#gotham alfred pennyworth x reader

[fanfic-the-wish-your-heart-makes]

Alfred Pennyworth Masterlist

Gotham Character Ranked by How Many Flowers They'd Give You + Headcanons 🌹🌸⚘🌼🌺 Part 1

Gotham Characters React to You Getting Easily Scared by a Movie 👻☠😈😨

[scarlet2007]

⊹ ₊˚꒷꒦︶⊹ Late night talks ₊︶꒷꒦︶

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Pairing: Batman x reader / Bruce Wayne x reader.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Summary: After accidentally mistaking Batman as a criminal and spraying him with pepper spray, you both have seemed to form a friendship.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Warnings: Pepper spray, mention of Gotham being dangerous.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Word count: 1.5k

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

[ Masterlist ]

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Bruce has no idea how he got himself into this situation. Or rather... This habit.

It all started on that faithful night.

Walking alone at night in Gotham was like an one way ticket to heaven. A death wish, as some may say.

You sighed, looking around anxiously as you tried to walk as fast as you could. Every flicker of the night light, every random sound was making you jump in terror. You were half convinced that this was going to be your last day on earth.

You were just about to walk past an alley when you saw a shadowy figure stand menacingly at the entrance. The lights were flickering as the lamp above seemed to be surviving off of the happiness of the citizens of Gotham. Obviously, there wasn't much life left in it.

Red alarms started to go off in your head as the figure slowly started to move towards you. The heavy sound of its boot hitting the ground, the sound of your quickened heartbeat, the sound of the pained hissed that left the shadowy figure- Wait... Pained hiss?

It was only then you realised that you had sprayed the shadowy figure, Batman, with the pepper spray you were clutching while walking.

You gasped, staring at Batman in shock. He was hissing at the sudden attack, one of his eye half opened as he stared directly at you.

'I am so dead.'

Your eyes were wide before you shakingly reached into your purse, pulling out a small water bottle as you handed it to him, "I am so sorry! I thought you were some... Some criminal! Oh my- Splash this in your eyes! I am so sorry!" Half of the words sounded like nonsense due to how fast you were speaking.

He reluctaningly grabbed the water, splashing some water into his eyes as the affect of the spray started to subdue.

For a minute or two, nobody said anything as you both just stared at each other.

"What are you doing outside at this hour?"

"I am so sorry!"

Both of you decided to speak at the same time, which made none of you understand what the other person said.

"Come again?"

"I didn't hear-"

And it happened again.

"Speak."

"I am sorry-"

And again.

Finally, Batman seemed to have enough of it as he just stared at you broodingly, making you shut your mouth from fear.

"Why are you out at such an hour?"

You paused at his question, looking at him sheepishly, "Uh... Nightshift..."

Your answer made him raise an eyebrow which you didn't see because of his mask, "You shouldn't walk alone in the streets of Gotham with only a pepper spray as a weapon."

You nodded, looking at the ground as you suddenly felt like a child getting scolded by your parent.

Batman sighed as he stared at your figure, he can't just let you walk around at such an hour. Especially when it looked like you had the survival skills of a limbless cockroach.

"I will walk you home. Lead the way."

And that's how everything started.

"You haven't been paying attention to what I have been yapping about, have you?" You deadpanned, staring at him as he spaced out.

This made Batman blink, coming out of his chain of thoughts as he stared at the bowl of cereal you passed to him.

"Eat."

He blinked again, glancing at you in slight confusion before he started to eat.

He doesn't remember how this became a... Thing. It started out as occasionally walking you home from your nightshifts, then it shifted to him being injured after a rather brutal fight with a criminal near your apartment complex which made you usher him to your house for some patching up and now it has become a habit of Batman to swing by your window every once in a while, whenever he knew you would be awake or knew you had a day off.

You have come out of your shell fully, and now he knows you as the sassy and playful girl he once saved instead of the scared and timided girl.

"Eat up! You look like you have been starving since the dark ages, Mr. Dark knight." He let out an amused grunt at your words, rolling his eyes as he ate the cereal.

It was a comical scene, having him sit in your kitchen in his Batsuit while you lectured him about his poor eating habits in your pastel night gown.

You were an amusing person, a dramatic display of playfulness and sarcasm was always expected from you. Batman has seemed to grow fond of you and your shared time spent together over the past few months as he found himself looking forward to these meet-ups.

He has heard it all, from how much you dislike your job to how much you loved visiting animal sanctuaries to how you once crashed your friend's bicycle into different objects all under 15 minutes.

All these little stories would make him smile slightly while he worked in his Batcave. Alfred has heard all about you as well, the butler seemed to have grown fond of you as well despite never meeting you.

He glanced at you, watching you move around the kitchen as you washed the dishes. A thought passed through his mind.

He could help you.

Imagining him, Batman, helping you wash the dishes in his Batsuit. That would certainly be something you would die laughing at.

He shook his head slightly at the thought, focusing on eating the cereal you had given him.

"So, when are you going to leave your shitty job?" That made you look at him, slightly taken aback by his sudden question.

"Oh... Um... When I find a job that pays the same or more...?"

There it was again. The same answer you always give him. At first, he used to get irritated by your answer but now he understands your point. He knows the financial struggle you have gone through as a child, which has made you very anxious about having no job. All his attempts to help you fell on deaf ears as you firmly stated that you do not want money from your struggling vigilante friend.

He still has no idea why you think he is a struggling vigilante.

Does he look broke to you?

He sighed, glancing at the clock as he saw what time it was. The sun was about to rise.

"Do you have a day-off tomorrow or another night shift?"

You looked up from the dishes, glancing at him, "I have a day-off."

He nodded, walking up the sink to wash his bowl as you stepped aside to make space for him.

This is starting to feel oddly domestic.

"You should head to bed then." This earned a giggle from you as you looked at him with an amused expression.

"Aww, are you worried about my health?" You cooed jokingly as you leaned against the counter.

"You work at odd hours. From 8 pm till 3:45 am, it has to be one of the most ridiculous work hours I have ever heard of." He mumbled, scrubbing the bowl as he pretended to be annoyed at your playful behaviour.

You hummed, nodding your head in agreement before a small yawn escaped you, making Batman give you a 'I told you so' look behind his mask.

"See? You should head to bed." He grumbled, drying the bowl before putting it in its place.

"Alright, alright, I'll head to bed. Just make sure that whenever you leave, you close the window." He nodded as he watched you walked towards your bedroom, stretching as you glanced back at him.

He still has no idea how this has become something so normal to both of you that you just let him stay in your house while you sleep and he knows exactly where the bowl goes in the cupboard.

Bruce sighed as he flipped through the documents and files of the new Wayne enterprise project, his eyes narrowed as the sunlight from outside was starting to bother him. He could almost feel a headache coming in.

It has been weeks since he last saw you, he has been busy with his duties as a vigilante and the owner of the Wayne enterprise to the point he could barely find the time to visit you. Thankfully, you have left your old job for good so he knows that you are at least not walking around the dangerous streets of Gotham at night.

But he still can't help but feel worried about your financial state, to the point that he has voiced it out to Alfred a few times.

He sighed again, glancing at the door as he heard a knock.

"Come in!"

His eyes widened as he stared as you walked in, his new secretary.

Suddenly, everything makes sense. Alfred suddenly pestering him to appoint a new secretary, Alfred going out of his way to personal find him a new secretary. Everything is starting to make sense.

'That cunning old man...'

[ronwestbreeze]

live in gotham they say... | birdie goes to a wedding

summary: what idiot willingly moves to gotham city of all places? you, apparently. word count: 2.8k warning: none! just chaos hehe author's note: i really appreciate the love from my first post of this! so glad y'all are enjoying it! enjoy this next one I have for you!

AO3

It was a good thing you had a backup plan—at least, that’s what you hoped it would be. Back in high school, you started a small website for your photography business. You made some good money from it back then, so you decided to bring it back in hopes of starting a small business in Gotham.

So far, it’s sort of worked.

In a couple of weeks, you’ve had about three bookings, all for some yearbook photos at three different schools in the city. The money from it could only get you gas and maybe some dinner that could work as leftovers if you were smart and knew how to make it last.

Still living in your car though, but it could be worse!

Your photography bookings were slowly gaining traction and taking off. The next booking was for a birthday party. It was a frat boy scene, not too impressive but hey, you got some good money from it.

The next event that booked you was a wedding.

This, you were a bit more nervous for, mostly because you had nothing to wear that was close to being wedding ceremony material. So, out of desperation, you dug through your boxes of clothes until you finally found a black dress you wore to your grandmother’s funeral back in your junior year of high school. Hopefully, you didn’t stick out like a sore thumb.

Turns out, you didn’t.

The venue was a boat. Like a really nice boat. Which told you that whoever was getting married was loaded.

Everyone was dressed differently yet so rich it made you invisible—which helped with not sticking out like a sore thumb. Whatever country the groom and bride were from seemed like they knew how to dress and throw a wedding. Colors burst everywhere, the dresses were over the top yet beautiful and the decorations were bright and loud. Taking pictures was easy to do with so many sights for you to capture. 

This had to be the best booking you’ve ever gotten, especially if it seemed like an A-list kind of wedding with as much security around.

At some point, you were dragged away to the second floor of the ship to get pictures of the bride and the bridesmaids.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” A shriek came from the room the wedding planner was dragging you toward. 

After pushing the door open, inside there was a woman in a puffy wedding gown the color of scarlet with women surrounding her as they did her hair and makeup. Everyone here seemed to speak Spanish and caught up in their own little worlds—except for the bride of course.

The event planner guided you toward the bride, motioning for you to take pictures of her getting ready. You carefully made your way over—mindful not to get in the way of the makeup and hair crew—as you held your camera up, “Okay, can I get a nice smile from the bride—“

“How the fuck do you expect me to do a heist without a getaway driver?! What do you mean King Shark called in sick?!” You paused, the grip on your camera tightening. A heist? Did you hear that correctly? The bride to be planning a heist in the middle of her wedding? No, maybe you misunderstood…

The bride kept going, not noticing you yet. “This isn’t Big Belly Burger! He’s not gonna get fucking PTO…” The bride trailed off once she did finally notice you and your camera. She had a phone to her ear and her eyes were wide. Oh shit. “Aw, shit…”

Shit, she knows you overheard her. Why the hell was she planning a heist in the first place—not the point. But this made you a suspect, right? What if the police got involved—what if she’d have you killed for knowing about the heist? How did this already turn to shit? 

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other. Waiting to see what the other would do first.

“Harls? You good?” A woman’s voice came from the bride’s—Harls—phone. The woman was probably her other crew for the heist—shit, she was going to send them after you, wasn’t she? 

Think, think!

“Yeah…” The bride sighed as she reached under her dress. You blanched when you saw it was a gun. “Montez might’ve sent a little birdie—yes, don’t worry, I’ll handle it! I haven’t screwed it up yet!”

“¡sonríe para la cámara!” You blurted before taking her picture with the flash on. 

She hissed, throwing her head back in surprise, “Ow!—The little birdie blinded me!—Yeah well, it hurt my eyes so shut up, will ya?”

Quickly, you moved to get pictures of the bridesmaid, repeating the same line in Spanish, hoping to show that you couldn’t speak English and totally didn’t hear or understand anything she had said about a heist or a getaway driver, before dashing out of the room to get back to the deck.

You blended in with the rest of the guests and photographers, making sure to keep your head low and unnoticeable. But of course, you just had to notice more strange things.

The security guards standing by were all holding guns, almost as if ready to shoot anyone who would step out of line. Then there were some of the guests. Most of the men were tatted and drenched in gold chains and expensive-looking watches. The gold didn’t stop at the men but even the women were decked out in more expensive-looking jewelry. Some were even smoking cigars as they stepped straight out of The Godfather.

First, the bride was planning a heist and now you felt as if you were in the middle of a mob boss movie. Just what kind of wedding was this?

“You’re living in your car. You’re living in your car.” You murmured to yourself, trying to calm your nerves.

Suddenly the groom came down the aisle and everyone gathered in place. The distant waves of the water and the organ playing set the mood of the wedding. You snapped pictures of the bridesmaids and groomsmen walking down the aisle and snapped a few more pictures of the guests before finally the bride came out.

You subtly hid yourself behind a nearby security guard, hoping to stay out of sight as she came down the aisle. She was very pretty, that much was clear. Some of her pale blonde hair was highlighted with blue and pink and her scarlet wedding gown trailed along the floor behind her as she walked. But she seemed quite distracted, her head snapping back and forth as if she were looking for something—or someone.

Shit, was she still hoping to take you out? Maybe you’re Spanish was a bit rusty after all.

Fortunately, you weren’t the one she was worried about.

By the time she got to the end of the aisle, the minister began the officiation—and yet you couldn’t stop noticing strange things as the ceremony went on.

Some of the security guards started blocking the entrances. Some of the guests began fiddling with their holsters that were conveniently hidden under their coats and dresses. Then there was the fact a few chairs were empty of a few guests a few thuds were coming from outside the double doors the security guards were standing in front of. 

You were suddenly all too aware of the way the boat was slightly rocking. All your life, you’ve never been one to be seasick but your stomach was twisting up into all sorts of knots at the moment. You could legitimately throw up from being so anxious.

God, you really hated being observant.

“Harley Quinn, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The minister asked, snapping you back to the ceremony.

“Huh? Oh yeah, sure.” The bride—Harley—shrugged distractedly whilst her eyes kept dancing around the room.

“And Gabriel Montez, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

You furrowed your brows at that point. Why was the minister speaking English?

Harley seemed to notice this as well. “Aw, shit.”

The minister closed the bible, “Then I hereby pronounce you—UNDER ARREST!”

And just like that, the whole room broke into utter chaos. The minister removed his fake beard and robes to reveal he was a cop. A few of the security guards did the same. You ducked under a nearby table as soon as the guns were out, the cigars were put out, and bullets went flying.

The bride, Harley pulled out two guns and joined in the gunfight. “Secure the goods! Secure the goods! We’ll get our own fucking getaway driver!”

You had to get out of here fast. 

Taking a risk, you crawled from under the table and toward the double doors leading out of this chaotic room. A body had dropped next to you, causing you to yelp and look away before you could see the blood and the lifeless eyes from them. You just kept going, no point in stopping or looking back. Everyone was distracted, you wouldn’t waste your chance of escaping.

Once you got to the double doors, one of them slammed open—nearly smacking you in the face in the process—as a few more security guards rushed in to join the chaos. You took that chance to dive through the door right before it closed, muffling the shouts and the gunshots. Stumbling to your feet, you didn’t hesitate to run.

It took a moment for you to find the path leading down under the boat where are the escape baots were. That’s the one thing you remembered when you were given the tour. There were for emergencies and you were pretty sure this counted as one. But finding it was the biggest relief. They were all either lifeboats or motorboats. And wanting to get to land faster, you went for the motor boat.

Quickly, you searched for the emergency latch and pulled it down, creating an opening wide enough for you to take one of the boats and escape. You leaped onto one of the motorboats, making sure to untie it from the anchor.

“Freeze!”

You yelped and glanced over our shoulder, seeing a cop a few feet away, pointing a gun straight at you.

Fuck.

“H-Hey! I’m not a part of this! I’m just the photographer!” You tried while raising your hands as the cop drew closer, his gun never wavering.

“Slowly, get out of the boat.” The cop ordered making your heart drop.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Carefully and slowly, you got out of the motorboat, “There must be some mistake—I swear I have nothing to do with the heist, I swear!”

The cop then narrowed his eyes, “Oh yeah, then how did you know there was even a heist if you’re just a photographer?”

You paused and realized your mistake. Okay, that one was on you.

“Alright, that’s a fair point.” You grumbled, hands still raised.

The cop never lowered the gun, “Step away from the boat. You’re coming with me.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you slowly stepped away from the boats. “Please—this is all just some misunderstanding—all I do is take pictures—um, do you have to point the gun at me? Uh…No hablo ingles?”

“Just shut up already and stand still!”

“…Que?”

Now he was pissed—which granted was your fault. “Alright, kid. One more word out that mouth of yours and I’ll—“

A gun went off and the cop fell forward. You screamed as his body fell into the water. Now a new gun was pointed at you, this time with the bride—Harley Quinn—on the other side of it.

She grinned at you, “I knew you could speak English, little birdie!”

Your hands were still raised while you trembled, “To be fair I panicked and I really didn’t mean to overhear your heist plans—I’m just a photographer here trying to make a living so, uh, please don’t kill me. I won’t tell anyone, seriously—“

Distant voices and footsteps drew near, causing Harley to groan and suddenly push you into one of the motorboats. “Enough yapping and more running!“ She dumped a duffel bag onto the boat which landed with a heavy thud with clinking sounds coming from inside it. No doubt that was the stolen goods.

“Wait, what are you—“ You furrowed your brows as she was tearing the skirts of her wedding dress.

Harley sent you a glare with wide eyes, “Whatcha waitin’ for? You wanna go to the slammer or do you wanna escape and be a free birdie, birdie?!” 

“Not with a criminal!” 

“Gasp! I’m hurt! And here I thought we bonded for a moment!”

The cops were drawing closer. You glanced toward the dead cop floating in the water, knowing that if they saw that and you were in the boat with Harley, then you were as sure as dead.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Tick-tock, little birdie!” Harley shouted as she loaded more bullets into her guns.

With that, you quickly adjusted your camera and quickly turned the engine on. The footsteps were getting closer and Harely clicked her guns into place. 

Shit, shit, shit.

The first few cops came down, guns pointed. “Stop right there—“

You slammed on the pedal and steered the motorboat out of the underboat just as Harely started blazing bullets toward the cops. 

“HAHA! Too slow!” Harley stuck her tongue out as she continued shooting at the cops the more they got further and further away from the boat.

Night had fallen and the air was cold despite the warm spring season. Gunshots echoed through the distance but you tried your best to drown it out while steering the boat away from the chaos. Though, of course, chaos itself was on the boat with you.

“Wow, you’re good at this! Have ya ever been a getaway driver before?” Harley asked once they were further away out of range of the cops and gunshots. 

You swallowed, shivering slightly from the cold. “No—I mean, I’ve driven a boat before but I’ve never done this. Boat racing doesn’t count, does it? Then again, I’ve never helped a criminal escape from the police—am I going to be wanted now? Did they see my face? Oh great, not even a couple of weeks into here and I’m already being chased by police—there aren’t going to be flyers with my face around town are there? I just wanted to get a job and a little apartment, not go to jail—“

“Wow, you’re a yapper, huh?” Harley laughed as she leaned against your shoulder. “Well, welcome to Gotham, suga, it ain’t getting any prettier from here.”

You frowned and glanced toward her, “Uh…thanks?”

Eventually, a beach came into view as you steered the boat toward it. Once you had gotten to shore, Harley leaped out of the boat with the bag of stolen goods, “You should probably get running, birdie. Them coppers are persistent little fuckers.” 

Just as she said that you heard the distant sirens stirring you to quickly scramble away from the boat and rush along the beach. Harley ran in one direction while you ran in another. 

“See ya around, little birdie!” You heard her call and could practically hear the grin in her voice.

Finally, after what felt like hours, you found your parked car and let out a huge sigh of relief. Only to groan when you realized that you wouldn’t be paid after all of that bullcrap. So much for a guaranteed buck. Maybe no more weddings for now—especially ones on boats.

You took your camera and placed it safely back in its case when you suddenly felt something heavy in the pocket of your dress. Hesitatingly, you dug into your pocket and took out the heavy object—only to gasp.

In your hands was a gold watch—one of those watches you’d seen those older tattooed men wearing at the wedding. How it got in your possession you weren’t sure….

A flash of Harley’s grin was imprinted into your mind and you gripped the watch.

You could return it. That would be the right thing to do.

But then again, you went through hell just for a photography job. And you needed another meal to last you more than a couple of nights.

Technically…you didn’t steal it.

And technically, you could look at this as your paycheck.

In the corner of your eye, there was movement. You thought someone had caught you as you quickly pocketed the watch away and looked toward the movement. 

Only you saw a cat sitting on the hood of one of the nearby cars, its indigo eyes staring in your direction curiously. You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding.

At some point, you pulled out of the parking lot. At some point, you drove past the police cruisers who didn’t spare you a second glance. At some point, the watch ended up back in your pocket and you didn’t think twice about it then.

[gilverrwrites]

My horny ass has been watching Gotham again.

A-Z Gotham Men* and how they fuck you.

*like 75% of Gotham men: Alfred, Bullock, Butch, Ed/The Riddler, Jerome, Jervis, Jim, Lucius, Maroni, Penguin, and Zsasz 🖤

18+ MINORS DNI

Almost everything Alfred does is practiced, and purposeful and despite all his training, he’s still rough around the edges. But when he looks into your eyes, when he hears his name on your lips, all of that hardness and posturing dissipates. He tries to praise you but it comes out all muddled and breathless. So he worships your body as best he can, gently brushing your most sensitive parts with strong calloused hands, rocking your bodies together until you’re as lost as he is. Sometimes he does it with those white cotton gloves still on, and he neglects to clean them for days after because he can still smell you on them.

Bullock talks a big game, but he’s not the man he used to be. Still, what he lacks in youth, he makes up for in enthusiasm. Swollen lips kiss and suck at you, wherever he can find, his scruffy facial hair leaving beard rash on all his favourite parts. Firm, clammy hands pull and grope and guide your body, showing you how he likes it done. “Oh yeah, ooooh yeah, baby.” He pants between ragged breaths and clenched teeth, “Feels so fucking good baby, just like that.” When he’s done he wipes you down with a wet cloth and a cheeky grin, offering to buy you a drink he’s needed since you started.

Butch is big and sturdy and such a good boy. Butch is happy to say whatever you want to hear, to do whatever you want him to do, for you to use his body however you need to get off. “Anything for you Ma’.” He gets high on the scent of you, whimpers when you touch his cock, and eagerly licks up any mess he’s made, whenever, and wherever you allow him to. He’s at your service, just tell him what to do, so long as you shower him with your praise and adoration when you’re done. He especially loves it when you run your fingers through his hair, and plant your kisses behind his ears.

Ed is curious and attentive. His voice is shaky as he asks “Is this okay?” “Does that feel good?” “Is all this because of me?” His long fingers tentatively exploring every inch of you, in and out, memorising every jerk of your body, retaining every noise you make. He refuses to cum until you’re ready, until you’re fully entwined and engrossed in each other.

But The Riddler knows you’re needy. The Riddler takes advantage of that desperation, because it makes you dumb and mailable. He uses your body for his pleasure, he knows where to twist and pull to make your walls wet and tight around him. When you try to speak, he shushes you, cups your cheeks in gloved hands and coos; “I know, I know. Don’t speak. Just take it.”

Jerome is unpredictable. Some nights he’s a tease, making you beg and plead for your own defilement. It’s an act, entertainment, and you’re his favourite performer. When you’re good to him, he’s good to you, but when you’re bad, he’s really really bad. But it’s hard to be good, because he likes to move the goalpost whenever he senses you getting comfortable.

On other nights he’s clingy, and dutiful. He uses you to keep his cock warm, cradling you, swaying your bodies back and forth, inching himself deeper and deeper inside of you, and laughing into the crook of your neck.

Jervis is composed, and poised. He rolls his sleeves up and lets his hat sit askew while you ride him. Likes to watch the way you wither and pant, your eyes grow more and more vacant each time you work his cock deeper into your burning core. Likes to whisper and woo you with his sweet nothings. “Aren’t you a treasure? Fucking yourself for my pleasure?” It’s such a thrill to watch you come undone for him, especially when you’ll unravel yourself willingly.

As to be expected, Jim is the vanilla type. The quiet type, the strong and sturdy type. He makes love to you like it’s his duty, holding you down in missionary or the mating press as he hammers into you in powerful, uniform thrusts into your both coming undone, your name escaping his lips in an atypically soft whisper when he finishes deep inside you. What’s less expected is his oral fixation. Jim likes to relieve his stress by loosing himself between your legs, by licking and sucking and biting all the parts that make you flinch. He likes to know he’s left his mark on you, even if it’s confined to the places only he can lay his eyes on.

Lucius is like the cat that got the cream, grinning the whole time, every time. No matter the place or position, he peppers your skin with kisses, the curl of his lips evident with each press of his open mouth. He likes it slow and deep. Holds your feet over his shoulders and sink in until you can both feel his tip press against your cervix. Tell him how good that feels, smile back at him and he’s a goner. He likes to finish in your mouth, likes to watch the way your body perks when his cock twitches against your tongue, the way your expression softens, and your lids grow heavy when his thick, warm cum hits the back of your throat. You can barely roll over to grab the tissue before he’s on you again, ready to assault you with yet another round of smile-laden kisses.

Maroni likes a show, likes to be entertained, likes to know he makes you feel good without barely lifting a finger, he’s just that good, you know? So he lets you grind against him, or lets you ride him, nice and slow. He might play with your nipples when he wants you to make those pretty little noises, or press your tongue down with his think fingers when he wants you to be quiet. After you’ve found your release he holds your hips in a vice-like grip as he bucks up into you, deceptively fast for a big guy, until he unloads wherever he sees fit.

Penguin fucks you in a frenzy, high on your body, using you like every time is the first and last chance he’ll get. He ruts into you in short, sharp movements. He likes to see you on your knees, worshipping at his feet, taking him in whatever hole he pleases. He likes to rub his cock on your face, likes to mark you with his musk. When he speaks, it’s between shallow, harsh breaths, he begs demands that you call out his name, again, and again, louder and louder, ensuring everyone knows you belong to the King of Gotham.

Zsasz doesn’t care about your pleasure or comfort. In fact, it’s your pain that gets him off. Zsasz will fuck you dry so he can watch you flinch. He pinches, and wrenches, and grabs you like a ragdoll. He enjoys choking you until your neck is bruised and swollen, until you're crying deliciously salty tears that he loves to lick up. He likes to cut you on those fleshy, tender parts, likes to see your deep red blood on his pale hands. He loves to fuck you until you’re shaking, until you’re sore and overstimulated and begging him to stop.

[arjudy224]

The Intern (Day one)

Working for the Gotham Department of Environmental Protection is not for the weak of heart. Follow along for a day in the life of Gotham’s newest environmental intern.

What did he say in the interview? “We typically don’t take interns.” With each slippery stride through god knows what, I think I understand why. Who’s takes the intern on a tour of the sewer on their first day?

I don’t complain though; Dr. Harrison is not kind to complainers. If you can ignore the horrendous smell and the suits ability to become a sauna within a couple steps, it is really just like any other job. My boss calls over his shoulder.

“You brought that pepper spray right?”

I pause for a moment to adjust my suit.

“Yes sir.”

Why would they create a hazardous waste suit with such narrow eye holes? Fumbling with my mask, I stumble straight into a surprisingly solid member of my group.

“I’m sorry…” I apologize backing away.

Pulling my arms out of the external sleeves, I manage to wipe out the fogged up interior goggles. Once my field of vision clears, my heart drops.

The scales draw my attention first. In the dark, they shimmer and shine against the waste water. I’ve never seen anything like it. The hulking figure peers down at me with eyes that glow yellow in the dark.

When I was a kid, I used to love Animal planet. It didn’t matter how cruel the animal kingdom was; I was enthralled learning about it. Crocodiles have the strongest jaws in the animal kingdom. They can cut through bone… easily.

Trying to ignore the vivid image of a crocodile crushing a pigs skull on network television, I smile awkwardly underneath all my layers. He has a skin condition; this is a human man.

“I didn’t see you there. Thank you for steadying me.”

The prehistoric looking man regards me with curiosity. He is human…A human with razor sharp claws that have allegedly skewered other humans for dinner…Nobody’s perfect?

Before I can contemplate what my skull would sound like getting snapped in half, Dr. Harrison interrupts the silence.

“Waylon, meet our newest intern. You two will be running into each other quite a bit this summer.”

Hesitantly, I reach out my trembling hand.

“It’s nice to meet you Mr. Jones. I hope to see you around.”

The reptilian eyes regard me with suspicion. In a swift motion, Killer Croc’s scaled hand envelops mine in a slightly painful shake.

“The last one said the same thing before I had to pick them out of my teeth.”

Oh god. A loud burst of nervous laughter explodes from my chest.

“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary. I carry floss on me.”

Both men flash incredulous glances my way.

This is going to be a long summer.

The Intern: Gotham x reader

The Intern: Day one

The Intern: The Laughing Fish

The Intern: Busy Work

The Intern: Outreach Gala

The Intern: Visiting an old friend

The Intern: Chemical Valley

The Intern: Billionaire Boys Club

[batmanlovesnirvana]

Colin Farell wearing an outfit inspired by Tony Soprano on the set of The Penguin.

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXXIV. “the affliction of pity”

parts: previous / next

plot: Bruce is forced to look in the mirror after the next morning’s antics with you.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, bickering, hurt/comfort, splash of angst

words: 7k

a/n: more Alfred in this chapter !! let’s goooo !! more of a few things 😌 pretty significant chapter, might I say 💬 setting some seeds…

As you rolled over in bed the next morning, everything felt normal. Until you remembered you were in his clothes, in his house, and you’d hugged.

And the gun to your head. That too.

You checked your phone, at a measly eight percent. There were two missed calls from Dr. Crane. You sat up in a rush and called him back, worried something might have changed. He picked up on the last ring this time, a shift that caused a wash of anxiety to run through you.

“Ms. Y/N.”

“I’m sorry I missed your call.”

“As am I. How was Mr. Wayne last night?”

Shit. In the bustle of the evening, you’d forgotten. You lowered your voice. “Fine. We were able to touch base, and everything seems to be going well.” You stammered along. “I didn’t see any of the side effects you mentioned, either.”

“When will you see him again?” His tone was terse. Evidently he didn’t like when you didn’t answer.

“Today, actually.” You hoped he wouldn’t ask why. He didn’t.

“I don’t need to remind you of the stakes. I anticipate another update tonight or tomorrow.” The line clicked off. You wished you hadn’t taken the call first-thing, and struggled to shake it off as you walked down to get more Tylenol. You wondered if this much acetaminophen was good for you, but figured this much pain wasn’t, either.

Thankfully you didn’t have to dig for the Tylenol, or a glass, because they both sat at the counter beside the fridge. Your head hurt less, but your leg was positively throbbing. Bruce wasn’t in the kitchen, which you were grateful for. Last night’s memory was rapidly sinking into you with an anchor weight, particularly how you’d offset your conversation until some time this morning. You didn’t feel nearly as uninhibited now, and didn’t know if you’d be able to bring anything up.

You grabbed a protein shake and walked up the first stairwell. You held in a gasp when Alfred appeared, dressed immaculately as ever, as if he got a lovely full night’s rest. Part of you suspected he heard your shrieking cries, but he didn’t give it away if he did. “Morning, Miss. Would you like breakfast?”

You held the shake up. “I can just have this, thanks.”

“It’s no issue. I’ll be making some for myself and the boy. Come down in ten minutes.” He waved dismissively at your ‘meal’ and headed downstairs. You wondered what the hell he could make with only a few veggies, chicken, and ice cream. Maybe he had a secret butler lair with anything Rapunzel could ever want.

You turned to walk up the second set of stairs when a sleepy voice halted you. “How’d you sleep?”

You didn’t look at him, forcing your eyes to remain forward. Anxious butterflies swarmed in your stomach at the memory of him, on the brink of passing out, holding you while you sobbed. Your throat tightened, shy. “Fine.”

“Want to talk while Alfred cooks?”

You didn’t, but that gave you a time constraint. Alfred would save you from whatever awkward, embarrassing territory you and him might venture into. You still didn’t face him. “Okay.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Where is there?”

“The study, your room, mine. Anywhere.”

Your cheeks reddened at how genuine he still seemed. You’d fully expected him to act like last night never happened. You didn’t want to go in either of the bedrooms, and you eyed the old man’s study just up the stairs. You gestured to it, and heard him follow close behind.

The room was exactly as you remembered it; a thick wood table with a seat behind and in front. There was a decent-sized rug by a fireplace with some newspapers scattered around it. You cringed thinking about sitting across from him so officially, so you went to sit on the floor. He followed your lead, sitting a few feet away, closest to the papers. You fiddled with the unopened drink in your hand, moving its weight from palm to palm.

“How’s your pain?”

You sighed, an embarrassed grin exploiting your cheeks. “An attentive host.”

He waited, and you glanced up at him for the first time since you’d hugged. He had the same pants, and a different shirt. You inhaled so quickly you almost coughed. “I’m sorry about last night,”

“Don’t be.”

“I’m serious. It was weird and awkward of me,”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t have to do this.” You shook your head loosely, biting your lip. His eyes focused there a moment before flitting down.

“I want to help.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears beginning to well. You were frustrated and self-conscious of how much strain you’d put on him. “You’ve been nothing but helpful.”

Bruce was quiet, watching you try to force back tears and channel your energy into one of his protein shakes. He didn’t know how helpful he’d be perceived when, after breakfast, he’d have to have another talk with you, essentially demanding that you’re never seen in the city again. He pondered how manipulative it was not to disclose that prior to asking you to open up, which clammed him from speaking.

The room felt staticky, like if you reached into the air, the tip of your fingers might spark. You figured he was being quiet so you had space to speak. The skeptical part of you wanted to tie your lips closed, ranting about how he didn’t want to give this to you, he felt he had to. The sensitive side yearned for someone to hear your pain, and he was being persistent about it. It was blood-curdlingly difficult, but you took the first step—chucking the words out of you while forcing your anxieties to the back.

“I’m just lonely.” You stared down at your hands, setting down the drink so you could wring them. “I thought coming here for school would give me community.” Your voice was shaky but you tried not to think about it, throwing the words out as quickly as they formed. “It made it all worse. I had this fantasy that the size of the city would energize me, but it’s just spitting me out.” Tears sprung to your eyes, forcing you to pause, rubbing your eyes hard. “Sorry.”

He could feel the desolation oozing off of you. Every time you apologized made him more indignant. “I’m not judging.” You glanced at him as you removed your hands from accosting your delicate corneas, and he nodded for you to continue.

The combination of his attentive presence and kind reassurance made the tears pass the floodgates. The words were coming quicker now, less inhibited. “Being home isn’t fun either, my mom’s cancer is just, they don’t want to talk about it.” Frustration bled. “They’re acting like everything is fine, like nothing is different. I don’t like being around them and I hate being away.” Your throat was constricting as you held back full-bodied sobs.

Anger was beginning to creep in, your face contorting into a glare. You still weren’t looking at him, looking off to the side, unfocused. “I had this friend group back home but they don’t give a shit about me. I don’t know if they ever did. I have Mar here, but she just parties all the time, and she didn’t even, she didn’t even ask how I was before she left yesterday.” You could hardly believe it hadn’t been twenty four hours yet. You could hardly believe how whiny you were acting.

The devastation and anger was riling you up, making the words spill out before you even comprehended them. “And I fucking hate that I’m even saying all of this right now. The gun, the fucking, the interview, you breaking down in that fucking alley wouldn’t have even happened if I weren’t meddling!” You were beginning to pant.

“Hey,”

You didn’t hear him, and started shaking, breathing so fast you could hyperventilate. Your thighs were starting to become a receptacle for your tears. “I thought he was gonna kill me, I’ve never seen a gun that close; I yelled at you and, kicked you out and, and, you’re tied up and,”

His hand on your knee made you shriek, slapping your palms to your cheeks as you folded over, wailing. “Everyone’s gonna die, everyone around me,” you gasped between every word, which rapidly devolved into trying to catch your breath in painful puffs.

He was melting like butter. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,”

“Look at me.”

You wanted to say no, but you didn’t want to further inconvenience him. Meeting his concentrated gaze filled you with cavernous shame, your eyes stuttering down to his chin in subtle avoidance.

“Stop apologizing.”

Another lump jumped to your throat.

“Can I hug you?”

You nodded, relief pooling in your stomach at his request. You wanted another hug from him even if you weren’t losing your mind. “Please.”

This was foreign to him, but it was the only thing he could think to do. He wrapped his arms around you again, and it felt just as desperate, just as necessary, even for him. You didn’t cry as much as when he hugged you the night before, seemingly getting a lot of it out beforehand, and he struggled not to stiffen when your breathing began to even out, and your sniffles waned. Quickly. Very quickly. Your shaking slowed until the only movement was your breathing. That ‘please’ stuck to him like velcro.

It was extremely disorienting. He’d experienced people clinging to him in the suit, looking at the cowl with a frantic desire to be soothed, but never just as him. Not once. He didn’t know he could calm someone like this as Bruce.

You pulled out of the hug and sniffed, getting up to leave. You almost apologized. “I need to blow my nose.”

Alone in the study, he was worried he’d panic. The way you’d said it, it seemed not like you’d wanted a hug, but that you’d wanted a hug from him. ‘Please’ like you’d wanted one already but wouldn’t ask. ‘Please’ with your eyebrows knitting with neediness, ‘please’ cutting through the tears and shame even when his words didn’t make a dent.

He sat in a haze of dismay as disappointment crowded him at your departure. This wasn’t good.

He stood up to leave, mentally rehearsing a ‘need to shower before breakfast’ shout as he walked past the hallway bath, but you’d already come back.

Both of you wanted to hug again, but neither said so.

“Setting the table.” Alfred’s voice floated from downstairs. It almost sounded like he was whistling.

Bruce walked past, but you caught his elbow. “Thanks.”

Your lashes were still clumped together from crying. Your eyes were puffy and red. His hand twitched to wipe the tears still lingering on your cheekbone, but he cringed instead. “Don’t thank me.” He hurried down the stairs and hastily shut the door to his room.

Doing your best to ignore the tinge of frustration coating his tone, you met Alfred in the kitchen. The scent of a fresh omelet wafted from the stove out to the foyer. He had three table settings in the same fashion as last time, and you sat at your place with your hands tucked in your lap. Alfred was whistling, a jazzy sort of tune, as he scooped up the first one and walked toward you. “Same ingredients as your last visit. No peaches.”

Visit. What a kind way to dress it up. You thanked him as you took the plate, suddenly struck by a hazy memory of Bruce tilting your chin up to drink Benadryl. You swore you could feel his finger there now. You swallowed.

You weren’t in love with eggs by any means, but Alfred made them look salivating. It was plated to perfection, intimidating you nearly into not wanting to eat it. When he walked over with a pitcher of orange juice, you wondered where they’d come from—until you noticed an empty bag of orange netting sitting across the kitchen in the pantry. A few rinds were discarded near the stove, and you hurried to pour some for yourself. Bruce was woken up every morning with fresh squeezed juice? Or at least had the option?

The coolness of the juice was everything you needed, a balm to your hot throat. A satisfied chuckle came from the stove as you reached to pour a second glass. “Sumo citrus. Out of season, but still quite stunning.”

“I’ll drink you out of house and home.”

Alfred finished dishing up, and pulled out his chair before frowning. You followed his eyes to Bruce’s empty seat. After the short pause, he wiped his hands. “Ah, well. We’ll get started without him.” His cheery demeanor was infiltrated by a short grimace, undoubtedly perturbed by Bruce’s absence. “If you fancy any salt, pepper, let me know.”

He’d seasoned it spectacularly, and you told him so after your first few bites. Your stomach felt like an empty pit, realizing you hadn’t eaten more than the odd granola bar in days. You finished quickly, leaving little space for conversation, and he gestured to the stove. “Would you like more? I made an extra.”

You nodded, and he took your plate with a wink. “Finally I have someone who enjoys my cooking.”

“It’s stellar, really.” You eyed the orange juice, now with only a third of the pitcher remaining. You ate the second omelet, surprisingly just as warm as the first. Alfred had just finished his, taking a sip of his juice.

“Thank you. I needed that.” Your eyes trailed across the table to the glaringly empty seat, feeling dejected. He probably hadn’t come because you’d been too much, gone too far. Not only had you pushed the boundaries, you’d obliterated them. Why had you agreed to hug him again? Why had you let yourself lose control in front of him, again?

You’d forgotten how perceptive his butler was, too. He set his utensils in the middle of the plate, untucking his napkin from his lap. “I apologize for his behavior, Miss. It’s truly abhorrent.”

You shook your head so fast you saw stars. “No, it’s fine. He’s had a long day, and night,”

“So have you.” He gathered both of your plates and disposed of them in the sink. He rested his hip against the counter, tucking one hand into his pant pocket, the other grabbing the cane resting nearby. He sighed. “Feel free to have the rest of the juice, a shame for it to go to waste.”

He looked tired. Not as tired as the last time you came, but nonetheless. You obliged, already feeling the pressure on your bladder. You must’ve had half a gallon of this stuff.

Alfred’s head cocked toward the foyer. Bruce appeared not a moment later, his expression distant and cold. He slid into his seat and dug in without comment, not looking at either of you.

You set your glass down, your stomach flipping. You had half a mind he had simply taken too long in the shower, and tried his best to hurry, but no. In the same outfit, same dry hair, like he’d just been ignoring you.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Alfred glance up to the ceiling before tossing a dish rag over his shoulder, getting to work at the sink. You stood to join him, but he waved you off. “Appreciate it, Miss; you need to recuperate. I’ll manage.”

You stood there between the table and the sink, the already dim energy in the room withering further with every second Bruce remained unspeaking. You blinked a few times, unnerved and upset, walking quickly out of the room. You ducked around the corner, hoping they thought you gone. A few moments later, Alfred spoke.

“Bruce.”

“Don’t want to hear it.” They were both speaking hushedly, though Bruce was admittedly not trying as hard to muddle his volume.

Alfred’s tone was the coldest you’d ever heard it. “I’ve never been more embarrassed.”

Bruce didn’t respond, only scraped the fork against the plate as he likely hurried his meal.

“She’s been in a terrible situation,”

“I said I don’t want to hear it.” His tone was back to that very first night; back to the hallway at City Hall when you’d blackmailed him. That same haughty, defensive, biting timbre.

“I’m telling you regardless.” The sink stopped. “I fear you’ve become too desensitized for your own good.”

More scraping.

Alfred sighed, his tone gentling. “I know the last week has been difficult,”

Bruce pushed his seat out. “Going to talk to her.”

You tiptoed further into the corner, cloaking yourself in shadow.

“What about?”

“Getting her to leave.”

You’d never before heard Alfred scoff, but now you had. It was freakily uncharacteristic. “You’re better than that, Bruce. Do not.”

“Or what?” Bruce’s tone was mocking, the chair making a final thud into the table. You bit your cheek to abate the rising anxiety. Of course he wanted you gone. Of course you were nothing more than a nuisance. Rage nipped at your skin thinking about how he’d led you on, thinking that he might have cared.

Before Alfred could reply, Bruce emerged into the foyer, and immediately caught on to your presence. You glared at him, feeling tears smart your lashline again. His face fell with his shoulders and you huffed past him. “Y/N,”

“I’m grabbing my phone and you’re taking me home.” You were already halfway up the stairs, but he was catching up.

“Stop,”

You pressed on, breaking into a run up the second set.

He grabbed your wrist and you yanked it back, barely catching your balance. You whipped around, chest heaving, eyes wild. “Sorry for overstaying my welcome.”

You spun around and ran to your room, trying to slam the door but his foot stopped it. Tears streamed down your cheeks in silent fury. You grabbed your dress, shoes, and phone. “I won’t bother you at City Hall, don’t worry.”

“It’s for your safety.” His stepping into the room crowded it. He sounded exasperated. “You need to leave Gotham. Immediately.”

“You don’t get to boss me around.”

He scoffed. “Less than a week and you’ve already been threatened.”

“And he’s in jail whether I leave or not.” No longer giving a shit, you shimmied off the sweats and yanked off his shirt, leaving you in your bra and underwear. He averted his eyes and stared at the wall, audibly scowling. You threw them at him and they hit his shoulder. You wrangled your dress back on, still damp and awfully smelly. You sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on your loafers.

“It could happen again. You’re a target now.”

“I’m not leaving.”

He side-eyed you, checking if you were clothed. He loathed that he knew the color of your underwear now. “And I’m not cleaning you off the sidewalk.”

“Bruce Wayne would never have to do such custodial work.” Your tone was dripping in sarcasm and mockery, forcing him to grit his teeth. You were riling him up, you both knew it. You were riling each other, teetering on the precipice of words better left unsaid.

He stepped fully into the room, shutting the door behind him. You glared at it. “You were going to leave last week.”

You finished fighting with the heel of your shoe, finally able to rush past him. He stepped in front of the door and your heart lurched into your mouth, eyes flashing. “You are not blocking me.”

He hesitated before stepping aside. When you put your hand on the doorknob he did too. “If this is because of last Thursday,”

“You don’t want it, I get it.” You jerked the door open, the phone falling out of your hand. You both stooped to reach it at the same time, your hands colliding once more. His hand tightened atop yours, forcing you to look at him. You ripped the phone away and swung the door open, leaving into the hall. He followed you out, draining the last bit of resolve you had.

“Is it a sin to make sure you’re alright?” You bit back the last half of what you wanted to say: ‘I already see how Alfred’s being punished for it’.

Bruce glared at you. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“It’s not just you.”

“None of it should be.”

“I wanna see where this election goes.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

You bristled, hard. “I do. I want to report on it.”

He rolled his eyes. “You expect me to believe that? In a city you hate?”

“I hate the culture. Which I could influence.” You made the mistake of wincing down toward your thigh, and he stepped closer.

“I want to help you.”

You glowered at him, unappreciative of his indecisiveness. Did he want to help you, or hide away in his room to try and forget you existed? “Would’ve been helpful to show up to breakfast.”

Bruce groaned. You had a physical reaction to the sound.

You hated it more than most things, more than you hated humid hundred degree days and men catcalling—but even when he was angry, and distant, and weird, you wanted to stay in his orbit. You needed to, or Dr. Crane would have your head… and maybe his. “I’m the only one outside of this place who knows. I can be a tool.”

“I have enough tools.” He hated the piece of him that wanted to give in. He hated how his voice lost its edge the closer you got to the stairs.

You were also excruciatingly aware of how close you were to the exit, and how much you didn’t want to take it. Squeezing your eyes shut and imagining the Bruce that cried into your palm was the only way to cool your temper. His hugs lingered not too far behind… if they were even real. The only thing that actually moved the words past your teeth was remembering how deeply you regretted being cold to him at your apartment. “I want you to have someone to go to. And I want someone to go to.”

Your candor surprised both of you.

“It’s not worth throwing your life away.”

The wear of this argument wasn’t sitting right in your chest, and it forced your expectations lower. You shifted quickly back to the matter at hand. “I’m staying in Gotham, at least for now, whether you want to acknowledge me or not.” You didn’t need to be on good terms to keep an eye on him. He’d still come to City Hall meetings, and you’d be able to give some updates to Dr. Crane until he was out of the woods. It would only be a few more weeks. And you would enjoy getting to hear the city’s voice, trying your hand with more interviews.

You turned and set off downstairs. “What’ll it be this time? Packing me in the trunk?”

He barely registered what you said, his eyes fixed on your back as you descended the steps. ‘I’m just lonely’.

He grabbed his keys and walked to the garage with you, instructing you to lie flat again. “I’ll drop you off a few blocks away.”

Staring at the black ceiling of Bruce’s car while you bumped through back alleys and cobbled streets was, to put it lightly, depressing. You were starting to get used to the pain, utilizing it to distract from your whiplash disappointment and deep-seeded fear about being home alone tonight. At some point you must have closed your eyes and been lulled asleep, because his voice startled you into sitting up.

“Just a few blocks south. Closest I could get.”

When he noticed you’d fallen asleep, he drove around a few more miles so you wouldn’t be disturbed. He only started winding back in the direction of your apartment when he heard you begin to whimper. His hands had tightened on the wheel, his teeth gritting, as they so often did around you. He thought he’d mastered letting Alfred’s disappointment seep like guilt through his skin, but he couldn’t stop the thought he might be misrepresenting you.

Selfishly, he’d been centering himself in your distress, when in actuality… your life was bigger than that. You had parents to worry about. Friends to be disappointed with. A burgeoning journalism career to dive into, to which the corners of the internet were behaving like piranhas. A gun to your head, and an empty apartment in a city that genuinely seemed hell-bent on hurting you. Spitting you out, as you so eloquently put it.

Maybe he was pitying you, now.

The Moore was not-so-conveniently located on one of the main streets of town, forcing him back into a side alley between an old pharmacy and a deli that wasn’t open half the time. In the early days he’d stow the Batmobile here. The brick hadn’t changed much, a few new potholes. Wasn’t frequented enough to be as decimated as the roadway. He parked here when he’d visited you those few times.

He woke you, and while you roused, pulled your recorder and notebook out of the passenger glovebox. He’d circled back to Miller’s car on the way to your friend’s before the police got to it. He just hoped you didn’t make too big a deal out of his remembering.

Thankfully, you didn’t. You looked a bit surprised, but took it without comment. You looked disheveled, tired, pained. The passenger door swung open after he told you which direction to walk.

“Can your friend stay with you?”

You’d nearly shut the door on him before he spoke. Too tired to lead with irritation, you gave him a lackluster response. “It’s Friday. She’ll be out clubbing.”

You hesitated before shutting the door, wanting to thank him, but too hurt to commit. You fought not to think about how his laser eyes were focused on your back as you walked away. Struggled not to recall the weight of him.

Walking around Gotham in midday was like walking around an entirely different environment. Late morning to mid-afternoon was the only time kids were seen, and only with older siblings or adult family members. You couldn’t imagine growing up here. How it might harden a person.

It was a massive triumph pushing open your apartment door while holding a feeling bordering on terror that someone was waiting to jump you. You rushed in and shut the door like when you’d watched something scary as a kid. When the anxiety got too high, and you were positively certain a demon was rushing behind you to beat you to your bed.

In a blink you’d shoved a chair under the handle. Once in your room you walked its perimeter, checking all corners of the bath, under the bed, and resigned to shoving the couch in front of the door. A hazard if there was an emergency, but you couldn’t prioritize anything else right now.

You went to get water at the sink, feeling like a paranoid freak inspecting the jenga at your entryway. Once a-fucking-gain your thoughts wandered to the city’s prince; how silly did he think you? All this over one gun? I take fifty billion a night. A dark streak of violence ran through him, one that wasn’t evident in his arms, or gazing into his sleepy puppy eyes… You slammed the rest of the water, almost choking on it.

If you thought too long, you would break down, so you drew up an imaginary list of tasks to keep yourself tethered, trying to ignore how the water was beginning to sour the more you smelled the city’s backwash on your clothes. First: shower. Second: nap.

It was a Herculean effort not pressing DOWN when the elevator doors opened. Alfred was sitting across from it in the kitchen, his hands clasped together on the table. His gaze was focused precisely at eye-level, like he’d been a statue primed for Bruce’s arrival. “I want to talk with you.”

He looked at the ground, stepping out. “I’m going upstairs.”

“No, Bruce.” His tone was deadly serious, with a shaky undercurrent. Bruce conceded, as he so often did once Alfred got to this point. He didn’t come closer, only stepping out enough for the elevator doors to close, making up the difference by stepping to the side.

“I’m disappointed in you. Deeply.”

Bruce stared at the ground. He figured he’d have something to say to him about your leaving, like he had any idea what he was talking about.

Seemingly sensing his frustration, Alfred’s tone softened. “Seems to me you both could use a friend.”

“Look where it got you.” With a shrug of his shoulder, he gestured to where Alfred was sitting. It was evident by the way Alfred’s face fell, and his strict tone, he was referring to Riddler’s blowing up the top of Wayne Tower.

He didn’t miss a beat with his curt response. “Look at where it’s gotten you.”

Bruce slowly glanced up, struggling to see the full features of his face in the unlit kitchen, but still managed to meet his eye, sensing plenty more where that came from.

“Dory and I are getting older. If you keep following this path,”

“Alfred, stop.”

“I’m afraid you’ll end up entirely alone.”

The room’s ensuing silence chewed at that word, alone. Bruce wondered how he could slip past the man without escalating things. He knew he wouldn’t be let off without responding. He knew these situations all too well. “So I should risk someone’s life, for what? Temporary company?

“People come and go, that’s how life works.”

Bruce stepped forward, trying to work up the courage to storm past. The fuel wasn’t entirely there yet. “I’m not speeding up the process.” No matter how many times he explained this to him, he never got it. He never understood he was doing what he had to do, and that—

“The least you can do is be kind to her.”

Alfred was slipping under his skin again. “I am.”

The butler’s voice raised slightly. “By leaving her alone?”

“It’s for her safety.” He took another step, tempting a getaway.

“Or for yours?”

Bruce blinked hard. The old man never failed to tie a rocket to his shoes, and he propelled himself across the kitchen and nearly made it halfway before he spoke again.

“Don’t think I forgot what you said that night.” Alfred shifted in his seat, the boy now a few feet closer. He knew he was losing him, his hairpin trigger temper always half pressed when he spoke. Sometimes he felt like Bruce was waiting for him to give up with his fingers crossed behind his back.

“Year after year you’ve denied my every demand for your safety. Every time you’ve struck it down, as if each night you’re out planting flowers.”

Bruce looked everywhere but the table’s vicinity. “I don’t know what point you think you’re making.” He cloaked his words in as much snarl as he could, hoping he would get the hint and stop where he stood, before stuffing the air with more life lessons.

“Yet, after my accident, I noticed you changed the suit. You began coming home earlier.” Alfred stood up, and Bruce stepped back. He leaned on the cane, taking off his glasses with the other hand. “You know what you do is dangerous.”

He let out a brittle, taunting laugh. “That’s what I‘m saying.” Maybe he was finally getting the point. Maybe he would finally stop wasting his time and keep his projective, sentimental thoughts to himself instead of dragging them both down with it.

“Not in that way, Bruce.”

Sometimes Bruce wished Alfred could read his mind, hear all the things he wanted to say but kept hidden. Right now it was a lot of grumbles, some pointed accusations, but nothing unfurled on his tongue. Instead, his body reacted, quickening his heartbeat and narrowing his eyes.

“I think it goes both ways.” Alfred set his glasses on the table. “I believe you’re afraid if you let someone close, you’ll put them in the same position you once were.”

Heat bloomed in Bruce’s throat, and he tried to storm out of the room and escape the clouds weighing down the ceiling, but Alfred tossed another hook into his arm near the doorframe.

“And if you were honest with yourself, truly faced what you endure each and every night, it would feel like looking down the barrel all over again.”

Bruce could’ve screamed. He wanted to. He could’ve done a lot of things, but his mind was fuzzy. All his tired body did was tremble. All his mouth did was bite his cheek. Say the most benign version of the dialogue swarming inside. “You don’t know what I think.” As soon as he said it, he knew it was a bluff. He felt the tips of his fingers go cold.

“It’s far easier to disregard your life when you have no one to answer to.”

“I’m answering to you, aren’t I?”

Alfred paused, his voice lowering and slowing. “I often think you wish you didn’t have to.”

He locked eyes with him in an instant, Bruce having a visceral reaction to what he was insinuating. Did Alfred really think he didn’t care about him? Was his behavior being represented that poorly? His body filled with blue and purple emotions, his stomach tightening, face heating. The bruise fronted as defiance. “I’m doing what I need to. I—”

Alfred’s voice was bored, frayed. “‘Have a duty’. Yes, boy.”

Bruce bristled, hard, and visibly so. Alfred caught it, and felt a desire to rescue him, looking decidedly dejected. After the last week, however, he knew he couldn’t let things slide as he used to. The path he was on was destructive, and walking away wasn’t going to change anything. “You also have a duty to yourself.”

Bruce shook his head, his vision blurring slightly. “I don’t care about that.”

Alfred hesitated to go this route usually, and reserved it only for occasions supremely deserving—this was one of those times, though he was concerned how it would go over. Bruce was standing a few feet from him, between the fridge and the kitchen’s entry, his eyes darting across the ground like his head was swarming with thoughts. “Your parents would want you to be happy. Are you happy?”

As expected, Bruce responded with silence. Silence that cut Alfred’s heart in two. He knew he wasn’t. He hadn’t seen a genuine smile from him, or a full-bellied laugh for that matter, in decades. It might have even been since that night. The boy held so much pain, and kept so isolated. He gulped back tears.

“What I’m doing is more important than that.”

Against his better judgment, he folded. Bruce never liked to see him cry, going stiff and static. He didn’t do it often, but worried about burdening the boy so soon. So he sighed, shifting the subject. “If you don’t check on Y/N tonight, I will.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and set it near his glasses, moving his hand up to massage his temple.

“She doesn’t want pity.”

He held back another sigh, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “Care and pity are not the same, Bruce.”

Alfred left first, not wanting to chance the boy’s tender conscience with any more guilt at having left preemptively. It wasn’t unusual for these conversations to end with Bruce coming into his room later that night with a thinly veiled olive branch.

Once in the confines of his room, Bruce nearly missed the edge of the bed, fighting off disorienting swells of emotion that left no energy for proprioception. Possibly more than he ever had, he wanted to curse Alfred out. Run into his study and tell him he had no idea what he was talking about. But his body was telling him otherwise. Telling him he was right. He was isolating. It was obscenely dangerous. He didn’t want to look at it.

Care versus pity. Every face from his childhood stuck to the back of his retinas. The pouting, downturned faces at the funeral. The ‘gentle’, rather condescending tone that echoed off the tower walls for years, until people stopped caring. Until he stopped trying. Until he stopped visiting his parent’s room and bolted the lock.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight and clenched his core, subtly rocking back and forth, juxtaposing the two scenes, a task which felt like drowning—whatever happened last night and this morning, and absolutely everything he’d ever experienced from everyone else.

One felt warm. Uncomfortably so, but nevertheless comforting. The other was distant, and cold.

He tried to avoid it again, unclenching his stomach and stripping as he walked toward his bathroom. He turned the shower to scalding, and stepped in, hoping it would soothe his aching muscles to sleep, maybe beam Alfred’s confrontation out of his brain.

One felt like a balm, or a salve. The other felt like it carved him out deeper, eviscerating his insides. One told him it would be okay, and the other said he’d never be the same again. Their eyes gutted him. Told him his parents were gone, slaughtered, murdered. He ran some shampoo through his hair.

He lathered his body while it sat, feeling every pass over scar and scab. He loathed being in his body. Being aware of the injuries painting his skin. The drain in his bones. He was usually adept at avoiding it. Grinding until he passed out the instant his head hit the pillow. Sleeping in until it was time to suit up. Time to plan. To think about anyone else’s problems besides his own.

A bubble of soap slipped in his eye, and he flinched.

He suddenly felt like crying.

Pulling on your own sweatpants and a baggy hoodie was a luxury as you prepped to visit Rai’s. Frustrated at your screaming stomach that wouldn’t let you simply sleep the rest of your life away, you popped a small-dose edible so it would kick in after you’d come back and finished eating, letting you have a semblance of peace the rest of the evening. At the very least it would lower the risk of you screaming into your pillow all night.

Same walk, same street, same people, same sky. The constant ebbs of injury had colored you blue. A leaf startled you on its crunch, the sudden movement and barely-tempered shout causing the parents and children to slink away from you on the sidewalk. You kept your head down the rest of the route.

Rai was helping another customer when you arrived, but he gave you a small wave. You never liked to crowd people, especially the older customers that came in who lived in the historic buildings nearby. They treated Rai’s like a full-on grocery, sometimes bringing their own cart to fill. This lady, with her wispy gray hair and thick red sweater was one of those patrons.

You pulled a sweet tea from the drinks, and an orange soda. Rai was chattering away with the lady, who had ostensibly selected one of everything in the store. You reveled in having less time to spend in your apartment, and wandered to the chip aisle while you waited for your turn at the counter. Your fingers traipsed through rows of Ruffles and Lays, when you felt a buzz in your pocket.

Alfred.

Jesus, fuck. You raced to set the drinks down, your heart pounding. You’d left him in another state again. Too harsh, too unforgiving, fuck! “Hello? Alfred?”

“Hey.”

Bruce answered, and a concoction of relief and bitterness settled on you like a blanket of snow. “Hey…?” Your fingers tightened around the phone.

“I was wondering,” he drew a sharp intake of breath. “If you wanted to watch a movie or something.”

Shit, how out of sorts was he? “Like tonight?”

“Like tonight. I could go to your place, or,”

“Mine’s fine. I’ll bring the TV by the couch.” You were buzzing. You couldn’t very well decline, or what might he get up to? Was this his way of asking for help? You also couldn’t very well ignore the twinge of relief that having company would bring, even if it was his. Or the single atom in your body that preferred it to be him.

“Want me to bring anything?”

Your eyes flickered to the deli. “I’m good.”

“Half an hour work?”

“Yeah. See you then.”

Bruce hung up, heaving a deep breath. He flopped onto his back on his bed, Alfred’s phone falling out of his hand near his pillow. He felt better now. And worse. A little bit of everything.

What does someone wear to watch a movie?

After a few minutes he strolled to his closet, and thumbed a hole in his only clean pair of jeans. Hmm.

Dior. Prada. The sound of metal hangers sliding on a metal rod. Gucci. Dolce & Gabbana. He eyed the black jeans again, and the matching pair of trodden Converse in the corner. He pulled them on and grabbed the least distressed tee from his dresser… they were all worn thin.

It didn’t matter. Did it? No.

He grabbed his keys and headed for the basement. He’d have to leave through Wayne Terminal, take the beater car, drift. He passed Alfred on the stairs, noting the fresh outfit and shoes. “Going out?”

Bruce nodded, not saying anything until he turned into the kitchen and was fully out of view. “Checking on her.”

Alfred grinned with the sound of the elevator’s descent.

[captainsophiestark]

Vigilante Book Club Part 2

Jason Todd x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist! - Part 1 Part 3

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: DC

Summary: After having an all-around terrible day, the only person who might be able to make it better is a certain book-loving vigilante.

Word Count: 1,562

Category: Fluff

A/N: This is the closest I've come all year to missing a Friday lol, but we got it done! Woohoo!

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

****************

I hummed to myself as I moved around the kitchen, dancing to the music I had on in the background while making sure everything cooked just right. I had a reputation to fix, after all, and I was determined to get it right.

After the Red Hood had broken into my apartment to return my favorite book last week, I'd convinced him to come back for a thank-you dinner and to talk about the book, which he'd been planning to read in the meantime. He'd also vaguely insulted my cooking, although I'd mostly forgiven him for that in light of him returning my book.

Tonight was the date we'd set for dinner and book-talk, and I'd spent the week preparing the perfect recipe. Even better, the kitchen currently smelled amazing, which had to be a good sign of success.

Right on cue, about the same time he'd shown up last week, I heard a knock on my door. I smiled, trying to ignore the way my heart sped up a little as I quickly wiped my hands on the kitchen towel and headed for the door.

I paused just long enough to look through the peep hole and, as expected, the Red Hood stood towering in my doorway. This time, instead of the whole-head helmet, he only had a red domino mask on. Thank goodness, since the dinner part of this whole evening would be ruined if he couldn't actually eat without revealing his secret identity. I swung open the door with a grin.

"Hi! I'm glad you came! Honestly, I was half expecting you to be at the window again."

He just grunted and shrugged.

"I wasn't sure you'd actually be home, or still up for this. Figured I'd come to the door and give you a chance to pretend not to be home."

"Don't be ridiculous," I said, waving off his concerns as I opened the door wide. "I've been looking forward to this all week. Unless, of course, you're here to hate on my favorite book. If that's the case, I think I'm going to have to throw you out."

He laughed. "Don't worry, I'd never do that. I know what a true favorite book means to a reader."

I gave him a little smile and a nod as I closed the front door, then headed past him into the kitchen. I gestured to the bar stools at my counter as I checked that everything still looked good.

"Have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"A water would be great."

"Sure thing! Coming right up." I filled up a glass for Red Hood and myself, then fixed him with a smile as I set his glass down in front of him. "So... notice anything different from the last time you were here? Anything in the kitchen, maybe?"

He hummed, pausing and pretending to think. I put my hands on my hips and raised an eyebrow, and after a moment, he broke and grinned.

"I'll admit, the kitchen's looking much more promising than the last time you said you were making dinner in here."

"Thank you," I said, smiling as I turned around to start plating everything. "I told you, last time you were here was just a record-breaking bad day. A cooking fluke."

I could hear him hum behind me, at least pretending not to sound totally convinced.

"Next time, I'll make something. Everything you've got going right now looks amazing, but I'm a pretty good cook myself. I wouldn't want you thinking I'm acting like a critic out of nowhere."

I hesitated a second before turning around, trying to get my ridiculous smile and racing heart under control. I technically didn't know him very well yet, but so far, I'd started to really like Red Hood. I loved the idea of making this a regular thing, and I loved even more that he'd suggested it. I took a deep breath, then finally turned around, my smile still massive but at least a little more reasonable.

"Deal. Next time, you cook."

****************

I laughed, closing my book and shaking my head as I looked up at Hoodie. He looked back over the top of his own book, one eyebrow raised.

"What?" he asked, leaning slightly towards me. I shook my head, smiling all the same.

"Nothing. I just know why you wanted me to read this book so badly now."

"Oh yeah? And why's that?"

I cleared my throat dramatically and lifted Hoodie's copy of Northanger Abbey, which he'd temporarily loaned me, before starting to read:

"The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid."

Hoodie grinned. "I'll admit, I may have levelled that quote at a family member or two. Although, I might widen the original to include stories in general."

I snorted. "And if one of those family members said they loved podcasts or movies or something, but not books?"

"No, they're the exception. They're idiots whether or not they enjoy a good story."

I laughed, and after a moment, Hoodie joined me. Since that first reading date, we'd made our unofficial vigilante book club into a weekly occurance. He always came over to my place, and we spent the evening talking about books, or reading together and then talking about books. We alternated who cooked, and this time, it was his responsibility. He had food cooking in the crock-pot, and the delicious smells had been temping me for the better part of the past few hours.

"So I take it you're enjoying the book?" he asked, laying his down in his lap. I nodded, mirroring his gesture and sitting up a little straighter.

"I am. I can't believe it took me so long to get around to reading it! I've loved all the other Austen I've read."

"Which is why we get along," he said with a grin. I nodded.

"I could never spend time like this with a man who didn't at least appreciate Pride and Prejudice."

"Of course not."

"But what about you? Are you liking your book of the week?"

He nodded, scooting a little closer to me on the couch.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again, you have good taste in books. I don't think you've picked one yet that I haven't liked."

"...Now I sort of want to take that as a challenge."

Hoodie just rolled his eyes.

"Be careful. I've read some shit I wouldn't wish on anyone, but I can and will use it as payback if I have to."

I laughed. "I don't know, I've read some pretty unbeatably bad ones..."

"Oh yeah? Well how about-"

He stopped short at the sound of a ringtone. I raised an eyebrow as he grimaced. Not once, in all the weeks we'd been doing this, had either of us let a phone interrupt the night.

"Sorry. Vigilante phone," he grunted. "Just a second."

I waved him off to let him know it was no problem, and he shot me a quick smile before answering. To my surprise, he held it out in front of him and put it on speaker.

"What do you want?" he barked without a hello. "I'm busy."

"Yeah, so busy that nobody's been able to get a hold of you all night!" came an exasperated voice that sounded much too young for that level of exhaustion. "We started prepping for Alfred's birthday-"

BOOM! A loud noise that sounded too close to an explosion for comfort cut off the rest of the sentence. My jaw dropped open at the same time that the kid on the other end of the phone shouted out at the top of his lungs.

"JASON! What happened? Are you- oh shit, I think that was on my end." A brief pause, some scuffling, and the sound of an alarm in the background as Hoodie—as Jason—and I sat frozen in place on the couch. "Just get back here as soon as you can to help!"

The kid on the other end hung up, leaving Jason and I in the ringing silence of my apartment. After a moment, the man on the couch next to me sighed heavily, and I decided to beat him to the punch on further breaking the silence.

"I am... so sorry," I said. "I know you probably didn't want that, like, getting out, and-"

"Stop," he said gently, reaching out to take my hands in his. I did, opting instead to chew on the inside of my lip as I looked at him with wide eyes. "Look, it's not exactly how I wanted this to go, and I wasn't expecting Timbo to use the vigilante phone to say my civilian name, but... I've been thinking about telling you for a while. I'm not upset that you know, and I've know you long enough now that I trust you to keep my secret."

My mouth dropped open a little as a thousand butterflies exploded in my chest. This was a major leap of faith and trust in the relationship we'd been building in our little book club. I squeezed Jason's hands, smiling as I leaned into him a little. He grinned back at me, then sighed.

"Now, if you hated Austen, maybe I'd have to be a little more worried about all this..."

I gasped. "I could never."

"Exactly. You're not somebody I'm worried about here."

We shared another, softer smile, and then I reluctantly dropped Jason's hands.

"Speaking of people you should be worried about... whoever made that call sounded like they could use your help."

Jason's eyes rolled back so far I couldn't see the pupils anymore.

"They're idiots who should never be allowed anywhere near a kitchen, but they'll survive without me for a little longer. At least long enough to do this."

For a split second, I expected him to lean in for a kiss, and my heart did a backflip in my chest. Instead, he reached up for the domino mask still sitting comfortably on his face, which somehow seemed more intimate.

Slowly, he pulled away the fabric, revealing the bright blue eyes it had been hiding. When he smiled, this time I could see the corners of his eyes turning up along with his mouth, and even from a few feet away I could see his gorgeous eyelashes. It took some actual effort not to swoon, even though his face didn't change significantly from when he'd been wearing the mask.

"Like what you see?" he asked, tone soft but joking. I huffed a laugh and let a smile make its way back onto my face.

"Yeah. I do."

"Good. Then... what do you think about going out? On a real date, with me, not Red Hood? No pressure if you're not interested, but-"

"I would love that," I said, my smile morphing to take up my entire face. "Jason."

He beamed back at me the second his name left my lips, the two of us gravitating towards each other until his vigilante phone started blaring again and Jason rolled his eyes.

"I better go. But I'll see you... this Friday? Pick you up at six?"

I nodded. "It's a date."

Jason grinned, his eyes darting back to me every few seconds as he collected his things. We agreed to just keep each other's books until Friday since we wouldn't get to finish reading them together tonight, making Jason the first person I'd ever trusted with my only copy of a book. Our goodbye took longer than it should've since he had explosions to deal with and we were seeing each other again in a few days, but neither of us could bear to part any faster. And when the front door finally shut, it was hours before I actually wiped the smile off my face.

Who could've guessed something positive would come out of one of my most obnoxious bad days to date, let alone someone as wonderful as Jason?

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen

DC Taglist: @gaychaosgremlin @v1ckycheesue

[innammoratta]

Bruce Wayne x reader: Incorrect Quotes - 1

Y/N: Well, *walking out of Wayne Manor* this was fun. Thanks for inviting me!

Bruce: My pleasure. I look forward to eating together again soon.

Y/N: *Suddenly turns around.* Mr. Alfred? Could I just ask one favor? *anxious expression*

Alfred: What might that be?

Y/N: Could you please say, "a bottle of water?"

Bruce: ......

Afred: .......

Y/N: ......

Bruce: ..... Do it.

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter Six: The Summer of a Lifetime

Heiress of Gotham

Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: With things out of the way and perhaps a little more trust, maybe the reader will finally start to make some progress, and a few friends along the way.

Warnings: Spying, Being Spied On, Insects, Wet T-Shirts, Flirting,

Words: 3.6k

A/N: While this chapter may seem like it takes a lot of twists in turns in the vignettes, it's sort of meant to reflect the ups and downs and small moments we have during summer. Honestly, though, this is perfect for the introduction of certain characters and plotlines I wanted!

It'd been an interesting end to the school year, really, and that's aside from the fact that you'd had to deal with and go through the grief of your Mother passing. Within the few months you'd been at Wayne Manor, the family had quickly learned many things about you. Bruce had found out how frugal and tenacious you are, insistent on selling some of your old articles of clothing for money on some app he could never remember the name of, meanwhile refuting the many attempts he'd offered to take you out shopping. Who wants to go shopping with their Dad anyway? He'd been consumed with work, and therefore more time had been turned over to your brothers.

While school was out for both you and Damian, Tim had decided to take summer classes at the nearby community college since it'd make his college applications only look better. Dick, of course, was still working, and Jason, really, you had no idea what was going on with him since it seemed he had most days free and nights taken. While you'd considered the possibility that someone associated with the Wayne family had a night-time job, you also didn't want to think of someone who very quickly became a big brother to you in that manner. That was just... ew. With the three eldest gone or rarely home, you'd been left with Damian and Alfred mostly.

--------

“So… you’re spying on your own child because…?” Tim draws out, leaning against the motherboard as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Because it’s Bruce? You’re not the first. Thought you would’ve been the wiser, Green Bean,” Dick chides as he manually stitches another loop into his uniform. Seated on the edge of the metal table propped against the railing on the opposite side of the platform.

“She’s been watching television for over two hours straight. Is this unhealthy?” The man of the hour speaks, eyes unmoving from the image of you through the lens of one of his pesky drones.

“Hey, you’re the one who’s supposed to be parenting, yeah? You chose to bring her in, you choose what’s healthy and unhealthy,” the elder boy retorts, a clear sass in his tone that reminds Bruce where Damian’s gotten it from.

“Hn,” the old man groans, “That doesn’t mean I know what’s currently the standard in teenagedom,” he grumbles more to himself than anyone.

“Have you tried, I don’t know, just talking to her?” Tim asks, an eyebrow quirking as he doesn’t try and hide the amused smile breaking across his lips.

“You’re one to talk,” Bruce teases the boy. He’s still somewhat resentful of the way he’d handled things with Stephanie a few years ago now. Leaving her in the lurch only for her to seek answers by prying into their life.

A huff of annoyance leaves Tim and he rolls his eyes. Pushing off the computer, he turns to head for the stairs when he spots movement on the monitor. Dick doesn’t seem to care, rather, he’s focused on fixing and upgrading his equipment. However, Tim had come to a halt, now watching from just a few feet behind the old man’s chair. His drone follows you as you get up, bringing an empty dish and glass to the kitchen. You don’t notice, of course, as Tim knows this has to be one of the nano drones, most likely disguised as a fly following your movements through the Manor just a few hundred feet above them.

It’s uninteresting, really, the way he watches you put your empty dish in the sink along with your glass. Your visage shifts, heading back to the living room, but doesn’t fail to notice the nano drone. “Spotted,” Tim announces, curious to see where this goes.

“That doesn’t mean anything. Most people aren’t fazed by an insect,” Bruce defends, finally taking his gaze off the screen for a mere moment as he turns to Tim. The boy watches as you step closer to the drone; the still fly on the fridge’s handle was easy to spot, and while your eyes quickly move on in an attempt to seem as if you hadn’t noticed the bug, not wanting to disrupt it or scare it away, you step closer to the fridge.

On top of the box lies an item you’ve been grateful for ever since you’d gotten your Mom to buy it for you offline. Easily stepping on your tiptoes you grab the object’s handle and have your finger ready atop the trigger. Now all that’s left is to catch it off-guard.

The amused look on Tim’s face makes Bruce paranoid; blue eyes racing back to the monitor, he watches as a tennis-racket swatter comes his way. Lifting the nanodrone up and off the surface he barely escapes the touch of the electric swatter. Bzzt! He’s hit. Flying across the kitchen and landing on the counter, he turns the drone around to get you in frame again. “And you thought she wouldn’t do anything,” Tim laughs. An error message pops up, screen turning red along with the artificial voice alert. Clearly you’ve damaged the drone.

“It only took twenty-five percent capacity,” Bruce announces, clicking different keys to get everything back to neutral.

This elicits Dick’s eyes as his focus shifts up to the situation before him. An amused smile graces his lips and he can’t help but sometimes pity the man. Bruce… tries. He means well, but he doesn’t always have the best approach. “Gotta say, this is better than reality tv.” His Father shakes his head and, attention finally returning to the monitor once again after being distracted by Tim.

“You risked a drone for this? Come on, man. This is your own daughter we’re talking about,” Tim chastises. Even if he’s still laughing and more than amused by this. If he wants to waste his tech, by all means, let them watch. It’s not like he can’t get more.

The men watch as you look around the kitchen, eyes taking everything in. With an occasional turn, and a flip of your hair, he’s spotted again! This time Bruce sees you coming before he can be squashed. Out of sight, out of mind, he thinks. “Honestly, I’m just lucky she didn’t spot me earlier. Ace and Titus weren’t the most helpful considering they kept tracking my movements, clueing her in. But she didn’t get me until now.”

“I’m impressed she even got you at all, honestly,” Dick comments, drawing their attention again.

“Not a fan?” Tim asks, curious to hear his thoughts. After all, he hasn’t been around as much considering things have been busy with school, and hectic with Stephanie. Therefore, he doesn’t know as much about you. He hasn’t spent as much time around you as the others.

Met with a noncommittal noise, Tim watches Dick shrug. “I’ve got nothing against her aside from what she said at dinner and obviously her hate for the BPD,” he trails off, a shudder running through him, “then again, she was kind of insane when we were moving her stuff. Threatened to kill us and all. Not really the type of vibe you wanna have running around the house, you know? At least, not mine, I’ll tell you that.” With a chuckle, Dick lifts the needle to his mouth, teeth going for the fabric since he hadn’t bothered to grab scissors.

Tim almost laughs along with his brother, that is until he processes what he’d said. “Wait, what-?!” Eyes quickly darting between him and Bruce, he’s suddenly alert. “What do you mean she tried to kill you?! What’re you talking about? Hey- why didn’t you tell me this?” He zeroes in on Bruce, determined to get an answer. “Does Damian know? Why am I the last one to find out about anything around here?” He complains.

“I mean she tried to-” Dick begins.

“She did not! Dick, stop exag-”Bruce interrupts, turning to face them and argrue.

“Bruce-” Tim interjects, eyes suddenly on your approaching visage in the drone’s visual. “Bruce!” You’ve got the fly cornered. With one swift sweeping wack, and a press of the button, it’ll die.

“What?!” He yells. As soon as he turns back from Tim to the monitor he’s too late. Zzztt!!! They all grimace and wince. An alert pops up on screen:

‘V I S U A L L O S T’

The options to ‘connect to different device’ or ‘relay input’ lie underneath the big text, but ultimately you’d destroyed the thing. With the click of a button Bruce closes the tab and the background feed of the Manor’s security cameras linger. Alfred dances in the office as he dusts along, presumably, to music—Bruce knows his routine. On another, you’re carrying the nanodrone on the electric swatter to the trash, disposing of the ‘fly’ you’d killed. Lastly, Damian is reading, doing his homework as he sits in an armchair by the fireplace in the Library, Titus curled up by his feet.

“Dammit! This is why you can’t just be in here. You’re either here for a purpose or you’re out,” Bruce dictates. “Dick is actually doing something, Tim. You’re just gossiping.” With a defeated drop of his hands to the desk, he raises himself from his computer chair and rounds Tim.

“You still didn’t tell me what happened,” Tim argues, the anger in his voice no longer hiding. “I’m tired of being out of the loop! What happened?” He demands. A sigh weighs Bruce’s shoulders down, and as Dick finally lifts his gaze to take in the men before him, he doesn’t dare to add any more fuel to the already burning fire.

“She was involved with Marin. Alright? She thought he was coming for her, momentarily figured we were in on it. Satisfied?” Bruce responds, turning to face the boy.

They all know he’s been hurt. That he has trauma… it’s no secret. Yet, it’s only in few and far between moments that the boys are able to see things for what they are in a crystal-clear view. This is one of those times. Their warped views on good and evil, right and wrong, revenge and punishment… they blur the lines of reality in ways he’s sure that you, a civilian, would never understand, and yet… Tim realizes the weight of this.

“Who-?”

“Angel Marin. Bludhaven’s biggest mob boss,” Dick informs. A ‘Hn’ leaves Bruce’s lips as he makes his way toward the stairs, and a sigh leaves Tim. With a grateful nod in Grayson’s direction, Tim follows after Bruce.

------

“You know, someone mentioned your birthday is coming up,” Bruce teases, a hint of a smile hiding behind his wine glass.

The quick flash of a smile overtakes your face before you try to hide it. None of them miss it. “Um… yeah. W-who said?”

It’s invisible, perhaps, to all besides those who know him best, however, Bruce pales at the question, faltering. While you’re good at reading people, you don’t notice. Whether it’s the subject matter or the way everyone’s staring, you simply wait for a response.

“Uh, the-” he clears his throat, eyes suddenly downcast as he reaches for his knife and fork to cut his steak, “the social worker! Yes, she mentioned it while you were in your meeting.” Obviously a lie. If anyone truly knows Bruce the way most at the table do, they'd know he found it in your public files and digital footprint.

“Oh,” you respond, putting on a fake smile as you too attempt to hide behind the meal. Birthdays can be a big deal for some, and others, not. It all depends, and you aren't sure where things lie in this family. You still feel like an outsider, despite their attempts, and you don't want to burden them further.

“We could have a party!” Damian suggests, to everyone’s surprise.

“You just want a party,” Jason comments with a chortle.

“Is there anything you want?” Dick asks thoughtfully, looking down at you from your side, putting you on the spot. His kind blue eyes stir something within you, and you turn your gaze back to your plate. Busying yourself by cracking your knuckles, your lips purse into a line. With a shake of your head, it’s clear no one is sated.

“There’s nothing you want? At all?” Bruce prods, eliciting your eye contact again. Lips pursing even more you shake your head again.

“Um,” eyes falling to your lap you collect yourself, not allowing your imagination to run wild. “You taking me in was enough. Thank you.” Voice quiet, everyone has their own reaction to your words, albeit unbeknownst to you.

“Oh, shut up! You know there’s at least one thing you want,” Jason teases from across the table.

“Oh? And what’s that since you know her so well?” Tim pries, knowing he’s setting his brother up. Jason hesitates, almost choking on his drink which elicits laughs from the boys, and an amused smile from Bruce. As bickering starts to ensue, you decide.

“I-” all eyes turn to you, “I want a party!” You announce. With a confident smile, you figure, how bad could it be? After all, parties don't need to be big! Something sweet, the family there, and a boardgame is all you'd need for it to be considered a party to you.

“See? At least I know what she wants,” Damian chides proudly.

“Oh? Well what kind of party would you like?” Bruce asks.

“Who do you want to invite?” Dick inquires.

“What’s the theme?” Jason adds.

“Actually, isn’t your birthday coming up now that I think of it?” Tim voices his concern over to Jason.

“Uh…” Jason shakes his head a little, taken aback, “I mean, I don’t really celebrate anymore since-”

“-the same day as Alfred’s, that’s right,” Bruce saves them, an unfazed smile on his lips, “though I believe we can celebrate both, can’t we?” While you’re not exactly paying attention, to the rest of them there’s a silent, yet menacing request behind his eyes. It’s clear they’re not allowed to speak freely anymore, no matter your new seat at the table of their family.

“Okay, but mine comes first- or did you forget again?” Damian asks with a bite. Upon the silence, he rolls his eyes and goes back to his meal with the exasperated sound of his breath hitting his tongue against his teeth. An audible ‘Tt’ sound.

“I didn’t forget, Damian,” Bruce clenches his jaw and grips his glass a little tighter. Does every family dinner have to turn into a fight? “You know I was with the Just-” he catches himself, “Hn- that I had to-”

“-just business calls… we’re well aware, Father. Perhaps you’ll do yourself a favor and won’t miss your other child’s birthday,” Damian finishes the conversation. “Not that I count on it.”

--------

Walking through the pool room, you’re focused on texting Daisha, intent on telling her the good news!

‘Omg you’ll never guess what just happened! I’ll hav-’

Splash!

A dissatisfied shriek escapes your lips as you stare at the wet stain on your shirt. “Really?! Dami-" looking up from your drenched navy tank top, your eyes widen and lips part.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I thought you were Damian.”

You quickly take in the super-soaker and the boy’s apologetic expression, and it’s easy enough to put two and two together. As footsteps quietly click against the tiled floors of the locker rooms leading toward the pool deck, you grab the boy’s hand and drag him back the way he’d come around the corner. There lies a linen closet between the pool, laundry room, and stairwell. With a swift hand, you open the door and shove him in, following after as you quietly shut the door.

A bemused smile appears on his lips as his eyebrows furrow. “You’re his sister,” he whispers with certainty, “I’m Billy.”

Whispering back your name, he repeats it. Visibly eager on saying something else, you place your fingers on his lips to shut him up. He follows your eyesight, both of you staring through the slats in the closet door. With a keen ear, he gets the gist and remains quiet. As moments pass, you can feel the boy, Billy, staring; curious, you meet his gaze only to find him searching your eyes. You can’t help but notice how pretty his are. Though you almost get swept up in admiring his features, you hear a faint creak only meters away outside the door; with a motion of your other hand, you beckon him to hand you the gun.

Transferred into your open hand, you slowly remove your fingers from his lips, cupping the barrel of the super-soaker while the other wraps around the handle, fingers ready at the trigger. With a head nod toward the door, you mouth the words: ‘On three! Ready?’

Billy seems to understand, as he holds his hands up in a ready stance to push open the doors. Together, you both mouth the countdown (which is really a count up, but anyway): ‘One… Two…’

“THREE!” Busting out of the closet, Damian is just a few feet from your right. It’s easy to spin and shoot as you’d been prepared, having watched him walk past the door together. Your brother had jumped, yet shot a few instinctive rounds of water, splashing both you, Billy, and the wall.

“Shit! What the hell! What are you doing here? Who let you play?” Damian curses, saying something in a language you don’t recognize, holding his gun in a stationary position once you’ve all recovered from the attack. His suspicious green eyes narrow as they dart between the two of you.

“I figured it was only fair since you didn’t let me know about your little game and I got caught in the crossfire,” you reason, pointing to your shirt with the gun.

“I accidentally shot her thinking I had you cornered, so…” Billy’s words die on his tongue. Without sparing the kid a glance, you shove the super-soaker back in his hands before offering him a grateful smile. At least you’d hit Damian once, you figure. With that, you’re more than happy to abandon the boys to their games as you walk toward the laundry room to see if your clothes are finished drying. That was the whole reason you were down here in the first place, after all.

“You didn’t tell me she was my age!” You hear Billy yell before a series of exclamations and curses follow with the sound of splashing water and rapidly receding footsteps.

--------

As stupid as it was to find your thoughts continuing to drift back toward a certain brown hair, green-eyed boy, you couldn’t help it. Though you’ve grown more tolerable of one another over the past few months, you still can’t believe that one of Damian’s friends is who’s on your mind. Nevertheless, fate would seem to have an amusing time linking the two of you together, constantly running into the other.

You suppose it isn’t strange after all, especially when considering he is one of Damian’s friends… however, you find him over the at Manor more and more often after the initial time he’d quite literally bumped into you.

--------

“Grab me a juice box? I forgot one too-”Damian’s voice echoes throughout the theatre as Billy yells back an affirmative answer and heads back toward the kitchen.

“Oh, hey-" You greet, backing up as a familiar figure exits the home theatre.

“Hey- what’s up?” Billy asks, a friendly smile gracing his lips.

"Was just gonna get a snack before we start," you tell him, "Guess we're headed the same way then," you tease. Walking down the hallway and up the stairs to the kitchen, you're aware of your brother's friend just a few steps behind.

“Are you gonna watch with us?” Billy asks hopefully.

“I mean, if that’s okay, yeah, I was planning on it." You respond jokingly, not thinking about it too much. It is family movie night. After all, you’re focused, wanting this popcorn to be good, not a burnt pile of charcoal.

“Oh, I didn’t mea-”Billy goes to correct himself.

“It’s fine. I’ll be down in a minute, I’m just making my own popcorn because the boys would eat it all otherwise,” you joke. Surely since he's friends with Damian he knows what the guys are like.

“That’s smart- that way you don’t have to share and keep passing it back and forth the whole time.” Billy adds on.

“Yeah. Do you want some? I can make another little packet,” You offer.

“Sure! I can do it though, you don’t have t-” He argues.

“-I don’t mind! I've gotta wait for it anyway and grab some bowls. So I'll see you down there!" With that reassurance, Billy offers you one last smile before taking the juice boxes downstairs.

The older boys and your Father had insisted you pick the movie considering it's your first movie night with the family, and while most of them had been dreading what genre you'd pick, everyone ended up excited to watch a classic comedy most of them hadn't seen in years. Snuggled up under the fluffy blankets with your popcorn and the laughs of your brothers all around, you couldn't help but enjoy the fun.

--------

Most of the summer felt like it was spent in your room. Whether it was trying to explore the things that truly make you happy, or being lonely in a place that still feels entirely all too unfamiliar despite the fact that it's been a couple months.

The material things did help at first, the new environment, the little gifts your Father and brothers would treat you to, like those little Squishmallows you'd always seen and wanted at the store, but never bought yourself. They were more expensive than you'd ever thought to casually pay. Nevertheless, you've started to make your room truly your own. With decorating, personalizing, and getting into your own sort of routine, it seems that everyone has been slowly becoming used to this new lifestyle.

Alfred insisted that as summer begins to come to a close, you all decide on either making time for a vacation, or perhaps you and Damian get involved in extra curriculars. In the sake of preparation for school, you'd taken up driving lessons as you'll soon be old enough to begin the process of obtaining your permit. Then there was also the announcements from the school you'll be attending in the fall; with sports and clubs gearing up for homecoming, tryouts were coming up. Your Father had insisted that Damian consider a sport this year, and Alfred equally has been trying to push you in any sort of direction that'll lead to getting you out of the house and your room.

Needless to say, he wouldn't let go of the idea that your mental health could use less isolation and more friends, hobbies, and pursuance of your 'passions' even if you're not entirely sure what those are yet. It didn't take long for you to succumb to your butler (essentially) grandpa's badgering. Though you have a plan in mind for what sport you'll be trying out for, you haven't revealed them to the family. The way they seem to share everything is... still new, and somewhat unsettling to you.

~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic ,@moonlightsolo

hog taglist: @luvly-writer , @clairese1980 , @theroyalmanatee ,@azazel-nyx , @nightrose-18 , @vanessa-boo , @ih4temy5elfs0b4d , @agent-nobody-knows , @scarlett13 , @hoeinthehouse , @huhhuhh , @maxinehufflepuffprincess

[sebastianlynx]

[fanfic-the-wish-your-heart-makes]

Gotham Character Ranked by How Many Flowers They'd Give You + Headcanons 🌹🌸⚘🌼🌺 Part 1

Can be see as platonic 😊 Disclaimer: The "ranked" part is just about numbers, not about what's better or worse :)

Doesn't give you flowers: •Bruce Wayne: if you mention that you're against buying unnecessary, short-term things even once, he'll never give you flowers. Cause he respects your wishes like that. •Selina Kyle: she thinks they're stupid (sorry, Ivy). Maybe maybe maybe she steals some one day. "They were...attached to the wallet!" (they weren't).

(Wonderful fit, these two😂)

Gives you one flower: 🌹 •Edward Nygma. The flower definitely has a special meaning.

•Alfred Pennyworth. He sees one particularly interesting flower in the garden but not having known you for long, he'd feel weird dragging you out to look at it, so he picks it and puts it in a vase/gives it to you for your desk/suit pocket/behind your ear/hair.

->part 2

[i-smoke-chapstick]

cant stop thinking about how theres only one use of the word “fuck” in ALL of gotham (tv) media

and it’s ALFRED who says it 😭😭😭

[ronwestbreeze]

live in gotham they say... | the cat lady on 13 queen street

summary: what idiot willingly moves to gotham city of all places? you, apparently. word count: 2.4k warning: none! just chaos hehe author's note: so, with this story, i technically posted this last year but wasn't happy with it so I ended up deleting it. but now I'm bringing it back and hopefully I can flesh out more ideas this time! let me know what you think, leave comments, and enjoy!

AO3

Upon arriving at 13 Queen Street, you first noticed how quiet it was. There were a few distant shouts and curses coming from different apartments here and there, some of the streetlights kept flickering on and off, and sure a few gutter rats were running about—but it wasn’t an awful-looking place. Shady? Maybe. Compared to Chicago, this was nothing.

The apartment was nice though! It's a lot nicer than the ones you saw before arriving here.

“Hi! I’m here for the cat-sitting job you advertised. I saw a flyer and I thought, ‘Hey, I like cats, so why not?’ you know? Cats are cute, right? I find them incredibly adorable, a lot more than dogs actually! So cute I want to take them for myself—not that I want to take your cats or anything! Just that they’re cute and I really, really….”

You were nervous. That much was clear when you had rehearsed this at least a dozen times in your car, and yet someone you still messed up on the delivery. Yeah, that checks out.

I want to take them for myself? What kind of idiot would say that to someone looking for a cat sitter? You, apparently.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, “…Anyway, you’re looking for a cat sitter?”

The owner of the flyer was a woman who looked to be in her mid to late thirties. Raven short hair, smooth—practically perfect copper skin, and cunning feline-shaped eyes. She was leaning against her doorway with a mixture of amusement and a glint of something else you were too nervous to decipher—too afraid to be staring too long and ending up looking like a creep.

“My flyer’s only been out for a day. I’m surprised someone responded so fast.” The woman hummed, raising a slick and neat brow.

You shrugged while fiddling with your hands, “Yeah, well, I’m willing to take any job right now—I’m new to the city, which means I’m pretty much broke and could use the cash—you know how it is, right? Wait—that’s rude, sorry—of course you probably don’t know how it is. I don’t why I would even assume such a thing—I just met you and I’m already making assumptions—“ 

The woman furrowed her brows and you then realized you had gone and rambled again. 

You cleared your throat nervously and shifted on your feet, “As you can tell, I’m pretty much desperate—do I look desperate to you?”

A pause and a blank stare later, the woman waved a dismissive hand. “Not at all.” She then glanced over her shoulder to something inside her apartment that you couldn’t see before speaking, “Why don’t you come in and meet my babies, hmm?”

“Yes, yes!” You nodded quickly, stumbling into the apartment behind the lady.

Now common sense and basic survival skills should’ve told you not to enter a stranger’s home, especially one that was situated in one of the shadier parts of the city. Hell, this could be some type of trap to lure desperate college-aged women into some secret underground sex trafficking type shit. And you would’ve willingly waltzed right into it.

Then again, you were living in your cat which had been nearly towed at least five times now. It was pretty safe to say you were willing to take your chances.

The inside was surprisingly nice, although it could’ve been because of the aesthetic of the furniture. There was a large window to your right with a view of the grungy streets and next to that window was a dining table with mismatched chairs. To your left was a nice sized kitchen and further ahead was a small living room.

And of course, the cat furniture and the cats roaming about. There were about four you counted. And their piercing gaze pinned you in place.

The woman strolled toward her kitchen as she spoke, “The one with gray fur is Duchess, she’s the nicest one of the bunch. The darker gray is Isis, Otto is the Siamese, and the black one with indigo eyes…” She smirked at said cat who was sitting on the counter next to her as she grabbed a large bowl. “Well, she’s mostly a stray. Doesn’t give her trust to just anyone and hates the other cats. I call her Hecate.”

Hecate was the one staring at you without blinking while the other cats lingered around your feet, sniffing at your worn sneakers.

Awkwardly, you waved to Hecate, “Um, well, they’re all very pretty—oh sorry, I’m being rude, I’m—“

“y/n.” The cat lady smirked at your dumbfounded expression. “You mentioned it earlier when you said you needed money.”

“Oh.”

The cat lady then grabbed a carton of milk from her fridge and began pouring it into the bowl. “Oh? Was that something I shouldn’t know?”

“No, no, no, I just forgot!” You crossed your arms tightly around you. Hecate was still staring at you to the point where you didn’t want to move an inch, afraid you would somehow take the wrong step. “To be honest, I didn’t even realize I said my name—I don’t remember much of what I say whenever I start rambling and I kind of need people to stop me before I go overboard with it, you know—“

“Selina Kyle.” The cat lady cut in, turning to face you with a curious gaze. “A pleasure to meet you…aren’t you a little young to be wandering around a city like this? Much less wandering into people’s homes, telling them everything about yourself? That’s a bit dangerous, kid.”

You smile sheepishly, a little self-conscious under both hers and Hecate’s gaze. “Well, it’s like I said before. I’m kind of desperate. Plus, I doubt you would put a flyer out for a cat sitter to then murder me, right? Seems like very little trouble for nothing, do you think?”

“You’d be surprised.” Selina hummed mysteriously as she set down a large bowl of milk on the floor. All the cats, save for Hecatye, gathered around the bowl. “Quite naive of you to think otherwise.”

At that, you frowned. She was right. It was kind of naive. Even for you. This was the first time you had been on your own and already you felt like you were screwing something up. Hell, you’ve barely started living.

Hecate was still staring.

“I guess so…” You pressed your lips together. “Um, anyway, I know all CPR and how to use and find first aid kits in case something bad happens to the cats—God forbid—I’m really adaptable, I’m a team player, I can be a leader when it comes down to it, and I—“

“You’re watching cats, kid.” You’re not submitting a job application to Big Belly Burger.” Selina pointed out. Her stare was similar to Hecate’s. Unblinking and keen. Almost as if they were both trying to see through your soul.

“…Uh, right.” You scratched the back of your neck and wiped your sweaty hands against the fabric of your jeans. You needed to get it together, how embarrassing would it be to have a mental breakdown in front of a stranger? “Um, can I use your bathroom?” Selina tilted her head, brows raised curiously. Almost as if she were about to ask you something.

Instead, Selina gestured toward the hallway that sat between the kitchen and the living room, “Second door to the left.”

You mumbled out a ‘thank you’ before rushing down the short hallway. Once you got to the bathroom, you immediately turned the cold water on and splashed it against your face. A small curse left your lips, “There’s no way you’re gonna get this job now, not if you keep acting stupid, stupid!”

The next few seconds were spent with you trying to calm down. You checked your hair, pinched your cheeks, and practiced positive affirmations to yourself until you were stable enough and ready to go back out there.

There was no going back at this point. Not after everything it took to get you to this moment. You would not go back. That was out of the question.

With that promise in mind, you came out of the bathroom with a lot more confidence in your steps. Only to find the only ones waiting for you were her cats.

“That’s…weird…” You mumbled, looking around for Selina. You hadn’t heard the front door open or close while you were in the bathroom so she couldn’t have left the apartment, right? One of the cats, Isis, brushed past your leg and you offered a small smile toward the feline. “Hey, do you know where your owner went?” Isis just purred, looking up at you with a blank stare. “Is this a test? Should I start cat-sitting now—“

The rest of your words remained stuck in your throat when your legs were suddenly kicked out from under you. Your back hit the wooden floor first and a pained cry left your life from the sudden impact.

“Fuck!”

A foot then pressed against your chest, keeping you pinned down to the floor. You, after gathering your senses, realized that it was the cat lady who was standing over you with a vicious glint in her eyes.

She smirked in amusement, “Did you think I was going to fall for the whole innocent tourist act? You guys need to start stepping up your game.”

“What—“

“Enough games, sweetheart.” Your chin was grabbed by the woman, her sharp nails digging into your skin. You were forced to look Selina in the eyes. “I’m not fond of hurting kids, so I suggest you hurry up and tell me who sent you before things get pretty ugly.”

You couldn’t believe this. Minutes before, you were just here to apply for a cat-sitting job just to have enough money to eat for the night and you were being pinned down and interrogated like you were some undercover agent.

“Silence isn’t smart right now.”

You felt Selina’s nails dig deeper into your skin, causing the words to quickly tumble out of your mouth, “A-Are you some sort of cop? I-I don’t know what y-you want with me—“

“Cut the act, kid. It’s not workin’ anymore.” Selina scowled now, her foot pressing harder against your chest, making you blanch. “Now tell me, who sent you?! Was it Penguin? Black Mask?” She narrowed her eyes. “A Falcone?”

“A mailman?” You blurted out, wincing at the nails digging into your skin. “I-I asked him for some directions before coming here cuz I got lost—“

“You’re gonna continue playing dumb?” Selina frowned. “Not smart, kid.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You cried out squeezing your eyes shut. You didn’t want to cry. But you also didn’t want to get killed because of some paranoid cat lady. Penguin? Black Mask? Falcone? Did this woman expect you to know these names? Were you supposed to?

No, if you did that then that would make your situation a lot worse. But it seemed no matter what you said, the cat lady wasn’t going to believe you either way.

Finally, Selina removed her foot from your chest. You took that chance to scramble away until your sore back hit the back of the couch. “L-Look, I don’t know what’s going on or what I did to upset you, but I can leave! I-I don’t have to pet sit your cats! I can find another job—no big deal!”

“You’re not gonna make this any easier, are you?” Selina tsked, narrowing her eyes. “Whoever your boss is, he should hire better actors.”

You scrambled to your feet, hands raised in surrender. “No one sent me! I don’t work for anyone, okay? I’m telling the truth—“

Before you realized what was happening, Selina had sent a kick to your stomach, knocking you over the couch and onto the wooden coffee table. It broke underneath you the moment you landed and you didn’t dare move an inch after that, arm now trembling in pain from landing on it wrong.

This was happening. You were getting your ass kicked by a cat lady. How did you end up here? How did you get to the bottom so fast in such a little amount of time?

Selina now stood over you—you didn’t even try another attempt at getting away from the woman. You just lay there and closed your eyes.

“Giving up so soon?”

You let out a pained sigh. “Actually, I’m just gonna lie here now…yeah…you can go ahead and kill me…serves me right for not looking at the flyer properly.” You winced when you tried moving just a little bit. “Apparently, I missed the ‘crazy cat lady who knows martial arts. Beware!’.”

Perhaps it was never meant to be. Perhaps you had been way in over your head from the start. Starting a life at the bright age of nineteen? Alone? Without any support from your so-called family? How on earth did you ever think you would be able to do this?

“Hmm, interesting.”

With the sound of Selina’s voice, which surprisingly sounded thoughtful compared to before, you squinted one of your eyes open to find her looking at something on your stomach. Now that you realized it, something slightly heavy was now sitting on your abdomen and you could’ve sworn it wasn’t there before.

At first, you thought it was the woman’s shoe that was on your stomach, but when you peeled your eyes all the way open and slowly raised your head to look, instead you found a black ball of fur with a pair of indigo eyes lying comfortably on your stomach.

Selina huffed, her posture loosening, “Well. Looks like Hecate is a better judge of character than I am.”

You blinked, watching her walk back to the kitchen to grab a wine glass from her cabinet. As if everything that had happened only seconds ago was nothing. You glanced from the cat lying on your stomach toward Selina again who was pouring herself some wine.

“What…what the fuck just happened?”

Selina sipped her wine, “Looks like Hecate’s fine with your presence. And the other don’t seem to mind you around them. I’d say you got the job.” She tilted her head curiously. “You still want the job, don’t you?”

At that point, it didn’t matter how much pain you were in how much your back was sore when you moved, or how her arm screamed in protest every time you lifted it. You scrambled to your feet and rushed out of that apartment as fast as you could, not daring to look or step foot in that place ever again.

This was the first job you applied to. And it was the first interview you had ever run out of.

It was a sour start to your new life in Gotham City. You just hoped that it would get better from here.

[tarrenterror25]

POV: You get a boo basket from Alfred Pennyworth

[to-the-stars8]

The worst thing about having so many stories is when you come up with a new concept/idea, you know you can't get into those yet because you have other stories that are already struggling for attention. So, here are some story ideas that I may or may not do, and some of the reasons why I probably won't get into them:

Bruce Wayne x Reader in a The Nanny type of style. Slow burn. Funny. Cute. I've seen too much of The Nanny. If anyone wants to use this idea/likes it, I would say go for it. It's cute!!

Just a fic following Gotham Workers/Normal citizens, like ER Residents, Fast Food workers, People on the subway, etc., but the only thing that would stop me from ever doing this is because I feel like it wouldn't get much of a read since it wouldn't really involve the batfamily in a huge capacity (which this is me being so one dimensional in this one tiny aspect)

I really wanna continue on with series of Miguel O'Hara x reader, esp since the movie may or may not be coming out this year, where we can see him absolutely falling in love with a superficial/dream like version, aka not his world, of his life and the affect of his psyche not only acclimating to that but also losing it.

With the Arcana, I want to properly do a story with MC and Asra again, but I hesitate to do this because I'm not sure the route I want to/ can go with it.

And, this one I actually really want to do, but if you guys ever read Jeeves it's essentially that but with Alfred. Just little short stories with Alfred and younger Bruce Wayne, probs taking place in the 80s just because it seems like it would fit.

Anyway, guys, that's it. Thanks for coming to my TED talk, now I'm going to go take a fat ass nap! I'd love to hear your opinions on these story ideas!