leanne

just existing, they/she! message me!!

[gentlecaress]

YOU GOT YOU GOT - I BRING THE POP- YOU POP ! - YOU GOT YOU GOT - I BRING THE POP. YOU GOT YOU GOT THE CINEMA - I BRING THE POP TO THE CINEMA ! YOU POP ! - YOU GOT YOU GOT THE CINEMA YOU GOT YOU GOT THE CINEMA !!- I BRING THE POP TO THE CINEMA !! YOU POP WHEN WE GET INTIMATE !!!!!!!

[icaruspoesy]

Vincente van Gogh (1853-1890)

[honeycombstrawberry]

make a good man turn bad

pairing: bruce wayne x reader (gn pronouns)

rating: m (vague references to torture, possessive behavior)

word count: 5,337

one-sentence synopsis: you didn't think bruce was coming, but he wasn't going to stop until he found you again.

author's note: ohhhhh man. oh shit i love the requests you guys sent me i combined a BUNCH for this one i hope you love this!!!!!

>>> read on ao3! <<<

Bruce isn’t coming.

You really— You really thought he was going to come.

At first, you fully believed he was coming. You knew it, you knew, he just— He had to be coming. There was no other option. For somebody like Bruce, you really thought you were sure that he wouldn’t stop until he found you again. You thought you meant something to him. You thought that, even if he was only recovering your body, he would have found you.

You thought he might have loved you the way you loved him.

You’re realizing now that you thought wrong.

As each day passes— Or, as what you believe is each day passes, since you don’t have any windows to see the sunlight through— and Bruce doesn’t come, you start to get— worried. You don’t doubt Bruce, but you can’t help but doubt yourself.

What if he can’t find me? you think. What if he doesn’t want to? What if he hasn’t even realized I’m gone? What if he doesn’t care?

You know he cares about people. You know you do. It’s just that you aren’t always sure that you’re worth caring about in the first place. You put so, so much work in with Bruce to help him learn to love again, to open himself up to a friend, to make himself vulnerable to being hurt by being willing to have a connection with another person. He is loved— even if Bruce doesn’t necessarily know you’re in love with him— and you truly believed he loved you in return.

Maybe he does love you, a tiny part of your brain considers. Maybe he just can’t find you. Maybe he won’t find you in time and that won’t even matter. Maybe you should have said something and now you’ll never get the chance.

You’re not sure which option is worse.

With each maybe-day you spend confined in your cell, you grow more certain that Bruce isn’t going to come. You don’t know why, and you try to let go of reasons. It’s more important that you embrace the inevitable, find peace within yourself.

You only wish you’d confessed to Bruce.

Or— maybe you shouldn’t have. Maybe confessing your feelings to him, and having him reciprocate them, would only be hurting him now. You think you could have really had something, though. You think Bruce might have embraced you, and enjoyed his time with you, and seen you as a boon to him rather than a horror waiting to happen. It’s one of the only thoughts that gives you pleasure, and it’s double-edged with pain, laced through with poison. It hurts to think about what could have been when you’re growing increasingly certain you’ll never get it.

At least he’ll have Selina. It must be her that he keeps going to see, she must be the reason he’s not spending as much time with you, and he knows, he must know, but— You never had a chance to just— be honest. You could have ended it, or figured it out. You could have asked where he went all those nights he wasn’t with you in Gotham. You could have told Bruce you wanted him, that you were right there, that he didn’t have to be with someone else, that he could have you.

You want to live. You want to live. If for no other reason than— than positive reinforcement, you have to stay alive. You need to show Bruce that reaching out to others, that making a connection, that feeling love for another person, will not always be met with hurt. You need to show him your love for him is more than he ever knew about. You have to be honest, because you didn’t realize how strongly you’d regret not having been, in your last moments.

You have to live. For yourself, for him, for— for— anything that matters, you don’t care, you just have to live. With each day that you become more certain that Bruce isn’t coming, you become similarly determined to get out of this alive. It’s a sick back-and-forth, when you know you really can’t have one without the other. All the same, you’re dead set on getting out of here alive.

It really can’t be that long since you were initially captured. Not too much time could have passed between then and now, you’re sure of it. Maybe— a little over a week, or close to two? Not more than that.

That doesn’t mean, however, that nothing has happened to you. There has been plenty of time since the moment you were captured after leaving work in downtown Gotham to hurt you in a creative variety of ways. Because you’d been knocked unconscious to transport you, you don’t know where you are, or even how long you traveled for.

All you know is you felt a searing pain while you were walking down the sidewalk, and then you woke up in a dark cell, on a tile floor, against rough, scraping stone walls. A few times a day, someone comes in and—

—does—

—anything they can to try and get you to give up information about Batman, but—

—you won’t—

—They know, though.

They know you know him. They know you’re close to him, that’s why they targeted you in the first place. You’re not even entirely certain who they are, exactly— not positive which of the several Gotham gangs or maniacs that you and Bruce have managed to piss off has you captive now— but it ultimately doesn’t matter. You won’t tell them anything. You work with Batman; you’re in love with Bruce. You’re not sacrificing either of them.

The amount of time between each visit from your torturers is uneven, always changing. They don’t give you much to go by, but— you’re thinking, even now, that it’s been a while since the last time they came to check on you.

When the thought occurs to you, you lift your head. It’s the first spark of feeling you’ve felt in a little while, though you’d hesitate before calling it hope. All this is is a sign of something different happening, but that is, at least, an opportunity; maybe you can use this time wisely, to search for some weakness in your cell, some flaw in the room you can exploit. They haven’t given you any furniture except your bed and toilet, but— maybe you can yank the toilet out, find a pipe—

There’s a shattering bang in the distance, the sound of— maybe glass falling apart. It sounds like it’s blowing apart, maybe, an explosive sort of noise. You back yourself against the wall beside your bed automatically, shoulders hunching. The idea of them using glass on you again is overwhelming, in the moment. You’re never given enough time to heal from your last session before they hurt you again; you don’t know how much more of this you can take.

For a while, you think it’s silent. Listening harder, though, you slowly realize there are sounds, they’re just far away. Though your heart is pounding, you force yourself to uncurl, pushing to your feet, climbing out of your stiff bed.

Your knees buckle, for a moment, but you get your legs under you so you can venture closer to the heavy door of your cell. There’s only a small slit you can see through. You’ve been punished for trying to look through it before, but— really, what’s the worse they can do, at this point? You’ll either die here or you won’t.

You push up onto the balls of your feet so you can peer through that tiny slit. You adjust to the light in the hallway, squinting until you can see properly, looking for something, but— You don’t see anything.

After a beat, you realize that’s strange. There should be guards here. Even if they moved away for a moment, it should only be seconds before one of them comes back and notices you here and comes to punish you for this, but nobody ever comes. You wait, listening to the faraway sounds of what might be— fighting? maybe? you can’t quite tell— and still, you never see anybody.

That dawning hope starts to return again, though you’re still afraid to feel it. You don’t want to start preparing to leave just to be hurt worse than before, but then you realize— maybe, either way, this way, you’ll be done here. You’ll get out one way or another. You can do this.

You can hear the sounds of the fight growing closer. Maybe somebody’s stormed this place, you think, or they’re looking for a prisoner of their own. The cries you’re hearing sound agonized, but none of them are familiar.

Desperate, you start preparing yourself for a fight. You’re not sure how long you’ll last, but you’re willing to try and fight, anyway. It’s better than staying here and being tortured for information you’re never going to give up for another day. There’s no point to this, and you won’t waste what’s left of your short life here.

You reach behind the toilet tank, grabbing the small knife— if you can even call it that— that you’ve cared yourself out of a rock you wiggled loose from the wall. Brandishing that, you wait by the door for movement, sound, anything at all.

You can hear the fighting drawing closer, and closer, and you grip your makeshift stone knife in your hand, waiting. Your heart is racing; you feel almost dizzy, your head rushing, but you keep yourself upright.

When you hear pounding boots in the corridor outside, you whisper hastily through the door, “Please, if you— If you’re not one of them, please, help me, I don’t—”

The person says your name. You’re bewildered, and even more confused by the agony in their tone, the pain laced through your name as it leaves their mouth. It takes a beat for you to recognize that familiar voice as Bruce’s, but then you’re relaxing, so suddenly and so viciously that you actually laugh out loud, a breathless huff.

“Oh, my God,” you breathe. You can feel yourself getting dizzier as the adrenaline starts to leave you, your body and mind instinctively realizing you’re safe as soon as you heard Bruce speak. “You came. You found me.”

There’s a beat before Bruce says, “Of course I did,” barely loud enough for you to hear. You sob, tearlessly dehydrated, clutching your knife to your chest. “Stand back.”

You hastily do as he says, forcing your numb legs to move until you’re on the bed again. There’s a small, rapid series of ticktickticktickticks, and then the door’s exploding inward. You shout wordlessly, covering your face with your arms against the heat and the shards.

In less than a heartbeat, Bruce is in the room, rushing to you. You see him in a sweep of shadows in the darkness, a blur as he comes to your side, finding your face with his gloved hands.

“You’re alive,” he says. Though he’s got the cowl on and everything, he doesn’t sound like Batman. He barely even sounds like Bruce; he sounds broken, shattered. There’s blood coming from his nose, splattered down across the bat on his chest; his eyes are red-rimmed and wet, the black smudged around them smeared with tears and sweat and blood.

“I didn’t tell them anything,” you rush to assure him. You need him to know that, at least; you never gave him up, never told them anything. “I swear, B— I swear, I didn’t—”

“I know,” Bruce says, and reaches up, cradling your face between his hands, grip tight. “Hey. I know.”

He stares down at you for a moment, the hardest he’s ever looked at you. It’s as though he’s trying to consume you with his eyes, like he doesn’t truly believe you’re here, like he can’t actually look away from you. You wonder if maybe you’re asleep, or maybe if you already did die, but— you’re in too much pain for this to not be real.

You remember how strong your regret had been. It’s maybe the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but you think, if you don’t do this now, you never will.

“I love you,” you tell Bruce.

His lips part, just slightly. His eyes meet yours, perfectly focused for a moment before they drop to your mouth, and then lift again. He starts to respond, but you cut him off.

“I’m in love with you,” you tell him, just to be sure, absolutely certain, that he understands what you mean. “And it’s okay if you don’t want me. I just had to tell you. It made me…” Your vision’s starting to get fuzzy again, your mind spacing out a bit. It takes concentration to remember what you were saying, your brow furrowing as you stare up at Bruce’s face behind his cowl, at the bright, confused, agonized look in his eyes. “I felt so sad thinking you wouldn’t know that if I died. So. Now you know. Even if you don’t love me, too.”

“(Y/N),” Bruce says, choked. He reaches for you, and you think you reach back, but your limbs feel sluggish. The rush of your body struggling to keep itself conscious when you’re still in so much pain, and still untreated, is becoming overwhelming after the terrified burst of adrenaline you just experienced.

You try to grab onto him, but you can’t get your fingers to work. You can’t even get yourself to speak. You would be more afraid, if you could get yourself to feel anything, but you’re slowly fading, growing exhausted.

Bruce reaches down and sweeps you up into his arms. Your face presses into the hard planes of his chest plate; you can feel the edge of the bat near the corner of your mouth. Your eyes drift shut as he carries you.

Above you, Bruce says, “Wake up,” and your eyes slide open again. It’s nearly impossible, but you make yourself do it, fighting through the overwhelming exhaustion, the haze in your brain, the tingling in your limbs. “Stay awake. Look at me.”

You do as he says, dragging your eyes up to look at his face. From your angle, you see the underside of his chin in the cowl, the curve of his mouth, the ears above the darkness, the glide of his cape behind him as he runs. You’re not sure he’s ever run so fast. If you’d been out on a normal night together and he ran like this, you probably would’ve complimented him on it.

Now, you only feel distantly grateful that Bruce is trying to save you when you’re incapable of saving yourself.

It occurs to you belatedly that Bruce never responding, really, to your confession. With a frown, you tell him, feeling distantly upset, “I… B… ‘M’sorry.”

“No, don’t,” Bruce replies. He shakes his head, glances down at you briefly before he looks back up, focused on running. You can’t even tell where you are, everything a smear in your vision except for him. “Don’t be sorry. You’ll be alright.”

You try to tell him you’re sorry for what you said, but you used up the last of your vocal energy, it seems. You can’t get the words to come, try as you might.

You’re also falling back towards sleep. Above you, Bruce is speaking again, but your hearing is getting worse. You try to listen, but you can barely hear him.

You reach up for his face. You’re not even entirely sure if your arms are moving, but you do try. You tell him, “I really did love you,” or you hope you do, anyway, and you let yourself fall asleep.

It’s a heavy sleep. It’s an absolute sleep. When you start to come out of it, you don’t know if you dreamt, but you know you weren’t aware. You don’t know how long you’ve slept, but you know you’ve slept, and for a moment you don’t remember leaving that place, and you’re sure you’ve woken up there—

There’s a rapid beeping near you, and your eyes fly open. A hand touches your cheek, and you jerk back away from it, terrified.

“Oh, no, darling,” a voice says. You frown, twisting to look back and up, and you find Alfred at your bedside. His hand is halfway between you both, fingers just barely outstretched, no longer touching you. He looks horribly apologetic when he tells you, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Are you alright?”

You nod automatically. “Sorry,” you tell him, voice rasping.

“No, no,” Alfred says. He moves to your bedside, retrieving a small white teacup he has there. He brings it to your lips, tells you, “Drink. It’s only warm water.”

You part your lips, letting him give you the water. He told the truth, it is warm, and it feels like it thaws you a little from the inside out. You hadn’t even realized you were cold.

You want to drink more, but Alfred takes the cup from you, doesn’t let you chug it like you want to. “You’ll make yourself sick,” he tells you, but you don’t really care. It’s a good thing I have Alfred here, then.

That makes you realize, though, that you’re not entirely certain where here is.

“Where am I?” you ask. Your voice is a little more solid, now, more steady. “What happened?”

Alfred sighs. It’s a soft noise, pained. You regret asking, even though you need to know.

He takes a seat at the edge of your bed. You realize, then, you’re in a dimly-lit room, the lights low likely out of deference to you as you slept, and it’s with a rush you realize you’re in one of the several medical rooms Bruce keeps outfitted in Wayne Manor. After Alfred had gotten hurt, he had made certain there were proper facilities at home if any of you were ever hurt again.

Bruce hated having his loved ones far away, and even moreso when they were hurt. It drove him absolutely insane when Alfred was taken to a hospital and nobody would let him bring him home, at first.

You don’t know why Bruce would want you here, though.

“Bruce will have to do some explaining of his own,” Alfred warns you. “But I can tell you what I know.”

You nod, shifting to get comfortable again in bed. After the time you spent on that horrible bed in the cell you’d been kept in, this feels like the most comfortable place in the world, the pillow under your head the softest thing you’ve ever touched. They must have given you painkillers, because you don’t feel even a little bit of pain, right now, just hazy and present and alive.

Alfred takes your hand in his and tells you, “You’ve been gone for sixteen days. We were lucky Bruce saw you get captured. If he didn’t know who took you, we may never have found you—”

“He saw me?” you accidentally cut him off to ask, incredulous. “H— What? How? Why?”

Alfred hesitates, for a beat. Then, he says, “You will have to ask him. He was watching you when you left work, and saw you get captured. He also fought to retrieve you, and was— rendered— He was knocked out,” Alfred tells you. “In the fight. He activated his distress signal and I found him, half-dead, in an alley.”

Your heart is racing, and Alfred must see it in your face, because he squeezes your hand before kissing the back of it.

“He’s alright,” Alfred assures you. You’re grateful, now, that you and Alfred have always gotten along so well, always had such a pleasant relationship with each other. “But he gave them a hell of a fight trying to get you back. And he’s spent every second since then trying to find you.” He leans in a bit and tells you, “I’ve never seen him like this. I’ve grown worried for—”

“(Y/N),” Bruce says from the doorway, and your head snaps up.

Sure enough, Bruce is in the doorway, his eyes fixed on you. He looks exhausted himself, his hair lank, his face pale, dark smudges still around his eyes— you don’t know if it’s faded paint, tired bruises, or both.

Just seeing him— seeing him here, the evidence that he’s alive, that you’re alive, that you’re both going to be okay— has your delicate grasp on your emotions faltering. You let out a shaky half-sound, a gasp, halfway to Bruce’s name.

Bruce comes right to you. Even if you weren’t completely coherent, he still seems to understand.

“You’re alright,” Bruce promises you. He takes you into his chest, lets you rest your head over his heart. He’s only in soft clothes, sweats you bought for him when you realized most of his clothes were impossibly uncomfortable. “You’re okay. You’re alive.”

You nod weakly into him, just trying to catch your breath. You’re embarrassed, and tired, and confused, and then—

And then you remember what you said to him, and you pull away quickly, afraid.

“Are you okay?” Bruce asks. You can hear the obvious concern heavy in his voice.

You aren’t sure. You don’t know what the answer to his question is.

Instead, you ask a question of your own. You can’t meet Bruce’s eyes; you look down at his hands as you ask him, “Why were you watching me when I got out of work?” because it’s the only other question you have to ask.

“I’ll just give you the room, then,” Alfred says, and stands. He kisses you on the forehead, says, “I’ll be right outside if you need anything. I have a few ideas when your appetite is up. You just ask.”

“Okay,” you agree. You squeeze his hand, accept the hug he gives you. “Thanks, Alfred.”

“Of course,” he says. “You did the same for me.”

You did. Of course, you did. You helped take care of Alfred just as often as Bruce did. You’re almost always here. Sometimes, you almost feel like a member of the family, but—

But.

You aren’t.

And you know you need to remember that.

When Alfred closes the door behind himself, Bruce looks to you again, and he looks almost— ashamed, for a moment, before the mask is on again. You hate when Bruce hides his emotions from you, even though you understand he does this to everyone, his automatic response when he’s afraid of being vulnerable, of getting hurt.

“Promise you won’t get mad,” Bruce says. It’s almost light-hearted, if it weren’t for the serious edge underneath. Bruce can be a fun guy, but, right now, he just seems off-balance.

“I promise,” you tell him, because you need to know. There has to be a reason, and it has to be— something, for him to ask you to make a promise like that.

Bruce hesitates for another beat. He looks away, then down before he confesses in a garbled rush, “I follow you sometimes. I want to make sure you’re safe. I just— have to keep tabs on you.” He pauses, then adds, like there’s blood in his mouth he’s trying not to spill, “You’re important. You’re m— You’re—” He looks frustrated.

“I’m what?” you ask him. He shakes his head. “No, Bruce, you can tell me. What am—”

“You’re not,” he bites out. There’s agitation in every line of his face before he says, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“What am I not,” you ask, “then?”

He stares downward. You stare at him.

“Mine,” Bruce finally answers, spitting it into the silence like it hurt him, barbed on its way up and out of his throat. “You’re mine. But you’re not, so. I have no right to say that.”

Your heart is thudding in your chest. The monitor attached to the device on your other hand responds accordingly, corresponding rapid beeps starting to speed up. It gives Bruce a look into your pulse, lets him know how you’re feeling, the rush of emotion currently coursing through you.

His eyes flicker to the screen, then to you, reading the source of the heartbeat. His brow furrows, and he asks, “What—”

“I’m really sorry,” you tell him. Your voice breaks, because you’re scared, and you’re taking a leap of faith here, but you have to. “I’m— Bruce, I’m so sorry, but I think— If I’m wrong, you’re allowed to hate me, but I want— I think we want—” You take a shuddering, steadying breath, and tell him, desperate to have him understand, “I’m in love with you, Bruce. I meant that, I mean it now. And if you want me to be yours, you just— You just have to ask me, I’m right— I’m right here, I’m right here, I thought you knew that, I thought you didn’t want me—”

The words just keep spilling out of you, becoming faster and more honest and more desperate as you go. You’ve kept them in for so long that, now that they’re coming out, you can’t stop them.

It’s Bruce who stops you, leaning in to quickly press his lips to yours. It’s only a fleeting push, his lips there then gone, but it silences you effectively.

For a second, you stare at each other.

Then, Bruce tells you, eyes bloodshot, “I want you,” like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, and still like he’s never had to do anything easier. It’s so difficult for Bruce to express himself, but here he is, putting himself into plain words in front of you, just so you’ll understand him without doubt.

Your heart is exploding. You can barely process this; the monitor reflects it accordingly, beeping so rapidly Bruce even glances up at it.

“Are you alright?” He asks. There’s mild concern in his tone as well as amusement.

You reach for him, tugging for the back of his neck. You draw him into another kiss. This one lasts longer, though you’re uncoordinated and sluggish from the drugs.

Your lips part, briefly, and Bruce responds in kind. You can feel the briefest drag of his tongue against your lower lip before he draws back. When he looks down at you this time, he’s almost smiling, though he seems— distant, a bit, somehow.

“Bruce,” you tell him, trying to reach across that distance. “I’m yours. If you want to follow me, follow me. But,” you tell him, “you don’t have to stay behind me. You can always come and be with me.”

Bruce’s eyes flicker up to meet yours. It looks like he’s putting the pieces together, understanding that he can trust you, that you’re telling the truth, that this is real. You understand; you’re going through the exact same thing yourself. It’s not easy, but it’s important, and you hang onto him, unwilling to let go.

“I do want you,” Bruce tells you. He’s testing the waters. “You— are mine. I want you so much, sometimes, I just—” He breaks off. He makes a motion near his throat with his free hand, then a frustrated noise. “Fuck.”

Words aren’t always Bruce’s strong suit. That’s okay, though. You know that about him, and you’ve never needed words from him. You’ve only ever needed him.

“Hey,” you tell him. “We’ll figure it out.”

You reach for him, pulling at him with weak fingers. Bruce looks down at you, catches your hands in his. He draws them up to his mouth, letting his lips press into the backs of them before he speaks, brushing your skin as he says, “I felt— like I was going insane when you were gone. I didn’t know what I’d do if—” He stops, then says, “When I found you—” and stops again.

You kiss him, softly, and he makes a broken sort of noise into your mouth.

“I can’t lose you,” he tells you, and you can hear everything he can’t say, feel every emotion he’s struggling to express. You can feel his fear, his complete devastation, his terror over losing you, his agony, everything he endured without even knowing if you were alive.

You can feel his desperation. You can feel it because you felt it; you thought you’d never see him again, either.

“I wanted to kill them,” Bruce admits to you. His eyes are red again, and he lets tears spill. A confession like this from him, that— that is enormous, enormous, this is him admitting he almost broke everything Batman is, and over you, and for what—

Bruce surges into you again, but it’s not for a kiss, this time. Instead, he just— holds you. He wraps his arms around you, and he buries his face in your throat, and he hugs you as tightly as he can. After a beat, you bring your arms up, winding as close to him as you can. He brings his legs up, tucks into your bed with you, and burrows into you, as if he’s trying to climb into your skin. He surrounds you, he’s everywhere, and his mouth finds your hairline. His teeth press into the bone of your skull when he speaks.

“I can’t lose you,” he repeats, and then, softer, voice cracking, “I love you, too,” before he’s hugging you again. It’s like he can’t let you go, clinging to you so tightly you’re remembering where your wounds are, but you don’t give a shit. You hang on just as tightly, tears burning your own eyes.

There will be time to talk about everything when you’re recovered, and the both of you have slept, and you can have a good, complete discussion about everything. That time isn’t now, though; it can’t come yet.

For now, all you can do is cling to him, and let him cling to you. All you can do is feel that raging terror, and the pulsing love, and the undying need to be with him, and know that he’s feeling the same way for you. He’s holding you the same way, hanging onto you with all that impossible strength. Maybe the voice in your head whispers that he wouldn’t want you, but Bruce’s actions speak louder than your mind’s foolish words.

Bruce isn’t a man who does things he doesn’t want to do. He uses his family’s fortune to repair Gotham, and he spends his nights as Batman, and he’s in love with you. No matter what other people want from him, Bruce always does what he wants.

He follows you around. He didn’t stop until he got you back. He nearly broke his code and risked everything so he could kill the people who hurt you.

You understand, then. Even when you discuss this later, there are still emotions and moments and understandings that can never be truly verbalized, and you’re having one of those now, about him, about you, about you together, in this moment.

“I love you,” you tell him again, hoping it conveys the enormity of what you mean. I’m yours to have, yours to do what you want with, yours to possess, yours to protect, yours to love, yours, yours, yours, if you’ll have me—

“I love you, too,” Bruce replies. He drags you up into a biting kiss before burrowing into your throat again. You can feel his response in every shift and press, the corresponding, You’re mine and I’m yours, you’re mine to have and I’m yours to do what you want with, you’re mine to protect and possess and love and I am yours and you are mine, mine, mine, mine, if you’ll have me—

And you will, so you bury yourself in him and don’t let go. Bruce pulls your hand up, kisses a small bandage over your wrist, buries his face in your palm. Your fingertips brush along his brow, feeling the warmth of his skin. You don’t think you’ll ever, ever be able to bring yourself to let him go, not for anything.

-

requests used:

"Hey! Can I request a story where the reader is insecure and thinks Pattinson!Bruce Wayne is acting strange because he is seeing someone else and also because of all the nights away, but he shows the reader he loves her with all his heart." (anonymous)

"to have loved was soooooo precious and good on my soul. beautiful work, you have such a good grasp on bruce’s character! i especiallyyyy liked the possessiveness peaking through, wanting the reader fully to himself. i find it difficult to write him as so desperate and open with what he feels, but you’ve executed that perfectly! i wanted to request anything with bruce and the need to possess— something dark, a small fixation on the reader that deteriorates to an unhealthy obsession. (seeing him stalk selina did something to me. yandere type beat, if you are comfortable with that kind of thing!) thanks so much, and again, wonderful work!" (anonymous)

"this is a very vague request, so I'm sorry, but any sort of hurt/comfort with Bruce would be super lovely 💗 something like .. perceived unrequited love due to the readers low self esteem ? it's just on my mind lol. idk I just love angst 💗💗💗 Tysm I love everything you do fr" (anonymous)

"Hey! Can I request a Bruce/Batman x reader? If so, I can give you some kind of plot if that's okay for you." (anonymous)

"OPEN REQUESTS! OK YAY! maybe could i please have whump with a happy ending where bruce goes totally out of control berserk when the reader is threatened/hurt and he wants to protect them?" (anonymous)

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bruce wayne taglist:

@jelliebeanss @zofps @trans-librarian @Probablyasatanworshipper @phoenixhalliwell @bb-skyrunner @myguiltypleasures21 @eeveeangelcakes @freyafriggafrey @neptuneswritingwork @middimidoris @herbsschmerbs @satansrighthandmanchild @iwillstaywiththemforever

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dc universe taglist:

@jelliebeanss @trans-librarian @probablyasatanworshipper @phoenixhalliwell @bb-skyrunner @neptuneswritingwork @middimidoris @satansrighthandmanchild @acupnoodle @iwillstaywiththemforever

[pattinsonsupremacy]

ROBERT PATTINSON AND ANDREW GARFIELD AT DINNER LAST NIGHT

[spideyheart]

HOT BATH.

pairing : battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

warning : possibly ooc bruce, wounds, injuries, blood, a bit suggestive at the end, 3k words :’D . i love these two sm

summary : bruce didn’t fully trust you until the night you found out he was batman. you didn’t scream, quit your job, or rat him out to the press. you took him in your arms with the promise of a hot bath.

note : def unbathed for the majority of the film lmfao… but never fear! reader’s here! and she’s ready to drool over his abs—ahem—give him the nice bath he deserves <3

dc masterlist | bruce wayne masterlist | gif credit

wayne manor was as eerie without the presence of bruce wayne nor his butler alfred.

as you walked down the long halls, short heels clicking against the hard floors and emitting ghost-like echos off the curve of the walls, you stood in front of your boss’s door and gave the hardwood a light knock.

“master wayne? i’ve got your laundry, it’s still nice and warm too, um, may i come in?”

Keep reading

[rosaliesbigtiddygothgf]

[persehpone]

old teen wolf fans watching the Batman

[edwardsshinyvolvo]

2008 2022

[waitimcomingtoo]

Sweet Escape

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: After Peter rescues you from the Red Room, you try to adjust to a normal life as an ex-widow. Luckily,  you have Peter and Natasha to help you 

Masterlist

“You know the mission, yes?” Yelena asked as she zipped up her vest.

“Yes.” Peter nodded. “Find the widows and give them the magic cheeto dust that breaks them out of their trance.”

“Why is he here again? He seems dumb and useless, no?” Yelena asked her sister.

“I can hear you, but…” Peter trailed off and shrugged.

“He’s here because we needed an extra set of hands set of hands.” Natasha explained. “And he’s the only one small enough to fit in the helicopter.”

“Again, I can totally hear you guys.” Peter chimed in.

Keep reading

[kenloganroy]

How long have you known Clint Barton? …About a week.

HAWKEYE (2021) stylized as HAWKEYE (2012-2015) by Matt Fraction, David Aja, and Matt Collingsworth

[metamorphesque]

― Osamu Dazai, The Setting Sun

[pctcr]

waited this long [2]

hello!! here's part two, thank you so much for the support on the first part and i hope you enjoy!

prompt: you didn't expect to see peter again, let alone kiss him. you didn't expect him to betray you, either.

pairing: tasm!peter x fem!reader (female pronouns, no specific anatomy)

content: swearing, mentions of drinking, implications of sex, angst with a happy ending, childhood friends to lovers

word count: 7.6k

additional notes: a bit of an au to fit my needs (harry isn’t crazy and gwen never died), unedited!

playlist for this part

part one

November feels like it lasts a day for you and before you know it, you’re shopping for Christmas gifts with Peter. The mall has been playing Christmas songs since before Thanksgiving and if you’re honest, they’re starting to give you a headache.

“I have no idea what to get for my parents.” You complain to Peter, plopping down next to him on the bench he’s sitting on. You rest your head against his shoulder and he wraps his arm around you like it’s a routine. You could almost call it that.

Peter’s humming along to the song playing over the speakers before he replies. “Get your Mom a new stand mixer. You broke it, didn’t you?”

You scoff. “You broke it by putting in basically frozen butter and expecting it to work.”

“That will not hold up in court. You’re the only witness.” Peter says, nudging you to emphasize the joke.

“Fine, I’ll say it’s from both of us then.” You say.

“Sounds good.”

“And in the card, I’ll tell her how I took the blame for you.”

“Okay- wait, no-”

You laugh, moving enough that it dislodges Peter’s arm and you stand. “Let’s look at JCPenny for the mixer and I’ll just find something for my dad there.”

The two of you ride the escalator up to the department store, walking around aimlessly and hoping you would spot something you could get for your Dad as well as Peter. You have been struggling to come up with a perfect gift for your first Christmas together. You were never the best with gifts in general and your aim for it to be the best is certainly not helping your case.

You’re looking at an end-cap full of ties when you spot one that almost makes you laugh. It’s a simple black tie with a striped design, but upon closer inspection, the lines are scientific equations written small enough to appear as a pattern. You put it in the basket you picked up when you entered the store without another thought. Maybe you could convince Peter to wear it to the fancy party Harry invited the two of you to.

You lost Peter in the store quickly, but you didn’t mind. It gave you time alone to look for a gift without worrying he’ll notice what you’re buying is for him. You’re walking mindlessly around for a few minutes before you find the toy section. You’re about to leave that area when a kid's camera catches your eye. A camera would be perfect to get for Peter - he had been talking about the fancy Canon camera the Daily Bugle had him using and how much he wanted one of his own. You mentally take note of your idea before deciding to find the appliance section to grab a mixer for your Mom’s gift.

There’s a couple choices of color and you decide to get a white one to be safe, taking the small ticket to take to the counter. You’ve already paid before Peter finds you, carrying a bag of his own. “What did you buy?”

“None of your business, pretty lady.” Peter says, grinning at you.

“Rude,” You say with no bite, walking out of the store with Peter right behind you. “Could you possibly be the best boyfriend and get us a pretzel to share while I use the bathroom?”

“I already am, but sure.” Peter agrees.

“Debatable.” You tease, leaving Peter before he can offer to hold your bag for you. You need the bag to hide your next purchase. You quickly make your way into Best Buy, finding the camera and purchasing it in a little under five minutes. The price is a little steep, but Harry had given everyone Christmas bonuses this year so it hurt your wallet a little less. Plus, you knew for certain Peter would love his gift and you’d pay any price for that.

You find him beside the Auntie Anne’s, holding a half-eaten pretzel in one hand and his phone in the other. You approach him, grinning about your fantastic gift idea. “Sorry, there was a line.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t eat the whole thing.” Peter jokes, handing you the rest of the pretzel.

You raise your eyebrows at him, taking a bite of the pretzel. “Then wouldn’t that make you not the best boyfriend?”

Peter slaps a hand over his heart. “I’m wounded, [Name].”

You roll your eyes at his antics, finishing the pretzel and throwing the wrapper away. “You all good to go?”

Peter nods and the two of you take the subway back to your house. The ride is quiet, both of you scrolling through social media to occupy the time.

When you finally get home, you put the gifts in your closet to hide them until you wrap them. While you’re in your closet, you take a peek at the outfit you planned for the party. “Do you think this’ll be alright?” You ask Peter, who has taken a seat on your bed.

Peter glances up and smiles at you warmly. “You’ll look amazing in anything and I’m sure this won’t be any different.”

The way he looks at you makes your knees weak. You’ll never get used to it. You feel your cheeks grow warm and you tear your gaze away from him to close your closet door. You walk over to your bed, laying down next to Peter.

Peter instantly pulls you closer to him, making a happy noise as he buries his face into your hair. “Are you using a different shampoo?”

You laugh. “Maybe. You can tell?”

He nods, pressing a kiss to your head. “Just smells different.”

You turn to face him and God, he’s beautiful. You’ll never know what you’ve done to deserve someone like Peter. Ever since you met him, even when you were younger, you knew there was something about him that made you feel safe, protected. Even without that, he’s caring and sensitive to your worries. He’s… perfect.

Peter leans closer to you, taking your chin in his hand. He smiles, a real, beaming thing that has your heart racing. He uses his hand to tilt your head up just enough to kiss you. His nose nudges against yours and his hair is tickling your forehead.

You press back, kissing him in an attempt to convey what you had been thinking just seconds before - he’s perfect.

Peter pulls back, moving his hand from your chin to cup your cheek.

The weight of his hand is comforting against your skin, grounding you here in this moment with him. “How are you real?” You whisper.

“Well, when Mommy and Daddy love each other very much-”

“Way to ruin a moment, Peter.” You pout jokingly.

He laughs, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. His hand moves to your hair, pushing it behind your ear. “It’s hard to believe you’re real sometimes, too.”

“How’s that?” You ask.

“The day I ran into you I had uh, thought about calling you. For the first time in a while, actually,” Peter says, running his fingers through your hair in a vain attempt to untangle it. He stops when his fingers catch on a knot, absentmindedly trying to brush it out. “But instead of me calling you, you fell right in front of me.”

“I did not fall.” You protest in a quiet voice.

“My apologies. You stumbled in front of me.” He says.

“Thank you for the correction. I’ll forgive you this time.”

“And next time?”

“You’ll never live to tell the tale.” You joke, moving to the edge of the bed and standing. “I found a little gift for you for the party.”

Peter sits up fully, straightening his back. “At the mall?”

You nod, rummaging through the bag you put in your closet before pulling out the tie. You grin as you show him, placing it in his lap.

Peter picks it up and inspects it, laughing a little. “Oh, this is awesome!”

“Will you wear it to the party then?” You ask, climbing back into the bed and reclaiming the spot you were laying in before.

“Yes. I love this so much,” he says, squinting at the design to attempt to read the equations. “Thank you, [Name].”

You nod. “Anything for you to look snazzy at the party.”

“I will look so snazzy, thanks to you.”

You stare up at the ceiling, crossing your arms comfortably on your chest. Your thoughts drift to something to talk about and the only thing you come up with is the newest crime-fighting hero. “How do you feel about Spider-Man?”

Peter tenses next to you but relaxes just as quickly. “I don’t know, he’s alright, I guess.”

“Just alright?” You question, turning to lay on your side to face him. “I mean, I think it’s pretty cool that he helps our city so much.”

Peter shrugs. “That is pretty cool.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you jealous that I think another man is cool?”

Peter shoots you a look. “No.”

You sigh dramatically, disappointed with his lack of a funny response. “You’re no fun, joke with me!” You say, reaching over and squeezing his thigh.

Peter picks up your hand and kisses it before letting it fall back to its previous place on his leg. “Can we watch that movie you were telling me about?”

You debate for a moment before speaking. “What happened with Harry? The day you visited?”

Peter doesn’t look at you, swallowing hard before responding. “Just didn’t have the same opinion on work, or something. I don’t really remember.”

You’re doubtful but say nothing.

Peter seems to not like your silence. “Can we watch that movie?” He repeats, gazing at you expectantly.

The two of you spend the rest of the night laying in your bed together, cuddling cozily under a blanket. The movie is the only sound in your room apart from your fan. The silence is easy, but you can’t get Peter’s deflections of the topics of Spider-Man and Harry out of your head. You don’t understand why he always jokes back with you but not this time or why he doesn’t want to share his differing opinion with you. You’re barely paying attention to the movie anymore. You try to, but Peter just isn’t making any sense. You decide not to push anymore, leaving it for another time. He isn’t acting off with you so you try to remind yourself it’s nothing to do with you. You finally tune back into the movie, settling back into Peter’s arms for the remainder of the evening.

—

It’s a couple days before Christmas and it’s snowing pretty heavily outside. The weather is cold enough that frost has formed on your window during the night and you make a mental note to turn your humidifier off for a couple days. You’re still getting ready for the Oscorp party when the doorbell rings downstairs. You can’t make out the muffled voices but you know it’s Peter and your parents talking. You finish up the remainder of your last minute touch ups, smoothing out your outfit before heading downstairs.

Peter is wearing a simple black suit and you can’t help but smile when you notice he’s wearing the tie you bought him. He looks so handsome and you wish he had more excuses to dress up. He turns when he hears you coming down the stairs and his kind grin melts into something affectionate. “Oh, wow.”

You blush under his gaze, looking down to make sure your outfit looks right before meeting his eyes. “Nice suit.”

“Yeah, no- You look amazing, [Name]. Holy sh-” Peter looks over to your parents, smiling apologetically. “Sorry, got a little excited there.”

Your Dad bites back a smile. “No, I understand. I get the same with her Mot-”

“Okay!” You interrupt, grabbing your shoes from the base of the stairs. “Let’s get going, I don’t want to be late. That would be embarrassing.”

Your Mom holds up a camera in her hands. “At least one picture?”

You roll your eyes but nod, stepping closer to Peter and wrapping an arm around his waist.

He mirrors you, pressing a kiss to your hair before smiling widely for the camera.

You do the same and your Mom ends up taking at least ten pictures instead of one, but you remember suddenly that your gift for Peter is ready for him, wrapped up nicely and sitting on your bed. “Oh, wait, I want to give your gift to you now, just in case.” You race up the stairs, being mindful of your shoes and come down with the box in hand.

Peter gapes at you. “[Name], you did not! Is it a puppy-”

“Shh, open it before you say anything.” You say, handing it to him and waiting.

Peter shoots you a look but doesn’t say anything like you asked. He tears back the paper and nearly drops the box when he realizes what it is. Peter takes a few seconds to process before he basically does a lap around the kitchen in the form of a happy dance. He sets the box on the kitchen table, wrapping still half-on and hugs you tightly. “Thank you so much, [Name]! This is the best gift I think I’ve ever gotten, seriously.”

You hug him back, happy that he’s so excited. “Of course. Anything for you.”

Peter leans down right next to your ear and you think he’s going to kiss your head, but he whispers just loud enough for you, like it’s a secret. “I love it. I love you.”

It feels like a bucket of cold water falls over you and your body tingles in excitement. It’s not like this wasn’t coming, you had almost said it several times up until now, but you feared it would have been too early. The last few months have made you the happiest you’ve ever been and it’s all thanks to him. You pull back just enough to look him in the eye and he’s smiling like an idiot. You kiss the smile off his face, not caring that your parents are only a couple feet away. It only lasts a moment, but you hope he understands you recuperate his feelings. The lovestruck expression on his face answers the question for you.

Peter steps back from the hug. “Well, we should get going. Could you send me the pictures you took once you get them off of the camera?” He asks your Mom.

She nods. “Of course. Have fun you two, be safe. We’ll probably be on a plane by the time you get back here.”

You remember her telling you that they were going to be flying back to Wisconsin to check in your Aunt and her family. “Tell everyone I said hello.”

You and Peter leave a few minutes later and the second you're far enough away from your house that you’re sure your parents aren’t spying, you hug him again. “Of course you’d tell me you love me in front of my parents!”

Peter laughs, wrapping his arms around you. “I had to. You were making it incredibly difficult not to. That's your fault.”

You scoff, leaning back with your arms still situated around his waist. “Well, in that case, I don’t return your feelings-”

“I will cry in front of everyone at the party and embarrass you-”

“Okay! I love you, too, idiot.” You say endearingly.

Peter grins in satisfaction. “Knew it.”

The walk to the subway and the ride itself are filled with small affections - holding hands and quick kisses. Your heart feels so full as you enter the party hall, a little taken aback at how big it was. There’s one huge party area with small, private rooms off the sides. There’s a snack buffet and a bar, as well as a DJ who is playing acoustic versions of popular songs. “Jesus, Harry.” You mutter under your breath.

Peter snickers a little. “Yeah, Jesus is right.”

You didn’t think Peter could hear you but you roll with it anyway. “I’m going to see if I can find Gwen. She was struggling to decide between two dresses and I want to know if she picked the one I liked.”

Peter nods and kisses you. “Alright, I’ll find you in a little bit.”

You smile at him. “Love you.” You say and wink at him in a form of a tease.

“Love you, too.” Peter replies easily, winking back at you before he disappears into the crowd.

You don’t stop smiling until you find Gwen, who is wearing the dress you wanted her to. “Oh, you picked it! You look amazing! Didn’t I tell you?”

Gwen does a spin to show it off. “Yeah, yeah. I told you before that I trust your judgement,” you’re still smiling so hard that she takes notice. “What are you smiling about?”

Your smile drops just a little. You wonder if this is something you should tell her. You don’t want to upset her, but she did say everything. “He told me he loved me.” You say.

Gwen grins so wide that it makes you question why you doubted telling her seconds ago. “Are you serious? That’s so-” She cuts herself off, pulling you into a hug. “That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you.”

You hug her back before she pulls away. “Thank you, Gwen, really. You were right, he is an awesome guy,” you nudge her. “See? I trust your judgement, too.”

Gwen winks at you, looking past you to see the bar. “Want me to grab you a drink?”

You nod. “Yeah, sure. Just get me whatever you get. I’ll pay you later, I’m gonna go find Peter really fast. Let him know we’re over here.”

Gwen shakes her head. “Don’t worry, it’s on me. I’ll meet you back here.”

You nod and make your way through the crowd back to where you saw Peter go earlier, pausing when you think you hear his voice coming from behind you. You turn just enough to see Peter and Harry talking. You’re approaching and you’re about to call out to them, when you see a check in Harry’s hand. You shouldn’t listen in, you really shouldn’t. If Peter wanted you to know what was going on, he would tell you. But your curiosity gets the better of you and you decide to turn your back, stepping just close enough that you can hear. You blend in well with everyone else as you listen.

“Harry-”

“No, Peter, seriously take it. You got the girl and kept her like I told you. You earned it.” Harry responds.

Your hearing is suddenly muffled and your body goes cold. You can’t make sense of it. Peter… lied to you? Every date, every kiss, every night you gave yourself to him was a lie? Peter loving you was a lie? You can’t control your rapid breaths anymore and you really don’t want to get caught, especially now. You quickly make your way over to Gwen, who’s holding two drinks in her hands.

“I got this fancy drink for us, apparently Harry prepaid them so we don’t have-” Gwen cuts off, seeing the expression on your face. You have no idea what it looks like but it must be alarming. “[Name]? What’s wrong?”

You can’t steady your breaths, they’re coming out faster now. You can’t focus on anything. The people, the music - they’re too loud now. You can’t get your thoughts together. “Can… Can we…”

Gwen understands, leading you into one of the unoccupied rooms adjacent to the main floor. She closes the door behind her and sets the drinks on one of the side tables near the door.

You sit on the closest piece of furniture you can find which ends up being a table. “He lied, Gwen, he fucking-”

“Woah, woah, calm down! Who lied?” She asks, sitting in the chair across from you.

“Peter! I heard Harry!” You say, the anxiety fading quickly to anger. You stand, pacing around the room. “He said, ‘You got the girl and kept her like I said, take it.’ He was holding a check, Gwen, he was paying him! To date me!”

Gwen’s eyes grow wide with concern, standing up and approaching you. “Hey, hey.” She says, grabbing your hands and squeezing them tightly. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. One hundred percent.”

Her face changes from concerned to angry. “I’m going to kill-”

A knock comes to the door and before either of you can respond, Peter opens the door. “Hey, I saw you two come in-” He stops and his easy smile falls. “What’s going on?”

Gwen shares a look with you, wordlessly telling you to be calm. “I’ll leave you to it.” She says, exiting the room and closing the door behind her.

“Are you alright? What happened, [Name]?” Peter asks. He steps closer to you and you take a step back to keep the distance. Peter looks hurt by this. “[Name]?” He asks again.

You can feel your body shaking. Gwen’s silent recommendation to be calm crumbles away with him standing in front of you. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re such a fucking prick, Peter.”

“Hey, hey! What the hell is going on?” Peter questions incredulously.

You hate the way he’s looking at you, especially knowing now that it’s all an act. “You know, this is really low for you. Did I mean nothing to you? Did we mean nothing to you?”

“Why would you mean nothing?” Peter’s alarmed now, his face painted with concern. “[Name], seriously, what are you talking about? You mean so much-”

“Don’t!” You yell. “Don’t you dare lie to me again!”

“Love, you’re yelling. Please, can we-” Peter steps closer and you can’t back away anymore, the table is touching the back of your legs.

“Fuck you, Peter!” You’re still yelling. You know outside people must be hearing your muffled accusations but you can’t find it in you to care. “I can’t believe you-!”

Peter’s kissing you before you can even tell him to back up.

Your body wants to respond, you desperately want to just forget what you heard but you can’t and you shove him off of you. “Why would you-”

“You were practically screaming! I just wanted you to calm down and talk to me. It was all I could think of!” Peter says, his hand reaching out for you in a vain attempt to get you to settle.

You push his hand away. “For money? Really, Peter?” You say instead of yelling, your voice is hard and unforgiving. You can’t cry in front of him but you feel the burn of oncoming tears. “How terrible of a person do you have to be for you to agree to something like that?”

Recognition crosses his face and your heart falls. “[Name], love, how did you-”

“Don’t call me that,” You demand, tears finally filling your eyes. It blurs your vision just enough that you can’t make out his expression and you’re thankful, you can’t look at him if he’s going to just lie again. “Tell me the truth. Right now.”

Peter opens his mouth to respond when his phone pings once, then twice, then three times.

You feel a laugh of disbelief bubble up and you can’t hold it back. “Peter.” You warn.

“[Name], I have to-”

“Fuck your job! Tell me what’s going on right now.”

“I’ll come to yours right after, okay? I’ll explain, I promise. I really need to-”

You can’t believe he’s choosing to go to work over explaining the situation to you. It’s almost as unbelievable as what you heard Harry say. “You leave and we’re done.” Your tone is final.

“[Name], please, this is important!” Peter begs.

You scoff. “This is important, you asshole.” You say angrily. “You leave this room and we’re done.”

“[Name], don’t do this. Please don’t do this, not right now.” Peter looks so distraught and it makes you angrier. Why is he upset?

“Leave and we’re done.” You repeat.

Peter stares at you for so long, so long you think he might stay.v“I’m sorry.” He whispers, taking a traitorous step backward towards the door. “I swear I’ll-”

“Don’t even bother.” You say, the tears finally rolling down your cheeks. “Get out, leave, do whatever your damn job needs you to do so badly. But don’t you even think about showing up to my house.”

Peter’s crying too. You realize this as he nods and a single tear drops to right above his lip and he wipes it away. “I’m sorry.” He says one last time, tugging the door open and leaving you alone in the room.

Gwen appears in front of you, crouching down to be eye-level with you. She’s talking to you, but you aren’t listening.

You don’t remember sitting down on the floor. You don’t know how long it’s been since Peter left you here by yourself. You feel terrifyingly numb, a stark contrast to how happy you were an hour ago. “I’m going home.” You announce, standing with Gwen’s help.

“I’ll come with you.” Gwen says.

You shake your head. “I want to be alone.” You say, your voice weak. “I’ll… call you, maybe, I don’t know. Can you.. tell… Harry… that I need a day off?”

Gwen nods. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll handle it. At least let me know when you get home.”

You leave the room without saying anything back, walking along the wall to avoid anyone stopping you. You grab your jacket from the coat check, hating the way the employee is failing to hide their concern. It’s cold and snowing when you step outside and you pull up your hood, bracing yourself for the freezing walk to the subway station. There’s not a lot of people walking around and you assume it’s because of the weather. You’ve made it about two blocks when you hear a strange noise. You turn, seeing a figure flying through the air on the other side of the street. It takes you a couple seconds to process that it’s Spider-Man, watching as he uses a web to continue the momentum. You follow his movements with awe until you watch something drop, slowly falling down to the sidewalk. You go to yell after him that he dropped something, but by the time you look up from the fallen object, he’s gone.

You look both ways before dashing across the street to pick up whatever he had dropped, hoping you could maybe return it to him. You stop in front of it, bending down to pick it up. It looks like an article of clothing. You brush the snow off of it and your heart starts to race. It’s the tie. It’s the stupid science tie you gave Peter weeks ago. The one he wore tonight.

It suddenly clicks into place as you stand there, holding the silk tie in your hands. The police sirens when he calls, the wind when it’s not windy, the late nights, the consistent almost meetings of the two - Peter Parker is Spider-Man.

You still can’t believe it when you get home. You turn on the light and hang your coat on the rack next to your door, abandoning your shoes by the door instead of putting them away. You’re struggling to form a coherent thought. You make your way to the kitchen, wanting to get some water to hopefully calm yourself down just a little. You flip the light on and your heart clenches. Peter’s camera sits on the kitchen counter, now fully unwrapped with printed out photos sitting in front of it. You pick up the stack of pictures, seeing a post-it note on top. It’s from your Mom, telling you she printed out two of each picture for you and Peter.

The pictures make you feel even worse about the situation. The posed photos are bad enough - you smiling happily, having no idea what sadness was impending. The last one is the worst. It’s one you didn’t know was being taken, you’re looking at Peter and he’s smiling down at you. You would’ve loved this picture if you came home with him, if you had never heard Harry. There’s a part of you that’s glad you heard if it means it saved you even more pain. You have no idea how long Peter would have kept this facade going and it ending sooner rather than later is easing your pain just a little.

You set the pictures down, grabbing your water and heading up to your room. Reality doesn’t set in until you look around your bedroom, seeing various pieces of evidence of Peter’s existence. His jacket, a couple shirts, and even a pair of tennis shoes he let you borrow. You’re crying again, tears just coming and coming. You cry for what feels like hours until your phone ringing tears you out of it.

You know who it is before you even look, not surprised when Peter’s name is on your phone. You let it ring and he keeps calling, one after the other with less than a few seconds in between. You’re irritated and sad and him calling is making it worse. Against your better judgement, you answer. “Stop.” Is all you say and you’re about to hang up, when Peter starts rambling.

“[Name], no, please don’t hang up. Please. I’m begging you. Please just-”

“Stop calling.” You say, sniffing and wiping away the tears still on your cheeks.

“Can we please talk? I swear it’s not what you think, I promise. I promise-” You can hear the desperation in his voice.

An idea pops into your head. If he really, truly wanted to make amends, if he wanted to be honest with you, he’d tell you this. He’d tell you he’s Spider-Man. You might be reaching, but it’s worth a shot. “Then tell me the truth about your job.”

“What?” His voice is quiet.

“Tell me the truth about your job,” you repeat. “When your phone goes off and you leave, what are you doing?”

Peter’s silent for a long time. It’s almost a minute long of just white noise before he speaks. “I’m… You’re not going to believe me. It’s complicated. So, so complicated.”

Hope blossoms in your chest. “Try me.”

“[Name], I’m taking pictures of Spider-Man.” Peter says it like it’s a fact, like he’s so sure he’s telling the truth. But he’s not. You know he’s not.

The hope dies just as quick as it came. Realistically, if you didn’t know the truth already, you would have believed him. It makes sense, you’ll give him that, but it’s not the truth. “That’s not true.” You whisper.

“What? [Name]-”

“Don’t contact me any more,” You interrupt. ”I’ll give your camera to May, but do not come here. I’m done, Peter. I’m done.” You hang up before he has a chance to protest. He doesn’t call again, either and it makes you feel worse than you thought it would.

You dial Gwen’s number. She’s the only person you want to talk to right now.

She picks up after only one ring. “[Name], did you get home okay? You took a while.”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Did you know Peter is Spider-Man?” It comes out with a tone like you’re joking.

“How did-”

“So you do,” You interrupt, sighing. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

“How did you find out?” Gwen asks.

“Watched him swing by and he dropped the tie I bought him.” You explain, deciding to clean up his stuff and putting it out of your sight. You put it in a plastic bag and set it near your desk to take downstairs tomorrow.

“He didn’t really tell me, either. He just kinda… webbed me once.” Gwen says and you find it in you to laugh just a little.

“Yeah. Is that why you were telling me to be careful?” You ask.

“I guess so. I had no idea if he would tell you. I didn’t… I have no idea what’s going on right now,” Gwen says and you hear her sigh. “This isn’t… like him at all.”

“You’re telling me.” You respond, laying back down on your bed. “I’m going to try and sleep, I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Alright. I told Harry you needed some time and he told me to tell you to take all the time you need. He… seemed upset, [Name].”

“Right,” you mumble. “Bye, Gwen. Thank you.”

“No problem. Try to sleep well.”

You hang up after she responds, burying yourself under your blankets. All you can think about is Peter. His secret superhero identity, his lies, his fake love confession, his stupid bet with Harry. It’s too much and it overwhelms you until you finally fall asleep.

—

The next few months suck for you. You went back to work after two days like you had said and have since avoided as many interactions with Harry as possible. You still had to see him sometimes, but you always cut the interactions short. He never really tried to say anything to you apart from asking you how you were or thanking you for your work. You were thankful he never mentioned Peter and you’re certain he knew what happened.

You kept up with Spider-Man’s qualms with city crime, too. You figured it was your way of checking up on him without actually doing it. It never made you feel better, though, at least knowing he’s still doing something he enjoyed. You missed him so badly even if you were angry with him. You’re still working though the emotions of the whole overdeal, even after this long. You did love him, you’re sure of it and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t still have feelings for him. You wish he really loved you like he said he did. You wish he never lied.

You and Gwen got closer over the last few weeks as well and it helped you feel less alone. She would come over a lot at first to help you work through everything and continues to check up on you. Her presence and insight were helpful in keeping your head above water.

You’re at work, organizing files on your computer when you get a call from the phone at your desk. You pick up, holding it between your shoulder and ear to continue working as you talk. “Front desk.” You say, deleting a folder you no longer need.

“[Name], can I see you in my office? I’ll send Jill down to cover you.” Harry’s voice immediately upsets you. You associate it with Peter. It’s difficult not to, after all.

“Sure.” You say, attempting to hide the anxious shake in your voice. You hang up and head upstairs after Jill comes to take your spot. You breathe deeply, knocking on his door.

“Come in,” Harry calls and you open the door, closing it behind you. “Hello.”

“Hi,” you say softly. “What did you want to see me for?” You ask, taking a seat when he gestures to the chairs in front of his desk.

“I’m going to preface this with the fact that it isn’t about work.”

Your heart drops to your stomach. “What is it about, then?” You question, even though you’re so sure it’s about-

“You and Peter.” Harry says, taking a sip of tea from his mug. “I realize it’s a tad unprofessional, but this is friend to friend. Not boss to employee.”

“Harry, I really… don’t want to talk about him.” You say, pulling your sleeves down to cover your hands so you don’t pick at your skin anxiously.

“[Name], I understand that you two ended things, but there’s-”

“Harry,” you say sternly. “I don’t want to lose my job so please take this as a friend to a friend, as you put it. I don’t want to discuss him or our relationship. At all.”

Harry watches you for a moment before nodding. “Alright. May I deliver you a message from him? Something he asked me to tell you.”

You avoid his gaze, staring down at the tile floor. You see a warbled reflection of your face in it. It’s similar to how you feel right now. “If you believe I should hear it.”

“I do believe so. He told me to say that…” Harry pauses for a few seconds. “It was unsafe for you to know. He never wanted to lie.”

You lift your head, staring Harry down without a word. You shake your head and stand. “I’ll be returning to work.”

“Of course. I apologize for bringing the topic up.” Harry says.

You nod, opening the door and leaving without saying anything else. You take your place back from Jill, resuming your work and trying to immerse yourself in it. Harry’s want to discuss your relationship and Peter’s words unsettle you. You have no idea if that meant Peter was afraid to tell you the truth about Spider-Man or the bet. Either way, you’re still angry. You’re frustrated and upset by his actions regardless of his cryptic message.

You make your way home after work, avoiding speaking to your parents and immediately heading up to your bedroom. You turn on your TV to watch something on Netflix, laying down under a heated blanket your parents got you for Christmas. May told them that Peter had picked up the camera a week after you left it there, as well as the pictures your Mom printed out. You didn’t expect him to take them, too, but you didn’t want them and so you gave them all to May.

It’s almost midnight by the time you’re feeling tired and you turn off the movie, taking a mental note of how far into it you were. You’re putting the remote back on your dresser when you hear a light tapping on your window. You figure it’s a branch from the tree near your window so you ignore it until it gets louder. You sigh, turning on the light and you nearly scream. Peter’s in his Spider-Man suit, crouching down outside your window and gestures for you to unlock it.

You approach the window slowly and unlock it, pushing it up but not letting him in. “Can I help you?” You ask sarcastically. You’re not sure if Peter knows that you know of his identity, but you can’t find it in you to fake being welcoming.

“Can I uh, come in? It’s pretty cold out here.” Peter asks and you can tell he’s trying to not sound like himself.

“Depends on if you’re going to lie to me again.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest.

Even without seeing his expression, you can tell Peter’s surprised. He tilts his head. “What?”

“I said it depends on if you’re going to lie to me, Peter.” You say, tacking his name on at the end.

“Fuck,” Peter whispers. “I-I had no idea you knew, [Name], can we talk? I came here to tell you but clearly that’s… Please?”

You sigh, stepping back enough that Peter can climb in the window. You close it behind him to prevent the cold air from entering your room. You don’t say anything as he sits down on your bed.

Peter finally takes his mask off and solidifies your thoughts. “Thank you for letting me in.”

You nod, trying not to stare at him too much. He’s still so, so beautiful and your heart is racing even though you’re trying to calm down. “Why are you here?”

“I… I wanted to tell you the truth. Like you asked.”

“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” You ask, refusing to sit next to him and continuing to stand as far from him as possible.

“I’m sorry. It’s my fault, I know it was all my fault,” Peter says, desperately trying to get you to look at him. “Please let me tell you the truth.”

“Fine.” You whisper, finally looking him in the eye.

“Okay, okay, okay.” Peter says, setting his mask down on his lap. “So, the stupid thing with Harry was for me to keep dating you, not date you.”

You feel anger bubbling up in you. Somehow, him having to be paid to continue to be with you makes it worse.

“Please don’t look at me like that! I swear it makes sense, just let me finish.” Peter begs. He looks so, so dejected.

“Better talk fast, then.”

“Okay, so, I was so worried about you. I loved you, I love you still and it scared me. It still scares me,” Peter says and your heart breaks just a little. “This… identity, it’s so dangerous. There are people who could find out and use you as a pawn and I have no idea what I’d do if I lost you.”

“What does this have to do with-”

“[Name], please. I told Harry about it. It was the same situation with Gwen, I was worried about her too and so he recommended I end things. This time, he didn’t agree with me. He wanted me to stay with you so I’d see that I… I needed you, you know? He was right. He was so right, I do need you.”

“So, he paid you to stop being an idiot?” You ask and Peter laughs a little.

“I guess that’s a way to put it. I didn’t take the money, though, [Name]. I would never have taken it,” Peter stands, setting his mask on your bed and walking closer to you. “To explain everything to you I would have had to tell you about this,” He gestures to the suit he’s wearing. “I couldn’t risk it. Not then. There was an entire group of people after me, it wasn’t the right time. I promise I would've told you when it was safe.”

You don’t move back from him as he continues to step closer to you.

“Please understand. You would’ve done the same.” Peter says, stepping close enough that there’s barely a foot between the two of you.

Everything is making sense. Peter’s ominous message for you, the bet that wasn’t really a bet, and even his break-up with Gwen. “I guess it makes sense.”

Peter’s concerned expression turns into a genuine smile. “Really?”

“Unless you’re lying again-”

“No!” Peter says a little too loud. “I’m not, I’m not, I promise.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to formulate your response. You believe him, you know that. If you asked Harry or Gwen, you’re sure they would corroborate it. You can’t think of anything to say, so you go with your first instinct. “You loved me for real, then?”

“Yes,” Peter says instantly. “Nothing in our relationship was ever a lie. I loved every second I spent with you.”

“You really hurt me, Peter,” You say, feeling suddenly vulnerable. “I realized I loved you and you broke my heart on the same night.”

“I know, [Name], I’m so sorry. It was never meant to go that far, I swear. I wanted to tell you.” Peter says, reaching for your hand.

You let him take it and he squeezes it. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” You whisper.

“I would like you to say you forgive me, maybe, just a little?”

A smile creeps onto your face. He’s still the same Peter, even now. “I do, I’m kinda mad still but I forgive you.”

“Does that mean I can kiss you?” Peter asks.

You chuckle, shaking your head in disbelief. Of course you want to kiss him, you missed him more than anything. Your heart is beating quicker and you pull him closer with your joined hands.

Peter grins, leaning in without another word and kissing you. His hands find your waist, pulling you even closer to him. It’s so familiar and comforting. His lips fit the same as you remember and he smells the same, too. It feels like home. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You say back.

Peter kisses you again. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I told you I didn’t want to and that’s all I did.”

“It hurt even worse because I thought you and I…” You trail off, not knowing how to phrase what you wanted to say.

Peter moves back enough to cup your face in his hands. He doesn’t say anything, letting you speak.

“I thought we were such a good fit, I guess.” You mumble.

“What’s crazy about that is we are,” Peter smiles. “From now on, you’ll know everything. No more hiding anything.”

“You still want this?” You ask, even though you think you know the answer. You just want to hear him say it.

“More than anything. I seriously love you, so much.” Peter says.

You let out a happy noise, pulling him into a hug. “I love you, too, you stupid idiot.”

Everything falls into place after Peter tells you the truth. Your relationship resumes easily, much to your delight. You assumed there would be a bit of hesitation, but it’s a seamless transition. Harry’s thrilled to find out you two are back together when Peter tells him. Gwen and your parents, too. When Summer rolls around, you and Peter decide moving you in with him is the next step. Peter helps you move in all of your stuff and unpack it, too, not nearly as big a feat as you thought it would be. You find the old pictures from Christmas and decide to frame them in a college. Peter loves it when you show him and he hangs it up in your shared bedroom above the headboard.

You’re not entirely sure what is going to come next, but you think you’re ready for anything. Especially with Peter by your side, like it always was meant to be.

---

thank u so much for reading! my next fic will be an enemies to lovers so get ready >:) also please lmk how u liked this conclusion! i love hearing your thoughts.

taglist: @coolreallyfuzzystudentuniverse @scarlettels @di4na @scarletwitchgf @mell-bell @f4iryluvy @garfieldssimp @adriennebarnes @spectacularstyles99 @hiphopdancer101universe @cherrymedicine13 @s-tealyourheart @meeksmusic83 @can-we-meet-in-a-dream @knightofreaders @parker-films @kennywantskfc69

[tchalametgifs]

Jo…wake up.

[monkeydlesbian]

i’m a simple girl i see a man with big arms and a kind heart and i get a little stupid

[natasharomanovf]

ETERNALS + COMIC BOOK CHARACTERS

[freakyyvirgo]

zendaya for galore, 2015

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

has anyone else ever had a fanfic that just… haunts them? like it’s been months and maybe even years since you read it, but it just lingers with you and you can never truly leave behind the imprint it made on you? and maybe it’s just a single line, one sentence that you can’t shake off, that takes up residence in your mind and stays there, feeding into your psyche and subtly influencing your brainspace and maybe even your writing or other works?