that-bi-bitch-writes - Tumblr blog

that-bi-bitch-writes · 2 days ago

Text

𝜗𝜚 this is by far the longest fic i have written and uploaded (and i didn't even upload the whole thing, so if you want a pt 2 let me know ᵕ̈). anyways i hope you all enjoy this one.

word count: ~3.1k warnings: none! just dorky!clark and m!reader. just a whole lot of fluff.

the fluorescent lights of the daily planet newsroom cast their familiar harsh glow across the maze of desks, computer screens, and scattered papers that defined your professional world. you'd been working here for eight months now, long enough to know which coffee machine actually worked (the one by the sports desk), which elevator made that concerning grinding noise (the middle one), and which of your colleagues had the most endearing habit of walking into glass doors when distracted (clark kent, without question).

speaking of clark, you could hear him now – or rather, you could hear the aftermath of whatever minor disaster he'd just orchestrated near the printer. a series of muffled apologies drifted across the newsroom, punctuated by the sound of papers being hastily gathered. you didn't need to look up from your article about the city's new recycling initiative to know that clark had probably just sent an entire stack of documents cascading to the floor, likely while trying to do something as simple as making copies.

it wasn't that clark was incompetent – far from it. the man could write a story that would make seasoned journalists weep with envy, could charm information out of the most reluctant sources, and had an uncanny ability to be in the right place at the right time for breaking news. but put him within a ten-foot radius of you, and suddenly he transformed into what could only be described as a walking disaster with really nice shoulders and the most genuine smile you'd ever seen.

"hey, um, excuse me?" clark's voice appeared beside your desk, and you looked up to find him standing there with his tie slightly askew and what appeared to be toner smudged on his cheek. his dark hair was doing that thing where it looked like he'd run his hands through it repeatedly, and his glasses were sitting just slightly crooked on his nose. "i was wondering if you might have a... a stapler? mine seems to have... well, i'm not entirely sure what happened to it, actually."

you couldn't help but smile as you reached into your desk drawer and pulled out your stapler, holding it out to him. "here you go. but clark, you know there's a whole supply closet full of office supplies, right? you don't have to ask to borrow mine every time you need something."

clark's cheeks flushed a soft pink as he accepted the stapler, his fingers brushing against yours for just a moment. the brief contact seemed to short-circuit something in his brain, because he just stood there for a beat too long, staring down at the stapler like he'd never seen such a device before.

"right, yes, the supply closet," he said finally, his voice slightly higher than usual. "i just that uh your stapler is-it's a really good stapler. very... stapley."

from across the newsroom, you caught sight of lois lane watching this interaction with barely concealed amusement, her chin propped on her hand and a knowing smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. she'd been observing clark's increasingly obvious crush on you for weeks now, and you were starting to suspect she found his awkward attempts at conversation more entertaining than whatever pulitzer-worthy story she was currently investigating.

"stapley," you repeated, trying not to laugh. "that's... definitely a word that describes staplers."

clark seemed to realize what he'd just said, and the pink in his cheeks deepened to a more pronounced red. "i should... i'll just go... staple things now. thank you. for the... for letting me borrow your very stapley stapler."

he turned to walk away, made it approximately three steps, and promptly walked directly into the corner of jimmy's desk. the impact sent a small potted plant tumbling, which clark caught with reflexes that seemed almost superhuman, except then he overcompensated and nearly dropped it again, leading to a juggling act that somehow ended with him successfully saving the plant but knocking over a cup of pens in the process.

"i'm okay!" clark announced to the newsroom at large, even though nobody had asked. "everything's fine! the plant is safe!"

you watched this entire performance with a mixture of fondness and secondhand embarrassment. there was something utterly endearing about clark's complete inability to function normally around you, even if you couldn't quite figure out why you had such an effect on him. it wasn't like you were particularly intimidating – you wrote articles about municipal policy and local business openings, hardly the stuff of hard-hitting journalism that might make a colleague nervous.

lois appeared at your desk as clark disappeared around the corner, presumably to find somewhere private to recover from his latest bout of social catastrophe.

"you know," she said, settling herself on the edge of your desk with the casual confidence of someone who'd won two pulitzers before her thirtieth birthday, "i've been working with clark for a while now, and i've never seen him quite so... creatively clumsy as he's been lately."

"creatively clumsy?" you asked, saving your work and giving lois your full attention. conversations with lois lane were always worth paying attention to – the woman had a way of seeing things that others missed.

"mmm," lois hummed, examining her nails with studied casualness. "it's interesting, really. clark's usually pretty coordinated. good reflexes, steady hands, excellent spatial awareness. but lately, whenever you're around, he seems to forget how his own limbs work. it's almost like his brain just... shuts down."

you felt a little flutter in your chest at the implication but tried to play it cool. "maybe i just make him nervous. some people get anxious around new colleagues."

lois gave you a look that suggested she thought you were being deliberately obtuse. "honey, you've been here eight months. you're hardly the new guy anymore. and clark doesn't get nervous around colleagues." she paused, seeming to consider her words carefully. "he gets nervous around people he likes. and by likes, i mean really, really likes."

the flutter in your chest intensified. you'd be lying if you said you hadn't noticed clark, hadn't found yourself looking forward to his bumbling attempts at conversation and the way his whole face lit up when he smiled. there was something about him that drew you in – maybe it was the genuine kindness that seemed to radiate from him, or the way he always seemed to care so deeply about everything and everyone around him. or maybe it was just that he was ridiculously handsome in that wholesome, midwestern way, all broad shoulders and strong jaw and eyes that seemed to hold entire worlds of warmth.

"you think clark likes me?" you asked, trying to keep your voice casual and probably failing miserably.

"i think clark is head-over-heels, completely gone, writing-your-name-in-his-notebook-with-little-hearts kind of smitten with you," lois said with a grin. "and i think he's too much of a gentleman and too scared of messing up your working relationship to do anything about it. which is why he's been pining away like some kind of lovesick golden retriever for months now."

the mental image of clark as a lovesick golden retriever was so accurate it made you laugh out loud. "that's... actually a pretty apt comparison."

"isn't it?" lois looked pleased with herself. "clark’s got it bad. yesterday i caught him staring at you for a full five minutes while you were on the phone with a source. when i asked him what he was doing, he said he was 'appreciating your professional phone demeanor.' your professional phone demeanor."

you buried your face in your hands, partly from embarrassment and partly to hide the ridiculous smile that was spreading across your face. "oh god, that's so dorky it's actually cute."

"right?" lois stood up, smoothing down her skirt. "which brings me to my point. clark's never going to make a move on his own – he's too worried about being respectful and professional and all those other things that make him a genuinely good guy but also completely hopeless when it comes to romance. so if you're interested, and i'm getting the distinct impression that you are, you might need to give him a little encouragement."

before you could respond, clark reappeared around the corner, having apparently composed himself during his brief absence. his tie was now straight, the toner had been wiped from his cheek, and his hair was marginally more controlled. he approached your desk with the careful deliberation of someone who was really, really trying not to embarrass himself again.

"here's your stapler back," he said, setting it down on your desk with the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious artifacts. "thank you for... for letting me use it. i got all my papers stapled. very successfully. no stapling incidents to report."

"glad to hear it," you said, and clark's face broke into one of those sunshine smiles that made your heart do little acrobatic routines in your chest.

lois cleared her throat meaningfully. "well, i should get back to my story. clark, didn't you mention you had something you wanted to ask about the... the thing?"

clark looked confused for a moment, then his eyes widened as he seemed to catch lois's meaning. "oh! the... yes. the thing. right." he looked at lois, then at you, then back at lois, panic starting to creep into his expression.

lois rolled her eyes. "the thing you've been wanting to ask for weeks now, clark. the thing we talked about. the thing that requires actual words and maybe a little bit of courage?"

you watched this exchange with growing amusement and curiosity. clark looked like he was about to bolt, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously.

"i don't... this isn't really the right time, maybe, or the right place, and i haven't really thought through what i wanted to say..." clark started, his words tumbling over each other in his haste to get them out.

"clark," lois said firmly, "just ask."

"ask what?" you interjected, looking between them.

clark took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and looked directly at you with an expression of such earnest determination that you felt your heart skip a beat.

"would you maybe want to get dinner with me sometime?" he asked in a rush. "not like a work dinner, or a colleague dinner, but like a... like a date dinner? if you want to, i mean. no pressure. you can absolutely say no and we can pretend this never happened and continue working together in a completely professional and not-awkward way, i promise."

the words hung in the air between you, and you could see clark holding his breath as he waited for your response. behind him, lois was making encouraging gestures and mouthing what looked like "say yes" with the enthusiasm of someone who had been waiting for this moment for a very long time.

"clark," you said softly, and his face immediately began to fall, as if he was preparing himself for rejection. "i would love to have dinner with you."

the transformation in clark's expression was immediate and breathtaking. his face went from resigned disappointment to shocked disbelief to pure, radiant joy in the span of about two seconds.

"really?" he asked, his voice full of wonder, as if you'd just agreed to something far more significant than a simple dinner date.

"really," you confirmed, and clark's smile grew so wide you were momentarily concerned about the structural integrity of his face.

"okay," he said, nodding enthusiastically. "okay, great. wonderful. amazing. i'll... we should probably figure out when, and where, and... oh god, i don't actually know what your favorite food is. what if i pick somewhere you hate? what if you're vegetarian and i take you to a steakhouse? what if you're allergic to something and i accidentally kill you with dinner?"

"clark," you interrupted gently, reaching out to touch his arm. the contact seemed to ground him, and he stopped spiraling long enough to focus on your face. "i'm not going to die from dinner. i like most food, i'm not vegetarian, and my only food allergy is shellfish, which is pretty easy to avoid. we could go anywhere and i'd be happy, because i'd be going with you."

clark stared at you for a moment, processing your words, and then his expression softened into something so tender it made your chest ache.

"you'd be happy because you'd be going with me," he repeated quietly, like he was testing the words to make sure they were real.

"yes, clark," you said, smiling up at him. "i really like you. i have for a while now, actually. i was just waiting for you to... well, to stop walking into furniture long enough to ask me out."

clark laughed, a sound of pure happiness that drew the attention of half the newsroom. "i can't promise i'll stop walking into furniture," he said. "you have a very distracting effect on my motor functions, apparently."

"i'll take my chances," you said.

lois, who had been watching this entire exchange with the satisfaction of a matchmaker whose plan had come to fruition, clapped her hands together once. "excellent," she announced. "my work here is done. clark, try not to injure yourself before the actual date. and maybe practice walking in a straight line."

as lois walked away, clark turned back to you with an expression of such genuine happiness that it took your breath away.

"so," he said, and for the first time since you'd known him, he seemed completely relaxed in your presence. "friday night? there's this little italian place i know, nothing fancy, but they make incredible pasta and the atmosphere is nice for... for talking and getting to know each other better."

"friday night sounds perfect," you said. "should i meet you there, or...?"

"i'll pick you up," clark said immediately. "if that's okay with you. i know it's a bit old-fashioned, but my mom raised me to be a gentleman, and she'd probably disown me if she found out i let my date meet me at the restaurant."

the word 'date' sent a little thrill through you, and you found yourself grinning like an idiot. "your mom sounds like a wise woman."

"she is," clark said, his voice warm with affection. "she's going to love you, actually. not that i'm already planning for you to meet my parents or anything, that would be presumptuous, i just meant... if things go well, and you wanted to, someday, maybe..." he trailed off, realizing he was rambling again.

"clark," you said gently.

"yeah?"

"you're doing that thing again where you overthink everything. it's just dinner. we'll see how it goes, and if it goes well, maybe there will be more dinners. and maybe someday i'll meet your mom, and maybe she'll like me. but for now, let's just focus on friday night, okay?"

clark nodded, taking a deep breath. "okay. friday night. just dinner. with the most amazing person i've ever met, who somehow said yes when i asked them out, which still doesn't feel entirely real, but i'm not going to question it because i'm pretty sure this is the best day of my life so far."

you felt your cheeks warm at his words. "clark kent, you are ridiculously sweet, you know that?"

"i'm really not," clark said, his cheeks pinking again. "i'm just... i'm just really, really happy right now."

the rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of stolen glances and shared smiles. clark seemed to have regained some of his coordination now that the pressure of asking you out was behind him, though he still managed to trip over absolutely nothing while walking past your desk around four o'clock. but instead of the usual mortified embarrassment, he just laughed it off and shot you a rueful grin that made your heart flutter.

as the workday wound down, clark appeared at your desk one more time, this time with a small piece of paper in his hand.

"my number," he explained, setting it down next to your keyboard. "in case you need to reach me before friday, or if you change your mind, or if you have any food allergies i should know about beyond shellfish, or if you just want to... to talk."

you picked up the paper, noting that his handwriting was surprisingly neat for someone who seemed to have such trouble with basic motor functions around you. "i'm not going to change my mind, clark."

"good," he said, relief evident in his voice. "that's... that's really good. i'll see you tomorrow?"

"you'll see me tomorrow," you confirmed. "try not to walk into any more furniture between now and then."

clark laughed, backing away from your desk with exaggerated care. "no promises, but i'll do my best."

you watched him gather his things and head for the elevator, noting the little spring in his step that hadn't been there that morning. just before the elevator doors closed, he caught your eye and gave you a small wave, his face breaking into another one of those radiant smiles.

as soon as clark disappeared, lois materialized at your desk again, looking extremely pleased with herself.

"so," she said, settling into the chair beside your desk. "friday night, huh?"

"friday night," you confirmed, unable to keep the smile off your face.

"you know, i've been trying to get clark to ask someone out for months," lois said conversationally. "the man's been like a monk since he moved to metropolis. all work and no play. but then you showed up, and suddenly he's walking into walls and forgetting how to use basic office equipment. it was actually kind of painful to watch."

"painful?" you asked.

"the pining," lois explained. "so much pining. he'd stare at you when he thought no one was looking, and then panic whenever you actually talked to him. last week i caught him practicing conversations with you in the supply closet. full conversations, both sides, with different voices and everything."

you buried your face in your hands again, torn between embarrassment and overwhelming fondness. "that's so dorky it's actually adorable."

"that's clark in a nutshell," lois agreed. "dorky and adorable and completely hopeless when it comes to matters of the heart. but he's also one of the best men i've ever known, so you're in for a treat."

as you packed up your things to leave, you found yourself thinking about clark's smile, about the way his whole face had lit up when you'd said yes, about the careful way he'd asked about your food allergies and his concern about accidentally taking you somewhere you'd hate. there was something so genuine about him, so refreshingly honest in a world full of people who seemed to always be playing angles or hiding their true intentions.

friday couldn't come fast enough.

#oh how cute #he is a cute adorable puppy #fic reblog

252 notes · View notes

that-bi-bitch-writes · 6 days ago

Text

The Road to Hell (Is Paved with Good Intentions)

Part Four Rewrite: Never Again

Oringal ending // all parts

CW: Penetrative Sex (Bottom Bruce), cursing, grief, body mutilation (not graphic at all but non sexual stuff happens to a corpse) blood mentions, violence, image issues, sex as self destruction but also love, OOC Everybody

Note: This is a rewritten/reimagined version of Chapter Four. Most of it is brand new, only a small part came from the last one. I wanted to do lots differently, including the grief scene and the fight scene with Superman. There are stages throughout this fic. Comment if you figure out what the stages are

Fourteen was a weird age for Jason. But nothing outstanding or particularly noticeable. At least that’s what you’d say as his parent.

At thirteen, Jason had already grown hair on his legs, but now, the hair was spreading. His underarms started to sweat and stink at any sign of physical activity. His B.O. could level a city block.

The robin suit started to chafe at fourteen.

Then came his first pimple, a bright red dot right on the tail end of his right eyebrow. He was a mess about that, it was actually kind of funny how many acne creams he went through in just two weeks.

Jason started high school at fourteen, he made his first friend that he brought home. A boy named James. You did your due diligence as a parent and pulled out a photo album and stories of all his embarrassing moments, it didn’t matter that he was adopted only a few years earlier. You had them ready for any and everyone. You were proud of your son.

That was about it. Nothing spectacular happened. Bruce took you guys back to that beach a couple times. Sometimes it was a closer one. You don’t remember the Atlantic ocean being this close to Gotham. It felt further away when you arrived.

Jason had asked you to take him to a bookstore he’d frequently passed by on patrol. He didn’t have any money or time to stop then, but he figured you’d be up to taking him there. The two of you went out for crepes, bought a couple books and then went by the children’s hospital. Jason wanted to read to the kids in the long-term care ward.

It started a tradition. The two of you would have your father son date, and then you’d volunteer. The kids loved it. You two would both have a copy of whatever book you were reading and you’d take turns reading out chapters. The kids said you did a good villain voice but Jason was the better hero.

“So, what should I call you two? You got a team name?” A nurse asked one day

“The Prince and the bookworm” you replied instantly.

“You know I wasn’t actually expecting you to have a team name”

“We don’t. There’s no way I’m going by bookworm”

“You’ve been called worse”

He pointedly ignored you. You tried again.

“Book-y”

“No”

“Book-ly”

“Buckly?”

You clapped in excitement. Got it. “BUCKLE!”

“Buckle? Are you out of your mind, old man?”

You shrugged “Up for debate. The nickname is not though”

“I’ll kick your ass” he raged

“You and what army?”

He paused and thought for a minute.

“If you call me that in front of people I will disown myself”

“I’ll love you even then. When you’re on the outside looking into Wayne Manor, you’ll miss us. And I'll be here, waiting to welcome you home” you say dramatically but anyone could hear the truth in your words

“You have some weird fantasies old man” he spoke through burning cheeks. The nurse took this moment to walk away.

“First of all,” you started, “I look no older than thirty. Secondly, not a fantasy of mine. In my fantasies you never grow up and never move away. And Richard comes home and we all live in the mansion peacefully. I bet your father would agree to it too but no our kids want to save the world after dinner.”

“That’s…”

“A lot, I know”

“I was gonna say sweet.”

You squinted at him “No you weren’t”

“Okay no I wasn’t. But it’s true. It was all” he fumbled with his hands “sappy.”

His face lit up at the sound of your laughter.

“It’s not bad to be sappy is it?” you asked him

“Yes! No. Both. It’s embarrassing—because it just is— but it’s not bad.”

You laughed again “Well if it’s not bad then I’ll say” You put a finger to your lips and pretended to think “I’m glad you’re in my life”

He tried to laugh it off but he ducked into himself sheepishly. Jason was a sucker for a genuine compliment. But he couldn’t handle the attention.

“I’m glad I tried to steal Batman’s tires too.” He joked

You ruffled his hair and let your hand rest on the crown of his hand. “C’mon let’s get out of here, we can grab something to eat at that fast food place you like. Don’t tell Bruce”

“Deal”

The sun had set by the time the two of you got home. You’d successfully gotten rid of the evidence and aired out the car but you knew there was a slight possibility that Bruce might still catch you two. As a back up plan you bought three cookies to use as an olive branch.

…But that was only for calming him down if he finds out. You were hoping he wouldn’t so you could eat them after dinner when he’s on patrol.

Jason had just finished brushing his teeth and was about to get in bed when you knocked on the door.

“Come in.” he said

“Hey”

You stared at him, fighting this overwhelming urge to wrap him up and never let him go. It was a battle you knew you’d lose. He was rough, he was angry, but it was deserved. He suffered and suffered only to turn out to be kind and compassionate. You couldn’t keep him for yourself. You couldn’t stifle him and you couldn’t stop him from being good.

“You’re not too old to be tucked in are you?” you asked instead

“A little” He rolled his eyes but his smile said everything. He would almost never admit it but he enjoyed just being taken care of. You and Bruce taught him what home feels like.

“Fine old man. I’ll indulge you once”

“Ooh indulge I like that one.” you said playfully “Get in the bed brat.”

You tucked him in with a fond smile and reminiscent sigh. “I had fun today”

“Yeah. it was… nice”

“You’re getting older. Pretty soon you won’t want me hugging you, or driving you, or taking you out to a bookstore. I’m just glad to spend time with you while I can.”

“I’m adopted and I had shitty parents, I don’t think I had enough time to get sick of you yet” Jason deadpanned

“I— well…” You were very obviously flustered “I didn’t think about it that way. All the parenting books say beware of teenagers and my last one had a lot of teen angst”

“I’m telling Dick you said that”

“Not if you want the fourth Heroes of Olympus book you’re not”

“Deal”

You paused for a second, taking in the sight of him. He sighed and leaned in to give you a kiss on the cheek.

“That’s not why I was staring at him but I’ll take it.” you said

You leaned in to kiss him on the forehead

“You already got your kiss old man”

“One day you’re gonna miss my forehead kisses”

“And i’ll ask for them then!”

Overall there was nothing notable about fourteen.

For the sake of total transparency you will admit to being prepared for the worst. Richard had his first civilian death and an identity crisis. With two months left in the year you celebrated being in the clear.

And then,

Jason’s identity crisis came at fifteen.

Catherine Todd wasn’t his real mom. Huge sigh of relief. Jason had suffered so much as a Todd. But it was even harder figuring out who he was if not a Todd. Why did his mom–his birth mom give him up? How would she love him? Would she love him gently like you do? Would she read to him even though he was 15 and didn’t need bedtime stories? Would she make him fluffy waffles, would she comfort him at night when he had nightmares? Would she be okay with him being Robin? Would she love him?

Bruce saw the worst in people, that’s what they all said, and it was true. All he thought about was the ways in which things could go wrong. Most people don’t give up their baby unless they can’t care for it. What if some part of her physically can’t care for Jason.

What would he do…

Neither of you could outright deny Jason the chance to find his mom. But it should be handled…carefully.

“Jason, calm down. I'm not saying you can’t find your mom or you don’t have a right to find out where you come from. I’m saying don’t dive in blindly. Sometimes parents aren’t the people you want them to be” you said

“You mean like now? I thought you’d be on my side.”

“We’re always on your side,” Bruce spoke up.

“Not now. You want me all to yourself. You’re selfish. I want to experience having a mom. You know where I came from, you know the things I went through. I thought you’d understand.”

“We do understand,” you said

“No YOU DON’T!”

“Buckle-”

“NO! Don’t start with the nicknames and the patronizing bullshit dad”

You froze.

What to start with? The fact that he’s cursing in front of you or the fact that he never calls you dad?

And he spat the word dad. Like it did something to him. It would’ve been just the same as calling you a “bitch” or “motherfucker”.

In the few seconds it takes to gather your composure, your brain runs through several options.

First you think of escalating the situation by cursing right back, but you’re a parent and far too old to sink to his level. But maybe you could ground him from all afterschool activities including patrolling.

You also considered disappearing for a few days and having everyone pretend they forgot you so he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Jason” Bruce reprimands but you interrupt whatever it is he’s about to say because you know it’s not the right thing.

“Go to your room” you said

Your composure does not match the softness in your tone. Jason can see the clench in your jaw, the furrow of your brow, the seriousness in your mouth. But he cannot back down. And neither will you.

“You can’t just send me to my room—”

“I can and I did.” Firm but light “We will discuss this tomorrow, once we’ve both cooled down”

“I think that’s a good idea” Bruce chimes in

Jason scoffs and retreats to his room cursing under his breath.

‘Thank You’ you mouth to Bruce. He nods and wraps an arm around your shoulders, kissing you on the forehead.

“You’re doing a good job” he mutters into your hairline.

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

That night Bruce holds you tightly, almost as if you would disappear if he weren’t touching you, grounding you. He wrapped a rough hand around the back of your neck and pulled you into his chest, nearly smushing your nose into his nipple. You half-heartedly struggle but the firm pressure and the comforting sound of his heart beating lull you to sleep.

The next morning arrives too soon.

You hear him before you see him.

“Pops,” he says, sitting in the chair directly across from you

“Jason” you nodded.

There was no sound for the next few moments excluding the sounds of forks scraping against plates.

“I’m going to cut the bullshit like you said last night” You started

“Your father is an orphan and I’ve never met my parents. I spent my whole childhood thinking if I was impressive enough, if I mastered as many skills as I could one of them would come to claim me. I think I know something about how you’re feeling.”

Jason swallowed and took a deep breath. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He grunted in frustration and tried again. Nothing. Your hand grips his shoulder and he can feel the weight of the world becoming lighter. He hadn’t even noticed you get up.

A tear shed from his right eye. “I have so many questions.”

“Do you think you’re ready for the answers? Good or bad?” You asked

He looked determined. He looked wounded. You couldn’t say no. You’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t set out to sea in hopes to find your own mother. Danger be damned.

And then there was one.

Jason and Bruce set out on a 6-month globe-trotting adventure to find Jason’s birth mom. You of course had to make excuses as to why your husband was away and why your son wasn’t in school. You were fielding questions left and right in both a professional and academic setting.

Sometimes, coworkers can be just as annoying as the tabloids.

There were nights when the anxiety got the best of you. Nights where you’d sit at the foot of your bed and just stare at the door, willing them to come back safely. Nights where you ate in your study, using work to distract yourself from the chilling silence. Guest rooms occupied by a husband who can’t sleep in his king size bed alone.

But there was also a freedom in being home alone. You got so bored you started training again. Well technically, if you count sparring with Bruce, you never really stopped but even then that was mostly foreplay. This was something else in its entirety.

You were in the back of your closet. Somehow, you’d completely forgotten a charity event until the night of and scrambled to find something you hadn’t worn recently. The tabloids have been calling you an “outfit repeater” because you actually wear the clothes you own. But tonight was not the night to deal with any of that. People were already going to make a fuss about you being late and alone.

“I can’t reach, this stupid jewelry box is in the way. When did I even get a jewelry box?” you asked no one. “Hold on let me get the step stool”

Climbing up revealed a white jewelry box with ornate gold trimming. The box was locked but you found the key taped underneath it. Seemed like a pretty stupid thing to do but that was past you.

“I’d forgotten all about these” you whispered to yourself

Before marriage, you used to wear way more jewelry: wristlets you’d gotten as a child, a pendant, several rings. Most of it, you’d made in the forges yourself. The exceptions being the wristlets your brother made you, and the pendant.

The pendant was a long silver chain, each link looked handcrafted and meticulously made. The chain ended in an obsidian black gemstone with the Greek letter Eta engraved in gold. The chain had broken a bit around the clasp before you put it in the box.

It put up a struggle, like it wasn’t really meant to be taken off. You couldn’t remember why you did.

First, the charity event, then you had plans for that gemstone.

You went to a Lapidarist. Metal is not the same as gems. Metal you knew, art and jewelry you knew. Gems you did not know.

“How big is too big to work with?”

“If you know what you’re doing, the only problem would be time. That’s why jewelers are so expensive. They can make pretty much anything for the money”

“I want you to show me”

“Show you?”

“Yeah, show me how to make jewelry. Teach me about gems”

Two weeks. Just two weeks and you had repurposed that little black gem into a gorgeous ring. The gem was meant to be worn on your neck, so it was kinda big, but you were a quick study. You made no alterations to the gemstone, it fit perfectly on any band. You went with a thick band made from a silver so pure that it created a beautiful contrast with the depth of the stone.

“The Slayer” as you called it was unlike any other piece of jewelry you owned. Most of your jewelry was magical but this was a blessed weapon that transformed itself at will. If you needed a sword it was a sword. If you needed an axe it was an axe. The weight was always perfect and the weapons never dulled or broke.

The tabloids all gossiped about your new look. There were rumors about a possible divorce between yourself and Bruce.

[Name] Prince-Wayne spotted looking “lonely” for the first time in years.

Gotham’s celebrity professor [Name] Prince-Wayne was widely known for championing artistic expression. Before marriage he was eclectic, always covered in jewelry, and fashionable. Ever since getting married he’s been–plain. He swapped the jewelry for wedding rings and the experimental fashion for the occasional three piece suit. It’s been two months since the last sighting of Bruce Wayne and [Name] is back, along with some new bling. I guess all alone doesn’t mean “lonely”

Infidelity strikes? Gotham’s Prince(-Wayne) rocks a huge rock. Is the new ring a gift so he’d look the other way?

Gothamites are not blind to the recent disappearance of Bruce Prince-Wayne. Our remaining Prince-Wayne has been making frequent excuses for the disappearance of his husband and successfully too. Perhaps we let him get away with it for too long. Perhaps the new bling is an affirmation of love and devotion. Perhaps it’s a make up gift. Rumors say Bruce Wayne sired a child out of wedlock. Here, have a ring for your discretion.

Too real to be true?

Many doubt both the marriage and the appearance of the new ring as jewelers and authenticators around the country scramble to figure out who made the beautiful ring. Some say it’s 3D printed, others say he had the ringmaker killed so it would be one of a kind. All sources say that our Prince may have some tricks up his sleeve.

It was like white noise to you.

Everyday for four months you trained for four hours. Exactly.

You were well trained in at least three mixed martial arts and signed up for both Aikido and fencing classes. Everyday you practiced.

Three hours of Aikido, one hour of fencing, drive home, one hour of yoga to cool down. Doing yoga in the batcave meant you could keep an eye out for any messages from Bruce or Jason.

The days flew by faster and you felt different. Not stronger, at least not exponentially, just different. More solid. Your brain was emptier, less buzzy and worried after a good workout.

Maybe that’s why Bruce did it. It’s easier to run away from your feelings when you’re exhausted.

You were finishing up in the cave after yoga when Bruce called from the Batplane or whatever it was called

“Hey”

“You’re sweaty” he said, eyes following droplets of sweat pooling around your collarbones. Your shirt was soaked, especially in the chest, pit and back area.

“You’d get to smell if you were here but” you shrugged mockingly

Bruce gave you an unamused stare. You didn’t care, you knew you were hilarious and it was made better by the fact that you knew Bruce would want to smell you post workout

“How is he?” you asked

“He’s holding up. We’re leaving the middle east. Nothing on his mom but we did run into the Joker” Bruce muttered over the line.

“What? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, we’re alright. Apparently he plans to get into the arms business.” He clenched his jaw.

“Was he not already?”

“Guess not.”

“Okay keep me updated.” You replied, “Take care of yourself too Bruce. I am worried, but it’s not because I don’t trust you. It’s just because I want you home safely. Both of you. So just—take care of yourself too, okay? You’re doing this for Jason but that doesn’t mean you don’t matter.”

He pulled off the cowl. It had covered his neck and in turn covered the necklace he wore his wedding ring on. He was grumpy about constantly taking his ring off and putting it back on. Batman, understandably, couldn’t have it on his hand, but he wanted to keep it close. You made him a solid gold chain that paired well with his wedding ring—which you had also made. The engagement ring was the only one you’d bought.

He held up the chain and kissed the ring dangling from it. “Best decision I’ve ever made”

“I proposed first” you fired back

“I still bought your ring first”

“I made yours”

“You only made one of them”

“One more than you made!”

Bruce wasn’t fast enough to hide the twitch in his lips. You made your “stoic” husband laugh. Another win for you.

“Okay well I’m going to shower”

His lip twitched downward. Barely noticeable and just for a second but–

“Did you just frown?” You laughed “You wanna smell me soooo bad”

He hung up.

“There’s no need to be ashamed of your scent kink. I like how you smell too” you said to an empty cave. Then headed up to shower and eat dinner.

Eventually their patience paid off. They found her. Sheila Heywood, Ethiopia. That’s what Bruce's message said.

You hoped it would be good for Jason. You hoped having a mother was everything people said it was. You hoped she was reassuring and warm and proud of him. You hoped she had whatever it was that you were lacking, whatever it was that prompted this journey. Whatever it was that you couldn’t give to Jason.

“I’m scared she’ll take him,” you confessed to Alfred one night. “That he’ll just vanish. That after all the effort I put in, the love and care just wasn’t enough. I’m scared to lose him”

“I find myself thinking the same things about yourself and Master Bruce.”

“You’re a charmer old man.”

“Who are you calling old?”

You laughed heartily “Fair enough.” the two of you lapsed into comfortable silence.

“How’s your daughter Alfred”

He busied himself tidying up so he didn’t have to answer.

“This parenting thing is hard, I won’t lie. But it helps if you show up. You know Bruce and I would be happy to give you some time off.” you said gently

“Thank you Master [Name]-

“[Name]!” you interrupted

“This is something I shall consider carefully” Alfred continued as if you never spoke

You smiled sadly at his response. You felt bad for his daughter but you couldn’t force it. You felt bad for Bruce too. Alfred seems– No. You weren’t going to speak badly about Alfred

Six months of waiting culminated in a two worded response and complete radio silence. Just two words. “I’m sorry.”

You feared the worst. Jason had run off with his mom and nothing Bruce said could’ve convinced him to come home to you. Every day you prepared for Bruce to walk through the doors of the batcave alone. But the day it actually happened you were… unprepared.

Bruce was inconsolable. Jason’s absence really shook him. This was the second robin he’d lost. Richard was Nightwing now and Jason was—

“Dead”

“What?”

“He’s dead.” Bruce’s voice was hoarse and scratchy like gravel. Like he'd been screaming for days on end. Had he been screaming the whole time? Like since it happened? Since Jason—

“No he’s not, is this a prank? This is a prank. Bruce, you don’t have to lie to me to spare my feelings. I know he wants to leave with his” You cleared your throat “mother.”

“[Name]”

“Is he down there? I’ll pack his clothes. You tell him not to hide from me. If he’s leaving us he has to say goodbye first.”

“Don’t” Bruce begged.

Jesus what was with him. He looked wrecked.

You ignored it and went down the steps. Bruce followed closely behind. There were strips of a tattered robin costume and a torn domino mask. The clothes had blood on them. Jason had gotten hurt again.

“Is he hurt? There’s blood–”

“He’s dead” Bruce gasped

“i HEARD YOU the FIRST TIME!” You said through gritted teeth “It’s not funny. I don’t want to hear it anymore.”

The silence stretched on.

“I just want to know where. I won’t go after him, I promise. Just tell me where he is” you begged. But it was off, there was no emotion in your voice or on your face. Just that piecing gaze.

Bruce roughly grabbed your shoulders. It made no difference to you.

“[Name]. He’s dead. He's Dead! There was a warehouse, I told him to wait for me. It was my fault. He went in while I was gone. His mo– Sheila. She said he saved her before the building blew up”

You shook your head in denial “Jason wouldn’t die like that. He wouldn’t lose to some fucking explosion. He’s NOT DEAD!”

“We don’t know how—” Bruce cleared his throat. He was two seconds away from crying again. You could hear it in his voice. Every glance at the blank expression on your face was killing him

“If I bring you a body, will you admit that he’s dead?”

You stared at him wide eyed for a few seconds and then shook your head in genuine disbelief “It doesn’t make sense”

His look prompted you to say more. A singular tear ran down your cheek, you made no move to wipe it away.

“It doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand why you’re playing these games. Why are you trying to hurt me?”

Bruce reared back as if he was slapped. Then he walked out of the room. You didn’t follow.

He didn’t come back until late afternoon.

Your scream reverberated throughout the whole house. Alfred rushed down to find the source of the commotion.

“Please. Please. Please. Please. Please,” you kept muttering, gently shaking Jason’s body. “Wake up. Wake the hell up!”

You swung your leg over his body and got down close, pinched his nose and breathed into his mouth, hands pumping on his chest.

“One, two, three, four,”

Somewhere, someone was counting. You heard a snap on four.

“By the gods”

Nobody said that but you. But it wasn’t your voice. It was too brittle, too–

“Oh gods. Oh no.”

That one could’ve been you, but you can’t remember because all you can hear is counting. Your stomach hurts and something tells you to turn to the side so you do but there’s nothing there. Your stomach heaves and heaves and it hurts and you can’t see anything or feel anything all you know is counting.

One, two, three, four.

You open your eyes. There’s vomit on the floor. You have to remember not to step in it or touch it. Who threw up? Was it Jason? Is he sick? Is that why he won’t wake up? For the love of god just—

“Wake UP!”

One, two, three, four.

Bruce stepped in front of you and gripped your hand. “Please [Name] you have to stop. You’re hurting him.”

You ignore him. Who could you be hurting? You’re not doing anything wrong you’re not doing anything at all. It’s not you counting, it wasn’t you who threw up, it wasn’t you who was–

“Hurting him. You’re hurting Jason”

You flinched back and lost your balance. You put your arm outward to stabilize yourself but you slip and fall on your stomach. Something cushions your fall. You’re laying down now so you have to lift your head to look up at Bruce. He's not looking at you, his eyes are locked on whatever cushioned your fall.

“Oh” you can feel your eyes filling up with tears.

They fell onto Jason’s face. Your right hand raises from his sternum and wipes his cheek. He was so cold. Humans aren’t supposed to be that cold.

There was sniffling. Bruce was crying. But his hurt doesn’t move you. Nothing about this makes sense.

“I’m going to bed”

You could hear Bruce trailing behind you. Up and out of the batcave, into the foyer up the staircase on the left to the second floor, and down to the third door on the right.

No, that’s not right.

You climbed off of Jason, walked up and out of the batcave, through the hall, into the living room and then–

Well at some point you had to have walked up the staircase and into this room. Where only the doorknobs are familiar.

The door locks behind you. You can hear Bruce breathing on the other side of the door. He’s practically panting. Six months of missing him and the sound of his breath makes you wish you weren’t saved. Part of you wishes you had been drowned with the other sons.

‘Go away’ you pray, sinking down to the floor. Your back rests against the door and you can swear Bruce’s does too. You can feel his heat, his presence through the door.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he. The next morning you wake up like that. Neck and back stiff, pressed up against the door. You look over to the untouched guest bed and sigh, but you don’t move. Bruce is snoring on the other side of the door and you don’t want to wake him up.

He leaves midday. The pressure on the other end of the door disappears and then his foot steps on the creaky spot in the middle of the hall. Bruce has to know that’s there, he’s lived here longer than you. That means it was on purpose, he wanted you to hear him leave.

You don’t get up but pick at the peeling wallpaper instead. You don’t really remember the other guest rooms having wall paper. By the time you hear the creak in the floor again the sun has gone down and is no longer glaring through the window next to the desk with the typewriter.

Bruce sighs with effort as he sits down. You know this is exaggerated, he’s jumped from rooftops with less sound.

“Can I have his batman hoodie?”

Up and out of the batcave, into the foyer up the staircase on the left to the second floor, and down to the third door on the right. Jason’s Room.

It was easy. Getting up and grabbing the hoodie off of the desk chair and slipping it through a crack in the door. It was easy.

And it was easy pressing your hand against the door while Bruce silently cried into the hoodie. The hard part was figuring out what to do next.

www.google.com: What do you do the day after you find out your son is dead?

www.google.com: My kid is dead, what next?

www.google.com: what’s the word for people who lost a child?

www.google.com: How to not hate my husband after we lost our kid?

“Good Morning” you chirp, making your way into the dining room.

Eyebrows raise at the casual greeting.

“It’s been four days”

“Has it? Odd. Pass the fruit would you? Thanks” you turned your head toward the kitchen “Hey Alfred? Is it possible to get some french toast? Thanks.”

“Oh here Bruce try this. Quickly before it gets soggy” you say, shoving a piece of toast onto his plate. It’s covered in blueberry mash, apple slices and honey. Oddly enough it’s delicious.

You talk all throughout breakfast, even when Alfred brings your french toast. You talk and talk about any and everything except Jason. Nobody wanted to drag your mood down. Bruce and Alfred watched as you went about your day as you have been for the last four months.

You train. Time passes with every exhale, every strike you dodge, every parry of sabers. Your core, arms, and legs burn in peacock pose and then you flutter about the estate. Bruce makes a note about your avoidance of anywhere associated with Jason. You don’t return to his bedroom, you avoid the library, you keep the door to your study closed.

You’re on bereavement leave from work, but you fill the hole in your schedule by volunteering at soup kitchens, community centers, and museum visits. Bruce plans the funeral. Richard comes by to check on you. You fawn over him like usual and convince him to spend a few nights at the mansion. You got him a full sized bed in high school so it’s big enough for him to sleep comfortably.

His presence notably comforts you. It’s the closest to normal that you’ve felt in days. Months even. You make lemon sugar cookies and reminisce about Richard’s childhood. You don’t flinch when someone mentions Jason’s name. Or when they talk about him in the past tense. Bruce thinks it’s progress until you visit him later that night.

“It’s late,” Bruce said hesitantly. He had some calls to make in the morning, but he felt like you two were having a moment. He had missed your strength and your steady presence. But most of all he missed you. He would shoulder your pain and you knew that, it’s why you stayed away. But you weren’t running away

“You’re right, we should get to bed”

He nodded and started heading toward the master bedroom. You headed to wherever you were staying tonight, you’d taken to bouncing around the manor lately. Bruce said nothing.

When he got to your his room he undressed and started the shower. He had only gotten in and wet his face when there was a knock on the bathroom door. You could see him from the doorway. Your shower was huge and separate from the tub so it was framed by slightly frosted glass.

“[Name]”

“Can I come in”

He should say no. But that’s not possible. It’s you. His super strong, very fast, older, secretive husband. He loved you and would give you everything. But right now? A nod.

“I missed you. I mean, there was something missing. Even when everything else felt perfect and it felt like before there was something missing and I think that was you. I need you.”

Bruce didn’t hesitate this time. He didn’t care if this was self destructive. Maybe that’s what he needed anyway

“Off” he ordered

“?”

“Clothes. Take them off”

You wasted no time ripping your clothes off and joining him in the shower. The two of you kissed messily under the spray of the shower. Bruce pushed you against the glass and rutted against your thigh while sucking on your tongue. You pulled away from the kiss to tease. He chased after you and kept interrupting you before you could even get it out.

“Wow” kiss “Hard already?” kiss

“Shut Up” Bruce grunted trailing his lips down to the underside of your chin “You’re hot”

“Let me fuck your thighs”

“No” Bruce said. He bit your neck and sucked, drawing a moan from your lips. “Want you inside me”

“GODS You drive me insane” you pant

Bruce paused and cradled your face in between his hands. His eyes were filled with lust but clear and intent.

“Good”

You flipped your positions and pushed him up against the glass and kissed down his spine. You stopped just before the crack of his ass and then pulled back, getting down on your knees. Bruce shivered. You kissed one cheek and squeezed it firmly before biting down. It wasn’t hard enough to draw blood, hell it wasn’t hard enough to hurt. Bruce gasps. You do the same to the other cheek. Then you spread them.

“Fuck” Bruce gasps out “You’re eating me out like you’re starved”

“I need this. I need you”

“You’ve got me” he nodded reassuringly

You returned to your ministries. Circling your tongue around his hole and then lapping at it like a dog dying of thirst. Your tongue breaches his entrance and he moans wantonly. You slip a finger inside of him, thrusting it in and out, alternating between kitten licks and the finger. Then you add a second and start scissoring. It gets messy because you keep licking and coating everything in spit.

“That’s enough. I want it to hurt a little” he begs

You flip Bruce around and get to your feet, lifting him up by his knees and folding him in half. He wraps his legs around your waist and you hold his weight up by grabbing his ass. You slip a finger back inside and brush against his prostate as you lower your mouth and start sucking him off. Before long he’s spilling in your mouth.

You put him down and stand between his legs. Kissing him you start thrusting between his thighs. Bruce whines and shakes his head “inside”

You flip him around and line yourself up. You slip in pretty easily and groan at the snug fit.

“Gods Bruce you’re perfect”

He tightened around you. You whispered sweet nothings with each thrust.

“My pretty baby. My perfect Bruce. Sweetheart. Love. Baby boy. Baby girl.”

Eventually you fall apart inside him. You’re careful to clean him out with your fingers before the two of you begin to actually shower. You washed his hair and back. He washed your chest and torso. He let you wash your dick. Your stamina was scary sometimes.

You dressed and laid him down after the shower. Bruce fell asleep with your fingers running through his hair. He woke up to your absence. You didn’t even sleep in the bed. He thinks that would be too normal, and you were obviously punishing yourself. Instead you fall asleep in random places in the mansion, quickies squeezed in nooks and crannies. You didn’t stay anywhere that could remind you of Jason.

Bruce never comes in without permission, even when he brings clothes from your closet. He always remains on the other side of the door, a comforting and steady presence.

Richard sneaks in. He frequently comes in to take a nap in your bed. Sometimes you’re in the bed. He doesn’t care, he’ll curl up into your side and drift off while you rub circles into his back.

Sometimes he leaves the door cracked, claiming you need to air the room out, but really he’s just trying to close the gap between his parents. You don’t close the door, but you don’t open it wider.

The funeral sneaks up on you. You spend the morning distracting yourself by going around tidying everyone’s appearance.

“Your hair’s so long sunshine” you say to Richard and wonder how he’s gonna style it.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he says. You raise an eyebrow.

“Remember when you took me and my friend Rosie to the fair?” You nod. “You remember when her hair kept getting in her face so you offered to braid it? Could you maybe?”

“I’ve got you sunny”

He sits on the floor in between your knees as you style his hair. You don’t fully braid it, but you make sure none of his hair falls in his face. It calms you.

“Thank you sunshine”

“For what?”

You don’t say anything, you just kiss his forehead and head upstairs. You brave yourself to take your first steps into the master bedroom since that night. It’s surprisingly easy to cross the threshold.

It’s just a bedroom.

Bruce looks surprised to see you. He had already laid your suit on the bed and was getting ready to bring it to you. Giving him a brittle smile you quietly make your way in and get dressed. When you finish Bruce is putting gel in his hair and styling it. He looks up at you and gives an approving nod.

You do the same for him, though his tie is crooked and his hands are covered in gel, so you reach up and fix it for him. Your eyes lock and the two of you just stare at each other. Bruce clears his throat and breaks away first. He grabs his things and heads downstairs, you follow behind him.

The funeral is bigger than you expected. But you don’t mind. It doesn’t rain thankfully.

People take turns saying nice things about Jason. You can’t help but feel as if they didn’t really know him.

As if they read your mind, someone asks you to speak. Your throat dries. You didn’t prepare anything. Bruce grips your hand and presses a kiss to it as he guides you up to the podium.

You stand in front of the mic, Bruce securely fastened to your back and you speak.

“Jason was a stupid teenager” you start. Lots of people gasp in disbelief and outrage. Bruce snorts.

“What?” you ask the audience “He was! He nearly ate us out of house and home and we’re rich. He was a cookie hog. I would make a dozen cookies and get one. He tried to get me to write a note so he could skip school and go to a concert. He snuck sips of Bruce’s brandy and refilled it with apple juice. He was a teenager. He had problems with authority but if you earned his respect he would roll over like a spoiled fat cat.”

People laughed at that

“Jason” your throat closed. Bruce took the mic from you and held it in his left hand. He used the right hand to rub circles into your shoulder.

“Jason” Bruce continued, “was a street rat in the best way possible. He was clever, resourceful and so very fierce. He had a competitive streak even bigger than this one here” he joked pointing to you “and the empty halls of Wayne Manor were filled with laughter and made up words and a swear jar. Jason was kind, and joyous and he kicked ass”

You took the mic back with tears streaming down your cheeks “We hit the jackpot the first time. Richard was a gift. One that I'll always be grateful for. But he grew up so fast, I wasn’t ready. I was thankful for the chance to do it all again, despite all my nerves. Jason found his place in our family and in the hearts of you all. Go and be good in his name.”

Together you and Bruce stood amongst a sweltering army of well wishers offering their condolences for your loss. You mindlessly thank them. Richard doesn’t come home with you, he leaves with a friend that showed up from the funeral. You honestly don’t remember much. But you remember the conversation you shared with Bruce on the way home.

“I’m gonna kill him”

“Who?” you ask

“The joker”

You say nothing.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Not really” you shrug

“He took our son away”

“I’m not saying you should spare him. I’m just saying I don’t think you will kill him” you point out

“I will”

“I’ll be by your side no matter what you choose”

“Will you?” he asked

“What are you trying to say? You think I’d leave you because you won’t kill the Joker?”

“I think… I think that you haven’t really been here lately. You are everywhere else but here. I’m not saying get over it, I’m saying. Bruce sighs “I don’t really know what I’m saying”

“You’re right. I haven’t really been around, sorry. But I’m fine.”

He says nothing.

“I’m fine” you reassure, and huff when he still says nothing. You ride in silence for the next few minutes.

“I’m gonna kill the Joker.” Bruce says resolutely. You stare at him and nod.

“Okay.”

You don’t believe him and you try not to resent him for that.

Nothing ever returns to normal. That’s what you’re waiting for. You’re waiting for enough time to pass so that things feel normal. You’d lived before Jason so you can live after him. But it doesn’t feel true. And that makes you angry.

So you train more. You swing, and you kick, and you strike and you inhale and you exhale and nothing happens. No relief, no exhaustion, no reprieve. Everyday you wake up choking on anger and every night your frustration builds.

The Joker is apparently an ambassador to the UN, which means not only can the police not arrest him for any crimes he commits in the present, he’s also kind of exonerated of every crime he’s committed before. Your husband expects you to be more upset but you don’t even really want him to kill the Joker. It goes against everything he stands for.

You’re angry at the way things are unfolding but you never blame Bruce no matter how much he blames himself. You think he wants you to feel angry. He does. It’s better than “normal”

Superman gets appointed as a watchdog. The government thinks he’s a necessary buffer between Batman and The Joker. Superman swaggers in and says he can’t let anything jeopardize the relation between the US and Iran.

That pisses you off. He can’t let anything happen.

It’s not his fault, you know it’s not. But he let Jason die. He let countless others die at the Joker’s hand. A murderer walks free under Superman’s protection. For the greater good.

You think the greater good can go fuck itself. You think Superman should hurt the way you do.

The next time you see him is after he and your husband have saved the UN from the Joker. You were tending to Bruce’s bullet wound when Superman admits he’s killed before. Bruce feels your grip tighten on his arm as you finish bandaging him.

“So you’re a hypocrite?”

“Excuse me?”

“You kill three people, but forbid my husband from killing one” you point out

“I was protecting your husband. I didn’t want him to go through what I went through. You don’t know the burden of taking a life”

“Oh spare me” you waved off

“It was for his own good”

“You don’t get to decide that! This is not your life! You don’t get to deny my family the revenge, the JUSTICE we deserve”

“Killing isn’t justice. It won’t make you feel better”

“Maybe not, but kicking your ass would”

Superman went silent at that.

“They call you the most powerful man in the world. All that power and you become bodyguard to a mass murderer. Pathetic”

“It was for the greater good”

“Fuck the greater good.” you spat

“I’m not gonna fight you” Superman shook his head.

“I think it’s a good idea”

The two of you snapped your head over to Bruce

“You’re not worried?” Superman asks

Bruce shakes his head. He thinks this would be good for you “He can take you”

You don’t know what goes through Superman’s head but he holds Batman’s eye for a minute. Then he nods.

Bruce sits on the steps of the mansion with a pair of binoculars in his hand and a whistle around his neck. The two of you stand across from each other in the sprawling grass in front of Wayne manor. You’re sitting low in a fighting stance, Superman stands cautious with his hands in front of his face. Bruce raises his binoculars and blows the whistle.

Superman has opted to give you the first hit. He’d regret that.

When the whistle blows you raise your right leg and kick out toward his head. You hold back and kick with less force than you could manage. Superman raises his hand to block and you launch into a back handspring, kicking him in the chin with full force. Superman flies back a few feet and goes to right himself but you’re already behind him, round house kicking him.

He catches your foot as your strike lands and uses it to pull you off your feet and slam you into the ground. Your back aches and arches up off the ground, Superman uses his grip on your leg to lift you up in the air like and slams you back into the ground. He gets a few swings in before you retaliate.

He always swings up and down like a hammer hitting a nail, if you can just use his momentum against him–On his downswing, you plant your hands on the ground, tighten your core and swiftly launch into a back bend. Your hands meet the ground and then your feet come to your head. Superman, still holding onto you, completely flips over and slams onto his back.

The two of you get to your feet together. Then launch at each other. He’s slightly faster than you but it doesn’t really matter, you’re fast enough to react and you’re better at combat. He gets a lucky punch in and you’re off your feet again. Before you can land he flies over and hits you up into the air. He flies up preparing to hit you back to the ground but you completely disappear at the last minute.

He looks to the left, then right trying to find you when your left leg comes down in a successful axe kick. Superman goes hurdling down to the ground but feels something wrap around him and pull him back up into a fist. Bruce sits up wondering where you got the strings from.

Superman grabs the fist that punched him and breaks it. The grip on him disappears. Your scream is garbled and not loud enough for Bruce to hear but he can imagine it. Your face schools into a much more threatening visage. Superman meets your rage with some of his own.

Your fist is out of commission for the next few minutes or so but you don’t favor one side so it’s not that bad. Using a flat palm, you strike Superman in the chest with your other hand. You can feel at least two of his ribs break as he goes flying, but he doesn’t let go of your broken fist so you go flying with him. He rights himself mid air and uses his grip on your hand to pull you closer to him so he can elbow you in the throat.

You choke and reply with a headbutt that hurts you nearly as much as it hurts him, but he lets your hand go. You flex your fist to determine how much longer until your hand is healed.

‘Two minutes’ you think to yourself.

Superman comes in with a punch that you duck under, but he was expecting that and follows up with a knee to your stomach. You hunch over and he prepares to knee you once more but you catch his calf and fully extend his leg while striking his knee with the palm of your broken hand. His knee snaps backward and you laugh at his scream.

He flies up to gain his composure and is shocked to see you follow him into the air. Neither he nor Bruce realized you could fly throughout the course of this fight. You thought it was obvious.

The two of you launch matching strikes. Every fist he throws is blocked, all your kicks meet air or a flat palm. The strikes come faster, Bruce can barely keep up. Superman’s speed gives him the advantage and he punches you in the face breaking your nose.

You lick the blood from your lips. You hold eye contact with superman as you bring a hand up and twist the ring around your right middle finger. Bruce and Superman’s eyes both blow wide at the sight of the sword in your hands. Obsidian black with gold trimmings around the handle.

Superman tries to use his heat vision to make you drop the sword but it just rebounds off the sword and hits him in the chest. You fly toward him and swing the sword, he grabs your sword hand to no luck as you drop the sword and catch it in your other hand. You can feel the bones returning back to their proper place as you wrap your fingers around the sword’s handle.

You swing the sword in a wide arc as a fake out, Superman ducks under and is met with a punch when he rights himself. He goes shooting downward. You fly toward him and swing again, Superman braces his arms to block the blade of your sword but you were expecting that. At the last minute the blade turns into a giant mjolnir-like hammer and sends him crashing into the ground.

When you lift the hammer Superman is notably bruised but it’s not enough to keep him down. He does a kip up and kicks you in the stomach. It’s hard enough to send you flying in the opposite direction but you turn the hammer back into the strings and pull him into your elbow. Your strike meets his eye and he groans. You manipulate the strings so that Superman is underneath you when you meet the ground.

He pulls at the strings and they loosen a little, so you pull them taut again. He manages to get onto his back and blows frost breath on your hands so that they loosen around the strings. You use the breath of the forges to melt them, you remind yourself to burn a little dinner for your brother. It worked in Percy Jackson, it might work in real life.

By the time your hands are defrosted you’re met with a punch to the face. Some of the string is still in your hands so you use them as a whip instead of a capture device. Each strike stings in a way Superman can’t really recall feeling. He backs up to avoid getting hit but you just keep pushing forward until the distance between you two has dwindled enough.

Superman has a hard time dodging the strings as they come. They don’t sting like a whip anymore; they're razor sharp as they slice at him. On his face, his chin, his elbow, the right side of his chest. The strings shift and he’s hit in the face by a flail, then they’re strings again. One hits him in the forehead and blood starts leaking from his face. He closes his eyes and listens. He listens to the sounds they make as they cut through the air, what they sound like before they hit him, what they sound like when you pull them away. And right before he can catch it

The strings solidify into a bo staff. You twirl it around, passing it between your hands, and then like a snake, you strike.

Dodge. Hit. Hit. Dodge. Dodge. Hit. Hit. Hit.

Five hits to three dodges, and three hits in a row. You’ve turned the tides. You use the staff to sweep his foot, and he has to hover to prevent from falling. He lands almost instantly and he uses his other leg to kick the staff away from you. You spin kick him in the temple and hold out your hand. The staff returns to your grip and you swing. As the strike meets Superman’s stomach, “the slayer” turns into a club. The follow through makes superman hunch over in pain.

You go to kick him in the stomach when he grabs your leg and pulls you off of your feet. You hit the ground hard and immediately roll over, losing your grip on the club. Superman’s punch landed where you were lying seconds ago. You kip up and launch into an aerial, catapulting you over Superman’s head.You wrap an arm around his neck and put him in a chokehold. He struggles for air desperately and you tighten your grip.

He flies up and freefalls so that he’ll land on his back, where you’re waiting to take the brunt of the impact. You wait until the last moment and switch your positions so that he lands on his face. You had to let go of his neck before landing so you went flying off of Superman and hit the ground like a rock skipping water.

You recover first. There’s blood leaking from your scalp and bruises all over but no major injuries. He’s on his hands and knees when you decide to end the fight. Stepping on his back you reach a hand out and catch the flying club. It turns into a spear and you hover it over where his heart should be. The blade lightly ghosts over Superman’s back and he admits defeat.

“Good fight” you say and offer him a hand

He stares at it for a few seconds and takes the help up. The two of you fly over to where Bruce was watching.

“Feel better?” Bruce asked you

“Not better, but different. I’m gonna shower.” you turned to Superman “Thanks again. Sorry for kicking your ass”

“You didn’t kick my ass”

You raised an eyebrow

“I will admit defeat but you didn’t” he shrugs and his voice rises in pitch “You didn’t kick my ass per se”

“Uh huh” you turn to Bruce “your little boyfriend is cute. Invite him over for dinner one night”

Superman flushes and Bruce pinches your side. You yelp and laugh as you head in the house.

“If you hurry with your goodbyes I’ll do that thing you like! You know the one with my nose?” you called behind you. You only make it to the foyer before you hear Bruce’s hurried steps.

You sleep in the master bed that night. Bruce wraps around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. You remember the last time he did this. When Jason was still alive. It comforts you, you’re glad at least one thing hasn’t changed. But you still don’t feel normal. You’re starting to think you won’t ever feel normal again.

Slowly you start doing things that you did when Jason was alive. You go back to work, you take calls in your office, you eat dinner as a family, you and Bruce. You made lasagna. Jason’s favorite.

“It tastes wrong” you mutter

“What was that?” Bruce asks

You repeat it.

“It tastes wrong. It’s-it’s” you stutter “It’s not right. It’s all wrong. I thought it would be normal and it’s not. It’s disgusting”

You stand up, grab the tray of lasagna, and march into the kitchen. Bruce follows, begging you to talk to him. You throw the lasagna in the garbage and just stare at it.

“He’s gone. He’s gone and it doesn’t make any sense.”

Bruce said nothing. He put a hand on your shoulder and you flinched away. He tried again, telegraphing his movements but this time you didn’t pull away

“Why?” you asked. He wishes he had an answer for you. “Why me? Why us? Why our child? Hmm? He had his whole life ahead of him, he was only fifteen. Fifteen. He was a baby. I want to know why, I want to know what happened? I-I-I want to know–How did my baby end up crushed in a warehouse? What was he doing there? He was probably cold, and scared and I wasn’t there to protect him. How come–”

You bring a hand up to wipe the tears streaming down your face. Your breaths are quick and short. Bruce worries you’ll work yourself into a panic attack.

“How come I wasn’t there? How could I do that to him? He was waiting for me, he was waiting, he needed me” you sob and fall to your knees “and I wasn’t there.”

Bruce follows you to the floor. You wrap your arms around his stomach and cry into his chest. He presses kisses to your temples. He cries too, though it’s silent. When your tear ducts are dry, you reach up, wipe the tears from his eyes and kiss him on the forehead. You want to be strong for him. You don’t know how to be strong right now.

Getting him to bed is easier than you thought. You make him take an aspirin and place a glass of water by his nightside table. You do the same before getting into bed and staring at the ceiling. You can’t place what it is you’re feeling but it’s heavy but also empty, like you feel its presence even when you can’t see it. You can’t even talk about it.

You still train, you still go to work, you still volunteer, you still go to galas and tours of museums. You do everything you used to do, everything you’re supposed to do. But it feels like you’re just going through the motions.

Your husband won’t have sex with you anymore. He says you’re using it as a coping mechanism and it’s unhealthy. He says you’re running away from your feelings but that’s not true because you don’t feel much of anything anymore. You just like orgasms, they make you feel light and boneless, your muscles relax even if it’s just for a bit.

You can’t stand looking in the mirror. Everything looks so perfect. Flawless skin, toned body, you have fancy clothes and smell good. Everyone should just envy you. Because you are perfect, you have the perfect life, the perfect job, the perfect husband. And they should envy the children you have had with him. They should envy you, with your dead son and husband who won’t touch you. You who have a company to help manage, classes to teach and a vigilante to soothe. Everyone should envy the weapon who tried to be human and got his heart broken.

You broke them. All of them. Nothing is normal, but nothing is wrong either.

You go to work, you do your duty to the city, you come home, you train and you sleep. Nothing else. You don’t go out for drinks when you’re invited, you don’t extend your office hours past what is necessary. You eat at Jason’s favorite fast food spot for lunch and it tastes like nothing. You chew and swallow anyway.

A painting put a name to the feeling. Automat by Edward Hopper. A woman sits alone at a table in some kind of diner or cafe. She sits and stares into a cup of coffee or tea. Her expression is very resigned yet contemplative. Behind her is a window that shines with the reflection of the shop’s lighting, only able to be seen in the darkness of the night sky. There is no reflection behind the woman, just darkness contrasted by the light of everything else.

She, like you, is unmoored. She, like you, is affected by a darkness that singles her out. Or maybe it feeds on her solitude. She, like you, is drowning while life goes on around her. Because like you are, she is depressed.

“Bruce, I think I’m depressed” you say in bed one night

“You think?”

“Okay you could try being more supportive”

“I’m sorry let me try again”

“Bruce I think I’m depressed” you sigh

“Thank you for opening up to me. Where would you like to go from here?” he asks

“That was actually much better and I don’t know. I feel kind of better now that I have a name to it. But also now i’m realizing you’re depressed too. But like all the time”

“We don’t need to get into that” he insists

“We could!” you sat

“It’s just– I can still function. It doesn’t completely cripple me so I don’t really notice. I just get up and live another day. I have good days, I have bad days, like the city. And like the city, I don’t stop. I don’t stop because she doesn’t. And as long as I don’t stop-”

“People live safer and happier lives?” you ask

“Yes” he nods

“How many bad days have you been having lately?”

“As Bruce or as Batman?” he asks

You shrug

“A lot,” he says.

You kiss him on the forehead and whisper affirmations in his ear. You tell him about how you love him, how good he is for the city, how good he is for you. You don’t lie and tell him that he was a good dad but you do reassure him that the kids love him and know he loves them. You tell him you see his attempts to be better and they matter.

Bruce falls asleep with you laying next to him whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

You went to a support group. People were shocked to see you but it’s polite not to stare or judge or idolize at these kinds of things. A few people went around the circle sharing about themselves. Their names, what they’re feeling, a high and low of the week. Why they’re there. Then it was your turn.

“My name is [Name] Prince-Wayne. I’m feeling a little out of my depth, a little anxious. I’m here because I’ve been depressed after my son’s death. Uh- what else?”

“Highs and lows”

“Yeah, thanks. A low, uh I went to his, my son’s favorite fast food place. I used to love going there with him. I’ve been going every day for a little over a week. The food tastes horrible without him. I mean I can’t believe I ate that crap. But I did. And I would again if he asked. I keep going hoping that one day it’ll taste the same but it doesn’t.”

You cleared your throat “A high would be uh, I figured out what I was feeling at work, I work with paintings and there was one that spoke to me. Anyway I went home and told my husband I was depressed and we talked and I slept good that night”

“Thank you for sharing” everyone chorused

Nobody approached you afterwards, you didn’t give them time. You were up and out of there as soon as it was over. All those people had lost someone, but so many of them had lost someone to villains and criminals. And they accepted it.

You were selfish. You didn’t want to live like them, you didn’t want to accept Jason’s death. You wanted him back.

#male reader #x male reader #male reader insert #that-bi-bitch-writes #batman x male reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x male reader #bruce wayne x reader #dc x reader #dc x male reader #batfamily #batdad

28 notes · View notes