Being the only non-vigilante in the family besides Alfred meant that she was the one who was normal. Or abnormal in her family’s case—but hey, they still loved their abnormal sister. She was the one who was able to provide rationality from a civilian perspective, another look from a different lens. She was softer too. Much softer than most of her family, quiet, reserved, kind. She didn’t like fighting. Didn’t like arguing and screaming until throats were raw.
Her nights weren’t usually spent outside fighting crime, though she did help out in the cave from time to time, readying equipment, providing food and drinks for before and after patrol routes. Most nights, she was at her apartment or still working. She liked not being a vigilante. Liked being able to go out with her friends at night and not be burdened by last minute bailouts because Two-Face decided to rob a bank or Penguin started a gang war with Joker.
All that being said, she did know her father’s enemies and friends. Being the first child in the manor and with less than two decades between her and him, his enemies and friends were well-known categories to her. Bruce’s oldest friend during his travels, Ghost-Maker, had also been someone she’d known—at least by story. She’d never met him until the night he showed up and challenged her father. Then he became a member of their family, though she could tell the others were wary—she didn’t blame them, but if she didn’t extend the olive branch, she knew they weren’t going to reach out.
They got along well, in her opinion. She liked to be around him and often felt like Ghost-Maker relaxed around her, even to the point that he spoke of his travels. It was no surprise to either of them when they started a romantic relationship. And while he wasn’t particularly monogamous, he seemed satisfied with her for the time being.
***
It was far, few, and in between when they were all in the cave at once, and not dressed in gear about to go out, but instead to hang around and train. She smiled as Cass and Duke wiped the floor with Jason and Dick. Tim and Damian were butting heads about a video game and Steph was leaning over the back of Barbara’s wheelchair, offering insight to some new update the tech genius was creating. Bruce and Ghost-Maker were leaning against the table, quietly murmuring back and forth to each other—in Latin, she had to note, figuring it was because she was in the middle of them, and they didn’t want her to know; she wasn’t upset.
“Jason, Cass, no hits below the belt,” she called out. “You both know better that.”
Cass nodded, readying her position again, but Jason stopped, propping his hands on his hips as he griped, “Okay, but in real life, people hit below the belt, (Y/N).”
She tutted at him. “Jason, you have to be the bigger person.” Raising a fist, she grinned, “Punch ‘em in the face.”
“I can do that!” he chirped.
“I didn’t mean punch Ca—oh, who am I kidding, he won’t be able to hit her,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest in preparation for the all-out ass-kicking her second younger brother was going to get; she looked over at Bruce. “Wanna bet on them?”
He chuckled. “Ten on Cass.”
“But I was choosing Cass!” she pouted, then pursed her lips. “Fine. I’ll up it to twenty on Jason.”
“Do you two bet on your family often?” Ghost-Maker asked, and she looked over.
“When it’s a high-stakes match.” (Y/N) nodded at the two siblings circling one another, Duke and Dick had moved off the mats. “Jason and Cass are two of the best fighters alive. Each are capable of going hand to hand with Bruce and lasting for a quite a while.” She looked back at him. “When they really hit their primes, they’ll be better than you and dad.”
He snorted. “There are few people who are better than me and Bruce.”
(Y/N) propped a hand on her hip. “This coming from the man who gets his ass kicked every time you and my dad fight?”
“This coming from the woman who can’t fight at all?” he shot back, and her cheeks warmed, jaw snapping closed at the retort.
“I chose not to fight because I don’t believe in violence.”
“You literally just told him to punch someone in the face.”
“Just because I don’t believe in hitting people doesn’t mean I can’t tell someone. It’s just speech. Words.”
“I think you’re making excuses,” he smirked.
(Y/N) glared. “I think you’re being a jerk.”
“Nice comeback. Did you get it from a laffy taffy wrapper?”
Even Bruce snorted at that one and she couldn’t help but shift her weight between her feet as embarrassment flooded her body. “You are such a nasty person. Rude and nasty and mean.”
Ghost-Maker cocked a brow, at least she thought he did. “Aw, are you upset that I’m faster at firing off than you are?”
She scoffed. “Thanks for reminding me why we stopped screwing. Maybe the next time we do, you’ll fire second?” This time, his jaw went slack, and he gaped at her, but she was quick to add, “And for the record, being rude and condescending doesn’t make you look cool. It just makes you look like an asshole. But you’d know a lot about that, huh?”
“I think I know much more than you do, Primadonna.”
(Y/N)’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t call me that.”
“Oh? So, what do you want me to call you? Miss Snobby?”
She turned to face him. “I’m warning you.”
“I’ve got it! Miss Prude!”
THWAP!
She’d let her fist fly before she even knew what she was doing and not even Ghost-Maker was able to react fast. He reached up, grabbing his nose as blood spilled out his nostrils, staining the rim of the cloth mask he wore. The noise in the cave stilled as everyone turned to face their eldest sister, all gaping, though Jason and Cass wore proud looks. Even Bruce had no idea how to react.
(Y/N), with hot cheeks, thrust a finger in his face and griped, “Newsflash, Ghost-Maker. The Wayne Family motto is ‘talk shit, get hit’.” She sped off towards the stairs, half out of embarrassment, the other half of giddy adrenaline. “I’m going home! Goodnight!”
Ghost-Maker merely watched her back as she left, blinking in stunned silence; Bruce snickered. “My daughter isn’t a vigilante, K. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t train her to defend herself.”
He shot his friend a glare and wiped his nose, feeling the sting, starting to walk off. “Go shove it.”
“And just where are you going?”
“You heard her,” he grinned. “The next time we screwed I had to fire second. Besides, someone’s gotta drive her home.”
Bruce was already starting after him. “That is my daughter you’re talking about! Get back here damnit! I will not let you taint her!”
“She’s already been tainted by me, old friend. Many times.”
“I DON’T NEED TO KNOW THAT, K! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”
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“Will you slow down?” Bruce complained, reaching her in a few steps. “Your ankle is sprained and you’re going to—”
She turned on him, slapping his hand away from where it was reaching for her. “I don’t wanna look or talk to you or anybody else right now.” She spat. “Take the hostages to GCPD and leave me the fuck alone.”
“He wasn’t going to kill you.” Bruce said and she scowled.
“It doesn’t matter what he was or wasn’t going to do.” She pointed to herself. “I thought he was going to. That’s what matters to me.” She turned and took a step, though her leg faltered, and she went to her knees, reaching to hold her ankle. “Fuck,” she hissed. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
“(Y/N),” he murmured, bending down beside her and she reached up, yanking the cowl off.
“Everything hurts,” she cried, anger and pain lacing her voice. “My back hurts. My chest hurts. Everything fucking hurts.” She reached up to wipe the blood still leaking from her busted nose and split eyebrow. “And I’m bleeding.” (Y/N) licked her lips, feeling the sting from the broken skin of her bottom one.
Bruce’s hand went to his utility belt, unclipping one of the pockets, and he pulled out a rag; he gently raised it to her eyebrow, dabbing at the blood as he quietly stated, “Your eyebrow’s already in hemostasis. Though it’s going to need stitches.” His hand briefly stilled near her swollen eye, then he continued to her nose where he gently held it.
She whimpered, trying to recoil but he held on. “That hurts.”
“You need to stop the bleeding,” he advised, then grabbed her hand and placed it over his, forcing her to take it.
“What are you doing?”
Bruce didn’t answer her, one arm curling under her knees, the other her back and he hefted her up into his arms. “I’ll take you back to your penthouse.”
(Y/N) wanted to cry, and she was helpless to stop the tears that gathered in her eyes; she turned, burying her face in the plate of her brother’s shoulder pad, breathing deeply to keep her sobs at bay.
“I don’t know what’s going to come after this,” he explained softly, careful to take even steps to avoid jostling her. “But I know that you’re the only one who gets to choose what happens between you and him.” He rested his chin on her head. “And if you choose to take a leave for a while, then I’ll support that.”
She let out a shuddering breath. “I just want to crawl in a hole.”
“Want me to get my shovel and dig you one?”
A watery laugh passed her lips, though it dissolved into a sob and with her free hand, she reached over and grabbed Bruce’s opposite shoulder, squeezing tightly as she shook against him.
He inhaled deeply, catching Ghost-Maker from the corner of his eye leading the hostages out. “We’re going to be okay, (Y/N).”
***
Turns out that the leave of absence seemed like the best choice for her, and she’d hunkered down in a safe-house about three hundred miles outside of the state on the edges of the McIntyre Wild Area in Pennsylvania. Bruce and she had bought it years ago as a last-ditch effort if they needed to get out of Gotham and it’d taken the two of them, plus Clark to clear it out and build. Half of the time was having Clark laugh at the two siblings and call them “city-slickers trying to be country folk” as he watched them struggle to tame the land.
But in the end, it had been effective, and they’d built a rather cozy safe-house that looked inconspicuously like Ma and Pa Kent’s home in Smallville. It was stocked with everything they needed, a built-in basement for safe measures. She was alone and secure in the small cabin and that’s how she wanted to be. Since leaving some few days ago, she’d messaged each nephew and niece telling them that while she loved them dearly, she needed to be alone for some time and that she’d be back as soon as she could be.
They’d flooded her phone with messages and concerns, but she’d left the device in her penthouse before leaving, resting assured that Bruce would explain in her absence. She felt like a failure and more so, weak for leaving her brother with the job of explaining, but the last thing she wanted to do was explain the situation herself.
She sat on the couch in front of the fireplace, gazing absentmindedly as the flames cast light that flickered around the darkened room. The entire room was open, living room and fireplace in the center, bedroom in one corner, kitchen in the other, a closed bathroom in another. It all smelled like pine. Fresh air and the ingraining scent of pine. But it’s what she needed. Gotham City overwhelmed the olfactory senses with blood and smog and on especially bad days, the rotting scent of fish and death. Everyone needed a break from it at some point in their life; to remember how to breathe in air that wasn’t contaminated.
The only thing she didn’t like was how quiet it was. (Y/N) was used to the distant sounds of traffic, gunshots, and sirens. Here it was the sound of her breathing and the wind whistling through the trees, wildlife scratching and hunting away in the underbrush. She swore she could hear her blood flowing through her brain. If there was any consolation, it did help to hone the senses on what she wanted to hear. And what she didn’t want to hear was knocking at the front door.
Quietly she rose from the couch and walked to the side of her bed, grabbing the loaded twelve gauge; she cocked it and stepped up to the door, warning, “If you’re not park rangers, I suggest you leave now. I’m armed and I will shoot you.”
A muffled chuckle sounded from the other side. “Well, that’s not the way I figured you’d greet me.”
“Oh, so you were expecting the shotgun blast then?” she answered aiming at the door and she pulled the trigger, blasting a large hole in the center of the wooden door. (Y/N) waited until the smoke cleared before she walked up and bent down, peeking through to see him flat on the ground, unharmed, reflexive as ever.
“Damn,” she griped. “I really thought I was going to beat you that time, K.”
Ghost-Maker cocked his head up and she was sure he was glaring at her from beneath the mask. “You crazy—”
“Bitch?” (Y/N) finished. “Tell me about it.” She set the gun next to the door and stood up, flipping the lock before pulling it open. “What do you want.”
“Well, I was coming to see you,” he said, picking himself off the ground; dusting himself off, he added, “You wouldn’t answer me.”
“Huh, I wonder why?” (Y/N) questioned, pressing her finger to her chin in mock thought, then her face lit up and she exclaimed, “Maybe it was because you tried to kill me a week ago!”
“I wasn’t going to kill you.” He griped. “You know I wasn’t going to.”
“Noted. What do you want?”
“To talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you and if you’re smart, you’ll leave before I decide to reload the gun.”
Ghost-Maker sighed, gazing at her. “I was using Kyusho Jitsu to slow you down until Bruce arrived.”
(Y/N) wanted to scream, but she kept her voice level. “And that somehow justifies splitting both lips, one eyebrow, busting my nose, and throwing me into an electric fence?”
“…No,” he murmured. “No, it doesn’t.” He looked at her. “But I was concerned that if I didn’t make it look like we were really trying to kill one another, Riddler was going to kill the hostages.”
She merely stared at him for a long moment. “You know, I used to think I knew when you were telling the truth, but now that I really think about it, I don’t know when you’re lying to me either.”
He stood to his full height, jaw tightening as he said, “I’m many things, but I’m not a liar, (Y/N). And I’d never lie to you.”
“I don’t believe you,” she shot back, face pinching as she finished with, “And you can sleep outside.”
She shut the door and turned around, walking to the bed in the corner and he looked through the hole in the middle. “You know I can just come inside if I want?”
(Y/N) laughed, stripping the shorts and long shirt she had on before climbing into the bed. “You take one step in here and I’ll cut your penis off and nail it to your forehead.”
“Hmm…have it your way,” he decided, turning around and she had as she tried, she couldn’t block out the sound of him setting up his blanket and bedding on the porch.
Hopefully, he’d be gone in the morning.
***
A crack of thunder startled her awake and she sat up in the bed, looking out the window to see the rain beating down. Her eyes drifted to the hole in the door and for a moment, she wanted to get up and see if he was okay, but she felt a bolt of irritation flash through her and she huffed, flopping back down into the bed, yanking the covers over her head.
She laid there for a few minutes, listening to the thunder clap above her, the lightning illuminating the room ever other moment, then she groaned, cursing herself for being a good person deep, deep down. (Y/N) threw the covers off her and rolled out of the bed, hurrying to the door. Pulling it open, she couldn’t help but smile at the man curled up in his thoroughly soaked blanket.
“Come inside.” He said nothing in return, and she sighed, kicking him in the stomach. “I know you’re awake, K. Get in here.”
“I thought you didn’t want me inside,” he retorted, yet to pull the blanket off his head.
(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “I don’t. But I’d be a terrible person if I let you get pneumonia.”
“You know you can’t catch that from rain, right? It’s caused by—”
“Fine. Stay out here for all I care,” she interrupted, starting to close the door and he sat up, scrambling for the inside.
“Wait!” She smirked and he craned his neck up at her to scowl. “You did that on purpose.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” (Y/N) retorted, cracking the door open more so he could get inside. He sat against the door when she closed it and she leaned against the door frame, watching the water drip down his soaked body.
“Want a change of clothes?” she asked. “Bruce left some behind the last time he was here.”
“Thank you,” he said, and she walked over to the dresser, pulling out a pair of boxers and an undershirt.
She turned, seeing him yanking off his shirt and pants, then tossed the clothes to him. “Here.”
He caught them. “I’m not wearing his boxers.”
“They’re new, jack-ass.” (Y/N) snorted, looking away so he could dress himself, then she glanced back. “Feel better?”
“I feel less cold,” he retorted, walking around the fireplace to toss another couple logs inside. “You’re letting the fire die out.”
She rolled her eyes and wandered into the kitchen, returning with a clean rag. “You’d be less cold if you took the mask off and toweled your hair.”
He looked up at her, watching, waiting, and since he didn’t stop her from reaching behind him, she untied the knot at the base of his skull, pulling the damp fabric away.
(Y/N) wiped the water from his face, softly brushing over his cheeks, then to his eyebrows, and when she was satisfied, she placed the towel on his head, and gently massaged his scalp, letting the towel soak up all the rainwater.
When she was done, she tossed it aside and sank onto the brick wraparound with a heavy sigh, eyes drifting to the wall. Ghost-Maker collapsed against her legs, resting his head back on her thighs; unconsciously, (Y/N)’s hands went to his hair, stroking the brown tresses.
After a few minutes, he murmured, “I apologize for not telling you the plan.”
Her hands stilled for a moment before continuing their ministrations. “I accept your apology.” She scratched his scalp. “Sorry for what I said.”
“It didn’t hurt my feelings,” he shrugged, and she tugged his hair.
“Yes, it did.” He tipped his head back, gazing at her. “Parade it around all you want but we both know you’re not immune to having your feelings hurt.”
Ghost-Maker searched her eyes. “You truly thought I was going to kill you?”
“Yes,” (Y/N) answered. “Everything was happening so quickly. I didn’t have time to think about what fighting style you were using on me. All I knew was that you weren’t pulling punches and it didn’t feel like a plan to me.”
She stared at him. “And I was scared of you.”
“Are you scared of me now?” he questioned, and she inhaled then exhaled.
“No.” He seemed relieved, but it was short lived as she added, “But I don’t trust you anymore. And I don’t know how long it’s going to be before I do again.”
He looked away. “I see.” Nothing was said for a moment, and he pulled from her, standing to his feet. “It’s late. We should rest.”
(Y/N) stood and started making her way to the bed when she realized he was going too. “Uh, what are you doing?”
“Going to bed?” Ghost-Maker offered, and she cocked a brow.
“Try again, K.” She pointed to the couch. “Go.”
His face pinched and he turned, but she caught his hand and he stopped, glancing back at her. (Y/N), against the better judgement in her head and the obvious discomfort between the two of them, stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her forehead to the middle of his chest.
He seemed to freeze at the sudden action, even if it’d been one, they’d done many times, but he recovered, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other around the back of her neck. His cheek brushed her temple and her grip shifted, hands coming up to press flat against his shoulders; with the warmth stinging the corners of her eyes, she dug her nails into his back as if it were the one thing keeping her from breaking down.
She wanted to say it. Wanted to tell him how angry she was. How hurt. How much loathing was built up inside of her, but nothing would come out.
“I know,” Ghost-Maker murmured against her hair. “I know what you’re thinking, (Y/N), and I know.” He pulled back, hand slipping from her neck to cup her cheek; he pressed his forehead to hers and assured quietly, “I know.”
(Y/N)’s eyes slipped shut and she let out a shaky breath. “Tomorrow,” she whispered, and he nodded.
“Tomorrow.” He let her go and watched as she unsteadily headed for the bed, collapsing onto the mattress; she tugged the blankets over her head, and he frowned as he saw her frame start to shake beneath them. Pulling the blanket off the couch, he laid down and watched her for some time. Waiting until she stopped shaking and slipped off into sleep so he himself could sleep too.
I hope you know I spent like fifteen minutes looking between webpages on men's haircuts >:(
92. Cutting their hair for them
***
“I hope you know,” she started, holding a loose grip of his hair between two of her fingers, shears pointed sideways, opening to start cutting, “that I’m a classically trained pianist and model, not a hairstylist.”
He didn’t even bother to open his eyes as he replied, “I’m aware of your professions.”
“So, why do you want me to cut your hair when there is someone who can do this without fucking up?”
“Because I trust you to not fuck it up.”
“K, sweetheart, that’s not how this works,” she stressed, using the comb to brush out the strands she had just cut, making sure the length was even. “I don’t know how to cut someone’s hair.”
“You cut that Lantern’s hair.”
Her brows furrowed. “What Lantern?”
“The pilot.”
“Oh! Hal!” she waved the hand holding the comb, snipping another length of his hair. “That was an undercut. Those aren’t hard to do. Keep it long at the crown and top, threes on the sides.” She combed her fingers through the vigilante’s brown hair. “You’ve always kept it shorter on the sides and longer on the top. Sort of a mix between a slick back and sweep.”
“Uh huh,” he drawled on, kicking his legs up on the coffee table and she gripped the scissors.
I could do it. She thought. I could just cut a chunk right out of the center of his head, and he’d have to shave it all off to make it even. Her lips pursed. Oh God, never mind. I remember what he looked like with a buzz-cut. It was horrible.
“You stopped cutting,” Ghost-Maker noted. “Something on your mind?”
“Just denying myself the urge to stab you in the jugular with my fabric shears.”
“So depraved of your inherent violence, Miss Wayne,” he tutted. “I don’t know how you live day to day.”
“Meditation and silence are both a given,” she shot back. “Maybe try it sometime.”
“Touchy touchy,” he noted, clicking his tongue and she almost snarled at him as she tugged his head to the side with a section of his hair.
“I have very sharp scissors in my hands, K. Mock me at your own peril.”
Can we see a bit more of K flirting with Bruce's wife for fff please
Okay, this kinda got out of hand and nears slightly on the NSFW side? But it's not explicit per say, just...spicy--next time it'll probs be NSFW tbh :)
***
She stood beneath the scalding water, breathing deeply as it washed over her, burning away all the day and night from her body. It hadn’t been a rough night, but it had been a long one, and all she wanted to do was finish showering so she could dry off and crawl into bed, promptly crashing for an entire day. Once the soap had finished running down her body and the drain, she fumbled for the handle as she listened to footsteps coming into the bathroom. They were light, and given that when Bruce wasn’t being Batman, he didn’t try to hide them; she figured he was still in detective mode.
Sticking a hand from outside the frosted glass door, she murmured, “Be a dear and hand me my towel, would you.” Fluffy fabric touched her hand, and she took it. “Thank you.” She wiped her face and toweled her head before going to her body and she grabbed the side of the door and pulled it open, asking as she stepped out, “We need to talk about Ghost-Maker.”
“Oh? You gossip to Bruce about me?”
Her head cocked up and she gaped at the crime-fighter leaning against the sink with a smirk on his face; a beat passed between them then she was flying at him, slinging him to the ground, scrambling atop him to keep him from fleeing so she could give him the beating of his life. While she was conscientious enough to not hurt him with her super strength, she did make her hits count and she wrangled his hands to the ground so he couldn’t move. “What are you doing in my bathroom.” She demanded, deathly quiet.
“I wanted to talk to you,” he grunted, though it sounded more like a humorous snort.
Her face contorted in rage. “And you couldn’t’ve waited until I was done? What kind of freak watches a woman shower?”
He brushed it off with a light, ‘pfft.’ “Please, there’s no need to be embarrassed. You’ve a lovely body.”
“That’s not the point,” she hissed, shifting one of her hands to grab his throat and squeeze until his breathing hitched. “This is a breach of privacy, far past the line of flirtation.”
“Is it?” he choked out. “Because it seems to me that you’re enticed by this as much as I am?” his hand trailed up her leg to her hip. “You and I could have all kinds of fun.” Her eyes drifted to the door, watching, waiting, and he murmured, “Bruce would probably join in if he saw…don’t you think?”
He was rising in her weak grip, pulling his hand free to unwind the towel at her chest. Hot hands touched her skin and she let out a breathy moan.
“You are very beautiful,” he said, trailing his lips up her neck. “And I want to unravel you like thread.”
***
She shot up dead out of sleep with a gasp, eyes wide and chest pounding; a hand touched her arm. “Darling, are you alright?”
Glancing down, she saw Bruce peering at her with drowsy eyes, but there was a hint of seriousness beginning to appear; not wanting to wake him further, she swallowed thickly and nodded, laying back down beside him. “I’m fine, Bruce.” She tucked herself beneath his chin. “Go back to sleep.”
He hummed, soon slipping back into slumber, but she didn’t close her eyes, mind still wide awake with the dream on replay. I’m gonna kill that bastard. She thought. That or I’m gonna punt him to the moon and out of my hair. And while it seemed like a good plan, all she could think about as she closed her eyes was the feel of Ghost-Maker’s hands and lips on her skin.
She knew she’d meet her end at the hands of vigilantism. There was no doubt in her mind that she’d die before she was fifty either by a stray bullet or a knife through the ribs. Maybe a death squad sent by Ra’s or some other homicidal maniac. But never in all her years as a vigilante, did she ever think she’d be staring down her death at the hands of her oldest friend. Of the man she loved—and thought loved her too.
***
“This is your fault,” she scowled, slamming her fists against the sides of the metal wall. “I told you this was a trap, but did you listen to me? Noooo, Ghost-Maker knows everything.”
“Oh please, you’re the one who pushed us,” he retorted, tapping his gauntlet and she looked over her shoulder, seeing him leaning against one of the other walls without a care in the world.
“I pushed us because we were about to be squished by spiked walls, genius.” Her glare darkened and she looked around the metal box. “And now we’re stuck in this…in this thing.”
“Look on the bright side,” he offered. “No impaling walls in sight.”
“I’m going to murder you, Ghost-Maker,” she retorted, then a click sounded, and the walls fell away, revealing an electrified cage, much bigger than the box. “What the fu—”
“Well, look who I caught!” a voice pitched and they turned, seeing Riddler in some kind of theatre box, his feet propped up on the railing. “Ghost-Maker and Widow-Maker! Now isn’t this surprising?”
She scowled at the supervillain, pointing at him. “When I get out of this, I’m going to plant my foot in your ass.”
Riddler tsked at her. “Now, now, Widow-Maker, that’s no way to treat a host.”
“A host to uninvited guests held against their will,” Ghost-Maker interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you want with us?”
“Now isn’t that the million-dollar question,” he replied, then clicked a button on his cane, and a wall outside the cage slid up, revealing five civilians tied to chairs, some type of collar around their necks.
Her eyes widened. “What the hell?” she shot Riddler a glare. “What are you playing at?”
He cleared his throat and stood up. “I want to play a game, Widow-Maker. Or better yet, I want you and Ghost-Maker to play a game.”
The two vigilantes shared a glance then Ghost-Maker stepped forward. “And what game is that?”
Riddler grinned. “I want you and Widow-Maker to beat each other to death.”
She huffed a laugh. “That’s not a game. That’s a death trap.”
“True. But there is an objective to the trap.” He tipped his head to the people. “One of you dies…or they all die.”
“You’re bluffing,” she retorted, and he merely blinked and pressed a button.
One of the collars started beeping profusely, and the woman’s eyes widened in terror as she screamed behind the gag.
“Wait! Okay!” she yelled. “Stop!”
Riddler clicked the button again. “I don’t bluff, Widow-Maker.” He reached over and pressed a new button and numbers flashed on a sign above the cage—ten minutes. “You’ve got ten minutes or you all die.”
She frowned at the supervillain, quietly asking, “Ghost, what do we do?” hearing no response, she looked over. “Ghost?”
A hand shot out, cracking her across the jaw and she went to her knees, one hand coming to grip her jaw, the other fumbling along the floor for grip. She pulled her hand from her face—her lip had been split open and blood flowed down her chin.
“Ah, what the hell!” she screeched, turning her head to look up at him, but he gave no response, coming down at her with one of his swords. “Jesus Chr—” she rolled out of the way and scrambled to her feet, holding out her arms in a defensive pose. “Ghost, what are you doing?”
“Saving their lives,” he merely replied, swinging the sword in a wide arc. “You heard him. Either we all die or some of us live.”
“So what?” she bellowed, catching the sword in the claw outside her vambrace; shifting, she slammed her free palm against the flat side of the katana, snapping it in half. “You’re just going to kill me! The lives of the many outweigh the lives of the few!”
“In a way,” Ghost-Maker said, tossing the broken handle to the ground. “One of us has to die.” The blue lights of his mask narrowed. “And it’s going to be you.”
Her own eyes widened, and she could barely prepare herself for the barrage of strikes that came her way. And while she had flexibility on Ghost-Maker, he had reach on her, and at some point, during the fight, he’d managed to grab her by the collar of her suit, slinging her backwards with all his strength.
And she realized much too late what he was aiming her at when her back collided with the side of the cage. A scream ripped from her throat as the electric current tore through her veins, frying her nerves to crisps; she collapsed onto the ground, pitching forward onto the cold floor, her cheek resting on the metal.
She saw him coming towards her and tears flooded her vision as she begged, “Ghost, please. Stop. Don’t do this.”
“Begging isn’t going to save you.” he rolled her onto her back, not that she had any strength to stop him, and wrapped one hand around her throat while the other pulled the second sword from his back. He paused to examine her, the swollen right eye, the busted left brow, split lips, and bloody nose. The tears slipped down her cheeks, mixing with the flowing blood and he brought the sword down at her.
Her hand snapped up, catching his wrist and she plead, “K, I love you.” Her arm shook with the strain against his strength. “I love you,” she cried, squeezing his wrist. “I know deep down there’s something there. Please. Just—just stop.”
He said nothing in return and suddenly, she felt her arm go slack, letting the sword come down again. A blast rocked the side of the room and Ghost-Maker shifted, wrapping an arm around her as he pulled her away from the debris. A pained cry sounded above them, followed by a grunt, then the electricity snapping against the metal of the cage fizzled out.
Ghost-Maker pulled away from her, getting to his feet, and said, “It’s about time you showed up.” She turned her head, seeing Batman free the last captive, then he came to the cage and started unlocking it.
“When Icon sent the S.O.S., I knew something was wrong.” He looked at them. “Good job keeping the distraction up.”
“We tried.” Ghost-Maker turned and bent down, reaching for her. “Come on, (Y/N), let’s—”
She slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me.” Her voice was frigid, like frostbite and she staggered to her feet. “Don’t ever touch me again.” Her ankle was sprained, and she bit back a whimper as she stumbled and limped to the door.
“(Y/N), I wasn’t going to kill you. You know that.” Ghost-Maker murmured, and she glared over her shoulder. “You know I never would.”
“He was right all those years ago. You are a sick, broken, monster.” She spit at his feet. “And if you ever come near me again—I won’t hesitate to kill you.”
She spun on her heel and shoved by her brother, ignoring his gaze, as she hobbled to the nearest exit.
Batman glanced at Ghost-Maker, eyes widening for a split second at the defeat in his oldest friend’s stance, his shoulders low, head turned away in shame; not wanting to breach the subject, he merely stated, “I’ll go after her.”
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When the door to The Haunt didn’t immediately open, she frowned and clicked the button. “Hey! Lemme in!”
For a moment, there was nothing, then she heard, “Apologies Miss Wayne. Ghost-Maker is busy training. Shall I alert him?”
She sighed. “Nah, just let me in and I’ll get him.”
“Of course.”
The doors split open, and she walked into the base, immediately rolling her eyes at the colors, or better yet the lack of color at all. She had no idea what spurred him to pick white as one of the main colors in everything he wore and used, but God if it didn’t make him look like a psychopath. A snort passed her lips at her little joke, and she wandered around the desk setup and through one of the curtained areas until she heard boxing gloves meeting a punching bag.
Gently tugging the curtain aside, she paused, leaning against the doorway, and watched his back. He was shirtless and had headphones in, as he usually was and did when he trained alone, and his muscles rippled each time he threw a powerful strike. She couldn’t help but watch him; he’d always been so diligent when it came to his training, and if she hadn’t known him better than she did, she would’ve assumed all he did was train. She was very fond of it though. Very fond of him.
“You going to stand there or are you going to get a set of gloves and spar with me?”
She shook herself from her thoughts to see him rounding the bag, throwing a devastating kick; she snorted. “No thanks, Ghost. I just got over having a cracked skull.” Walking over, she neared the space, but stayed just far enough that she wouldn’t get struck.
“I’m actually here to invite you over to the manor tonight.” She said, watching as his eyes flitted to hers behind the mask. “I take it you know.”
“About the little pool party Bruce throws for everyone? Yes. I keep hearing about it over the Ghost-Net.”
She smiled. “It’s a lot of fun, Ghost. You’d have fun.”
He scoffed. “What? Being surrounded by every single hero this side of the galaxy? No thank you, (Y/N). I’d rather not.”
Rolling her eyes, she grabbed the punching bag and held it, looking at him. “You’re not going to make any friends if you spend all your time cooped up in here.”
“I’m not looking to make friends,” he retorted, throwing another punch that sent shock-waves through her arms to her core. “I’m here to clean up Gotham.”
(Y/N) gazed at him. “Sure I can’t persuade you?”
“Positive.”
She shrugged. “Then you leave me no choice.” Leveling him with a strong expression, she warned, “As the newest member of the Batfamily, you have to attend the pool party. It’s tradition and anyone who doesn’t, has to take patrol routes for everyone for a month straight.”
Ghost-Maker stopped dead in his tracks and looked at her. “You’re lying.”
(Y/N) sucked in a breath dramatically, “Ghost, I never lie.” She looked to the ceiling. “Icon, run the conversations from my phone named, ‘Bat-Chat’ and tell him I’m not lying.”
After a moment, the AI’s voice came over, clear and positive. “Miss Wayne is correct, sir. Record texts have shown that those who do not attend the parties thrown by the family for the other superheroes are subject to various torture techniques.”
“What!” (Y/N) shouted. “No, we don’t!”
“You said on June eighth that your brother Timothy Jackson Drake was going to be swirlied for missing the party.”
She sputtered. “I was joking! We don’t swirly each other. We just force our patrol routes on each other.” (Y/N) glanced at Ghost-Maker. “If you don’t come, you’re going to take patrol from me, Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Steph, Duke, and Damian. You really wanna patrol all month by yourself? All that territory? Think of the time and energy it’ll take, Ghost.”
Ghost-Maker stared her down for a minute, mulling over his choices, then he finally sighed, resigned to his fate. “Fine. I’ll come over tonight.”
(Y/N) grinned. “Nope, you gotta get ready now. We’re arriving together.”
“You annoy me.” He griped, bypassing her to the doorway, and she followed him towards the stairs and to his bedroom where he entered the bathroom and got in the shower. She waited on the bed, gazing around his room while he showered.
“Who all is attending this party? That you know for sure.”
(Y/N) blinked, taking a moment to think. “Uh, all of the Justice League, the Titans and Teen Titans, the Outlaws, a few Green Lanterns…and probably a few anti-heroes but we’ll see.” She shrugged. “So pretty much everyone we interact with on a normal basis.”
“I heard Harley is coming too.”
“Yeah, she’s technically part of the family at this point.” (Y/N) said. “She’d be upset if we didn’t invite her over.”
Ghost-Maker stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist and she stood from the bed, wandering in behind him as he lathered his face in shaving cream.
“Trying to show out in front of everyone, Ghost?” she joked, leaving back against the door-frame of the small cabinet behind them.
“Bruce doesn’t keep himself kempt all the time. I do,” he remarked, flicking out the straight razor; he raised it to his jaw, and she hummed warningly, causing his brown eyes to meet hers in the mirror. “What?”
(Y/N) shook her head. “I’m just worried you’ll cut yourself.”
“I’ve been shaving my face since I was fifteen, (Y/N).”
“So that scar on your cheekbone isn’t from cutting yourself?”
He gazed at her. “You know why I have that scar.”
“I do.” She answered, then leaned away from the wall, shifting until she was sitting on the bathroom counter in front of him. Taking the razor, she tilted his chin up and carefully, scraped it down his cheek before rinsing it. “I gave it to you when you called me a coward.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to hit me that hard.” Ghost-Maker replied, coffee eyes focused on her face; she felt exposed under his knowing gaze.
She chuckled. “I think that was the first time I really surprised you that I wasn’t just my brother’s twin sister following him around to make sure he was safe.”
“You can’t blame me for thinking you were. You never joined in the training.”
“I learned better watching then doing.” (Y/N) rinsed the razor and tipped his head back as she drug the instrument down the exposed skin of his throat. “Most people are fearful when someone holds a razor to their neck,” she murmured, carefully shaving his Adam’s apple.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
Her hands stilled ever so slightly as she gaped at him. Normally he would’ve said, “I don’t feel fear” but now he said he wasn’t afraid of her. She wanted to hope it was because of what had occurred the last month, her confessing her feelings, him replying that he couldn’t love her like she did him—he’d not totally ruled out caring for her, at least that’s what she saw his words being. They’d not talked about it more than that night, merely going back to work, but she could tell that Ghost-Maker’s demeanor towards her had changed a minute amount. He watched her more. Was…softer with her.
(Y/N) smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.” She rinsed the razor and looked over his face for a moment, then she grabbed the towel and wet it, gently brushing over the shaving cream still on his face. Patting his face dry, she nodded. “Looks good. No nicks.”
“Thank you,” he approved, but didn’t move, keeping his eyes on her and she couldn’t help but look down, suddenly nervous under his gaze.
Her eyes widened when she saw the expanse of his chest though and she reached up, fingers delicately tracing a jagged and raised scar in the middle of his chest. Even healed it looked angry and a bolt of sadness hit her in the heart.
“You’re sad.” He noted. For a psychopath who didn’t feel empathy, he was actually good at discerning when people felt sad—or maybe it was just because he’d known her so long.
(Y/N) nodded, whispering, “There aren’t many scars on mine and Bruce’s bodies that look like this one.” Her fingers moved to one on the right side of his ribs and she frowned. “We’ve always had someone to stitch us up, or we did it for one another. But I can’t help but wonder…” her eyes met his. “Who did it for you? Who stitched the ones you couldn’t reach and do yourself?”
Her chest hurt. “Who was there for you when I wasn’t?” she leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the center of his chest. He was so warm, and she sighed, willing herself to not tear up. “I’m sorry, K.”
“For what?” he questioned, a hand coming up behind her, palm resting against the back of her neck.
“For leaving you behind,” (Y/N) answered, deciding then to wrap her arms around his waist, turning her face so her cheek rested to his chest. “I should’ve stayed with you.”
Ghost-Maker made a noise in his throat, and she wasn’t sure if it was agreement or bitterness. “And if you had, you wouldn’t have raised your family.”
She sighed. “Yeah…I know…but even during that time I couldn’t help but wonder how your journey was going. How you and your tech were evolving throughout the years.” (Y/N) pulled back slightly and looked at him. “I used to imagine what it’d be like to be there with you. To fight beside you. To live out your dream with you.”
His hand shifted from the back of her neck to cup her cheek and he tilted her head up, leaning down to kiss her. She closed her eyes, arms shifting from around his waist to wrap around his neck and his free hand gripped her waist, pulling her against him. Ghost-Maker shifted, pressing his lips to the underside of her jaw as his fingers dipped under her thigh, pulling it up until (Y/N) got the hint to cock it around his hip.
“K,” she breathed as he sunk his teeth into her neck, biting hard enough that it had her inhaling sharply, fingers twisting in the dark hair at the nape of his neck. She felt him smile against her skin.
“What do you want?” he asked, pressing surprisingly gentle kisses to where he’d bit as the hand that was on her cheek lowered to push up the blouse that stopped at her waist. His fingers dipped underneath, rubbing against her skin and he asked again, this time firmer, “(Y/N), what do you want?”
Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she could barely think, could barely form words. “I—”
A shrill beeping startled the two of them, well, her more than him, and she finally got herself to breathe. “That’s Bruce calling.” She uncurled one of her hands from his neck to reach for the phone in her pocket, but he caught it.
“Call him back.” Ghost-Maker said, grabbing a fistful of her blouse, starting to pull up.
(Y/N) shrugged his hand off. “If Bruce’s calling, it means he needs my help.” He pulled away and giving her a look, one she met firmly. “I need to take it.”
They gazed at each other for a moment and then he harrumphed, pulling away from her, and walked from the bathroom to his closest.
She sighed and pulled out her phone, answering it. “Hello?”
Are you on your way yet? The party’s already started and everyone’s asking where you both are.
Clearing her throat, she replied, “Yeah, he’s getting his swim trunks.” She glanced out the doorway. “You own trunks, don’t you, Ghost?”
“Do I somehow give you the impression that I’m incompetent?” he shot back, and she rolled her eyes.
“Ass.” She put the phone back to her ear. “We’ll be there in fifteen.”
Be careful. Love you.
“We will. And I love you too.” She ended the call and hopped off the bathroom counter, flicking off the lights as she walked out, seeing him throwing a bag over his shoulder.
“I’m ready to be bored out of my mind.” He grunted and she rolled her eyes again.
“Oh, shut up. You’re going to have a great time. I promise.”
Ghost-Maker glared at her as he pulled the white and black mask over his eyes and nose. “And how do you know?”
(Y/N) grinned, shoving him in the stomach as she walked past him. “Because I’m going to be there all night.”
***
“See!” she chirped as he sunk into the hot tub. “This isn’t so bad.” She handed him a drink. “Free drinks, laughter, and swimming. Fun, huh?”
He grunted, sipping the margarita she’d given him. “Your family and their friends are loud.”
(Y/N) looked over his head towards the other pool, grinning as her eldest nephew threw her youngest into the pool, then turned and threw his best friend. Laughter peeled from the entire group in the pool.
“Yeah…but that’s how you know they’re having a good time.” Her eyes drifted to Bruce who was fondly watching Jason and Roy grill, occasionally laughing as one of them told a joke. “Feelin’ good, Bruce?”
He took a sip of his brandy, sinking until his shoulders were covered by the running hot water. “Feeling great, (Y/N).” he held out his drink. “Put some ice in there? Please?”
She smiled and pulled her legs out of the hot tub, and really, it wasn’t exactly a hot tub because most were above ground, but Bruce being who he was, had redesigned it so that it and the pool were both in ground and connected.
Taking his glass, she rose and wandered over to the bar where a few of her friends were pouring drinks and chatting. “Hey Clark. Diana. How are you both tonight?”
Diana smiled and raised her wine glass. “I am well, (Y/N). How are you?”
“Can’t complain.” She said. “Clark, put an ice cube in here, would you?”
He did as she asked and dropped one in with the tongs. “I’m still surprised you got Ghost-Maker here. I assumed he wasn’t going to come.”
Her eyes flicked back over to the hot tub, and she watched Bruce tip his head back as he laughed, Ghost-Maker chuckling too; she smiled. “He’d never admit it, but he’s glad he came tonight. Anti-social as he usually is, he likes being included in things.” (Y/N) smiled at them and winked, walking back over.
She took her seat back on the side in the middle between Bruce and Ghost-Maker, handing her brother his brandy. “Clark licked all over the rim of your glass, Bruce. Just letting you know.” Feeling particularly childish, Bruce raised the glass to his lips and licked all around the glass. “You’re a child.” She remarked, then glanced to her side, seeing one of the Green Lanterns coming down the way.
“Kyle!” she greeted. “Join the fray!”
The artist smiled, then looked at the men in the hot tub. “I don’t want to intrude,” he said, and Bruce waved.
“Come on in.”
(Y/N) patted the wall between her legs and Kyle walked down the steps, shifting until his back pressed against the wall and she dropped her legs over his shoulders, fingers carding in his hair. “How’s it been going on Oa?”
He shrugged, sipping his beer. “It’s good. Can’t complain too much about saving the universe.”
She smirked. “Uh huh…and what’s this about you and Soranik?”
Kyle choked a bit on his beer, coughing slightly as she giggled. “It’s uh—complicated.” He tipped his head back, resting on her thighs so he could look up at her. “What about you? How’ve you been?”
(Y/N) sighed wistfully, combing back his hair. “Ain’t nothing changin’ but the weather…and the usual telling off the men in front of you for continually betting each other who can do the more stupid shit.”
At that, Kyle’s head tipped up and he first looked at Bruce, then to Ghost-Maker who merely drank from his margarita. “Uh…who’s that?” he asked quietly, and she snorted.
“Kyle, this is Ghost-Maker. Ghost, this is Kyle Rayner, the torch bearing Green Lantern.” She smushed his cheeks. “Isn’t he adorable?”
Ghost-Maker gave her an amused puff. “He is handsome, I’ll give you that.”
Kyle was glad the water had already flushed his skin because the way the man had flirted had made his cheeks warm. “Thank you.” He glanced back at her. “Is his name…?”
She nodded. “Yeah, he takes anonymity to a whole new level.” She tugged at a strand of his hair. “Did you know that only me, Bruce, and a few others know what he looks like and what his entire name is?”
He blinked in response. “That’s…hardcore secret identity, right there.”
“That’s because he doesn’t have any friends.” (Y/N) shot Ghost-Maker a grin. “But you can call him Ghost for short. It’s easier than the mouthful of Ghost-Maker.” The vigilante in return merely rolled his eyes and sipped his drink. “So, Kyle, have any new graphic novels in the works?”
“I do actually. Haven’t written them down but here’s an idea.” He brought up his hand out of the water and a green flash appeared in everyone’s vision. “See how you like it so far?”
(Y/N) huffed a laugh in disbelief. “This is so cool.” She grabbed the construct comic book and flipped through it. “Who’s the main?”
“Haven’t named her yet. But she’s a transgender, pansexual Native American who solves crimes as a superhero.” His cheeks flushed. “I know it’s ironic because we’re superheroes, but I couldn’t help it, you know?”
She nodded, seemingly impressed. “Figured out which tribe yet?”
“I was thinking possibly Cherokee. Or Mohawk.”
“I’ve got a MTF Kanienʼkehá꞉ka friend who lives in Quebec.” She said. “I’ll give her a call about working with you on this.”
Kyle lit up like the morning sun. “Really, (Y/N)? You’d do that?”
She looked down at him and shifted her thighs a bit, bumping his head. “Of course. You’re one of my best friends.”
“I love you, (Y/N).” he grinned, and she chuckled.
“I love you too, loser.”
Suddenly the speakers thumped, and her head shot up, looking towards Tim and Bart who were giggling. She pointed at them. “HEY! THIS IS NOT AN APPROPRIATE SONG!”
They merely giggled more and suddenly everyone was singing along to the raunchy song, well, the teens and young adults were but not her and the older people.
(Y/N) shoved Kyle off as she got up and ran towards the speakers. “WAP IS NOT AN APPROPRIATE SONG TO PLAY AT A POOL PARTY! THERE ARE CHILDREN PRESENT! TIMOTHY JACKSON, YOU GET BACK HERE WITH THAT IPHONE! TURN IT OFF!”
***
She smiled sweetly at her family and friends passed out in the living room, pillows and blankets thrown everywhere, arms slung over bodies, heads on stomachs and backs. It was nice to see them all so comfortable with each other, so tightly knit; it reminded her of a better time.
Most of the adults had gone home though some had stayed in extra rooms. She was sure that her brother and him had gone down to the cave to have it out just for the hell of it, but she was rather tired and decided to call it a night—though it was actually one am.
Closing the door behind her, she didn’t bother to go shower, planning to do it in the morning as she started stripping. First went the swimsuit cover, then the top and bottoms. She kicked her flip-flops off into the corner of the room and stretched her arms above her head, a quiet groan passing her lips as her joints and bones popped.
As she lowered her hands, a hand clamped around her mouth and another wound around her waist, tugging her back and she gasped against their palm, starting to struggle when she heard them chuckle. The sound, combined with the familiar smell of sandalwood wafting up her nose told her who it was, and they smiled against her ear. “Worried?”
She reached up and yanked his hand from her mouth, hissing, “You’re lucky I didn’t turn around and punch the shit out of you, K.”
“Promises, promises,” he murmured, pressing a kiss behind her ear and she shivered against his chest.
“What are you doing in here? I thought you and Bruce went to go spar?”
Ghost-Maker hummed, the hand around her waist starting to squeeze the flesh of her side. “We did. He said he was tired and went to bed.”
“And you didn’t go home?” her voice kicked up a notch when his other hand slipped from her grip and slid down her front.
“I didn’t want to go home.” He pressed his front against her rear and she gasped, one of her hands coming back to grab at his thigh, digging her nails in to keep him there. He smirked as she ground back against him. “Seems like you don’t want me going home either.”
(Y/N) swallowed thickly. “Something’s up with you tonight. You’re being a lot more…passionate than usual.”
He nipped at her neck, fingers delicately dancing over her abdomen. “I don’t like that Green Lantern friend of yours.”
“Who? Kyle?” she questioned confusedly. “Why?”
“He’s very free with himself towards you.”
At that, it was crystal clear, and she spun in his arms, looking at him, though she had to strain to see his face. “Are you jealous?”
“No.” He griped, though the way his jaw set, told her the truth.
“You are!” she laughed. “You’re jealous that I’m close with other men. That’s adorable.”
Ghost-Maker stared at her for a split moment, then he bent down and grabbed her legs, throwing her over his shoulder. (Y/N)’s gasp turned into a laugh as he marched towards the bed and tossed her onto it, watching as she rolled onto her back and laughed some more at him.
“God, you’re green, K.” she giggled, watching with hooded eyes as he shucked the swim trunks down to his feet and crawled onto the bed.
“I’m not envious of a glow-stick who’s never gotten this far with you.” He countered, grabbing her ankles; he yanked her down the bed and underneath him and she gazed up at him.
“Do you wanna know how many men have gotten this far with me?” (Y/N) challenged and Ghost-Maker stared into her eyes.
“It doesn’t matter how many because once I’m done with you, you won’t remember anyone but me.” He lowered his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her stomach, trailing downwards and she panted in anticipation when,
CRASH!
They started, and this time, he did too, both turning to the door, then to each other.
“What the hell—”
“OH SHIT! SOMEONE PUT OUT THE FIRE!”
(Y/N) grunted. “Oh my God, what did they do?”
“DON’T JUST STAND THERE! OH MY GOD SOMEONE CALL NINE-ONE-ONE! OR THE FIRE DEPARTMENT!”
“AUNT (Y/N)! DAD!”
She rolled out from underneath Ghost-Maker, ignoring his grabbing for her and she hurried to her door, yanking the bathrobe from the hook on the back. Slinging it on, she turned and pointed at the man. “Once I’m done out here, I’m coming back and you’re not going anywhere for a few hours.”
He smirked as he collapsed onto his back, taking himself in his hand. She almost burst into flames at the sight, and he purred, “You might wish to hurry, (Y/N). Wouldn’t want to miss anything.” His words tipped into a groan as his hand shifted along himself, and she scowled at him as she pulled the door open, his erotic frame illuminating in the hall light.
“You’d better watch it, K. We both know how mean I can get when I miss out.”
Hiyaa could you do ‘god, you make me so angry’ for fff 🧡🧡
"God, you make me so angry." *Vibrating* Ghost-Maker teasing Bruce's wife. Ghost-Maker teasing Bruce's wife.
***
“Have you given it anymore thought?”
She could feel his eyes on her, but she kept her gaze directed towards the warehouse, watching the skeletons of the mercenaries move back and forth; Bruce was supposed to be here by now. “Anymore thought to what?”
“Come now,” he tutted. “You know what I’m talking about Miss Wayne.”
“Missus,” she corrected. “It’s Missus Wayne. I’m married. To Bruce. It’s Missus.”
Ghost-Maker chuckled that stupid low laugh and she cursed how shivers went down her spine. “So defensive.”
“I’m not playing this game with you,” she growled, turning to glare at him. “And I’m not interested in sleeping with you.”
“What if Bruce said you could?”
“Even then.”
“Really?” he asked. “You’ve never wanted to sleep with anybody else? Even at Bruce’s okay?”
“Really really,” she retorted. “I promised to be faithful.”
“He’s slept with Selina Kyle and Talia al Ghul.”
“We weren’t married when he and Selina were together. We weren’t even dating either.”
“You were married when he helped Talia conceive Damian. Even if he didn’t know of the boy, they still slept together.” She glowered at him, feeling the burn of lasers coming to her eyes and he merely grinned in return. “Are you feeling upset? Intercourse can remedy the emotion of anger. I’d be more than happy to help you with it.”
She cocked her arm up before she knew what she was doing, intent to punch the hell out of him when Bruce caught her. “Not the time nor the place, Superwoman.”
Yanking away from his grasp, she clenched her hands into fists and growled, “God, you two make me so angry.”
“Two?” Bruce blurted. “What did I do?”
“You’re an idiot!” she griped, rising into the sky. “That’s what!” darting to the warehouse, she left the two men standing there.
“Will you leave my wife alone?” Bruce asked with a sigh.
“I’m just pushing her buttons,” Ghost-Maker chuckled. “No harm done.”
“My wife is a very patient woman, but I’ve seen what happens when she loses that patience.” He turned, leveling his friend with a stare. “Don’t make my wife angry, Ghost-Maker. You won’t like the result.”
We have been blessed with an early FFF! I’m pretty excited to see where you’ll take this. Can I please have “stop touching my ass or I’ll kick yours” with ghostmaker and batsis? I always love the work you do 😉
"Stop touching my ass or I'll kick yours." Well, half of my mind is virtually always in the gutter so...
Also, thank you! I'm glad you love it!
***
It was a terrible idea to put the two of them together on a team. Despite the fact that they were fantastic at getting the job done, the entire family had to begrudgingly and probably with a great deal of nausea listen to them flirt back and forth for hours during their fights and at one point, Barbara had even considered making them get their own channel because their flirtations bordered on dirty talk.
It was one such night where the two were scoping out a skyscraper owned by Joker, and honestly, the two could’ve just busted in, but Bruce wanted surveillance done first, then they could move in. Ghost-Maker was propped on his stomach, a pair of thermal binoculars against the front of his mask as he looked through the windows. She on the other hand was sitting beside him, quietly trailing her fingers up the back of his thigh where she knew the material thinned out.
“Stop it,” he commanded, and her touch stilled then it continued up his leg to his ass where she poked it.
“Stop what?” she teased, poking it again.
“We’re on the job right now.”
“Are we really?” she shot back, splaying her fingers to grab his butt, squeezing the muscle until his legs flexed. “Because all we’re doing is watching when we could be doing…so much more…”
Ghost-Maker turned on her, glaring behind his mask. “Stop touching my ass or I’ll kick yours.”
She merely blinked and shifted, looming over his body and she pressed one hand to his shoulder and the other to his hip. “Is that a promise? I like those promises.”
For the love of God, please stop fucking with your mics on. I am so fucking sick of having to listen to that shit.
Agreed. You two should be ashamed of fornicating on the job.
Did you just fucking say fornicating, Two-bit?
I did. What of it.
No one fucking uses fornicating anymore. What the fuck—
She clicked their mics off and shifted upwards, letting him roll beneath her so their hips were slotted together, and she grinned. “Five minutes?”
