summary: the batman (2022) reimagined. deceased reporter, edward elliot, has left his beloved daughter behind, and she is determined to pick up where her father left off. by using her father’s research and the riddler’s clues, her ultimate goal is to further expose gotham’s corruption and bring her father’s killer to light in the process.
Apologies if you were pinged to this, I need it to get as much traction as possible before the risk of removal, please, like, reblog and screenshot, get the images of what I have revealed today out there, keep this known, DO NOT attempt to Blaze
Hello, my name is Jon-Paul Rennison, although I prefer to go by “JP”, I am a radical civil rights activist from the United Kingdom, the few who follow me probably know me for doing a lot of LGBT+ rights stuff as well as holding a lot of Marxist views and ideals. Well today I have something I wish to share with everyone in light of the recent situation with Luigi possibly facing death and the wider state of the world…
I confess to the killing of Brian Thompson on the 4th December as well as the theft of multiple items including a pistol I had no permit for
No, this is not a late April fools joke, nor is it a hoax or a parody, if I wanted fame and attention I could have just continued the work I’ve already been doing in politics without admitting to a high profile crime, if I wanted to just try to get Luigi off the hook then I will tell you that I DO NOT believe that this will clear his name, the narrative set up painting him as guilty would backfire horribly if they were to accept that someone else was the culprit. I and my mother were in Manhattan at the time and well… I had the opportunity to and knew how to get my hands on the right tools so… I went ahed with it.
Simply, I did it to try and cause tension, I knew that someone of his status dying like that would have caused chaos amongst the ruling class, and it being a Healthcare CEO really helped to get the message across, since while it is a different country my main work IS targeting and investigating the NHS and the quality of its health services (especially when it comes to wait times and the quality of care for disabled and Transgender individuals), and thankfully it appears the message I was getting across DID make it to people across the UK. Since this however I’ve been just back to doing more stale things, it’s not as easy to get a gun over here for one, and two I was making enough progress that I was semi-confident I would be successful without any more extreme and risky moves… however I think this is something that needs to be known considering the current situation.
I didn’t know if I could actually get away with everything, however, I didn’t really care by that point, I saw an opportunity and I took it, I was in an unstable position, had effectively seen my chances in education destroyed, and as far as I knew and still know the person who matters most to me who served as my motivation for living and engaging at all in politics was out of my life and may never speak to me again, in my eyes I really had nothing left to lose, and almost 4 months later I still don’t, so here I am. The REAL perpetrator, don’t anyone forget, they are trying to send an innocent man to his death.
Yes, I am a leftist who opposed voting Kamala because of Palestine and supports the rights of LGBT+ people, People of Colour, Women, disabled people and Immigrants, the main catalyst leading to the events on December 4th eventually happening was a Trans woman I sacrificed almost everything to protect. If this alters your perception somewhat, good, if this upsets you or caused you to try denying, then I don’t care, go fuck yourself. I’m revealing this through Tumblr because this is the platform in which I’ve received the most traction in past.
If there is enough time left and anyone wants more information on the crime (to try and confirm it’s me or just general morbid curiosity), send me an ask and I might elaborate on certain details.
summary: the batman (2022) reimagined. deceased reporter, edward elliot, has left his beloved daughter behind, and she is determined to pick up where her father left off. by using her father’s research and the riddler’s clues, her ultimate goal is to further expose gotham’s corruption and bring her father’s killer to light in the process.
pairing: batman x f!reader
warnings: mentions of death, violence, angst, language
word count: 7.7k
a/n: and that’s a wrap! i hope you all enjoyed reading this series as much as i enjoyed writing it. more content coming soon. requests are now open !!!
masterlist
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The morning after was something out of a dream. Waking up in Bruce’s arms after the intimacy you shared was everything you had hoped for– and then some. He was still asleep, and as you snuggled closer to his chest, feeling his shallow, slow breathing, your mind drifted to the events of the previous night.
The Batman had proved himself to be the perfect gentleman. It was clear that conveying emotion was something of a foreign act for him, but he had pushed himself out of his comfort zone. Being reserved had been in his nature for a long time, but he had forced the heartfelt promises from the confines of his throat. You were sure his confession felt heavy and alien on his tongue. But he had gone through with it anyway, all to prove that his devotion belonged solely to you.
He had explored your body with reverence and care. You were sure that the kisses he planted on you would remain there forever, his touch eternally engraved on your skin. He had all but branded you, ruining you for every other man who dared approach what he had already claimed as his. And you didn’t mind one bit.
—-----------------------------------------—————
After waking, Bruce had chauffeured you back to your apartment. He had offered you the opportunity to freshen up in one of his mansion’s many bathrooms and even insisted on having his staff acquire a fresh set of clothes for you, but you had politely declined. His resources and generosity were impressive, but you hadn’t fallen for him on the basis of his wealth.
Your relationship had just begun, and you weren’t comfortable allowing him to shower you with gifts and favors just yet, especially when they were things you could easily provide for yourself. You took great pride in your independence, and as much as it warmed your heart that Bruce had your comfort and convenience in mind, you refused to allow this relationship – or any relationship, for that matter – to strip you of your ability to be self-reliant.
To appease him, you allowed Bruce to conduct a walk-through of your apartment to ensure it was safe. To your relief, the apartment had resided just the way you left it. Bruce waited in the parking lot of your apartment complex while you rushed to shower and get dressed. He had told you very little about what he had planned for the day, but you knew he intended for you to meet someone important. Because of that, you opted for a more reserved outfit, which consisted of an off-white turtleneck and beige flared slacks. You paired this with brown booties and a light brown plaid overcoat.
Glancing at the digital clock on your nightstand, you saw that it had already been twenty minutes. You chose not to make Bruce wait any longer, and ditched the makeup bag in your hand, lathering moisturizer on your face and massaging it into your skin as you walked out the door. You made it downstairs and to the parking lot, and you couldn’t help but giggle when you saw Bruce sitting awkwardly behind the steering wheel, almost in the same exact position you had left him.
The difference in his demeanor when he wasn’t hidden beneath a mask and armor was fascinating. When he was Bruce, he seemed to sink deep into himself, rejecting the perceptions of the outside world. But when he was the Batman, he took up every inch of space he could– completely unapologetically.
The ride from your apartment to Gotham Memorial hospital was relatively short, but Bruce used this time to fill you in on the purpose of your visit. He told you about Alfred – a former staff member of Wayne Manor and currently the head of Wayne Enterprises – who had become Bruce’s legal guardian following the murders of his father and mother. He confessed that Alfred had ended up hospitalized due to an explosive, which the Riddler sent in an attempt to kill Bruce. You heard the sorrow and the guilt in his voice as he recounted the events of that night. Despite the verbal omission, you knew his concern came from a place of love, and it was reassuring to know that Bruce still had someone to call family.
He went on to admit that the reason he showed up on your doorstep that night was because he didn’t have anywhere else to go. His body had acted before his brain, and it had led him to you.
You rode in silence once he finished speaking, and you knew it was because he was giving you the opportunity to process everything he had just shared. You admired his strength, and you found your heart squeezing with guilt when you remembered how you had accused him of walking out on you. It was painful to fathom how distraught he had to be in those moments – so overwhelmed that he succumbed to the need to be comforted by another individual. It had been a big step for him, admitting to himself that the circumstances were too heavy for him to bear on his own. And he had chosen you to help him.
A few minutes later, you and Bruce strolled through the front doors of Gotham Memorial Hospital. His hand rested on the small of your back, guiding you past the reception desk and through the maze of halls with rooms lining their walls. You came to a stop in front of two closed double doors. He pressed the button on the wall, a faint buzz sounding through the overhead speaker.
Two counts passed before the doors clicked, the electronic lock disengaging, and Bruce held the door open for you. You strode through, and he followed closely, lacing his fingers through yours as he made his way around the corridors of the intensive care unit. Finally, he turned a corner, stopping in front of a room labeled R119.
His eyes found yours, eyebrows slightly raised, as if asking: ready?
You flashed a reassuring smile in his direction.
His knuckles made contact with the door in three soft knocks before turning the knob and easing the door open. He stepped in first, sliding aside the privacy curtain that concealed the bed from plain view. Bruce approached the man laying on the bed, whose eyes fluttered open and warmed at the sight of him. You materialized from behind Bruce, and Alfred’s eyes landed on you, curiosity and amazement lighting up his eyes further.
Alfred looked a little worse for wear, with a thick bandage wrapped around his head and several cuts littering his face. His hands were wrapped too, curled inwards in a weak fist, and you saw that he had IV’s in each arm. Despite the collection of medical equipment on and around him, Alfred seemed to be healing up nicely. He seemed calm; relaxed, even.
“How are you feeling?” Bruce inquired, stepping closer to the bedside.
“Splendid,” Alfred reassured him. Then, “Well, aren’t you going to introduce me?”
This earned a soft chuckle from Bruce. He looked over at you and you joined him at Alfred’s side. Bruce extended his arm, pulling you into his side, a hand resting on your hip.
“This is Maia Elliott.” He turned to you. “Maia, this is Alfred Pennyworth.”
You stepped closer, smiling warmly down at Alfred. He reached for your hand and held it in between his palms briefly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise, Mr. Pennyworth. Although I wish it was under different circumstances.”
Alfred sighed at this. “You’re not the only one, dear. And please– call me Alfred.”
“You got it. Alfred.” you replied.
Alfred let out a raspy chuckle, and he looked at Bruce with equal parts pride and approval. “You struck gold with this one.”
—-----------------------------------------—————
You hadn’t stayed at Gotham Memorial long. Alfred was scheduled to be discharged tomorrow evening, and you and Bruce had decided he needed to rest up some more before then. You had engaged in brief conversation with Alfred, and the few minutes you conversed were enough to prove just how much he cared for and admired Bruce. Bruce didn’t speak much and he didn’t have to; his presence was enough. It might’ve been hard for him to verbalize his concern, but his attentiveness made up for it.
Alfred had tended to Bruce the best way he could after he had lost his parents, and now Bruce was returning the favor. Changing the channel when Alfred became bored, adding or removing the covers depending on what the temperature demanded, and making sure he was well fed and hydrated before you departed.
You were on your way back to your apartment, where you’d spend the remainder of the day. Bruce insisted on walking through once more just to be on the safe side, and you hadn’t protested. Bruce hadn’t yet revealed who he thought left you the envelope with the photograph, and by his uneasiness, you were no longer sure you wanted to know.
There was a guess, a gruesome possibility swimming in the back of your mind, but the implication was so terrifying that you knew better than to entertain it. If you did, you’d spend the rest of your days overcome by paranoia. Unless you knew for sure, you weren’t going to succumb to your intrusive thoughts and psych yourself out.
A short drive later, Bruce eased his car into one of the visitor parking spots in front of your apartment building. He killed the engine and you walked upstairs together, his arm wrapped protectively around your shoulder. Once you made it to your floor and ambled down the hall to your door, something felt off.
The air crackled with malice, and Bruce sensed it too. He pushed you behind him and you saw his shoulders visibly stiffen the closer he got to your door. He stopped a few inches from it, and gave you a quick side glance. You peered around his shoulder and your blood immediately ran cold.
Your door was cracked open.
“Stay here,” Bruce instructed, moving forward towards the door. He nudged it fully open with his foot, disappearing inside.
You stood out in the hallway for several seconds, anxiety bubbling in your belly, dread compressing your chest. You chewed on your bottom lip, barely able to keep yourself from fidgeting. You glanced down the long corridor, but it was deserted. There were no cameras, so you wouldn’t be able to use any footage to identify the intruder. Bruce came back outside after what felt like an eternity. His expression was unreadable.
“Whoever it was is gone.” He paused, swallowing. “But there’s something you need to see.”
He slipped back into your apartment, and you joined him hastily. Your skin was cold and clammy, and for some reason the knowledge that the intruder was gone made you feel worse.
You followed Bruce to your living room, where he stopped in front of the coffee table. There was a picture frame knocked over on the surface of the table, the stand facing up. There was a white sticky note scribbled with red ink. Turn me over, it read.
You looked up at Bruce for guidance, but he simply looked back at you with weary eyes. You did as the note instructed, turning the frame over so you could see the front. You had purchased the frame and inserted the picture yourself, so you knew exactly what photo you’d find staring up at you.
It was a photo taken on your ninth birthday, just a few weeks before your father was murdered. You had lost enthusiasm for parties, so it had been just a celebration for two that day. Your hair was pulled up in two loose pigtails, and you wore a soft yellow dress, which your father had gifted to you that same morning. You were leaning against his chest, his large glasses resting on the bridge of your nose, the both of you lost in a fit of laughter. The photo had been a candid captured by your grandmother during your picnic lunch at the park. You remembered how excited you had been to lay down the checkered blanket on the grass, your small arms carrying the large woven basket full of delectable items.
What you hadn’t expected, however, was the message scribbled over top of the glass, which was written in such a way that it covered your father entirely.
I’m sometimes white and always wrong.
I can break a heart and hurt the strong.
I can build love or tear it down.
I can make a smile or bring a frown.
What am I?
You reread the words over and over again, trying to make sense of them. “What is this?” you asked Bruce, but deep down you really didn’t need him to answer. By the bile rising in your throat, you feared you already knew.
Bruce let out a slow, shallow breath. “There’s something you need to know,” he told you, his tone monotonous. “I wanted to tell you before, but I didn’t want you to become alarmed over speculations.” He paused. “The note you found with the flowers… I recognized the handwriting. But I needed to be certain.”
Your voice shook as you uttered your next question. “Certain of what?”
Bruce spoke slowly, gently. “The Riddler, Maia. The Riddler has been writing to you.”
You felt lightheaded. Your head spun with uncertainty, your thoughts racing at a million miles per minute. The shock shook you to your core, causing your vision to blur. You had to sit before you toppled onto the floor.
This doesn’t make any sense, you thought to yourself. What could the Riddler possibly want with me? How much does he know? About me? About my father?
To your horror, the television in your living room flickered. The remote resided on the coffee table in front of you, untouched, but the screen came to life anyway. An image flooded the screen, and you realized it was a video being broadcasted live by your local news station.
From your peripheral vision, you spotted Bruce, who was more rigid than before, eyes trained on the images flashing before you. You turned your attention back to the television, and the volume adjusted on its own, a low, distorted voice booming through the speakers, narrating the slideshow that had just appeared on the screen.
The Riddler’s voice was low, taunting. “The Wayne’s and the Arkham’s. Gotham’s founding families. But what is their real legacy?” There was a brief pause, and your stomach lurched when a picture of your father appeared on the slideshow. The first photo was of his portfolio picture, and then it faded into the second image, which was him in his office, bent over his desk, deep concentration set in his features as he assessed the stack of papers in front of him.
“Twenty years ago one reporter set out to uncover the dark truth. He found shocking family secrets. How when Martha was just a child her mother brutally murdered her father, then committed suicide. And how the Arkham’s used their power and money to cover it up. How Martha herself was in and out of institutions for years and they didn’t want anyone to know. Thomas Wayne tried to force this crusading reporter into a hush money agreement to save his mayoral campaign! But when the reporter refused, Wayne turned to long time secret associate Carmine Falcone, and had him murdered!” The Riddler laughed hysterically momentarily, and the weight of his revelation threatened to crush you entirely. “The Wayne’s and the Arkham’s,” the serial killer continued, his voice charged with a mischievous edge. “Gotham’s legacy of lies and murder.”
The slideshow ended, replaced by camera footage of a dark room, which was adorned with cyphers that the public had begun to associate with the Riddler. He came into view then, his green leather mask tight against his face, the nose piece flaring upwards by the intensity of his breathing. “I hope you’re listening, Bruce Wayne, this is your legacy too. And Gotham needs you to answer for the sins of your father. Goodbye…”
His haunting conclusion echoed in the speakers as the screen faded to black. You sat on the couch for several moments, doing everything you could not to fall apart right then and there. Bruce had not moved a muscle since the Riddler’s broadcast had ended. The tension in the room was thick, unbearable.
You couldn’t look at him, but you could feel him looking at you. Tears began filling your eyes, an excruciating pain throbbing in the center of your chest.
Everything you had been through– every night you had spent awake, asking yourself why my father? The countless hours you had spent at his gravesite, cleaning his headstone, ensuring he always had a fresh bouquet of flowers in the vase next to it. All of the effort you had put into finding and deciphering his research, yearning for retribution. Promising you’d find his killer and make everything right. Everything that had happened had led here– to this moment. You couldn’t fathom that you’d been so close to the answers all along.
Your tear-stained eyes traveled to Bruce, who was still frozen in place, shock coated on his expression. “What the hell is he talking about, Bruce?”
“I don’t know,” he responded lamely.
“You don’t know,” you repeated. You shook your head, and the movement made your temples throb even harder.
You stood then, making your way to your bedroom robotically. Your body operated on autopilot, your limbs performing functions that you were too weak to object to. You grabbed a duffel bag from your closet door and began throwing items inside. Clothing, shoes, toiletries. You filled the bag until it practically overflowed. Making your way back to the living room, you brushed past Bruce, beelining for your front door. Bruce caught your arm.
The dazed expression had left his eyes. His blue eyes were darker now, his eyebrows drawn together in concern. “What are you doing?”
“Leaving,” you retorted.
He nodded. Bruce let go of your arm and attempted to usher you out of the apartment, but you dodged his hand before it could find the place on the small of your back that he had become so fond of. He detected your aversion immediately.
You couldn’t bring yourself to care. Part of you acknowledged that he wasn’t at fault. Bruce had been but a boy at the time of your father’s murder. He hadn’t had any part in it, and yet you felt sick acknowledging that murder ran through his veins. Bile rose in your throat when you remembered how you had given him your heart, your body, unknowingly disrespecting your father’s memory by fraternizing with the family that took him away.
“I’m calling a cab and getting a hotel. Please don’t follow me.” Your voice sounded foreign, nothing like your own. Your tone was cold, distant.
A part of you wished he’d stop you; tell you there was no way in hell he was letting you go. But Bruce didn’t make any attempt to stop you. You knew it was selfish; wanting him to fight for you, when you, yourself, had no desire to fight for him. The revelation was simply too much to bear. You had accepted defeat, and you hated yourself for it. But what else could you do? His father had your father killed. No matter which way you looked at it, you were doomed. This truth was something you couldn’t overlook. Your relationship was on the fast track to failure, especially when all you could see now when you looked at Bruce was your father’s face– the night you had found him at the edge of death in his office. How his lively expression had been replaced with one of horror. The grayish tint of his skin, the redness of his eyes, the coldness of his limbs. The miserable, guttural sounds he had made before passing away.
The flashback was so vivid that you stood helplessly as your lungs were stripped of air. The moment only lasted a few seconds, but the physical discomfort was nothing in comparison to what you were experiencing on the inside. Your spirit had been gutted, your heart shattered, the pieces of it pulverized at your feet. All you could do was watch as life was slowly being drained out of you. You wondered if this was the price you had to pay– the universe cashing in on the consequence and holding you accountable for dishonoring your father’s memory.
A loud honk brought you back to your senses. You had made it to the taxi stop at the edge of your apartment complex. A taxi had materialized in front of you, and the driver, who was clearly exasperated, was waiting for you to get in the car. Your shaky hands found the door handle and tugged it towards you, opening it. You dragged your sluggish body toward the vehicle and slid into the backseat, the weight of you and your sorrows landing on the bench with a hollow thud. You shut the door and instructed the driver to drop you off at the nearest hotel.
As the car rolled to motion, a fresh wave of despair crashed over you. The feeling intensified when you gazed up at the darkening sky, finding a familiar signal illuminating Gotham’s evening scenery. The outline of the bat beckoned you, and you found yourself wishing you could float up into the sky, allowing its silhouette to envelope you in its darkness. To use its wings to conceal you from the horrors of your reality.
You wished you could reverse the love that had an iron hold on your heart. But you had begun to accept your punishment. Your father had met his tragic demise, and so had this love. You couldn’t expect to live your life without hardship, especially when your father had made the ultimate sacrifice. Now it was your turn. No matter how unbearable of a loss this was, you couldn’t allow yourself to look back. There was too much sorrow there; too much pain. From this point on, your mission would be to move forward, just as you had done a thousand times before.
Move forward as if you had never fallen in love. Move forward as if he had never existed.
—--------------------------------—————————
It had been a few days since you had last spoken to Bruce, and you felt the ache of his absence in every single atom in your body. The more you thought of him, the more upset with yourself you became. You had accepted defeat too early, and you had realized it too late. You had walked away from Bruce, accepting the Riddler’s revelation without so much as a question. You had jumped to a horrifying conclusion, and you weren’t sure Bruce would forgive you. You hadn't realized it in the moment, but Bruce had to be hurting too. After all, he had been told that his father was an alleged murderer. Thomas Wayne hadn’t done the killing, but he had instigated it. For a son who had dealt with the grief of losing both parents and finding out his father was not the man he thought he knew, he had held up extremely well in your presence. He had been in shock, but he hadn’t raced to any conclusions. He had been rational in the face of complete despair, and you admired him so much for it. You, on the other hand, had fallen apart and shut him out, and it made you feel incredibly selfish. So much so that you weren’t sure you’d be able to make it right.
The Riddler might have provided you with the facts, but there had to be more to the story. It was his narrative after all, and he had a habit of leaving out the details that would help put together the bigger picture. He saw what he wanted to see, and taking advantage of your weakness, he had distorted your judgment and turned you against Bruce.
Bruce had respected your request and kept himself at a distance. You had been staying at the Merlie Inn for a couple of days now, but you held onto the hope that he wasn’t all gone. That he’d been hidden in shadow, silently observing, making sure you were safe.
The days without him had dragged on in an excruciating manner. You couldn’t remember what your life had been like before Bruce had stumbled into it. Maybe because there hadn’t been anything good there at all. You continued to push through the motions of the day– waking up, showing up for work, and returning to the hotel. Outside of that, there wasn’t much else for you to occupy yourself with. You watched the news in hopes that there would be a new development in the Riddler case, but he had vanished after his last broadcast. Gotham was at his mercy, treading blindly, waiting for him to make another appearance.
Tonight the news was preoccupied with other matters. GCPD had ambushed the Iceberg Lounge earlier in the evening after it was revealed that Carmine Flacone had been responsible for the murder of Annika Kosolov. She had been the woman photographed with late Mayor Mitchell. According to the news report, Annika had come across very sensitive information regarding Falcone’s business affairs, and he had killed her to keep her quiet. It had also become public knowledge that the Renewal program, funded by the late Thomas Wayne, was the lifeline of crime in the city. Falcone had taken over the Drops industry after the arrest of Salvatore Maroni, and with the help of corrupt public figures and elected officials, he’d been running the city under the radar for twenty years.
You watched the screen intently as the live broadcast captured the moment Carmine Falcone emerged from the building, escorted by the Batman himself. Your heart palpitated at the sight of Bruce in the center of all of the commotion. But in the midst of it all, he seemed confident and composed. Commissioner Gordon appeared in the frame and you watched as he retrieved a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and secured them around Falcone’s wrists. There was a short exchange between them before Gordon secured a hold around Falcone’s arm and led him down the steps to the police car waiting for him. As soon as he made it down the final step, you observed a spark on the edge of the screen, a blur of motion, and then Falcone was on the ground. The broadcast cut off almost immediately, but not before you caught a glimpse of Falcone’s limp body on the ground, blood splattered on his cheek and on the right lens of his glasses.
The screen had faded to gray, and all you could hear was static. You waited for the news anchor to come back on screen, but she never did. You sunk down on your stiff hotel mattress, the cold sheets sending goosebumps down the length of your legs. You slid under the thin covers and turned off the lamp at your bedside. The grainy screen illuminated the room, the dull hue sending a wave of sleepiness through you. But you were certain you’d be unable to give into it.
When you closed your eyes, all you could see was Falcone lying lifeless on the ground, covered in his own blood. The attack had been perfectly orchestrated, and you had a pretty good guess about who had been behind it. You could mull the gruesome events of today over and over in your head, trying to make sense of them. You immediately felt a piercing headache coming on; your body warning you against your compulsive thoughts. You tried your best to flush them all from your mind, imagining your brain as a vacant white room, which stretched endlessly in every direction. The tactic seemed to work, because you began to feel a weight pushing down on your eyelids, lulling you to a place of relaxation and bliss.
You weren’t sure when you had drifted off, or for how long, but when you woke, the tv was flashing vivid colors all around the hotel room. You glanced at the tiny digital clock on the bedside table, and it indicated that it was just after eight. You felt like a complete grandmother– hanging out in the same four walls daily, with only yourself to keep you company. The loneliness and isolation so severe that falling asleep uncharacteristically early was the only way to make the time pass.
You sat up in bed, reaching for the remote at the foot of your bed. You increased the volume a few notches, and you blinked your eyes several times, trying to make the sleep disappear from them. You squinted at the screen, the bright red heading coming into focus. Your eyes passed over the string of words, and you couldn’t believe it.
The Riddler was in police custody.
The news anchor informed the audience of the serial killer’s arrival at Arkham State Hospital, where he was waiting to be processed. A heavy series of thoughts and emotions flowed through you. Wonder. Curiosity. Desperation.
But your curiosity could wait. You weren’t particularly eager to stick around to figure out how it all went down. What mattered most was that he was finally behind bars. After several days of hiding, fighting paranoia, constantly looking over your shoulder– you were free.
Now that the Riddler no longer posed a threat, you needed to jump into action and address the task that occupied the first slot on your priority list. And that was finding Bruce.
It was late, but you didn’t care. You had sought him out in the night once before, and you were determined to do it again. The longer you waited, the higher the risk of losing him forever. And this time you weren’t going down without a fight.
You had made a terrible mistake walking away from him, and it was your responsibility to correct it. The idea of such a confrontation terrified you– especially when there was a possibility that he’d no longer want anything to do with you. But you owed it to Bruce to make things right– to prove to him that your love and devotion to him never faltered.
—----------------------------------------——————
You had made it two blocks into the city when the explosion sounded. Its thunderous boom cut through the silence of the night. You looked around, trying to pinpoint the source. It was then that the second explosion went off. Then the third, fourth, fifth. You were frozen in terror, watching as people stuck their heads out their windows, stepped onto their balconies, opened their front doors to decipher the origin of the commotion.
Thick black smoke began to rise up, casting a dark cloud over the sleek buildings by the seawall. The looming cloud spread out further, encompassing the entire east side in a veil of darkness. It was then that you began hearing the screams, the ferocious roar of something– and it was coming in your direction.
You began running towards the center of the city, towards Gotham Square Garden, which had been deemed the shelter of last resort in the event of a natural disaster. As you ran, people came stumbling out of their houses and from side streets, taking off in the same direction you were. You saw the fear and desperation in their faces as their legs moved faster than they could manage, trying to get them to safety.
You saw the illuminated sign of Gotham Square Garden just up ahead, and you pushed yourself to keep going. Your breath hitched when freezing cold liquid flowed beneath your feet, wrapping your ankles in an iron grip, making it impossible to run. You allowed one quick gaze behind you, and you immediately regretted it. A giant current of water was sweeping the city, dragging everything and everyone in its path.
The muddy water was flowing fast, almost catching up with you. Tried as you did, the pressure of the current weighed you down, and the harder the water came, the more difficult it became to stay on your feet. The force of it threatened to knock you down in one hard sweep, dragging you with it. Your legs began moving in fast, tall, elongated strides.Your arms were pumping hard at your side, willing you to move with haste. You turned a sharp corner, and you made it onto Garden Avenue, where the current dispersed. The water wasn’t as deep or as strong, but the seawall would not hold much longer with the holes the explosives had caused in its foundation. It was only a matter of time before the entire city was under water. And you needed to make sure you had made it to safety when that happened.
A sigh of relief escaped your lips when you saw the crowd of people in front of Gotham Square Garden. Police officers were stationed at the entrance, road blocks in place, directing the traffic of people that were scrambling to get inside the venue. You merged into the sea of people, advancing toward the entrance. More people materialized behind you, and you felt the desperation as they shoved you further through the already-cramped entryway.
You made it inside the venue, and even with the lights from the screens adorning the stage and the perimeter of the building, it still seemed dark and gloomy.Police officers, paramedics, and terrified individuals had filled the venue to the brim. You couldn’t move in any direction without bumping into someone. You were feeling a bit claustrophobic, and your uneasiness over what was taking place outside wasn’t helping. You needed space– somewhere you could relax and regroup. You looked down at the rows of seats, which were positioned in a downward slope, toward the stage. You began walking down the steps, scanning your surroundings for any familiar faces. You reached level at the exact moment the mayor-elect Bella Real walked onto the stage. Anxious chatter filled the room, and she tapped the microphone a few times to get the audience’s attention.
Her voice sounded frail when she spoke, but her stance never faltered. “Everyone…everyone, if I could just get your attention. Please, I just need your attention–” she stopped abruptly, her gaze traveling upwards. Her expression contorted into one of sheer horror.
And then the shots began. The mayor-elect collapsed behind the podium, clutching the gunshot wound she had just suffered. Bullets began whizzing through the air, in any and every direction, sending the crowd into a frenzy. People dove to the ground, attempting to shield themselves from the gunfire. Screams and shouts of panic rose in volume, and you found yourself caught in the middle of a stampede. You did your best to stay upright, but you were seconds away from being trampled.
There was another explosion coming from above, and the abruptness of it caught the attention of the crowd long enough for you to slip out unharmed. You looked up just in time to see a dark figure falling through the ceiling, landing fiercely on the suspended platform above you. Bruce dodged the shots fired at him with ease. He took the assailants down one by one, disarming them and beating them just enough to immobilize them. Your eyes remained glued on him as he moved from one side of the platform to the other, bulldozing through the armed individuals quickly.
He strode towards the final individual with purpose, but just as he neared, the individual managed to access the rifle beside him and immediately pulled the trigger. The force of the shot sent Bruce tumbling back, and he slipped off the edge of the platform. He caught himself with one hand at the last minute, and your heart dropped to your feet at the sight of him struggling to maintain his grip. You looked around the venue, but no one seemed particularly motivated to help him. You figured that first responders would be tending to the injured, but there was no one in sight.
Time was ticking, so you decided to take matters into your own hands. You spotted a thin ladder along the wall that led up to the platform. You sprinted through the crowd towards it and lunged onto it the minute it was within reach. You climbed quickly, knowing that it was only a matter of time before Bruce’s strength gave out. He was incredibly strong, but he wasn’t superhuman.
You made it to the top just as a masked individual crouched in front of Bruce’s flailing figure, pointing a rifle to his head. The individual seemed to be taking his sweet time, relishing the moment. He was preparing for the glory he’d certainly receive from his accomplices for taking down the mighty Batman once and for all. He was so immersed in the moment that he didn’t notice you coming up behind him.
You didn’t know the first thing about fighting, but in that moment, you launched yourself at the masked individual with every ounce of strength you had. You delivered a powerful kick in his direction, knocking the rifle out of their hands. He was surprised, and you used his hesitation to your advantage. You brought your knee up, which collided with his face, and finished off with a final punch. The individual was immobilized, and you immediately went to Bruce’s aid.
He wore an expression of exhaustion. You bent over the edge of the platform and wrapped your hands around his arm, pulling him upwards. Bruce groaned in pain, reaching up with his other hand, grabbing hold of the edge and hoisting himself the rest of the way up with your assistance. He collapsed once he was secure on the platform, his breathing labored and erratic. You gazed at him with equal parts worry and adoration. Just as you were about to help him to a standing position, a pair of hands sprung from behind you, closing tightly around your neck.
The masked individual slammed you onto your back, straddling you, pressing his thumbs painfully into your windpipe. You attempted to push him off, but all you could do was gasp for air, your mouth opening and closing helplessly as if you were a fish out of water. From the corner of your eye, you saw Bruce reaching for you, struggling to move. Your vision began to blur, and the small ember of resistance that you had in you went out.
You felt your lungs expanding, desperately searching for air. The pressure in your chest increased by the second, and you were certain it was going to explode. Suddenly, the weight on your chest vanished. Your mouth was agape, drawing oxygen back into your lungs. Your vision was still out of focus, but you were able to make out a dark figure next to you, kneeling over someone’s silhouette, beating them senselessly.
Two more figures emerged from behind the first, and the violent motion stopped. The dark figure approached you then, and you felt smooth leather caress your temples and your cheeks. They leaned down towards you, and their face finally came into focus. Bruce regarded you with an expression of wariness. His mouth was set with concern, his pupils dilated, eyes wide and crazy.
“Hey,” you whispered faintly.
“Hey,” Bruce whispered back, forcing his mouth into a small reassuring smile.
He took your hand and pulled you up to a sitting position. His eyes scanned you for additional injuries, but you were feeling better by the second. Your throat was slightly sore, but other than that, things couldn’t have been any better. Bruce was by your side. You were safe. That was all that mattered.
“Hey, Vengeance?”
You turned towards the voice, and you watched in horror as the masked individual raised his rifle towards Bruce once again. He pulled the trigger, and you pushed Bruce out of the way just as the bullet whizzed out of the barrel. The bullet struck you in the shoulder, the force of the hit sending you tumbling down over the side of the platform. You heard the swoosh of Bruce’s cape as he dove down to catch you. His strong arms wrapped around you just before you hit the water, his body shielding you from the impact.
An intense wave of pain shot from your shoulder down to the tips of your fingers. The fabric of your shirt had begun to cling to your skin, drenched with blood. The red liquid pooled out of your wound, and you felt yourself swaying in and out of consciousness once again. Bruce pressed a fierce kiss to your temple and mumbled a string of words, but you were unable to make out what he said.
He lifted your arm slightly and you screamed out in pain. He laced something under your armpit and wrapped it tightly, securing it in place with a knot. He continued to speak, but his voice sounded muffled, as if he were submerged in water. You managed to open your eyes just enough to see him staring down at you, his blue eyes blazing with fear and something else– anger.
You weakly lifted your good hand and pressed it against his chest, finding comfort in his warmth, in the steady rise and fall of his chest.
“I love you,” he mouthed silently.
But you couldn’t tell if it was real, or if you had imagined it. You didn’t get much more time to ponder. Everything faded soon after.
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When you regained consciousness, you were on a cold, solid surface. Gotham’s bright morning rays were beating down on you, warming your body from head to toe. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the brightness, but when they did, you saw you were on a rooftop of sorts, with an incredible view of Gotham City’s scenery. Somehow the buildings seemed taller, brighter. This was due to the reflection of water, which had spread vastly, now covering every square inch of Gotham for miles.
In the distance you heard the soft whirr of a helicopter, the sound of its propeller increasing in volume as it neared. The sky was uncharacteristically clear, with white wispy clouds adorning it. You spotted the helicopter in the distance, and it began its descent onto a nearby platform.
A pair of leather clad hands came to rest on the top of your head. The hands caressed your hair, gentle fingers tracing their way down the side of your head, lower, until the tips grazed the side of your neck, sending warm shivers down your spine. You tilted your head in the direction of the hands, and when you gazed up to see who they belonged to, your heart instantly warmed. Bruce was still in his suit, but it was significantly tattered and torn. His face was filthy, black stains streaked across his cheeks. Despite this, he had never looked more handsome. His eyes glowed behind the mask, their blue color accentuated by the dark shadow outlining his eyes.
He moved his fingers from your neck down to your shoulder, his hand hovering over the wound you had suffered. You turned your head further towards him, observing the bandage that was now wrapped around your shoulder.
“I got the bullet out. It wasn’t lodged deep. It should heal fine, but be sure to monitor the area for infection.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion. Why was he speaking to you like he was saying goodbye?
He noticed your uncertainty and squeezed your hand reassuringly. “The worst of the flooding is over. Everyone is being evacuated,” he explained softly. “The National Guard will be arriving shortly to transport you out of the city.”
You swallowed hard. “Where will you go?”
Bruce sighed. It was the softest of sounds. “I can’t leave,” he said simply, but you heard the strain in his voice. “Gotham needs me.”
A sharp pang of anxiety reverberated in your chest, and you suddenly feared that your time with Bruce was running out. “I’m really sorry,” you whispered, tears filling your eyes. “For everything. For walking away. For doubting you. For realizing too late how much I need you.”
His blue eyes darkened with sadness. “None of that matters. What matters is your safety, and I can’t guarantee that here. Not right now. Not while the city is in shambles.”
“I walked away from you once before, Bruce. I’m not making that same mistake again.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. You could sense the frustration radiating off of him, but you knew none of it was aimed at you. Finally, he said, “Things are going to get worse before they get better. There’ll be a power grab, and it will be bloody. Are you prepared for that? For long, sleepless nights with me? The fear, the exhaustion, the uncertainty? Is this what you really want?”
You sat up then, and you winced when you jolted your shoulder a little too hard. You moved your arms slowly and brought them up around Bruce’s neck. You cupped the back of it and pressed your lips against his in a delicate kiss. You pulled back, fiery determination burning in your belly, igniting your resolve to conquer anything and everything– as long as you had Bruce by your side.
“Where you go, I go,” you told him, matter-of-fact. “Gotham is going to rebuild, and when that happens, you’re going to need all the help you can get. Lawlessness will be rampant. I’m no superhero. I can’t fight or lead dangerous undercover operations. But I do love you, Bruce, and I’ll be damned if I allow you to do any of this alone.”
Bruce flashed one of his soft, rare smiles. He was satisfied with your answer. You could tell by the glimmer in his eyes. He circled his hands tightly around your waist. It was a promise of safety; a physical vow that conveyed that he was never letting go. You liked his promise.
You kissed him again. Fiercely, possessively this time, making a covenant of your own. “Together,” you murmured against his lips.
He returned your intensity tenfold. When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes regarding you with equal parts appreciation and adoration. “Together.”
summary: the batman (2022) reimagined. deceased reporter, edward elliot, has left his beloved daughter behind, and she is determined to pick up where her father left off. by using her father’s research and the riddler’s clues, her ultimate goal is to further expose gotham’s corruption and bring her father’s killer to light in the process.
pairing: batman x f!reader
warnings: language, angst, and a smutty resolution
word count: 9.8k
a/n: i came down with a stomach bug and was on writing hiatus for a few days. to compensate for the late update, i made this part extraaaa long for your enjoyment. part three was inspired by the song more by BETWEEN FRIENDS, if you want to give it a listen. happy reading !!!
masterlist
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As of late, things had taken a turn for the worst. Fear was rampant. The city had become even more disgruntled, uncertainty setting in like a gloomy, suffocating fog.
But if there was one thing you knew for sure, it was that the Batman was a man of his word. He had promised to help you find your father’s killer, and he had been honoring that promise to the best of his ability, given the circumstances. He had his hands full with the Riddler, who he, too, was looking to unmask. It touched you deeply that he was willing to share the burden on your shoulders while actively deciphering the clues and tracking the psychopath that had been terrorizing the city for several months now.
He had come across a few leads regarding your father’s case, but so far he hadn’t found anything solid. He had stopped by your apartment several times, always late at night, after the conversation you had. He never stayed long, but you were filled with warmth every time you saw his large, mysterious silhouette standing on your balcony, which had become his favorite entryway. His visits were almost entirely due to the research he was conducting on your behalf, but there were times where you sensed there might be something more.
You didn’t know who he was yet, but you were certain his personality was not far off from the one he showed when he was hidden in layers of armor. He was a vigilante; hated by some, admired by others. But you were beginning to understand the physical and mental toll that being the Batman had to have on him. He was solid, his courage and cunning never faltering, but you got the sense that, underneath it all, he was incredibly lonely.
You did everything in your power to assure him your apartment – and, of course, you – could be a safe space for him. There were moments where you saw a glimmer of hope flash in his eyes, but it was always replaced by cold, calculated indifference. But you were confident there weren’t many layers of him left to peel back. You just had to give it time.
You knew where he’d be tonight. Two days ago, when he had visited your apartment to give you a rundown of his findings – more like lack thereof – he had informed you that he and Commissioner Gordon suspected the Penguin might be connected to the Riddler. After cracking another of the Riddler’s cyphers, he had discovered a slang term, which he was convinced led back to the Penguin and the shady business he operated forty-four feet beneath the Iceberg Lounge. He and Gordon were tracking the Penguin, and they had a source reveal that he’d be participating in a Drops buy tonight.
You hoped he was correct in his suspicions, and that with the help of the police, this nightmare would be put to an end once and for all. But in reality, things would never be that simple. There were too many factors at play, and the Riddler seemed to have caught his second wind. He had only revealed the tip of the iceberg of what was to come. Certainly things would get worse before they got better. The only thing that brought you solace was the knowledge that you had the Batman on your side, and as unclear as his underlying motives were, you knew you’d be safe as long as he was around.
It was pathetic how many times per day you found your thoughts drifting to Gotham’s Dark Knight. Things between you hadn’t escalated physically or emotionally, but you felt such an intense longing for him in his absence. You had met him a mere couple of weeks ago, and yet your lungs filled with a fresh breath of air every time you were in close proximity to him. Your skin tickled with an electric charge, as if you were two magnets calling to each other, being beckoned together by delicious anticipation.
Tonight this particular longing tugged at your heart with intensity and your stomach tightened with worry. You had to remind yourself that he had been doing this for a long time. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Except, you weren’t entirely convinced. Not after he showed up at the church despite the impending threat of an active explosive. You just had to trust that his survival instincts would hold priority over his need for acquiring answers.
The uncertainty made your head spin. You were still on concussion recovery, but after a checkup from your primary physician, you were cleared to work from home as long as you allowed yourself rest if and when you began feeling fatigued. You had spent the day catching up on tasks: uploading the few photographs you took at the memorial, completing reports of your past articles that had been left unfinished. You had taken several necessary breaks, and after finishing your tasks of the day, spent the remaining time on your computer, reading an online news article of the tragic events that occurred at the memorial nearly two weeks ago.
You had been present, but your head injury had prevented you from registering anything with clarity following the vehicle’s violent intrusion. You had spent a day in the hospital afterwards and had not been allowed to access any information online to understand why it had all happened.
The article on your screen was the twelfth one you had read in under an hour. They all said the same thing: Gil Colson had been behind the wheel, and under pressure from the Riddler, had admitted to a live feed of thousands of viewers that he operated his business based on bribes. He accepted generous monthly payments from donors who wanted him to turn a blind eye to cases that would negatively impact them. Colson had also been forced to bring up the rat, the informant he had been speaking about the night you spent with him at the 44-Below. It was Colson’s unwillingness to reveal the identity of the informant that ultimately got him killed. The Riddler gave him a chance, and he refused to take it. It was a terrifying thought, that someone somewhere held an exorbitant amount of power – so much power, in fact, that a man was willing to give up his life instead of uttering one measly name.
You felt sick to your stomach. This was nowhere near finished; you knew that. And you still held onto hope that the Batman would visit you one of these nights bearing good news, but you weren’t counting on it further. Your temples began to contract under uncomfortable pressure, a symptom of an oncoming migraine, and you took it as a sign to put things on pause for the night.
You shut your laptop and set it on your bedside table, your arm extending to the button on the base of your lamp and pressing down, draining the light from the bulb. You slid under your covers, the cool silk sheets caressing your exposed skin, inviting sleep and relaxation.
You let the sirens echoing below your building lull you to the hazy, dream-like state you so desired. You fell into a slumber effortlessly, letting every thought, every worry, float away as you sunk deeper into your mattress. You couldn’t have been asleep for longer than thirty minutes, because when the knock sounded at your front door, the first thing you did was peer at the digital clock on your nightstand, which indicated it was just shy of 1:30 AM.
Usually you were oblivious to the various nighttime sounds. After all, Gotham wasn’t exactly a quiet city. Someone, somewhere, was always awake. But the aluminum door at the entryway of your home only amplified the abrupt, heavy, disgruntled pounding against it. You flicked your bedside lamp on and swung your feet off the side of your bed, sliding into your fuzzy gray slippers and quickly slipped the matching robe in your closet off its hanger, securing it around your body.
You opened your bedroom door and waded through the darkness of your living room, still dazed from sleep. You flicked on the foyer light and stood on your tiptoes, peering through the peephole to see who was on the other side of the door. Your heart lurched when you saw an individual standing in the hallway, wearing all black. They were tall, but their shoulders were pinched together tensely, their posture slightly hunched. They wore a black hat and their face was pointed towards the floor, concealing their identity.
They stood impossibly still, as if lost in deep thought. You weighed your options carefully. It could very well be a homeless person, or a drunk, or even a criminal. And they were planted at your front door, showing no intention of leaving. No matter which way you spun the scenario in your head, opening the door was not a good idea. As good of a samaritan as you tried to be, you’d never willingly allow a stranger access to the inside of your home, especially not in the middle of the night. Chewing on your lip, you decided it would be best to go back to bed, and hopefully the stranger would get the hint that past-midnight visits were unwelcome.
You peeked out one last time, and just as you were about to shut off the foyer light and waddle sneakily back to your bedroom, the individual on the other side looked up. They were wearing a black neck gaiter, which obscured the bottom portion of their face – his face. Even with his features concealed, you recognized his sharp nose and chiseled jawline under the fabric. Once you saw the glint of blue in his irises, the uneasiness in your stomach transformed to near desperation.
You turned the lock and did everything you could to restrain yourself from flinging the door open. He was wearing an oversized black jacket, black jeans, black boots. This was an unfamiliar sight to you, but your eyes soaked up every detail of him with delight. You stepped aside a fraction, allowing him entry. He stepped into your apartment stiffly, wordlessly. You shut the door behind him, moving so you stood in front of him. You shoved your hands in the pockets of your robe to keep them from fidgeting.
As you scanned his face, waiting for him to speak, you noticed the lack of security in his demeanor. He stood straight now, but he seemed… off. He still towered over you, and you could see the definition in his arms and shoulders, despite the baggy jacket he wore. His eyes were red and hollow. Despite his size, at this moment, he had never looked more fragile. You feared that if you nudged him even slightly, he might very well shatter. The hat was still on his head, but you saw the dark brown strands of hair that hadn’t quite been tucked inside it.
Deciding to take the initiative, you grabbed his hand, attempting to lead him to the couch in the corner of the living room. His feet remained glued in place. He met your eyes now, a haunted look passing over them.
“It was supposed to be me,” he mumbled, his voice agonizingly frail.
You tugged at his hand once more, and this time he followed. You stopped in front of the blue suede couch, urging him to take a seat. He did as you ordered, and you sunk down on the couch next to him, close enough that your knees were nearly touching.
“What’s the matter?” you asked, making your voice as gentle as possible.
He sat rigidly at the edge of the cushion, staring at a blank spot on your wall. “He’s in this mess because of me.”
The defeat in his voice made your heart sink. Instead of demanding him for an explanation right away, you tried to ease him into comfort. You tugged on the sleeve of his jacket and he slipped his hand out of it mechanically, doing the same with the other arm. The bulky coat plopped on the couch in between the two of you, leaving him in a black long sleeve button down shirt, which was unbuttoned, a black undershirt beneath it. Grabbing the jacket, you stepped away quickly, hanging it on the metal rack in the entryway of your apartment. You then ambled in the direction of the kitchen.
“Would you like anything to drink? I can make us some tea, if you’d like?” you offered.
He shook his head in response to your question, but by the look on his face, you knew he hadn’t really heard you. His thoughts were elsewhere.
You took your spot back next to him, a strange surge of courage giving you the confidence to take control of the situation. Whatever happened must have been devastating enough to put the Batman into shock. Seeing his humanity – his vulnerability – exposed in this way only made you want him more. You’d never take advantage of a situation of this severity to make your move on him. You simply wanted him to know you could demonstrate fortitude when he couldn’t. He was brave, cunning, and above all ruthless. But he was human, and you decided you loved the unsteady parts of him too. You would be his backbone until he could afford to stand back up on his own.
You reached for his hand, the contact of your skin against his sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. Every single nerve ending in your body tingled in unison. Longing. Loving. Hoping for this man.
You squeezed his hand to draw his attention away from his thoughts. A few counts later, he tilted his head in your direction, his tired eyes gazing into yours.
“Do you trust me?” you asked.
It was a silly question. You knew he trusted you– that’s why he was here, after all. No suit, no armor. Just him and the burden of his torment. But you needed to hear him say the words.
He nodded slowly, exhaling deeply as he did.
This was as good of an answer as you were gonna get. Gaining courage from his response, you dropped his hand gently, guiding your hands towards his face. You placed each one on either side of his cheeks, your fingers resting in the crook of his jaw. He watched you intently as you slipped his hat off, revealing a layer of straight, dark hair, which was slightly grown out. Short strands rested on his forehead, but you brushed them aside, revealing his thick, defined eyebrows.
You used the back of your pointer fingers to trace the upper structure of his face, trailing your feather-light touch downward toward the fabric still covering the lower portion of it. You grabbed the edge of the mask and pulled it down slowly, searching his face for any signs of protest. But there were none. He was still looking at you, his eyes trained on your face so intently you felt a warm blush creeping up to the apples of your cheeks.
You removed the fabric from his nose first, continuing lower until you saw the small ridge of his cupid’s bow, which merged seamlessly into the shape of his pale pink, perfectly set lips. Once the fabric had been completely removed from his face, you leaned back slightly, taking in his features as a whole.
A small gasp escaped your lips. Bruce Wayne sat before you, and for several moments, you were completely lost for words. Your mind raced, working to make sense of this revelation. Though you were still recovering from the shock of it all, your doubts began to melt away, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place.
“It was you. At the mayor’s memorial.” You stated, your eyes widening with wonder at your realization. “You were the one that got me out.”
He confirmed this with another nod.
Before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around his neck, your body flush with his. He remained rigid at first, long enough to make you regret your decision to embrace him without his permission. You drew your hands away from him, pulling back to create some distance, but his arms circled your waist then, keeping you against him.
Your hands came to rest on his warm, solid chest. He lowered his face towards yours, his forehead leaning against yours. You looked up at him, finding his eyes closed, his breathing deeper, more labored. You had been dreaming of this moment for several weeks, and now that you were living it, you were frozen in time, unsure what to do next.
You committed every detail of it to memory. His steady hands warming the place right above your hips, the tickle of his stray hair on your nose, the length of his eyelashes, the adorable upwards curl at the end of them. You wanted to say something– anything to express your appreciation. Your gratitude.
But words weren’t enough. They would never be enough. Not to encompass how grateful, how entirely and irrevocably lost for him you were. Your mouth decided to give it a try anyway, but the minute you opened your mouth to speak, you were overcome by a different sensation.
You tentatively brushed your lips against his, and his mouth immediately captured yours in a passionate kiss. His resistance melting away, he tightened his hold on your body, one hand remaining on your waist while the other gripped your thigh, as if he were afraid you’d slip away.
You returned his intensity tenfold, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him harder against you. You ran your hands through his hair, tugging gently, causing a low grumble to emanate from the back of his throat. He pulled away briefly, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. He pressed gentle kisses along your jaw, down your neck, ending at your collarbone. He kissed his way upwards, his lips finding yours again, claiming you hungrily, the physical display conveying everything words couldn’t. It was fervent as it was emotional. The two of you melted into each other, claiming one another as your safe haven.
Finally, you found the restraint to pull away from each other completely. The kiss had left you breathless. You bit your lip to keep from smiling like an idiot. You looked up and Bruce studied you with wariness, as if unsure of what to make of the moment you had just shared. He looked vulnerable. Nervous, even, and it was apparent that this was all uncharted territory for him.
You took his hand and dragged him up from the couch. You led him through the living room, down the hall, toward your bedroom. He stopped just shy of the doorway, an alarmed look passing over his eyes.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice strained, a few notches above a whisper.
You flashed a warm smile. “We’re getting some rest, silly.” When your response didn’t seem to ease his nerves, you regarded him with a serious expression. “You came here tonight for a reason. I may not know exactly why, and you don’t have to tell me. You can, but only if and when you’re ready.” You paused, sighing. “In the few short months that I’ve known you, in the brief meetings that we’ve shared, I’ve been able to see just how devoted you are to protecting this city. For two years, Gotham has claimed every single one of your nights. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Not with me– not tonight.”
His adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed thickly.
“Stay with me tonight?” you asked, hopeful.
He mulled this over for a few counts. Your heart soared when his feet began moving in your direction. You plopped down on the bed, snuggling beneath your warm covers once again. You scooted closer to the middle of the mattress, leaving a spot big enough for him to fill. He made it to the edge of the bed and analyzed it awkwardly, as if he wasn’t sure how close he wanted to get. Bruce opted for sitting down next to you.
Baby steps, you reminded yourself.
You asked him to shut off the lamp and spent the next several moments in silence. You closed your eyes and turned on your side so you were facing him. He lifted his arm and placed it on your pillow, right above your head. After a few minutes of this, you felt his fingers stroke the top of your head, his hand opening and closing, lightly massaging your scalp. Instinctively you relaxed, your breathing falling into sync with the movement of his hand. You looked up at him through heavy eyelids, and you found him already assessing your sleepy figure. His eyes were pensive, his mouth set in a neutral line. Not frowning, but not quite smiling either. Your eyes fluttered shut and you leaned into his warm, soothing touch. It didn’t take long for sleep to pull you under.
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When you woke, the spot beside you was cold, the sheets barely ruffled. There was no imprint on the mattress, no sign that Bruce Wayne had been here, by your side, in the first place. For a moment you doubted yourself, believing that the events of the previous night had been a figment of your imagination, a manifestation of your dreams.
After the moment you shared, you felt a surge of disappointment that he’d left without letting you know, without reassuring you that you’d see him again. Because the truth was, you weren’t sure you would. The kiss was passionate, electrically charged beyond belief. He had wanted it in the moment, but what if that was all it was?
A moment.
You sensed his aversion to vulnerability. It wasn’t in his nature to be exposed in this manner, nearly defenseless. Being a vigilante in Gotham, working tirelessly to find and unmask the killer that had been terrorizing rhe city for months, didn’t come without a cost. The Batman had priorities, and you weren’t sure you’d make the cut.
You shook your head, attempting to expel the negative thoughts from your brain. Bruce Wayne would remain untouchable as long as he wanted to be untouchable. It wasn’t up to you. If he wanted you, he needed to come to terms with that on his own. You were willing to be patient, but you weren’t going to wait forever.
You had finally been cleared to resume your normal activities, so instead of over analyzing Bruce’s intentions further, you hauled yourself out of bed and prepared yourself for work. It was liberating, knowing that you’d no longer be confined by the same four corners of your apartment. Because you had awoken earlier than you needed to, you were able to indulge in the warmth of your morning shower. You chose to wear a pale pink sweaterdress and paired it with nude tights and long brown boots. You noticed a small blue-ish hue adorning your under eyes, and applied a thin layer of concealer to erase the evidence of your exhaustion.
Once you finished getting dressed, you made your way to the kitchen to prepare a quick, light breakfast to take with you. As you brushed past the entryway towards the refrigerator, a flash of purple was caught in your peripheral vision.
Turning, you found a large, elegant bouquet of flowers resting on your kitchen counter. The bouquet was wrapped in thin brown paper, the pinks and purples standing out against the white, simplistic theme of your kitchen. The flower arrangement was made up of lavender stock, mini pink spray roses, fuschia heather, and was held together by a thin white ribbon. You felt your face warming from the delightful surprise.
You picked the bouquet up and held the flowers up to your nose. You inhaled their fresh, sweet scent, all the while feeling your worries about Bruce slip away. He might not have stayed through the night, but this sweet gesture ensured you didn’t feel discarded.
It was then that you noticed the white envelope that had been placed under the striking flower arrangement. You set the flowers down and gave the envelope the full weight of your attention. You ran your fingers against the smooth paper, peeling back the seal, excitement bubbling in your belly as you attempted to guess what words Bruce had left you to wake up to.
You pulled the small card out from within the envelope. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you stared down at the contents in your hand. It was a black and white photo. The image was grainy, but you were able to make out the familiarity of the location. The photograph had been taken from beyond your balcony, most likely from a neighboring building. It was from the night you visited the Iceberg Lounge. More specifically, after you had returned home, when you had been met with a displeased Batman in your bedroom after your shower. The photo had captured you in just a towel, arms crossed defensively, the Batman towering over you.
The light flooding in through your kitchen window illuminated the photograph, the bright glare allowing you to see the outline of black ink on the other side of it. You flipped it over, your eyes scanning the words printed on the back of the photo in messy writing. Your stomach twisted with revulsion, a feeling of inescapable dread overcoming you.
The truth kills. Just ask your father.
—-----------------------------------------
Your first day back at Daily Gotham had been… underwhelming. You had expected friendly smiles and welcome back’s from your coworkers, but it was as if your absence hadn’t made an impression on anyone. You weren’t fooling yourself; you knew your place and you knew better than to expect balloons or cupcakes or cards full of well wishes addressed to you by your fellow reporters. But you had expected something. At the very least some form of acknowledgement of the trauma you endured.
When you had walked into the office, no one had so much as looked in your direction. In a way, it was a good thing. It meant you had done a good job at remaining invisible, just as you had intended from the start. But now the thought of being a nobody to everybody made the alarms in your head blare at full volume.
The flowers and the message you received this morning were disconcerting. You had rushed out of your apartment the moment you realized whoever took the picture had access to the inside of your home. After all, that was how they managed to plant the sinister gift in your kitchen. The envelope containing the photograph was stowed in your purse, taunting you to reread it until you had exhausted every last possibility of what the message meant.
Despite the weeks of work you missed due to medical rest, you managed to get ahead on all of your assignments. You glanced at the timestamp in the bottom right corner of your computer screen, and it was just after five-thirty in the evening. You peered out the window and saw that the sun had begun setting. This was a novelty, considering that you rarely left work while the light of day was still visible. Since you had no tasks left to complete, you printed out all of your finished reports and organized them according to the due date. You collected the thick stack of paper and crossed the cramped space to your supervisor’s office, placing it in the middle of his desk.
You returned to your own cubicle, gathered your things and logged out of your computer. Clutching your bag tightly against you, you used the staircase to lead you downstairs to the main floor, and let yourself out. Once outside, you realized there was nowhere for you to go. You no longer felt comfortable returning to your apartment alone, and any close friends you could stay with were located at least three hours away from the city.
You could stop by a nearby cafe and grab a bite for dinner, but you weren’t even remotely hungry. The soggy lettuce and kale salad that resided in a bowl in your lunch bag that had marinated in italian dressing for far too long attested to that. You had attempted to eat, but there were more pressing matters on your mind. And the mere thought of the eerie message on the photograph made food almost impossible to stomach.
With your apartment off limits and dinner nowhere on your mind, there was really only one other matter left to ponder: Bruce Wayne.
You needed to speak to him, but you weren’t sure where to find him, and you hadn’t the slightest clue where to begin. He operated solely during nightfall, moving with the shadows, using their darkness to his advantage. Whenever he needed you, he’d find you. And that was all well and good, except this time the urgency was yours, and having no way to contact him was only fueling your frustration. Despite the fact that he had left without discussing or acknowledging the intimate moment you two shared, he was still the only one you trusted to keep you safe, and the only one who you knew was capable of getting to the bottom of who had left you those flowers.
You glanced up at the sky in frustration. The sun had dipped lower in the horizon, causing an array of pink, orange, and purple strokes to adorn the darkening sky. The moon had become more visible now, taking the attention away from the bright yellow orb that had been illuminating Gotham just a few minutes prior.
It was a full moon, and you couldn’t help but fixate on its prominent roundness. As the sun descended into invisibility, the glow of the moon intensified, transforming it into a transfixing, natural spotlight.
A spotlight.
Your feet began moving before the thought could come to completion. You weren’t sure exactly where you were going, but you knew you needed to find the tower that housed the bat signal. You had seen it once before, but you hadn’t been paying attention to where the light had been coming from. Back then, you didn’t think you’d need it; you didn’t know you’d need it.
You knew it had to come from the east side, where the buildings were more desolate and GCPD patrol was practically nonexistent. Crime was rampant on that side of Gotham, and although it was risky, you knew there was no other way. You followed the mental map in your head, walking down the cracked sidewalks, turning down streets every few blocks.
The transition from the west side to the east side was everything but seamless. Once you crossed the street toward the empty, haunted-looking side of town, you felt a prickle of fear shimmying down your spine. You paused momentarily, trying to decide what direction to take next. You had visited the east side in the past, but only in passing. The buildings around you all looked the same. Abandoned, dark, uninviting. You were relying solely on luck at this point. The bat signal could very well be stored in any of them. You decided to narrow things down by thinking logically.
In order to get maximum visibility, the signal needed to be positioned at a good vantage point, meaning higher ground. Since Gotham was pretty level, you knew you needed to focus on the larger buildings. You glanced upwards as you walked, scanning the area, waiting for something to catch your eye.
And something did.
A flicker of light in one of the windows of a skinny building two streets down. You began walking towards it, and as you got closer, you heard the abrupt clank of metal from up above. It sounded like some sort of machinery, perhaps a pulley.
As you rounded the corner to locate the building’s entrance, you saw a sleek black motorcycle parked next to a vintage muscle car in the alleyway parallel to the building. You weren’t sure this was it, but there was only one way to find out.
The building’s exterior had been gutted, so the interior of it was fully exposed on the bottom floor. You weaved through the various metal poles that made up its frame and located the industrial elevator that was tucked in the far left hand corner. You opened its gates as quietly as you could, stepping onto the platform and closing the gates to secure yourself inside. You looked down at the operating board and pushed the button with a faded upward arrow sticker beneath it. The elevator made a low rumble as it came to life and began ascending. The trip only lasted a handful of seconds, and once you finally reached the top, you made out a familiar figure on the opposite side of the floor.
It was dark, but his height and silhouette were unmistakable. You saw the outline of his mask, caught the gentle movement of his cape against the breeze. You stood frozen, and it took you a moment to identify the individual who was up here with him. Inching forward slightly to get a better view, you saw the shadow of a woman’s silhouette standing across from him, her body angled slightly away. You stepped fully off the elevator platform then, keeping your back flush against the wall to avoid being seen. You scooted closer in small increments, straining your ears to listen to the conversation being exchanged.
“I’m sorry,” you heard Bruce whisper. “For what I said.”
She turned to face him now. “It’s all right. You assume the worst in people. Which, well… maybe we’re not so different after all.”
The familiarity of her tone struck you in the face. It was Selina, the woman that joined you and Gil at your table that night at the Iceberg Lounge. The woman the Batman claimed to have sent. You watched as she closed the distance between her and Bruce. She stopped a few inches from his chest, lifting a hand to caress the side of his face. Her slender fingers grazed his mask, and from your angle, it seemed as though he was leaning into her touch.
“Who are you under there?” she asked, her voice silky, seductive. “What are you hiding? Or are you just... hideously scarred?”
“Yeah,” Bruce managed to croak out.
The sharp, painful sting of jealousy made it hard to focus on the rest of their conversation. You felt dizzy, but more than anything, you regretted having come here in the first place. You should have taken Bruce’s disappearance as a sign that you had simply been a distraction, and watching him interact with Selina only proved it.
You wanted to kick yourself for being such a coward, for believing that Bruce would be able and willing to fix things for you. Independence had been required of you since the moment you buried your father, and although the loss of him was devastating and abrupt, you had been able to adjust well to taking care of things on your own.
Why had it been so hard to do that now?
You didn’t have time to criticize yourself further, because when you looked up, a fresh wave of envy and betrayal washed over you. The emotion was so potent that it knocked the air right out of your lungs.
You watched as Selina kissed Bruce. Tears stained your vision, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. She had her hand cupped on the back of his neck, pulling him towards her, and as far as you could tell, he wasn’t showing any signs of resistance. She pulled away first, dragging her thumb across his lips.
“I told you, baby. I can take care of myself.” With that, she turned on her heel to walk away, but he remained in place. She only made it a few steps before stopping in her tracks the moment her eyes landed on you.
Bruce noticed her pause and turned his head in your direction. You watched him visibly stiffen.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. His voice wasn’t harsh, but not gentle either.
You blinked away the tears, thankful that the darkness was able to conceal the humiliation that was certainly plastered on your face.
You swallowed hard, doing your best to keep your voice impassive. “Sorry. I would have announced myself, but I didn’t want to interrupt.” You gave Selina a pointed look for emphasis.
She pretended like she didn’t notice and resumed walking, directing a brief glance at you as she brushed past you. You heard her footsteps trail towards the elevator, and neither you nor Bruce spoke until the elevator descended.
He took six long strides towards you. “How did you find this place?”
“It was easy enough,” you replied coldly. “I think it’s time for you to find a new meeting place.”
“Why are you here?” He reiterated his initial question, trying a new approach. “Did something happen?” His blue eyes stood out in the dark, and you watched them search your face intently.
You dug the envelope from within your purse and slammed it against his chest a little harder than you intended. He broke eye contact long enough to grab the envelope from you and examine its contents.
He looked up at you, eyebrows furrowed. “What is this?”
You shrugged. “I don’t know. I found it in my kitchen under a bouquet of flowers that I thought were from you.” Bruce’s eyes didn’t give away much underneath the mask, but it was hard to miss the guilt that flickered behind them in that moment. “I came here hoping you could help me figure out what the note means and who it’s from.”
“I have an idea,” he answered, his tone neutral.
You waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. “Well?” you pressed on. “What is it?”
“Not here.”
“Then where?”
“Come with me,” he ordered, and began walking towards the elevator. It was clear he wasn’t going to share more, so you had no choice but to oblige.
You kept a steady pace behind him and joined him on the elevator. The ride down was silent, tense. There were a million things you wanted to say – scream – at him, but not before you got some answers out of him. If he had been slimy enough to lead you on and use you for kissing practice, you were going to be using him right back. It still hurt, having the image you had created of him be completely obliterated by a kiss. The one he shared with you, sure, but more so the one he had accepted from Selina without hesitation.
It was apparent that you didn’t know him as well as you thought. And although you had promised yourself you’d remained composed until you got what you wanted from him, rage boiled in your chest every time you looked at him. Who would have thought? Gotham’s Dark Knight: master seductor, and in turn, professional heartbreaker behind closed doors.
Bruce opened the elevator gate and motioned for you to exit first. You stepped off, once again following him as made a beeline for the vintage vehicle that you saw parked in the alleyway.
You snorted, but there was no trace of humor behind it. “I didn’t peg you for a car guy, Batman. I always thought you flew everywhere. Hence your name.”
He didn’t seem the least bit amused by this. “Get in the car.”
“Yeah, not a chance,” you retorted. You began walking towards the street, but he caught you by the elbow before you could turn the corner. His grip was tight, but not painful.
His jaw was set, lips in a thin, exasperated line. “Get in the damn car. It’s not safe here.”
“Then why was she here?” The question escaped before you could even think to stop it. Internally, you cringed, knowing full well that you didn’t want to hear his response, because the intimate display of affection you had walked in on told you more than enough.
Instead of entertaining the snide inquisition, Bruce began pulling you towards the vehicle. He opened the passenger side door, giving you a pointed look that said: either you get in the car, or I'll put you in the car.
Begrudgingly, you sunk down in the seat, and he waited for you to put on your seatbelt before shutting the passenger door. He came around the front of the vehicle and swiftly got behind the steering wheel, starting the engine.
Bruce maneuvered the car onto the road, taking a path back towards the center of the city. You drove in silence for several minutes, eyes trained on the ever-changing horizon, as he expertly veered around street corners until finally making it out onto the highway.
His gloved hands gripped the steering wheel, and he flexed his fingers slightly. “You put yourself in danger tonight, looking for me.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. “I hoped it’d be worth it.”
Bruce turned his attention away from the road momentarily, glancing in your direction. You had scooted as close to the door as possible and your arms were crossed over your chest. You did this in hopes of shutting him out, because you knew you couldn’t trust yourself when in close proximity to him. Anger simmered in your chest, but he still had an effect over you. One whisper, one touch, and you might dissolve into a puddle at his feet.
He made another sharp turn, and suddenly you were passing through a dark tunnel. The only thing illuminating the path in front of you were the yellow beams of his car. He pressed a button on his wrist, and suddenly what looked like a garage door began to rise in the distance. You drove under it, entering what you assumed was his hideout. It looked like an oversized stone bunker, and you saw Wayne Manor carved into one of the stone panels on the wall. He eased the vehicle to a stop in the middle of the room.
You heard the metallic screech as the garage door shut following your entrance. Bruce killed the engine, and you took this as an invitation to exit the vehicle. Your footsteps echoed against the floor, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the staircase that led up to a surveillance area.There was a giant desk littered with several screens, keyboards, scanners, and an array of other electronic equipment that you couldn’t even name.
You climbed the stairs and waited for him to join you at the top. He stepped towards you with care, sensing your aversion.
You stared daggers at him. “Why did you bring me here?”
“It wasn’t safe for you. Back at the building.”
“Oh, really?” you scoffed. “Then why was Selina there?”
A muscle in Bruce’s jaw jumped. “Because she can take care of herself.”
You flinched at the implied insult. “And I can’t?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what were you trying to say?”
“She was there for business,” he responded softly. “She asked to meet me. We made a deal.”
You rolled your eyes.
Bruce took a step closer to you. “I told her I’d help her if she did something for me.” He waited for you to offer some sort of commentary, but when you didn’t, he continued, his blue eyes holding yours as he spoke. “She agreed to keep tabs on the Riddler for me if I helped her find and catch the bastards that killed her friend. That way I could focus on finding out more about what happened to your father.”
You felt some of the annoyance dissipating. Had he really made such a deal to help you?
Even if he did, that didn’t excuse his behavior. Showing up at your door. Kissing you. Disappearing without so much as a goodbye. And the icing on the cake: you had found him kissing another woman.
“I appreciate the effort, but I don’t think your intervention is necessary anymore. I can take it from here.” You did your best to sound casual, but your hands trembled at your sides.
He shook his head. “It’s not safe.”
Your nostrils flared, the exasperation you thought had faded slowly beginning to return. Part of you knew you should be grateful for the sacrifice he was making for you, but the other part was still stuck on the embarrassment you had experienced upon seeing him with someone else. You had opened yourself up to him, and he had willingly slipped away from you. He had been the one to drive the wedge between you, and he had the audacity to be surprised that you no longer wanted his help.
You put out your hand, fingers outstretched. “Could you return the envelope? I’d like to go home now.”
He glanced down at your hand. “What is this about?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re angry. Why?”
You laughed in disbelief. You couldn’t fathom how someone so smart could be so oblivious.
“Maia-” he began.
“Because you walked out on me!” The confession burst from your lips. “You sought me out at my apartment. You kissed me. Then you left me behind as if what happened between us didn’t matter.” You chewed on your bottom lip, your eyes burning as tears threatened to spill from them. “I woke up to that awful message, and after I read it, my first instinct was to go to you for help. When I finally found you, there was another woman in your arms.”
Your voice broke as you uttered the last sentence, and all you could do was stare pathetically up at him. You watched as he digested your response. To your surprise, he extended his arms and pulled you close. He ran his leather clad hands down the length of your arms in a soothing manner.
He pressed his lips against your forehead, murmuring against it. “I’m sorry.”
He slid a hand underneath your chin, tipping your face up gently. You couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Look at me.” His voice was tender, pleading. Your teary eyes met his. “Selina is my friend,” he explained patiently. “I shouldn’t have let her kiss me. In the moment it felt like she was expressing her gratitude, but it was still a mistake. It won’t happen again.”
You swallowed thickly. “You can do whatever you want. Don’t stop on my account.”
His lips twitched, as if he were fighting a smile. “I can’t stop something that never started.” He ran his gloved hand across your cheek. “Besides, my interest is elsewhere.”
Your breath caught in your throat. His words were getting to you, and you felt every bit of your resistance collapse with a simple caress.
“I want you,” Bruce confessed, his lips grazing the lobe of your ear. The soft sensation sent a shiver down your spine. “I was a coward for not admitting it sooner.”
“What are you gonna do about it now?” you asked, a hint of challenge in your voice.
Bruce straightened and pulled back from you slightly– just enough so that he could meet your eyes while he spoke to you. “I’m going to prove just how much I’ve longed to be with you. To touch you.” He ran his hands down the sides of your torso. “I’m going to worship every inch of you until you get it in your head that there’s no other woman for me but you. Everything about me was nothing before I met you, Maia. But now… you’re everything.”
Tears were flowing heavily from your eyes now. You cupped his masked face in your hands, running your thumbs over the exposed lower half of his cheeks, his stubble ticking your palms as you did.
He set his hands over yours, trapping your touch on him. “You make me want to be more than vengeance. I can’t remember ever doing anything for this city for a reason other than retribution.” His voice was thick and emotional. “But I don't want that anymore. I want to be the kind of hero that makes Gotham better. I want to be the kind of man that is worthy of you.”
You crushed your lips against his. You weren’t sure words would suffice in this situation. Bruce had taken you completely by surprise with his confession. Happiness soared within you. There was still a lot of uncertainty, a lot of fear, but your worries all seemed insignificant with Bruce by your side. You were two very jagged pieces of a puzzle, and yet you fit together perfectly. The big picture had not yet been uncovered, but it didn’t matter. The hard part was over. You had each other, and because of that, everything else would fall into place.
“Come on,” he said, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You’re staying with me tonight.”
—----------------------------------————————
You had barely made it past the door of his bedroom before your mouth was on his again. He unfastened the cape from around his shoulders and tossed it aside. He removed his leather gloves too, and they landed somewhere on the floor. He was still in his mask and armor, but his focus wasn’t on himself now. He pushed you back towards the bed and you landed on the edge.
Bruce kneeled in front of you, his warm hands wrapping around your thigh. Carefully, he lowered the zipper on your boot, slipping it off, and did the same with the other. His hands slid up your thighs and around your waist. His fingers curled under the waistband of your tights, and he slid them down your legs along with your panties until they were fully removed. He began kissing his way up your leg, his lips trailing light pecks to the inside of your thigh. Your core pulsated with anticipation at his closeness, and you groaned audibly when he removed his mouth from your skin.
You wiggled the skirt of your dress up your hips and scrunched the fabric up, pulling the entire thing over your head. You sat in just a bra now, but your arms were quick to remove that too. You felt subconscious now that you were completely naked while the Batman knelt fully clothed in front of you. But you couldn’t help but think back to all the fleeting, dirty thoughts you’d had of him. Fucking him in his suit had definitely been one of those thoughts.
At the thought of his cock deep in your pussy, thrusting in and out of you with intensity you knew he possessed, your nipples hardened and you felt arousal begin to moisten his sheets. Despite being completely nude in front of him, Bruce had his eyes focused on your face.
After a few counts he finally allowed his gaze to land lower. He gave you a full once-over, and you felt deep satisfaction as you saw him stiffen in his pants, his erection fighting against his zipper. He swallowed hard, his eyes dazed, as if he thought they were deceiving him.
The hesitation disappeared quickly, replaced by fiery confidence. He got to his feet and hooked his hands on the underside of your thighs, lifting you against him. He took the spot on the bed that you were just occupying and placed you on his hips. He lowered his mouth to the crook of your neck and nibbled seductively, dragging his mouth down to your breasts, where he sucked your right nipple into his mouth. His tongue toyed with the puckered bud, a wave of pleasure shooting down to your core. Your clit was swollen with arousal, begging for contact.
As if reading your mind, he slipped his hand between your bodies, trailing down your stomach until the tips of his fingers brushed your folds. You pressed yourself against his hand, and he parted your pussy with his index and ring fingers, while his middle finger stroked your swollen clit. You gripped his shoulders, a breathy moan escaping your lips. He rubbed the sensitive nerve steadily, and already you felt an orgasm building deep in your belly. You began rocking against his hand, the added pressure making you feel so good you had to bite your lip to keep from squealing.
But it wasn’t enough. Your cunt ached with desire, and his cock was the only way you’d be able to satiate the hunger. You craved the feeling of him filling you to the hilt, pounding against the spot that would have you scratching at his back, writhing with pleasure, screaming for him to go harder, harder, harder.
“I need you inside me,” you whimpered, planting a sloppy kiss on his lips.
His pupils dilated at your demand, and he obliged wordlessly. He removed his hand from your pussy and rotated his body, laying you down on the bed gently. He stood before you at the end of the bed, and you watched in fascination as he removed his armor in pieces. He slipped the helmet off of his head, and smudged black eyeshadow outlined his eyes, the blue of his irises a bright blue flame. He removed his undershirt, revealing a strong, sculpted chest. His stomach was taunt and defined, his biceps bulging as his hands worked to undo the button of his pants. He yanked his pants down with his boxers, and your pussy contracted in delight when his erection sprung free.
His length was impressive, as was his girth. The dim candlelight illuminated the room just enough for you to spot the slick line of precum adorning the head of his cock. He kicked his boots off and removed his pants from around his ankles. Bruce moved toward you then, his mouth agape, cock pulsating in anticipation.
He lowered himself on top of you, his elbows propped up on either side of your head. His mouth found yours, and you kissed him back fervently. You reached your hand down and wrapped your fingers around his length, giving the head of his cock a couple light strokes with the pad of your thumb. Bruce groaned against your mouth, his hand cupping one of your breasts, pinching your nipple in between his fingers.
Your back arched, your legs spreading at the delicious agitation. “Bruce,” you begged, completely oblivious to the desperation coating the syllable of his name.
He released your nipple and bent down to place a hasty kiss on it, and he pulled away with a quiet pop! He supported his weight on one arm while the other guided his cock to your entrance. You felt his engorged head poking at your folds, and you bucked your hips up, pleading for him to fill you. Bruce placed his free hand on your cheek and angled your face downward. He stared passionately into your eyes, observing you with equal parts desire and adoration.
You felt him plunge into you, his length pressing against the walls of your pussy, stretching you around him. It took a moment for you to adjust to his size, a heavenly sting shooting electric currents into your cunt. Once he was sure he could move without hurting you, he began to propel his hips against yours. His thrusts were short and slow at first. He was delicate, considerate of your every need. He fought against his own animalistic desires, ensuring that he didn’t succumb to his own feverish needs. On any other night you would have enjoyed him making love to you. But tonight was not that night. You wanted him to claim you with all of the hunger he possessed. And he did.
All you had to say was one word: Harder.
It was as if a switch had been flipped inside him. Being vocal was not his style, but as he started to drive his cock deeper into you with force, you heard him struggle to keep his pleasurable groans at bay. His breathing had quickened, his hair plastered to his forehead, damp with sweat. In a quick maneuver, he propped one of your legs on his shoulder to gain better access to you. He drove in and out of you vigorously at an angle, the tip of his cock hitting the sweet spot in your cunt repeatedly. You cried out, the violent bliss almost too much for you to bear.
“Gonna cum in your pussy, baby,” he cooed, his voice silky with lust. “You feel so good.”
Your hands flailed on his back, scratching helplessly as he pushed you over the edge. You gripped his shoulders, tugged on his hair, trying to anchor yourself as you got closer and closer to your release. Bruce continued pounding into you, but he was close to the edge too, and when his thrusts became labored and sloppy, you knew he was seconds away from unraveling inside you.
You brought your lips to his, sealing his mouth with yours in a desperate kiss. His body grew taut against you, and moments later you felt warm liquid shoot into you, so abundant that your pussy overflowed, his seed dripping out of your hole. The feeling of his release triggered your own orgasm, which washed over you so hard your vision went momentarily black. Your back arched against him, legs trembling, a hearty cry emanating from the back of your throat. You laid on the bed, breathing hard, the aftershock of your orgasm sending little shivers up and down your body. Your pussy gently contracted against Bruce’s cock, which was still inside you.
The hunger had left his eyes, replaced by warm awe. He pulled out of you slowly, walking to the massive wardrobe that took up the length of the entire wall. He slid open the wooden door and, a few counts later, returned next to you with a towel in his hands. He cleaned you up first, pressing the fabric against the skin of your inner thighs, soaking up the mixture of your bodily fluids that had dripped down on them. He then did the same with the spot between your legs, his movements brief, respectful. Once he was finished, he repeated the same technique on himself, then discarded the dirty towel in the woven laundry hamper in the entrance of his bathroom. Your heart rate had slowed, your breathing returning back to normal. Your body was now heavy, weighed down by intense exhaustion.
Bruce noticed this and scooped you into his arms, bringing you around and setting you down further up the bed. He opened the covers and tucked you inside, and already you were indulging in the softness of his pillows, the warmth of his sheets. The smell of him – pine, with a hint of mint – filled your nostrils. He slid in the bed next to you, pulling you in so that your head rested on his chest. Your eyes immediately fluttered shut, his presence putting you in a spell of deep relaxation.
Bruce kissed the top of your head, drawing small circles on your arm, down the back of your hand. “Get some rest, darling. Tomorrow there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
summary: the batman (2022) reimagined. deceased reporter, edward elliot, has left his beloved daughter behind, and she is determined to pick up where her father left off. by using her father’s research and the riddler’s clues, her ultimate goal is to further expose gotham’s corruption and bring her father’s killer to light in the process.
pairing: batman x f!reader
warnings: language, violence, nsfw descriptions
word count: 6.1k
a/n: just sit back and enjoy ;)
masterlist
—------------------------------------------—————
You made it back to your apartment a couple of minutes past midnight. Your fingertips were nearly frozen at the tips, your cheeks and nose flushed red, stinging from the cold. You were greeted with a comforting gust of heat the second you walked through your front door. You took a moment to silently thank the individual who had created air conditioning.
Shutting the door behind you, making your way through your living room. You took the hallway to the left, which led to your bedroom. You sauntered through your bedroom door, not even bothering to turn on the light. The mere sight of your bed invited a wave of sleepiness over you, but you were sweaty and uncomfortable, and refused to soil your expensive sheets with the contaminants that you had no doubt acquired throughout the day. You kicked your high heels off and nudged them to the corner of your bed, even though your open closet resided only a couple of feet away. You could no longer bring yourself to do more than the bare minimum.
Tomorrow’s problem, you assured yourself.
You walked in the direction of the bathroom, which was conveniently tucked in the corner of your room, to the left of your bed. Your hands reached to the zipper resting on the small of your back and tugged it down, allowing you to peel out of the dress with ease. You removed your undergarments and tossed them in the dirty laundry basket, along with the satin dress you were wearing moments ago. Using the touchscreen located on the wall, you adjusted the water temperature and pressure with a few simple taps. The shower head came to life, releasing a thick sheet of water, which flowed in a wide, steady pattern downwards. You slid the glass door open wide enough to let yourself through, and the tension in your shoulders dissolved almost instantly.
The hot water coated you in a sensual embrace, warming you all over, and you felt pleasurable shivers when you leaned backwards, the droplets landing on your breasts and caressing your nipples. You used a pump of lavender shampoo and lathered it into your hair, massaging your scalp with delicious pressure. You grabbed the pink sponge hanging on the golden shower caddy and applied your favorite body wash to it, working it into your skin, which was now tender and warm. You rinsed off shortly after and turned the water off. You saw steam rising from your arm as you reached for the towel that hung on the hook next to the shower door. You patted yourself dry and wrapped the towel around your body, exiting the bathroom.
Your bedroom was still enveloped in darkness, which is why you didn’t notice him at first. He stood beside the window next to your bed, watching you intently. Waiting.
You crossed the room and flicked the light switch by your bedroom door, soft yellow light illuminating it. When you turned to walk back to your closet, you nearly let out a blood-curdling shriek. You sank against the wall, a hand pressed against your chest, which thrummed loudly due to your erratic heartbeat.
The Batman didn’t look the least bit bothered by the obvious disruption he had caused. He stood rigidly by the window, his mouth set in a displeased line.
“Jesus,” you snapped. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Instead of answering your question, he took a couple of stiff steps towards you, stopping just close enough that you could see the slow rise and fall of his chest each time he took a cold, intimidating breath.
He spoke now. “What were you doing at the Iceberg Lounge tonight?” His tone implied that he wasn’t asking– he was demanding.
You let out a sharp laugh, but it lacked humor. “What’s it to you?”
He leaned in closer, his face inches from yours. “You’re not going back there. Gil Colson isn’t good company to keep.”
You crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly hyper aware that you were standing in a towel with wet, dripping hair, with The Batman right in front of you. Despite this uncomfortable observation, you were determined not to let him intimidate you.
“How did you even know I was there?” A pause. “Were you following me?”
“I have a source.”
Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Then you were hit with a punch of realization. “The woman in the red wig. You sent her.”
This time he didn’t respond.
You shook your head in disbelief. “What, so you just expect me to divulge the information you need without any sort of protest?” You ran your hand through your damp hair in frustration. “I have questions I want answered too, you know? Starting with how you know where I live and how the hell you managed to get inside.”
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked bluntly.
His question was abrupt, and it startled you. It took you a few seconds before you could respond. “No. I’m not afraid of you,” you managed at last. And it was the truth. That night at the subway station had been the first and only time you had seen him. Despite his dark, uninviting physical appearance and his cold, calculating tone, his presence was… comforting. “But that doesn’t mean I trust you,” you added. “Hell, I don’t even know who you are. And I get that's the concept behind the mask. You’re Gotham’s Dark Knight, and I admire that. And I’m grateful for what you did for me that night at the subway station, but I still don’t understand why you’re here or why we’re even having this conversation.”
He shut his eyes momentarily, and you were sure he was going to turn around and leave. But he didn’t. His eyes remained closed for a few counts, and when he finally opened them, his blue eyes sliced into yours.
“I haven’t been following you,” he assured you, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “But I’ve checked in every now and again. To make sure you’ve made it home safe.”
Your heart swelled with emotion, and you were too taken aback by his confession to analyze what it meant. You simply stared back at him expectantly, urging him to continue.
He swallowed. When he spoke again, his voice was once again guarded, closed off. “There’s no shortage of crime in this city. I can’t be everywhere. You should invest in more reliable means of transportation.”
You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Thanks for the tip.”
“As for tonight,” he continued. “I didn’t know you’d be there. I sent Selina to the 44-Below on an assignment. And coincidentally, you were sitting at the same table as the people she went there to investigate.”
You pondered this for a moment. “I guess that makes sense.”
Now it was his turn to look at you expectantly. “Your turn.”
This time you did roll your eyes. “Can I at least go change first? I just got out of the shower and I’m freezing.”
“No.”
You threw your arms up in the air and turned, taking a seat on the edge of your bed, once again wrapping your arms around your front to keep it from fluttering open. You looked up at him, annoyed. “I was there for the same reason your sexy spy was. Research.” Before he could press you for more information, you added, “And don’t ask me to elaborate, because it’s personal.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, a clear signal of annoyance. But he didn’t force you to say anything more, just like you’d asked. He turned mechanically, his long black cape flowing as he made his way out of your bedroom and toward your front door. You were hot on his heels, following to make sure he went out and stayed out.
He tugged your door open, but paused in between the door frame. He half turned to you, his leather clad hand still wrapped the doorknob.
“Another tip?” he announced coldly. “Don’t forget to lock your door.”
And then he was gone. You didn’t dare peer out to see in which direction he had gone. Instead you slammed the door so hard it vibrated, and made sure to secure the lock and deadbolt in place.
Asshole.
—-----------------------------------------—————
“Turn left at the next street, please,” you instructed the taxi driver.
You sat in the backseat of a taxi, hands fiddling with the small black clutch on your lap. You were on your way to Mayor Mitchell’s memorial. The event had been in the works since the announcement of MItchell’s murder, and it quickly became a very big deal. A massive turnout of people was expected– especially highly-respected government officials and other influential city figures. Daily Gotham instructed every available reporter to attend and document as much of it as possible. For once, you were going to be one of the lucky ones working the front lines.
Although you were glad to finally be getting in on a piece of the action, your mood was somber. Probably because you were on your way to a massive church to take pictures and ask people questions about a dead guy who you hadn’t even thought twice about until today.
You stared down at your outfit to peel yourself away from your less-than-cheery thoughts. Your hair was pinned in a simple, yet elegant updo. You wore a modest black lace dress, and your feet were tucked in shiny black flats. Your makeup was minimal too: a thin coat of mascara, light coverage foundation, pale blush, and clear gloss on your lips.
You gave the driver another set of directions. “You can pull over up ahead. Before the crosswalk.”
He did as instructed, guiding the vehicle to an open parking spot just before the end of the curb. You handed him a twenty dollar bill and told him to keep the change. You stepped out of the cab and shut the door gently behind you, the driver taking off immediately, probably eager to find his next customer.
You saw the church up ahead, and the parking lot in front of it was littered with police cars. They left a thin lane by the front steps unblocked, undoubtedly for the important individuals who would be chauffeured to the event. As if on cue, a caravan of black vehicles turned the corner in the direction of the church, cruising through the open lane and stopping at the front long enough to allow their passengers to exit. As you walked closer to the cathedral-looking building, you were able to make out some of the people as they were screened and escorted inside by the cops.
Carla Diaz, one of the women you briefly sat with last night at the 44-Below. Carmine Falcone. Oswald Cobblepot – aka The Penguin, as he was famously nicknamed – the owner of the Iceberg Lounge.
You could also see the gate that had been propped up in front of the left wing of the church. You heard heated chanting, and your heart sunk when you saw protesters with signs splotched with red paint and eerily familiar symbols. No more lies, the signs read. Reporters had been conveniently placed in front of the crowd of the Riddler’s supporters. They were crowded in a small square beside the entrance, and they all spoke over each other, snapping photos and frantically begging the arriving individuals to walk over and indulge them by answering their questions. But as noisy as they were, even they couldn’t drown out the sound of the angry mob behind them.
Mister Wayne? Over here, Mister Wayne! Could we please have a moment of your time?
Your head snapped in the direction of the commotion. You did a double take when you saw Bruce Wayne exit his vehicle and hand the keys to a valet worker, who handed him a small slip of paper in return. He was a famous orphan whose family had a history of philanthropy. He expressed very little interest in the lavish life of a socialite. He kept to himself, so it came as a surprise to you that he was even here. Unlike other famous city figures, Bruce Wayne didn’t like basking in the spotlight. Because of this, he did most of his work behind the scenes. He had made generous donations to city programs and charities that his family had worked with in the past, but things had been eerily quiet on his end for the last couple of years. He was almost as hard of a man to find as The Batman himself.
You couldn’t help but watch him as he ascended the church steps; his shoulders were hunched, his head tilted down, doing his best to avoid being approached. You saw him attempt to move past the officers guarding the door to the church, but he was blocked and immediately surrounded by four officers who had seemingly come out of nowhere. Bruce wore a solemn expression on his face, but he was most definitely exasperated. He corrected his posture, pushing his wide shoulders back, towering over the men that were denying him entry.
Carmine Falcone appeared at the entrance and engaged in a brief exchange with the guards and Bruce Wayne. Whatever he said must have worked, because they stepped out of the way and let Bruce through. You couldn’t blame them for being cautious– they were doing their job, after all. Ensuring that the event was safe for the attendees, given the Riddler’s never-ending taunts and recent attacks, was top priority. And taking into consideration that Bruce Wayne had not been seen at an event of this magnitude in over two years, you completely understood why the public was beginning to forget what he looked like.
You climbed the steps and merged into the line of people waiting to be screened and allowed entry inside. Once you got to the front, you showed the guard your Daily Gotham identification card, and another guard walked over to escort you to the section reserved for the press. You passed row after row of pews, where there were no spots left unfilled. You glanced up at the immensely high ceiling, your attention momentarily caught by the alluring artwork adorning it. The guard finally came to a stop, ushering you into a pew with your fellow reporters.
You had a pretty good view of the altar, where an enlarged photo of Mayor Mitchell resided next to his closed casket. You looked around the vast space, trying to make out familiar faces in the crowd. The late mayor’s wife and son were seated in the first pew on the left hand side of the church, maybe six or seven rows in front of you. Government officials and city figures sat in the first couple rows on the right hand side. Almost everyone in the pews at the back of the church were common folks who had arrived early enough to snag a decent seat.
An announcement cut over the loudspeaker, but the chatter in the room drowned out most of what was said. You assumed they were announcing the start of the service, so you sank down in your seat, exchanging polite smiles with the reporters sitting around you while you waited. You opened the clutch in your lap and pulled out a small recording device. It felt invasive, recording audio of a funeral, knowing all too well what the mayor’s family – especially his young son – was experiencing. You flicked the ringer button on the side of your phone, silencing it. You leaned forward and turned your head towards the back of the church. The doors had been shut, and there was significantly less shuffling around the perimeter. A melancholic silence befell the crowd. There were only a handful of people still working their way through the pews, trying to find their seats.
Distant cries cut through the eerie silence. But they weren’t cries of grief or sorrow– they were cries of terror. And they seemed to be coming from beyond the front doors. The helpless screams continued, increasing in volume, accompanied by an aggressive, mechanical noise, which sounded like the rumble of an engine. Everyone in the church began to rise in panic, their gazes darting all around, trying to find the source of the disruption. You felt your body temperature dip with concern, shaky hands hoisting you up to a standing position. The commotion continued, but still no one knew where it was coming from. You took a moment to glance at the other guests, feeling momentary relief in the fact that you were not experiencing this alone. As you scanned the terrified audience, your gaze landed on Bruce Wayne, whose eyes met yours at the same moment.
Something registered in his expression– familiarity? Shock? Those deep blue eyes assessed you with intensity. You didn’t have much time to analyze what it meant, because your thoughts were cut short by a brutal crash.
A black SUV rammed through the front doors of the church at full speed, and you watched, horrified, as people attempted to dive out of the way to avoid being run over. The SUV flailed recklessly in every direction, losing control, hitting the arrangement of pews on your side so hard that one of the wooden benches was flipped and launched against you. You toppled over and hit the ground hard, hitting your head on the sharp corner of something. You laid stunned for a moment, disorientation clouding your vision. The vehicle had finally come to a stop after it slammed against one of the thick marble columns beside the altar. A chorus of terrified shrieks echoed inside the church now.
You weakly pushed yourself up to a sitting position. You observed the quick blur of motion as the police made its way to the front of the church. There was a lot of shouting, but you couldn’t make out any of what was said. Your vision tipped and turned, the world in front of you swimming in and out of focus. You took several deep breaths, focusing on not passing out. Disoriented as you were, you knew that this was the absolute worst time and place to lose consciousness.
Sharp, high-pitched ringing sounded in your ears, sending a fresh wave of pain to the base of your skull. There was more commotion now, but the ringing drowned it out, as if everything were occurring under water. Despite your muffled hearing, there were two words which you were able to pick up clear as day.
Out. Now.
As if one cue, everyone in the church began exiting in a frenzy. You stood and dragged yourself slowly, lamely, to the ground, before being knocked down by the force of the mob. You landed on your arm this time, a sharp pain shooting from your wrist to your elbow. You attempted to roll to a sitting position, but it was no use. You had been rendered immobile.
It was then that a pair of strong arms slid under your body and hauled you up with ease. Suddenly you were flush against someone’s warm chest, bouncing lightly, their feet moving with haste. Your eyes had fallen shut, but you were able to pry them open just enough to catch a flash of stubble dotted along a strong, defined jaw, and dark hair. As if sensing your gaze, the individual peered down at you.
“Stay awake, will you?” The voice sounded familiar. It was low, sexy, masculine.
You knew you were outside because you felt the cold prickle your skin like tiny needles. You heard sirens closing in on you, rattling your eardrums to the point of discomfort. Suddenly you felt another pair of hands on you. You felt the warm touch of the individual who had helped you to safety slip away, replaced by a cold, hard surface.
Gloved hands peeled your eyes open, shining an obnoxious light on them. Your vision was so blurry that the face of the paramedic standing above you refused to come into focus. She spoke gently, firmly, but you weren’t listening. You felt yourself slipping away now. It wasn’t long before you found yourself giving in to the darkness, plunging deeply into the black abyss.
—--------------------------------------———————
When you opened your eyes, you found yourself surrounded by white walls and bright lights. Your head rested on a floppy pillow, and when you tipped your head down to take in the rest of the room, you felt a rush of dread. Then it all came back to you.
The cab ride. The mayor’s memorial. The vehicle plowing through everything in its path. Falling and hitting your head. Attempting to flee, getting pushed to the ground. Being carried to safety by a stranger.
And now you were here.
You peered down at yourself, finding your body dressed in a white hospital gown, covered in – you guessed it – thin white hospital sheets. Your arm had also been carefully wrapped and placed in a sling across your chest. You became ridiculously aware of the dryness of your mouth, and when you tipped your head towards the bedside table, you found a small bottle of water and an oatmeal cookie on a tray, begging for your consumption. You tried pushing yourself to a sitting position, but were immediately overcome with a ridiculous pressure pushing against your temples and small black dots danced across your field of vision. You laid back down and opted for using the handy remote tucked on the side of the bed to lift yourself to a position where you could down food and water without choking.
The head of the bed rose to your desired angle and you reached toward the tray, dragging it closer until the table rested in front of you. You twisted the cap off of the tiny water bottle, using the same remote to surf through the channels while you took a few tentative sips. You clicked the down button repeatedly, only stopping when a bright orange news headline flashed on the screen. You set the remote down after turning the volume up, your eyes fixating on the images on the screen.
You watched as camera footage made you revisit the day’s events from an spectator’s perspective. The camera captured the SUV recklessly turning into the church parking lot, ramming into the side of two police cars, only to race up the steps and barrel through the church doors. The footage didn’t include a continuation of what had happened inside, but you already knew. You had a nasty concussion and a fractured arm to prove it.
The news broadcasting cut to an image acquired by a police officer’s body cam, and the sight made your blood run cold. It was Gil Colson, mouth taped shut, blood dripping from his head, a bomb wrapped tightly around his neck. The image disappeared, replaced by a video of Batman standing stiffly across Colson, speaking to the Riddler through a phone that had been taped to Colson’s palm. Moments later, there was an explosion that hurled the Batman backwards with force. The blast had rendered him unconscious, and according to the headlines, there was no news about whether he had survived the explosion.
You felt bile rise in your throat, anxiety twisting your stomach painfully. Your thoughts began to race, and suddenly whatever the news anchors were discussing now seemed unimportant. You couldn’t help but feel completely consumed by fear. He had to be okay, right?
You did your best to assure yourself, but the reality was that you couldn’t be sure. You had only spoken to him twice, but in that short time, you had become… invested. He was dark, mysterious. But also incredibly alluring. His voice, his sultry gaze. He had a hold on you that you couldn’t quite explain. His determination to protect the city had been one of the many things that made you admire him, but now the thought of it made you feel unnerved.
He was clever, strategic. He’d never walk into something knowing he might be in over his head. Would he?
Two solid knocks sounded at the door, snapping you away from your thoughts. A slender, middle-aged woman with dark auburn hair stepped into the room, shutting the door gently behind her. A pair of black glasses rested on the bridge of her nose, and when she smiled, small but prominent wrinkles formed around her eyes.
“I see you’re awake,” she stated politely. “I’m Doctor Rollins. Do you know why you’re here, Miss Elliott?”
You nodded, meeting her eyes warily. “I was at the memorial service when the car…” you swallowed. “I fell and hit my head. I tried to get up, but was trampled by the crowd, and hurt my arm. The details get hazy from here, but I know someone got me out. I don’t remember much after that.”
She nodded, her lips pressed in a slight frown. She stepped forward, stopping beside the bed. Dr. Rollins slid the tray you had placed in front of you out of the way, inching closer and inspecting the gauze on your head, above your temple.
“May I?” she asked, searching your eyes for any sign of discomfort.
You nodded again, sitting still as she peeled back the adhesive and peered under the sterile cloth, examining your wound. She peered at it for a few counts and then put the gauze back in its place.
“The cut seems to be healing quite nicely. No excessive bleeding or discharge.” She pulled a small flashlight from her coat pocket, instructing you to follow her finger with your eyes as it moved from side to side, then up and down. “You did suffer a pretty severe concussion, so I’d definitely take it easy for the next two weeks, maybe a little longer if you can afford it. Your brain needs time to rest and heal.” She stepped back, assessing you with a soft, almost maternal gaze. “Since everything looks good, I can go ahead and have a nurse bring you a discharge form, if you’d like? You can stay another night for observation, but I don’t believe it will be necessary. What you need is rest, and I’m sure you’d rather get better in the comfort of your own home than be stuck in a noisy, bland place like this.”
You couldn’t help the smile that surfaced on your lips. “Yeah, I’d like that,” you agreed.
She returned the grin and turned on her heel, cracking the door open just enough to allow her small figure through, and slipped out the door.
—--------------------------------------------————
Concussion recovery sucked.
The nurse who had gone over the discharge paperwork with you had given you a hefty list of things to avoid during your recovery. Absolutely no screen time, no exposure to bright lights or sounds, no abrupt or harsh movements of your head and neck, and lots of rest.
The first couple of days were great. Of course, you still had a fractured arm and a jumbled brain, but you were relieved to have nothing to do but lounge around your apartment for a change. Like your late father, you were a workaholic, fully immersing yourself in whatever you were doing. Employers had appreciated your timeliness and dedication, but more often than not, you found yourself being pushed to your limits and eventually relying solely on autopilot. You had taken this time off of work to indulge in the self care that the magazines you read were always raving about.
You lit the sugar cookie scented candle that you had been gifted for your birthday and took your first ever bubble bath. You read through an entire row of books on your bookshelf and made chamomile tea, which you sipped as you peered out onto the city from your balcony. Since you couldn’t watch tv, you dug the old radio from the depths of your closet, and after heavily dusting it, realized it was still in working order. You clicked through the stations every couple hours, hoping that someone – anyone – had news about the Batman. After an agonizing thirty-six, your fears had finally been extinguished. He had been out cold for several minutes, but he walked away from the explosion unscathed. Lucky bastard.
Unfortunately, his interference in the Colson situation was not taken well by the police. There had been an APB issued against him, and your guess was that he was lying low until the cops found something more important to occupy their time.
So, in theory, everything was good and well, except it wasn’t. You had become bored, and when you experienced boredom, you turned into an antsy mess. You paced around your living room, fluffing the decorative pillows on your couch for the fifth time in ten minutes. The door leading to the balcony had been propped open; you’d hoped the fresh air would snap you out of your frenzy. But so far it wasn’t working. You looked around your apartment for things to do. Your bedroom had been organized, your closet color coded, your bathroom deep cleaned, your paperwork filed, mail sorted, dishes washed. What the hell were you supposed to do with yourself now.
“If you keep spinning in circles like that, you’re gonna give yourself another concussion.”
You whirled around in the direction of the voice, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of the Batman standing at the edge of your balcony. Your acknowledgment of his presence is all it takes for him to close the distance between you. He came to a stop three feet in front of you, his blue eyes examining the fresh gauze on your head, the sling covering your arm. He met your gaze, a strange softness in his eyes.
“You can’t seem to stay out of trouble, can you?” He asked, but the question was all rhetorical.
“Speak for yourself,” you retorted. “That was some stunt you pulled, nearly getting yourself killed playing the hero.”
His lips twitched, as if he was fighting a smile. “But it wasn’t for nothing.”
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, well, you are now a wanted man because of it.”
“Am I?” he mumbled, taking a step forward.
You could feel the warmth radiating off of him, which caressed your skin deliciously. You were close enough to see the sexy curve of his lips, which were parted slightly. His perfect, symmetrical nose. And those enchanting blue orbs, which had darkened significantly due to your proximity. Your heart thumped wildly in your chest and you prayed it wasn’t loud enough for him to hear. You hated to admit it, but the attraction was getting to you now. You wanted to slide your hands up his armored chest and brush your lips against his. You wanted to hear him growl with desire for you. The image was so hot, so vivid, it made you lightheaded. You took a step back, hoping some distance would erase the butterflies in your stomach and the inconvenient pulse between your legs.
The Batman straightened, as if he, too, had been stuck in a trance. He remained tall and confident, but his tone now held a guarded edge. “Do you want to know why I’m here?”
Ever-so-slightly, you nodded.
“I’m here because Y/N Y/L/N doesn’t exist.”
Your heart dropped right out of your ass. “W-what do you mean?”
You hated the way your voice faltered, and hated how you could barely look him in the eye anymore. In truth, your fake identity wasn’t this big, earth-shattering secret. The sole purpose of the alternate persona was to keep yourself out of the spotlight. You didn’t have any skeletons in your closet, but you didn’t want people asking questions, either. Especially when it came to your father’s research and for the reason you intended to use it. If the Batman could figure out that Y/N Y/L/N was a farce, what was stopping others from doing the same?
“I ran a background check on you after our last conversation,” he explained calmly. “I’m working with Commissioner Gordon to bring the Riddler down before he can do any more harm. I can’t do that if I don’t have access to the full picture. I wanted to be satisfied with the answers you gave me, but it wasn’t enough. There were too many questions regarding your involvement.”
“What did you find?” you couldn’t stop yourself from asking.
“Nothing,” he said blandly. “That’s what caught my attention. I knew where you worked, so I accessed records from Daily Gotham and used the information as a foundation for the background check. I entered your credentials and it bounced. There was no record of a Y/N Y/L/N in Gotham CIty.”
Tears prickled your eyes. “So what are you gonna do? Blackmail the information out of me? Threaten to out me to my job just so I can come clean about something you’re convinced I’m involved in?” Your words were laced with anger, but there was unmistakable hurt behind them.
The Batman grabbed your good arm gently and led you to the couch, urging you to sit down. You raised your shaky hand to wipe away a tear that had managed to escape. He knelt down in front of you, assessing you with the same softness from moments ago.
He spoke gently this time. “I don’t think you’re involved in anything. I just need you to tell me the truth so I can keep you safe.”
You felt idiotic for the way your heart soared after hearing him utter those words. You wanted him, there wasn’t a single doubt about that. You also trusted him. But you were afraid you were mistaking his kindness for something completely different. You'd be damned if you made a fool of yourself by expressing your feelings only to find out he didn’t reciprocate them. For now, you had to keep him at an emotional distance. Even though you couldn’t confess your feelings yet, you no longer felt good about lying to him, especially since he already knew the partial truth.
“Maia Elliott,” you whispered, unable to meet his eyes. “That’s my real name.”
When he didn’t immediately jump the gun to bombard you with questions, you gained the confidence to continue. “My father was a reporter. He was free-lancing at the time, taking jobs here and there. Around the time that Thomas Wayne was running for mayor, he had been hired to uncover hidden truths about the Wayne’s and the Arkham’s. My father’s employer had asked him to dig deeper because he intended to use the information to skew the election. He had some sort of vendetta against Thomas Wayne.” Your hands had begun to shake, and you took a deep breath to steady yourself. “My father was a good man. He had always valued justice. Whatever he found must have been serious, because suddenly he wanted out. But it was too late.”
You lifted your gaze, finding the Batman regarding you attentively, hanging on to your every word. You maintained eye contact, even as the tears started tumbling down your cheeks. “He was murdered two weeks before the election. I’ve read through his notes countless times, but I still can’t make sense of them. All he had written down were names, places. That’s why I was at the Iceberg Lounge that night. Gil Colson had been on the list, and I was hoping he’d help me find my next lead. But so far I have nothing,” you admitted, defeated.
The Batman reached for your hand, giving it a light squeeze. When he spoke, his voice expressed genuine sincerity. “I’m sorry about your father.”
“While I appreciate that, us feeling sorry about it isn’t going to bring him back. I just want to find out who killed him, and I want to make them pay.”
He nodded in understanding. “You can count on my help,” he assured you. “But I need you to do something for me.”
You eyed him curiously. “What?”
“You have to stay out of it.”
You shot to your feet, prepared to protest, but his touch sucked the argument right out of your mouth. He ran a gloved hand through a thin strand of your hair, which he placed between his thumb and pointer finger. He followed its length downward, letting it fall beside your neck, on top of your collar bone.
“Do you trust me?” he murmured, those blue eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation.
“Yes, but–”
He stepped back, giving you a curt nod of approval. “Good.” he said, stopping whatever excuse you were working so hard to come up with. “I’ll be in touch.”
He turned and walked to your balcony, intending on leaving the same way he had arrived. He flicked one last look in your direction.
And just like that, he was gone– his dark silhouette blending in with the night sky.
summary: the batman (2022) reimagined. deceased reporter, edward elliot, has left his beloved daughter behind, and she is determined to finish what her father couldn’t. by using her father’s research and the riddler’s clues, her ultimate goal is to further expose gotham’s corruption and bring her father’s killer to light in the process.
pairing: batman x f!reader
warnings: violence, mentions of death, language
word count: 4.3k
a/n: this will most likely be the first of three or four parts. enjoy !!!
Those were the three words that came to mind whenever you pictured the city of Gotham. It didn’t matter how many big, luxurious buildings were built, or how many potholes were filled, or how many pretty flowers were planted in people’s front yards. Gotham was filled with malice; every street passed, every corner turned, crime and deception trailed behind like a sinister shadow. There were rumors of a masked vigilante running around the city, and whether there was any truth to it was anyone’s guess. But even if it was, you knew better than to allow yourself to believe Gotham was capable of being fixed. If there truly was someone out there, you knew it was only a matter of time before the city trapped and swallowed them whole.
If you were smart, you’d follow your own advice. But this wasn’t just about you. Or the city. It was about your father. A good man motivated by a righteous soul and a hunger for justice. You never wanted to find yourself in the middle of a warzone. It all would have been so much easier if he had just listened.
Now that you, yourself, had become a journalist, it was not hard to understand why your father had found it so difficult to pull the plug on the case he was investigating. He had been a reporter for over thirty years; surely he had come across several alluring cases over the course of his career. But none like this. Thomas Wayne’s mayoral campaign had drawn a lot of attention from the beginning. It wasn’t until Salvatore Maroni decided to hire your father to dig deeper into the Wayne and Arkham family history in order to skew the election that things became… complicated. Your father was dead two short weeks later.
Maybe you would have been able to overcome his death if you had known who did it. But to your family’s dismay, the police were never able to figure it out. Infuriatingly enough, the GCPD was quick to close the case and sweep his death under the rug due to “insufficient evidence.” It was clear they had more pressing matters to tend to, like arrest the neighborhood prostitute for the eigth time and issue parking tickets to senior citizens.
Retribution had not been on your mind at the start. But the more time passed, the more angry you became. Following his death, you had undergone a sort of– awakening. You had considered Gotham your home before the tragedy; you were born and raised in the very city, and you had grown to love it despite its many visible imperfections. But none of that love remained now. You were now able to see Gotham for what it truly was– superficial. Gotham’s politicians did a pretty decent job at convincing the public of the good behind their agendas. Granted, there was never going to be much room for scrutiny or complaint when said politicians waved money and empty promises in the faces of the needy and hopeful. But you were no longer going to be taken for a fool. Your father had lost his life to the malice of this city, and you were going to make sure his death was worth it. As his only child, you owed this to him. It was your job to honor his memory, and you were going to do so by picking up where he had left off. You were going to expose Gotham. You were going to make him proud.
It had been a long day at Daily Gotham headquarters, and you were eager to get home to wash away the day’s disappointments with a nice, warm shower. You knew you wouldn’t be able to dive into your father’s work right away; you knew there would be setbacks. But so far you didn't have a single lead. You had spent countless hours reading his files filled with old newspaper articles and notes and photographs, but you were still missing the big picture. You had gotten hired as an entry-level journalist for Daily Gotham just three months ago, and you had quickly filled your plate with regular employment duties on top of your father’s project. You were young and new and no one seemed eager to give you any insight on systems and sources, and your supervisors were even less eager to allow you to cover a remotely interesting case. But you had decided that it needed to be this way– that you needed to begin by making yourself invisible.
It would have been easy to introduce yourself as Maia Elliot. After all, that is who you were. The name itself would have opened so many doors for you, without so much as the flick of your wrist. But you knew the implications behind revealing your true name. Maia Elliot? Daughter of Edward Elliot? My goodness, where has the time gone? It really is a shame what happened to your father. He was a good man, God rest his soul.
When you had applied for employment at Daily Gotham, you applied under the name Y/N Y/L/N. Perfectly normal. Inconspicuous. You had avoided the spotlight from the day the media announced your father’s murder. You were 9 when it all occurred. You were 26 now, and the drag of time – and the weight of your grief – had changed you. You were certain no one would recognize you once you resurfaced. And you were right. No one had batted an eye, and for that you felt relief.
You exited the dated cobblestone building and made your way down the street, following the signs to the subway station. Your eyes stung with exhaustion and your shoulders were pinched forward as you walked, stress and frustration weighing you down with every step. Once inside the subway, you were met with individuals clad in costumes of all assortments. You could have laughed at the silliness of it. Today was Halloween, and you had completely forgotten. It was once your favorite holiday, but nowadays you seemed to be too much in your head to acknowledge how the days passed you by.
You brushed past several strangers as you walked deeper into the subway car, scanning the crowd for an open seat. About halfway down the length of the car, you spotted a vacant spot and quickly moved forward to claim it. You sunk down onto the seat and immediately leaned your head back, resting it on the window behind you. Your temples throbbed and it took everything in you to stop yourself from audibly groaning.
“Rough day, sweetheart?”
You opened your eyes at the sound of a man’s gruff voice. In front of you sat six men dressed in dark, roguish clothing, their faces colored an artificial white, their eyes and lips outlined with thick black paint. They watched you intently, the way a predator sizes up their prey. You managed a small smile, so as not to antagonize them. You quickly shifted your gaze and turned your body towards the front of the car. You rode in silence the next several minutes, but you felt their eyes grazing the length of your body the rest of the way. Once the subway came to a stop and the doors opened, you shot to your feet, pushing yourself to the front of the car to secure a quick exit.
Your heels clapped against the stone platform as you walked, your heart thumping as you attempted to overextend your legs in order to quicken your pace and successfully disappear out of sight. You weren’t paranoid enough to believe every stranger who approached you on the street meant you harm, but you knew it was better to be safe than sorry.
Your heart sunk to the pit of your stomach when you heard several heavy footsteps coming up behind you, followed by the same rough male voice you heard in the subway car.
“What’s the rush, gorgeous?” one of the men calls after you.
But you don’t dare to look back. You see the stairs leading to the exit up ahead. Just a few more feet, you think to yourself. Five… four… three….
You’re stopped in your tracks by a sharp yank on your elbow. The large calloused hand on your body whips you around with ease, and you find yourself face-to-face with one of the men from the subway. Fear seeps into your chest, and your eyes search your surroundings frantically for help, for a way out. The man in front of you tightens his hold on your arm and lifts his free hand toward your face, using a thick, dirty index finger to caress your cheek, trailing his touch down and tracing the outline of your jaw.
“Don’t-” you began.
“What?” the man asked, cocking an eyebrow. “You afraid of a good time?”
One of the men standing behind him stepped forward, his eyes raking your body, starting from your legs and traveling upwards, his gaze lingering on your chest. After a few seconds, the corners of his lips turned up in a sinister smile. “We’ll show you a good time, all right.” Tears prickled your eyes as the second pair of hands invaded your space further, one hand skimming the valley between your breasts, the other firmly squeezing your thigh, just below your ass. The remaining men took this as an invitation and they stepped closer, surrounding you from all sides.
Terror constricted your throat, and you whimpered helplessly, a heavy wave of tears tumbling down your cheeks, the salty taste of them invading your mouth. The lustful murmurs of the men echoed off the walls, and you prayed to a god you no longer believed in to end your misery. You felt bile rise in your throat as a hand brushed the inside of your thigh, inching upwards, a groan of anticipation rumbling in someone’s chest…
And something else.
Footsteps. Flat, heavy footsteps. They seemed to be coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time.
As the steps grew closer, the men grew rigid, alert. They looked at each other and ceased their actions, looking around to spot the source of the sound. You seized the opportunity to step out of their grasp and managed to back yourself into a corner, but they hardly noticed. Their eyes were trained on something – someone – else.
A tall, dark figure emerged from within the shadows of the platform adjacent to where you were standing. It was a man, that much you could tell. He was wearing a black mask that concealed half of his face, but it was impossible to miss the intimidating edge in his light-colored eyes. He stepped further into the light, and you spotted the stubble along his jaw, and pale pink lips that were set in a thin, straight line. He was dressed in all black too; black pants, heavy black boots, a black cape, black armor.
Upon seeing the masked individual, the men who had been harassing you just moments ago, chuckled snidely in unison. One of them stepped closer to the masked man, looking him up and down.
“What the hell are you supposed to be?” he asked smugly.
When the newcomer didn’t answer, the man confidently raised an arm, rushing forward to deliver a punch, but the masked man blocked it with ease. He delivered several strong blows against the smug man in response, sending him tumbling to the ground, where he continued beating him with force for a moment longer. He stopped, backing up just enough to see the outcome of his violence.
The masked individual stares down at the bloodied man in disgust. “I’m vengeance,” he uttered, his voice deep, cold, and lethal.
“Shit, it’s him,” you heard one of the other men mutter. They stood in front of you, frozen in shock, trying to calculate their next move.
They began surrounding the masked individual with uneasiness and began throwing messy kicks and punches, but the newcomer barrelled through the group of men with admirable swiftness. He took them down one by one, dodging their attacks and countering them with moves strong enough to immobilize them. You hadn’t realized it, but you had sunk deeper into the corner during their violent exchange, holding yourself close, with your knees drawn against your chest– a futile attempt at self protection.
It wasn’t long before the remaining men found themselves on the ground as well, having been no match for the stamina and strength of the dark mystery man before them. They cowered as he analyzed each and every one of them with intensity, his deadly stare alone driving them to stand and flee while they still had the chance.
Now that the men were gone, it was just you and him on the empty platform. His eyes landed on you then, and he took a tentative step closer. You looked up at him from your position on the ground, and you fixated on his sharp, broad shoulders, which made him seem impossibly enormous when paired with his impressive height. Although a strange man in disguise stood before you, all shred of fear had dissipated. He crouched ever-so-slightly, extending his gloved hand towards you.
You stared at it for a moment, but ultimately convinced yourself he was simply trying to help. Lacing your fingers through his, you allowed him to pull up to a standing position. He retracted his hand gently but swiftly, and he stepped to the side, allowing you a clear view of the exit. You held his gaze for several seconds, as if trying to commit every detail of his face to memory. Your chest swelled with gratitude and you found your throat numbing with emotion.
“Thank you.” You managed to whisper.
You gathered your purse, which lay a few feet away from you. You figured you must have dropped it during the commotion. Releasing a deep breath, you began walking toward the exit gate, which enclosed a set of stairs that led out to the street above. You felt his eyes on you the entire way, up until you disappeared from his field of vision. Your legs wobbled the rest of the way to your apartment, surely due to the trauma of what you had just endured. But there was something else there too. Something warm– inviting. Deeper than appreciation but not quite admiration, either.
It had been two weeks since that horrifying night at the subway station. You had gotten home, freshened up, and treated yourself to a late night snack. But instead of listening to your body and allowing yourself to indulge in much-needed sleep, you decided to turn to the internet, hell bent on finding everything you could on Vengeance. It hadn’t been difficult to find coverage on the masked man – The Batman, as he officially called himself. Unfortunately, there was not much information to entertain. All anyone knew about him was that he had made his first appearance as a vigilante two years prior, that he was most active at nighttime, and that his true identity was still a mystery.
You had left work every evening since then glancing up at the sky, looking down every dark alley, hoping you would catch another glimpse of him. You could not pinpoint the exact reason behind your fascination. But one thing was for certain– he had made an impression.
Within those two weeks, The Riddler had struck yet again, this time claiming Commissioner Savage of the GCPD as his second victim. Everyone at Daily Gotham was working overtime conducting research, publishing articles, desperately trying to put the pieces together. The Riddler had uploaded a video online prior to Savage’s murder, and he made his intentions frighteningly clear: he would continue killing, taking down important city figures, exposing their facades in order to unmask the truth about Gotham.
Images of Mayor Mitchell alongside a mystery woman had recently been leaked, followed by images of Commissioner Savage participating in a Drops buy. You hated to admit it, but The Riddler’s motives were much like your own. Minus the murder and psycopathy that had been thrown into the mix. But the guy was dedicated, you had to give him that. And it was because of this dedication that you came to the conclusion that The Riddler was your best bet at identifying and exposing your father’s killer.
You were going to use him – his knowledge, his tactics – to your advantage. You were going to need to get closer to the action, but not close enough to compromise your safety. What you needed was to speak to people on the inside– people who would fold under just the right amount of pressure.
There were rumors regarding the notorious Iceberg Lounge. You knew it was a famous mobspot, but after seeing the photos of Mitchell and his mystery woman, you assumed there was more going on behind those closed doors. What other reason would a respectable, important man like him have for being there?
The Iceberg Lounge, you decided, was where you would begin.
You descended the stairs leading to the secret club within the Lounge – the 44 Below, as they called it – your hand laced in the crook of Gil Colson’s arm. He was Gotham’s district attorney, and after doing some digging, you had discovered that he was a frequent visitor of the 44 Below. You had chosen the most alluring dress in your closet for the occasion. It was a gorgeous short navy blue satin dress with a slit up the thigh. The dress hugged your figure beautifully, and left very little to the imagination. It wasn’t skanky, but not modest either. It was the perfect combination of seduction and elegance. Paired with a glimmering diamond earring and necklace set, and deep red lipstick, you knew Colson would be rendered speechless the moment he laid eyes on you.
And you were counting on it.
Gil Colson was a smart man, but because of the high demand of his position, he was stressed and very susceptible to manipulation. It hadn’t surprised you when you’d learned he was a consistent Drops buyer. If anything, it made your job a whole lot easier. If he was wasted and horny, who knew how much information he’d be willing to divulge?
You passed through the guarded entrance of the 44 Below and were immediately met with a blast of heat. The scent of expensive perfume, alcohol, and sweat swarmed your nostrils. You looked around the room, finding the place packed to the hilt. There were tables and booths scattered along the edge of the room, gyrating bodies on the dance floor in the middle, a crowd surrounding the fully-stocked, elegant bar just beside the entrance.
Gil led you to one of the booths in a more secluded area of the room, where a group of familiar individuals awaited. You didn’t know them all by name, but you had seen them in photos and videos affiliated with Colson. As you made your way through the loud crowd, you noticed more than a few less-than-discrete stares in your direction. Once you finally made it to the booth, Gil slid in next to his secretary, beckoning you to take the open spot beside him.
He smiled sweetly at the sitting strangers. “Everyone, this is Y/N. I caught a glimpse of her upstairs and simply could not let her walk away without inviting her to join us.” He paused, turning to you. “Y/N, this Travis, Richie, Gwen, Carla.” He pointed to the respective individuals as he uttered their names.
It was your turn to put on a show. You spoke, your voice silky. “It’s such a pleasure.”
You flashed an innocent grin, accentuating the curve of your lips and the flutter of your lashes as you assessed the other two men at the table. As for the women, you regarded them with fabricated admiration.
Colson reached for the tray in the middle of the table and extended it in your direction. “You want a Drop?”
You shook your head and rested your manicured hand on his forearm, caressing it ever so gently. “Not tonight, sweetheart.”
He shrugged and plucked one of the small vials from the tray for himself. He twisted the seal off and tipped his head backwards, squeezing small drops of the contents of the vial in each eye. He brought his head back forward, and when you met his eyes, his pupils had dilated almost three times in size. You tried to ignore the squeeze of disgust in your gut, caused undoubtedly by what you had just witnessed. Your city’s district attorney – someone sworn to defend and uphold the law and justice – aid and abet one of the largest drug organizations in the country.
Before you could come up with something else to say, a beautiful woman in a leather corset, fishnet leggings, and matching long leather boots sauntered past your table. As if sensing your gaze, she stopped and turned, but her eyes didn’t quite meet yours. You realized that her eyes were trained slightly to the left, and when you turned, you saw Colson regarding her with just as much intensity. At first glance, she might have looked interested, but there was a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Gil slid out of the booth and closed the distance between him and the woman. Her red wig reflected the glimmer of the strobe lights. Her skin was smooth and tan, her lips effortlessly plump and red. Other than a dash of black winged liner and highlight, she wore no makeup whatsoever. Although you had only ever been interested in men, you couldn’t help but marvel at her natural beauty.
There was a brief exchange of words between her before Gil offered her a seat at your table, which she accepted with little hesitation. He proceeded with the same introduction that he gave you, but this time, you were part of that introduction. When he said your name, her gorgeous dark irises finally landed on you. She gave her head a minimal tilt, regarding you closely. She suddenly froze, breaking eye contact, as if something had caught her attention. But no one but you seemed to notice. When she met your eyes again, she smiled and leaned forward.
“Have I seen you here before?” she inquired politely.
You shook your head. “This is my first time actually. Figured I’d finally see for myself what all the fuss is about.” You made a show of snuggling closer to Colson, stroking his arm suggestively for emphasis. “I think it’s safe to say I didn’t walk away disappointed.”
She leaned in closer. “I’ve got to say, it is a hell of a time to be the new girl around these parts. Everyone’s on edge, especially with everything that’s been going on lately.”
Gil stiffened at the shift in conversation. He let out a slow, shaky breath, “Yeah, tell me about it. I’ve got a lot on my shoulders with that psycho running around.“ He dropped his head, shaking it pensively. “I mean, this Riddler… he’s going after the most powerful people in this city. He knows so much.”
One of the other men at the table, who had been completely silent up until this point, spoke up, irritation clear in his tone. “He don’t know shit, man.”
Colson whipped his head up at the man’s commentary. “Uh, yeah, he does, man. What about that rat–”
The man pointed a warning finger at Colson. “Hey. Hey, Gil, Come on. Slow down.”
The beautiful woman got that pensive look in her eyes again. After a few counts she reached across the table, taking Gil’s hands into hers, stroking his knuckles with her thumb gently. “Hey, what’s this about a rat?”
Realization dawned on me. I wasn’t the only one here with an agenda.
Gil raked a frustrated hand down his face, inhaling sharply. His voice wobbled when he spoke. “I mean,” there was a shaky pause, “there was a rat. We had an informant. We had some big time information on Salvatore Maroni, that’s how we got him out of the Drops business. This guy knows. It’s gonna come out, and when it does… this whole city’s gonna come apart!” His voice had risen to a near shout.
One of the women – Carla – spoke up this time. “Hey, I don’t wanna hear this. This is the kind of pillow talk that had that Russian girl disappeared.”
Russian girl? Was she talking about late Mayor Mitchell’s mistress? Word had it that she had disappeared a day after his murder. As far as you knew, no one had any information on her whereabouts, and it seemed like no one was in a rush to find her, either.
“What do you know about that?” the red-haired mystery woman demanded, not bothering to hide her piqued interest.
Carla shifted uncomfortably in her seat, then stood abruptly, fixing the risen bottom of her gold sequined dress. “Anybody want a drink?” She walked hastily towards the bar before anyone could answer.
The red-haired woman pushed out of her seat and followed after Carla. They quickly disappeared in the sea of bodies, but not before seeing the woman catch up and grip Carla fiercely by the arm, her expression dark and dangerous as she demanded an explanation.
You took this as your cue to go. After waving goodbye to the gentlemen at the table, you flashed Colson a sympathetic smile and made your way toward the exit. You scanned the room for Carla and the mystery woman, but there was no sign of either of them. As you walked through the door leading up to the main floor, you found yourself brushing shoulders with the notorious Carmine Falcone. He was wearing dark glasses, but by the angle of his neck and his sudden pause, you knew you had caught his attention.
Unfortunately for him, you were finished making friends for the night. You rushed up the stairs and bulldozed past the crowd on the upper floor. You made it past the guards who opened the armored door to let you out.
Once outside, you were met with a sharp shock of breeze which enveloped your exposed skin in an icy kiss, courtesy of a dark and cold November night.
Prompt: Teen Wolf, but with a twist. Scott McCall has a twin sister… and she falls in love with Derek Hale.
Summary: Peter uses the twins’ mom as another pawn in his game. As Serena attempts to save the day, she is once again stuck in the crossfire.
Word Count: 4,215
Warnings: language, blood, and bad writing
Author’s Note: Classes have started up again and I am swamped with work, so I apologize for the slow update. I’ll try to post the next chapter as soon as I can. Without further ado, here is part 6 of collateral damage! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading :)
*masterlist*
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It had been several days since the full moon, and I still hadn’t had the chance to talk to Scott about what happened. Overnight, it seemed, things had gone to complete shit. Things had taken a turn for the worse when Jackson uncovered our secret. After several weeks of keeping a watchful eye on all of us, he had put all of the pieces together, and was now demanding Scott to turn him into a werewolf. He had given Scott seventy-two hours to turn him himself, or to find someone else who would. Forty-eight hours had already gone by, and the clock continued ticking. If Scott didn’t honor Jackson’s request, Jackson made it clear he’d have no problem outing us all to the school, and consequently to the entire town.
To make matters worse, Kate Argent had begun dropping hints about the supernatural to Allison. First, she had led Allison to her family’s weapons vault, which housed an assortment of peculiar weapons; ones whose function exceeded mere protection. Arrows, guns, stun batons, and chemical agents-- all were modified weapons designed to immobilize and kill. If that wasn’t bad enough, Kate had given Allison direct access to her family’s hunter ancestry. Scott and Allison were supposed to be broken up now that her father knew what Scott was, but the two were too stubborn to part ways just like that. Scott was treading on dangerous ground; he was putting his life on the line for every second he spent with Allison. As far as she was concerned, her overprotective father simply didn’t like her boyfriend, so she was adamant on rebelling against him.
The pair was almost caught together at her house one day after school. Kate had barged into Allison’s room unannounced, and Scott had barely had time to jam himself in her closet before she saw him. Kate had gotten Allison a necklace with a wolf imprinted on it-- a peace offering, she claimed. Before exiting the room, she suggested that Allison look into her family’s legacy by searching the phrase engraved on the back of the pendant.
La Bête Du Gévaudan.
Since then, Allison had been carrying around a book detailing the story of the Beast of Gevaudan. She spent hours upon hours staring at drawings of vicious, red-eyed creatures, which all coincidentally possessed lupine characteristics. Her search for theories and explanations had almost become an obsession. None of us knew whether her skepticism was still intact, or if she had started to believe the things she was reading. Either way, things were getting messy fast, and we couldn’t do anything to stop it.
Scott was preoccupied dealing with the ticking time bomb that was Jackson, and Allison’s poking and prodding in the supernatural world didn’t make things any easier on him. This left him no time to focus on anything but damage control. Lydia was still shaken up about the incident at the movie store, so Stiles had been sticking to her like glue, making sure she didn’t mention anything that would get us all in more serious trouble.
This left Derek and I together. We had spent every day since the full moon together, tracking Peter. It wasn’t easy, but Derek maneuvered his way around with incredible expertise. We had managed to figure out that Peter had shifted back to his human form and was taking up residence in a mental health clinic with the help of a crooked nurse. To the unsuspecting eye, he seemed like a regular catatonic patient. But we knew better than to fall for the helpless act. He was just another dormant volcano that could erupt at any moment's notice.
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It was Wednesday, and Scott and I had just gotten home from school. Each of us headed upstairs and straight into our bedrooms. I slipped into more comfortable clothes and tossed my hair into a messy bun. I rummaged through the thick collection of textbooks and binders in my backpack, fishing around for the one labeled “biology.” I pulled out the designated one and flopped it open on my bed. I was already ahead by two chapters in biology, but given the fact that I was feeling particularly motivated, I didn’t want to let my free time go to waste. I flipped the coordinating textbook to chapter eight and began scanning the material. I laid out an assortment of highlighters and sticky notes for my convenience. I managed to read and take notes on three pages before I heard someone knocking on Scott’s bedroom door. I figured it was my mom, so I continued, jotting down key points and definitions in my binder as I went along. A few seconds passed, and there was another knock.
“Not now, mom,” I heard Scott grumble from within his bedroom.
She didn’t respond. Instead, there were three more knocks.
“I said not now,” he groaned. His footsteps were heavy and stiff as he crossed his bedroom and opened the door.
“Sorry.” Allison’s voice was small, apologetic. “Your mom let me in.” There was a pause. “Can we talk?”
Scott cleared his throat. “Of course, yeah. Come in.”
I rolled my eyes and continued highlighting. I paused every couple of seconds to try and listen to their conversation, but neither of them had spoken a word to each other. The only sound I could pick up was the erratic beat of their hearts. After what seemed like hours, Scott finally spoke.
“Do you want me to say something first?” he asked.
“No,” she replied, her voice quivering slightly.
“Okay.” He paused. “Do you want me to leave you alone for a few minutes?”
“Why would I want that?” she inquired.
“I don’t know,” said Scott.
I couldn’t help but giggle. Their conversation was going absolutely nowhere.
“It’s just that, uh--” he began. “You came in here and said that you wanted to talk. We’ve been sitting here for, like, ten minutes and you haven’t said anything yet and It’s really starting to freak me out.”
She let out a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry, it’s just a little hard to start.” There were a few counts of silence. “This is going to sound really ridiculous. I… I guess I just don’t want you to laugh at me.”
Scott reassured her immediately. “No, not at all. I would never laugh at you.”
I let out an audible groan. Seriously? I thought to myself. Can these two get any sappier?
“It’s about my family,” she said finally.
“Okay,” Scott replied, inviting her to continue.
“A little while ago I caught them in a lie,” Allison admitted. “A small one. When my aunt first arrived, she had car trouble. My dad said it was a flat tire, but she said she needed a jump start.”
“Maybe it was just a bit of miscommunication,” Scott suggested.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “That’s what I thought too. And then I found glass in her car like the window had been smashed in.” She sighed, as if signaling that it was only gonna get more complicated. “I’ve been overhearing some really strange conversations. I think some of it has to do with Derek.”
I felt my ears perk up at the mention of Derek’s name. I put the cap on my highlighter and set it in between the pages I was reading as a placeholder, then flipped the book shut.
“You sure?” Scott tried his best to sound skeptical.
“Yeah, I think that he’s not--”
She was interrupted by the sound of my mom’s voice echoing in the hallway in between my room and Scott’s. She knocked on both of our doors. “Hey, kids, I’m coming home late,” she stated.
I slid off of my bed and cracked my door open wide enough to poke my head out. Scott followed, revealing himself and Allison standing side-by-side inside of his bedroom. We looked at each other from across the hall, neither of us saying a thing. I was slightly taken aback by my mother, who had replaced her signature scrubs for a sexy navy blue pantsuit and an elegant updo hairstyle. Small diamond earrings adorned her ears, a matching necklace resting around her neck. She was wearing a thin layer of foundation, and her cheeks were rosy with blush. She had on a velvety red lipstick that complemented her skin beautifully.
“What’s the matter?” my mom asked, alarmed. “Is it too much? Is it the hair? It’s the hair, isn’t it?”
She looked at Scott, then at me, then back at Scott.
“No, nothing’s wrong,” Scott managed to say. “You look beautiful.”
“You look amazing,” Allison agreed, nodding.
She turned to me once more, eyebrows raised, as if asking me ‘Are you sure?’
I flashed a reassuring smile. “You look incredible, mom. What’s the occasion?”
“Well…” she began, unable to suppress an enthusiastic grin. “Tonight I am having dinner -- for once -- with a member of the male gender who’s over the age of seventeen.”
“Who is it?” Scott asked.
“A medical rep who came into the hospital today,” she replied excitedly. “We kind of just got to talking, and the next thing I know I’m saying yes to dinner. You know, I’m really starting to hate myself for skipping the gym last week.”
“A medical rep?” Scott and I repeated in unison.
Before she could answer, the doorbell rang downstairs.
“I bet that’s him,” my mom said. “Can one of you get the door? I have to do one quick thing before I go.”
I nodded. “I’ll do it,” I said.
With that, I bounded down the stairs, crossing the foyer to reach the door. As I reached for the doorknob, a sense of dread overcame me. It felt like there was an electric current pulling me towards whatever was behind the door. The hair on my arms stood rigidly, my skin tingling with goosebumps. My stomach tightened uneasily, but I couldn’t understand why. I stared at the doorknob, judging whether it was a good idea to open it or not. Before I could make up my mind, the doorbell rang again.
“Serena!” my mom yelled from upstairs. “Open the door!”
I swallowed hard and reached for the knob once more. I flipped the lock above it and turned it counter-clockwise, trying not to think too hard about who or what stood on the other side. I tried to convince myself that I was nervous for my mom, but that I had no reason to be. This was just one harmless date… right?
As soon as I opened the door wide enough to reveal the person standing behind it, I immediately regretted it. My blood ran cold at the sight of Peter Hale at my doorstep, hair slicked back and clad in a fancy black suit. I took an involuntary step back, and he took this as an invitation to step into the house. He shut the door carefully behind him, assessing his surroundings until his eyes finally landed on me.
“Serena McCall,” he said, his voice low. “What a lovely surprise.”
My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. My hands were at my sides, shaking with equal parts fear and anger. “Why are you here?” I managed to ask.
“For your mother, of course,” he replied nonchalantly. “She agreed to go out to dinner with me tonight. Or did she not tell you?” he added cynically.
I felt revulsion bubble up inside me. “You’re not going anywhere with her.”
He smiled, but his lips were pursed in a thin line of annoyance. “I don’t think that’s for you to decide. Besides… you and Scott are the ones pushing my hand. Join my pack and it’ll all be over. Your mother doesn’t have to get caught in the crossfire.”
Just then, I heard the sound of my mother’s heels clicking down the stairs. Scott was directly behind her, and his eyes flashed with worry once he saw Peter standing in the middle of the foyer. My mom stopped in front of Peter, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her cheeks were rosy, indicating that she was flustered.
“I apologize for the wait,” she said to him. “I’m ready to go whenever you are.”
Peter swiftly placed a hand on the small of her back, opening the door and guiding her out. Scott stepped forward, alarm clear in his voice when he spoke.
“Mom--,” he began.
I put my arm out in front of him, stopping him. She turned around and I shook my head at him ever-so-slightly. He assessed me, eyes clouded with confusion.
I gave my mom a reassuring smile. “Nothing. Have fun and be safe, okay?”
She flashed a pearly-white grin and continued, making her way down the porch steps. One she and Peter were far enough down the driveway, I shut the door and immediately looked at Scott.
“Are you out of your freaking mind?” He demanded. “Why the hell didn’t you stop her?”
I sighed. “You and I know that Peter is stronger than both of us combined. Challenging him would have been a mistake, especially since he’s practically swinging our mother over our heads. I don’t like this any more than you do, but we have to be smart about this.”
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration engraved on his face. “So what do we do?”
“Follow them,” I instructed. “Make sure she’s safe and make sure Peter doesn’t see you. We’re dangerously close to seriously pissing him off, and when we do, I want our mother to be as far away from him as possible.”
“Okay, I’ll call Stiles,” he said. “What about you?”
I bit my lip. “I need to find Derek. He’s the only one who stands a chance against him if things come down to a fight. He’ll know what to do.”
Scott nodded and rushed up the stairs, storming into his room, fabricating a random excuse to get Allison to leave. I didn’t stick around long enough to hear it. I grabbed my car keys from the table by the entryway and launched myself into the driver’s seat of my car. I reversed out of the driveway and sped down the road, sending up a silent prayer that Derek would be ready and willing to go against Peter tonight.
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I parked at the entrance of the preserve and decided to make it the rest of the way to the Hale house on foot. It was dark, but I had walked through these woods countless times over the last few weeks. So many times, in fact, that the path had been carved into my memory. I used the infrared properties of my eyes to make sure I wasn’t being followed, which I wasn’t. I weaved in between the thicket of trees at a fast pace, knowing that my mother was in danger every second she spent with Peter.
Once I made it to the Hale house, I trotted up the porch steps and slipped through the front door, which coincidentally was already open. It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust, and when they did, I was able to make out Derek’s silhouette a few feet in front of me, his back facing me. I opened my mouth to speak, but he interrupted before I was able to get any words out.
His tone was dark and menacing. “You can’t be here right now, Serena. Leave.”
I stood in place. “I’m not going anywhere,” I told him. “This is important.”
He turned his head slightly, the moonlight illuminating the side of his face. When he spoke again, his voice held the same murderous edge. “You need to go. I’m not going to tell you again.”
I refused to let this deter me. Instead, I took a step closer to him. “This can’t wait. It’s about Peter.”
I saw the muscles in his jaw contract, and then he faced away again. It was then that my sixth sense picked up another heartbeat in the room. The smell of fear invaded my nostrils, the sound of the heart beating erratically thumped in my ears. I looked down at Derek’s hands to see that his claws were fully visible. His fingers were curled, his hand poised, ready to deliver a lethal swipe. I attempted to push past him to get a better view, but he swung around and pushed me backwards with his body. He leaned down dangerously close and growled in my face, fangs showing, his eyes flashing a bright blue.
I stared back at him, unfazed. My persistence caught him slightly off-guard, because I was able to peek behind him before he could obstruct my view. My heart leaped in surprise at the sight of Jackson cowering on the stairs, a gash of broken skin above his eyebrow bleeding heavily.
My eyes flew to Derek’s, but he failed to meet my gaze. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.
“Serena, please,” Jackson whispered. “I-I’ll leave Scott alone. I swear I will. I won’t s-say another word about any of this, but please-- d-don’t let him kill me.”
Derek scoffed. Then to me, he said, “You really want to keep this asshole alive after all that he’s done? Terrorizing your brother, threatening to reveal our secret to everyone in town? He’s a liability.”
I looked at Derek, then at Jackson, then back to him. I shook my head. “This isn’t the way, Derek.”
I took a few slow, cautious steps towards Jackson. Although I would happily scream any and every insult known to man at him, I knew killing him wouldn’t solve anything. Scott had taught me that we were supposed to be above revenge and retribution; we were supposed to be good. If we succumbed to every murderous urge that struck, we wouldn’t be any better than Peter.
I offer Jackson my hand, which he graciously took. He stood, wincing in pain. He looked in between Derek and I, attempting to assess whether this was reality or simply a trick. I jerked my head towards the door.
“You’d better leave before Derek changes his mind,” I told him flatly.
He walked around us slowly, his head ducked low. I looked over at Derek, who had his eyes trained on Jackson’s every move. Right before Jackson could make another step towards the door, there was a flash of blinding white light. Gunfire rained down on us, bullets skyrocketing through the walls of the house, bouncing around in all directions.
“Serena, get down!” I heard Derek command. But it was too late.
The impact of the bullet launched me backwards. I looked down, barely being able to make out the wound on the right side of my abdomen. I pressed my hand against it and attempted to stand up, but it was as if my legs were being held down by a magnetic force. Blood continued to ooze from the bullet wound, which was becoming increasingly more painful. I made a second attempt to get on my feet, but it was futile. I couldn’t move.
I tried to call out to Derek, but I wasn’t able to get any words out either. A strange warm, metallic taste filled my mouth. Blood dripped from the corners of my mouth, adding to the large red stain on my shirt. I felt my airway begin to close. The only thing I could do was make quiet, pathetic choking sounds and hope Derek would hear me in between all of the commotion.
“You need to go!” Derek shouted over the ongoing sound of heavy firepower.
I shook my head, signaling that I was unable to stand, let alone carry my own weight all the way back home. I squeezed my eyes shut as another wave of fiery pain shot through me. In between the haze, I pictured my mom and Scott’s faces. A tear escaped from the corner of my eye, trickling down my cheek. The thought of never seeing either of them again shattered my heart into a million pieces. Even if I didn’t make it, my one and only hope was for their safety.
A strong pair of arms scooped me up off the ground. I cracked my eyes open slightly, and all I could focus on was how beautifully Derek’s features were illuminated by the moonlight. My body bounced and swayed slightly in his arms due to how fast he was running. A blur of trees passed overhead, making me dizzy. I coughed, another thick spurt of blood escaping my mouth, this time transferring onto Derek’s clothes.
“Stay with me,” he said, breathing hard. “We’re almost there.”
I nodded, but my eyelids felt heavy. It felt as though my body was a rock hanging from a thread, dangling above water. I was preparing myself to be dropped into the bottom of the abyss.
“Derek,” I croaked weakly. “You have to make sure they’re safe.”
He glanced down at me for a split second. Another one of those unreadable looks passed through his eyes, but it vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. He shook his head dismissively. “You can see to that yourself.”
I didn’t have the energy to argue. Instead, I tucked my head in the crook of his neck, fighting the urge to give in to sleep’s current. Derek mumbled another string of words, but I wasn’t able to catch them. I struggled to keep my eyelids from shutting, but exhaustion overcame me. I had no choice but to give in.
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My mind jolted back into consciousness a few minutes later. When I opened my eyes, I was face-up, the bright glare of lights beaming down on me. I was laying on a metal table, the cold of the material zapping my skin, bringing me back to my senses. I turned my head to the side, and my eyes immediately focused on a metal tray, which contained a single blood-stained bullet, which was engraved with the Argent family crest. When I turned to the other side, Dr. Deaton was looking down at me, the corners of his mouth tipping up in a friendly smile.
“You’re going to be just fine,” he assured me in a calm voice. “I was able to remove the bullet without any issues. I’ve given you something to speed up the healing process, but I don’t think you should sit up just yet.”
My hands instinctively moved to the wound’s location, which was coated with dried blood, but otherwise felt like it was healing the way it was supposed to.
“Where’s Derek?” I asked. I hated the fact that that question was the first that popped into my mind, but I couldn’t help myself.
“He left as soon as he brought you to me. You told him to make sure Scott and your mother were okay, and that’s exactly what he did. Scott should be here shortly to take you home.”
I experienced a potent flutter in the pit of my stomach. I was still overcome with exhaustion, so I decided now was not the time to decipher what it meant. All I knew was that I was thankful, and that I was once again in Derek’s debt.
The bell at the front jingled and I heard two pairs of footsteps slip through the door. One made its way in my direction quickly; almost frantically. Scott leaned over, examining me from head to toe, his forehead creasing with worry.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I reassured him. “Where’s mom?”
“At home safe. Stiles and I had to get creative, but we managed to stop her from going through with the date with that psycho.”
I nodded. “Help me up?”
Scott extended his arm and I wrapped my hands around it, letting him pull me up to a sitting position. The abrupt movement made my head spin slightly. Once the room finally stopped moving in circles, my eyes were able to focus on the figure standing behind Deaton. Derek stepped forward into the doorframe of the operation room, just enough so that I could see him. His hair was tousled, his face stained with a mixture of dirt, gunpowder, and dried blood, and his hands were tucked lazily in his pockets. He was still wearing the same shirt from earlier, a large red spot staining his midsection, indicating where I had been leaning against him.
His eyes were soft; empathetic almost. I couldn’t help but feel completely entranced by his gaze.
“Thank you,” I mouthed, sending a small smile of gratitude in his direction.
He looked at me for a very long time, almost as if he was judging whether or not to accept my appreciation. His inviting exterior turned stone cold once again and he turned around, exiting the building without uttering a single word. I felt my heart sink with disappointment-- again.
Scott hooked his arm around my torso and led me to the door slowly, handling me as though I was made of glass.
“Let’s get you home,” he told me, leading me outside to where my car was waiting in the parking lot.
I looked around, hoping to find Derek still lurking in the shadows.
Prompt: Teen Wolf, but with a twist. Scott McCall has a twin sister… and she falls in love with Derek Hale.
Summary: Serena anticipates her second full moon, preparing for the worst. But nothing could have prepared her for this.
Word Count: 4,932
Warnings: language, graphic injuries, and bad writing
Author’s Note: I hope you all enjoy part 5 as much as I enjoyed writing it! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading :)
*masterlist*
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Things had been eerily quiet since the night of the conference. Derek and Scott had been keeping their ears to the ground for the past two weeks, not wanting to raise suspicions. The last thing we needed right now was for Peter to discover that we were on his tail. Since the three of us weren’t much of a pack, and therefore lacked the strength to take him on directly, we needed to rely on the element of surprise. Derek had more experience when it came to tracking and surveillance, so it became common for him to stop by and fill us in on his findings. By the looks of it, we weren’t any closer to taking down Peter for good.
I was feeling very on edge. I wasn’t sure if it was because of Peter, who had been running around murdering innocent people up until a few days ago, or if it was because I couldn’t get his obnoxious nephew out of my head. Every time Derek was around, I felt like I turned into a magnet-- drawn to him despite my better judgment. When I looked at him, I experienced a polarity of emotions, but desire seemed to outweigh them all.
Tonight also happened to be the full moon and my anxiety was running unusually high. Scott and I had been training on my impulse control since I turned, but that alone was not going to keep me from killing whatever -- or whoever -- crossed my path tonight. I could pass training with flying colors during daylight hours, but I knew that wouldn’t be the case when the moon reached its peak later in the night. I couldn’t risk turning into a rabid animal and hurting anyone I cared about. The most feasible solution would be to take me to someone who could teach me how to anchor myself to my humanity, someone who had been through the full moon more times than Scott and I combined.
To my dismay, that someone happened to be Derek Hale.
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After the dismissal bell rang at the end of last period, I stopped by my locker to drop off my stuff. Considering that I was going to be spending the entirety of my night focusing on not brutally murdering anyone, it was safe to say that homework wasn’t going to fit into my itinerary. I had managed to keep myself composed for most of the school day. I was still feeling very hypersensitive to sounds and scents, but I hadn’t fantasized about ripping someone’s head off or removing their intestines, so I considered that progress. I dumped everything except for my keys and my phone in my locker, then made my way out to the student parking lot.
I crossed the rows of parked cars, weaving in between groups of students littering the asphalt until I found my car. I got into the driver’s seat and inserted the key into the ignition, the engine roaring to life. I backed out of my parking spot just as the school buses closed their doors. I sped to the end of the row, determined to make it out of the parking lot before the buses. If I got stuck behind them, a good fifteen minutes would pass before I could pull out onto the main road. I made a sharp turn past the last vehicle in the row, making it out just in time to see the first bus circle around the loading area behind me. A small smile of satisfaction surfaced on my lips. I turned on the radio and hummed along happily as I drove in the direction of the Hale house. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
-------------------------------------------------
I felt my confidence diminish substantially the closer I got to Derek’s house. My stomach had become a queasy, knotted mess. My hands had gone from warm and dry to cold and clammy. I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. I tried to concentrate on the music coming from the radio, but it had started to sound like static. My heart was beating like crazy, but I knew that this time the full moon was not to blame. Whenever Derek was in close proximity, my body seemed to enter a state of such severe anxiety that it felt like it was going to shut down completely.
After a few minutes of driving through the preserve, the dirt ended a few feet from the clearing where the Hale house was located. I killed the engine and sat in silence for several counts, trying to regain my composure. I closed my eyes and took several long, deep breaths. Emphasis on long.
Once I decided that I had done enough stalling, I reluctantly opened the door and stepped out of the car. My knees buckled as soon as my feet hit the ground, and I had to hold onto the door handle for support.
“Get it together, Serena,” I whispered to myself. It did absolutely nothing to help my nerves, but I thought I’d give it a try anyway.
I walked the rest of the way to the front of the house. My legs felt more and more like jelly with every step that I took. I climbed up the porch steps and stopped in front of the charred wooden door. I didn’t know whether to knock or just let myself in. I took a few seconds to decide. Ultimately, I chose the latter.
I turned the knob and eased the door open. For the burnt, deteriorated state it was in, I was surprised it didn’t creak. I stepped into the threshold and waited for my eyes to adjust to darkness. I stood there for a moment, taking every detail in. I thought back to the first time I had been here, after I was bitten. Derek had supposedly found me in the woods and brought me here.
“Serena?” inquired a familiar voice. I looked up to where the voice had come from.
Derek stood at the top of the stairs, shirtless and glistening with sweat. His black hair was styled in his usual side swoop, and not a strand was out of place. I coughed involuntarily.
He walked lazily down the stairs, stopping at the last step. He was already tall, but the additional boost of the step made him look gigantic. “I wasn’t expecting you until later,” he told me.
I looked down at my feet, at the windows, at the fly against the wall. Anywhere but directly at him. “I didn’t want to make a double trip, so I drove over after school let out. I hope that’s okay.”
He shrugged and hopped down to the floor next to me. “Sure.”
I hated him for being so nonchalant. I felt like I was going to throw up or piss my pants, or maybe both at the same time, but he had the audacity to brush me off like me being here was nothing out of the ordinary. Suddenly I wished I had brought my homework. The topic of cellular reproduction would have been an outstanding buffer for the obnoxious sense of awkwardness that I was currently experiencing.
Derek walked over to the living room and grabbed the shirt that was slung over the armrest of his scorched loveseat. He pulled it over his head, stuck his arms through the holes, and rolled it down his torso. It was a white tank top that didn’t do much to hide his incredible physique, so I still felt incredibly intimidated. He walked out of the living room and into the kitchen.
“Do you want something to eat?” he asked me. “This isn’t exactly a chef’s dream kitchen, but it’s still functional. Tonight’s gonna be a long night, and if you’re going to be fighting against the urge of the full moon, you’re going to need a good amount of energy to do so.”
The mere thought of food made me the urge to puke even stronger. Out of all the things I wanted Derek to see me do, that was not one of them.
“I’m okay,” I replied. “Not hungry.”
Under normal circumstances, I’d be starving at this hour. I moved into the living room and sat down on the only piece of furniture that didn’t look like it was going to collapse under my weight. My hands were ice cold and tucked in my lap. I surveyed the room, taking in every detail in an attempt to keep myself occupied. It was indeed going to be a very long night.
I saw Derek staring at me, arms crossed, from the corner of my eye. I turned my head and met his gaze. I intended for it to look like a gesture of annoyance, but as soon as we locked eyes, I felt my cheeks heat up along with the rest of my body. I had no choice but to look away.
“You’re nervous,” he said. His tone implied that he wasn’t asking-- he knew.
I let out a shaky breath. “It’s only my second full moon. How the hell else should I feel?”
I could’ve sworn I heard him roll his eyes. “At least attempt to have some confidence. Half the reason why you’re out of control is because you haven’t accepted what you are. You want to learn control? Come to terms with the fact that you’re a werewolf now. As unconventional as it may be for you, it’s your new reality. You can’t change what you are.”
I flinched. I knew that everything he said was true, but somehow it hurt more hearing it from him. The butterflies disappeared and were replaced by anger. He could have slapped me across the face, and I was certain it would have hurt less. I felt my eyes burn tears, but I quickly wiped them away. I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
“This was a mistake,” I said, more to myself than to him. I stood abruptly and made a move towards the front door. I made it to the threshold, but I heard him following behind me. Before I could reach for the doorknob, Derek grabbed me by the elbow, pulling me away from the door. I turned, only to find him standing directly in front of me. I had to tilt my head backwards just to be able to look him in the eyes. His jaw was clenched, his lips set in a thin line.
He jerked his chin behind me, at the door. “If you walk out of here, you’re on your own. Tonight’s the full moon, and I can guarantee that Argent and his hunters are out there right now, waiting to stumble across one of us.” He waited for my response, but I remained silent. “If you don’t want my help, fine, but don’t be stupid and get yourself killed. You don’t want a repeat of last time, do you? Because if you leave and get yourself into trouble, I can assure you I won’t be saving your ass again.”
“Fuck you,” I replied, shoving Derek in the chest, causing him to momentarily lose his balance.
I pushed past him, but I only made it a few strides before an excruciating pain shot through my skull. I fell onto my knees, clutching my head. The pain clouded my vision, momentarily blinding me. I felt Derek rush to my side. When he spoke, his voice echoed as if it were far away, and he no longer sounded angry. I was disoriented, so I couldn’t be sure. He scooped me into his arms and carried me down to the basement of his house. He opened the door to a fortified cell and set me down gently inside. He grabbed my arms and legs and binded them with the chains that hung from the wall. A rush of power soared inside me, indicating that the full moon fever was starting. I hadn’t been at Derek’s for very long, so I knew the full moon wouldn’t reach its apex for at least another two hours. However, that meant I would experience momentary shifts until it successfully reached its highest point. I sat there for a few minutes before the effects of the near-transformation went away.
My vision returned to normal, and I saw Derek standing in the corner of the room, watching me. I was acutely aware of how silly I must’ve looked chained to the wall. I also felt a heightened sense of clarity, which made me realize that the anger and frustration I had experienced upstairs just a few minutes before was a by-product of the full moon. Its hold on me was still strong, which meant that I was susceptible to heightened -- and even extreme -- emotions.
Sadness. Anger. Desire.
I couldn’t blame the full moon for making me feel those emotions; only for amplifying them. I chewed on the inside of my left cheek, contemplating on how I was going to apologize to Derek. He didn’t have to help me. I knew he was doing it as a favor for Scott, but that didn’t matter. He might’ve been an asshole, but he was an asshole who was offering help I desperately needed.
“You’re right,” I admitted softly. Derek jerked his head up, startled by my voice. I took his attention as a sign to continue. “I’m sorry for being so insufferable. It’s just--”
“The full moon,” he finished for me. I saw a small smile fighting its way to the surface. “Yeah, I can tell.”
“Can I ask you something?” I asked.
He crossed his arms, but I saw a hint of humor in his eyes. “Do I have a choice?”
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I only did that when I was nervous. “Earlier when we were arguing you told me that this is my new reality. Being a werewolf, I mean. That I can’t change what I am,” I began.
“Yeah?”
“I know that it’s impossible, but I don’t think I’ll be able to live with myself knowing that I didn’t even attempt to ask.”
He looked at me like I had just sprouted three heads. “Ask what?”
I swallowed hard. “Is there really no cure for lycanthropy?”
I could tell that he was surprised by the question. He remained quiet for a moment, weighing his words.
“Serena--” he started.
“It’s either yes or no, Derek,” I retorted. I hated being so harsh, but I wanted a straight answer. This wasn’t something I wanted to guess.
“I’ve heard of one method, but I don’t know how much truth there is behind it. My guess is that it’s just a myth. I’ve never heard of a werewolf being cured before,” he told me.
“How do you do it?” I pressed.
“What, being a werewolf isn’t good enough for you?” He said it sarcastically, but if I didn’t know better, I’d say he sounded a teeny tiny bit offended.
I ran a hand through my hair. “It’s not that. It’s just-- I’m not like you or Scott,” I explained. “You were born this way. You don’t know what it’s like not being a werewolf, but I do. I remember it very vividly, considering that I was human up until a mere two months ago. You and Scott-- you’re good at it. But being this… this thing-- it just isn’t me. If there’s even a small sliver of a chance that I could go back to living a painfully normal life, I’d like to take it.”
He considered this for a moment. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll tell you.”
“Okay,” I nodded, urging him on. “How can I be cured?”
“You have to kill the one that bit you.”
I felt myself go pale. “What?”
“That’s how you do it,” he reassured. “That’s your cure.”
“You’re telling me I have to kill Peter?” I felt the hope inside me deflate, leaving a pit of disappointment in its wake. I felt my bottom lip quiver, unable to keep the emotion at bay. I felt my eyes fill up with tears once more, but this time I couldn’t keep them from tumbling down my cheeks.
Derek stepped closer to the cell, crouching down to be at my eye level. I lowered my head, attempting to hide the fact that the sadness was overcoming me. He slipped an arm through the bars, wiping the tear off my cheek with his thumb. The way he touched felt so strange, yet so familiar. Almost exactly like I had imagined it. He tipped my chin up so I could look at him. His eyes held a tenderness to them that I had never seen before.
“Listen to me, Serena,” he said softly. His hand was still resting against my face, stroking it gently. Suddenly his eyes turned hard, any trace of compassion vanishing instantly. “If you help me find him, I’ll help you kill him.”
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Derek and I spent the next few hours in silence. I couldn’t bear to look him in the eye after breaking down in front of him. I did my best to keep my thoughts in check, not wanting to let them reel out of control. If I thought too long or too hard about his intentions, I was sure I’d send myself into another frenzy.
The full moon’s apex was fast-approaching. I had thirty, maybe forty minutes before the full force of its power took over me completely. As its position shifted higher and higher in the sky, I felt the pull intensify, sending waves of excruciating pain through my body every few minutes. The pain ebbed gradually, and just when I thought it would end, the next wave would hit harder than the last. Derek tried to talk me through anchoring my humanity to every sharp stab of pain, but it wasn’t working. The harder I tried to fight it, the more unbearable the pain became.
For a brief moment, the discomfort went away. I took a moment to prepare myself for what was to come. I looked up at Derek, whose eyes were trained on the time on his phone screen. I could tell by his stance that I had seconds left before I lost control of myself. He tucked his phone into his pocket and walked over to the window on the opposite side of the room from me. He peered out, glancing at the moon’s position in the sky. He walked back to the front of the cell and gave me a full once-over.
“Any second now,” he told me. “Remember what I’ve taught you, alright? Use the pain and the rage to your advantage. They will anchor you to your humanity.”
I nodded, waiting for the next surge to overtake me. The seconds ticked by, but I still felt like myself. I felt a shift in the air; a crackle of electricity. I couldn’t explain it, but something didn’t feel right. Derek must have felt it too, because he stood unbelievably still, straining his hearing to figure out what was going on.
“We’ve got company,” he told me. “Whoever it is wasn’t invited. Stay here, I’m going to go take a look.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” I responded. I tugged on the chains binding my hands for emphasis.
He rolled his eyes and cracked the basement door, slipping out soundlessly. I heard the floorboards above me creak, footsteps thumping throughout the house. By the sound of things, there were at least three of them.
A low voice, one that I didn’t recognize, cut through the silence first. “Looks like no one’s home.”
A woman spoke next. Her voice, both seductive and menacing, sent shivers down my spine. “Oh, he’s here. He’s just not feeling particularly hospitable.”
The third person, a man, followed with a response. “Maybe he’s out burying a bone in the backyard.”
There was an awkward silence.
I heard the woman sigh. “Really? A dog joke? You come in here and that’s the best you’ve got?” She paused for a moment. When she spoke again, her tone was laced with bravado. “If you want to provoke him, say something like ‘Too bad your sister bit it before she had her first litter. Too bad she howled like a bitch when we cut her in half!’”
Derek roared and launched himself at the intruders. There was a loud thud as two bodies hit the floor. He growled and moved again, this time towards the person that was still standing. Before he could reach them, I heard the powerful zap of a military-grade taser, which forced him onto the ground.
“Wow,” purred the woman. “This one grew in all the right places.”
As if on cue, my heart began racing. The thumping filled my ears, hammering into my skull like a steady metronome. My body temperature rose dangerously fast, my blood boiling in my veins. It was almost as if I could feel the hot liquid run through my body, leaving behind an aching burn. I slumped against the wall in pain, clawing at the stone, trying anything and everything to ease the pain. I struggled against the chains as the agony threatened to consume me entirely. I pulled so hard that the metal began to break the skin at my wrists, blood trickling down my arms. My lungs gasped for air, but when I opened my mouth to let the oxygen in, it was as if my throat was made of cotton. I inhaled, and to my dismay, nothing came through. My vision began to blur, and I felt my legs give out from underneath me. I slumped against the stone, hanging helplessly from the chains with my arms above my head.
As I fought to remain awake, I was able to make out the woman’s voice as she spoke to Derek once more. “I don’t know whether to kill it or… lick it.”
With no warning at all, a jab of pain stabbed my lower back. I threw my head back involuntarily, my skull hitting the wall of rock behind me with tremendous force. It was then that I began to feel bones break within my body. My toes began to bend against my will, splintering every which way. I tried to stand, but my legs curved unnaturally, sending me crashing down on my knees. My ribs shifted up and down so brusquely that I felt them brush against my organs. My fingers broke at awkward angles, the bones protruding from my skin. My arms began to spasm at my sides, the bones continuing to crack and pop out of place. I even felt the cartilage of my ears crumble. It was almost like something was trying to break out of my body.
I let out another wail of agony as my neck and spine snapped out of place, leaving me completely paralyzed. I tried to call out Derek’s name, but the words were swallowed by the discomfort, which made it impossible to draw in air. I didn’t realize I had been pulling on the chains until they gave a groan of protest and snapped off of my wrists. I broke the chains that binded my feet and fell onto the floor on all fours. My back arched gruesomely, my spine twisting and turning, beginning to take a new shape. I felt my limbs stretch and shift back into position. I looked down and saw my broken hands begin to mold into what looked like paws. All I could do was stare in horror. Tufts of grey fur began sprouting all over my body, covering my legs, face, and body. I felt sharp, gigantic canines appear from within my gums.
My thoughts were running at a million miles per minute, trying to comprehend what had happened-- what was happening. Even though I was equally terrified and confused, I did find relief in one thing: the pain had finally subsided.
A low growl made its way to the surface from the deep recesses of my chest. I felt my snout curl into a sinister snarl, and then I took off running out of the basement, my body slipping through the bars of the cell, bending them as though they were made of rubber.
I was amazed at how liberated I felt. I wasn’t afraid of what I was or what I was capable of. All I knew was that I felt like me for the first time in two months. That, and that Derek needed my help. I climbed swiftly up the stairs, making it to the top just in time to see the woman, who I could now identify as Kate Argent, shocking Derek, who was still on the ground, with her stun baton.
She laughed. “Nine hundred thousand volts. You never were good with electricity, were you? Or fire,” she added, giggling underneath her breath. “Which is why I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. And, well, maybe we can help each other out.”
Kate kneeled down next to Derek, who twitched on the floor involuntarily, glaring daggers at her.
If looks could kill, I thought to myself.
She placed her hand on Derek’s thigh, sliding it upward slowly and seductively. “Yes, your sister was severed into pieces and used as bait to try to catch you. Unpleasant. And frankly, a little too Texas Chainsaw Massacre for my taste. But quite true. Now, here’s the part that might really kick you in your balls… we didn’t kill her.”
Derek turned his head, breathing hard. His eyes said that he didn’t believe her.
“What, you think I’m lying?” Kate asked, her voice low and sexy.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Derek replied coldly.
“Sweetie, why don’t you just listen to my heartbeat and tell me if I am.” There was a dramatic pause. “We. Didn’t. Kill. Your. Sister.”
Her heartbeat was completely steady as she spoke. She smiled, continuing to slide her hand upward until it reached his torso. She slipped her hand under his shirt and stroked his stomach with her perfectly polished fingers.
“You hear that?” she whispered. “There’s no blips or upticks. Just the steady beat of the cold hard truth.”
She yanked her hand away and stood up abruptly. “I found bite marks on your sister’s body, Derek. What do you think did that? A mountain lion?” she scoffed. “Why aren’t we helping each other out? You might as well admit what you’ve been guessing all along, which is: the alpha killed your sister. Now all you have to do is tell us who he is and we’ll take care of it for you. Problem solved, and everybody goes home happy.”
Kate waited expectantly for Derek’s response. He pulled himself up to a sitting position but kept his eyes trained on the floor, his jaw tight and brows furrowed.
“Unless… you don’t know who he is,” Kate guessed. She nibbled on her bottom lip and let out a short, airy laugh. “Well, guess who just became totally useless?”
She reached for the gun that was holstered in the waistband of her jeans. Derek scrambled to a standing position, but it was painfully obvious that he was still weak. Before she could get the chance to aim and pull the trigger, I launched myself in her direction, the power of my hind legs propelling me forward with impossible speed. Once I was close enough in range, I raised my front paws and tackled Kate, pushing down with the weight of my body. I placed a paw on her chest, hard enough to keep her in place but soft enough not to crush her chest cavity. As much as I wanted to see her dead, I wasn’t a killer. Even if I was going to end up taking a life, I wasn’t going to start now. Not with someone as worthless as Kate.
Her eyes were wide, and I could see my reflection in them. I was surprised, but not displeased. I was no longer a fair-skinned, brown-eyed, wavy-haired brunette, but a gigantic grey wolf staring down at her. I lowered my snout close to her cheek and growled, lips curling. I then released enough pressure from her chest so that she could slip out. She scurried out from underneath me and ran full-speed towards the front door, turning back only to send me a look that said, this isn’t over.
I suddenly came to the realization that Derek and I were once again alone. I turned, and when I did, he was looking at me like he wasn’t sure I was real. Like I was a hallucination.
I closed my eyes and felt my body mold back into its original form. The transformation was so fast and so seamless, I almost tricked myself into believing that I had done it all my life. I felt Derek’s eyes following me as I walked over to the window, taking down one of the ash-stained curtains to cover my naked body. I wrapped it around my torso and turned to face him again.
His olive green eyes were unreadable. I closed the distance between us, breaking eye contact to subtly scan his body for injuries.
“Are you hurt?” I managed to ask at last.
He shook his head. Then, “How did you--”
“I don’t know,” I interrupted. Part of me enjoyed being the reason behind his confusion. For once, I wanted to be the mysterious one. The one who he couldn’t figure out. The one who always kept him guessing.
Prompt: Teen Wolf, but with a twist. Scott McCall has a twin sister… and she falls in love with Derek Hale.
Summary: The thought of Derek is becoming too much for Serena to handle. How long can she deny this inevitable attraction?
Word Count: 4,243
Warnings: language, bad writing, and a little nsfw content here and there
Author’s Note: I hope you all enjoy part 4! I have so many great ideas brewing! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading :)
*masterlist*
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It had been several days since I had saved Derek’s life and called things even between us. Since then, I had made sure to keep myself occupied to avoid being consumed by impossible fantasies and nagging what if’s. I continued to train with Scott, but I had decided to take a break from all other supernatural affairs. The parent-teacher conferences were around the corner, and I needed to make sure my grades were something to be proud of. I was surprised at how well I managed my schoolwork, considering how bizarre and time-consuming my extracurricular activities had become. Whenever I wasn’t training or scoping out the newest supernatural threat with Scott and Stiles, I concentrated solely on school. I figured it was a good idea to get ahead of my assignments just in case I needed to suddenly tend to other-worldly things. It felt good having my mind occupied at all times; the alternative would be to focus on the fact that I was no longer entirely human, or the fact that I had started developing a scary attraction to someone that was completely off-limits. I hated to admit it, but whenever I allowed my mind to stray for even just a second, it somehow always drifted to Derek.
I wondered if I had been wrong in assuming he had saved me only because of Scott. I had dismissed him without giving him a chance to explain himself, but if I had given him the opportunity… would he have taken it? Or would he have brushed me off the same way he always did?
On the other hand, I felt immense relief knowing that I wasn’t the only one battling temptation and distraction. Since making it official with Allison, Scott had been spending a lot of time with her. It was harder to keep track of his whereabouts, but I really enjoyed seeing him happy. It was worrisome only because Scott had never been good at multitasking. Despite being a werewolf, he could barely walk and chew gum at the same time. His grades had begun to slip since he was forced to divide his time between school, work, the supernatural, and his new girlfriend. Considering that he was a hormonal teenage boy, it was safe to say that school was not at the top of his priority list. I made sure to remind him to pay extra careful attention to school, especially since the parent-teacher conferences had arrived more quickly than anticipated. It was now Wednesday, and our conferences were scheduled for later tonight.
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The bell rang, signaling the end of first block. Mrs. Grey dismissed us and we flooded into the hall, merging into the fast-moving stampede of the student body. As I walked to my second class of the day, I saw Scott and Allison talking at the end of the hall by her locker. There were balloons and an assortment of stickers and birthday cards adorning it. Judging by the pink and sparkly accents, I knew the decorations were a courtesy of Lydia. I debated whether I should stop by and wish her a happy birthday. At the last second, I slipped out from within the crowd and walked in their direction, stopping next to them. Scott saw me first and flashed a smile. Allison turned.
“I didn’t know it was your birthday,” I told her.
“Yeah, neither did I,” Scott said. “She sure knows how to keep a secret.”
I gave him a knowing look.
“I just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” she sighed, looking around to make sure no one was listening. “I don’t like all of the attention. It’s embarrassing. I just want today to be like every other day. Normalcy never hurt anyone.”
“You’re absolutely right,” I agreed. “But either way, happy birthday,” I said, flashing a friendly grin. “Make sure my brother treats you to something special today.”
She bit her lip. A smile surfaced on her lips. No matter how hard she tried, she could never keep her excitement in check. “Well, actually… we’re about to skip second block and head to the preserve for a bit.” When I didn’t answer, her eyes widened. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. Do you want to come?” she asked. “The more the merrier.”
I could tell by her tone that she didn’t actually want me to come; she was just being nice. I liked Allison, but she was completely transparent. I learned from a very early age that that kind of vulnerability was a guaranteed way to get hurt. Either way, I preferred to sit through two hours of chemistry than spend even two seconds being the third wheel. Watching my brother and his girlfriend make out and aggressively grope each other was not going to make today’s to-do list.
I shook my head. “No, thanks. Today should be all about you. I also have a chem lab that I absolutely cannot miss. But I hope you both have a fantastic time.”
I looked at Scott. “Make sure you’re back on time for your conference. It’s at six-thirty, okay? Mom took the night off of work for this, so please don’t be late.”
“I’ll be here,” he assured me.
I nodded and glanced up at the clock at the exact moment the time changed to 9:29. I had exactly one minute to get to class. I waved goodbye and hurried down the corridor that led to the science wing of the school. I turned the corner, the door to Harris’s classroom falling within view. I jogged the rest of the way to the classroom, squeezing past the door before Harris could shut it in my face. Everyone else was already in their seats-- textbooks out and pencils poised to write. I weasled myself between the rows of desks and sat down just as the final ring of the bell echoed throughout the room.
————————————————————
At the end of the school day, I made my way home and decided to make the most of the leisure time I had before my scheduled conference. My mom still wasn’t home from the hospital, and after a quick scan of the fridge, I realized that there wasn’t anything to eat. There was a carton of milk, a few yogurts, and leftover beef casserole from almost a week ago.
I took it upon myself to dig in the pantry for boxes of pasta and ingredients to make the spaghetti sauce. We didn’t have meatballs, so I decided to grill the chicken breasts we had in the freezer to cook up a makeshift chicken parmesan. It wasn’t uncommon for Scott and I to whip up something quick and simple for dinner. In fact, most nights, we didn’t have much of a choice. Since our mother was a single parent who worked double-shifts at the hospital five times a week just to be able to afford our mortgage, it was the least we could do.
After dinner was ready, I ate my portion for the night, and served a plate for my mother, who had called and said she was running about forty minutes behind. Something about a seven car pile-up. I put the rest of the food in a tupperware and stored it in the fridge. I thought about serving a plate for Scott, but his arrivals were unpredictable. I didn’t want to risk perfectly good food going bad. I occupied myself by drying the dishes that were on the drying rack and putting them in their designated spots in the cupboard. I proceeded to wash the pots and pans that I used for cooking, as well as the plate and silverware I ate with. I dried down the counter and stole a glance at the digital clock on the stove.
I sighed. Two more hours to go.
I climbed the stairs up to my bedroom and began digging in my closet for something to wear to the conference. There was no dress code, per se, but I was itching to get out of the clothes I had been wearing all day. I laid a grey sweater-dress and black footed tights on my bed. I bit my lip and surveyed my shoe rack for a pair of shoes to go with the outfit.
Should I go with the black ankle boots, or the brown ones?
I decided that the decision would be future me’s problem. Instead I grabbed my towel and walked across the hall to the bathroom. I shut the door and peeled my clothes off, immediately stepping into the tub and turning the knob to release the water. The hot droplets fell onto my back, trickling down my body until they hit the floor. I stood under the showerhead for a few seconds, urging the warmth of the water and its vapor to envelop me in an embrace. If I closed my eyes, I could almost conjure up the feeling of large, strong hands caressing me in the same manner. The smell of water vapor was replaced by his scent. I couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes; I wanted the fantasy to consume me completely.
The hands brushed the hair off my back and onto my left shoulder. Their touch was light and sensual, teasing and tempting. The hands moved from my shoulders to my arms, sliding lower, coming to rest on my hips. In one swift movement, they turned me around to face him. The hands traveled upwards once more, sending a tingling sensation throughout my entire body. They found my cheeks and cupped them gently. The hands tipped my chin upwards, but nothing happened. The anticipation got the best of me and my eyes fluttered open, meeting the penetrating gaze of the man in front of me. He stood several inches above me. His features were rough, rigid, and unbelievably sexy. I traced my hand along his jaw, my fingers brushing against the dark shadow of his stubble. His green eyes were clouded with desire. I placed my hand behind his neck and pulled his face down toward mine. One kiss, I told myself. He was closer now-- so close that I could feel his breath on my lips.
Just one kiss...
My eyes flew open to the sound of the front door slamming shut.
“I’m home!” my mom called up the stairs.
It felt like ice water had been poured on my head. I rinsed the shampoo from my hair and the soap off my body. I turned the water and stood in the tub, feeling slightly dizzy. I was still very taken aback by the ferocity of my imagination. I didn’t have the energy to analyze what it meant. I hoped that if I didn’t think about it, I would forget it happened altogether. Fat chance, said the little voice in my head.
I stepped out of the shower and wrapped my towel around my body. I stepped into the hall, peering down the staircase. I could hear the sound of the metal fork clinking against the plate of food I had left her.
“I was in the shower. I’ll be down in just a minute!” I told her.
I hurried into my room, searching inside my drawer for a clean set of undergarments. I pulled out a black lace bra and matching panties.
“This is an academic conference, not a date,” I mumbled to myself. Still, I held them up to the mirror, trying to decide whether I should go with the slutty combo or search for something else. I stuck my hand back in the drawer and pulled out a dark purple push-up bra with a lace back.
“Serena.”
I let out a gasp and turned, coming face-to-face with Derek. I lost the grip on my towel momentarily, and I felt my face heat up at the thought of flashing him, especially with my mom just downstairs. I tried to keep myself composed, but I was completely mortified.
“What the hell are you doing here? Get out!” I staged-whispered to him. I would have loved to full-on scream at him, but I was trying to avoid attracting the attention of my mother.
He raised his hands, signaling that he didn’t want any trouble. “I’m just looking for Scott.”
“And you thought my bedroom was the first place you should look?” I glared at him with as much intensity as I could, but since I was standing there in just a bath towel, I doubted I looked the least bit intimidating.
He sighed. I could tell he wasn’t enjoying this any more than I was. “I wouldn’t be here unless it was important. I think we have a problem.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “We do have a problem. You’re still in my room. Can you at least wait in the hall while I change into some clothes?”
He ignored me. “There was another incident last night involving Peter. He was at the movie store a couple minutes from here -- conveniently at the same time that Jackson and Lydia were there buying a movie. He managed to kill two employees and roughed Jackson up pretty bad in the process. Lydia wasn’t inside when it happened, but he jumped through the glass window at front of the store. I know she must have seen something.”
He was right. This was bad. I knew enough about the supernatural to understand that witnesses were a liability. They would start asking questions, and those questions could put all of our lives in danger.
“Shit,” was all I managed to say.
Derek dragged a hand along his jaw. My mind momentarily shifted to the shower fantasy from earlier. “Peter’s being reckless; he’s hunting for sport. You can’t justify the destruction and the trail of bodies that he’s leaving behind. Scott and I have been careful in tracking him, waiting for the right moment to attack. But I’m thinking we need to stop him, sooner rather than later.”
“Scott’s out with Allison. They skipped school today for her birthday. He has a conference tonight at the school. You’ll be able to find him there,” I told him.
He nodded. I walked over to the door and nudged it open with my foot. I looked at him expectantly. He got the message and walked out of the room. Once out in the hall, he turned back and flashed a devilish grin. My stomach did somersaults.
“You’d look better in black,” he said, jerked his chin in the direction of my drawer, specifically at the black lace set that I had been looking at earlier, which was resting on top of it.
At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to disappear into thin air. I was sure that dying would have been less embarrassing. I struggled to form a coherent sentence. By the time I was able to come up with a good enough response, he was already gone.
“Asshole!” I whispered aggressively.
Wherever he was, I hoped he could still hear me.
————————————————————
When I finally made it downstairs, I found my mom leaning against the kitchen counter sipping on a can of ginger ale. She stood up straight when she heard me enter and angled her body in my direction.
“I had a very exhausting shift, and I am convinced that I may be seeing things, so correct me if I’m wrong… but I’m pretty sure I just saw Derek Hale walk out of our front door.” She looked at me, waiting for an answer.
I exhaled. “You aren’t seeing things. He stopped by here looking for Scott.”
“Your brother’s home already?”
I shook my head. “Still out doing whatever it is that he does, I suppose. Probably lacrosse practice,” I shrugged. “He said he’d meet us at the school for the conference, though.”
I hated lying to my mom, but her son playing hooky with his girlfriend was not something I wanted her to be worrying about. She had enough on her plate working her ass off to keep us fed, clothed, and with a roof over our heads. Whatever trouble Scott got into -- supernatural or otherwise -- would be taken care of by me. If I was lucky, this would only be a one-time thing, but I understood that it was highly unlikely. If he had to choose between showing up for an english exam or protecting the oblivious from the dangers of our world, I knew he’d always choose the latter.
Mom downed the rest of her drink. She tossed the can in the trash can and made a show of stretching her arms and back. “I need a shower and then we can head to the school. Maybe if we get there early your teachers will begin the conference right away. I want to come back as soon as possible and get a nice big dose of shut-eye.”
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Forty-five minutes later, we pulled into an empty parking spot in the student parking lot. Due to traffic, we had made it to the school with barely five minutes to spare. I shot Scott a quick text.
We’re here. Where are u?
My mom and I made our way inside, pushing past the crowd of students, teachers, and parents that littered the halls. I led the way down to the science wing, the same one I had been walking to a mere five hours ago. Most classrooms were shut, white signs that read “Do Not Disturb” hanging on the doors. When we reached the chemistry and biology classrooms at the end of the hall, Mr. Harris was wrapping up a conference. My mom pulled out her phone and angrily browsed her contacts for Scott’s number.
“Where the hell are you?” she demanded. “Get to the school now.” She hung up, letting out an exasperated breath.
Just as she tucked her phone back into her purse, Mr. Harris ushered us inside the classroom. There were two seats set up in front of his desk, where he took a seat.
He extended his hand, inviting us to do the same. “How about we get started?”
He pulled out two files from his filing cabinet and set them in front of him. He cleared his throat and opened the one closest to him. “Let’s begin with Serena.” He flashed a friendly smile in my direction, catching me completely off guard. “Normally we only hold conferences for students who hold a C average or lower in their classes. Today I’d simply like to recognize the outstanding work ethic that your daughter consistently demonstrates. It is uncommon for me to hand out compliments simply for the sake of it, so you should feel very proud.”
My mom squeezed my shoulder affectionately. I could hear the smile in her voice when she spoke. “Believe me, I am.”
“I have spoken to all of her other teachers, and we have agreed to write a letter of recommendation for her to receive the presidential scholarship from the school board. The amount is roughly twenty thousand dollars per academic year and would be honored by any college or university of her choosing. Of course, assuming that she will apply.”
She turned to look at me, teary-eyed. I threw my arms around her, suddenly feeling very sentimental. Mr. Harris shut my file and turned his attention to the other manila folder on his desk. He sighed, almost apologetically.
‘Now, let’s move on to the second topic of discussion. Your son, Scott,” he said. “Lately his mind has been elsewhere, as has his body. Personally, I think it may have something to do with his home situation.”
I felt my mom stiffen. The joy of the previous moment was over, replaced by tension. “Oh. Well, personally, I’m not sure what you mean by ‘home situation’. As you can see, my daughter is doing just fine, so I don’t really understand what you’re insinuating.”
Mr. Harris crossed his arms. “Specifically speaking, I’m referring to the lack of an authority figure.”
That sentence alone made me see red. My breathing quickened, as did my heart rate. I felt anger bubbling inside me, threatening to spill over. I hid my hands in my lap as soon as I felt the sharp tip of my claws against the fabric of my dress. I closed my eyes and tried to control my breathing; anything to get back under threshold. If I allowed myself to grow angrier, I might not have been able to resist the urge to shove the metal ruler on Harris’s desk through his skull.
“Yeah, well, I’m the authority figure,” my mom replied coldly.
Harris shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Sorry, allow me to clarify. I mean the lack of a male authority figure.”
I looked over and watched her face fall. Her mouth molded a sad, silent “Oh.”
“Trust me, we’re much better off without him in the picture,” I interjected.
His eyes flitted sideways to me, but he kept his eyes trained on my mother. “Your daughter believes this to be true, but are you sure Scott feels the same way?”
“Yes, I think so.” she spoke softly. “ I hope so,” she added as an afterthought.
—————————————————-
The conference didn’t last much longer after that. My mom tried her best to hide her disappointment, but I sensed the simmering anger and sadness underneath the surface. We made our way back to the front of the school. Once we were outside, my mom pulled her phone out and dialed Scott’s number once more. Her call went straight to voicemail.
“Scott, you need to call me right now,” she stated furiously. “We need to have a serious talk. You’re skipping school now? Seriously?” She ended the call and ran a hand through her hair. She closed her eyes and let out a long, exasperated breath. I could hear how hard her heart was pounding in her chest.
She crossed her arms, turning to me. “Did you know your brother skipped school today?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but before I had the opportunity to explain, our conversation was interrupted by Allison’s parents. Her father, Chris Argent, walked stiffly over to us.
“Are you Scott’s mother?” he demanded.
“It’s funny how you say that like it’s an accusation,” she replied.
He scoffed. “Well, I wouldn’t claim it as a source of pride since he basically kidnapped my daughter today.”
“How do you know it wasn’t your daughter’s idea to skip school today?” she asked.
His face went red with anger. “Because my daughter--” he trailed off. “Is… right there.”
We all turned simultaneously as Scott and Allison approached, hands intertwined. All three parents rushed the rest of the way over, equal amounts of relief and annoyance etched on their faces.
“Where exactly have you been?” my mom asked Scott. It had been years since I had seen her so angry. She was practically furious. It wasn’t in her nature to lash out in anger, so I know it hurt her to regard him in a way she never thought she’d have to.
“Nowhere, mom--” Scott began.
She cut him off. “Nowhere meaning not at school?”
He sighed. “Kinda…”
“It’s not his fault,” Allison explained. “It’s my birthday and we were just--”
“Allison, inside the car. Now. We’ll talk about this at home,” her father interrupted.
Just as the Argents began to walk away, frantic screams cut through the air. As if on cue, everyone outside and in the parking lot started moving towards the chilling sounds, instinctively grouping close together for safety. Some decided to take shelter in their vehicles instead, their families and friends in tow. Cars began to speed wildly out of the lot, barely missing surrounding pedestrians.
Scott and I looked at each other, but neither of us had a single clue what was happening. The screaming resumed. I looked all around me, trying to find the source of the chaos.
That was when I heard a low growl.
My heart sank and I rushed over to Scott. His eyes were glowing golden yellow, his attention trained on a spot between two vehicles. I followed suit and used my other eyes to get a better look at what we were dealing with. There was a flash of movement. I caught a glimpse of paws and a tail. Allison was huddled in between her parents, a look of horror written on her face. Her father looked completely unfazed.
The growling was getting closer and closer. I could smell the fear coming from my mother.
“Get behind me,” she ordered. I admired her bravery, but I knew that If it came down to it, Scott and I would be the ones protecting her, not the other way around. I wondered if we would ever be able to tell her the truth.
I was pulled away from my thoughts by the sound of a gunshot. The air was filled with silence for several counts, almost as if everyone was entranced. When the moment ended, those around the perimeter walked closer to where the bullet had found its target.
In the parking lot laid a very large, very dead mountain lion. I let out a sigh of relief. Not Peter, I told myself. I hadn’t faced him since the night I was bitten, and I wanted to keep it that way. A mountain lion was a far more comfortable opponent for me than a bloodthirsty psychotic werewolf.
Without saying a word, my mom began walking in the direction of our parked car. Scott and I followed, walking side by side.
I looked over my left shoulder at him. “Hey, Scott?”
He turned to me. “Yeah?”
I jerked my arm back and elbowed him in the ribs. I thought I heard a crack.
He doubled over, groaning in pain. “What was that for?”
I bit my lip to suppress a smile. “I told you not to be late.”
Two weeks had passed since my first full moon. Scott and I still weren’t on speaking terms, and we both seemed to prefer it that way. On school days, he’d leave the house early to avoid running into me. We didn’t have any classes together, so that made it easy to stay out of each other’s way at school. He had lacrosse practice most days, and they usually ran late, so by the time he got home, I was already in bed. He had also made things official with Allison, so naturally she consumed every other spare second of his life. Part of me felt immense relief because I was able to delay the inevitable confrontation that we would have to have at some point. However, the other part of me also longed for her best friend. I wanted to blame the full moon for the harsh words I said and the dismissive manner that I treated him, but I couldn’t. It was all me.
Scott was the “It” boy when it came to the supernatural. Someway, somehow, he always found himself in the middle of whatever supernatural crisis threatened Beacon Hills. He was a reliable friend and a fantastic leader in-the-making. I recognized that Scott now held the responsibility to save and protect those who were oblivious to our world, as well as those who were a part of it, but my jealousy obstructed all rational thought. I wanted my brother to be there for me the way he was there for complete strangers; the way he meddled in situations that didn’t even concern him. When he didn’t show up the one time I needed him, the disappointment was simply too much to bear.
I was sitting in biology, filling in the bubble for the second to last question of the test we were taking. The room was completely silent except for the swift sound of pencil on paper. I looked up at the clock above the chalkboard, and the hands indicated that there were forty-five minutes remaining in class. I flipped back through the booklet and revised all of my answers. When I was content with all of my responses, I pushed up from my desk and walked towards the front to turn in my test. As I neared the front of the classroom, the smell of blood invaded my nostrils. The scent was too faint to be coming from within the room, so that meant that its source was somewhere on the other side of the classroom door. I finally reached the teacher’s desk and placed my booklet on top of the thin pile of completed tests that were already there. I grabbed a copy of tonight’s homework located on the podium next to the desk, and made my way back to my seat.
As I tucked the homework sheet into my biology notebook, my supernatural hearing picked up the sound of two distinct voices coming from the hallway.
“Where’s Scott McCall?” asked the first voice.
The second person shut their locker, the sound of metal on metal ringing in my ears. They spoke gruffly. “Why should I tell you?”
“Because I asked you politely, and I only do that once.” This time I was able to identify the first voice immediately. It was Derek.
“Hm. Okay, tough guy,” responded the second voice. It was low and laced with arrogance, just like Jackson’s. “How about I help you find him if you tell me what you’re selling him?
There was a pause. Then, “Well? What is it? Is it Dianabol? HGH?”
“Steroids?” responded Derek, his tone unimpressed.
“No, Girl Scout cookies,” scoffed Jackson. “What the hell do you think I’m talking about? Oh, and, by the way, whatever it is that you’re selling, I’d probably stop sampling the merchandise. You look wrecked.”
There were a few counts of silence. I closed my eyes and focused my hearing, not wanting to miss a single word.
“I’ll find him myself,” said Derek at last.
“No, we’re not done here!” growled Jackson. There was a sound of movement, and then I heard a body slam up against the lockers. I heard Jackson’s soft groans of discomfort as Derek walked away, his feet dragging slightly as he did.
I knew that it was none of my business, but curiosity got the best of me. I got up from my seat and walked swiftly, but subtly, towards the teacher’s desk.
“Can I use the bathroom?”
Mrs. Grey stopped typing at her computer long enough to peer up at me through her glasses. “Sure, just take the--”
“Great, thanks!” I said, wasting no time to rush out into the hall. Jackson was leaning against a row of lockers on the opposite side of the hall, clutching the back of his neck. I smelled blood on him, but the scent didn’t match up with the one from earlier. We made eye contact for just a moment.
“What the hell are you looking at?” he snapped at me.
I shrugged.
I looked down both ends of the hall, but Derek was already gone. Luckily for me, he left a trail of blood in his wake. I followed the scent past the double doors that led to the soccer and lacrosse fields. I walked onto the middle of the grass and scanned my surroundings. At first glance, both fields seemed empty, but the scent was still present. The only problem was that I could no longer pinpoint which direction it was coming from. The wind had picked up, so now the scent seemed to be coming from everywhere. I decided to move my search onto the perimeter of the field. I checked under the bleachers, by the concession stands, and in the bathrooms, but there was still no sign of Derek. I let out a sigh of frustration and began walking back to the school.
I stopped mid stride when I thought I saw movement from the corner of my eye. I turned, and my breath caught in my throat. Derek was slumped against the side of the storage shed, thick black blood dripping down his left arm. There was a pool of it right beside him growing by the minute. His face was pale and slicked with sweat, and there were dark grey bags under his eyes. If I didn’t know he was a werewolf with supernatural healing abilities, I’d probably think he was dead. I ran over to him and crouched down to his eye level. His eyes found mine; they were no longer cold, but pleading.
“Scott,” he mumbled. “Find Scott.”
I ignored him and instead examined the bullet wound in his arm. The bullet itself seemed to have melted into his skin, glowing a sickly silver-green color. The area around it was swollen and his veins were turning black, a clear sign of a fast-spreading infection.
“I’m gonna get you out of here,” I told him matter-of-factly. “Whatever it is you were shot with, it doesn’t look good. I need to get you someplace safe so we can find a way to fix this.”
“You need to find Scott,” he repeated, breathless.
“I’ll find Scott,” I assured him. “But after I get you out of here. There’s no way I’m leaving for dead here.”
He looked up at me with those beautiful, tired eyes. He knew there was no point in protesting, so he mobilized every ounce of strength within him and tried to slide up to a standing position. I came over next to him, positioning his good arm around my shoulders, wrapped my arm around his torso, and attempted to begin walking. We made it a few steps before I felt him leaning out of my grasp. I stopped and gazed up at him.
“Okay, big guy. I know I’m a werewolf and all, but I’m still only 5’4. You’re almost an entire foot taller than me, so I’m gonna need you to help me out as much as you can.”
He nodded and we resumed walking. I led him across the field into the student parking lot. I found my car in the maze of vehicles and unlocked the passenger side door. As soon as Derek eased into the seat, I shut the door and came around to the other side. I started the car and pulled out of the parking lot onto the road, heading towards Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. If we were lucky, traffic would be light at this hour, and we’d arrive in a matter of minutes. Derek looked around alarmingly and reached for the steering wheel. I stomped on the brake to stop us from veering into oncoming traffic.
“Are you crazy?” I screamed at him. “Are you trying to get us killed?”
“You can’t take me to the hospital. Anything they give me could potentially speed up the infection and kill me,” he said. He sounded exhausted, but his tone was firm nonetheless. “That, and the Argents are probably looking for me. I’m sure they’d love to finish me off before the infection gets the chance to.”
I blew out a sigh. “Where am I supposed to take you, then?”
“The animal clinic. Hopefully Deaton hasn’t left for the day. Maybe he knows about something that’ll help.”
I did as I was told and quickly made a U-turn in the opposite direction. I drove frantically, stealing glances at Derek here and there to make sure he was still breathing. His eyes remained closed the entire way, but I found comfort in the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Once we arrived at the clinic, my heart sunk. Deaton’s car wasn’t in the lot, which meant we were alone and running out of time. I retrieved the spare key from behind the dumpster and hauled Derek inside, leading him to one of the nearest chairs so he could sit while I called Scott. I patted my back pocket for my phone, but it wasn’t there. I ran out to my car and searched the floor and seats for its location, but it was futile. I must have dropped it in the field while I was carrying Derek to my car. I sprinted back inside, where Derek was clutching his arm in agony. I brushed the hair from his forehead gently, which caused him to open his eyes.
“I lost my phone,” I admitted nervously. “Do you have yours?”
He shook his head. “I lost it last night after I was shot.”
Great, just great.
I stopped for a moment to collect myself. After my moment was up, I left the room to find Deaton’s office. I turned on the light and waited a moment so my eyes could adjust. When they did, I found the office phone sitting right by his computer. I picked up the phone and dialed Scott’s number. It rang for several seconds, and just when I thought the voicemail was going to cut the call short, I heard someone pick up on the other end.
“Hey, Doc,” Scott answered. “Is everything okay?”
“Scott,” I said. “You need to get to the animal clinic now. Derek’s dying.”
There was a momentary pause of confusion. “Serena? Why are you calling me from the clinic? What’s going on?”
I walked back over to Derek and handed him the phone. “It’s Scott.”
“Listen to me carefully,” said Derek. “You need to get me the bullet, or I’m as good as dead.”
“What are you talking about? What bullet?” I heard Scott say.
I paced around the room, trying to keep my anxiety in check. I wasn’t entirely sure why I felt so affected. It’s not like Derek and I were friends. So why did the thought of him dying suddenly seem so unbearable? I could no longer stand to look at Derek. The infection was running its course, eating him from the inside out. He had begun to resemble a rotting corpse. I turned my back to him and focused my attention to the desolate road outside the window, trying to flush out any and all thoughts of death from my mind. I bit my lip, hoping that Scott would walk through the door any second now and save the day, just like he always did.
“Last night when I was looking for Peter… the Argents were there,” Derek explained. “Kate shot me with a bullet laced with wolfsbane. It’s causing some sort of infection that’ll kill me once it reaches my heart. That bullet is the only antidote.”
“Okay, I’m on it. But, uh, do you happen to know what it looks like?” asked Scott.
Derek didn’t reply. I turned around just as he fell sideways onto the floor. The phone slid out of his grasp and across the room. I heard Scott begin to panic over the line.
“Scott, hurry!” I yelled, loud enough so he could hear.
I dropped down on my knees next to Derek and gently patted him on the cheek, urging him to wake up, but he remained unconscious. I pressed my ear against his chest, listening for his heartbeat, but I heard nothing but silence. My own heart hammered in my ribcage and tears threatened to spill from my eyes.
“You’re not dying on me, you bastard,” I whispered, wiping away the tears that had managed to escape from the corner of my eyes.
I placed the heel of my hand in the center of his chest and began doing chest compressions. After thirty compressions, I lowered my lips down onto his, giving him two rescue breaths. I was surprised by how soft and warm his lips felt against mine. I continued administering steady compressions, but there was no sign of resuscitation.
I stopped and stared at his lifeless body. I refused to let him fade away just like that, but I had no idea what else to do. Scott would have figured something out; he always did. But I wasn’t Scott.
I felt so small, so useless.
So defeated.
Derek jerked abruptly, gasping for air. His eyes fluttered open and scanned the room until they met mine. I flashed a small smile and gave his hand a small squeeze of reassurance. I helped him up to a sitting position on the floor.
He tipped his head back against the wall and gave a low groan. “I know you thought you lost me there for a minute, but trust me. I don’t go so easily.”
What seemed like an eternity later, Scott finally strolled through the front door of the clinic with Stiles in tow, holding a small golden bullet in his hand. He crouched down next to Derek, who took the bullet immediately and screwed off the tip to release its contents. He pulled out a lighter from his pocket and lit the wolfsbane on fire. Ignited, it emitted a dark blue smoke, which irritated my nasal passages. I set my discomfort aside and focused my attention on Derek, who gathered the ashes into his hand and rubbed them onto his wound. He let out a sharp roar of pain that lasted several seconds, but he healed almost instantaneously. I let out an audible sigh of relief which seemed to go unnoticed by all the boys in the room.
Scott extended his hand and helped Derek up. He still looked a little worse for wear, but the rosy hue of his cheeks was starting to return. The eyebags were gone, leaving behind the olive green eyes that were once again fixed into a hard stare.
“Glad you’re okay, man. I’ll see you around,” Scott told Derek.
Stiles mumbled under his breath. “Hopefully not anytime soon.”
Derek shook Scott’s hand firmly-- an expression of silent gratitude.
Scott and Stiles walked past me toward the front door. Just when I thought Scott was about to walk out, he turned and walked back, stopping in front of me. He gave me a bear hug and kissed my right temple.
“I’ll see you at home.” He pulled away and walked outside to Stiles’ Jeep. I was about to walk out myself when I heard Derek call my name. I whipped my head around to face him and found him looking at me with those sharp, penetrating eyes. There was an unreadable expression on his face.
“Why did you do it?” He asked me softly.
“Do what?” But I knew exactly what he meant.
“Save me.”
I felt my pulse quicken and my cheeks heat up. I looked down at my feet and cleared my throat. I hated the thought of potentially stumbling over my words after one small sign of attention from Derek Hale. After a few counts I finally mustered up the courage to look up again. He was still staring.
“I never got the chance to say thank you,” I told him. “For risking your life on the night of my first full moon. You saved me.”
He took this into consideration. “Well, I didn’t do it--”
“For me?” I asked. “I know.” I recognized deep down why Derek did what he did that night, but it hurt much more to admit it out loud. “I know that you did it for Scott, and that’s okay. I know his alliance is important to you.”
He opened his mouth to protest. “That’s not what I was--”
I suddenly felt hyper aware of how ridiculous I sounded trying to explain myself to him. The warm, fuzzy feeling of attraction was gone. Instead, it was replaced by a hollow emptiness and a fiery desire to get the hell away from here-- from him.
“A life for a life, Derek,” I stated bluntly. “You saved my life, and now I’ve saved yours. Don’t read too much into it. I was simply returning the favor.”
Without so much as a goodbye, I turned on my heel and walked out into the cold autumn night. Every fiber of my body wanted to look back, to fetch for some sort of reaction, but I couldn’t go down that path. Not with Derek. I knew better than that.
Prompt: Teen Wolf, but with a twist. Scott McCall has a twin sister… and she falls in love with Derek Hale.
Summary: After Scott refuses to join his pack, Peter Hale turns Serena McCall into a werewolf. Will her transformation be for better… or for worse?
Word Count: 3,285
Author’s Note: This series will skim the events of seasons 1-3. I have a lot of content planned, so there will be some skipping around at certain points, but it will all work in unison, I promise! I hope you all enjoy part 2! Please let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading :)
The topic of lycanthropy was one I hadn’t visited since freshman year english. I thought back to the unit of Greek mythology, and how we had been assigned research projects on famous Greek myths. My english teacher gave us the liberty to choose our own myths, and I had naively chosen Lycaon of Arcadia. Lycaon, the king of Arcadia, attempted to trick Zeus into eating human flesh, testing to see if he was truly all-knowing. Angered by Lycaon’s blasphemous actions, Zeus punished Lycaon by turning him into a wolf.
Oh, the irony of it all.
For the past three weeks, I have been given gradual insight into the world of the supernatural. The full moon was fast-approaching, and I needed to learn everything I could as quickly as possible. I wasn’t yet sure how I felt about my transformation. I was amazed at how quickly I began noticing changes. Overnight, it seemed, my senses had been dialed up to a thousand. I was stronger, faster, and more confident. I could smell, hear, and sense things other people couldn’t. One of the most fascinating things about my newfound abilities was that my body’s healing process was nearly instantaneous. The only downside of it was that I had yet to experience the brutality of the full moon. I was afraid that I would see things differently after, that I’d realize that I’d never be able to control it. Would my supernatural powers really be worth being enslaved to an insatiable bloodlust every month? Would it be worth putting my friends and loved ones at risk, especially when one slip-up could mean death for any and all of them?
I had been training tirelessly with Scott every day since I was bitten. Before school, after school, and during free periods. He had effectively taught me how to make my claws appear and disappear at will, how to partially shift into my werewolf form, how to follow scents, how to decipher chemo-signals, and how to trigger the healing process of an injury using pain. I was impressed with my progress, but I knew that I had only been exposed to bits and pieces of the extensive supernatural spectrum that I was now a part of. I had always been good at the technical side of things, so I knew that learning the basics of lycanthropy wasn’t going to be an issue. I considered myself to be on the smart side-- I had no problem displaying resourcefulness or creativity or administering critical thinking in complex situations. One thing I wasn’t very good at, however, was regulating my emotions.
When our parents got divorced, Scott and I handled things very differently. He was always a mama’s boy, and I was a daddy’s girl. Our father was an alcoholic and a cheater; something I knew all too well, but was also something I wanted to remain oblivious to. I’m assuming this realization is what made it easier for Scott to hate him, to be okay with moving on without him. It was harder for me to cope with his absence because our dad had always been my rock -- my hero -- and I couldn’t picture him ever hurting anyone. Especially me.
The night my mom kicked my dad out of the house for good, he had come home drunk. He instigated an argument with her over something, as usual. But with them it was never just an argument; it always ended up with them screaming at each other. Scott and I shared a room back then, and it was located right by the staircase, which was where they happened to be arguing that night. Not surprisingly, their heated voices turned into shouts, and we were both awoken. We peered through a crack in the door as our parents fought. My dad could barely keep his balance; his cheeks were flushed, his eyes crazy, violent words spewing from his mouth fueled by intoxication. I remembered vividly how he had lost his composure and grabbed my mother by the neck, slamming her against the wall. I let out an audible gasp and stood frozen in horror. Scott flung the door open and rushed into the hall, immediately wedging himself between our mother and father. My dad grabbed Scott’s arm, attempting to pull him out of the way, but yanked my brother with too much force. He was flung against the railing of the staircase, and he tumbled down the stairs. He was unconscious at the bottom of the stairs for maybe 30 seconds, and when he came to, he didn’t remember a thing. My mother ushered us back into our room and put us into bed. I fell asleep crying that night, but I didn’t know exactly for whom I was crying. Had it been for my brother? Had it been for my mother? For the loss of my dad? Or was it for me?
I hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye to him. I woke up the following morning, expecting him to be there, bags in tow, waiting to talk to us one last time. But he was already gone. I knew he didn’t deserve it, but I couldn’t help but miss him. When the plea for divorce was initiated, there was never a discussion about shared custody or visitations. Once the divorce was finalized, I knew that he was never coming back. It was because of his betrayal and abandonment that I grew up with issues when it came to trusting people. I was filled with this deep, aching feeling of isolation, and it made me angry. Very. As I grew older, I got better at suppressing it, but I knew that somewhere deep down, it was still there. With the full moon prodding and poking at my resolve and self control, I knew it was only a matter of time before those feelings resurfaced.
The day of my first full moon, I felt the effects as soon as I got out of bed in the morning. I felt my heartbeat rising with every breath that I took. When I got to school, my senses immediately began to feel overstimulated. Everything was brighter, louder, and more jarring. The sound of the bell ringing made me feel like someone was hammering nails into my skull. The people I passed in the hallway blurred together, all of their emotions and scents hitting me like a door to the face. At lunch, the sound of people’s voices and laughter made me want to tear their heads off. I looked around the cafeteria, feeling myself grow angrier and angrier, for seemingly no reason at all. Rationally, I knew that these people had done nothing wrong. Emotionally, they were the piece of gum stuck under my shoe. My gaze locked on Jackson Whittemore, and I fantasized about how good it would feel to tear his tongue right out of his head. He had always been an asshole to my brother, so why shouldn’t I kill him? It would be extremely satisfying to watch the smug look on his face disappear as I stood over him, my hands drenched in his blood, as I began to tear him limb from limb…
“Uh, Serena? Are you okay?”
Scott’s voice brought me back to reality. I was suddenly overcome with anxiety as I realized the vile intrusive thoughts that I was just experiencing. What was the matter with me? This wasn’t me. I wasn’t a killer. Only, maybe that wasn’t exactly true anymore.
I nodded, fabricating a smile. “Yeah, no, everything’s great. I was just thinking about my research paper for… biology. It’s due tomorrow and I have no clue where to start.”
“That’s fair,” he said. “But remember that it’s perfectly okay for you to be feeling on edge today. It’s your first full moon and I promise nobody will blame you for not feeling or acting like yourself.”
I felt the tension in my shoulders ease ever-so-slightly. I nodded once more, reassuring him that I was in fact okay. I felt better knowing that out of all of the things that had changed, our sibling bond hadn’t. He’d be there with me to make me feel safe and to teach me control. Before long, I would be able to be just like him. I trusted him, and I knew he had faith in me. That meant only one thing: I had to have faith in me too.
Later in the evening, as the sun was setting, I began feeling the effects of the full moon amplifying. My heartbeat was nearly erratic and Scott was nowhere to be found. I was in the bathroom, standing over the sink and looking at myself in the mirror. There was a flicker of golden yellow in my eyes, and I nearly sobbed out of pure anxiety alone. I balled my hands into fists, trying to focus on anything other than the impending sense of dread that I was experiencing. I felt a warm, slippery substance course down my wrist. Blood.
I opened my fist up, revealing four deep punctures on both of my palms, where my claws had dug into. The temporary flicker of pain was small, but enough to bring me out of the frenzy. I took this opportunity to set out to find Scott.
I didn’t remember the way to the Hale house all too well, but what I did remember was its scent. The smell of charred wood and smoke would be very hard to miss. I maneuvered my way through the darkness, making sure every step I took was careful and calculated. Scott had mentioned that Beacon Hills Preserve was littered with traps set by hunters. It was also a full moon, so I knew there would not be any shortage of hunters roaming around town tonight, hoping to catch and kill their next supernatural victim.
As if on cue, I heard voices from a distance. By the sound of it, there were maybe four or five of them, all men. I swallowed, trying to think of an escape plan. I couldn’t run. It was fall, and the weight of my body against the leaves on the ground would give my location away immediately. I could have hidden, but I knew that they probably had some sort of a thermographic camera. If they happened to get me in one of the shots, I would have considered myself dead.
I tried to weigh any and all other options, but I had none. The best chance at escape that I had right now was simply to run. They sounded far away enough so that even if they did hear me, my superhuman speed would give me an advantage. I decided that now was as good a time as any, and began moving. I tried to keep to the shadows, not daring to make any unnecessary sounds. I noticed too late that I had no idea where I was going. I looked around me, but I couldn’t pinpoint any familiar landmarks. I could have sworn that I was heading back in the direction I came, but judging by my surroundings, that wasn’t the case. I stopped for a moment, attempting to gather my thoughts.
“Come on, Serena,” I whispered to myself. “Think.”
I was jolted away from my thoughts when I saw a red light from my peripheral vision. I was frozen, completely unsure what to do. More red lights emerged from the darkness, pointing straight at me. Lasers. It was then that instinct spoke to me, telling me to run. And that’s exactly what I did.
I turned on my heel and bolted away from where the hunters had been. I didn’t take the time to care about the tracks or the noise I left in my wake. I had the advantage of speed, but they had the advantage of knowledge and experience. These were professional killers. I wouldn’t be surprised if they knew what move I’d make next even before I did. Through the commotion, I almost forgot why I had been in the woods in the first place. The fury of the full moon hit me, unforgiving. It was as if she allowed me only a few moments of peace before the storm. I looked up at the sky and the moon glimmered at its peak. Almost instantaneously I was overcome with an animalistic urge to go back and rip the head off of every single hunter that was on my trail.
My claws and fangs appeared as if by magic, and my eyes were aglow. I felt angry-- so angry. But it was that anger that gave me power. I felt strong… unstoppable. Against all rational thought, I turned back around, using my infrared eyes to see through the darkness. A few rows of trees ahead was where I spotted them. Two of them were kneeled down, examining the tracks that I had left behind, judging the direction I must have taken. The other three were behind them, standing guard. They looked around, weapons drawn, ready to fire at any given moment.
I growled. It was a sound that conveyed equal parts rage and purpose. I was hiding behind a tree, looking for the perfect moment to attack. Just as I was about to launch myself in their direction, a pair of hands snagged me from behind with tremendous force. Before I could growl or scream, the person used one hand to cover my mouth and tucked me against his chest, making sure our bodies were still shielded by the tree. I tipped my head back to see who it was, and was met with the fiery gaze of Derek Hale.
He broke eye contact first and peered over my head, trying to come up with an escape tactic. His stone cold composure made it clear that it wasn’t his first time evading death by the hands of werewolf hunters. I, on the other hand, was terrified. I felt an equal amount of shame and embarrassment once I realized how foolish I had been. It was a night of the full moon and I wasn’t in control, for one. I also felt extremely stupid for walking into woods that were infested with hunters; ones that wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet between my eyes. Another shame-inducing component was the fact that Derek just had to be the one to find me. I had gotten a brief description of him from Scott, so I knew that he was hardcore. He also hated liabilities, and at the moment, that’s exactly what I was.
“Now’s not the time to wallow in shame,” he whispered to me, his voice gruff. “If you hadn’t noticed, they’ve got us completely surrounded. It’s a miracle they haven’t seen us yet.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. “Don’t bother denying it. The smell of embarrassment is rolling off of you like a stench.”
Your commentary isn’t exactly helping, I wanted to say to him. But I knew better than to push his buttons, especially when we were on the brink of being discovered. I kept my back against the tree, waiting for further instructions. After a few minutes, Derek finally spoke again.
He lowered his mouth next to my ear, his warm breath sending a tingling sensation onto my neck and down my back. “On my signal, you run. I’ll stay behind and cause a distraction so you can get away.” He pointed behind him to another row of trees. “Run that way. Get out of the woods as fast as you can.”
Before I could get a word out, he was gone. He roared loudly, capturing the attention of the hunters that resided a few yards away. As they ran to him, he turned back to look at me, flashing his icy blue eyes. That was my cue. I took off running in the direction he had said. I heard the commotion of the fight almost the entire way. Growls and roars from Derek’s end were met with the sound of guns firing. I found myself secretly hoping that he would be okay, although in the back of my mind I knew he would be. He was Derek Hale, after all.
I made it out of the preserve after only a handful of minutes of running. At the end of the treeline, right where the road started, a vehicle’s headlights cut through the darkness. The closer I got, the more details I could make out. It was a blue 1980 Jeep CJ5. Standing beside it were two silhouettes, both male. I let out a sigh of relief.
I jogged the rest of the way and launched myself into Scott’s arms. He squeezed me tightly and ushered me into the Jeep. Stiles drove onto the road, taking the route that led back to my house. Scott turned to look at me from the passenger’s seat.
“Why the hell were you in the woods?” He asked. His tone was firm but still held a touch of delicacy. We both knew it was more for my sake than his. “Didn’t I tell you about the hunters? The preserve is not a safe place for a werewolf on a night of a full moon. Argent and his hunters have memorized every square inch of those woods. You’re lucky Derek found you when he did. If he hadn’t, I’m sure Gerard would’ve turned you into a human kebab by now.”
I felt my throat tighten in frustration. “The imagery really isn’t necessary. I know what I did was stupid, and I’m sorry, but I didn’t know what else to do. I felt like I was losing control and you weren’t there, Scott!” My voice caught on his name, and I had to take a few moments to collect myself. “You weren’t there and, quite frankly, I have no one else to turn to on this. I don’t have a best friend like yours. I don’t have one that’ll pick up my call in the middle of the night and be willing to be a part of the world of the supernatural. I don’t have a best friend who’ll chain me up on a full moon and help me find restraint. I was all alone in my home, which I could have easily torn apart if I had lost control of myself tonight. I was counting on you to help me, and you weren’t there.”
The air was thick with tension. I could sense the sadness emanating from both Scott and Stiles. I felt guilty for taking all of my frustration out on my brother, but everything I said was true, and I wasn’t going to apologize for how I felt. Scott was a natural leader, and I admired that about him. Being a leader meant taking on responsibilities, and I understood that he wouldn’t be around all the time. Over the weeks following my transformation, I got a chance to see just how much people needed him. Peter wanted him in his pack. Derek wanted him as an ally. Stiles wanted him as a best friend. Hell, even the lacrosse team needed him as team captain. But tonight was the one night that I needed him. I needed my brother, and he wasn’t there.
“I’m so sorry, Serena. I can do better, I promise. If you’ll just let me--” he began.
“No,” I said, cutting him off. “I don’t want to talk. Just take me home.”
With that, I turned to face the window, looking at the blur of lights, cars, houses, and dark, desolate streets passing me by. Scott sighed, but he didn’t protest.
Prompt: Teen Wolf, but with a twist. Scott McCall has a twin sister… and she falls in love with Derek Hale.
Summary: Peter Hale, the big bad alpha, wants Scott to join his pack. What happens when he refuses? His sister becomes collateral damage.
Word Count: 1,150
Author’s Note: In this universe, Scott and his sister are both 18, just to make her involvement with Derek significantly less weird. I hope you all enjoy part 1! Feedback is always appreciated. Thanks for reading :)
My entire body felt like it was on fire. My heart threatened to beat out of my chest. My vision blurred, and I felt my body sway to the side, imbalanced. The trees around me morphed into an array of dark shadows, pulling me closer, enveloping me in darkness. I didn’t realize I was falling until my body hit the ground. For a moment I thought I heard rustling in the distance— the sound of leaves crunching underneath someone’s feet. I held my breath in anticipation, waiting for someone — anyone — to break through the bushes and thicket of trees to rescue me. But to my dismay, no one came. It was moments later that I realized that the sound of the leaves was coming from nearby. The sound echoed all around me. Behind me. In front of me. Underneath me. I finally registered that the source of the sound was my own movement— the motion of my body writhing in pain. The burning sensation was focused on my right shoulder, the heat spreading, sending furious spasms down my arm. I opened my mouth to scream, but my breath caught in my throat, and I choked on the miserable sound. I tried to push myself up to a sitting position, but every ounce of energy in my body had been stripped. All I could do was lay on the cold, hard dirt as I slipped in and out of consciousness. I fought to keep my eyes open, but the effort was futile. I knew the only way I would feel relief was if I let go, and that’s exactly what I did. I let out a final breath, shut my eyes, and let the darkness consume me.
“Serena?”
I felt myself creep back into consciousness. I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids felt heavy. I heard a voice calling out to me, calling my name. The sound seemed to be sucked into a vortex; there one minute, gone the next. The familiarity of it startled me. I knew that voice, and I knew I had to find its source.
“Serena, can you hear me?”
I jolted awake, gasping for air. Scott jumped back, momentarily startled, but then returned to my side. He stroked my hair, his eyes searching my face with worry. Once I came to my senses, my left hand flew to my right shoulder on impulse. I patted the skin over my shirt, feeling for a wound, but to my surprise nothing was there. I was no longer in pain, either,, but something about me felt… off. It was at that moment that I took into account my surroundings. I lay on the floor of an old, scorched wooden building. The staircase to my left was falling apart. Most of the windows were broken, letting in the bright rays of sunlight, which illuminated the room around me. The few pieces of furniture that remained were tattered and covered in plastic. The air reeked of smoke and ash. How had I gotten here? And how had my brother found me?
“Scott,” I said, letting out a shaky sigh of relief. “How.... How are you here right now? How did you find me?”
I saw him pause, contemplating his response, making sure he delivered it delicately.
“You didn’t come home last night. We were ready to go out to look for you when I got a call from a… friend. He had found you lying unconscious in the middle of the woods, and he brought you here. I came as soon as I hung up the phone and have been waiting for you to wake up ever since.”
I felt the gears in my head turn, trying to make sense of Scott’s explanation. I was relieved to know that I had been found, and that I was safe, but one question still remained unanswered: what had happened to me?
The events of the previous night were hazy, and everything seemed to blur together. I had been walking back home from a friend’s house, the same as I did every Tuesday night. I took the same shortcut through the woods as I always did, except that yesterday I hadn’t made it home. I remembered very few details, but what I did know was that I saw something… or someone. There had been a burst of motion, and then I collapsed.
I looked up at Scott, my throat suddenly feeling very dry as I opened my mouth to speak. “What happened to me? Your friend, the one who found me… did he see anything?”
He seemed to hesitate once more. He looked at me in such a way that I knew he was withholding information. His silence was deafening, and it only added to my anxiety-driven frustration.
“You don’t think I can handle it, can you?” I accused. “Is that it? Is that why you’re holding out on me? I’m not stupid, so I know you’re not telling me something. Whatever it is, I deserve to know.”
“Serena--” he began. “Maybe now isn’t the best time--”
“Not the best time?” I scoffed. “Why, because you still have yet to come up with a plausible lie? I was attacked, Scott! Someone attacked me and left me for dead in those woods! You have no idea what that was like for me. I was left completely defenseless, contorting in pain. It felt as if my body was on… on--”
“Fire,” he finished for me, knowingly. “Like it was on fire.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. The way he spoke made it sound as though he knew exactly what I was talking about.
“How did you know that?” I asked.
He sighed a defeated sigh. “Because it happened to me too.” He kneeled down on the floor next to me. “You’re right, I do know something that you don’t. I thought that not telling you would keep you safe, but I’m starting to think that maybe I was wrong. You’re in this mess because of me, and I’m going to fix it.”
My heart thumped violently in my chest. I tried to decipher the meaning behind his words, but all I could do was flail in a sea of oblivion. I was in this mess because of him? What could my brother possibly be involved in?
“What does that mean?” I whispered, more to myself than him.
Scott took my hand, stroking my knuckles with his thumb. There was a storm brewing in his eyes. He no longer looked like the innocent 18 year-old boy whose only worry was practicing to try out for team captain of the lacrosse team, or even the guy working up the courage to ask out the pretty girl in his chemistry class. This person looked like he had the weight of the entire world -- my world -- on his shoulders.
