what the hey, man!

"Here we are," you say, turning around to face your youngest boys in the backseat.

"Great, thanks mom," Tim smiles at you, unbucklling his seatbelt so he is able to lean forward to give you a quick kiss on the cheek before he opens the car door to step out, frowning at Damian when he realises that the younger boy hasn't moved a muscle yet, although he was always the first one in and out of the car.

You give him a nod when he looks to you, signaling him that it is okay to go. "Have a nice day with your friends, Timmy. Love you."

"Love you too, bye," he says with a smile, closing the door when he spots some of his friends.

When Tim is far enough away, you turn your head towards Damian who's slightly leaning against the window. He looks a lot sicker than when you all left the house, but when you tried to convince him to stay home he said something along the lines like '𝘐'𝘮 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦' and '𝘉𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘴' or something like that.

Damian lives with you for a while now, but sometimes he still finds it difficult to accept help (especially because he still has the feeling that you want to test him and not that you actually just want to care for him). You don’t want to think about all the cruel things Ra's al Ghul probably did to him when he was sick and couldn't concentrate on his training.

With a shake of your head to get the image out of your mind, you look at Damian again. "Are you sure you want to go to school?" you ask with a soft voice because you're sure the boy has a headache, "your father has a lot of meetings today, and with Tim going to a friend's house after school, it would be just you and me at home, and well Alfred of course."

"I'm fine," he mumbles back while finally unbucklling his seatbelt.

You let out a quiet huff, of course 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 his answer. "We could watch some movies, read a bit or play some games," you suggest, "we can do whatever you want."

"I want to go to school." 𝘚𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦, you give him that.

"Okay," you relent, watching him rub his slightly glassy red eyes before he opened the car door to step out. "I'm home today, please call me when you feel worse," you say, thinking about what you could say to convince him to come back home with you, "you're not weak if you call me, Dickie still calls me when he's not feeling well."

Damian rolls his eyes with a scoff, "Grayson just wants the attention you give him."

"And I gladly give it to him," you defense your eldest son, "I give it to all my kids. That includes you too," you smile softly before you continue with a teasing voice, "besides, if you really think Dick wants attention when he's sick, you should really see how your father acts when he's sick."

Damian's lips twitch at your tease.

"Have a nice day, love you."

Damian gives a small nod, working his jaw before he lets out a quiet, "bye, mom," and closes the door to make his way to the entrance of the school.

You start your car, smiling to yourself despite the slight guilt you felt because you couldn't convince him to stay home with you. Damian started to call you '𝘮𝘰𝘮' a month ago, and it still made you smile every time you heard it. You two had a bad start—like everyone had with him—but when he started to realize he couldn't get rid of you, he started to see that you actually didn't want to get also rid of him—like he thought—but that you just want to get to know him, and if he wants to take care of him.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mrs. Wayne, it's Zuri. I'm really sorry to bother you," she begins, and you straight up at the voice of Bruce's assistant, not because you didn't like her, you absolutely adore Zuri. She's a really sweet woman in her mid fifties, who helped you a lot back then when you were new parents to Dick, and you bought him along when Bruce had time to eat lunch together. It was rather her tone that let you knew something was wrong.

"What did Bruce do?"

"It's about Damian—"

"Damian?" you interrup her, feeling guilty for not convincing him to stay home.

"Yeah," Zuri winces, "the school called a few times, saying that he doesn't feel well, and that Mr. Wayne should pick him up, but he's in a very important meeting right now."

All you could think about was why the school tried to call your husband first, and why they didn't called you immediately after they found out Bruce was busy? On all three information sheets of your boys (Jason went to a public school), you filled out that in case of any emergency you'll be the 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 person to be reached out for, and 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 if they couldn't reach you, they would have to reach for your husband. 𝘚𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭?

"I asked them if they couldn't reach you," she continues, when you didn't say something back, "they said that it was against the school rules or something like that, and that Mr. Wayne should pick Damian up."

"Against the rules?" you ask, but it was more a question to yourself. "That's weird, but thanks for calling me."

"I'm sorry for not asking more questions, but they pretty much ended the call quickly after that."

"No need to apologize," standing up from your bed, you grab a jacket before you make your way downstairs to get your shoes, "you absolutely did the right thing to call me first, before interruping an important meeting."

"It's probably just a misunderstanding."

"I hope you," you say, putting on your shoes, "please let Bruce know, after the meeting is over, that I picked Damian up, and he doesn't need to worry, we just make a cosy movie day together."

"Will do Mrs. Wayne."

"Thanks again Zuri, have a nice day, bye."

"You too. I hope Damian gets well soon, bye." With that the call ended, and you had all your things to go get your son, and make a cosy movie day, hoping that he doesn't want to watch animal documentaries again.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .

You walk through the door, seeing Damian sit on one of the chairs near the secretary's desk, well he's more slumped into it which directly alert you on how worse he must feel because that boy has a straight posture 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, even when he was 'relaxing'.

You go straight to him, ignoring any other people in the room completely, your boy comes first.

You kneel before him to better cup his face, frowning when your hands make contact with his skin that feels hot and sweaty. He probably has a fever. 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭?

"Ummi?" Damian questions, when he felt your hands cup his face, trying to blink his dizziness away, "I'm...fine."

You smile at him softly, knowing he must feel vulnerable (even though he would never admit that). He called you that the first and last time after he was seriously injured on a mission. Back then, just like today, he didn't want to admit that he didn't want to be alone, and you didn't left his side for his entire recovery time. Some time after that he started to call you 'mom'.

"I know, baby," you let out a quick disbelieving laugh, of course he still tries to argue with you, "but I take you home anyway. You can feel fine at there too."

He doesn't argue with you any further which is another signal for you that he was anything but fine. You just hoped you didn't need to take him to a hospital or call a doctor, you just want to get home, give him some medicine, Alfred's famous 'get well' soup, and than cuddle in bed, but for now you had another problem to solve first.

Standing up, you turn around and look at the other two people in the room. You first look to the secretary, the one who should have called you, but she wouldn't look directly into your eyes which is really weird to you because she was always friendly, shrugging it off in your head, you turn your gaze to the man you never saw before.

"Hello," the man greets with a sigh and a look that tells you he is not happy that you ignored him before, stretching his hand out anyway, "I'm Mr. Banks, the vice principal."

"Mrs. Wayne," you say, shaking his hand, "where's Mr. Santos?" you had a really weird feeling about this 'vice principal', starting with the fact that you never saw this man before and that he had grabbed your hand to hard to which you let go as soon as possible.

"Oh, Mr. Santos isn't here today, he called in sick."

You give him a soft nod in acknowledge, looking over you shoulder to make sure Damian was still fine, you really should make this conversation short, the sooner you'll be home the better.

"Will Mr. Wayne be here soon?" Mr. Banks asks before you could ask anything, looking at the door to see if Bruce just parked the car, and will soon coming in as well.

"No, he's in an important meeting," you answer, "which is why I'm actually a little confused as to why nobody called me. The information papers clearly states that in case of an emergency, I am the first person to be informed."

Mr. Banks frowns slightly, seemingly not happy about the fact that your husband wouldn't come to the school. "We simply followed the school rules."

"Which are?"

"In case of an emergency the parents are to be informed."

"But I wasn't informed," your brows knit together, looking back to the secretary, but she still avoided eye contact. "The assistant of my husband informed me. I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding, but I'm the first person to be informed because—"

"In case of an emergency the parents are to be informed," Mr. Banks interrupts.

"Right," you agree, nodding your head once, "that's why I'm confused to why you didn't call me first, or even after my husband didn't answer his phone."

"In case of an emergency the parents—"

"Which I am," you interrupt him this time, getting very irritated with him, your child was sick, and you wanted to know why nobody called you. "I'm his mom, so I—"

"𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘮𝘰𝘮."

"Excuse me?" you say with a clam voice, but you were everything but calm. Yes, you're his stepmother, but you absolutely didn't like the tone he used when he said the word.

"You're his Stepmom, and the school rules say that 'the parents are to be informed', and that doesn't apply to you here," he says with a smile on his face that you really want to slap off of his face.

Damian straights in the chair, glaring at the vice principal. How dare he to speak to you like that? Your his mother, and nobody but him and you could decide on that matter. Reaching to his dagger, that he actually wasn't allowed to bring to school, he stops when you step aside, blocking his way to Mr. Banks. Damian scoffs, knowing it's a warning that you have everything under control. He slumps back in his seat, but being still on high alert to fight for your honor.

You relax slightly when you hear Damian scoff, knowing he wouldn't do anything, well at least for now. You've been long enough together with Bruce, therefore you have unfortunately a lot of experience with these kind of people. People who saw you 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 as his wife, as a 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭 who can't do nothing but spend the money of her hard working man.

"You can of course wait here with Damian until your husband arrives."

You're normally a very patient and calm person, you had to be with four sons, but you were fed up with this man, so you couldn't help yourself but laugh at him.

Mr. Banks looks confused, clearly not understanding what's so funny all of the sudden. "That's not funny, Madam."

"Yeah it is," you say, still laughing, "it's very funny that you think you can stop me from taking 𝘮𝘺 sick child home."

"It's against the school politics to allow a stranger to pick up the kids."

"Well, lucky for you that I'm not a fucking stranger. I'm his 𝘮𝘰𝘮, I have authority 𝘢𝘯𝘥 permission to take him home."

"Like I said," Mr. Banks continues, completely ignoring what you just said, "you can wait here with Damian, but only Mr. Wayne and Damian's mother are allowed to take him home."

You scoff, turning around to go to Damian. You were absolutely tired and fed up with this stupid conversation. "Sweetheart, grab your bag, we're going home."

"You can go, but Damian stays here. I don't want to call security, so why don't you calm down and go a bit shopping or whatever else you do with your husband's money."

Normally Damian would jump off of his chair, and protect your honor from his vice principal, but he felt really dizzy. But then he saw the look in your eyes, and could slump back in his seat with ease, knowing this look all too well, he knew to better not stand in your way.

"I adopted three children."

"What—"

"I adopted three children," you say again, raising your voice slightly, "I'm their mother, and also Damian's. I didn't adopt him because his biological mother is still alive, and I'm very grateful for that because the parents of my other children are 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥."

"Mrs. Wayne please listen—"

"No, you listen!" you take a step forward. "I had to fucking bury on of my kids, so if you think security can stop me, please be my guest and call them, but I'm calling the police because you hold us hostage. I have permission to take Damian home, so next time do your fucking job, and look in the files of the children to see who is allowed to pick them up and who isn't."

Mr. Banks looks shocked, not knowing what to say or what to do, but before a sound could come out of his mouth you continue, "oh and I'm not a stupid little doll who spends the money of her husband all day. Am I a staying home mom? Yes! Absolutely nothing wrong with that. You think you can do my job?" you laugh again, taking another step forward, "fine, let's switch places for a day, but we all know you wouldn't survive an hour in my shoes."

With that you turn on your heels and go to kneel before Damian again. "C'mere, baby," you say in a much softer tone, taking him in your arms to stand up, its also another sign on how bad he must feel. Damian wouldn't let people carry him, he must be really 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 tired.

"Ma'am, please let us talk this through," Mr. Banks tries to stop you, seemingly sensing that he made a huge mistake, but before his hand, with wich he tried to stop you, could touch your shoulder, Damian stopped him.

Damian grabs Mr. Banks' wrist, looking him with his last bit of strength sharp in the eyes, "don't touch her!"

I-I wasn't I o-only—" the man stutters, shocked by the brutal strength of the young boy.

You turn around, forcing Damian to let go of his vice principal. "You wanted to meet my husband so desperately? Congratulations, you will meet him, but I can guarantee you that it won't be a pleasant meeting," you say with a wicked smile that mirrors the same one that your son has on his face, when you finally leave the school office.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .

Back home you send Damian into his room to change into something cosy, asking Alfred to make soup while you prepare tea and look for medicine to hopefully reduce Damian's fever.

You thank Alfred before heading to Damian's room with a tray of everything you need to take care of your boy, frowning when you see his door is open, but he's not in the room, you smile to yourself because you know exactly where he is, where all your children end up sooner or later: 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮.

And indeed, Damian lies in your bed on his father's side as if it had always been his.

"There you are," you smile, placing the tray on your nightstand.

"I thought it made more sense to be here so you wouldn't have to get up every ten minutes to check on me," he mumbles between coughs. Damian would never admit out loud that he just doesn't want to be alone right now so. "And your TV is a lot bigger than mine."

You both knew that was a lie; all televisions were the same size, thanks to 12-year-old Dick and his jealousy of Jason at the time. But you just hum in agreement, happy that you can take care of him without arguing about it.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .

A small smile spread across your face when you hear hurrying footsteps. After Damian ate his soup and drank half of the tea, he quickly fell asleep once his head made contact with your shoulder, thanks to the medicine.

Bruce opens the door as quietly as possible, smiling when he sees you and Damian cuddle up together with you stroking your hand through his hair. When Zuri told him everything after his meeting, he immediately cancelled all other meetings, and made his way home.

"Hey," he whispers, leaning over you to give you a kiss before he brushes some hair from Damian's forehead, the boy lets out a displeased sound, tucking his face into your neck. "Looks like we got another mama's boy."

You laugh softly, cupping Bruce's face with your free hand, "aren't they all at some point?"

"Can't blame them," he smiles, leaning down to give you another kiss before he frowns slightly, "want to tell me what happened with the school?"

"Later," you answer to which Bruce nods. You don't want to talk about what happened now, knowing that Bruce will get angry when you tell him what the vice principal said. "I just want to cuddle with my boys."

Bruce smirks, standing back up to his full height to take off his jacket and tie before he cuddles up to your other side.

"What?" he asks at your raised brow, "he's completely on my side, and they always kick me when their sick."

"Expect Dick."

"That's because he kicks every other time."

"Can you be quiet? I'm trying to sleep."

Jason holds the board and angles it in a way that it faces the camera. The board display that of a Google search with Bruce Wayne typed into the search bar and four questions coming up in the search. Part of the sentence was hidden under a white tab.

"So these are like the most searched questions from Google and you have to answer them." Tim explains.

"Is there a right and wrong answer?" Bruce asked.

Tim and Steph both shake their heads, "No."

"Just answer the question however you want." Stephanie said.

Jason pulls the first tab off to reveal the hidden part of the question. "Is Bruce Wayne…richer than Lex Luthor?"

"Um…I think I'm generally considered richer than him in wealth, I mean I'm certainly richer than him in other aspects…like having hair…"

The crew begins to laughs. Jason makes a 'boom' sound as he pretends to drop a bomb.

"Shots fired." Dick said.

You were sitting there pinching the bridge of your nose trying your best not to laugh.

"You know lots of things" Bruce said smugly.

"Why is Bruce Wayne…afraid of bats?" Jason read off the next questions.

"Are you really afraid of bats?" Duke asked turning in his chair to look at Bruce.

"Okay…I wouldn't really say afraid…." Bruce started before you interrupted.

"No, you still have some fear for them." you corrected.

"When I was seven, maybe eight, I fell down an old well that was part of the property that I wasn't suppose to be at. Ended up being part of a cave system and there was a flock of bats that swarmed and attack me." Bruce stated.

"Wait are you serious?" Stephanie double checked.

"When aren't I?" Bruce said sarcastically.

Jason reveals the next question, "Does Bruce Wayne…have living family?"

Stephanie gasps, "Kate. We love Kate." The other nod in agreement.

Bruce throws a hand up, "My cousin, Kate from my mother's side. Who was actually with me when I fell down that hole and may or may not be the reason." Bruce gives a dead stare to the camera.

"Clip that." Steph said towards the crew.

Bruce gave a confuse look, "What?"

"B, again we talked about this!"

You were still hung up on what Bruce said, "Wait no she wasn't. Kate was living in Europe at the time."

Bruce put a finger to his lips in a 'shushing' motion.

"Alright last question," Jason annouced, "Is Bruce Wayne…batman. That's the age old question right there."

"Bruce is never beating the batman allegations." Dick said.

"Not I am not Batman. I hate that guy." Bruce states.

Jason throws the board somewhere off camera.

The next broad gets passed and it had Dick's name on it. Damien holds it, while you peel off the tabs and read the questions.

"Alright is Dick Grayson's name Dick." you read off.

"Yes actually his full name is Dick-wad." Jason answer for his older brother.

Dick slaps the back of his brother's head. "It's Richard." There was a pause before Dick speaks up again, "Why is Dick short for Richard? Who came up with that?" Dick asked, genuinely curious.

"In the Middle Ages, it was a trend to rhyme things. Rich or Rick was actually the shorten name for Richard, but then Rick evolved into Dick." Alfred answer somewhere off camera.

"That was the infamous Alfred Pennyworth everybody." Jason said.

You read the next question, "Where is Dick Grayson…from?"

A unison of 'o's' sounded from Dick's left (camera right).

"Aren't you like…technically not from anywhere?" Tim asked.

"Kind of, I was born into a traveling circus, so there was like actual city to like call home because the circus was home." Dick explained.

"So nowhere?" Stephanie clarified.

"Your birth certificate actually says Star City because that's where the circus was heading next." Bruce mentioned.

Dick pauses and leans forward to look at Bruce, "They told me that they lost it."

"I have my ways." Bruce said.

"Okay, two more question." you say. "What happened to Dick Grayson?"

Dick looked towards the camera confuse, "Did something happen to me that I'm not aware of?" This makes Stephanie and Jason laugh.

"I think they are talking about the circus accident, honey." you say.

"Oh like what to me after the…oh well to make a long story short, I got adopted by a grumpy rich guy that had no idea what he was getting himself into by taken in a kid that lived in a circus his entire life."

"Never in the history of ever did someone had to child proof chandeliers." Bruce said.

"Is that why the chandeliers are all bolted like that?" Duke asked.

"Yes, because Dick kept swinging on them."

"You know everyone thinks that Jay was the trouble, rowdy kid, but it was actually Dick." you pointed out. "Alright last question…you wanna read it Dami?"

"Dick Grayson…butt contest?" Damian read out.

Dick hides his face while his siblings laugh at him.

"So…" Dick began to say, face still hidden behind his hand. "So Teen Vogue put me in a contest for who had the greatest ass or something like that." Dick removes his hand from his face. "They had Nightwing also in that contest and it was down between me and him and I lost…which is utter…crap. I definitely have the better ass, but yeah that's that." Dick explained.

Damian tosses the board lightly off camera and another board was handed to Duke.

"Damian this one is yours." Duke said. "Is Damian Wayne…vegan?"

"Vegetarian. They are entirely different despite what people might think." Damian informs with a matter-of-fact voice.

"Is Damian Wayne…" Duke begins the next question before Damian can go into detail about the difference between vegans and vegetarians. Duke pulls back the tabs and slightly laughs at it before speaking. "Is Damian Wayne a test tube baby?"

Jason fell towards Dick in a belly laugh. Stephanie was also laughing and clutching onto Tim for support. Damian crossed his arms in a pout and you pulled him in and gave him a little frown.

"Oh wow, how did you guys get Tim's search history?" Jason joked. Tim threw his hands up in defense.

"I think they are confusing me with the clon-" you covered Damian's mouth before he could say too much.

"Is this really what people are searching?" Bruce asked.

Jason straighten up and wiped tears from his eyes, "I think that's the best question we are going to get this entire video."

"No Damian is not a test tube baby." you answer as you removed your hand from Damian's mouth.

"Well…" Tim began and that seem to set off a vocal stim amongst the siblings.

Damian glared daggers at his brothers.

"Stop it." Bruce warned.

"What is Damian Wayne's…favorite animal?" Duke read.

"All of them, it's hard to chose a favorite." Damian states.

Cassandra leans over and whispers something into his ear. It was the first time she had say anything the entire video. Though she is know to be the quite one and not one for speaking.

"Cassandra said that I should mention all of my pets that I have." Damian repeats what Cass said to him.

"You have have like 20 animals." Tim said.

"This is gonna be a minute." Dick stated.

"There's Alfred The Cat, he a tuxedo cat so it makes him look like a butler. So I named him after our butler. Ace and Titus are mostly father's pet Doberman, but they like me more. Then there is Bat-Cow, she has marking on her face that make it look like she is wearing a mask like the bats and then I'm gonna count Grayson's dog Haley because I watch her a lot and then…" Damian turns to look at Bruce. No words where exchanged between the two, but you knew what Damian was asking. "And then there is Goliath, he's a dragon bat."

"You just unintentionally answered the next question." someone says off camera.

Everyone looked towards Duke as he pulled off the tab to the last question.

"How many pets does Damian Wayne have?"

"Are you fucking psychic or something, Cass? Jason asked looking at her.

Cass gives a knowing smile.

The next board was pass and Stephanie grabbed it.

"Oh this should be good." she said and looked at Tim, who was beside her. "Is Tim Drake…" she pulls the tab, "Gay?"

"I lied I think Tim's questions are going to be the best." Jason said.

Tim sighs, already over it, "Yes, bisexual. Next question."

"Does Tim Drake…" Stephanie reveals the rest of the question and instantly falls out of the chair in laughter. Everyone was confuse.

"Wait what did it say?" Dick asked leaning back to look at Steph who was on the floor.

Tim snatched up the board from her and read it. "Does Tim Drake have a spleen..okay you know what, we're done."

Tim tosses the board and walks off screen. Stephanie was now in tears on the ground. Dick and Jason were now also laughing. Cass was smiling, laughing silently.

"Drake is very sensitive about his spleen." Damian said.

"Tim, baby, come back." you say.

Bruce looks back at Stephanie, "Stephanie…" there was a bit of amusement in his voice.

"Steph, honey." you said.

The was a cut in the video, everyone was in recovery form laugh, Stephanie was wiping the tears from her eyes and every once in a while she would threaten to start laughing again, but would compose herself.

"Okay look the whole spleen thing." Tim began and this time Jason was the one to break, "Jason!"

"I'm sorry, the situation was funny." Jason said.

"Okay so I got stabbed. When you live in Gotham there is a fifty percent chance you are going to get caught in something." There was some gasps from the crew. "Hold on, don't gasps yet. I kept it a secret. Bruce and mom where out of town along with Alfred," Bruce could feel his blood pressure rise the more Tim tells the story, "So I tried to take care of it myself. Ended up getting an infection from it, got really sick. Dumb and dumber had to take me to the hospital, where I had to get my spleen taken out."

You and Bruce were shaking your heads.

"This is where we also learned that Tim is like a freaking Victorian child. A common cold could actually kill him." Dick said.

"Should also mention that Bruce had to demand to get your spleen back and now we have it in a jar." Stephanie said.

"Yeah, so that is the spleen story, so now everyone stop talking about my spleen." Tim said to the camera.

"Tim Drake coffee order." Stephanie says.

"Black coffee with half a pound of sugar." you say.

"It is not that much sugar." Tim corrected.

"Timothy." you said with a stern voice.

"It's a lot of sugar." Tim said, defeated.

Stephanie reveal the last question, "Tim Drake's age."

Tim went to answer, but Jason stopped. "Hold up, hold up. I think we should have the old man answer this."

"I know how old all of you are." Bruce stated.

"Do you though?" you looked back at your husband. He looked at you offended.

"Dick's 25, Damian is 11, Duke is 16, Jay you're 19…"

"That sounds like a question." Jason stated.

"It wasn't. Cassie is also 19, older by two weeks. Tim and Steph are 18."

You looked surprised, "Wow, I'm surprised, you normally get them mixed up."

"Jason's turn." Dick says holding the board. "Is Jason Todd…Bruce Wayne's biological son?"

Jason rolled his eyes, "Really."

It should be noted that Bruce and Jason were sitting the exact same way with their arms crossed and a scowl on their face.

"Multiple blood test have been done and we can confirm, for now at least, that Jason and Bruce have no biological relations." you state.

"I think it's the fact that DNA test have to even be done." Tim said.

"You guys do scarily look alike though, even Dick, Tim, and even Cass have some resembles." Duke said.

Cass got your attention and started to sign to you.

"Do you remember when we found that one picture and we all thought it was Jason, but turns out it was actually just a young Bruce." you translate Cass' signing.

"I don't see it." Bruce says looking at his children, which makes the crew laugh.

"Is Jason Todd…dead?"

"Only on the inside." Jason says and he moves before you could wack him because he just knows. "Um…I was. Well I was presume dead anyways."

"Dude has a whole grave and everything." Stephanie said.

Dick pulls the tab back to the third question, "What happened to Jason Todd?"

"That's a loaded question." Tim says.

"A lot." Jason states.

"And final question," Dick says, "Why did Jason Todd go missing?"

"Oh my gosh," Jason blurts out, which makes some laugh. "I ran away, I was a kid. Stop Googling me, please." Dick throws the board behind him.

"Oh goodness is it my turn?" you say looking at the board Bruce was holding.

"How did Y/N Wayne and Bruce Wayne meet?" Bruce askes.

"The most rom-com way ever." Dick said.

Bruce made a face, "I wouldn't say that."

"Bruce didn't like me when we met." you say. The news of this makes the children gasps. You nod, "Yeah He tried to find ways to get rid of me actually because he didn't think I was needed. I was hired on as Bruce's assistant though really I was working for Alfred cause someone didn't want to run their own company." you dissed.

Bruce lean down to kiss the top of your head, "I'm glad my attempts weren't successful, my love." he said.

Jason reads the next question, "How did Bruce Wayne propose to Y/N Wayne?"

"Well it was suppose to be a surprise, but someone couldn't keep their mouth shut and crash the proposal site." Bruce grumbles.

Dick had a guilty look on his face, "Listen I was excited, I didn't know it was suppose to be a surprise."

"I quite literally told you that it was when I tucked you into bed that night."

"To answer the question though, we went to the Gotham Botanical Garden because there was a new statue exhibit that were like copy of famous renaissance sculpture, but I had to pretend like I didn't know what was happening because Dick told me that night before leaving for dinner." you said.

Bruce has the board back in his hands now, "Y/N Wayne's birthday."

"Yeah Bruce, when's ma's birthday?" Jason asked.

"It was one time…" Bruce address.

"One time too many." you said giving him a look.

"It's May twenty-second." Bruce said.

"Is Y/N Wayne…" Bruce lifts the tab, but puts it back when he read what underneath it.

You furrow you eyebrows at him, "What?"

Jason leans over Bruce to pull the tab away, "Pregnant." An uproar started which causes you to laugh.

"There is already enough of us!" Steph exclaim.

"There's no way this is how you tell us." Tim adds.

Duke and Cass where beaming compare to Dick, Jason, Tim, and Stephanie. Damian's expression was unreadable.

"No I am not pregnant." you say.

"You're smiling!" Jason points out.

"I was just laughing."

"I'm not convinced."

"Last board." Duke announces.

"Last board!" the rest children said (minus Damian and Cass) in various different ways.

"Alright. How to get adopted by the Wayne family?" Tim reads off.

"Be an orphan or semi-orphan." Dick said.

"Have a lot of trauma." Tim adds.

"And you too just might be picked up off the streets by Bruce Wayne." Jason finishes.

"Or you can be like me and just stick around long enough that you eventually get you own room and become a dependent on taxes." Steph says.

You laugh at your children's antics while Bruce just shakes his head. Something that he seems to do a lot through the video.

"How many kids are in the Wayne Family?" Duke reads the next question.

"Legally or…" Bruce asked, which makes the crew laugh. "Legally everyone here minus Stephanie who, beyond contrary belief, won't let us adopt her. So don't let what she says fool you."

Stephanie beams.

"Does the Wayne Family own Gotham?" Dick reads.

"No." Bruce answers, "We are one of the founding families, but none of us really own anything. Gotham is run by the people…I just help fund it."

"The Wayne family corrupt." Jason reads.

"Again no." Bruce restates, "My father made questionable choices, but it was all driven by the love he had for my mother."

"And it seems the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Jason said as he grabs Bruce's shoulder.

The last broad gets flung somewhere off screen.

"Well that's it, I hope everyone was satisfied with our answers." you say.

"Thank WIRED for having us and apologizes to the crew members that were almost taken out by flying boards." Bruce said.

The children all wave to the camera and the video ends.

922 Comments

@ rollinghills

Bruce's face the entire time during the pregnancy question, oh she is definitely pregnant.

@ tessabp17

Not them throwing Bruce under the bus the entire time.

@ clairebear646

Why didn't Stephanie, Duke, or Cassandra have a board??

→ @ tjt5841

Cass is really private, Duke is also private and still new to the family, he's just being foster by the Waynes, and Stephanie is just there.

@ nicodegallo

Stephanie is essentially a squatter in the family. She has squatter rights lol.

@ bee2free

No because Damian looks the least like Bruce and he is the only one actually related to him.

→ @ justiceforjay007

They all look so alike, I forget that none of them are related to one another

→ @ snaillover365

Tim and Cass could literally be twins

add. notes: Lore is ovbiously changed because the internet/people can't know that the Wayne are in fact the Batfamily.

Until he led you down the long winding hallways to the basement - a cave, Bruce, you built a full fledged Batcave, you had said - and something deep in your gut told you the technology wasn’t just a rich man’s playthings.

So, cool, your best friend was the masked vigilante that no one in the city could decide if they loved or hated, and you had to be fine with that.

Which also meant, after Alfred, you were the only person he really had in his corner. So on the nights Bruce came home more than a little battered and bruised, you sent Alfred to his room and patched Bruce up yourself. Which afforded you the opportunity to get to know him better than you had before.

Even as his best - and only, you liked to tease him - friend, there was an unsurprising barrier around his vulnerability that few people ever stepped into. But there was something about you stitching up the holes in his body that caused him to open up more to you. About his fears of never doing enough, the hurt of the loss of his parents, the thought that he was disappointing them rather than making them proud with his nightly activities. 

And as those walls came crashing down around you, so did your feelings.

You wanted to laugh it off at first, the thought of having something as silly as a crush on Bruce Wayne. Until you caught the scantily clad waitress from the bar down the block sneaking out the front door one morning, you weren’t even sure Bruce was capable of sexual or romantic feelings. But the closer you got, the more you realized that you desperately wanted him to have them, for you.

The lingering touches and covert stares from the both of you were enough to balloon your hopes until it all came to a head one winter night.

Bruce had gone out on a patrol, a typical weekday night that you hoped would be quiet and he could get back home quickly and out of the below freezing temperatures. You set up your usual first aid supplies on the dining room table and very sweetly asked Alfred for help lighting the fire before he headed up to bed.

You sat in the plush armchair reading a book until you heard the tell-tale rumble of the Batmobile - don’t call it the Batmobile, Y/N, he said every time - entering the space below you.

Thinking back, maybe you should have known something was wrong. Usually it was about 20 minutes from the time you heard him arrive to the time the fortress level door just off the study opened up. Enough time for him to download any pertinent footage from the night, take his suit off, and wash away any blood that wasn’t his own.

That night though, it was less than five before you heard heavy, booted steps and the whoosh of the door. You stood abruptly, your book falling to your feet, and rounded the corner to see Bruce standing there in his full armor, save for the helmet.

He looked disheveled, more than usual, and you could only begin to imagine what horrors of the night had The Batman so rattled.

Despite the near impenetrable material that was his suit, you knew from his slight limp that it was not a calm night, and when you stepped into his personal space to try and assess the damage, he grasped your hip so hard you winced a little. His grip loosened considerably, but he still crowded you, so in your own space that you were backed up until thick wood of the dining room table dug into your spine.

“Heard them talking about you,” he said, voice low and breathy. “Scum, all of them. Talking about you like you were a piece of meat.”

You shook your head, terribly confused. Who would be talking about you to Batman? Then you remembered your coworkers - ex-coworkers, you should say - and the whole ordeal you had sworn to keep from Bruce.

Which was, men were often entitled and sometimes handsy and you were one of several women in your office to go to HR with complaints of management trying to feel up special offers, if your meaning was clear.

You hadn’t wanted to tell Bruce, knew he would do his broody and protective bit, and it was all more trouble than it was worth, in your opinion. But of course you couldn’t keep anything from him, though you had hoped you had actually gotten away within it since it had been several weeks. No such luck.

You didn’t know if he was more angry at them, or at the fact that you had kept it from him.

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” you started, wanting to stop the conversation before it really began. “I should have told you, but it’s not a big d -”

“Not a big deal?” he hissed, crowding you even more. “You’re a big deal to me. You’re- you’re everything to me.”

Well, that certainly didn’t sound like best friend talk. No, that sounded like school boy crush, draw-your-name-in-hearts talk. Coming from Bruce? To say you were baffled was an understatement.

“What?” You wanted to back up, get away for a moment, because you couldn’t think clearly with him so close, but he didn’t get you the opportunity. Instead, he swiped a hand behind you, scattering the various supplies that laid on the table onto the floor, and lifted you up so you were sitting and he was slotted between your legs.

One hand still rested on your hip, the other coming to the nape of your neck, angling your head so your foreheads pressed together.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispered again, this time with more conviction. “Tell me you want this too.”

You were too stunned to speak, so you just nodded, and that was enough for him. Lips on yours, hands everywhere, clothes scattered one by one. You were overcome with passion for him, feeling every emotion all at once, and finally, finally, as you lay sweating and dazed on the mahogany table, Bruce’s weight pressed on top of you, did you find the words to speak.

"You're cleaning this up, right?” You motioned with the hand that wasn’t laced with his to the perfectly good medical supplies that now decorated the dining room floor. “Since this was your idea."

That managed to elicit a rare Bruce Wayne smile and instead of answering, he peppered your face with kisses, moving lower down your abdomen. And, well, you weren’t inclined to stop him.

Bruce pressed a soft kiss against the supple skin of your neck and tightened his hold on your waist as the slumber pulled him into another world filled with darkness.

The hour of silent comfort you had with Bruce quickly passed.

At 6:15 A.M., you softly turned in his embrace and pressed a kiss against his temple. There was still a bit of dark eyeshadow left-over, forgotten in the hurry to pull off the suit and join you in his bed.

You softly rubbed the black away under his eyes, your thumb ever so gently passing over the delicate skin as Bruce inhaled deeply.

“You forgot a bit, mister,” you softly whispered as his eyes remained closed. His thumb rubbing circles over the exposed flesh of your hip revealed that he was awake.

“I’m gonna get some coffee from Roberto’s,” you whispered again, trying to peel away from his embrace that had you locked in place. Morning always came too soon for Bruce, no matter how he tried to shy away from the light.

“Why do you insist on getting coffee from Roberto’s when Alfred makes a perfectly fine cup?” He muttered, his voice still a bit hoarse from running through the cold all night long.

“Because,” you grinned, pressing a kiss against his bicep and finally untangling yourself. “It’s only a block away and I’ve been going there since I was 15.”

“Hnng,” he groaned, burying his face in the pillows. His eyes were so well-adjusted to the dark that the first rays of the sun, however faint they were, felt like stings and made his head throb. “Come back soon, I’ve barely seen you this week.”

You pulled on a dark jumper of his and laced your boots, ready to defy the rain that was pounding down on Gotham city.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” you bent down to press another kiss to his temple. You would never stop showering the man in physical affection, for as long as your heart beat in your chest.

You pulled on a long trench-coat over your jumper and closed the door to the bedroom behind you.

Bruce was back to snoring again, already lost in a slumber and blissfully unaware of the upcoming events.

When Bruce awoke again, it was a little past 8 A.M. For some reason, his dreams had been filled with scenarios of your death. He often had nightmares where he relived the night his parents got murdered or scenarios where he himself was the target of some sort of violent crime. But those all paled next to the horrors of your passing, an event he wished to never experience.

Bruce had grown immensely attached to you over the past 15 years.

You were like a warm blanket that wrapped around him when he needed it most. A warm blanket that drove away the cold that had settled in his bones ever since his parents passed. The moment that made him the sole survivor of a horrible crime gone wrong.

The warmness of your personality made him feel again. It made him susceptible again to caring what happened. You might be the only reason why he returned to being Bruce again, when being his dark alter ego seemed like the only solution to battle his demons.

So why didn’t he feel your warm presence in his embrace again? Where was your scent that usually calmed him down after another nightmare? Where were you?

Bruce shot up from his bed.

His heart was battering in his chest. You could’ve been held up in Roberto’s. People are so drawn to you, it often happens that you are stopped in the street and asked for something.

It’s because you’re a household name in the city, known for your father’s media-empire and for the philanthropy department you ran. People seemed to know where you were at any given moment, so much so that they bothered you all the time. Well, it bothered Bruce. He knew you liked looking over all the proposals and helping out people wherever you could. It was yet again a testament to how different you two were.

Bruce pushed his sunglasses on his nose and sauntered over to the living room where Alfred was doing some paperwork. He knew he shouldn’t have been worried, yet he couldn’t think of anything else, especially after that horrific nightmare.

“Where’s the miss?” Alfred asked, taking a sip of his coffee as he looked down at the paperwork again. Apparently he wasn’t worried either.

“She went out to Roberto’s a few hours ago,” Bruce muttered, still an edge of unease in his tone. “Did she leave a note or say something to the maid?”

Alfred shook his head, “can’t blame the woman for not leaving a note, she’s been going for years.”

“She’ll turn up, don’t worry, sir,” Alfred added as he spotted the pained look on Bruce’s face. He slid a cup of coffee Bruce’s way and continued his reading.

After a few minutes of enduring the silence, the doorbell rang in the distance.

“There she is,” Alfred said, a hint of a smile hidden in his voice as he turned the page. Alfred was happy there was another person in his life that cared as much about Bruce as he did. Bruce needed all the love in the world he could get, and he was glad you were able to provide that. The fact that Bruce was so anxious to see you again, was like music to Alfred’s ears.

But then the maid entered the living room, her eyes wide-open and her hands wringing in one another.

A second pair of steps quickly followed the maid’s and that’s when Bruce realized it weren’t your boots that were stomping down on the floor, but a standard issue of the Gotham city police department.

Bruce had been watching the news all morning.

His adrenaline was peaking, just like when he was out at night trying to stop criminals.

But he couldn’t go out just yet.

His dark alter ego only left when the night was at its peak darkness, when the last rays of sun had left the city and were replaced by the cold glare of the moon.

“Breaking news: the heiress to the Quantico-media empire was kidnapped in broad daylight this morning. Bruce Wayne’s partner was last seen this morning as she left Roberto’s. Our sources confirm that the heiress has been frequenting the coffee shop weekly since her teenage years. Afterwards, she was captured around 7:05 A.M. and pulled into a blacked-out van. Right now, police are doing everything they can do bring the woman back to safety. Police asks witnesses to come forward with any information they might have -“

He couldn’t listen to the woman anymore. Bruce didn’t feel like himself anymore. The only thing he felt was this inner rage. The same rage he felt when his parents were murdered.

Bruce tried to storm off, but Alfred quickly stopped him. Alfred eyed the liaison that the police had sent over to keep Bruce up to date. He couldn’t say anything to reveal the nature of Bruce’s… after hours job, but he could try to imply that his alter ego had to wait until the night fell over the city.

“Bruce, you can’t do anything.”

His nostrils flared, but aside from that, he couldn’t do anything.

Bruce couldn’t do anything and he never despised himself more.

So he did the only thing he could do, as a rich heir to Wayne Enterprises. Bruce paced around his apartment, his eyes glued to the screen and his hearing focused on the police liaison that got updates every half hour.

The little bit of light was just disappearing when the liaison got the call that the abductors had reached out with a message.

“Mr. Wayne?” The woman asked, a bit hesitant as she saw his fearful face. “They’re demanding a huge ransom.”

“How much, I’ll pay it. I’ll pay it all,” Bruce cut her off. He’d gladly give all his money if it meant that you’d be home by the end of the day.

“That’s not the only thing they want.”

The woman’s brown eyes were pulled a bit downwards, as if she was perpetually sad. Who wouldn’t be in this godforsaken city?

“They want 15 million dollars from you, 15 million from her father and…” the woman trailed off. Goddamnit, couldn’t she get to the point instead of dancing around the truth? Whatever news she would tell could not be worse than you not being safe in his arms right this moment.

Alfred noticed the distress on Bruce’s face. He noticed how his brows were pulled together, how his jaw was just a bit sharper than usual. He saw the darkness that was swirling in his eyes.

“What else do they want?” He asked, standing in between Bruce and the liaison.

“They want Quantico-media to shut down. They want to get rid of the independent news and install a media-outlet that is biased and, well-“

The liaison trailed off once more, but this time Bruce couldn’t think straight anymore. “What? Just spit it out for once!”

“Her father was fine with paying the money, but shutting down Quantico-media is off the table. There’s no deal. We have 24 hours to come up with something new or they kill her.”

It was as if something exploded in his mind. But it wasn’t like the type of fireworks that went off in his mind as when he kissed you, or when you laced your fingers through his when the media was once again hounding him.

It was more like a time-bomb that finally ticked to zero. A bomb that caused a chain reaction which made his critical thinking fly out the window.

Bruce looked outside. The sun had set and was replaced by the eerie darkness that engulfed Gotham City. It was time.

He turned to Alfred. “I’m going out. I can’t just sit here.”

Alfred nodded and turned towards the liaison, asking about what the next steps were.

To anyone else, it looked like the whole ordeal had become too much for Bruce, like he had to go outside to think, to not feel like a helpless creature that was stuck inside his high-rise apartment.

To two people however, it was clear what was going to happen.

It was clear that, whoever exited the underground garage next wouldn’t be a young heir, pained by the disappearance of his love. The one who exited the garage would be the kidnappers biggest nightmare.

It took Bruce the whole night and the first few hours of daylight to get some information about your whereabouts.

Gordon had also activated the signal, meaning that the police had just as much trouble in finding you as he had encountered through the night.

Bruce had gone through any kind of criminal that could be affiliated with a crime lord who wanted control of the media.

He was covered in grime and blood, remnants of the fights he had endured and would continue to endure until he knew where you were. He didn’t even know whose blood was on his hands anymore. It was a mixture of his and probably 20 other men’s blood. His knuckles were split open under his gloves. His chest hurt from all the punches he had endured and his head felt like it might split open any second from all the bullets that bounced off his helmet.

But he finally got a location. It was on the outskirts of the city. An abandoned building that once was a printing house. The irony wasn’t lost on Bruce.

Gordon had ordered him to wait for the police force to get there, so that there was back-up and some sort of official authority, but Bruce felt like he might jump out of his skin the longer he waited.

So he went in on his own. He’d deal with the ramifications later.

The building was dark and quiet. A musty scent clung to the air. A mix of gunpowder and cigarette smoke.

Bruce’s senses were dialed to the max and though exhaustion was settling in his bones, the idea that you were somewhere in this building reinvigorated him.

The thought that he’d sleep for a whole week in his own bed, your soft skin against his once again made him push through the one of the hardest nights of his life.

Bruce was no longer alone in the building though.

A man shot out from the shadows, a gun that was pointed at him.

Bruce heard the click of the safety switch being switched off, followed by the loud clatter of gunshots and bullets that were bouncing off his suit. Bruce quickly kicked the feet from under the man’s body, not caring how much he hurt the captors that kidnapped you.

A few other men reacted to the sounds of guns going off, and soon enough there was a group of men crowding around Bruce, hitting him everywhere.

He felt as if he was losing the fight. There were just too many men and guns attacking him all at once.

Bruce fell down on his knees. His whole body hurt and searching for you had exhausted him to no end.

The men continued pouncing on him and he felt the integrity of his suit wearing down with every bullet that hit it.

Bruce was so close. He was so close to finding you again. To getting you out of this hellhole and back into the safety of his home. His home that hadn’t felt like a home since his parents passed, but ever since you stayed over it was more a home than ever before.

He was now totally knocked on the ground, he was losing a fight for the very first time he started as the Batman. He was losing the one fight he wasn’t supposed to lose. The fight that would ensure your safe return.

So Bruce did what any sane person would do. He thought of you. He thought of the simpler times. The times were it was just you and him. The times where you went to sleep smiling at him and where you woke up a few hours later, a smile still present. He thought of how beautiful you looked when he first met you. He thought about the first time you dragged him to a gala he didn’t want to go to, yet you were the last to leave the party, just because you were both glued to the dance floor. He thought of you.

It was thinking of you, thinking of all those memories that made him realize how many more memories you could still make in the future. Of how many more stupid gala’s he’d go to just because you asked him. Or how many more times he’d see you smile. It was all those things combined that seemed to give him an extra shot of adrenaline. A boost that made him stand up again.

The group of men didn’t know what he had in store for them.

After fighting them off for another 45 minutes, he was finally able to knock them all out.

Bodies were spread over the whole first floor and he didn’t hear anyone else approaching.

His whole body ached, but he ignored the burning in every limb and ran to the stairs.

Apparently they had hidden you in the basement.

The basement was possibly even darker than the upper floor of the building. It was quiet too, aside from the squeaking of a few rats in the distance.

Was luck finally on his side? Were there no more guys that he needed to defeat to get to you?

It really felt like luck as the next thing he heard was a soft muffled whimper, a few feet in front of him.

“I’m here, I got you, I’m here,” he repeated as he saw your frame hunched over in the corner. Your mouth was taped shut and a tight rope shackled you to a pillar in the musty basement. There was some blood on your hands, but aside from that, you looked physically as okay as you could. Bruce couldn’t spot any other injuries, so he deducted that you’d probably tried to fight your way out.

It still caused Bruce to want to let loose all the rage that was coursing through his veins.

But when he saw the look in your eyes. That glassy look where your eyes are filling with tears, all that rage was packed up and stored somewhere in the back of his mind.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he softly pulled the tape from your mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, it’s okay,” you whispered back hoarsely, your voice still hurting from screaming your lungs out. “They’re after my father, not you B.”

“I-I still should’ve protected you,” he breathed out, eyes focussed on untying the rope. Bruce was struggling, his fingers wouldn’t cooperate and seeing the loving look in your eyes made everything hurt even more. “I protect the city but can’t protect the one thing that’s worth more to me than anything I’ve ever loved.”

At this point, Bruce didn’t even care anymore who heard him confessing his love for you. He’d gladly give up the anonymity to save you.

“Oh, my love,” you said, your hands finally free. You placed your palms against his face, the cool leather of his mask in stark contrast to his skin that felt feverish. “You couldn’t have done anything more, but yet, you found me.”

Bruce felt like he was stuck. He had knocked out all the kidnappers, anyone who was involved with hurting and abducting you. The only thing he could do now, as the Batman, was to get you to the safety of the police. How he wished he could just drive off and take care of you himself in the safety of his apartment. Of his home that was a now again a home.

His conflicted nature quickly was overtaken by the need to make sure you would be physically and mentally okay.

“I’m going to lift you up,” he said. His voice still had a pained edge. He was afraid of hurting you, even though his body was on the edge of breaking down. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

You could only nod.

The shock finally started to register. It started somewhere deep in your bones, an ache that could only be explained by the horrible way you had been treated the last 36 hours. The ache travelled from your bones into your veins. It was transported through your veins, just like the blood platelets and nutrients and entered your heart in less than a minute.

You couldn’t stop the sobs that left your throat. Somewhere deep down you knew you were safe, safe in the arms of the man you loved most, but the reptile part of your brain just now realized what horrors you had been through.

“I’m so sorry,” Bruce repeated again. It seemed like the only thing he could say. His vocabulary had been exhausted as was he after running himself ragged around the city in search of you.

Bruce had carefully lifted you in his arms. He could feel the shivers that were running through you, the sobs that made your whole body violently shake. He heard your lungs struggling to pull oxygen from the air, the air that was feeling thinner for him too, the effects of your distress taking a toll on him.

When he finally got you out of that wretched basement, the night had reached its darkest time in Gotham City. Instead of the white moonlight shining down on him, there was now the red-blue flickering of approaching police cars painting the walls.

Gordon stepped out of the first car, his face immediately contorting from a pained look to a more relieved one. “You got her out.”

Bruce held on to your body, refusing to let you go. You were safe in his arms, and he didn’t think he could ever let you go again.

The ambulance pulled up just a few seconds after, parking right in front of him. The doctor and paramedics tried to pry you out of his grasp, but he insisted on carefully placing you in the ambulance himself.

“Be careful,” he quietly said as he put you on the stretcher and the paramedics got to work.

You looked so small all of a sudden. Usually your confidence almost made you look like a giant goddess, but now you looked like a small little animal, hurt in a trap that some evil entity had placed.

Your eyes were still locked onto his, even when the paramedics shone a light in them to check for brain injuries.

“We’re gonna take you to the hospital for some extra testing, but physically you look okay,” one of the paramedics told you. You nodded and a sad smile overtook your face as you looked at Bruce.

The man who saved you looked a little broken. His black eye-make up had faded a bit due to the tears and the sweat, but you still recognized his vibrant eyes. The eyes that always looked at you with so much love. A love that burned brighter than the biggest star in the universe.

“Thank you,” you told him before the doors closed and the ambulance drove off. He still saw your tear-stricken face through the little windows. For the outside world, it seemed like just like you were grateful for your saviour, but Bruce knew it was so much more than that.

Gordon quickly asked for a debrief, but once the detective had all information he needed, Bruce speeded off towards his workshop.

The Batsuit was quickly stripped off and replaced by a pair of normal pants and a jumper. The only thing he wanted, was to see you again, surrounded by the best doctors of Gotham City.

Bruce remembered the day you found out he was the nut job running around Gotham city in a suit with a cape. You’d been pissed, unable to understand why he chose to put his life in danger to save others. But then after arguing for a bit, you also realized he tried to protect those the city wanted to harm. The same city that murdered his parents.

He needed to find a way to protect you from this city. He couldn’t let the same fate be bestowed on you, the fate that took his parents. He needed to do more. He couldn’t let the most important person in his life get hurt again.

Bruce was glad he had this dark alter ego. Because without him, you would never have been saved.

You were laying in between his sheets, not a trace of blood or a hint of distress to be spotted on your face. Bruce felt compelled to stay in your vicinity, even though you had been out of the hospital for a week already.

You were still fast asleep, soft snores leaving your lips as the sun finally revealed itself to the city again. The sunlight was filtering through his windows and straight onto your frame. Bruce couldn’t think of another word than ethereal.

The trauma of being taken had translated itself into exhaustion, meaning you slept almost 12 hours every night. Alfred and the maid were also at your beck and call, just like Bruce when he wasn’t out during the night. Your father had been remark fully absent.

Though he was tired from being out all night, the sight of you felt like a shot of pure adrenaline, reawakening him. Bruce couldn’t imagine spending his days any other way.

“Hi you,” you whispered, pulling him away from his daydreams. You hand came up to cup his cheek. You had loved Bruce for so long, you couldn’t imagine waking up without him present anymore.

“Hi,” he whispered back, a rare smile present on his face. His smiles were rare, but when he was in your presence, he couldn’t wipe them off. “How are you feeling?”

“In need of coffee,” you grinned. The few bruises you did have were fading. The one on your neck had almost completely disappeared. The more the bruises faded, the less Bruce was reminded of the horrific event.

“I’ll get the maid to bring some, you stay here,” he said, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead.

Bruce wanted to stand up, but you gripped his wrist, a silly smile plastered on your face. “Please stay just a bit B, let’s enjoy this morning together.”

And how could he resist you? How could he resist the love of his life? The one who made him feel more like himself, day after day?

Bruce crawled under the comforter and once again wrapped himself around you, his limbs tangling with yours. God, how he longed to touch you after a night out.

“You know,” he started, fixating on how your fingers perfectly fit between his. “Without you, I don’t think Bruce would still exist.”

And though most people would look at him as if he grew a second head, it all made sense to you.

You knew how much the murder of his parents changed him. How much Bruce retreated into a shell and how it fundamentally changed his core. So much so that he had this primal need to mask up and fight for this city to get safer.

“I’m glad you’re still in there somewhere,” you whispered back, caressing the side of his face and swiping away the dark hair that hid his beautiful eyes. “Because without Bruce, I wouldn’t be here either.”

Bruce shook his head lightly, disagreeing with your statement, but not wanting you to remove your warm hands from his face. “No, no, you’ve always been stronger, you have always been a guiding light for me.”

“Oh Bruce,” you said, looking at the man who had risked his own life just to save yours. “I’ve said it time and time again, but I love you.”

You tilted your head closer to his so your foreheads touched, a gesture that started when you were just teenagers, too anxious to try anything else.

“I’ll love you forever,” he whispered back, still unbelieving of how he had gotten you back after his nightmare turned reality. “I’m never letting you go again.”

You tilted your head a bit forward, just so your lips could touch his in a deliciously soft kiss.

The kiss was interrupted by a knock on the door, and the maid entered with two to-go cups on a silver platter. Talk about service.

“Got you some coffee from Roberto’s miss,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes as she was so happy to see you back again. “Roberto sends you his regards.”

Bruce took ahold of both of the cups as you thanked her. Both Alfred and her had been so careful and helpful, even more so since your return.

She left the room again and Bruce handed you your cup. Roberto had written a small welcome back message, missing your weekly visits but totally understanding that you needed some time.

“Happy?” Bruce asked.

So he bit down all his complaints and sat down beside you on a picnic blanket you’d spread out on the grass as you sketched into a large drawing pad, tapping the edge of the pencil against your bottom lip in thought. Bruce watched in rapt intrigue as you scribbled with mute concentration, creating a new design for his vigilante costume—something that he hadn’t ever meant for you to get involved in, but you found out nonetheless after connecting the dots (those dots being his runny black mascara he forgot to take off and the large collection of scars he steadily acquired). You were always the more intelligent of the two, anyways.

“What are those?” he asked quietly, pointing to the small bumps on his utility belt. 

“Hidden storage units,” you responded at an equal decibel, sparing him a glance and a knowing smile that left his heart stuttering desperately against his ribcage. “A place where you can hide small devices people can’t find if you were to be searched. You know… just in case.”

“That’s smart,” commented Bruce, face remaining stoic as ever. You read him plain and clear, however, and nudged his shoulder affectionately before ducking your head back down to keep sketching.

It wasn’t often that he spoke on your little outings. That was perhaps one of Bruce’s favorite things about spending time with you. He didn’t feel like he was out of place with you—nor did he ever feel pressured to speak. If he had something to say, he knew you’d listen, and if not, he knew you were still there for him. Besides, he’d much rather listen to you talk—he quite liked your voice and highly respected your thoughts and opinions. And sometimes, just sometimes, you made funny jokes that’d make him let out a little laugh. 

You’ve been a constant in his life ever since… well, ever since he lost his parents. Alfred had taken you in on a cold and stormy night more than two decades prior—you were drenched and shivering to the point of no return. The Wayne Manor was a desolate building, no place for a child so young and afraid. Nine-year-old Bruce watched from the shadows of his ghastly mansion that night, observing the moonlight on your tear-soaked cheeks, the stiffness of your fingers as it lifted the steaming mug of sweetened tea Alfred had fixed for you. He recognized the anguish in your youthful features—it was the very same as what he saw in the mirror every day.

As the weeks droned by, and Bruce came to realize that you were here to stay, you became a familiar figure in his life. In the beginning, he pretended like you were never there. He lived life like he did before—an emotional little boy with no idea what to do with said emotions. Only now, he was the very same but just… bigger and somehow even broodier. Oh, and with time he began talking to you, too, albeit barely more than two-word phrases at once. It took an excruciating ten years or so of walking on eggshells before Bruce finally grew close enough to you to call himself your friend. You were all quiet smiles and thoughtful gestures; it wasn’t that much of a surprise when he found himself falling head over heels for you, even though he was appalled at himself for feeling such a thing. 

“Do you think we would’ve met if Alfred hadn’t taken me in all those years ago?” you postulated in the gentlest of tones, snapping him out of his reverie. 

It took him another second to realize that you’d already packed away your sketchbook, now shuffling so that you could lie down on the blanket, staring up at him with a look that meant nothing good for Bruce. It was the look that always made him stumble over his words—the one where your eyes went all wide and inquisitive and affectionate. You were close; so close that your knees brushed against his side and your arm was pressed up next to his thigh. It didn’t help at all when Bruce inhaled sharply, the scent of park flowers and your honey-like perfume invading his senses. You were driving him crazy without even realizing it.

“I don’t know,” he admitted tentatively, voice hoarse from neglect. You briefly wondered if he’d had anything to drink today. “You’d probably know Batman. Not…” He trailed off before he could say his own name, gesturing vaguely to nothing.

“Not Bruce Wayne?” you murmured for him, hand reaching upwards to brush your knuckles over his sharp jaw, relishing in the way he leaned into your touch ever so slightly. “I think I prefer my Bruce over your dark alter ego.”

His heart nearly gave way when you called him yours. You weren’t wrong, though. He was yours. 

“I’m not quite done with the new suit design yet, by the way,” you said, dropping your hand to trace random, mindless shapes into the blanket. “But I’m thinking of giving you more kevlar reinforcements—heat resistant and bullet proof. Besides, extra protection never hurts. What do you think?”

“Yeah, ‘s good,” he grunted out bluntly, nodding once. You hummed in response, a lazy smile curling at the corner of your lips. 

The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence once more—with you watching the clouds drift by above and Bruce observing you do so.

When your phone buzzed in the pocket of your jeans, you twisted to fish it out, propping yourself up with your elbow resting across his lap, answering it with a swift, “Hello?” 

Alfred’s concerned voice buzzed from the other end, and Bruce could faintly hear him ask where you were right now—and that dinner was ready and it’d get cold if you didn’t hurry back.

“Don’t be a worrywart, we’re coming!” you said with a mellifluous chuckle. “Bruce says hi, by the way.” Your eyes locked with his and an amused grin painted itself golden over your lips. “Alright, Alfred. I’ll tell him that. Love you, too.”

When you hung up, you removed your arm from him, and he had half the mind to grab your wrist and pull you closer once more. Obviously, he didn’t. His hands fidgeted anxiously in his lap. “What did he say?”

You fixed him with a humorous faux-glare. “He told me to tell you to stop drawing on the floor. Who knew spray paint was so hard to wash out, huh? I swear, I thought you grew out of that habit when you were fifteen!” you burst into several peals of laughter, clutching at your own abdomen at the thought of Alfred walking into a room full of random violent words and arrows spray painted all over the floor. Against his own will, Bruce could feel a grin twitch at his lips.

“Don’t laugh,” he gently admonished, prodding your arm. “I didn’t have any paper.”

“I literally live right across the hall from you,” you replied pointedly as you got up, ushering him off the blanket so you could fold it up. “You could’ve just asked. I have plenty of paper.” Then, after a considerable pause, you tacked on, “In fact, you could come to my room whenever you want. Whether you need paper for your nancy drew-ing or not, my door’s always open for you.”

Sometimes it felt like Bruce was constantly dangling on the very precipice of emotional turmoil, feet just barely skimming the surface of agony. But you were his tether to reality, his anchor to shore, the beam of light to guide his ship back to land. What did he ever do to deserve someone like you in his family? 

Wait… did he just call you his family? 

Family was the most fickle thing, Bruce mused. Family meant pure, undulated love and care—family didn’t have to only mean blood of his blood. 

“You’re my family,” he said, so uncharacteristically sudden, flushing deeply when you looked back at him with those inquisitive, round eyes. 

It was ridiculous at this point—he’d known you for upwards of twenty years and it was still hard to speak to you without losing his damn mind. Quite reminded him of how he still refused to tell the waiter at the local diner the two of you often frequented that he always orders a burger with no pickles (the acidity of the brine made his head hurt), even after receiving a burger stuffed to the brim with the accursed things, despite being a regular customer there for ages by now. You’d urge him to say something every single time, but knew not to push him too far—besides, he needed to learn how to deal with things like that himself.

He sucked in a breath. This time, slower, he added, “You… You mean a lot to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Thank you.” 

He cautiously waltzed around the word love because he’d probably combust into spontaneous flames if he professed his love for you in the middle of a bee-infested park. What made it all the worse was the fact that you’d often casually say the dreaded L word to him as if it were a regular greeting. It frustrated him to no end because he wasn’t entirely sure if you meant platonic love or romantic love. Or both. Bruce was just happy you loved him at all, if he was to be honest. Don’t get him wrong, he was very much content with platonic affection, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want the latter kind of love from you. 

And it wasn’t like he’d never tried to tell you about his true feelings before. There was that one time he made you sit down and listen to Heart-Shaped Box by Nirvana after hours of psyching himself up, carefully watching you for your reaction. If sharing his utmost favorite song from his most favorite band with you wasn’t enough for you to take the hint of his extremely profound and complicated feelings, Bruce supposed it was hopeless for him.

He’d always had a flair for the dramatics, hadn’t he?

The blanket you were holding crumpled beneath your tight grip. You blinked once, then twice. Bruce wanted the ridiculously soft ground to open up and swallow him whole. How embarrassing—this was probably the most he’d ever vocalized how he felt for you. He wanted to run back home and lock himself into his dark room that stank of toxic spray paint chemicals. 

Recognizing his subtle distress, you stepped forward and placed a hand on his pectoral, the other coming to tenderly lodge itself beneath his chin, maneuvering his dark gaze to look away from the grass and to you. “Oh, Bruce. You’re my family, too,” you assured him with a sweet smile that made his insides cave in on themselves. “And you mean the world to me. More than you can ever know.” 

The last sentence was said with somewhat of a bittersweet, hollowed tone, and Bruce could feel his mind gear up into overthinking panic mode. What did you mean by that? Was there even the slightest chance his feelings were reciprocated? He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but oh—he could already feel his hopes getting up.

“Now, c’mon, I’m ninety-nine percent sure Alfred is at his wit’s end with us right now. We should get back before he ruptures a blood vessel or something.”

The champagne still hummed in your veins, a faint, golden buzz that softened the edges of the night. Behind you, the gala’s orchestra faded into a distant echo, replaced by the heavy, muffled silence of the hotel corridor. Your heels clicked sharply against the marble—each step more unbearable than the last.

“God, I can’t do this anymore,” you muttered, stopping abruptly and pressing a hand to the wall for balance. “I’m pretty sure my feet hate me right now.”

Bruce’s brow arched in quiet amusement as he slowed, waiting for you to catch up. “I told you those shoes looked like a bad idea.”

“Well at the time they looked like a spectacular idea,” you huffed, your fingers fumbled clumsily with the delicate strap at your ankle. “But right now, I think I might have to agree with you. It feels like I’m walking on glass. I can’t even—”

The rest of your complaint was swallowed by a gasp as Bruce suddenly stooped. Before you could finish the thought, his arm swept behind your back and beneath your knees. In one fluid motion, you were hoisted upward, the hotel’s crystal chandeliers tilting overhead as you let out a startled, breathless laugh.

“Bruce!”

His expression was calm, almost smug, as he adjusted you against his chest, holding you effortlessly in a one arm bridal carry. Your purse and heels were claimed in his free hand before you could protest, his grip steady and unyielding.

“You’ll ruin your feet if you keep going in those,” he said simply, as if carrying you was the most logical solution in the world.

You looped your arms around his neck instinctively, caught between the feeling of embarrassment and the sudden, fluttering warmth in your chest. “You don’t have to do this, Bruce. I feel bad—I can manage.”

He scoffed, “Baby, what kind of husband would I be if I let you limp your way to the car?” He began to walk, his pace steady and effortless. “Your job tonight was to look beautiful and enjoy yourself. Mine is to put these muscles to use—and to carry you when that beauty becomes a pain.”

You fought back a smile, “You realize people are staring, right?”

“Let them.” He shrugged, his tone nonchalant, the kind that told you he didn’t care and that left no room for an argument. “If I want to carry my wife, then I’m going to carry my wife.”

As he spoke, he tightened his grip slightly, pulling you a fraction closer to his chest.

He moved through the long stretch of the lobby, staff members and lingering guests glanced up with wide eyes before quickly averting them. Whispers broke out behind raised hands, but Bruce’s stride never faltered. He carried you with an easy grace, as if you were the only person in the building who mattered.

When the glass doors of the lobby parted, the crisp night air rushed to meet you. There, idling at the curb, Alfred stood by the sleek black sedan, the rear door already held open. His expression didn’t waver in the slightest as he took in the sight of Bruce carrying you and your things out of the hotel.

“Sir, Madam,” Alfred said, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth the only betrayal of his amusement. “I see the evening was… eventful.”

You buried your face in the crook of Bruce’s neck, a mix of champagne-induced tipsiness and pure mortification, but you felt the low rumble of his chest as he let out a quiet, rare laugh.

“The evening was fine, Alfred,” Bruce replied. 

Without ever shifting his hold on you, he passed off your purse and those treacherous heels to Alfred before carefully settling you into the leather interior of the car. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he leaned in and pressed a brief kiss to your lips.

“You’re right, those shoes looked gorgeous on you,” He murmured, before he stepped back, moving to circle the car and enter through the other side.

You grinned to yourself.

As Alfred went to close your door, he offered a small, knowing nod. “I do hope the shoes at least matched the dress, madam. It would be a pity to suffer so much for a clash in style.”

You groaned, covering your eyes with your hands, but the smile on your face was impossible to hide.

Your knees wanted to give out at the sight of him trying to grin. Even now, even in so much pain, he tried to reassure you. So you helped him, laying him on the couch and rummaging through the cabinet for supplies. A sharp, chemical smell wafted through the apartment. You didn’t flinch. Nor did your hands tremble when you stitched his wounds.

Once you finished, you tucked him into bed and gazed at him, checking for the rise and fall of his chest. It was then that you noticed a chain around his neck, his wedding ring looped through it. This foolish man. He should know better than to carry something so precious out there.

Instead of scolding him like you wanted to, you curled up against him, fingers carding through his hair. You didn’t dare think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been home. And when morning came, he would surely try to calm you.

No, you couldn’t let it go this time. You would not let him distract you with his kisses. He needed to be reminded of just how dangerous this world was.

———

When the clock struck eight the next morning, you flung the curtains open. Sunlight poured in relentlessly, making Dick groan. He threw an arm over his eyes, his beautiful features twisting in discomfort from the movement.

“Sweetheart, the absolute love of my life, could you perhaps not agonize your very amazing husband today?” His voice was low and rough with sleep.

You hummed, bustling around the room for the medication you’d prepared for him. All night, your mind had whirled with ideas of how to make sure he was properly trained. He fought to save. That was the problem. You needed him to fight to survive.

You appeared beside the bed with the pills and a bottle of water. Looking at his injuries, you steeled your resolve. “Take these,” you demanded.

He shifted, opening one eye. Slowly, he sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist. The sun painted his skin in soft gold. He looked at you with half-lidded eyes and fondness.

You held out the pills and water.

He rolled his eyes and took them, letting his fingers linger against yours. When he went to swallow them without the water, you cleared your throat loudly.

He paused, eyeing you.

“Isn’t there something you need to do before taking them?” you asked.

He tilted his head. “Oh yeah,” he said with a grin, and gestured for you to come closer. You leaned in, brows furrowed. what—

He kissed your cheek. “Thank you for taking care of me, sweetheart,” he murmured, like the idiot he was. Then he swallowed the pills, and you closed your eyes in disappointment.

“This is worse than I thought,” you said gravely. “You took the poison.”

“Huh?”

“Poison, Dick. That was poison,” you explained calmly.

There was a beat of silence.

“When did my sweet wife get a sense of humor?” he chuckled, eyes crinkling in that careless way that irritated you. Most people wouldn’t describe you as sweet. Dick, though, had always been a little weird.

“Dick,” you said flatly.

He faltered slightly, scanning your face. “Hang on… have I been neglecting you? Because if this is a cry for help, I can clear my schedule.”

Heat flooded your cheeks. “What?!”

“Honey, you don’t have to go to these lengths,” he said softly, reaching for your hand. “You can have whatever you want. I’m yours, remember?”

You grumbled. How was he making you flustered with a few words? The fact that his wife had poisoned him was somehow the least of his concerns. If your dosage was right, he had about thirty minutes before he started throwing up.

You grimaced.

Dick, naturally, took that as confirmation of marital failure. “Baby—”

You shot him a look and reached into your pocket, pulling out the antidote. “Take it.”

He stared at it. “Is that poison?”

“Oh, now you hesitate?” you said sharply. It seemed that with you, he lost all sense of self-preservation.

He closed his mouth and obediently took the antidote. Embarrassment crept across your cheeks. This wasn’t for attention. You just didn’t need him to know the real reason for your worry, poorly disguised as a murder attempt.

Admitting that would only make things worse.

———

Later that evening, you forced Dick to rest, his soft snores coming from the bedroom while you begrudgingly facetimed two very annoying redheads for help.

“This is serious,” you cut through their bickering.

Roy stopped mid argument. “That’s never a good sentence coming from you.”

Wally leaned into the frame, squinting. “Is he actually dying or is this just you being weird again?”

“Neither,” you said flatly. “This is training.”

Roy’s brows furrowed. “Training for what?”

You hesitated, then decided it didn’t matter what they thought. “So he doesn’t get himself killed.”

There was silence.

Then, Wally slowly spoke. “So let me get this straight. To make sure he doesn’t die, you’re gonna try to kill him?”

Roy snorted, which turned into wheezing. “He probably thinks this is foreplay.”

You glared. “What terrible taste he would have to consider this foreplay,” you said. “There is not nearly enough blood.”

Wally closed his eyes. “Yeah, okay. We’ll help— but only so you don’t accidentally kill him.”

“Hell yeah,” Roy grinned.

You sighed. The things you did for love.

masterlist

Clark walked in from the kitchen, holding two mugs of cocoa, and froze when he saw you.

“You’re wearing my shirt again,” he said softly, but his voice carried that warm, affectionate lilt that made your heart skip.

“I thought you wouldn’t mind,” you said, looking up at him with a shy smile. “It’s so comfy.”

He set the mugs down on the coffee table and perched on the edge of the couch, eyes lingering on you like he couldn’t quite look away. “I don’t just mind,” he murmured. “I… I love it.”

You blinked, startled. “You… what?”

Clark leaned a little closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I love how you look in my shirt. It’s… you. Soft, warm… perfect.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you hid your face in the collar of the fabric. “Clark…”

He chuckled softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Don’t hide. You look amazing.” His hand rested lightly on your knee, thumb tracing lazy circles. “Honestly, sometimes I can’t stop staring.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, and you let yourself lean into him. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“I try,” he said, a small, tender smile tugging at his lips. “But really… it’s easy when it’s true.”

You reached up, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing over the soft stubble along his jaw. “I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you too,” he replied instantly, leaning in to press a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Always.”

Clark walked in from the kitchen, holding two mugs of cocoa, and froze when he saw you.

“You’re wearing my shirt again,” he said softly, but his voice carried that warm, affectionate lilt that made your heart skip.

“I thought you wouldn’t mind,” you said, looking up at him with a shy smile. “It’s so comfy.”

He set the mugs down on the coffee table and perched on the edge of the couch, eyes lingering on you like he couldn’t quite look away. “I don’t just mind,” he murmured. “I… I love it.”

You blinked, startled. “You… what?”

Clark leaned a little closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I love how you look in my shirt. It’s… you. Soft, warm… perfect.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you hid your face in the collar of the fabric. “Clark…”

He chuckled softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Don’t hide. You look amazing.” His hand rested lightly on your knee, thumb tracing lazy circles. “Honestly, sometimes I can’t stop staring.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, and you let yourself lean into him. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“I try,” he said, a small, tender smile tugging at his lips. “But really… it’s easy when it’s true.”

You reached up, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing over the soft stubble along his jaw. “I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you too,” he replied instantly, leaning in to press a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Always.”

he didn’t move.

you didn’t either.

“you’re gonna fall asleep,” you murmured, somewhere past midnight, eyes on his soft, tired smile.

“not yet,” he said, voice low. “like being here too much.”

you looked up at him.

his glasses were fogged slightly from the heat of your body next to his. his curls were messy. his shirt stretched tight over his chest, rising and falling slow.

you could’ve kissed him right then.

you didn’t.

but you did say, “you’re not going home in that rain.”

his brows lifted slightly. “you sure?”

“i’m sure.”

you stood, walked to your linen closet, and tossed him a blanket. “guest rights, farm boy. couch is yours.”

he smiled down at the pillow like it was the kindest gift he’d ever received. like sleeping on your couch was the greatest honor in the world.

you stood there for a second.

watching him.

watching how his body didn’t quite fit. how his feet dangled off the edge. how he folded his hands over his chest like he didn’t know what to do with them.

and you caved.

“clark?”

he looked up.

you tilted your head toward your bedroom.

“bed’s big enough for two.”

he swallowed. hard. “are you—are you sure?”

you smiled. “i wouldn’t offer if i wasn’t.”

he nodded, slow. stood up carefully like he was worried the couch might explode. and he followed you.

in the dim light of your room, he climbed into bed like a man scared to take up too much space. he lay on his side, back straight, hands tucked under his head, facing away.

you rolled your eyes. scooted over. slid a hand up his bare arm. “goodnight clark.”

he turned over now facing you and flashed a smile, “goodnight.”

you felt it before you saw him.

the slow, thick press of his length against your backside—tenting the sheets, hot and unmistakable. his chest was flush against your back, one arm slung heavy across your waist. his other hand was curled gently beneath your breasts like he’d fallen asleep trying to memorize you.

he was still sleeping. barely.

his breath tickled your shoulder. his fingers twitched. his hips shifted, just once, and—

you bit your lip.

god, he was big. hard. pressed against your ass like he didn’t even realize what he was doing to you

or maybe he did.

“clark,” you whispered.

he stirred. low, slow. a groan vibrated through his chest.

“baby…”

you turned in his arms—barely. just enough to see the way his lashes fluttered, the crease between his brows. the look of restraint on his face.

his eyes finally opened, he kissed you.

not soft. not shy. not the careful, considerate kind of kiss he usually gave you.

this was full, aching need. tongue hot and impatient in your mouth. his hand gripping your thigh, dragging it up around his waist as he pressed you flat against the bed.

your breath hitched.

“you’ve been teasing me,” he murmured against your jaw. “since the day i met you.”

his hips rolled forward.

you gasped.

“always walking around in those little skirts,” he growled, mouth trailing hot down your neck. “bossing me around like you don’t know what you do to me.”

his hand slid under your shorts.

you were soaked.

he cursed under his breath. “jesus.”

you smirked, tugging gently at his curls. “so what’re you gonna do about it?”

his head snapped up.

and just like that—he flipped you.

you landed on your back with a thud, legs spread, your shorts halfway down your thighs. he settled between them, big hands pinning your wrists above your head.

“you’re gonna let me take my time,” he whispered, voice low and serious.

“yeah?”

“mhm.”

he kissed the inside of your thigh.

then again. and again. slower each time.

your hips bucked.

“patience,” he warned.

his mouth was everywhere.

wet, open kisses down your stomach. the slow drag of his tongue along your inner thigh. the feel of his breath between your legs before he even touched you.

you tried to squirm, to shift your hips and give him a hint.

he didn’t budge.

in fact—he looked up at you with that stupidly pretty face and gave you a warning look.

“clark—”

“you keep rushing me, and i’ll take longer,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “you’ve waited this long, haven’t you? what’s a few more minutes?”

you groaned. “you’re evil.”

he chuckled, kissed just above where you needed him, then finally—finally—flattened his tongue against your clit.

your back arched instantly.

his grip on your thighs tightened.

you couldn’t think. couldn’t speak.

his tongue worked slow, purposeful circles—each one drawing out a ragged breath, a soft whimper. he moaned low when your hips rolled against his mouth, and the vibration made you nearly cry out.

his mouth was so good.

his hands held you completely still. strong and unmovable, even as your legs started to shake.

“clark—baby—please—”

he sucked. licked. fucked you with his tongue like he wanted you to fall apart. one hand gripped your hip, the other drifted up your chest—palming one breast before teasing your nipple with lazy, confident fingers.

and when you finally came—hard—you swore the bed shook.

he licked you through it, slow and steady, like he wasn’t done yet. like he could go all morning.

and maybe he could.

you barely caught your breath before he was kissing up your body, nosing at your neck, voice low in your ear:

“think you can handle me now?”

you blinked. “handle you?”

he pushed inside you in one, deep stroke—so thick, so slow, it took your breath away.

your mouth flew open and your nails dug into his shoulders.

he groaned at the stretch, forehead resting against yours.

“baby,” he whispered, “i’ve been holding back for months.”

you didn’t even recognize the sound that left your mouth when he pushed all the way in.

deep.

full.

stretching you open in a way that left your whole body trembling.

“god,” you gasped, grabbing his arms for balance. “clark…”

“shh, i got you,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. “just breathe.”

but you couldn’t.

not when he was moving like that—long, slow strokes, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in again. each thrust angled perfectly. each snap of his hips making the bed creak beneath you.

and then he grabbed your leg.

hooked it high over his shoulder and thrust deeper.

you choked on his name.

“that’s it,” he groaned, voice ragged. “take it.”

his rhythm changed—harder now, rougher.

his hands were gripping your hips so tight you were sure they’d leave marks. his curls were damp with sweat. and the look in his eyes?

feral.

“you’ve been driving me crazy since i met you,” he growled, panting. “you think i didn’t notice the way you bossed me around on purpose?”

your nails scraped down his back. he didn’t flinch.

“wearing those little dresses. always telling me what to do like you didn’t know what it did to me.”

he slammed into you.

you cried out.

he grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the bed above your head, his whole body pressing down on yours—so much weight, but still careful.

you whimpered beneath him, feeling your orgasm creeping up fast.

he felt it too.

“you gonna come for me?” he whispered, his lips at your ear. he breathed, rutting into you harder. “let go, sweetheart. i’ve got you.”

and you did.

your body seized under him, legs trembling, stars exploding behind your eyes.

and he followed you—groaning your name as he buried himself one last time, warmth flooding deep inside you. he didn’t pull out. didn’t move.

just held you, chest to chest, his forehead pressed to yours while you both came down.

you laid there for a long, quiet minute—both of you catching your breath, skin hot and damp, limbs tangled.

“oh em gee,” you whispered.

he chuckled, low and sheepish now. “yeah.”

“that was…”

“a long time coming?”

. . . being the thunderbolts— sorry, new avengerz(?)— pr manager is not for the weak. they’re a great team, great people, but you’re pretty sure bucky’s the only one who took any sort of media training. they don’t seem to understand that their image consists of more than saving the world. it’s interviews, press conferences, outfits, endorsements, social media accounts and comments and likes and reposts! god! reposts! you can’t even begin to count the amount of times john’s reposted something less than appropriate on the public, team tiktok account.

. . . yelena keeps accidentally swearing in interviews and conferences. well, she says it’s an accident anyways. you’re not entirely sure if it’s true, because she always smirks at you as she apologizes for the umpteenth time. she kisses your cheek or pats your head, says something about how they “couldn’t do this without you”, then slips away like a cat before any true consequences can be given to her.

. . . ava’s not much better, but at least she doesn’t pretend it’s an accident. she does what she likes and doesn’t do what she doesn’t want to (unless you ask really nicely, that is). it’s clear starr’s fond of you; you’re the only one she’ll share a bed with whenever the team goes on trips. it isn’t rare for you to end up beside her under hotel sheets, her arms wrapped around your middle as she starts to snore. somehow, ava always wakes up before you in the morning.

. . . bob’s…. something else. he’s cute, oftentimes unintentionally attracting public attention through his mannerisms and the few questions you do let him answer. for his sake, you never load him with too much. you also never ask him to act a certain way— you very quickly learned after one particular press conference that when reynolds tries to intentionally act cool or interesting, he loses all his charisma. you’ve never met someone so good and yet, simultaneously, so bad at engaging the public.

. . . also, he struggles with the concept of engaging with comments professionally. he always replies in an overly casual manner, treating every commenter, every fan as if they were his real friend. it would all be fine if it didn’t promote a certain level of parasocialism. whenever bob wants to reply to a comment, he has to brief you on his response before posting it.

. . . john’s by far the worst of the team, though. he uses team socials as if they were his own. every now and then he feels the need to comment under posts critiquing him, sparking online beefs for (more or less) no reason. and his interview skills, goodness— let’s just say he’s lucky people find his manspreading and cocky answers hot. even worse is that he’s stubborn, meaning it’s hard to scold him. when it finally does sink in, though, that he fucked up, he’s pretty apologetic. sorrys stream out of his mouth as you tear him a new one, and by the end of it he’s grasping your hands, kissing your knuckles and promising to do better.

. . . bucky’s your break from the chaos. not that he’s perfect. not that he’s even good at handling the public, really. he’s just better than the rest of the team, which gives you the chance to relax for at least five minutes or so. he’s a little proud about it, the fact that he’s the key to your respite. you’ll try prepping him for an interview and he’ll just coax you into sitting down and taking a break. “seeing you relax does more for me than mock-interviews,” he’ll claim, rubbing your shoulders and humming. “rest up.”

. . . alexei is banned from speaking in interviews alone. he also doesn’t have the login to any team socials except for the facebook page. he’s similar to john, but less stubborn about his lack of media training. he runs the facebook page like the navy and doesn’t let anyone else do much on it (not that they care to do much on facebook anyways).

. . . this has nothing to do with pr, but the whole team, minus alexei, can be pretty physically affectionate. yelena often kisses your cheeks, ava likes to hold you when she can’t sleep, bob’s a fan of holding your hands, john’s a fan of holding your hips, and bucky’s always grasping your shoulders or walking beside you with his hand on your lower back. they all feign casualness as they do these things, too. even bob plays it off casually, snaking his hand against yours and intertwining your fingers and almost daring you to say something against it.

. . . being their pr manager is no easy job. but then again, what is? at least this job comes with a lovable team as part of the perks.