!

Poison ivy : I swear I hate wearing this thing...

M!Reader : Wearing what?

Harley Quinn : Red's wearing a straitjacket and it looks mighty uncomfortable!

Poison ivy : You have no idea...

[acapelladitty]

`♡° kinktober 2024! ---

☆ kink: Femdom

☆ pairing: Harley Quinn/Scarecrow

☆ summary: Harley decides to put her newest pet to good use.

kinktober '24 ☆ main masterlist ☆ ao3

Tugging at the leash in her hand, the cool metal quickly warming to her skin as she wrapped it around her knuckles, Harley swore she felt her cunt throb as the pull forced Jonathan to shuffle towards her – his skinny knees making indents in the carpet as he crawled forward a few inches to her position. Sitting on the edge of the bed, her spread legs made his target very obvious and she patted her inner thigh invitingly as he came to a stop and kneeled before her.

The leash and collar she had borrowed from her babies but that was a fact that Harley thought Bud, Lou, and, most importantly of all, Jonathan did not need to know. It was the type of thing which would get her into a little more trouble than she would like as Jonathan was definitely one to complain about sharing toys with the hyenas.

But what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

His cold façade long having melted away with his arousal, the vacuum of his expression replaced with an eager lust which added a playful wickedness to his intense gaze, Jonathan looked up at her from between her legs and his fingers were slightly shaking against her ankles as he anchored himself to her.

“You’ve been a bad man, Dr. Crane. Taking advantage of a poor gal like me.”

“Taking advantage? If anything yo-”

“Hey, shut up! This is my time to talk and your turn to listen. Otherwise, I’ll tie this leash to the bed and go for a run. Or maybe you’ll get a spanking.”

Heat flushed across his cheeks at the threat, pink creeping all the way down his neck as he gently coughed away his embarrassment even as his cock twitched, untouched, at the thought.

“Now, for being so bad, I think you should do something nice for me,” Harley muttered and her free hand, the one not clasping at the leash, teased across her white lace bra – the fabric standing against her tanned skin with a lovely starkness. “So, I think I’ll lie back and let you treat me real nice.”

Ending her sentence with a grin as she reclined against the bed, Harley tugged at the leash once more as she patted her thigh invitingly, “Touch me.”

“Yes, Harleen.” Jonathan replied and his sharp face tightened with determination as he leaned in close.

His fingers were chilly against her warm thighs and as soon as he touched her inner thigh, a wave of gooseflesh spread across her skin and it made her shiver. Keeping the leash in hand, her palm flexed on the leather as Jonathan stroked his fingers across her cunt – starting at the blonde curls of her pubic hair and following the natural curve of her slit as he teased her for a moment.

“Jonathan-” Harley warned, her tone playful and dopey with her arousal.

He took her warning well and Harley gasped as he spread her folds and pressed two of his long fingers against her hole, testing the obvious wetness there and Harley huffed at the slight smirk which tugged at the corners of his thin lips as his fingers were instantly coated in her juices. However, it passed just as quickly and Jonathan pushed those two fingers inside her with a gentleness that made her smile.

“I won’t break, Johnny. Come on, baby, you can do better than this!”

The stretch of his fingers was delicious and Harley fought the urge to push back on his digits as he slowly started to fuck them in and out of her, curling the tips of his finger to brush along her walls as he moved with her. His hands moved quickly, one bringing her the pleasure she was desperate for while the other gripped her thigh roughly, holding her in place as he enjoyed his task.

Before too long, the growing band of arousal which tightened across Harley’s groin, making her legs quiver and her breath stutter as he stoked the fire within her, reached a dangerous peak and Harley whined as she pulled and jerked at his leash – the movements forcing his head and knees to shuffle closer to her or risk being choked out.

“Gonna come,” Harley panted, “keep going- ah.”

His fingers shifting to move in tandem with his thumb as he rubbed soft circles around her clit proved to be her undoing and Harley sang like a canary as she came; her body shuddering in place as her thighs flexed and her heel banged against the carpet. She glanced down in time to see Jonathan’s eyes on her own, drinking in her pleasure as if it were his own as his own cock stood neglected against his stomach.

Riding out her orgasm on his fingers, it took Harley a few moments to recover as she gently kicked at him with her foot to tell him to stop and Jonathan complied immediately – bringing his come stained fingers to his mouth as he tasted her without asking. His face was red, eyes wild with arousal as he sucked at his own fingers like a starving man, and his hair was a mess as his movements had dislodged more of the wild strands.

“Mmm, what a mess you’ve made,” Harley muttered, cunt clenching as she watched him taste her. “If you want a taste that bad then you can clean me up.”

His mouth was on her in an instant and, in her sensitive post-orgasm state, his tongue lapping at her hole made her spine stiffen and her knees buckle slightly as he suckled at her wet folds.

“Harleen, please. Please touc-”

“God, Jonathan,” Harley huffed, her breath catching in her throat as his nose bumped her engorged clit, “forgot how good ya are at this.”

Rubbing her foot across his straining cock, the hot and velvety texture of his skin against her cool foot made her grin as he jerked in place at the temperature difference. Her touch seemed to snap something within him and he glanced up enough to plead with her directly.

“It’s the foot or nothing, sweetie,” Harley grinned, her hand pulling his face free of her cunt long enough to flash her teeth down at him, “But you’re being such a good boy for me that I’ll let you come if you clean me up good enough. That good enough?”

“Yes.”

“Good boy!” Harley winked, “Now get back to it.”

[butcherlarry]

Weekly Fic Recs 65

I've been hesitant to do this, but I'm going to start tagging authors (and artists!) who I rec in these lists, if they are on Tumblr (and if I can find their blog and know for certain it's them). If I tag you and you do not want to be tagged for future reference, please let me know! If you see your fic on the list and notice you are not tagged properly, again, please let me know! I really enjoy the fics and the art inspired by the fics (and vice versa!), so I figured this is to let authors and artists know that I really enjoy the stories and art they create, and to let others know where they can go to support them!

More Than I Bargained For by Run_of_the_mill - Superbat, complete. An AU where Bruce and Kal travel the universe with their adopted alien son, Dick :)

Preening for Flight by Elegitre @elegitre - Batfam, complete. I LOVE wingfics, so I was SO EXCITED to see this one! Tim needs to preen his wings, Bruce is there to help

tiger by the tail by pomeloquat @pomeloquat - Superbat, complete. I think I've recced this fic before, but I saw @sreppub excellent art of Bruce with cat ears, so that inspired me to read this fic again!

you fall from the sky with several flowers by starshotplagues - Superbat, collection of small stories. Some short Superbat stories! The last one has Bruce with cat ears again, I think I have a theme going on...

Hey look, friend's material by Speechless_since_1998 @mylifeisfruk4ever - Batfam, complete. Young Tim makes a friend. He found him hiding in his house. Bruce has some questions, like "why is this new friend hiding in Tim's house" and "why is he a clone of Superman?"

The Day the Cough Took Over by Elegitre - Batfam, complete. Tim gets sick, Bruce is there to help. Tim is confused (but pleased) about this :)

Patchwork Pod by KtKat9 @ktkat99 - Superbat & Batfam, wip. More of the mer Bruce fic! Jason finds out about his parentage and Cass has some questions about how human Clark came to be a parent to all these mer children

a face full or rain by HuntedPrincess @huntedprincess - Superbat, wip. An AU of The Batman movie. Investigative journalist Clark Kent and Detective Kurt Malone (aka Bruce) are looking into the disappearance of Annika Kosolov.

unexpected scoops by sky_of_starflowers - Superbat, complete. Clark finds an injured Harley Quinn sitting on his couch in his apartment. It's ok though! Batman said she could crash there. Shenanigans ensue.

buy back the secrets by sundiscus @vinelark - Timkon, wip. A 5+1 fic where Superboy rescues Tim, and Tim rescues Superboy one time. I love the identity shenanigans (Tim knows who Superboy is but Kon doesn't know Tim is Robin), Kon inadvertently helping the batfam with their family issues (FAKE UNCLE?? REALLY TIM??), and Tim interacting with his siblings (drunk Tim getting a ride from Red Hood was GREAT). I started reading this fic and fell behind on the updates, but @januariat 's AMAZING ART helped me to catch up again! There is also a lot of other excellent art created by other talented artist linked at the bottom of each chapter, so be sure to check those out too!!!

Happy reading!

[starboy-sirius]

kiss me on the mouth

| wolfstar | 3.5k words | based on a tweet i saw | can be read on ao3 here |

Remus held back a groan for what felt like the millionth time this evening. The urge to roll his eyes whenever Sirius would interact with Marlene was beating down on him, which was insane because Marlene was Sirius’ girlfriend, so of course they were going to talk to one another.

Remus just didn’t think he could bear it having to watch them snog, their mouths moving together like they knew each other intimately, tongues peeking out every so often to lick up against one another. 

The Gryffindor common room was decked out with Halloween decorations, orange bunting and floating lights hanging from corner to corner, the main lights having been turned off for mood lighting, as James put it. Remus wasn’t sure who James was trying to seduce with his mood lighting considering Lily was about two seconds from jumping Mary, but with the way his friend eyed the portrait he assumed there was someone else. 

The eldest two years were all gathered in various spots in the room, some of them by the open window smoking something that Remus knew had been cooked up in the greenhouses weeks prior to the party. Most people were dancing in a makeshift area by the alcohol table, bodies dressed down in skimpy costumes moving against each other sensually, the bass of the music thrumming within their veins and pounding along with their hearts. Remus almost wished he was up there with a stranger, feeling their body entwine with his, because it would be a lot better than his current position, which was sat on the floor with his back against the sofa, James’ legs caging his body as he spoke to Peter. 

Remus was fading in and out of their conversation, humming occasionally to give the impression that he was listening as he drank from his bottle and watched from lidded eyes as Sirius got the soul kissed out of him by Marlene. 

Jealousy burned something wicked in his chest. 

Lost within his haze of hatred, which he wasn’t entirely sure if it was aimed at them or himself, he didn’t notice Lily and Mary bounding over to their little group by the fireplace. Lily was dressed as a muggle comic book character called Poison Ivy and had somehow convinced Mary to go as Harley Quinn. Remus wasn’t sure whether Mary knew that the two characters were girlfriends and that Lily was seriously projecting, but it made him smirk as he watched the two of them sneak glances at each other. 

“Guys! Come and dance with us!” Lily yelled, smiling wide and free due to the alcohol she’d consumed.

Mary was much the same, hanging off Lily as though she was her life support. “Oi! Black, stop swallowing our friend and come dance with us!”

Sirius, snapped out of his daze by a push from Marlene, jumped up and rushed to the dancefloor with the two girls, twirling them around with one hand each. Remus watched them and sighed. Sirius looked incredible tonight. He was dressed up like a pirate, with a white shirt he’d borrowed from Remus billowing around him, unbuttoned past his sternum. He wore loose brown trousers that were buckled with an oval shaped metal belt, engraved with jewels dangling from it. He also had a dainty waist chain tucked within the shirt that peaked out every time he moved his hips and the light shone from it. 

It made Remus want to eat him. 

A loud cough sounded from opposite him and he snapped his neck so fast it was a wonder he didn't get whiplash. Marlene was staring at him with a raised eyebrow, her mouth curved into a small smirk. “He looks good, doesn’t he?”

Marlene was dressed much like Sirius, her own white pirate shirt billowing around a corset that pushed her breasts upwards, making them appear as though they were spilling from it. Remus had just come out as gay to his friends but even he could admit that Marlene looked incredible tonight. Her trousers cut off at her calves, short enough to show her chunky black boots and the hint of the tattoo that curled around her ankle. A pirate hat sat atop her head and underneath it was a Gryffindor red bandana, her wild blonde hair backcombed to create an effortlessly messy look. 

Remus felt quite inadequate with his bloody shirt and trousers both adorned with rips and gashes. He’d removed the glamour from his face and body to reveal the scars he bore every day, bedazzled with some fake blood. When people asked what Remus was he told them he was the victim of a werewolf. Everyone complimented him on how real it looked. 

A soft, coy grin lifted the corner of his lips at the memory. Sirius had been horrified before he’d laughed his head off, joking that he should have gone as a dog. “He does. Your doing, I imagine?”

Marlene laughed, throwing her head back. “You’re joking, right? This was all his idea. Said he wouldn’t be able to outdo Moony but he could still look damn sexy.” 

Remus rolled his eyes, a small blush coating his cheeks as he ducked his head and took another sip from his bottle to stall for time. He didn’t know why he was so surprised that Sirius spoke about him with his girlfriend, they were best friends after all and it’s not like it meant anything. “He’s such an idiot.”

Humming, Marlene took a sip from her own bottle, black fingernails wrapped around the neck. “A damn good kisser, though.”

Remus immediately felt queasy, but he brushed it off and shrugged in a way that he prayed was nonchalant and not stiff. “I wouldn’t know.”

Marlene eyed him suspiciously, a laugh threatening to break from her lips. “You’re lying.”

“Of course I’m not,” Remus ground out, becoming more agitated as the seconds ticked by because he wished he was lying. “Why would I lie about that?”

“Well, I don’t know. But he’s kissed James plenty of times and even Pete once as a dare, so I only assumed he’d kissed you as well.”

“That’s true, Sirius is very affectionate,” James’ voice drifted down from above him and Remus jumped in his spot, completely forgetting he was there. 

“Jesus, James,” he swore, shuffling in his spot and placing a hand on James’ knee as if that would ground him. 

“I’m pretty sure Padfoot has kissed you,” Peter mumbled from around the rim of his glass, amber firewhiskey sloshing dangerously. 

“I’m pretty sure I’d know if he’d kissed me, Pete,” Remus snarked, unable to keep his irritation from bleeding into his words. 

A quick glance at Marlene told him that she’d heard the bite in his tone and found it amusing, a full grin breaking out on her lips as she sat up and leaned closer to Remus, eyes sparkling conspiratorially. “Well, you’re missing out, dear Remus. That boy kisses like a whore, so desperate for it. He’ll sit there and fight with you, so demanding and hot. But oh, the minute you put your tongue in his mouth? He practically melts. Whines like a puppy and just takes it.”

Remus felt like he was going to implode. He felt hot all over like someone had doused him in oil and lit a match, his body prickling as his brain conjured images to match Marlene’s words. Throwing him into the fireplace or holding his head underwater in the Black Lake would be less painful than hearing this and not being able to experience it. Just once Remus wanted to know what it was like to kiss Sirius. He wanted the boy whining for him, because of what Remus was doing to him. 

Marlene looked like she wanted the same thing. 

Furrowing his eyebrows, Remus watched as Marlene called for Sirius, the boy’s head whipping around immediately, his hair swishing over his shoulder like some sort of muggle shampoo advert. Remus was transfixed.

Sirius made his way over and sat down next to Marlene obediently as she patted the spot next to her. She turned to her boyfriend with gleaming eyes. “It has come to my attention that you haven’t kissed Remus. Why?”

A blush burned prettily into the freckled skin of Sirius’ nose and the apples of his cheeks, eyes darting from Remus to Marlene, an edge in them as they reached the blonde girl. “Because we just haven’t, Marlene, why are you asking?”

The girl didn’t seem intimidated in the slightest, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I just find it rather odd that you’ve kissed both Pete and James, and James a fair few times might I add, and not dear Remus here. I think you should rectify that immediately.”

Spluttering, Sirius looked between Remus and Marlene rapidly, blushing further when he caught eye contact with Remus. “I— that’s ridiculous, Marls. Why would you want me to do that? We don’t need to do that, right Moons?”

Rolling his eyes, Remus ignored Sirius’ pleading stare and turned to Marlene. The open rejection from Sirius was enough to kill his mood for weeks and he was over Marlene getting her kicks from it. “Piss off, Marlene, and stop teasing him. He clearly doesn’t want to.”

He rose to his feet, swigging the last of his drink with the intention of getting another one straight away so that he could get away from the couple before him. He dropped the empty bottle to the nearby table. Maybe he would go to the dancefloor and find someone to lose himself in for the night. There was that Ravenclaw boy who had made very obvious hints that he found Remus attractive… 

“Remus, wait—”

“That’s what you think,” Sirius’ plea was cut off by Marlene’s sly comment.

Remus turned to them, feeling slightly better now that he was looking down at them as opposed to them looking down at him on the floor. He could see clearly how panic flashed across Sirius’ face as he turned to Marlene. He hissed, “Marlene, shut the fuck up.”

Bored of their antics and feeling like the butt of the joke, Remus spoke softly and yet lethally. “When I came out to you I thought you’d be cool about it. I didn’t think you’d sit here and take the piss out of me for it.”

Sirius looked up at him like he’d just been slapped around the face, eyes widening dramatically. He stood up instantly, shooting from his spot on the edge of the sofa with desperate eyes and downturned lips. “Remus, what—”

Marlene’s heavy sigh and groan cut him off. “Godric, I am being cool about it. I’m trying to—” she cut herself off, took in a deep breath and turned to Sirius with a new determination in her eyes. “Y’know what? Kiss him.”

“Marlene,” Remus shook his head. What wasn’t she getting? Sirius didn’t want to kiss him, he’d made that perfectly clear. She was being cruel whether she knew it or not. 

“No,” she held up her hand, eyes still pinned on Sirius. “Kiss him. For the love of fuck just kiss him.”

Something seemed to travel between them at that moment, a silent conversation happening between their eyes, and Remus watched as Sirius seemed to go through the motions. He had always been so expressive, every emotion written on his face clearly for anyone to read. He wasn’t shy and he rarely kept his mouth shut, so whether someone read it or not they’d probably hear about it sooner or later. It was something that Remus loved about him no matter how annoying it could be. 

“Fine!” Sirius snapped, glaring at Marlene before turning to Remus and softening his stare immediately.

As Sirius walked closer to him the entire common room faded into nothingness, the music becoming white noise and the people vanishing completely. It was only Remus and Sirius in the room, the latter coming to a stop just before Remus, head tilted upwards so that he could look into Remus’ hazel eyes, his stare earnest and shiny. 

“Sirius, stop. You don’t have to do this,” Remus mumbled, voice hushed as to not break whatever bubble they were in right now. 

In a way, Remus sort of felt like he could cry as he watched the boy he loved force himself to kiss him just because his odd girlfriend demanded it. Was that all Remus was? An errand to tick off before he went back to the real thing?

Hands came up to the hem of his bloody shirt, gripping lightly. Those grey-blue eyes were round like a doe’s and oh-so tempting. Sirius’ lips were red and shiny, most likely from the alcohol and the way Sirius tended to bite them whilst he danced and it made something feral unfurl itself in Remus. He wanted to lick and bite every inch of him. 

“I want to,” Sirius whispered, hands tugging lightly at his shirt, lips wet and eyes wide. 

Remus couldn’t hold back. 

He cupped Sirius’ cheeks in his hands, long fingers brushing through the wild waves that fell around his face, and captured his lips. He groaned at the feeling, finally knowing what it was like to kiss Sirius Black, the boy he’d been in love with for years. 

Marlene wasn’t wrong about Sirius, but boy did she leave out a few details. 

Sirius kissed like a starving man, like someone who had been caged for years only to feel the first rays of sunshine on his face and reach for them with everything he had. His lips moved with Remus’ immediately, his hands sliding up Remus’ torso and gripping the shirt with strength, the buttons popping and scattering to the floor. Remus tried to pull away, to see the commotion that Sirius just caused but he wasn’t able to. A soft groan of complaint was all he registered before Sirius’ mouth was back on his and his hands were wound in Remus’ hair, pulling roughly and causing his roots to tingle. 

Remus couldn't keep the feral part of him locked up any longer. He pressed his hands bruisingly into Sirius’ hips, sneaking his hands under the white shirt and tangling them in the waist chain he knew was waiting there. His skin was so soft and Remus couldn’t help but moan into Sirius’ mouth, pressing his lips harder as Sirius pulled him closer. Their bodies were connected at every point, one of Remus’ legs automatically slotting between Sirius’, an eager noise ripping itself from the latter’s throat.

Their lips moved together insatiably, but it wasn’t a fight like Marlene had suggested, it was more like a dance without a leader. Sirius tried to get the upper hand, to retain control, but Remus knew that the boy was begging for someone to take the lead. So that’s exactly what he did. 

Sneaking one hand further down, Remus grabbed a fistful of Sirius’ arse and felt the shift in the air as Sirius all but gave in to his touch, his back arching deliciously and his mouth opening in a silent gasp. Remus took the opportunity to lick into Sirius’ mouth and delighted in the eager, desperate whine that left Sirius’ lips, the boy releasing little huffs and moans as Remus continued to delve into his mouth. 

Removing his mouth from Sirius, Remus ignored the whiny complaints and mouthed at his jawline, licking and biting his way to his earlobe and down his neck, listening for particular sounds that left Sirius’ mouth. He latched onto the patch of skin where his neck met his shoulder and sucked hard, feeling Sirius tremble in his grasp, legs squeezing Remus’ one trapped between them. 

Remus licked over the area once, twice, before biting the skin, holding it captive between his teeth and sucking it into his mouth. Sirius moaned, breathy and high-pitched and like nothing Remus had ever heard before. 

“Remus,” Sirius gasped, one hand gripping the hair at the nape of his neck with a vengeance and the other coming to rest on Remus’ shoulder as though he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to push him away or pull him in closer. 

Chuckling low and throaty, Remus seductively licked a stripe up his neck, over the notch in his throat, and over both of his lips, tongue curling. Sirius shuddered. “That’s it, sweetheart. Tell me what you want, hm?”

“You,” Sirius whimpered, trying to pull Remus’ lips back to his, eyes blown wide and hazy. “I want you.”

The moment was cut short by a loud voice. “Fucking thank Godric! Can I please go back to my girlfriend now?”

Remus blinked and suddenly the entire common room swam back to him in pieces. James and Peter looking at them with wide eyes and even wider grins, Marlene rolling her eyes at them with an exasperated yet happy look on her face, Lily and Mary whooping from the dancefloor, their arms wrapped around each other and lipstick smudged. 

“Wait, did you just say girlfriend?” Remus frowned, focusing on Marlene, which was a herculean effort considering Sirius was still hanging from him looking utterly submissive and edible. 

Marlene rose from the sofa and picked an invisible piece of dirt from her shirt, mouth poised in a smirk once more. “That’s the last time I do you a favour, Black. I told you he wouldn’t try to steal you from me if he saw us kissing. Remus is way too gentlemanly for that.”

“That kiss says otherwise,” Pete mumbled, grinning wildly and wiggling his eyebrows when Remus shot him a look. 

Marlene tapped Remus on the shoulder and walked off towards the portrait where Dorcas was standing, leaning against the wall with a satisfied smirk on her lips and her Slytherin friends around her. Remus could practically feel James perking up from his seat. 

“Wait, is Dorcas here? Did she bring her friends?!” James was up and out of his seat immediately, eyes on the boy standing to Dorcas’s left who was accepting a drink from a Ravenclaw in Remus’ year. 

Remus felt bad for the boy, knowing that he’d be competing against James Potter for the remainder of the evening, but he couldn’t find it in himself to focus on that right now. 

He turned to Sirius, who was still pliant from their kiss, staring up at Remus with a small, guilty smile on his face. “So you and Marlene aren’t dating?”

“No. She may or may not have a girlfriend,” Sirius shrugged innocently. 

Nodding, Remus slid both of his hands down to rest warningly on Sirius’ arse, enjoying the way Sirius’ eyes became half-lidded once more, his mouth open on a silent intake of breath. “And you thought you’d trick me by pretending to date her?”

In a rush of breath Sirius said, “I didn’t know how else to get your attention.”

Remus paused for a moment, looked at Sirius like he’d give him the time to rectify his statement, and then scoffed when it seemed that Sirius was, well, serious. He leaned down and licked over Sirius’ bottom lip and then the top one in one curl of his tongue, the fire inside of him roaring as Sirius tongue peeked out between his lips in the hope that it might catch Remus’. 

“Sirius,” Remus waited for the other boy to focus on him. “You have had my attention since I met you.”

“Really?” The hope in Sirius’ eyes only further fueled the hope growing in Remus’ heart. 

“Really. I have been in love with you for two years,” Remus murmured against his lips, pecking them softly once. 

Sirius pressed his lips against Remus’ before he whispered, “I’m in love with you, too.”

Remus felt like he was on top of the world, happiness welling within him with a force he never knew capable. It was different to every other happy moment he had experienced. When his friends confessed that they had trained to become Animagi so that they could join him on the full moon, it was like a hit to the gut. Remus could only nod repeatedly and blink the tears from his eyes, a feeling of never ending gratitude surging within him for being so lucky with his best friends. 

But this was different. What surged through him now was utter bliss. He didn’t feel the urge to cry, only the urge to never stop smiling again. He worried that he wouldn’t be able to kiss Sirius again because of his inability to wipe the permanent smile from his face, which would be a damn shame because Sirius did kiss like a whore, but Remus feared he was worse. Especially when it came to Sirius.

“Wait, if you two are going to start snogging like sluts again, I’m just gonna leave real quick,” Peter darted up from the sofa and over to the alcohol table where James was currently trying to get Regulus Black to take the drink he was offering and ditch the one the Ravenclaw had given him. 

Remus and Sirius stared at each other for a moment before, “Dorm?”

“Dorm,” Remus nodded, taking Sirius by the hand and dragging him towards the stairs, a smile still etched onto his lips.

✧˖*°࿐

they fuck in the dorm whilst james follows regulus around the party like a puppy :D

starchaser sequel?

[bitbugbites-cod]

Together | John "Soap" MacTavish x Reader

It was Soap’s fault that you were detained–that you were stuck like this. A crazed test subject, alone in a cell. But it’s okay–you’ll forgive him–because your heart won’t listen to your mind anymore. You’ll fix things. You’ll make him like you.

a03 link

word count: ~800

gender: fem! reader

cw: NSFW, ANGST, SORTA DARK(?) // reader is a prisoner of war and an infected test subject. manipulation, toxicity, a whole lot of harley quinn x joker goin' on...except Soap is more like harley, lol. light sexual themes. // ktober24

a/n: this is a part of my second attempt at ktober. I probably won't be able to finish it like last year, but goooood-dammit I'm gonna get some new content out!

You were sick, really.

More than sick, if you were being honest–the kind of sick that’s unfixable, the kind that’s suffocating. The kind where the only thing that will heal you, is him.

He’s the slimy liquid pill that you swallow to ease your congestion. He’s the damp towel that you place on your forehead to knock down a fever. He’s the cough drop that you suck on to relieve the pain.

But to him, you were nothing more than a rat. 

A monster. 

A disease.

With hearts in your eyes, you stared up at him from your side, lying on the concrete underneath you, feeling your body burn against the hard, chilly, gray floor. Your hair was a mess, and you were barely dressed, donned in only a sheer, white dress. Shackles were wrapped around your arms and legs, and despite this, you lips curled into an intoxicated smile.

“Johnny,” you croaked, slowly pushing yourself up by one arm, holding that pose as if you were a mermaid resting on a rock. Instead, you were a prisoner of war, rotting in a cell.

The man winced, upon looking at you, turning his head with a frown, before shifting his body in a rugged, uncomfortable manner. “Why’re you callin’ me that?”

His voice was deep, gruff, covered by a Scottish accent. You giggled, swaying your head downwards and biting your bottom lip. “Ghostie says it–why can’t I?” 

You tilted your head up again, taking a peak at his expression. Again, another scowl. But this time, there was a hint of something else in it.

“Because you’re a prisoner,” he said, very matter-of-factly. 

“I’m your prisoner,” you said, drawling out your words in a seductive manner, propping yourself up with your arms so that your chest was revealed as much as possible from underneath your ratty cloth. You watched his eyes quickly glance down, then back up again, at anything else. His ears turned red.

“Yeah, the British Army’s prisoner–who Ah work for. Not mine.” 

“So, you’re saying that you wouldn’t have captured me? I love that.” 

Letting out a frustrated grunt, he turned to face you again, a sharp glare within his blue eyes that somehow glistened despite the dark shelter of the cell. “You need’ta stop this. This isnae–it isn’t you.”

You broke out into an unsettling fit of laughter. “Not me?”

He said nothing in response.

“But, Soapy, you did this to me? This is how you want me.”

Shame fluttered across his face, and he no longer could look you in the eyes. Yes, with his body language–he admitted it.

It was his fault.

Had he not detained you that day–had he not befriended you despite everything, had he helped you escape instead of becoming a test subject–maybe, just maybe, you would still be normal.

But you weren’t. Because he turned a blind eye to everything. 

Because he let it happen.

Because he participated.

“You gave me the shots, remember?” 

“Ah didn’t know. Ah thought it was harmless–they told me it would help people–that it was already approved for testin’ and shouldn’t have any complications.”

In a sing-songy voice, you taunted him, your voice quivering from the aches in your body. 

“Yoooouuu…”

“...wereeeee…”

“...wrooooong!”

He started pacing, and that’s when you knew that you had broken him.

“What’dya want me to do? What should Ah do? Ah’ll break ‘ya out. You can stay with me–it’ll be hard since ‘yer infectious, but Ah can figure somethin’ out–”

You grinned, and it felt like your face would rip in two. You were happy. So, so, happy.

“I want you to understand me,” you breathed, tears beginning to stream down your overjoyed face. “I want you to be like me.”

John froze, and you clocked a couple of the rushing emotions he displayed, despite your woozy cognition. 

Confusion.

Hesitance.

Fear.

All things you felt when you were in the spot he was now in.

“It's lonely,” you whined, and started crawling towards him, your chains clanking against the floor as you moved. “So, so, so, lonely.”

As you came closer to the glass and bars that separated you two, you sat on your knees and wrapped your hands around the metallic cylinders, feeling your weak thighs spill out of your short dress. You were now face-to-face with John’s groin, and through the see-through wall that kept you apart, you noticed that through his jeans, he was hard.

He shut his eyes, tilting his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing. 

“Ah’ll go get the serum.” 

With a craze in your eyes, in your smile, in your heart–you felt your emotions swirl as you watched him walk away. 

Together.

You’ll be together, now.

[saccharine-dean]

**Wincest fans DNI, because apparently I have to say that now.**

Upon discussing the rumor that Jensen Ackles was going to play Batman at... some point, my friend and I decided to cast the people of Gotham as according to the vibes we get from the SPN cast, both in and outside of their plots on the show. Here are our final thoughts:

- Just getting it out of the way, we have no idea where Misha goes. He's too powerful for anything we could think of. The idea of him playing Catwoman just so he would have to play Jensen's love interest (again. cough) was tossed around but never came to fruition.

- Jensen is Batman, obviously.

- Jared is the Joker. I will not elaborate. (Jared stans please don't k- [gunshots])

- Mark Sheppard is Penguin. We couldn't figure out why, but the vibes of Penguin well matched those of both Mark and Crowley.

- Mark Pellegrino is Scarecrow. Ngl I am afraid of this man. But I think he could do this.

- Richard Speight Jr. plays the Riddler. I do not have to explain this. The man has whimsy and riddling written all over his face

- Alexander Calvert plays Dick, but he also plays Jason, but he also plays Tim, but he also plays Damien. Whenever there is a wet pathetic Robin boy, he is played by Alex. If the Robin in question is shown as a child (e.g. A scene showing Dick's parents' deaths) he will still be played by Alex, but he gets sized down in post. NOTE - He is never edited to look younger, just smaller.

- Julien Richings plays Alfred. He will be good at portraying the handling of Jensen/Bruce's petulant bat-doings. I'm sure of it.

- Ruth Connell is Harley Quinn, and Emily Swallow is Poison Ivy. Doing our part for sapphics everywhere Idk

- We couldn't decide on a character for Rob Benedict, but he has to be in there somewhere. My personal suggestion was that he plays every background character. Every single one. There's a no-name guy running a hot dog stand? Rob. An old woman getting mugged? Rob. The angry ski-mask-wearing man mugging her? Also Rob. This man is a spectacle to me and I want to do his image justice.

- We also couldn't find characters for Felicia Day or Alona Tal, but similarly, they do have to be there. Originally they were going to be HQ/PI, but we gave HQ to Ruth, because, like.. It's Ruth

- Last but not least, if Misha won't be playing Catwoman, she'll be played by Lauren Cohan.

This absolute shitpost is so dear to me and it's only inevitable that one day I'll finally crack and draw it. If you made it this far.. I don't know. Your commitment to the bit is appreciated just as much as our own, I suppose

[ichorai]

talk ; bruce wayne.

track nine of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; rpatz!bruce wayne x fiance!gn!reader

synopsis ; it’d been years since you died. bruce stood silent in front of your grave, hair damp from the cold rain. you approached him from behind, tipping your umbrella forward just enough so the tears of the sky would stop mingling with his own.

words ; 6.8k

themes ; angst, action, fluff, engaged au, ex-thief au

warnings / includes ; faked death, injuries/blood/violence/death, depictions of human trafficking, a lot of Emotions, reader used to be a thief, mentions of the joker and harley quinn, alfred cameo !! and one smutty-ish sentence?

main masterlist.

The ground was sodden with rainwater, mud clinging onto his black boots. Its long laces were loosely dragging through the dirt, wet and filthy, but he couldn’t be bothered to retie them. Rain dripped from the hair that hung limply from his head, frigid drops pricking his skin and meandering down his cheeks. The cold air from the sky was a pleasant but striking juxtaposition to the hot tears slipping from the corners of his eyes, conveniently camouflaged by the rain. It wasn’t often that Bruce Wayne cried, but for you, he allowed himself to shed a few tears.

After all, it was the third anniversary of your death.

He hadn’t shown up to your funeral—well, from what Alfred told him, he wouldn’t have made much of a difference. There were hundreds of people there. He was just glad he wasn’t there so the vultures of public press didn’t have the chance to shove flashing cameras into his face.

He could just imagine the headlines: Bruce Wayne At Gotham’s Most Notorious Thief’s Funeral, Y/N L/N And Bruce Wayne: A Tragic Romance, Bruce Wayne’s Ex-Criminal Fiance Killed By The Joker.

Bruce coughed into his fist, masking a strained, broken sob as his eyes trailed down your headstone, where your name was carved in stone. His shoulders trembled. The sky thundered. He bit down on his tongue. His lungs felt thick and heavy, as if slickened with tar. 

There were nearly a dozen bouquets of flowers crowded around the stone. Bruce noticed that there were several wilting roses amongst the heap of petals and thorns. 

You hated roses.

“Hope you didn’t leave me any of those,” said an eerily familiar voice from behind him. All of a sudden, the rain stopped pelting his head, shadowed by a dark umbrella, just enough to stop the tears of the sky from mingling with his own. “You know I hate roses.”

His shoulders tensed.

Chest constricting, your name slipped from his lips, nearly lost to the pelting rain. 

“The one and only,” you said. “It’s been a long time, Bru.”

He turned around, stiff. His eyes twitched in disbelief. There was a bitter taste in the back of his throat. A part of Bruce, the grief-stricken part, wondered if he was hallucinating you.

But you were here, in the flesh. And there was a small grin coyly toying at the corner of your lips. You had a hat pulled low over your head, nearly shielding your bright eyes as well, and you were dressed in loose, dark clothing. 

The ring he gave you dangled on a thin silver chain around your neck, gleaming as if regularly polished. You silently noted that he still wore his own engagement ring.

Bruce’s supposedly dead fiance tilted their head, regarding him with veiled fondness.

“Come on,” you said, pointedly turning away so that the umbrella was no longer hovering over him. He flinched when the cold rain touched his skin. He stood there for a second longer, still in shock, before numbly following behind you. 

Rust. 

Bruce could smell it everywhere.

“I know it isn’t much,” you said, shouldering the creaky door to the abandoned warehouse open, “but it’s home. For now, at least.”

You glanced over your shoulder, catching Bruce’s hardened eyes. With pursed lips, you shook the water out of your umbrella before shucking it closed, tossing it somewhere in the corner. Bruce watched as you busied yourself with lighting small gas lamps on rickety metal chairs, before allowing his gaze to briefly dart around the room. It was spacious in a way that was unsettling—dark and dreary, cold and lifeless. There were a couple dozen boxes stacked along the opposite wall, lining the large, moldy windows. A beaten down sofa was placed off to the side, with a thin blanket messily thrown over the back. 

You’d been living here this entire time? 

When he spoke—his first words to you in three entire years—it was shaky and saturated with raw hurt. He was… he was so inexplicably angry with you. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered, so quietly you nearly wished he was yelling instead. “How could you… how could you do this to me? To Alfred?”

The splinter within the fractures of your heart was all of a sudden a large stake, and Bruce held the hammer.

A small sigh fell from your lips and you turned to face him fully. “It’s a long story.”

Bruce’s frustrated countenance remained unchanged. “You better get going, then.”

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, before dropping down onto your patchy sofa. “You don’t wanna sit down?” you asked. He gave you no response. “Alright, then.”

There was so much to tell him. You didn’t know where to start.

After clearing your throat, you finally croaked out, “That night three years ago—I contacted the Joker through Harley Quinn. She was an old pal of mine from my crime days. Through her, I asked him to meet me under Gotham’s largest bridge because I had a deal to make with him. A part of me wasn’t sure he was going to show but—my reputation as the city’s most famous ex-thief was more than enough to convince him. He was curious, you see. He thought I was coming back into the business of stealing. It didn’t take him long to realize that I wasn’t planning on working with him, and he was about to call his cronies for back up, but I knocked him out before he could reach for anything. I planted evidence of my death on him—a knife with my blood on it, his fingerprints over my equipment, his hair on my clothes, my skin under his nails. The next couple of hours, I was across the city, ingesting a fake-death pill—potassium cyanide. The next day, the entire world thought I was dead, killed by the Joker—though if you dug up that grave you were standing over earlier today, you’d find it to be empty. I framed him so he’d land in jail, Bruce. Like he deserves to be.”

Bruce’s pallid complexion made it look like he was going to keel over and hurl. “Why? Why did you do it?”

“There were people trying to kill you because of me, Bru,” you whispered. “They wanted me dead, and they wanted you dead, too. I was protecting you. If I’m gone, then they’d no longer have a reason to kill you.” 

“YOU COULD’VE TOLD ME!” he roared, his pain ricocheting throughout the warehouse. All of a sudden, he was no farther than an arm’s length away from you. The blue of his eyes gleamed with a mirage of resurfaced bitterness and anger. His voice quietened, “I could’ve done something. I could’ve helped you. We could’ve worked through it together.”

You shook your head. “You knowing I was alive would’ve put us both at more risk. I had to do it, Bruce. I… I had to do it so I wasn’t under the eye of scrutiny anymore. Being the most famous ex-thief and Bruce Wayne’s fiance meant more eyes on me than practically anyone else in the country. One tiny slip up, and I’d be in jail right next to the Joker!”

Bruce reared back upon realizing what you were saying. “You faked your death to steal again?”

“No!” you bit back, voice cracking. “Not to steal. To help—just without the cops on my back. Without the Penguin breathing down my neck. Without Deathstroke hunting me down. I did it to protect you and help the city in my own way.”

Silence stretched thin between the two of you. Bruce was tense, frozen in front of you, repeating your words over and over in his head.

“I still love you, Bru,” you said, reaching out for his arm. “That’s never changed.”

He moved out of your way, flinching at the mere prospect of touching you.

“Then what do you want from me?” he snarled, gruffer than he had intended. “I grieved you. I couldn’t—I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I’d failed you. I couldn’t save you. It tore me apart, Y/N. I just… I loved you so much. You meant so much to me. And to just… leave without so much as a goodbye! Not even a note!”

Your hand fell back to your side, a sharp ache clawing within your ribcage. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, gritting your jaw and willing the surfacing tears away. “I’d love to hash this out with you, B, but there’s more pressing matters at hand. I would’ve never told you that I’m still alive if I really didn’t need your help.”

There was a beat of silence. Bruce shifted, shoulders hunched over as if he wanted to cave in on himself. The thought of being around you right now was simultaneously the worst thing he could do to himself, and what he desired most. 

He missed you—painfully so. He missed the hard, determined edge to your expression whenever you concentrated on something. He missed the way you used to cradle him close to you when he had terrible nightmares, kissing around his bruises. He missed the way you’d playfully bump your hip against his while the two of you worked on the same table. He missed the way you'd lewdly moan your special nickname for him—Bru—into the mattress when he rolled his hips into yours from behind, pressing hot kisses down your arched spine. He missed your infamous grin, and how it never failed to replicate itself onto his own lips. He missed your scent—a homely mix of cinnamon and lavender, a smell he wanted to drown himself with. After you’d died, he’d sleep with your hoodie pressed against his nose—and he did so until the perfume wore away, and the last trace of you was gone. He missed your laughter, your lighthearted banter with Alfred, your help on missions when he found himself at a dead end. 

This time, you were asking for his help.

And how could he say no to that? 

Bruce’s sore eyes darted from the rusty ceiling to you, watching him intently. “What is it?” 

Hope sparked within you, like a candle lit in the middle of a hurricane. “Human trafficking, Bru. That’s what I’ve spent the past three years trying to take down. Gotham is rampant with it. If I told the police… they would’ve been five steps ahead and relocated across the country and we’d be right back to square one. I finally got my hands on some intel—they’re moving a bunch of kidnapped children through the abandoned railways under the city tomorrow night. I don’t know where they’re going, but I can’t let them leave, or things would get infinitely more complicated. I don’t know how many exactly. Could be a couple dozen. A hundred. Maybe even just one. But I know I have to stop them—and I can’t do it alone.”

There was something akin to awe behind Bruce’s blue irises. “The five missing kids randomly appearing in a homeless shelter last year—that was you?”

A weak grin nudged at the corner off your lips. “Yeah. The poor things were being forced to manufacture illegal firearms with scrap metal parts.”

Another beat of silence. The hesitance in Bruce seemed to wane away with each passing second. 

“How do you know it’s not a trap?” Bruce stepped closer to you, eyebrows furrowing. The fact that all of this was happening right under his nose made a sick feeling twist his stomach.

Your lips trembled. Slowly, you pulled out your phone, pressing on a video file and held it out to him. He took it from you, watching with horror as the grainy footage played. Half of the screen was black, as if filming from behind a wall. The kids were chained, manhandled and shoved into a truck by several armed people, screams and cries echoing along the metal walls. There was a louder shout, closer to the person recording, and the camera began to wobble and shake, pulling away from the crime scene as they began running. The video was cut off there. 

He felt sick. His eyes flickered back up to you, anxiously worrying on your bottom lip. 

“I filmed that around a day ago,” you whispered, throat thick with emotion. You began to physically shake. “I saw it. I tried to stop them—but I messed up. One of the guards turned around the corner and saw me. I killed him, Bruce, or the entire operation would’ve been blown. I… I—”

There was a cold hand on your shoulder. His thumb brushed against the bare skin of your collarbone. Your fiance kneeled in front of you, nodding his head to silently tell you to go on. You swallowed nervously.

“Thankfully, the rest of them didn’t know I was there. I don’t know where the kids are now, and it kills me to wait. All I know is that they’re planning on taking them through the railways tomorrow. It’s the best shot I have.”

Bruce’s stare burned into you. “You’ve been managing on your own for the past three years. Why are you only asking for my help now?”

You winced, pursing your lips. “The man I killed—he didn’t go down without a fight.” 

Gingerly, you shifted your hands down to the hem of your shirt, lifting it up to reveal tightly wound bandages over your stomach. Much to your dismay, they were soaked through with copper-hued blood, a dark shade that sent a queasy tremor up your spine.

Almost immediately, a shadowed, closed-off expression melded over his features. You couldn’t exactly tell whether or not he was angry at you, or just angry in general. 

“You’re bleeding,” he stated, rather bluntly. You bit back the urge to berate him for spelling out the obvious, and remained quiet as he told you to lean back. “Do you have extra bandages?”

“Yeah—in that box in the corner there. Nicked ‘em from the pharmacy down the block.”

Bruce frowned at that, but didn’t vocalize his disapproval. 

In the box, he’d noticed a bottle of alcohol beside the bandages, grabbing that as well. 

He strode back to you, softly asking you to peel back your bandages. You complied, but not without a grumpy divot appearing between your brows. If you weren’t practically bleeding out in front of him, Bruce would’ve found it to be rather endearing.

There were several lacerations across your abdomen, some shallow, and others deep. There were stitches across the more serious wounds, but they were done shoddily. Bruce sent you a look, swallowing hard.

“These look awful.”

“Why don’t you try stitching yourself up, then?” you hissed, biting down on your palm as he started cleaning up your wounds with an alcohol-doused bandage. 

Bruce couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was cleaning up his fiance’s stab wounds after three years of their supposed death. A part of him wondered if he’d wake up from this nightmare, sprawled across his bed with his nose tucked into your hoodie. 

But this was real. 

Your muffled groans of pain brought him back down to earth.

You were real. 

As swiftly as he could, he neatly wrapped fresh bandages over your waist, murmuring a shaky apology when you cried out from the stinging agony of the combined pressure and the cleansing alcohol.

“What else have you been doing?” Bruce asked, much to your surprise. Your eyes darted to his, and his skin flushed with heat, shifting his gaze to the ground.

It took you a moment to formulate a response. You were walking on eggshells around him, afraid that a slip of your tongue would make him get up and leave. “I’ve been in international waters for the majority of the time—staking out meetings, organizing heists, stealing from the rich—all that lovely jazz. I went to France, Mexico, India, New Zealand—trying to find something to do. My purpose. I guess I was traveling all over the place to run away from Gotham for a while. But I came back—because Gotham will always be my home. Because Gotham is where you are.” You fixed him with a pointed gaze, and Bruce swallowed uneasily. The hazy blue of his irises darkened a shade. You spoke again, voice lowered, “I gave all the money to charities, by the way. A couple of orphanages, too. Balancing out the scales, Bruce. For all the shitty things I’ve done.” You gritted your teeth when he wound another set of bandages over you for good measure. 

Your words made an overwhelming sense of nostalgia wash over him, like a tidal wave crashing against the shore. There was good in you, no matter what the press had to say about that. Bruce knew that you were doing your best to help Gotham, just like he was. In your own way, of course, but it was what made Bruce fall in love with you in the first place. 

You cared so much for Gotham. For its people. Even when they probably didn’t deserve it.

“Ironic that I fell in love with one of the richest men in the world, isn’t it?” you chuckled, lolling your head back onto the sofa’s armrest, staring up at the rusty warehouse’s ceiling. Bruce could feel his chest constricting. “What about you, Bru? What’ve you been up to since I’ve been dead?”

The man gave you no response, merely lifting one of his shoulders in a tense shrug. He wasn’t sure he was ready to divulge the past few years to you just yet. As much as he missed you, dreamed of you coming back to him—he couldn’t find it within himself to tear down all the barriers he built around himself since your death. 

It was all too sudden. Bruce needed time.

You understood him all too well, much to his mild relief, and hummed noncommittally, as if to say ‘take your time’.

“You can’t tell anybody that I’m alive,” you said breathlessly, after a moment of terse silence. “Not even Alfred.”

Bruce’s jaw flexed. He didn’t like keeping secrets from the closest thing he had to a father, but he knew that it was necessary. “What’s the plan?”

“They’ll be moving tomorrow. Are you in, Bruce?”

Only now did he realize that his hands were still splayed out over your bandaged abdomen, and he jerked back, as if he’d burned himself. You propped yourself up on an elbow, a hint of an amused grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

God, you were so beautiful. 

It took a great amount of effort for him to look away from your lips, and he focused on leveling his gaze with those bright eyes of yours.

“I’m in,” he said.

You smiled, all warm and utterly heart-breakingly wide, and Bruce could swear the air stilled around the two of you. 

“Alright.” Your hand reached out to clasp his pale, cold one. He couldn’t pull away. He should’ve. He didn’t want to. “We strike at midnight.”

There was something about Bruce’s Batman suit that made you stop and stare at him with awe. Quite a few adjustments had been made to the outfit the past three years—the bulletproof platelets over his chest and abdomen were much more form-fitting than before, and a lightweight cape draped down to his ankles, dark as the night. His mask was different as well—it was tighter and covered more of his face. Seeing him like this made you remember that Batman didn’t hide in the shadows—he was the shadow.

He caught you watching him, the blue of his eyes flashing almost dangerously beneath the moonlight. You noticed the way his gaze trailed up and down your form, soaking in your own suit.

It was a simple outfit, made up of a long, cowled coat, the hood draping over your forehead and stopping just above your eyebrows. It was a mottled hue of grey, perfect camouflage for the dull concrete jungle of Gotham city. A mask of the same color covered your nose and mouth, leaving just your eyes for Bruce to see. The rest of your outfit beneath the coat was dark and well-fitted, with several compartments to store your gizmos and gadgets. 

There were two daggers slid into your utility belt and a third emergency one strapped to your left shin. Further hidden within your pockets were a multitude of smoke grenades, ropes, and throwing stars. 

You had a small pistol wedged into your belt, but that was only for worst-case scenarios. You knew Bruce didn’t like guns.

The two of you stood before the entrance of the abandoned railways, the gaping tunnel overgrown with moss and greenery. He gave you a weary glance, non-verbally asking if you were ready. You gave him a soft nod in response. Graffiti lined the walls near the front, but as the two of you walked in, there were fewer and farther in between. 

The plan was clean-cut. Locate the children, take out the guards, and high-tail out of there. Your fiance (or was it ex-fiance? You weren’t quite sure) had made you promise not to kill anybody but—given the circumstances, you weren’t entirely sure if you could hold up to that promise.

Bruce had this innate ability to move in a way that if you hadn’t known he was already there, you wouldn’t have seen him at all. His hands loosely wrapped around your wrist to guide you to the right, and you couldn’t help but hold your breath at the minimal contact.

In the distance, the two of you heard echoing murmurs, gruff voices of what sounded to be a pair of boisterous men. They were getting closer, and getting close fast. In a whirl of dark fabric, you found yourself pressed up against the wall, Bruce’s face mere inches from yours. His long cape draped over the both of you, blending seamlessly into the shadows. 

It took you another second to realize that his entire body was slotted against yours. His scent warped around you and consumed you whole, an overwhelmingly nostalgic aroma of fresh mint and blueberries and something purely, entirely just Bruce. You inhaled sharply.

This close, you could see the thin flecks of pale green amongst his blue irises, the smudged mascara around his eyes, the small, faded scar on his jaw. You could—

Oh.

A lump formed in your throat. You could hear his heart beating—feel it—thundering against his ribcage, just above where yours was. 

Heat spidered beneath your skin, crawling up your neck and flushing your cheeks. Bruce watched you with an indiscernible gaze, jaw set. Perhaps it was a trick of light, but you could’ve sworn you saw his pupils dilate, dipping towards your lips for a millisecond before flicking right back up to meet your heady stare. 

Desperate for a distraction, you craned your neck, and caught sight of the two men passing by. You bit onto the inside of your cheek, swallowing down a tirade of curses when you saw that they both held guns. Of fucking course they did.

Another couple of minutes, and they turned the corner, speaking to each other loudly. Bruce stepped away from you then, still keeping his eyes trained on you.

They both have guns, you signed with your hands. Sign language was something the two of you learned together during your first year of dating—it was always handy in case of emergencies such as this. 

Bruce cocked his head in understanding. Stay in the shadows, he signed back.

You nodded, and the two of you took off once more, skimming across the gravel so quickly that you were practically floating. 

The two of you slowed to a halt in front of several wrecked train cars, rusted and filthy with neglect. You peered through the glass, noting a few guards milling in front of trucks on the opposite side. That must’ve been where the children were. Tilting your head to look further to the left, you caught sight of a row of children lined up against the wall to the side of the tunnel. Chains shackled their wrists and ankles together. They were entirely silent, which unnerved you more than anything.

You’ve done this a million times before. Why were you so nervous?

Ah, right. Maybe, just maybe, because last time, you got stabbed. Or maybe it was because the love of your life was right by your side—the man who was supposed to think that you were dead. 

You bit down on your tongue in a fruitless effort to quell the nausea roiling about in the pits of your stomach. 

With a gentle hand to Bruce’s shoulder, you signed, Six kids. Get them to safety. I’ll take the guards.

Not allowing him the chance to protest, you reached into your coat’s pocket and brandished two smoke grenades, your other hand sliding out a dagger. You leapt through the totaled train’s doors, before pulling the pins out with your teeth, chucking them amongst the lounging guards. 

Shouts erupted as two large plumes of ashy white smoke encompassed the entirety of the tunnel. Silent as the night, you snuck up behind two guards, bashing their heads together hard enough to render them unconscious. Your dagger flipped in your hand as you knelt, sweeping around and stabbed another right in the leg, dragging the blade down the entire length of their shin. An ear-splitting scream ricocheted across the stone walls of the tunnel. 

That was when the gunshots started ringing out. You were able to dodge them lithely, watching the trajectory of the amber sparks made by the ricocheting bullets and ducking away from its sweeping arc. You drove your dagger straight into the jugular of the guard with a gun, kicking him back until he fell into the gravel, gurgling incoherently through the blood flooding his mouth. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Bruce ushering the children through the wrecked train cars, towards the exit. Panic seized its dark hands around your heart as you spotted another guard—the last one in sight—pointing their gun towards Bruce. 

You ripped your dagger out of the guard’s throat in no less than half a second, pulling your arm back to hurl it through the air. The blade embedded itself cleanly through the side of his head, the impact sending him crashing into the wall. 

A breath of relief slipped your lungs, and you ran over to scoop the fallen gun up, shoving it into your belt. 

Bruce had all the kids—it was time to go.

You dashed through the first set of doors into the train.

A deafening gunshot rang out to your right, and you dove down out of pure reflex.

But you were too late. 

Searing pain blossomed over your chest, your stomach, your head—everywhere. 

Children screaming. 

Footsteps thundering. 

The gravel beneath you—cold and sticky with your blood.

Bruce yelling your name, panic saturating every syllable.

The edges of your vision flickered with darkness.

Chest heaving—heaving—heaving—your breath leaving you—

Bruce… the children…

Oh, fuck. Everything hurt.

Your head throbbed angrily.

“Wake up, Y/N. Look at me. LOOK AT ME!”

Bruce’s voice was tightly interwoven with dread—bordering on hysteria as he knelt down over you, palm applying direct pressure to the bullet hole in your abdomen. A low moan fell from your lips at the searing agony that shot up your body. 

As soon as your eyes dazedly cracked open, Bruce swore under his breath, mild relief seeping into his blown eyes. You’d only been down for no less than two seconds before he ripped his batarang from his armored chest, sending it arcing through the air to the last gunman, striking him down. 

Not a single thing registered in your mind as Bruce swept you into his arms, carrying you down the tunnel and ushering the children along with gritted teeth and panic-laced words.

An overwhelming sense of terror still coursed through the very fibers of his being. He couldn’t lose you—not again. 

“Bats, put me down,” you said, hoarsely. “Put me down.”

A protest was on the tip of his tongue, but the warning glare you sent him made him reluctantly comply, gently lowering you down to your feet. Your hand clutched his bicep for stability while the other still held pressure against your bullet wound. There were so many emotions coursing through him that he nearly felt dizzy with the overwhelming barrage of turmoil. 

The two of you soon reached the end of the tunnel with half a dozen kids in front of you. Bruce herded them into the back seats of the Batmobile—it was a tight fit, but they were small and eager to leave. One of the little girls started crying as soon as she sat down on the leather seat of his car, and Bruce could feel his heart lurch with an ugly amalgamation of anger and concern. 

He slid into the driver’s seat just as you slumped into the one next to him. A groan of pain left you as you began rifling through the car dash’s compartment, whipping out a roll of bandages and began winding it around your abdomen. 

The car purred to life and in no less than half a minute, you were jetting off, leaving the dirty crime scene far behind. 

Bruce’s eyes darted from the dark road to you, nearly bleeding out in the passenger’s seat. You were panting shallowly, head tilted back as you swallowed uneasily. Sweat beaded your forehead.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” he whispered.

“No,” you replied, a biting edge to your tone.

Bruce’s eyebrows drew together. “You have a fucking bullet in you.” His voice lowered, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I can’t lose you again.” The last bit was said softly, his voice cracking with raw hurt. 

You shook your head, stubborn. Your voice was quiet enough so the trembling kids in the back wouldn’t be able to hear you. “Don’t take me to the hospital, Bru. It’ll ruin everything I’ve built the past few years. Nobody can know I’m still alive.”

There was a beat of hesitation. Bruce clenched his jaw so hard it was a wonder his teeth didn’t crack under the pressure. “At least let me take you back home. Alfred can help you.”

You frowned but kept silent. Going back to the Wayne Mansion was less than desirable, but it was the best choice you had—the other being bleeding out to death in your rusty abandoned warehouse. Your nose twitched as you slowly shifted to look out the window. 

The drive went by much quicker than expected, mostly because you were fading in and out of a pain-induced unconsciousness. When you cracked your eyes open again, your head was pounding angrily and your bullet wound pulsated hotly in tandem with the thick, languid beating of your heart. You could faintly make out Bruce in his Batsuit just outside of the car, leading the kids into a building. 

Your gaze shifted upwards, a sigh of relief falling from your lips upon seeing the gotham orphanage sign. Bruce helped the woman at the door usher the children in, before handing her about a dozen fat wads of cash. The look on the woman’s face was priceless—mouth gaping and eyes misting over with unshed tears. His lips moved, but you couldn’t hear him from inside the car. 

Once Bruce made sure the kids were safe inside, he nodded once to the woman, before turning back to the Batmobile.

He slid in smoothly, checking all the mirrors to make sure that nobody had followed you. 

“How are you holding up?” he asked, quiet and uncertain.

“I’m alive,” you replied. “Could really use an Advil right now, though.”

He huffed out a humorless laugh. “Think you need a bit more than an Advil.”

You couldn’t find it in you to reply, the edges of your vision darkening at a concerningly rapid pace. 

“Hang on for me, baby,” Bruce whispered brokenly, his hand darting out to grasp your limp one as he drove to the Wayne Mansion, slamming down on the gas. “Hang on.”

The street lights began to expand into a million shards of light as your eyelids drooped.

Blinding, blinding, blinding. 

And yet you could see everything. The blue of Bruce’s eyes that constantly glanced over at you. The trembling of his pale hand on the steering wheel. The tacky blood that meandered down your sides and pooled into the crevices of the leather seat.

All of a sudden—

It all went dark. 

It’d been three years since you stepped foot in the Batcave. 

Really, it was just a private underground railway beneath the Wayne Mansion, but it definitely wasn’t fit for its original use and you were sure at least a couple dozen bats made the dark tunnel their permanent home, thus its name.

Bruce carried you out the car and into his work station, worry woven between every muscle. He deposited you gently onto the table, just as the elevator door rattled open. 

Alfred stepped out, and he immediately blanched upon seeing you, bleeding and teetering on the edge of death itself.

They exchanged a couple hurried words, but you couldn’t hear much. Everything was blurry. 

A tear slipped down your cheek when Alfred made his way to you, his hand cupping your cheek. He had a medkit clutched in his hands, and he popped it open right beside your head. 

“Hi, Al,” you murmured hoarsely. “Long time no see.”

“Hello, my dear,” he replied fondly, deathly calm. It might’ve been a trick of the dim lights, but you could’ve sworn you saw his eyes misting over with unshed tears. “Last I checked, you were dead.”

If you weren’t in so much pain, you would’ve laughed, and given him an easy shrug. “Plans changed, I guess.”

Mustering what little energy you had left in you, you turned to look at Bruce as Alfred began peeling your clothing back to start working on your wounds. 

“Hey, Bru,” you whispered. Bruce’s lips twitched at the nickname. “If I don’t make it—”

“Don’t say that,” he gruffed.

His warning fell upon deaf ears and you spoke again, determined. “If I don’t make it, for real this time, just remember that I love you. And I’ve never stopped.”

Something in his chest broke, and a suffocating sob thundered within him. He clutched at your limp hands, whispering out your name just in time for you to hear before you let the darkness take you one last time.

The first thing you noticed when you came to was Bruce’s hand still holding tightly onto yours. The second thing was the fact that the pain in your abdomen was no longer unbearable, but instead subdued to a sharp ache. 

Your gaze roamed around the room, and you dimly realized that you were in Bruce’s bed—the bed that the two of you had slept in together when you were together. He was asleep by the edge of the mattress, hunched over in a position that wasn’t at all good for his spine. 

He still had the black eye makeup on, smudged and flaking off, dried bits of mascara on his cheeks. His hair was mussed, as if he had raked his fingers through several times. 

When you shifted a bit on his expansive mattress, Bruce stirred awake, the blue of his eyes shifting from confusion to panic to relief in a matter of seconds. 

“Hey,” you croaked. “Thanks for getting me here. And tell Alfred thanks for patching me up.”

“We nearly lost you,” Bruce replied hoarsely. A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Alfred wasn’t sure if you were going to make it. There was so much blood.”

A pained smile stretched your lips thin. “Well, I’m alive. Sort of. How long was I out?”

“A couple hours,” he replied. He exhaled quietly, lowering his head. “I never stopped loving you, too. After all these years… I should be mad at you. I was, at first… but I’m not anymore. I’m just—glad. I’m glad you’re here.”

You blinked, tilting your head. Slow, you wrapped your wrist around his hand, gingerly moving it up to your lips. You kissed the back of his palm, and he cupped your face tenderly just as the familiar sensation of tears began stinging the corner of your eyes.

“Oh, Bru. I’m so sorry for causing you all this pain. I’m sorry.” You hiccupped, not wanting to dissolve into a mess of tears right in front of him. “I love you so much. I wanted to come back every day, I swear. I had to do it. I did it for you.”

A glimmer of pain warbled in the blue of his irises. “After you died… I was in a bad place. I nearly killed the Joker when I visited him in prison—I was this close. Gordon took me away before I could. From then I just… I lost myself without you. I spiraled. I was vengeance. Then the anger just sort of left and all I had left was just this… this ache. This hurt that never went away.”

A part of you was surprised he was opening up. It was as if the dam had cracked, and the water was spewing out and Bruce just couldn’t stop. He began to cry softly, the dark mascara meandering down his face once more and his hand shaking against your cheek. You could feel your heart crumbling through the bones of your ribcage, and you wanted nothing more than to hold him close to you. 

“Please stay,” Bruce croaked. “I can’t lose you—not again. I can’t go through that again. Please don’t let me go through it again.” His forehead fell to the mattress right beside your hip as his hand fell away from your face and his body shook. 

This was him begging, you realized in shock. He was begging you.

Helplessness placed its dark hands on your shoulders, and you were frozen for a second. 

“Bru, baby, I—”

“Please don’t leave. You can fight crime undercover with me. Here. By my side. Please—I love you.”

Tentative, you reached over and gently ran your fingers through his overgrown hair. This seemed to quell his shaking just a bit. He stayed in that position for another minute before peering up at you. 

“I’ll stay,” you said. “But we’re going to have to be careful. I can’t risk more people finding out I’m alive—and I can’t risk dragging you down with me. I need you to understand that if things go south, I’m leaving immediately—to protect you, Bru. And as long as you won’t hold me back from my own missions. We might’ve stopped one trafficking transfer tonight, but I have no doubt that there’ll be plenty more to come.”

For the first time in a very long time, Bruce smiled. It was a small one, the kind that twitched at the corner of his lips and wrinkled the corner of his mirthful, tear-glossed eyes. 

He shifted upwards so he sat beside you on the bed, pressing a chaste, affectionate kiss to your forehead. His palm found its way back to your jaw, and he rested his temple against yours. 

It’d been three long years since you kissed him.

You arched your neck just enough so his lips would meld over yours. A pained, broken noise fell from Bruce’s throat, and he surged forward, kissing you back with just as much vigor. He missed this. He missed you. 

He avoided touching your stomach, afraid that he’d hurt you or rip the stitches of your wound. The last thing he wanted was to explain to Alfred how you’d managed to hurt yourself even more. 

As he kissed you, your hands moved to grip his biceps, nails digging into his shirt. His nose bumped softly into yours and he could feel your radiant smile growing against his lips, utterly contagious. Your homely smell, the mesh of cinnamon and gentle lavender invaded his senses, and he nearly started sobbing again at the pure nostalgia from it all. 

You were back. You came back to him.

“As lovely as this is,” you husked, voice lowered an octave, “I still need you to promise me you won’t hold me back. You’d be Batman and I’d be… a ghost.” It pleased Bruce immensely to see your chest heaving, and your pupils dilated as they shamelessly darted from his eyes to his lips. 

“I promise,” he whispered against your lips in reply. Despite everything that had happened the past few days, he still trusted you to take care of yourself. A thrill shot through him when the cold engagement ring around your neck pressed flush against his chest. “How’d I be able to hold back a ghost, anyway?”

You smiled into him, before tugging him down for another kiss.

[knight-says-nanana]

I just recently finished the Harley Quinn show and auuugghhhhh I need season 5 :(( but In the meantime!!

No-Apocalypse Timeline “Neytiri” Headcanons!!

Now with ART !!!

Neither of them carried her, Ivy pulled a mad scientist move and they grew that baby in a plant pod

Her name is Roxanne, she goes by Roxy

(l’m taking the “you two couldn’t agree on a time by the time I went to kindergarten so I named myself” thing as cartoon comedy hyperbole. Because this show does that A Lot. And even if you wanna follow canon, we can safely assume that Harley and Ivy would’ve learned their lesson post-time-travel and picked a name. Besides, it fits the energy set by “Pamala” & “Harleen”)

Harley calls her Poprocks, Rockstar, Rocky, etc etc etc

Ivy doesn’t use nicknames often but when she does it’s either Anne or Blossom, depending on how sappy she’s feeling

Roxy was a scene kid

You cannot tell me I’m wrong here!! Look at the hair!!! The belts!???

She tried to give herself an eyebrow slit in middle school and fucked it up. Just entirely botched the whole thing. Lost half her eyebrow for months and then went n repeated the exact same mistake. She got it right the third time though!!

That child played Sports™️

Constantly flipped through different hobbies and extracurriculars until she landed on hockey n stuck with it

Struggled with making friends because she comes off as abrasive in the way that Ivy does, but if someone else tries to befriend her they’re instant besties. All she needs is to be adopted by an extrovert or two. Cough duela and enigma cough

She was raised going to protests and with criminals for family members, she is going to antagonize the GCPD for sport even if she’s not a villain

Cannot keep a plant alive to save her life. But! She’s oddly proficient with fungi