#wayne reader

In short, Hal knew he was fucked, but for now, he was content to take what you were willing to give. It was better than having none of you.

He flies through your penthouse window with ease, the fancy security systems recognising him as a regular guest instead of a threat. The intense longing that had so long threatened to consume him bursting forth from his chest at the sight of you leaning against the counter.

He wraps his arms around your waist, one hand slipping under your shirt as his face drops against your neck. "Missed you," he mumbles, inhaling your scent deeply as his fingers brush against the underside of your boob.

"Hal!" You exclaim in alarm, grabbing his wrist to frantically stop his advances.

That makes him frown, lifting his head with a whiny retort prepared, only to freeze at a pair of judgmental blue eyes a few inches from his face.

Hal blinks. The kid, he belatedly realises, frowns even deeper. "Who're you?"

"Wha—Who am I? Who are you!" He retaliates.

"Hal!" You scold, making the man falter a little.

"I'm Dick Grayson, and that's my aunt you're feeling up." The kid huffs, giving Hal some serious stinkeye.

"Hal." He grits out in return when you elbow him in the side, "I'm your aunt's—" fuckbuddy, lover, not-quite boyfriend, "friend." He tacks on lamely.

"Riiiight." The kid drawls, clearly unconvinced. "Does Bruce know about this?" He sniffs imperiously, glancing at Hal's hand still lingering beneath your shirt with thinly veiled contempt.

That's when it registers, just who this kid is, the ward your brother Bruce had taken in. The one who'd seen his parents die. The one Batman now had running around in a brightly coloured suit, while you had a heart attack.

Ah shit. From what Hal had gathered, you cared deeply for the boy and his opinion, and this wasn't exactly a stellar first impression on Hal's behalf.

"That's a no then." Dick huffed, before a wicked grin covered his face, "Bruce is gonna kill you."

"Batman doesn't kill people." Is the immediate reply from Hal, like a little bitch. Not 'Bruce doesn't scare me' or 'I'd like to see him try,' no, instead, his mouth betrayed him.

"Yeah, but Bruce might."

"Richard!"

"As if he could."

"Harold!"

"What?! You can't be taking Bruce's side! I'd destroy him!" Hal pouted as Dick squawked in the background.

Rolling your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time in the few minutes (it seemed so much longer) since Hal's arrival, you turned in his arms. "Yes, you would beat Batman in a fight." Though your tone is mocking, your smile is fond, just for Hal's eyes.

The kid, Dick, lets out a gasp of betrayal, and Hal doesn't bother to hide his victorious smirk, even when you swat him on the shoulder.

To Dick's great chagrin and Hal's smug delight, you don't kick him out that night.

Instead, you settle into his arms on expensive silk sheets that Hal could never dream of purchasing. Like a real couple, his traitorous mind whispers as your fingers absentmindedly trace shapes across his heart.

"I missed you, too, baby. So, so much" You confess, voice barely a whisper, as if you're afraid Dick will hear. Or you're afraid to admit it to yourself.

Baby. Hal distinctly ignores the way his stomach swoops at the usage of the petname. He's a grown man, goddamnit!

Suddenly, he's immensely grateful for the dark that hides his burning cheeks. Hal's sure you must feel the way his heart pounds beneath your fingertips at the confession, but you're gracious enough not to say anything.

"I know this probably wasn't the reunion you hoped for," you cringed a little, forcing Hal to hold back something close to a coo at how adorable you were flustered, "but thank you, for... staying anyway."

Before he even registered the movement, Hal clasped your hand in his, bringing the back of your palm to his lips for a gentle kiss, "There's nowhere I'd rather be."

Your breath catches in your chest, heart pounding, and eyes a little traitorously wet. Before you can respond, and perhaps embarrass yourself even further, your door swings open.

"Can I sleep with you tonight? I had a nightmare."

Hal swears that in that moment, he's never hated a child more in his entire life.

You practically shove Hal off of you to sit up and pull Dick into your arms, "Oh, Sweetheart. Of course you can."

Hal valiantly bites down the squawk of protest on his tongue. This was a literal child, one you loved like your own, and he doubted you'd take too kindly to Hal bullying the kid.

"Was it about your parents again?" You murmured, threading your fingers through Dick's hair. He nods mournfully, greedily accepting your hug and nuzzling into your chest.

Just as Hal starts to feel bad at the reminder that the kid had watched his parents die, Dick throws a wicked smirk over your shoulder at him, and Hal's empathy dies a fiery death.

That little shit! Hal knew he was lying!

Oh, this meant war!

Maybe not now, but little Richard Grayson was not prepared for the can of worms he'd just opened. As if reading Hal's mind, the kid squints at him before silently mouthing words that he can just make out, 'game on.'

To which Hal did the mature thing and silently replied with a glare of his own, 'Bring it.'

The sun sets, painting the sky in a beautiful canvas of vibrant pink and yellow hues. The crisp, clean scent of fresh rain still lingers in the air. The entire scene is breathtaking—something straight out of a painting, one could argue.Honestly, it would be much easier to enjoy if Wally wasn’t wrestling with a hundred different emotions right now.

The invitation in his pocket feels heavy—entirely too heavy. It is a sleek black envelope, adorned with a fancy stamp. An invite to a Wayne Gala, undoubtedly sent by his best friend, Dick Grayson. Under any other circumstance, he would go without a second thought.

But she will be there.

Her.

Dick’s sister. Batman’s daughter.

Shes the girl who has been haunting his thoughts 24/7. Her laugh. Her smile. The curve of her hips and those beautiful thighs. Her soft-looking skin. Her eyes, her nose—her everything. He thinks about the way she bursts into laughter at the dry jokes he tells, and how she adorably scrunches up her face out of habit. He even pictures the way her eyebrows knit together whenever she’s angry.

Honestly, absolutely anything she does, he adores.

A frustrated sigh escaped his lips as he ran a hand through his ginger hair, knowing he was completely powerless against her pull. No matter how much his logical brain screamed at him that this was an incredibly dangerous mistake, his heart had already made up its mind. He simply couldn't bear the thought of someone else charming her when its HIS job.

With a mixture of dread and anticipation fluttering in his chest, he pulled out his phone before he could change his mind. His fingers moved in a blur across the screen as he types fast. “Count me in, boy wonder." he typed out, forcing a casual confidence he didn't actually feel. “Make sure you save me some of the expensive appetizers."

He sighs in relief and lays down...before adding:

"And a drink. Lots of drinks."

She is Dick’s sister. She is Batman’s daughter. Completely off-limits. No touching. No flirting. Nada," Wally repeats to himself like a mantra, chanting it inside his head over and over.

He steps into Wayne Manor looking effortlessly dashing in a tailored black tuxedo. Glancing around the grand room, he takes in the sea of wealthy elites and elderly socialites.

Uninterested in the high society small talk, he simply grabs an entire plate of appetizers and devours them in seconds."

You clean up nice, West," a familiar voice jokes.Wally turns to see Dick walking over, adjusting his bow tie with a grin.

"Hey, man. Thanks for the invite. Fancy place your dad’s got here," Wally says, setting the empty plate down with a sly, happy grin. He hasn’t seen Dick in a month, which feels like an eternity for best friends.

"Anytime. I'm just glad you could make it," Dick replies. He looks around the crowded room, his expression turning serious.

"Actually, can you do me a quick favor? Bruce is stuck talking to the mayor, and I need to handle a security glitch in the west wing. Can you find my sister? She was supposed to greet the board members ten minutes ago, but she vanished."

Wally’s throat goes completely dry.

Great. Just great.

"Uh. Sure. Yeah, I can look for her," Wally stammers out."

You're a lifesaver. I owe you one, dude," Dick says, already running off to fix the glitch.

Wally walked away from the ballroom, his super-hearing picking up the quiet rhythm of footsteps two floors above. He bypassed the main staircase and used a servant’s corridor, moving with a quiet precision that didn't require speed. He followed the sound to the dimly lit library on the third floor. He pushed the heavy oak doors open. The room smelled of old paper, leather, and her specific, delicious smelling perfume. Something sweet and flowery.

He stops in his tracks as he spots you. Eyes looking outside at the raining sky. Its gloomy and dark. Your wearing a gorgeous emerald green dress that makes you look too good to even exist.

"Soooo par-tay is downstairs princess!" Wally says playfully as he stands next to you. You dont react. Not straight away. Turning to face him, he feels his heart race a little quicker.

"I knew you'd come here. Heh. Oh wait. One more thing." You harshly stomp on his foot and cross your arms, to which he whines and holds his foot. "Thats for ghosting me for 3 weeks, Wallace!" You hiss at him, clearly bitter.

He whines and let's go of his foot. He scratches his neck sheepishly and says, "I was busy! Being a speedster comes with sacrifice. You gotta be prepared and what not. Gotta have the strength. And with great strength comes great responsibility— okay?"

You roll your eyes and sit on the red plush seat. "Whatever." And at that annoyed Whatever, Wally feels his heart melt. Guilt swirls up in his stomach, and he feels horrible. "Okay okay im sorry. I really am." He says.

Busy?" You counter, raising an eyebrow as you stepped into his personal space. "For three weeks, Wally? You're a speedster. You can literally text me back in a fraction of a millisecond." Wally opened his mouth to offer up another weak excuse, but the words died in his throat.

Up close, the faint scent of her floral perfume was completely overwhelming, scrambling his hyper-accelerated brain. He looked down at her, caught between the urge to back away into the safety of the shadows and the desperate, terrifying desire to pull her into his arms.

"I was trying to be responsible," he finally admitted, his playful demeanor completely cracking as his voice dropped to a quiet whisper. He looked away, focusing on the dark rain streaks pelting the windowpane. "I was trying to stay away. For your safety. For Dick's trust. For... everything."

Your expression softened slightly, your crossed arms dropping to the sides as you look at the sudden weight of exhaustion on his face. "Wally, I don't need you to protect me from yourself."

"You don't get it," he muttered, running a hand through his damp ginger hair as he paced a tight, frantic circle on the library rug. "If I let myself have what I want—if I let myself have you—everything changes. The second Dick finds out he will KILL me. Not to mention your dad whos FUCKING BRUCE WAYNE!"

Before you could answer, his super-hearing picked up the distinct, heavy click of the library's outer door handle twisting open down the hall.

"Someone's coming," Wally whispered, panic spiking his adrenaline. In a literal blink of an eye, he grabbed her hand, using a controlled burst of speed to pull both of them behind the massive oak privacy screen near the back bookshelves, holding his breath as the library doors swung wide open...

TBC!!!!

Bruce Wayne was tired.

This was already the 5th time that you were at least 15 minutes past curfew and he was tired of having the same conversation with his daughter, it wasn’t as if you were out partying in downtown Gotham doing drugs (thought at this point, Bruce was beginning to prefer you doing that instead) but instead you were out with your boyfriend.

Jason Peter Todd. The second Robin and the fallen son.

In the beginning of the relationship, Bruce did not set any rules or boundaries in place. Partially because he felt bad and partially because he didn’t expect his daughter and his ex-sidekick to last more than a few months at most. Why did Bruce Wayne feel bad? Because of how you grew up. You were the first child between him and Talia Al-Ghul, though you grew up to be nothing like your morally gray assassin mother, or your caped crime fighting father.

Bruce remembers fondly how you cried your little head off when Talia tried to get you to hold a sword for the first time, violence was something that simply made you uncomfortable and it was cruel irony that you were brought into a family whose main objective was to deal with violence on a daily basis. You were a happy only child until the age of 7-8 years old, when Talia gave birth to your baby brother, Damian, though both parents were shocked to see how quickly you assumed the role of the caring and nurturing older sister, providing your little brother with the emotional support and warm love that Talia struggled to give but it seemed that the “happy family” image was as fleeting as the wind because it wasn’t long until Bruce and Talia split up and they struggled to come to an amicable end. Damian, unlike his sister, picked up the ways of the Al-Ghul’s quickly and before he could even spell his name he had become something of a prodigy with martial arts and especially a sword, and it was for that reason that Talia wanted to keep Damian under her care. Though that was not to say that she was embarrassed of her daughter or wished that you had turned out differently but she understood that you would be better off with your father.

And so, Damian stayed with Talia and you stayed with Bruce. (Though a reunion happened a few years later when Talia dropped off Damian at his father’ house)

“Gawking at the clock will not make her return any sooner, Father,” Damian commented from the foyer, snapping Bruce from his train of thought. “She should have been back… 18 minutes ago.” Bruce responded, looking down at his wrist watch and then at the large grandfather clock for what had to have been the fourth time in the past five minutes. Damian opens his mouth to say something in response but his words are caught off as the large doors finally swing open, revealing the girl single-handedly responsible for Bruce developing gray hairs at 45 years old. As you walk inside the Wayne Manor, a.k.a your home, you are immediately greeted by the sight of a pissed off Bruce and Damian with a shit eating grin. “Hi.” You greet with a weakly furrowed brow, closing and locking the door behind you and taking a few steps towards the main staircase but not before Bruce quickly blocks your path, his shoulders tense and his large arms crossed tightly against his chest, you can almost see why he’s so feared when he’s in his Batman suit.

“Do you deliberately ignore my rules? They’re instilled to protect you, not because I’m on some sick power trip.” Bruce begins, his voice low and rough but also tinged with concern and something akin to disappointment, finding you to be too old to be stuck in your teenage rebellious phase that Alfred warned him about, but even at the (dreaded) age of sixteen you weren’t this defiant, well.. at least to his standards.

“Jay and I left on time but we got stopped by police.. something about a shooting happening near that grocery store and they asked us if we knew anything, I didn’t do it on purpose I’m sorry,” You respond, purse still slung on your right shoulder and Bruce notes that your lipgloss is slightly smeared and your hair was slightly frizzy but the reasoning for your lateness is what bothers Bruce the most, his eyes doubling in size and a flush of anger gradually spreads across his face. “Why the hell did you not call me? You were walking distance away from an active crime scene with Jayland of all people and-“ Bruce abruptly cuts himself off, feeling his blood pressure soar like some type sixth sense, having to take a moment to close his eyes and remember his breathing exercises. “Did you find out the perpetrator?” Damian chimes in, wanting to solve the case just as much as he wants to see justice be delivered to his sister. With a sharp yet silent look from Bruce, Damian stops talking and decides to tone down his instigating, opting for sit-on-the-couch-and-pretend-he’s-not-listening method.

“Dad I’m sorry I came home late but I did what you suggested! We left half an hour before my curfew but we got stopped for questioning, they just wanted to know if we knew anything about the guy or victim.” You defend, already feeling the inevitable approaching, you’ve already accepted that you are not walking away from this a free woman.

“…. Did he do it?” Bruce asks, his voice lower and more serious, using that interrogational voice that you hate. Now it’s your eyes that double in size, feeling your anger quickly replace what little happiness you felt before parting with your boyfriend. “How could you ask something like that?! I know you have this notion that Jason is some murderous sociopath but he did not kill anyone!” You shout back, shoving past your father and walking past the foyer and past your brother, who you can’t even look at the moment since you know the exact expression he has. “Young lady I am not done speaking with you! What have I told you about doing that?” Bruce shoots back, the anger more present in his scowl and his voice, that paternal warmth long gone. Bruce follows behind you as you try walking up the stairs, closing the distance in only a few steps, “I only ask because you know how he is-“ Bruce continues but you quickly cut him off with a loud groan, deciding in the moment that locking yourself in your room for the rest of the night would be a better option than to continue that godforsaken conversation with your overbearing father and annoying little brother.

The truth of the matter? You were just as tired of these arguments as Bruce was. You knew of Jason’s violent streak and past, hell, that’s how you two met.

You were too young to remember when Dick was Robin but you remember Jason as Robin. Bruce tried to distance you from that part of his life, if Batman made you uncomfortable then Bruce Wayne made sure that you spent your time at Wayne Enterprise or anywhere that had no ties to his double identity. During nighttime when Bruce had to patrol, it was Alfred who tucked you in, the members of the Justice League knew your name and face at most and the Batcave was strictly closed off. But when the explosion at the warehouse happened, it was hard to keep those two identities separate and everyone around him noticed how sullen he looked, so much so that everyone failed to see how Robin’s death affected you as well. Unbeknownst to your father, you and Jason had been exchanging silent looks and you remember how he gifted you a flower he picked from your father’s garden. You never made an effort to hide your dislike for what your father did at night, but you understood it and respected it. Though there were an infinite amount of times where you felt like a failure and almost damaged for not having the same prowess your parents had. Bruce would never know how many times you snuck into the Batcave and forced yourself to hold your father’s batarang but the cold metal felt too foreign, too out of your world. But you remember that Jason was the first person to see you as you, not as a Wayne, not as an Al-Ghul, but just you. Despite Jason being under strict orders that Bruce would prefer him not to talk to his daughter if not absolutely necessary, he still found the time to see you before patrol around the manor.

While Jason helped with the feelings you felt, he didn’t make them go away. You loved your baby brother. Wonder Woman could us her lasso of truth on you and your answer would never falter, you however, did not love how he made you feel. You knew your mom wanted someone to carry on her legacy, someone worthy to carry the powerful Al-Ghul name and she finally found that in Damian. Even you were shocked to see how naturally gifted he was, how he spent hours training and learnings the way of the assassins. It was a bittersweet moment for you, on one hand you were relieved that the pressure had shifted off of you but on the other hand, it meant that most of your parent’s attention went towards him.

How quickly a daughter can be overlooked in favor for her brother.

But with Jason there was finally someone that never compared you to anyone and he was ripped away from you, a boy who had just begun life had been snatched away from you and it was then that you pledged to yourself you were to distance yourself as much as possible from that side of your dad’s life. You would rather become Gotham’s youngest heiress to your dad’s company and spend your childhood in media training, galas, volunteer work then to ever brandish a mask and cape.

That was until your mother brought your childhood crush back to life.

AHHHH I finally got around to making the first chapter! I’ve been battling the worst writer’s block ever but hopefully this is to everyone’s liking! PLEASE let me know what you guy think of the first chapter, te feedback helps me a ton!🎀

Selina had told you once, after helping your father take down an infamous Gotham-based trafficking ring that the little spiel adult actors give at the beginning of pornos was often complete bullshit. When Cherry Rose or Missy Sin said, “I’m of sound body and mind, and I consent to everything I’m about to do.” they were fucking themselves, metaphorically and literally. That as soon as those words were caught on tape, sketchy cast and crews could use it as a free pass to do whatever they wanted to those performers without repercussions.

That fact, while upsetting, hadn’t really solidified in your head until you were staring down the lens of a Panasonic camcorder, barely faking a smile as you made the very same speech, wondering how many pornstars had been blackmailed or otherwise under duress from the start.

“Don’t look so glum, doll. You’re gorgeous.” Roman's gravelly voice is thick with conceitedness. More than usual. He’s seated just to the side of the camera, smiling at you like he’s the cat and you’re the cream between puffs of a cigarette. His eyes shamelessly rake across your body. It’s not clear if he’s appreciative of you in general or of the sheer, feather-hemmed lingerie he’d picked out for you. It’s exactly the kind of thing you’d expect to find on the body of an heiress gone wild in the pages of an 80s Playboy magazine; cute but still a humiliating mockery of the rich kid archetype the media so loves to sexualise. From the shade of pink that compliments your skin tone perfectly, to the way it tastefully clashes with the bedspread, you're pretty certain Roman has put a lot of thought and planning into this whole production. “If you ever wanted to get out from your father’s shadow, you could make a killing in the adult industry.”

“Please, I don’t want to talk about him right now.” You don’t even want to think about him. Not just because it’s a figurative boner killer, but because he’d be so angry, so disappointed in you and your actions. You stare at the blinking red light of the camera as you try not to recall the destructive series of events that had led you here. The reckless, downright stupid behaviour that had handed Roman the ammunition to bend you to his will.

“Alright.” His smile twists then, into something wicked and you will the heat growing in your stomach to cool. “I’ll be your daddy tonight.”

The suggestion simultaneously makes your skin crawl, and your hair stand on edge. You fight the lurch in your chest by scrunching up your face and glowering at his mask on the bedside table. It’s easier to be repelled by him when he’s Black Mask. He’s not really a person, he’s a symbol, a deity to all that’s wrong with Gotham and its seedy underworld. He laughs aloud, low and throaty, clearly enjoying your visible discomfort. God, you hate him. You hate his laugh. You hate his olive skin. His empty black eyes, his salt and pepper hair, the way he smells so good like sugar and spice and smoke. You hate the way he commands a room simply by being in it. But apparently not all of your body had gotten the memo.

“Agreed?” He says sarcastically, the implication that you don’t really get a choice hangs thick in the air and you nod in reply until he fakes a cough to draw your attention back to him. “Out loud, for the camera.”

“Yes…” He quirks a brow at you, eyes fixated on the shake of your breasts as you attempt to steady your breathing. The name feels wrong on your lips, you haven’t even called your own father Daddy since you were a little girl, but you manage to bite it out. “Daddy.”

“Good girl.” It shouldn’t, but the way he drawls the pet-name makes you feel flushed. “Well, what are you waiting for? We’re rolling.”

For the first time since you’d met him here, you look at him dead on, staring dumbly, hoping for at least a little direction. You’d never done this sort of thing before; you didn’t know where to begin. And you certainly didn’t want to perform so badly that he made it an excuse to have you do it all over again. He stares back at you, head tilted, eyes wide and hungry, watching you expectantly.

“Touch yourself.” He clarifies impatiently. “Play with your tits, finger you pussy, whatever you do when you’re lying in bed alone at night, wishing somebody would fuck you the way you need.”

But you don’t want to be fucked, at least that’s the story you’re feeding yourself. You half gesture to your nether regions as you whisper. “But I’m not wet yet.”

“It’s a good thing you’re pretty, cause you’re not very bright, are you?” He states sharply, straightening his posture and biting his tongue in annoyance as he stubs out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. His patronising should piss you off, but instead you’re embarrassed. You wish you’d had something to drink before coming here. At least then you could blame your simmering arousal for his mistreatment of you on being tipsy. “Come here.”

He grabs onto your wrist, standing to tower over you as his gloved hands tug you across the bed. Much to your shock, he spit down onto your open palm, amusement palpable as he watches your shocked face.

“What’s the matter? Think you’re too good for my spit?”          

“No.” You do. You are. However, ‘no’ instinctively felt like the right thing to say.

“No? Good.” The grin on Roman’s face is pure malice, it makes your heart drop and your knees weak. “Open your mouth for me.”

When you take too long prying your dried lips apart, Roman releases your wrists in favour of gripping the back of your head, yanking you back until your mouth falls open to cry out in pain. Before you know it’s happening you feel a glob of spit hit your tongue, and suddenly your bodies desire for him finally wins. You don’t need lube anymore, your folds growing slicker with each second sat under his burning gaze. The shame of knowing he caught it all up close and personal on film only fuelling the fire in your belly. Your whole body practically boils at your indigent actions as you close your mouth and swallow.

 “Very good girl.” Roman offers his approval as he releases you, falling back to his position beside the camera.

“Thank you, Daddy.” You’re not sure where the sudden bravery comes from, but you reply cutely as you lay back on the bed once more, spreading your legs and showing the camera how your newfound wetness has started to seep through the delicate fabric. 

“Beautiful.” Roman coos, and it’s the most genuine sounding thing he’s ever said to you. The confusing mix of pride and self-loathing has you grunting in annoyance as you push your fingers under your waist band and begin to run your fingers between your folds, collecting moisture from your leaking entrance and rubbing it against your sensitive clit.

You’ve masturbated many times before, but you’ve never been able to cum from your own hands alone. Now seems a bad time to bring this up, so you channel all your energy into it, building as much friction as you can with your hands and focusing your mind on how good you feel right now. Multiple times Roman has to whistle at you, drawing your attention away from the ceiling and back to the camera as you attempt to force your climax. Each time he looks less entertained by your wandering eyes, until eventually you look over at him only to be greeted by the sight of his penis. Immediately you look away once more, gawking down the lens of the camera, no doubt looking flustered and debauched.

“It’s okay baby, you can look at it.” It’s not really a suggestion, so much as an order. Even when he’s speaking softly, he sounds dangerous, so you angle your head to the side. Watching as he idly pumps away, matching your own strokes with a now ungloved hand. “Like what you see?”

A part of you had been hoping it would be smaller, uglier, something to turn your nose up at, but by all accounts, Roman Sionis has a fucking beautiful cock. Something else you could hate him for. It’s straight, cut, a few shades darker than the rest of his skin, and just big enough to stretch you out in all the right places if you sunk low enough to let him fuck you. A thought that’s becoming more and more appealing with every brush to you heated core.

“Yes.” You strain to form words, joints twitching as you continue to play with your oversensitive, under-climaxed cunt. “Your dick is… nice.”

He chuckles at you, again. While admittedly it was not a good word choice, his constant amusement really makes it difficult to ignore the fact that this is all fun and games to him. You’re a joke, a pawn in his agenda. Damn if the sight of him, leaning back, nonchalantly jerking off over your display doesn’t make your toes curl. But it’s still not enough.

“If you hurry up and cream those pretty panties, I‘ll let you play with it.” You surprise him, and yourself by dramatically kicking your feet against the mattress.

“I can’t!” It comes out petulant and needy. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ve never been able to do it myself.”

His eyes narrow, head rolling from side to side as he processes your predicament and considers his next move.

“Sit up and look into the camera.” He eventually instructs, standing up himself to get a good look at you through the viewfinder. “Ask daddy real nicely to help you cum, and I might fuck you with my fingers.”

You can feel his eyes glowering into you through the camera as you hesitate. Deliberating whether you’re really going to beg Black Mask to get you off as you follow his command. The moment your fingers seize movement you feel lost. Yes. If it’s the only way to sooth your desires, then yes, you’re going to swallow your pride and beg him.

“Please daddy.” His eyes don’t leave the screen as he bites down on the tip of his remaining glove to remove it, nor when he loosens his tie and undoes the top button of his shirt. “I need you, please make me cum.”

“I think you can do better.” His hard-on would disagree, but you’re in no position to point that out. “Roll over, put your ass up for the camera and keep begging for me baby.”

Somehow, having your entire sex front and centre for the camera, hardly concealed by your see-through panties feels a thousand times more exposing than anything you’ve done do far.

“Please.” Your voice grows smaller, but Roman is having none of it.

“Louder.”

“Please fill me with your finger, Daddy.” You start again, willing yourself to speak as loudly as possible. Calling him daddy feels less and less forced each time it rolls off your tongue. “Please, please, please. I’ll do anything.”

Even in your current state, the irony of your last statement isn’t lost on you. Regardless, it has the desired effect. You wait with bated breath, listening to each footfall as Roman deliberately drags his feet across the carpet until he’s stood behind you, completely out of the cameras view you presume but for his hands which come up to cup your ass. You can’t help but moan as he digs his nails into the fat of your cheeks and makes of show of jiggling them.

“Barely even touched you and you’re already cryin’ out like you’re in heat.” He comments, smug as he hooks his fingers in your underwear and works them down your thighs. He teases you by running his pointer finger lightly across your slit, void of any pressure, before delivering an unexpected slap to your cheek. Your legs flinch, another pathetic whine escaping you in reaction, but ultimately it only adds to your pent-up frustration. Only makes you want him more. “You act so prim and proper, but I always knew what you were.”

“What- ” Your question is silenced as Roman finally sinks two fingers between your pussylips, lazily brushing them against your clit in circular motions. It already feels so much better than you’d accomplished alone. You’re so caught up in the feeling that you no longer care about your rapidly deteriorating dignity when he uses his thumbs to pull apart your lips, showing off your dripping entrance, wolf-whistling as he gives the camera the money shot.

“So fuckin’ wet.” Despite his statement, Roman hawks another bead of spit onto it before sliding two more fingers in without resistance. “D’you know what this is?”

“It’s my pussy, daddy.” You answer earnestly, eyes rolling back at the feel of him plunging inside you.

“That’s right baby.” He purrs. “Your pussy. The pussy of a cock hungry slut.”

“Or maybe it’s mine.” He continues, unapologetically shoving his long fingers in and out of your cunt at a demanding pace. All the while his other hand strokes your clit. The wet squelch that emanates with every touch makes you feel so lewd. You squeeze your eyes shut, holding back hot tears of humiliation and desperation as Roman easily brings you closer and closer to the edge. “Maybe I’ll claim it. Maybe I’ll put my nice dick in there and pump you full of daddy’s cum.”

“Fuck!” You can’t think straight, the only thing on your mind is how fucking good this feels. How much better it would feel to have Roman’s cock pulsing inside you. A damp slapping sound begins to ring throughout the room. You realise quickly that it’s your slit, smacking against Romans hands as you subconsciously rock back onto them, matching his rhythm.

“Is that what you want baby? D’you want to give daddy your pussy?” He growls, perfectly in time with the eruption of your orgasm.

“Yes, it’s your pussy, Daddy. Take it, take my pussy.” The words roll off your tongue completely uninhibited. You’ve no capacity to censor yourself, to think for yourself as shockwaves roll through every vein and nerve of your body. “I want your cock, Roman. I want your cum. Please ruin me.”

Roman lets you ride it out, holding still while you grind against him until you come to a complete stop, quietly panting into the comforter until he’s satisfied that you’re done. Then before you know what’s happening, he rips his hands back and delivers a series of rapid strikes to your ass. Harder than the previous one, sure to leave a mark.

“What’s. My. Name. Bitch?” He bites between each hit. “Whose. Your. Fuckin’. Daddy?”

The sudden change in pace has you reeling and scrambling to pull away, but Roman follows until you surrender. “Daddy! You’re my daddy!”

“And don’t you fuckin forget it.” It’s absolutely an order, bitter and laced with scathing levels supressed rage. A reminder of who he is and that he’s calling the shots right now. “Get up here.”

As soon as you’re in range to be gripped without roaming too far into frame, Roman locks his hands around you, manhandling you until your back is to his chest. His hand is around your throat, squeezing just tight enough to restrict but not stop your breathing as he threads a finger between your ass cheeks, poking at the rim of your hole. For a second, he cinches his grip on your neck, causing another tear to roll down your face, adding another streak of mascara to the dried marks from your finger fucking.

“Call my name one more time baby, and I won’t just ruin your pussy.” To emphasis his point, he bullies the tip of his finger inside, grinning when you whinge at the dry, hot pain. “And trust me, no amount of spit is gonna help you then. Got it?”

“Yes, Daddy. I’m sorry.” He pulls his fingers back from your ass, your sigh of relief cut off by his stiffening grip on your windpipe once more. Instead, you let out a pathetic mix of sputtering and moaning. You deliberately try to stay limp for him, obedient, but when he brings the fingers he’d been fucking you with to your mouth your muscles automatically tense. His warm digits pass your lips, and he brushes his musty fingers on your tongue, forcing you to taste the bittersweetness of both holes. You instinctively try to protest but all that comes out again is weak gasp and strings of drool.

“You like how you taste?” He mocks. “Like being choked?”

If you say yes, he might do it more. If you say no, he’ll definitely do it more, so you hedge your bets and nod for him, coughing out a sad little “yes” around his finger.

“Fuckin’ whore.” That infuriating laugh, again. This time more to himself than to you as he releases your neck and steps away from the bed. He surveys you for a moment, examining your position on the bed as you gasp for air before grabbing the tripod and moving it further down the bed.

“Get on your hands and knee, facing the camera this time.” Once you’ve caught your breath, you reposition yourself as instructed. Weary eyes watching as Roman retrieves his mask from the nightstand. The cosmetic red eyes stare you down as he crosses the room to stand behind you. The bed dips under his weight and your hazy brain finally clicks why he’d been so pissed at you for using his name. It’s not just a humiliation thing. He intended from the beginning to remain anonymous, even if the video was solely for himself.  Everybody knew Roman was Black Mask, but nobody could irrefutably prove it, a technicality that kept him out of prison.

The train of thought however is lost when Roman barks out his next instruction. “Take the bra off.”

You're way passed modesty at this point. Frankly, you're relieved to be rid of the plasticky faux feathers digging into your cleavage.

If your bare and open core had been the money shot, this would be the clickbait. A Wayne Scion stripped naked and practically presenting herself for one of Gotham's most notorious crime lords. Sure, nobody could confirm it was him, but between the voice, the suit, and the mask, it was obvious.

You’re grateful when Roman doesn’t spend much time admiring or groping at your breasts, but that gratitude is quickly swallowed by torment when he starts repeatedly thrusts his shaft into your slit, denying your cunt in favour of teasing your clit. The sensation causes you to clench around nothing. Having barely come down from your previous orgasm, your body greedily wants more.

“You should know by now what I want to hear.” Roman croons, securing a hand on your waist to keep you still as he drags the tip of his cock between your folds. He wants you to plead, and at this point you'd do anything to finally feel him inside you. “Don’t make me ask you for it.”

“Please, Daddy.” Clearly also feeling eager, Roman is quick to line himself up with your entrance, pushing in just deep enough to part your labia, but withholding any satisfaction. You let out a salacious moan, nonetheless. “Please fuck my cock hungry pussy!”

“Oh, I’m not just gonna fuck it, baby.” His cock plunges into you without resistance. He’s not overtly thick, but your walls immediately start spasming and stretching around him, hugging him tightly in all the right places. Mouth and pussy drooling for him in an instant as he begins ramming in and out of you, allowing you no time to adjust. It hurts like hell for a few moments, but the pain is so worth the pleasure. “I’m gonna ruin it. That’s what you wanted, right? Want me to pound this filthy fuckin’ cunt like nobody else ever has. You're not gonna want anyone else by the time I’m done with you.”

Every nasty word out of his mouth feels like a threat, it only adds to the sex drunk haze that fogs your mind, and he just keeps snarling. For the first time in your tenuous relationship, you hope he never shuts the fuck up.

“You fuckin’ love it.” He snaps, gripping the back of your neck to keep your head up, all the while slamming into you at a painful pace, knocking the wind out of you as you sob for the camera. “Say it. Say you fucking love being a helpless whore, split open on Daddy dick.”

Any words out of your mouth at this point are completely unintelligible at best. Broken, feeble cries at worst. You’re not even sure what you’re trying to say. Eventually you manage to muster a small “Please… please I want…”, relying on Roman’s strength as you reach for your clit. You’re so damn close, you just need that little push. “Want to cum.”

To his credit, Roman knows exactly what you’re asking for, batting your uselessly pawing hands out of the way so he can rub at your tender bud in short teasing motions, making you arch your back into him.

“You’ll cum when I cum.”

“C-cum in me.” Once again, your voice is barely a whisper, strangled by your tensing muscles, shaken with every snap of Romans hips as you selfishly beg for his release so that he’ll give you your own. “Fill my whore pussy, please, daddy.”   

Sick, loud, slapping echoes through the room as Roman hammers into you, using your body to chase his orgasm in bruising, frenzied strokes. His body shudders, breath growing hoarse as he finds it. The combined feel of fingers kneading your clit, and the heat of his seed releasing inside your guts has you tumbling straight after him.

“Take it.” The command isn’t necessary, your walls are milking him for all he’s got as your body trembles beneath him, ecstasy making every aching bone feel like putty as he ladens your sex with his seed. He just loves the sound of his own voice. “Take all of it you greedy little bitch.”

Roman’s breathing is erratic. He stays put, dick growing soft inside you for a long time as he steadies himself. As your high begins to falter you start to process the reality of what you’ve just done. Fortunately, you can find solace in the fact that it’s over.

To nobodies’ surprise, Roman is the first to talk. Finding his voice again as he finally pulls out of you.

“I was serious you know.” A chill runs along your back as he skims a finger between your swollen folds, collecting the excess of his cum. “I've got some live-in cam models over in Tail’s End. You’ve got the potential to make it big, doll.”

“No thanks.” Despite your deadpan, when he guilds your weak body up and shoves his sticky fingers in your face, you open wide, unashamedly cleaning every speck until he retracts them. You watch as he holds them up to the light, inspecting your work. Face now hidden behind his fearsome mask, you’ve no idea what he might be thinking which is probably his intent.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs, your body falling forward at the sudden weight displacement as he stands. Your legs are still like jelly, so you resolve not to move until they’re steady or he’s gone. Which ever happens first.

“I gotta head out in a minute, you know your way to the door, right?” You only nod. Quickly coming down from your post-orgasm high whilst you watch Roman making himself presentable again. Well, mostly presentable. He re-buttons his shirt, straightens his tie, and redons his gloves. There is however a wet patch on his crotch, cause by you no doubt. Dependant on where he’s going, you wouldn’t put it past him to leave it on display so he can brag about his latest lay. “Oh, some of Penguins boys are trying to move in on The Basin. Be careful if you're passing that way.”

“Why?” He got what he wanted from you. What should he care what happens to you know? Tim is currently building a case on Cobblepot. So, the only part of that statement you care about is how you’re going to feed that intel to him without revealing your source.

“I don’t want that creature puttin’ his hand on what’s mine.” What’s his? He says it so factually it’s almost laughable. Sure, he’d been a good fuck, but that wasn’t enough to keep you coming back to him. Cocky bastard.

Despite your derision, you nod, humouring him. The sooner he leaves, the better. Then you’ll rarely have to see him again. “Right.”

“Don’t clean up.” He rattles off another demands, now focused on the camera. His hands work quickly, turning it off and ejecting the memory card so fast it must be muscle memory. He’s done this sort of thing before. How many others had he extorted like this? When the memory card is tucked safely away in his wallet, Roman scoops the discarded panties from the floor, pressing them to his wooden nose and sniffing before tossing them over to you. “Put those back on. I want you to stink of your own arousal all the way home. Want you to feel all that cum inside you and know who put it there.”

You can’t hold your contempt back any longer at this point. Glaring, you scoff at him. “I’ll pass.”

“I don't think you understand the nature of our arrangement.” He snarls back. You were so close to being rid of him but now he’s doubling back to you. The permanent leer of his masks red eyes staring you down as he leans close to your supine form. “You don't get to pass.”

“My debt to you is paid.” You spit. When you make to sit up his gloved hand latches onto your jaw, muffling your speech as you try to argue with him. “Tonight was me getting straight with you.”

“Thats right.” His faux-soft tone contrasts with the demeaning drip of spit he aims onto your cheek. In retaliation you attempt to pull away, digging your nails into the thick fabric of his suit jacket to no avail. “I’ll make sure nobody in Gotham, especially that bitchboy father of yours ever finds out about your little incident.”

Rubbing in his control over you, Roman begins massaging his saliva into your skin. Seemingly trying to clean up your smudged make-up, no doubt purposefully smearing it further around your face.  

“But unless you want the contents of our little home video on the homepage of every tabloid and gossip site in the country, you'll keep doing as I say.”

The reality of the situation kicks in, and suddenly you do feel like a little girl. Roman Sionis had tricked you, he’s never intended to make things even. From the moment he’d ‘requested’ a meeting, he’d been planning on keeping you under his thumb and like the naïve child you were, and you’d fell for it, every step of the way.  

“You promised nobody would ever see it.” Your voice is small and pitiful, even to you. No doubt Roman is grinning like a fat-cat beneath his veneer.

“And if you make a liar out of me, neither of us is going to be happy.” You’re not proud of the tears the follow, releasing Roman’s arm in favour of dabbing at your eyes. Breathing deeply, you try to stop from blubbering. You’re so angry, but you don’t have the energy to fight. “Now you're getting it.”

You sit stiffly as Roman’s leather clad hand wander your face. Patting and pinching your cheeks in mock affection.

“This is a cute look. Bet your brother's fawn all over it. Personally, I just wanna stick my dick between those pouty lips.”  His words sting, they make your stomach nauseous. Your brothers would fly of the handle if they could see you know. Jason in particular would probably be more pissed than your father.

Eventually Roman releases you, and you hastily stand to start redressing yourself, but as you do his cum begins to trickle out from your still gaping cunt, and you almost retch at the feeling.

‘Ooooh, looks like someone’s got themselves a shiny new criminal admirer. Should I lick you to show him you’re already claimed?’ Said in the world’s worst stage whisper to garner Flags attentions. Subtlety and Harley were not synonymous, and no one cared more about the pseudo-relationship between yourself and Flag then your self proclaimed ‘BFF’. She’d expressed her feelings on the matter several times over the years. Your favourite instance being several months ago, during one of your last missions with the team. You and Flag had been arguing about sending you in to get information from the target when Harley sauntered over wicked grin on her face. ‘You twos should just relieve this obvious tension already. Seriously, here’s a broom closet. Go at it, for the good of the team.’ Manic smile still firmly on her face as she attempted to drag you into said closet.

“I believe the words you meant to say, Sergeant Dubois is ‘Bruce Wayne’s eldest child’. To which I’d have to say we have more of a sibling relationship. Not that it’s any of your business.” You hold his gaze. “As for joining the squad?” You shrug, “Wrong place at the right time.” He quirks his brow clearly unamused.

“I haven’t been a Sergeant in a long time.”

“And just what would you call your current roll here?” You gesture around the plane while he glares at you. The corner of your mouth twitches against your will.

“Waller evidently had been keeping tabs on me, due in part to certain rumours about my participation in corporate espionage. So, when I got picked up by GCPD for allegedly crashing Bruce’s new Ferrari into the lobby of LexCorps newest eyesore of a skyscraper in downtown Gotham, Waller swooped in.” Your little chat had garnished the attention of the plane's other occupants, their heads all turned towards you and Robert.

“You want us to believe that the daughter of Billionaire Bruce Wayne got hauled off to Belle Reve for crashing a car? And what could Waller want in a civilian like you anyway?” Peacemaker. You’d been attempting to avoid him since Waller introduced you at the debrief. If his persistent existence as the antagonist in your visions of Flag’s current timeline wasn’t enough to turn you off, the skin crawling sensation of his eyes constantly roaming over your body was enough to put him firmly in the creep category.

“Crashing a car didn’t get me sent to Belle Reve. As I said, I’d been the subject of corporate espionage rumours for years. Waller used my accident combined with those rumours to get me whisked to Belle Reve under the guise of my being a National Security risk. It took one phone call from Bruce to get the charges dropped, but by then I was already in the middle of Midway City on my first Task Force mission.”

“If the charges were dropped, why stick around?” Your eyes wonder back to Robert.

“Can’t a girl want to be part of something bigger than herself?” There’s a teasing lilt to your voice and somewhere in the back of your head a voice - that sounds suspiciously like Harley- reminds you that you’re here to save Flag, not flirt with attractive violent Englishmen. Even if they did fall perfectly into your type of the emotionally constipated older dilf. “No, much like all of you Waller has a small amount of blackmail to keep me compliant.” You cross one leg over the other, adopting the oh so familiar public persona of a Wayne. “Unlike all of you, I’m being paid to be here.”

“But why does she want you here?” Peacemaker leans forward in his seat.

“Originally, she believed me to be some sort of hacker savant or a meta with some sort of compulsion powers. I was neither of those, but I did prove to be quite useful in the field.” Your gaze moves to you lap as timelines tickle the back of your mind, begging to be seen. “I do dread the day she realizes just what kind of bird she’s caged.” An image of Rick in pain flashes through your mind. Gone before you can really grasp if it was a future timeline or your own imagination.

“Are you saying you’ve got some sort of bird powers?” You toy with checking the timelines to see just how fucked you’d be for killing Peacemaker here and now but ultimately decide it’d give Waller more ammunition against you.

“My powers lie more in the line of a… second sight than with birds, although…” You pretend to mull it over, “I’d probably get along better with you if my powers were more avian in nature.” You could see the ghost of a smirk flirt across Robert's face and a warmth flits through your chest.

You avert your gaze before the familiar itch of branching timelines can pull you under. Perhaps Flags icy demeanour of the last few months had affected you more than you thought. It’d been a long time since such minor attentions from a man had you near slipping into the branches of time.

“What the fucks that supposed to mean?” Peacemaker stood abruptly, moving towards you only to be halted by Robert’s hand on his chest.

“Alright tough guy, sit back down.”

“Was it my use of verbose vocabulary words that has you confused?” You stand, waltzing closer to where they stand, one strand of hair curled around your finger. Perhaps Harley had been rubbing off on you more than you cared to admit. “Let me put it in words you’d understand.” Your standing face to face with Peacemaker now, Roberts body only partially between the two of you. “You.” You jab your finger into Peacemaker's sternum, brushing against Robert's arm. “Dumb.” Another jab. “Like.” Peacemaker's eyes had drifted to your finger on his chest while Robert attempted to move himself more in front of you. “Bird.” With the final jab you run your finger up and flick him in his nose, a move reminiscent of your nephews. With that final flick all hell broke loose.

Peacemaker moved to advance on you, having shoved Robert aside. You were expecting this, having let slips of the timeline penetrate your consciousness, and turn your back to him at the last minute grabbing the arm he’d reached forward to attack with. You flip him over your shoulder and as he slams into the planes floor, you dig your foot into his neck pointing your gun at his face.

“As you can see Robert, those fears of me being dead weight can be put to rest. I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself. Even against dumb brutes like him.” Peacemaker moves to grab your leg, and you let off a shot beside his head. “Stay down or the next ones a castration shot.” You move the gun to point at Peacemakers crotch and you catch a glimpse of fear in his eyes.

“Bitch” he gasps out as you dig the ball of your foot a little deeper into his neck.

“A bitch with near immunity, not that anyone would care if I wounded trash like you. Now are you going to shut up and behave like a good little dog.” Theres a flash of defiance in his eyes and you twitch your trigger finger.

“What the hell are they teaching in those fancy prep schools?” Robert's face didn’t give much in the way of what he was feeling, much like Flag, however you’d noticed that unlike Flag, Roberts eyes displayed his every emotion, if you knew what to look for. God, a few hours with this man and you’d already believed you could discern his emotions from a single glance. The sooner you got out of this plane the better.

“Looks like Rickies got some competition…” There goes the phantom Harley once again. Maybe her crazy is rubbing off on you like Bruce feared.

“Dancing.” You spit out, holding Robert's gaze as you remove your foot from Peacemaker's throat. “They teach you how to dance.” You’re finding far too much enjoyment in this little rapport you’ve started with the mercenary, but even Harley didn’t put up with your idiosyncrasies for this long, unless she was in a mood. The last person who could, ended up on the wrong side of Jokers crowbar. Perhaps Waller was right when she claimed the only thing separating me from the rest of the Belle Reve residents was the Wayne family name.

“I highly doubt dance lessons taught you how to do that.” There’s a spark of amusement in his eyes.

“Dancing, fighting.” You shrug “They’re one in the same are they not?” You sit back down, aware that the rest of the plane has gained a new wariness of you. You feel more than see Robert give you a once over.

“You truly are something else Wayne.” Robert exhales as he sits back down, the hint of a chuckle shaking his bulky frame.

Alarm bells start going off in your head. The kind of alarms that sound like Bruce and scream ‘life altering, name ruining, PR nightmare, absolutely atrocious decision making incoming.’

“You don’t even know the half of it Sergeant.”