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winkofcharm · 2 months ago

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Spinning, Spinning, Spun - Chapter 1

Please help me, this is far longer than I expected it to be lmao.

Batfam x Reader {platonic} [Previous] [next]

Barbara Gordon is simultaneously the first to notice, and the sort-of last to know.

It begins as most nights do for her, preparing for her shift as Oracle, waiting for you to send over the photos of the day. Scanning through the reports, planning out the routes each Bat would take, keeping an eye on any sort of forum, social media, police report, etc - that might drop a hint for what criminal activities may be planned for the night. It was a familiar pattern, one she had held to for years, even before she joined The Family.

She’d known for as long as she could remember that she wanted to be in law enforcement, and since she was strictly forbidden from joining the GCPD by her Dad, what better way than this?

First as Batgirl, fighting along Batman and Robin - being brought into the fold, into the family. She even remembers the first time she was brought into the batcave, and became aware of the men behind the masks; The Bruce Wayne, The Dick Grayson. She was going to work with the legends she modelled herself after. The ones who inspired her to take up a mask, to hit the streets of Gotham, and fulfil her dream. But it wasn’t just the two of them, was it? There was their butler, Alfred Pennyworth, former military, hyper-competent, and a master of what he did. And then…there was you.

Barely a toddler, not able to comprehend what was going on, even if you wanted to. You were a cute kid, for sure, but she didn’t really know much about kids, and wasn’t interested in learning either. She had more important things to do, and yeah, she felt kind of bad brushing you off whenever she stopped in during the day, but that’s what Bruce told her to do - and at the end of the day, he was your dad, and had the final say. If she ever was curious about who exactly was watching over this child while She, Bruce, Dick, and Alfred were all preoccupied, then it was only a fleeting thought before refocusing on the job at hand.

She watched you grow in glimpses and glances. Sighing a breath of relief when Bruce told her you were in on the secret, and letting another when he mentioned you wouldn’t be involved. By the time you were told, she was already Oracle, and balancing another vigilante would be stretching herself a little too thin. You learning the secret, also led to her seeing you less and less. And if she were completely honest with herself, it was a solace, a weight off her shoulders - one less person she needed to lie to.

It became so much easier once you started leaving The Manor, she didn’t need to worry about running into you, and the awkward greetings that would follow. Barbara could get right to work, without needing to censor any discussions or plans. Anytime you were home, you seemed to get the hint quickly and make yourself scarce. The contact was minimal, until Bruce came to her with a request.

You were getting popular on social media, and with that popularity came risk. Risk of people getting too curious, of not just your safety, but the others safety being compromised as well. So a plan was put into motion.

Every day, at 5pm Gotham time, you would send over any pre-planned posts and pictures, and Barbara would scrub them clean of meta-data. She would cross-reference any details regarding the rest of the family, making sure the timelines of events stayed consistent (though, she admits, you were pretty good at that already - and getting better at covering your own digital tracks. It seemed almost redundant to have her backtrack over everything, but who was Batman without redundancies?). Then, once satisfied, she’d send them back, and you would post at predetermined times.

For the last five or six years, this system worked. You were always punctual, provided the few times you were late due to scheduling conflicts with the regular time, but even then, you always let her know ahead of time. Until this time, that is.

5 pm, 18:00, 5 in the evening - came and went, and not a text, or dm, or email in sight. Maybe you were busy, maybe you were sleeping? You were in Hong Kong, possibly on your way elsewhere at the moment, and time zones could be tricky at best - but you never missed the 5pm cutoff.

And honestly, she may have been the first to discover your disappearance, if she hadn’t been immediately distracted by a new thread on the Gotham subreddit. An unconfirmed source, one she needed to follow up on asap, claiming a grumbling in the underground - a rumour, unsubstantiated, but all rumours regarding any of the rogues needed to be followed up on.

Thus, your lack of contact went unappreciated, and unheeded.

The second to notice, and the first to inquire, was one Stephanie Brown.

Steph - as she insisted to be called - was probably just as active in the realm of social media as you were, even if she wasn’t quite as popular. She never really got the invites to collaborate and create as much branded content as you did, but she didn’t really want that. She was okay with being “Gotham famous”, where people who were chronically online may recognize her out and about, but she wasn’t being hounded. Not like you were, and that was perfectly fine.

She didn’t want to be as famous as you, hell, from the few times you actually made conversation, you didn’t want to be as famous as you are. The first time Wayne Enterprises pushed for a collab between you and her, you had been so... so…something.

You had been sat beside her in a boardroom, the company PR team presenting why it would be so great for You, at the time the only known biological Wayne heir, and Steph, at the time girlfriend to their youngest ever CEO, to run a series of posts together online to promote brand engagement and blah-blah-blaaaaaaaaaah. Meanwhile, Bruce and Tim sat opposite her and you, nodding and agreeing with whatever business talk came out of the team's mouth.

She also remembers nodding along, even if she didn’t understand what they were saying. It wasn’t like either of you were going to turn down the proposal, especially since it was coming directly from Bruce. She “uhuhed” and “okay’d” at all the right times, and you…you just sat there.

You never even really looked at her, and Steph recalls how angry that made her. How you glanced over her once before looking away (before looking down) and never really looked back at her (never looked back up). She thought you to be stuck up and rude, some bratty kid living rich off their daddy’s money. It wasn’t until later, when you actually were working together for a supposedly “candid” photo opportunity, that she realized you were just quiet and a little awkward.

In person, you were a complete 180 from how you presented yourself online. Online, you were confident, bold, clever and witty. In person, you shrunk into yourself. Shoulders hunched, eyes looking anywhere but forward - until the camera started rolling and then, then you transformed. Shoulders back, eyes forward, smirk playing on your lips. You went from random nobody, to someone who couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than the child of Bruce Wayne.

It made her curious, and for Stephanie Brown, curiosity was dangerous.

She started by asking Tim about you, but he couldn’t give any more information than she already had, and even then, some of it seemed to just be about the online you - not the real one. When pushed, he got frustrated, and ended up starting a small argument.

“Does it matter? All you have to do with them is pose for some pictures - it’s not like they do anything else.”

And didn’t that set Stephanie off. You were a person, more than an online presence - so she and Tim didn’t speak for a week, until you had left town again, and the reason behind the argument semi-forgotten.

Then she made the mistake of asking Bruce - and fuck, wasn’t that one of the most terrifying conversations (could it even be called that?) of her life. She tried to play off her questioning as small talk -

“Man, they’re completely different in person y’know. I expected them to be just a rich kid, but -”

Bruce cut her off. He hadn’t even been looking at her at first, but the moment he realized she was talking about You, his head had whipped around at her. His eyes hardened, his face twisted into one she’d only seen before aimed at lowlife thugs. Stephanie could feel the fear creeping in, her palms starting to sweat. She had made eye contact for just a moment, before casting her eyes elsewhere. Why had he reacted like this? She just wanted to know more about his kid. She didn’t think that was wrong - how could it be?

“All you were to do was a job. They’re to be left alone outside of that.” She tried to defend herself, mostly out of surprise, but Bruce wasn’t having it. Anything she spoke was met with a cold and stern:

“Drop it.”

So she did. For a bit. The next time you were in town, and you were asked to work together again, she tried to bring it up again - and Bruce got even angrier. She ended up benched, and if she had to choose between you and Spoiler?

Well, she didn’t know you that well. And Spoiler, Spoiler was always going to be more important.

Even after she and Tim broke up, you played the part of her digital bestie - and she would catch glimpses of the real you, the you no one else had seen, whenever she could. At one point she realized she knew more about you then the ones purported to be your siblings, and it sent her into a spiral. At best, you were coworkers, and she knew more than the people who were supposed to know everything.

It helped that you posted several times a day, everyday. And sure, a lot of it was the fake influencer bullshit, but sometimes you’d sneak in the truth. Those were the posts she went out of her way to like and repost. She learned your favourite colour and favourite hot beverage in the same post, and made sure the next time you went out together for content, that it was prepared correctly, in a mug of your favourite colour.

The small smile that lit up your face was perhaps the first real smile she had seen you make. And if it made her heart flutter, well, she kept that secret close.

So it became a habit of hers. To scroll through your posts everyday, except today -

You hadn’t posted anything. Not a thing. Nothing on twitter, on instagram, on snapchat, on tiktok - nothing. She refreshed each one multiple times, just in case, and kept switching between platforms, just in case.

It set her on edge. Made her stand a little straighter - and then - the panic set in as she recalled -

You queued everything.

You queued your posts for up to a week out at a time - meaning while there was nothing made public today, you hadn’t posted anything for the last week.

So Stephanie did the only thing she could think to do, and went to the only person who might know more and be willing to share.

Alfred.

Thus Alfred became the third to notice, and the first to know.

He remembers when you came to the manor. How little you were, the power of your lungs as you cried out into the world. A cry that would, if he were honest, barely ever be answered.

Barely two weeks old, and already being forced to learn how cold the world is - he tried to apologize for it, but how could he? Nothing could replace what had been lost, nothing could replace what would never be given.

Your mother had died in childbirth, or shortly after. The timeline wasn’t quite clear, but she had enough time to list one Bruce Wayne as the father on your birth certificate. Something neither he or Bruce had expected - let alone the call that came from the hospital, requesting someone come pick you up, lest CPS get involved. Bruce eventually relented under that threat, wanting to avoid any sort of government digging, but only if a DNA test proved you to be his child.

The Hospital agreed, and two days later, the results came back positive. You were his, and he was all you had. They refused to allow Alfred to collect you, no matter how hard Bruce pushed - he had to be the one to pick you up. So Bruce brought Alfred with him, and the moment he laid his eyes on you, he was yours. You were, in Alfred’s opinion, the most valuable thing in the world.

Bruce, his ward, his son in every way but blood, to Alfred’s disappointment, did not agree. There was no time for an infant, not in his crusade. Despite trying his best to care for you and Bruce at the same time, Batman’s schedule made it impossible.

An infant needed around the clock care, and if he was in the Batcave watching over Bruce and Dick (who hadn’t even been told about you - didn’t even know you were there in the manor, having been put in the nursery wing at the far end, where your cries were only to be heard by a nanny no one had bothered to hire), then there was no way for him to watch over you - there was more than one morning you woke covered in your own mess.

Alfred at least got Bruce to agree to hire a Nanny after the second week. He refused to have the Nanny in the main house, however. And how was that supposed to work anyway? Another person, poking around Wayne Manor with all its secrets? Bruce would never stand it.

The solution broke Alfred’s heart, even if he agreed it was for the best.

A country house, unused since the days of Thomas and Martha Wayne, and a Nanny, paid an ungodly sum and handpicked by Alfred himself for her silence and skill. Off you went, nearly two hours away, out of the grasp of Gotham and its shadows. The Nanny they had hired was instructed to send reports every week - written and verbal. The written reports went to Bruce’s desk, with any requests for new furniture, clothing, toys and other expenses were signed off on and sent back. The verbal reports? Those were Alfreds.

He was kept up to date with every milestone, from learning to turn yourself over, to your first words and steps. The Nanny mentioned more than once she was worried about how quiet you were, how hesitant to ask for anything, from physical needs to emotional ones - and it hurt him to hear. You were a Wayne, the world would be at your fingertips, nothing should be out of reach - except, perhaps, your own family's affection.

He assured the poor woman that the quiet was normal, that Bruce himself had been a quiet baby before exploding into a vibrant child (until reverting back after the alley). He did insist, as you grew older, that you would be brought into the phone calls. How delightful it was to hear you, even if it was just a few scattered words.

Years passed like this, until suddenly you were at the cusp of puberty. And Bruce had no choice but to bring you back into the main house. The Nanny who had raised you, who you clung to for all your needs, was ready to retire. Alfred was the one to convince him to let you back, Dick was leaving, and he couldn’t imagine the Manor without some sort of childish light. Perhaps you could even get to know your father, grow close to him, and never be sent away again.

How futile a wish.

You never stood a chance.

Alfred went himself, to collect you. Your sparse belongings had been sent ahead, having arrived in the Manor two days before you had - and had been placed once again in the nursery (though the crib had been removed, and replaced with a large four poster bed - curtains in your current favourite colour, and ready to be replaced when you changed it).

You were polite and proper in your greetings, exactly as you were raised and taught to be. A firm handshake, your tiny hand in his - something you should have learned from your father, but was taught by a stranger. You remained silent the entire way home, looking out the window as the countryside changed. And Alfred couldn’t help but look back in the mirrors, and try his hardest to memorize everything about you.

He should have known better. He spoke to you, as you approached the grounds, how your father was waiting to meet you (and held back on speaking about Dick, if only to ease the blow on how your father would rather raise a child that wasn’t you). He had thought Bruce would do the right thing and be waiting to greet you, as he had been raised to do whenever family arrived, so when he finally pulled up to the front doors and Bruce wasn’t there, he felt ashamed. He apologized for your fathers faux pas, and you just brushed it off - claiming you understood how busy he was.

He would later find Bruce in the Batcave, with Jason Todd in tow. He would scold Bruce privately later, for doing all the things he had expected him to do with you, with Jason instead. A tour of the manor, showing you your room, introducing you to the history of your great family - all things Alfred had done instead.

It was Alfred who helped you adjust, who prepared you for your new role as a Wayne heir. It was Alfred who introduced you to Jason, upon escorting you to the library and catching him there as well. And it was Alfred who went and yelled at Bruce for allowing you to assume you were like the others, an orphan taken in by a wealthy patron.

It was an innocent question on Jason’s behalf, one he apologized for immediately after -

“Did Bruce take you in too?”

And you turned to Alfred, unsure how to answer - he could see the words of affirmation forming in your mouth, the questioning furrow of your brow, before he cut you off -

“Young Master is Master Bruce’s child by birth, sir.”

“Oh! Sorry! I’m really sorry, he just didn’t mention anything and I just assumed, and I’m rambling, I’m sorry.” The embarrassed blush that bled onto Jason’s cheeks was probably the only thing that saved him from a scolding for asking such a question, along with your own response:

“It’s okay, you didn’t know - “ and thus your introduction was awkward and stilted, but at least you might finally have someone else by your side.

He should have known better.

He told Bruce of your meeting Jason, of the conversation you’d had, and how for a moment (perhaps much longer) you had thought yourself another ward, hadn’t been assured that the Wayne family was, in fact, your family. And While Bruce never addressed your feeling of lack of belonging - he did stress that you and Jason were to be kept separate, as much as could possibly be done.

Alfred verbally agreed, and mentally decided to make sure you and Jason spent as much time together as possible without Bruce noticing. Which proceeded to blow up in his face when Jason, in the midst of a visit from Dick, inadvertently blew the whole secret sky high.

You never told him of what happened that night. Never looked at him again with trust in your eyes. Never reached out to Jason, or Dick, or even Tim when he arrived. You locked yourself further away, kept to your room outside of meals and school. And Alfred, if he ever heard you crying to yourself, pulled back; never acknowledged the damage done. How could he? In supporting the others, he had failed you.

You lived as a ghost, and when you started leaving the manor more and more, he hoped you would move on. That you would grow into a person all your own, without the shadow of your family. But you never completely broke away - how could you? When they started finally pulling you in, in a grotesque semblance of a relationship that was never really real. It made him sick to his stomach, seeing you on the cover of Teen Vogue , purporting an interview about how great your siblings were. Siblings you hadn’t spoken to in months, hadn’t seen in even longer.

Then Stephanie Brown took an interest, and Alfred, remembering how badly things had gone before when Jason had taken an interest, kept it to himself. Passed on what he could recall of your likes and dislikes, of your habits and rituals. So it wasn’t necessarily surprising when she called to ask about you. He paid no mind to Stephanie pushing for him to call you, gave the excuse of wondering when you’d next be in town, and that she’d tried to text you but had gotten no response. So he did. No answer, straight to voicemail - your phone was apparently turned off.

“Please leave a message after the beep - “

Generic, he was hoping you had changed it by now, but clearly, he’d have to remind you again. But before the beep could go off, his blood chilled.

A laugh.

Not a laugh, a cackle.

Familiar, and cruel - on your voicemail message, on your private phone, and one all too recognizable.

The Joker

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taglist: @holybatflapexpert @electricgg @xoyumiqls @holderoflostmemories @sleeptimes @galaxypurplerose @sassam

(apologies if the tag didn't work, i'm new to this ;3; )

#batfam #neglected reader #batfam x reader #batfamily #reader insert #writing fanfiction #fanfiction #spinning spinning spun #batman #barbara gordon #stephanie brown #alfred pennyworth

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witherby · 6 months ago

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Please help a starving Anon..... I need more Mother Hen Hal from you...The way you write him and the characters are so good and perfect(idc if anyone disagrees), i am dying../silly/nf

It can have anything you wish to add, maybe a sprinkle of hurt/comfort (let's not forget the queers(BatLantern) too/verysilly)/lh

Yeah, you can absolutely have more mother hen Hal!!! This one is a little early in the relationship, pre-Flittermouse, and Dick-centric.

The Littlest Wayne: Mother Hen (Dick)

"B! Thanks for coming to get —"

Dick stops and tilts his head as the window of the Lambo rolls down. It's not Bruce, here to pick him up from a celebration at Titan's Tower he was just a smidge too drunk to drive himself home from.

It's Hal.

"Hi, kid," he greets. "Bruce was asleep when you texted. I told him to chill out and I'd get you instead."

"Oh, hi," Dick says, a little off-kilter. His grin only wanes a little. "Yeah. Okay."

He walks around the car and climbs into the front passenger seat, brows furrowed. It's the first time they've been alone together since Bruce told the boys that they started seeing each other.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Have you eaten in a while? Might hit a drive-through before we get back. My treat as long as you don't tell Alfred."

Dick nods slowly, staring at Hal like he can't quite figure everything out. Hal just shoots him an easy smile, then focuses his attention on the road.

They're quiet for a while, the radio playing some top 10 hit softly through the speakers neither one of them recognizes. When Hal pulls up to order them some food (and how curious that he knows Dick's usual) then waves away Dick's effort to pay, the man can't help but say something.

"You don't... have to do that."

"It's like thirty bucks, champ. I've got it," Hal chuckles.

"I don't mean the food."

Hal looks at Dick curiously. It's probably the fact that he's still pretty sloshed, but he feels especially vulnerable in the car with him, and can't quite keep his thoughts to himself.

"You don't have to pretend to care about Bruce's kids just because you're dating Bruce." Even as he says it, he knows it was mean and dismissive. Dick chews on the inside of his cheek and can't figure out how to take that back, so he stops talking.

Hal doesn't respond. Dick can't make himself look at Hal's face, so he fiddles with the Nightwing charm dangling off his cellphone.

"Here's your meal, sir. Enjoy," says a fast food employee. Hal thanks her quickly, then pulls into a parking lot and kills the engine. Dick listens to him rustle through the bag and sort out what belongs to whom for a minute, then gently takes his portion from him when it's offered.

"Hey," says Hal. Dick pretends he's too preoccupied with opening the sauce packet for his chicken nuggets to look up. "Okay. I'd probably be a little skittish after dropping a bomb like that, too. So, just listen for a sec, okay?"

"Kay," he mumbles through a mouthful of fries, trying very hard not to feel like he's eight years old and sitting in Commissioner Gordon's office, waiting to find out if Bruce will assume guardianship and take him home, waiting to see if he'd be accepted or rejected.

"I think Bruce is it for me."

Hmm. Okay, not the words he expected to hear, but Dick is listening.

"You've probably heard that from his exes before. Something about Bruce is just...captivating. He's got his own gravitational pull, and I'm not interested in getting knocked outta orbit."

Hal pops a couple fries in his mouth. Dick sees his shoulders shrug in his periphery.

"I'm in love with him, is the point. Have been for a few years now, but I didn't think it was reciprocal until that battle in Coast City. But Bruce isn't just Bruce, is he?"

Hal reaches across the center console to gently squeeze Dick's knee.

"He's Bruce, and Dick, and Jason, and Tim, and Damian. He's got a whole gaggle of wonderful sons I'd love to get to know."

"We've worked together tons of times before," Dick says. He's barely picking at his food, too busy trying to figure out Hal's point.

"Sure. I've worked with Nightwing a lot. But that's not all you are. I don't really know anything about Dick Grayson, and I'd really like to."

Hal pulls his hand away and picks up his burger to take a bite.

"All this to say...I know you guys are mostly grown. You're used to having one parent and don't really need another one, and, damn, I don't know the first thing about any of that. But I'm in this for the long haul, and you can rely on me. I don't want any of you believing you're just an afterthought to me. Okay?"

Oh. Oh.

In lieu of an answer, and also because his throat feels too tight to speak, Dick just nods and goes back to eating. They finish their food in silence and Hal gets out to dispose of the trash, then turns the engine again to take him the rest of the way home. As he parks and they leave the garage, Dick throws his arms around Hal. He pretends the stinging in his eyes is some weird effect from the alcohol when Hal hugs him back just as tight.

"Goodnight, kid," he murmurs. "Go take a glass of water and some ibuprofen to bed with you for that hangover in the morning."

"Yes, mom," Dick snorts, teasing, but he detours to the kitchen with a shy little grin anyway.

#littlest wayne au #batfam x reader #dick grayson #hal jordan #that feeling when your dad's new partner actually factors you into the relationship :0 #batlantern

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sramoonlight · 3 months ago

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Not alone

What if Bruce had six Robins?

Content you’ll see here: child!reader, death of children, mention of child abuse, male!reader, Bruce being a bad father figure

English it’s not my first language so please be patient

Everyone knew why Batman started being more violent than ever, yet no one wanted to point it out

Except for a kid, a kid who loved following every step Batman took, he was his number one fan since he met him.

It was a dark night, he was going home after a few days of stealing and for the first time in this month he was carrying a bag of bread on his small arms

He knew he should run home before the usual thieves come to take the money out of him, but he didn’t want to arrive home this early

His father is still awake, and that means he would beat him until he stops screaming

Usually he muffles his screams but the last beat made his bones weaker, so he knows he will be screaming more than usual.

— It’s okay.. With this even I could eat something for dinner — a piece of bread and a cup of water, for normal children that is nothing but for him? That’s a miracle – Eliza is going to be so- Eek! —

Someone took him by his hoodie pulling him to the floor, like some kind of instinct he hugged the bread to his body

— Stop fighting it kid, tonight we are not being gentle — with his legs on the level of his chest he clenched to everything he could

He knows this routine, they start kicking him and trying to take all his possessions

But like always, he keeps trying to not loose anything

Until all the people around stopped hitting him, he opens his eyes only to see a man with a batsuit punching the bad guys

And in that moment, a sparkle appeared on his eyes

Hope.

That was made him follow the old bat everywhere, does he have a case near his neighborhood? He is already waiting for him outside the place

Bruce doesn’t know why, but the way that kid follow him is enough to convince him he can’t just leave him behind

Not when his body is covered in bruises, as someone who lost all his hope on the world, he knows this is the only thing this kid has

And, he miss having a kid like Jason following him like some kid of baby duck, so even if he tries to push him away, he keeps coming back so, what could go wrong about letting this kid follow him? Just when is not a serious case, he could send him home if he appears when he is in middle of arresting Riddle or something like that.

He doesn’t know when this kid sat on the Batmobile’s co-pilot seat, he doesn’t know why he didn’t kick him out

He doesn’t know when this kid earned his own Robin suit, or when he started leaving on the manor

Well, he does know when, but he tries to pretend he doesn’t.

It was a short time, but that kid was earning a place on his heart and maybe the pain of loosing Jason was a little lighter

Maybe he is not afraid of loosing anything again.

Then, why his heart is beating so fast? He keeps seeing at the monitor, on this collapsed building his son is trapped

Now he hates being the one who teach the little kid how to control his heartbeat, because no one can localized him

— Batman, he’s dead — Gordon tried to calm this man, he didn’t success

It’s been hours, everyone gave up already, and he starts too.

This kid, not even his adoptive son because he couldn’t adopt him

It’s dead, he couldn’t save him

Like he didn’t with Jason.

The sun is rising, you’re still trapped on this place, and even if you want to scream so Bruce could hear you

You didn’t, you know he’ll come to save you, you just need to keep your heartbeat low

Breath like you’re sleep, keep your body calm, there’s a chance a villain could find you first and you don’t want that

— God, B doesn’t know how to take care of children — a pair of arms took you out of your cage

Instantly you tried to escape, but your stomach aches

There’s a beam on your abdomen, staining the shiny suit you had

You panic, for the first time in hours you panic, you tried to punch the man trying to get away

— Calm down! — you can’t, you don’t recognize his face, so that means he isn’t an ally

— Batman will kick your ass! Let me go! — you don’t know why but you screamed the alias of the man you admired

The man who is holding you is silent now

— He left you, kid — you don’t know why your eyes are glassy

And you don’t know why you believed his words, well, maybe you do

Because if Bruce really cared about you, he could be here already

You made such a fuss, if he was looking for you he could be already running to the sound of you voice

But he didn’t, he is not here

— He left you behind, kid —

This man hugs your body like he knew how it felt, his hand pressing the wound on your abdomen

Because he knew how it felt to be left behind, but he won’t let you die by your own like he did

Even if you don’t know him, he knows how much it means to have someone holding you until your body feels cold

Bruce didn’t come to save you, but he did.

#batboys x batsis #batfamily #batsiblings #batfam x batsis #jason x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason peter todd #bruce wayne #bruce x reader #dad bruce wayne #dc robin #male reader #child reader #child neglect #dc batman #batman

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gothamite-rambler · 2 months ago

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Damian, dressed in his Robin suit, was with his father, Batman, and Commissioner Gordon, discussing a case when Damian's phone suddenly rang loudly. He quickly pulled it out, holding up his index finger to pause the conversation.

Jim: I was talking—

Damian: This will be quick.

The number was unfamiliar, but Damian was used to those, usually it was his mother or grandfather.

Damian (pretending to be unaware): Yes, unknown caller?

Talia (cheerful): Mommy's visiting! I'm coming to see you. It's Talia, by the way.

Damian (blushing): Oh, no, no, no! No… no, go back to the palace!

Talia: Why would I go back? I had a day off from being a business mommy.

Damian: Stop saying "mommy"! You're my mother, and it's making me uncomfortable. And don't you men look at me!

Batman and Jim turned away, pretending not to listen, while Damian argued with his mother.

Batman: He's not actually talking to his mother. Disregard that.

Jim: Nah, I’m curious.

Damian: Mother, go home. I’m in the middle of work!

Talia (playfully): My habibi is working? Aww, I’m so happy you're still being a Robin and not with… Nightwing.

Damian growled in frustration, tapping his forehead.

Damian: Right, father… she's here.

Batman (exasperated): Please tell me she isn't nearby. Maybe we can avoid her.

Jim (chuckling): Who's his mother?

Damian (nervous): Mother when you say "visiting," do you mean you're arriving in town, but not in Gotham?

Talia (cheerfully): Well… let’s just say I’m close to where you are.

Suddenly, a grappling hook landed on the precinct, and Talia effortlessly climbed up. Batman and Damian didn’t notice at first, but Jim saw her.

Jim: She’s right behind you.

The father and son spun around and groaned as Talia clapped her hands excitedly, eager to see Damian in his Robin costume.

Talia: You look so… so… is this the motherly affection I’ve heard about? Look at those chubby cheeks!

Damian quickly covered his mouth, backing away.

Talia: Give your mother a hug!

Damian: No!

In a panic, Damian tossed his phone to Batman and tried to run, but he was too late to escape onto the roof. Talia lunged past Batman and Jim like a cheetah, yanking him by his hoodie and pulling him into a tight mom hug, spinning him around.

Damian (mortified): Mother!Let me go!

Talia (singing): My baby! My baby! I’ve missed you, habibi!

Damian (shouting): Why can’t you be emotionless like grandfather?! Or soulless like Aunt Nyssa?

Talia: I will never go back to that cold, distant mindset! When I was revived after losing my mind, I swore I’d strive to be a better parent.

Damian: This isn't better! Mother, I understand you’re trying to make amends for the things you did such as putting a hit out on me, I'm glad you feel remorse. I forgave you, but I don’t need this!

Talia: You’re going to get it anyway, because I love you! Time for cheek kisses!

Damian squirmed as she pressed cheek kisses onto his face.

Damian (his personal space being taken away): Noooo!

Jim looked on, then turned to Batman, who was trying to maintain a stoic expression that was slowly cracking.

Jim: Habibi… mother… Bruce, you had a child with Talia? That’s why you didn’t want to tell me?

Batman: I don’t like talking about it. And can you not use my real name right now?

Jim: Come on. We’re friends. I figured out your identity years ago.

Batman: Don’t remind me. Give me a minute, I need to pry my baby mama away from my kid.

Batman stepped forward to gently break up the overbearing hug Talia was giving Damian, who only groaned as he kept smelling his mother’s perfume.

Jim (amused by the entire situation): Baby mama... he’s gotten more relaxed over the years. Good for him.

Damian (squirming): Mother, I can’t breathe!

Talia (kissing him again): Shush, let me love you!

Batman (failing to break the two apart): Talia, you’re embarrassing us.

Talia: Let me embarrass you! I am his mother after all, I spent twenty-four—

Batman: We’re not having this argument again.

Jim: I’ll wait over here.

Without warning, Talia delivered a swift kick to Batman’s stomach, sending him stumbling back. She kept hugging Damian tightly, who only groaned and endured her perfume as she lavished him with affection.

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lilacwriter07 · 2 months ago

Text

Bruce despite being an Alpha, he loves spoiling his Omega sons . Whatever they wanted they get .

So when they wanted the Beta boy from the Drake pack, Bruce didn't understand but went ahead and see if he can get the boy for his boys .

The parents scoffed first who wants an useless Beta (their words) but all Bruce had to do, was wave a bag of coins infront of those greedy pigs .

His sons felt like the luckiest Omegas in the world, scenting the Beta and cuddling him (even Jason smiled, so Bruce took this as a win-win)

He is still worried about their mating future, and seems like they enjoy this Beta's company .

He is now bit worried if this Beta can protect them against other Alphas, when it became clear his Omega sons only are intrested in the Beta .

(he remembers them telling his name was Tim, Bruce needs to start using it honestly)

The answer came after 2 years when Tim was included in his pack, when he visited an important business deal (which he rather skipped) he and his sons were invited to stay at the vacation house, ofcourse Dick and Jason wanted to have Tim with them .

With bit of Brucie Wayne buttering the Alpha of the house up, Tim was welcomed .

Bruce had to see it coming .

The red flag was waving in his face after al .

Especially when that man's grown up Alpha son was there as well, a man child, someone who actually had no business being there was there .

And that guy was bad news all by all .

So when he didn't see his sons or that man he know something was up, as he got up the other man stopped him ."You thank us at the end of the night ."

"What ?" His Alpha rage rising up ."We know you are forced to have that Beta near your beautiful (Bruce wanted to puke) sons, perverted little things I know but my son will teach them the right way (Bruce wants to puke and then kill him) "

Suddenly a scream was heard, Bruce forced the man to let him go and runs upstairs ."Dick ! Jason !" He screams as turns around the corner, the other man not far from him and some servants . As Bruce wanted to run to the room he heard the screaming, the door burst open as a body fly against the wall .

Blood splatters against the wall as the person screams .

Bruce thought for a second it may have been Tim, but then he realize it was that little bastard ."He tore them off !" He screams as spit and blood flew out of his mouth, one of the maids gasp .

Tim then walks out his hands covered with blood, so much blood as he drops something fleshy on the ground .

Bruce didn't know if he ever saw a Beta rip out an Alpha's mating glands but the image infront of him was terrifying . How small the Alpha looked infront of the Beta, who stood as the victor of the battle .

"Tim .." He started before a whine was heard ."Beta ~ Come back ~" That was Dick ."Please Beta we need you ~" And that was Jason .

Tim looks briefly at the crowd, at Bruce before he walks back to the room, doing his best to close the door .

Not that it closed off any sounds, as servants took their masters son and all of them run off .

Bruce made a mental note when they get home, to prepare a wedding and to have Jim Gordon do a visit .

#non traditional omegaverse #jaytim #dicktim #jaydicktim #omega jason todd #omega dick grayson #beta tim drake #Omega/Beta/Omega

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frownyalfred · 1 year ago

Note

Listennnnn, I need some Batfleck headcanons, please. Thank you 🫡

This man is too overhated :/ I still think he was an amazing Bruce (and Batman), and I wish we had seen more of him. Dare I say, Jeremy Irons' Alfred is one of my favorite interpretations ever. Loved him in BvS. Specially scenes with him and Bruce.

Started going grey at 32

He and Alfred jog around the Manor property together for exercise

He’s a functional alcoholic but only in between his cases / big missions. Otherwise he’s 100% sober for peak physical performance.

The kind of Batman who beat up criminals for even looking at Robin, much less making a joke about hurting him.

Darker, grittier and more pessimistic even before he lost Robin. He didn’t trust anyone beyond Alfred, and it took years for him to warm up to Robin (Dick or Jason, depends on if you go off Snyder lol)

Every single inch of property and every cent he owns goes to Alfred immediately upon his death. This is an expectation, not a worse case scenario.

Most of his failsafes are a complex series of satellite uploads and then explosives. Soooooo many explosives under that lake.

Sustains on an insane amount of calories per day (see my protein post)

So big/massive that the Bane matchup in this universe was much more balanced (he didn’t get his back broken but absolutely got beaten up)

On that note: breaking his bones doesn’t stop him, it just makes him more angry (this is a man who pulled a knife out of his own rotator cuff to stab someone with)

GCPD doesn’t just fear him because they’re corrupt, they fear his brand (he has a bad habit of branding cops who betray innocents right in the face)

Once spent ten or so days pit fighting in the Narrows for intel and actually won minor fame as a brawler

Alfred has slapped him awake on more than one occasion so that Bruce can help move himself (he weighs too much for Alfred to even try moving)

Alfred never left him or the lake house because he made a promise to Martha that he would always watch over Bruce

Jim Gordon respects and fears him in equal amounts. He watched what happened after Robin’s death and just shook his head.

The acid burn on his shoulder is from the Joker taunting him for being too pretty after unmasking him and threatening to burn his face off.

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ilovemarvel97 · 1 month ago

Note

Can you please do another part to the Elizabeth Olsen x chef reader. Reader is very intense calling out orders, getting mad when they mess it up. You know like how gordon ramsey is in hell's kitchen 😂. Lizzie watching it and thinking she's hot when mad and worked up. Thank youu for your hard work!!

Married to the Fire

Elizabeth Olsen x Chef Reader

Summary: Y/N became one of the judges in a cooking show. And her wife is watching from home.

Word Count: 5,710

Warnings: fluff, smut, (18+), use of strap

A/N: Thank you for the request. Hope you like it!

Main Masterlist

---

The sun had barely risen, and Elizabeth Olsen was already curled up on the couch, her robe loosely tied, a steaming mug of coffee cradled in her hands. The flat screen glowed in front of her, showing the bustling set of the new high-profile cooking competition, “Fire & Flavor.” Her wife, Y/N — three-time Michelin-starred chef, known both for her brilliance and her famously short fuse in the kitchen — was front and center.

This week’s episode was special. Live. Raw. Unfiltered.

Y/N wasn’t just judging from a panel — she was the Head Chef today. Contestants would work under her, in her domain. Lizzie smirked as she sipped her coffee. Poor souls.

The broadcast had only just begun, and already the pressure was high. Contestants were scrambling around the stainless steel counters, one young man clearly in over his head as he tried to flambé raw scallops — raw — in too much oil.

Lizzie raised a brow, already predicting the moment.

And then it came.

Y/N, in her crisp black chef coat — sleeves rolled up, jaw tight — stormed over to his station. “Are you trying to burn the kitchen down?!” she shouted, voice commanding, slicing through the room like a knife. “That’s not flambé, that’s a fire hazard! Pull it off the heat — now!”

The kitchen fell into stunned silence for a split second before motion resumed. The cameras panned to the contestant, flushed and shaken, then back to Y/N, whose presence filled every inch of the space.

But all Lizzie could do was stare.

Her eyes trailed over Y/N’s sharp profile, her intense eyes, the way her voice didn’t waver — not even a little. God, she was so in control. So powerful. So damn hot.

Lizzie licked her lips.

She shifted on the couch.

Was it getting warmer?

“Jesus…” she murmured to herself, biting the inside of her cheek, pulse quickening. “That’s my wife…”

Y/N kept moving around the kitchen, cool and dominant, barking instructions like it was second nature. Lizzie’s eyes followed her every move — the subtle flex of muscle beneath the coat, the sharp turns, the way her tone dropped low when she was about to explode at someone.

Lizzie was completely and undeniably turned on.

The mug of coffee was forgotten on the side table. Her legs subtly pressed together under her robe, and she sank further into the couch cushions, heat pooling low in her stomach. The camera caught a close-up of Y/N wiping her hands with a towel, then calmly muttering, “Clean your station like you’re serving it to God.”

Lizzie groaned softly to herself.

This wasn’t fair.

She reached for her phone and opened their private chat. Without even thinking, she typed:

Lizzie:

Baby. You yelling at that poor guy on live TV??

…I’m gonna need you to do that voice when you get home.

You have no idea how hot you are right now.

Zero idea.

She hit send and tossed the phone on the cushion beside her, breath catching as the screen continued — even though she knew Y/N didn’t have her phone on her. It would be hours before she saw it.

But that didn’t stop the thrum beneath Lizzie’s skin.

Didn’t stop the way her breath caught every time Y/N barked another sharp command.

Didn’t stop her from slowly untucking her legs from under her and letting her robe slip just a little more open.

She was definitely not leaving the couch for a while.

And when her wife got home tonight?

Lizzie planned to return the favor…

loudly.

Lizzie’s fingers hovered over the remote, but she didn’t press a thing.

Not pause. Not mute. Not even volume up.

She couldn’t move. She didn’t want to.

Her thighs pressed together as she watched her wife dominate the chaos of the kitchen. There was a contestant nervously trying to dice onions, and Y/N walked by, stopped, and said in that delicious, deepened tone:

“That’s not diced. That’s disrespect. Start over.”

Lizzie whimpered. Actually whimpered.

“God,” she whispered, throwing her head back against the couch, “how is it possible that yelling could turn me on this much?”

She glanced at her phone again, still dark on the cushion next to her. Y/N wouldn’t see her text for hours. She had no idea the effect she was having. No idea her wife was at home, flushed and practically squirming in her seat from the sound of her voice, the command in her body language, the intensity in her eyes.

Lizzie bit her lip.

Her robe slipped lower off her shoulder. Her fingers absently grazed her collarbone, and for a second — a very tempting second — she thought about reaching under the robe and doing something about the ache curling deep inside her.

But then the camera cut to another wide shot — Y/N barking orders to three contestants at once, moving through the kitchen like a force of nature — and Lizzie stopped.

Not yet.

Not without her.

No, this would be a joint event later. A full-body, against-the-wall, no-holds-barred reunion.

She leaned back, heat blooming beneath her skin, and let the sound of her wife — furious, brilliant, dominant — fill the room.

Lizzie grinned slowly, wickedly, and whispered to herself:

“Yeah… you better come home ready to be the boss in here too.”

---

Later That Night

The door clicked open sometime past nine.

Y/N stepped inside, tired but buzzing with leftover adrenaline from the live shoot. Her chef coat had some buttons open showing her white undershirt. Her hair was a little messy, skin still flushed from the kitchen heat.

She sighed and kicked off her boots. “Babe?”

Silence.

She walked in further — and then noticed the lights.

The living room was dim, lit only by the warm flicker of a few candles. The TV was off now. The couch pillows looked a little… disheveled. Her brow lifted.

She took her phone out of her bag, and she saw it had a notice. She hasn’t thought of checking when she left the studio. She just wanted to see Lizzie as soon as possible.

Three unread messages. One from her publicist. One from a fellow chef.

And one from Lizzie.

Y/N unlocked it.

Baby. You yelling at that poor guy on live TV??

…I’m gonna need you to do that voice when you get home.

You have no idea how hot you are right now.

Zero idea.

Y/N froze.

Then smirked.

“Oh…”

Her voice dropped slightly as she called out, “Liz?”

No answer.

She moved down the hall, phone still in hand, heart starting to pound for an entirely different reason now. The bedroom door was ajar, and when she nudged it open—

She stopped cold.

Lizzie was lying on the bed in nothing but one of Y/N’s button-down shirts — unbuttoned, just barely covering her, her bare thighs on full display. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, her lips parted, eyes dark with heat as she looked up at her wife.

“You read it,” Lizzie said, voice low and full of promise.

Y/N swallowed hard.

“I did.”

A pause.

“You meant it?”

Lizzie gave a slow, sultry smile. “You’re sexy all the time, baby… but when you’re pissed off and in charge?” She exhaled softly. “It wrecks me.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched. The smirk tugging at her mouth turned predatory.

“Come here,” Lizzie whispered, sitting up a little, “and yell at me like that.”

Y/N didn’t move just yet. She stood in place, her stance deliberate, still in her black chef coat — the top few buttons undone, revealing her collarbones and a hint of the sweat-slicked skin beneath. Her eyes raked slowly over Lizzie, heat pooling behind them.

Then her smirk deepened, and her voice dropped an octave.

“Tell me first…” she said, fingers sliding down her own chest to the next button. “Were you a good girl today?”

Lizzie sucked in a breath, caught off guard by how fast the shift in energy hit her — how fast her body responded.

“I tried,” she whispered.

Y/N cocked her head, slowly undoing another button.

“Tried?”

Her hands moved with purpose, unfastening the coat one by one. The fabric parted, revealing more skin — the curve of her chest, the tight tank underneath already sticking to her from a long, adrenaline-fueled day. But Lizzie’s eyes were locked on Y/N’s — dark, commanding, hungry.

“I stayed home…” Lizzie offered, voice breathy. “Watched my wife yell at people and get me all worked up…”

Y/N finally slid the coat off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. She stepped forward, eyes never leaving Lizzie.

“Sounds like I’ve got something to deal with then.”

Lizzie let out a soft gasp as Y/N reached the edge of the bed, standing over her with that unmistakable fire in her eyes — the same one she’d had in the kitchen, only now… focused entirely on her wife.

“I was thinking…” Lizzie whispered, fingers reaching out, tugging at Y/N’s waistband. “You could use that voice on me.”

Y/N leaned down, lips grazing Lizzie’s ear as she whispered back:

“Oh, sweetheart. You’re gonna beg for it.”

Lizzie’s breath caught the moment Y/N leaned in — close enough for her scent to hit: smoked paprika, lemon zest, and heat from the kitchen. Her hands found Y/N’s waist, slipping beneath the now-open coat to feel her wife’s warm skin underneath the tank top.

“Beg, huh?” Lizzie breathed, eyes flicking up to meet Y/N’s, teasing but already breathless.

Y/N’s grin turned feral.

“You already are,” she whispered.

With that, she pressed Lizzie back onto the bed in one smooth motion, climbing over her, the chef coat slipping from her arms and pooling on the floor beside the bed. Her tank rode up slightly as she straddled Lizzie’s thighs, hands bracing on either side of her. Lizzie’s fingers curled tightly in the fabric at Y/N’s waist, pulling her in with an urgency that sent a spark racing up Y/N’s spine.

“You don’t even know,” Lizzie murmured, her voice breaking at the edges. “I was squirming on that couch, baby. Every time you raised your voice…”

Y/N leaned in, brushing her lips just over Lizzie’s but not quite kissing her.

“Every time I raised my voice,” she echoed, letting the words roll off her tongue, slow and deliberate, “you thought about this?”

She let her hips shift just slightly, enough for their bodies to press together. Lizzie gasped.

“I thought about you…” Lizzie whispered, her voice desperate. “I thought about this. About how you’d sound saying my name in that voice. Telling me what to do.”

Y/N’s control wavered for half a second — just enough to make her drop her head to Lizzie’s neck and let out a soft groan.

“You’re gonna make me lose my damn mind,” she muttered against Lizzie’s skin.

Then her hand slid down, parting the shirt Lizzie wore, her fingertips brushing slowly, reverently, over her bare skin. Lizzie arched into her touch with a whimper.

Y/N pulled back just enough to meet her eyes again. Her voice was low, commanding, full of that same fire Lizzie had heard all morning.

“Hands above your head. You don’t move unless I say.”

Lizzie obeyed immediately, her breathing uneven, cheeks flushed with anticipation.

Y/N’s mouth crashed into hers a moment later — rough, deep, and possessive — years of marriage doing nothing to cool the fire between them. In fact, it had only made it burn hotter.

Lizzie moaned into the kiss, fingers twisting in Y/N’s tank as her wife claimed her like she had something to prove. And maybe she did. Maybe this was about more than just lust. Maybe it was about Lizzie watching her from miles away, undone by nothing more than her presence and her voice.

Y/N kissed her like she knew all of it — like she’d felt every second of Lizzie’s anticipation building all day.

“God, you’re mine,” Y/N growled between kisses, her lips dragging down Lizzie’s jaw to her throat, biting gently at the spot she knew made Lizzie shiver. “You sat here aching for me, didn’t you?”

Lizzie nodded, voice already wrecked. “Yes. Yes, baby.”

Y/N sat back on her heels just enough to tug Lizzie’s shirt off completely, baring her slowly, her eyes devouring every inch like it was her first time. She dropped it off the side of the bed, breathing uneven, pupils blown wide.

“I should make you wait,” she muttered, dragging her fingers down Lizzie’s stomach in maddening circles. “But I’ve been thinking about you all damn day too.”

She leaned in again, letting her teeth graze Lizzie’s earlobe. “And I’m starving.”

Lizzie’s breath hitched, and her legs immediately wrapped around Y/N’s waist, needing her closer — needing everything. Her heels pressed into the backs of Y/N’s thighs, urging her on.

Y/N growled low in her throat, letting her weight settle, pinning Lizzie just enough to make her squirm. Her mouth captured Lizzie’s again, but this time slower, more deliberate — tongue sliding past her lips to taste, to claim, to own.

Her hands roamed freely now, sliding down Lizzie’s sides, fingers grazing her ribs, her hips, before finally dipping between her legs. Lizzie gasped into the kiss, head falling back against the pillow as Y/N’s fingers teased her — light, maddening strokes that made her arch and whine.

“Already wet for me?” Y/N murmured, voice thick with arousal and pride. “Didn’t even have to touch you yet.”

Lizzie tried to respond, but all that came out was a broken sound — part moan, part plea. Y/N smiled, satisfied, and finally slid two fingers through her slick folds, groaning at how ready her wife was.

“Fuck, baby…”

Lizzie bucked into her hand, chasing more. Y/N gave it to her.

She slid inside in one smooth thrust, and Lizzie cried out, clutching at her back, nails digging in. Y/N didn’t stop — she curled her fingers just right, her thumb finding Lizzie’s clit in practiced rhythm, her mouth returning to her throat, her breasts, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

Lizzie was shaking within minutes, her moans getting higher, more desperate, her thighs trembling around Y/N’s hips.

“You’re so good for me,” Y/N whispered hoarsely, eyes locked on her wife’s flushed, wrecked face. “Let go, baby. Come for me.”

Lizzie shattered in her arms, body bowing off the bed, a cry ripped from her lips as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her. Y/N held her through it, slowing her movements only when Lizzie’s body started to twitch with oversensitivity.

She kissed her through the aftershocks, soft now, tender again. Murmuring praise against her lips. Stroking her sweat-damp hair back.

Lizzie could barely speak, breath still uneven, but she managed one thing — her voice rough and filled with reverence:

“I love you.”

Y/N smiled, pressing their foreheads together.

“I love you too. Now scoot up, baby… I’m not done with you yet.”

Y/N’s voice dropped lower, darker, as she pulled back just enough to look at her — eyes glinting with authority, heat, and something raw.

“So this is what you wanted,” she said, her fingers trailing slowly down Lizzie’s chest, stopping just above her navel. “Me. Like I was in the kitchen today… but only for you.”

Lizzie nodded, dazed, lips parted in anticipation.

Y/N smirked.

“Then listen carefully, baby. You don’t come again until I say so.”

Lizzie’s breath caught, her thighs instinctively pressing together — but Y/N pushed them apart with a firm hand, settling between them again. Her chef’s coat lay forgotten on the floor, but that power — that control Lizzie had watched from the TV — still clung to her like a second skin.

She grabbed Lizzie’s wrists gently but firmly, raising them over her head and pinning them there with one hand. “Keep them here,” she ordered. “If they move, I stop. Understood?”

Lizzie whimpered, “Yes.”

“Yes what?” Y/N teased, lips brushing hers.

“Yes, Chef.”

Y/N’s smile was pure fire.

“Good girl.”

She lowered herself again, this time her mouth replacing her fingers — slow, languid licks against Lizzie’s core that had her twitching under every stroke. But Y/N didn’t speed up. She took her time. Made her beg. Worshipped her slowly, deliberately, expertly.

Every time Lizzie’s hips bucked, Y/N would pause — a warning. A silent don’t push your luck.

It was maddening. Deliciously cruel.

Lizzie’s hands trembled above her head. She was panting, moaning, whispering broken pleas into the air.

“Please, Chef… I—I can’t…”

Y/N lifted her head, lips glistening, and looked up at her with nothing but hunger.

“You’ll wait. You wanted this — this control. This discipline. So now you’re gonna take it.”

She pushed two fingers back inside her without warning, curling just right, and Lizzie’s entire body arched off the bed.

“Fuck—!”

“Hands,” Y/N warned. “Don’t move them.”

Lizzie slammed them back down, gripping the pillow so tight her knuckles turned white. Her entire body was trembling now — a live wire of heat and tension. Her hair was stuck to her forehead, her chest rising and falling in sharp, helpless gasps.

Y/N never let up. She built her up again and again, then pulled back every time Lizzie got too close. Holding her on the edge for what felt like forever.

When she finally leaned up, kissing her hard, Lizzie was wrecked.

“I want to come,” she begged against her lips. “Please. I’ve been so good. I need it, Chef…”

Y/N’s mouth curled into a smirk, hand still working her in slow, controlled strokes.

“Then let go.”

The second the words hit, Lizzie shattered — this time more intensely than before. She cried out Y/N’s name as pleasure tore through her, her entire body bucking and writhing, tears springing to her eyes from the sheer force of it.

Y/N held her through it all, whispering softly now, lips brushing her ear.

“That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

Lizzie collapsed beneath her, completely undone, limbs limp, breath shaky. Her heart was still racing, chest rising and falling with aftershocks.

Y/N kissed her gently then, all dominance melting into affection as she stroked her damp hair back and nuzzled her cheek.

“I should yell at line cooks more often if this is what it does to you,” Y/N teased, voice still rough.

Lizzie, barely coherent, managed a breathless laugh. “Remind me to never let you cook in peace again…”

Y/N chuckled and kissed her forehead. “Deal.”

Then she pulled the blanket over both of them, drawing Lizzie into her arms like she was the most precious thing in the world — which, of course, she was.

---

Sunlight spilled through the sheer curtains, casting a golden glow over the bedroom. The air was warm, still heavy with the scent of skin and sweat and love. Lizzie stirred first, blinking awake against the soft pillow as a smile tugged at her lips — muscles deliciously sore, body humming from the night before.

Y/N was still asleep beside her, one arm flung over Lizzie’s waist, face tucked into her shoulder, hair a tousled mess. She looked peaceful — smug, even, like she knew exactly what she’d done to her wife.

Lizzie reached over and gently trailed her fingers down Y/N’s bare spine.

“Chef?” she whispered teasingly, lips curling into a grin. “Are you awake, or do I need to submit a formal breakfast request to the head of the kitchen?”

Y/N groaned into her skin, voice gravelly. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m definitely starting.” Lizzie rolled to her side, nudging her wife until sleepy eyes peeked open. “You were a tyrant in that kitchen yesterday.”

Y/N smirked. “You liked it.”

“Liked it?” Lizzie gasped, mock offended. “My legs nearly gave out the moment you said, ‘You call that a reduction?’”

Y/N laughed, properly awake now, and pulled Lizzie on top of her. “You’re unbelievable.”

“No, you’re unbelievable.” Lizzie leaned in close, kissing the tip of her nose. “All bossy in front of the cameras, shouting orders, sleeves rolled up…” She ran her fingers along Y/N’s chest with a knowing smile. “You were basically soft-core porn in a kitchen.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow. “You’re not seriously turned on again.”

Lizzie tilted her head. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

Y/N groaned and buried her face in Lizzie’s neck. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“You’ll die happy,” Lizzie whispered, biting her lip as she raked her nails gently down her wife’s back. “And very well fed.”

They laughed together — low, easy, wrapped in the kind of comfort that only came from knowing you were exactly where you belonged.

A moment passed. Then Y/N pulled back, brushing a strand of hair from Lizzie’s cheek. “How about we make a deal?”

“I’m listening…”

“I’ll cook us breakfast…” Y/N’s voice dropped again, deliberately. “If you sit there in nothing but my apron and be a very good girl.”

Lizzie grinned, eyes sparkling. “Yes, Chef.”

The smell of butter and freshly ground coffee filled the kitchen, warm and mouthwatering, but not nearly as distracting as the sight perched on the marble island — Elizabeth Olsen, bare except for Y/N’s black apron tied loosely around her waist, legs crossed, skin still marked with faint reminders of last night.

Y/N flipped a crepe in the pan with practiced ease, glancing back over her shoulder to take her in again. “You know,” she said with a smirk, “this is wildly inappropriate for a food-safe kitchen.”

Lizzie shrugged with a lazy smile. “Good thing we’re off the clock.”

Y/N turned off the burner and walked over slowly, licking a bit of chocolate from her thumb before placing her hands on either side of Lizzie’s thighs. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”

She leaned in and pressed a slow, teasing kiss to Lizzie’s lips — but when Lizzie tried to deepen it, Y/N pulled away and placed a soft kiss on her neck instead. Then lower. And lower.

A gasp escaped Lizzie’s lips as Y/N’s mouth found the sensitive skin just above the apron’s edge. Her fingers grazed along the tops of Lizzie’s thighs, parting them slightly… then pulling away just before it became too much.

Lizzie let out a frustrated whine. “You’re torturing me.”

“I’m cooking,” Y/N said innocently, returning to the stove and flipping another crepe onto a plate. “You’re the one distracting me with this outfit.”

Lizzie shifted on the counter, watching every move her wife made — the way Y/N’s back muscles flexed as she reached for a bowl, the way her pajama pants clung to her hips, hanging dangerously low. She bit her lip.

Y/N came back moments later, setting a warm plate in front of her, the crepes drizzled with hazelnut sauce and fresh strawberries. Then she leaned in again, this time brushing her lips just beneath Lizzie’s ear.

“Eat, baby,” she whispered, her voice low and commanding. “Be a good girl, and finish every bite. Then…” Her hand slid beneath the apron, fingers grazing just enough to make Lizzie shiver. “Then I’ll give you your reward.”

Lizzie’s breath hitched. “You’re evil.”

Y/N kissed her cheek, impossibly sweet. “I’m your wife.”

Then she walked back to the counter, coffee mug in hand, as if she hadn’t just turned Lizzie into a puddle on the marble.

Lizzie stared at her plate, trying to find the willpower to pick up her fork.

But damn it… she was hungry — and not just for crepes.

She narrowed her eyes and took a bite.

“I’m eating,” she warned playfully. “You better keep your promise.”

Y/N smirked over her coffee cup. “Oh, sweetheart… I always do.”

Lizzie set her fork down with a soft clink, the plate empty save for a few smears of chocolate. Her eyes were still on Y/N — who hadn’t moved from her spot by the counter, sipping her coffee with that same smug little smile, like she hadn’t been teasing her wife mercilessly for the last half hour.

“I finished,” Lizzie said quietly, voice low but steady.

Y/N turned her head slowly, eyes softening the moment she saw the expression on Lizzie’s face. Hunger still lingered there — but this time, it wasn’t desperation or impatience. It was deeper. Warmer. Something that pulsed just beneath the skin.

Without a word, Y/N set down her mug and stepped forward.

No more teasing.

She stood between Lizzie’s legs and gently ran her hands up her thighs, the pads of her fingers barely touching, like she was tracing a map she’d memorized long ago but would never get tired of exploring. Her gaze stayed locked with Lizzie’s, serious now. Devoted.

“This,” Y/N whispered, undoing the knot of the apron at Lizzie’s back and slipping it off her slowly, reverently, “is just for me.”

Lizzie didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Her breath caught as Y/N leaned in and kissed her again — nothing urgent, nothing rough. Just full and slow and felt. The kind of kiss that melted through bone and anchored you in place.

Y/N’s hands held her carefully — one at her waist, the other brushing up her side, slow and tender. She didn’t rush. She didn’t press. She savored.

And when she kissed down Lizzie’s neck this time, it wasn’t to tease or tempt — it was to worship.

She pulled Lizzie gently toward the edge of the island, wrapping her arms around her, holding her like she was something fragile, precious. Lizzie’s legs instinctively curled around her waist, her bare chest pressing against the front of Y/N’s shirt — still halfway unbuttoned from earlier.

And that’s when Lizzie froze, just for a second.

Her breath caught.

She blinked, then looked down… and gasped, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Wait—when did you put that on?”

Y/N just smirked, her eyes warm with affection as she leaned in, brushing her nose against Lizzie’s. “Before I came down to cook”

Lizzie’s cheeks flushed a gorgeous pink, and her mouth opened like she wanted to say something — maybe protest, maybe tease — but all that came out was a soft exhale when Y/N kissed her again.

This one was slower.

Deeper.

She poured everything into it — the love, the reverence, the heat, the years. Her hands cradled Lizzie’s face as she deepened the kiss, their bodies perfectly aligned now, Lizzie held firmly in her arms like she was the center of the universe.

“Thought I’d surprise you,” Y/N murmured against her lips, her tone a little teasing, a little breathless, but mostly just full of love.

Lizzie’s fingers curled into Y/N’s shirt, tugging her even closer.

“I love your brain,” she whispered, dazed.

Y/N chuckled softly. “That’s not the part I thought you were complimenting.”

Lizzie smiled, completely undone. “That part too.”

And with that, Y/N kissed her again, holding her close like she had nowhere else to be — because in that moment, she didn’t. There was only Lizzie. Her warmth. Her softness. Her laugh. Her love.

Lizzie’s fingers moved down slowly, tugging at the waistband of Y/N’s sweatpants, her eyes never leaving her wife’s face. There was no teasing this time — just longing. Trust. Familiar need wrapped in years of knowing one another.

Y/N didn’t stop her.

She helped, guiding Lizzie’s hands gently, until the fabric slid down enough to close the last bit of distance between them.

Their breaths caught at the same time — and then there was nothing but warmth. Nothing but that slow, aching press of skin to skin, heart to heart.

Y/N leaned in, cradling Lizzie’s cheek in one hand, her other arm wrapped tightly around her waist.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, like a vow.

And she did — all of her.

Lizzie’s breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut the moment she felt Y/N push in, slow and steady. Her fingers gripped Y/N’s shoulders, a soft gasp escaping her lips — not from surprise, but from the overwhelming feeling of being completely known, completely claimed, completely safe.

Tears pricked behind her eyes, not from pain, but from the sheer intimacy of it — of being touched with that kind of reverence. Her chest arched instinctively, molding against Y/N’s, chasing more of that closeness.

“God…” she breathed, forehead pressing into Y/N’s, voice barely more than a whisper. “I feel everything with you.”

Y/N kissed her jaw, her cheek, her temple — everywhere she could reach. Her movements stayed gentle, deep, deliberate. Like she wasn’t just making love to her — she was pouring love into her.

Lizzie clung tighter, legs wrapping fully around Y/N’s hips now, like she couldn’t bear even an inch of space between them.

“I love you,” she murmured, again and again, between kisses and quiet gasps, as if it was the only thing her heart could say in that moment.

Y/N’s eyes softened, even as she moved with a quiet intensity — steady and deep, like she was trying to show Lizzie just how deeply she felt it too. Her forehead rested against Lizzie’s, their breaths tangling in the inches between them.

“I know,” Y/N whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I feel it, baby. Every word.”

Lizzie’s nails lightly grazed down Y/N’s back, her whole body trembling — not from fear or cold or even pleasure alone, but from the overwhelming closeness. There was something sacred in how Y/N held her, touched her, loved her — like Lizzie was something to be cherished, worshipped, protected.

And in Y/N’s arms, on that kitchen island, she felt invincible.

No cameras, no lights, no red carpets or perfect lines spoken on cue — just this. Raw and real and theirs.

Y/N didn’t rush. She simply lifted Lizzie into her arms like she weighed nothing, holding her close with that same quiet strength Lizzie had fallen in love with. Their lips never fully parted — the kisses were slow now, deep, almost reverent. As if every second mattered. As if Y/N was memorizing her all over again.

They made their way to the couch, the early morning light still pouring through the windows, casting soft golden streaks across Lizzie’s bare skin. Y/N settled her down gently, following her without hesitation, their bodies molding together with instinct born of love and time.

Y/N kissed her again, slower this time — less urgency, more intention.

Her hands moved along Lizzie’s sides with reverence, like she was memorizing the shape of her all over again. She whispered things against Lizzie’s skin — words of love, of devotion, of how proud she was, how beautiful Lizzie was in every way.

Then, her pace shifted.

Still loving, still anchored in connection — but deeper now. A little faster. A little firmer. The kind of rhythm that came not from lust alone, but from knowing exactly what her wife needed.

Lizzie’s breath hitched. Her fingers curled against Y/N’s back, pulling her closer, silently begging her not to stop.

And Y/N didn’t.

She kissed Lizzie’s lips, then her neck, then the soft curve just below her ear — each one a promise. Each one a thread pulling Lizzie closer to that edge.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured again, voice low and warm.

Lizzie could only nod, her words lost to the rise of feeling building inside her — that heady, aching anticipation made sweeter by the safety of Y/N’s arms.

And when she finally let go — when her body arched and she clung to Y/N like she might float away — it wasn’t just physical.

It was emotional. Soul-deep. A high built not just on sensation, but on love.

Y/N held her through it, slowing again, grounding her with every breath, every kiss, every whisper of “I love you” against her skin.

And long after the waves had settled, Lizzie stayed there in her wife’s arms — flushed, breathless, completely undone… and absolutely whole.

Wrapped in a blanket on the couch, the morning sun climbing higher now, Lizzie lay nestled against Y/N’s chest — her head tucked beneath her wife’s chin, fingers lazily tracing the hem of the chef coat still hanging loosely from Y/N’s shoulders.

Her breathing had evened out, but her cheeks were still warm, her skin glowing from the affection they’d shared.

Y/N brushed her fingers through Lizzie’s hair, kissing her forehead gently. “You okay?” she murmured.

Lizzie let out a slow, satisfied sigh. “More than okay.”

They lay in silence for a few heartbeats — comfortable, still, connected.

Then Lizzie looked up at her, eyes still a little dazed but full of love. “So… that show.”

Y/N chuckled, chest rumbling beneath Lizzie’s cheek. “You really liked that I was yelling at people?”

Lizzie smirked. “You yelled at that poor contestant like a five-star hurricane. I think my jaw dropped.”

Y/N grinned, shrugging playfully. “He almost burned the kitchen. I wasn’t about to smile and say ‘nice try.’”

Lizzie giggled, propping her chin on Y/N’s chest. “You were so commanding. So confident. Honestly… it was hot.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, smug. “Yeah?”

Lizzie bit her lip. “Yes. I was wet for you the whole day.”

Y/N laughed, drawing her in closer. “I guess I should shout in kitchens more often.”

“Only if I get the private version of the aftermath,” Lizzie whispered, trailing her fingers down Y/N’s collarbone.

Y/N kissed her — a slow, lingering press of lips — and smiled. “Always. But seriously, you watched the whole thing?”

“Every second,” Lizzie said, no hesitation. “You were incredible, babe. The way you ran the kitchen, the way the other chefs looked up to you… I don’t think you realize how brilliant you are.”

Y/N’s features softened, and for just a moment, the tough exterior melted into something far more vulnerable. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “It meant a lot to be there — to be taken seriously, you know?”

Lizzie nodded, brushing her thumb along Y/N’s jaw. “You deserve it. You’ve earned everything. And I’m so damn proud to be the one cheering for you from home. Or… naked in your apron. Whatever the day calls for.”

Y/N laughed again, pulling her close. “You’re my favorite view, no matter where I am.”

They stayed like that — tangled together, warmth radiating between them, hearts full.

One unforgettable morning. And a lifetime ahead.

----

#elizabeth olsen x female reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen oneshots #elizabeth olsen x y/n #elizabeth olsen x you #lizzie olsen x reader #lizzie olsen

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thevoidstaredback · 11 months ago

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How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

They had planned to leave before Bruce got back to the Manor, but plans change all the time and it wasn't Danny's fault!

Alfred had invited a friend of Dick's, Barbra Gordon, to the Manor for dinner, meaning that Dick had to stay if he wanted to see her. And since Dick was staying, Danny was staying. Tim wasn't about to leave Danny to Bruce's mercy, so he was staying for dinner, too.

Bruce Wayne arrived at Wayne Manor exactly three and a half minutes after six in the evening. He entered the kitchen exactly ten minutes and five seconds after that.

The air was tense.

Dick had been tense since Danny first roped him into coming to Gotham, only getting worse as they got closer to the building they were now sitting in. Now that Bruce and Dick were in the same room, it was like the rope had frayed to the point of snapping with a light breeze.

Bruce sat at the head of the table with Tim to his left and down a chair. Dick sat at the foot of the table, Barbra sitting to his immediate right. Danny sat on the unoccupied side of the table, directly in the middle.

No one was saying a word.

Danny was on edge.

Finally, "Dick," Bruce said.

"Bruce," was the response.

As if the spell had been broken, though the awkwardness remained, Barbra cleared her throat and said, "It's good to have you back in Gotham, D."

Dick smiled at her, soft and happy and relieved. "It's good to see you, Babs. How've you been?"

"The same as usual. Though, Condiment King again!" She glared when Dick started laughing. "Yeah, sure, laugh it up, Wonder Boy. It took three hours to get that mustard out of my costume! It's easier to get blood out of white carpets-!"

Bruce pointedly cleared his throat, bringing all attention to him. "As good as it is to see you, Dick, who've you brought with you?"

Barbra flinched back slightly, having forgotten Danny was even there. Oops.

Danny grinned at Bruce, hiding his nerves behind his favorite fake-it-'til-you-make-it smile. "My name's Danny, it's nice to meet you Mister Wayne! I have to say, you're a lot less smiley in person than you are on the internet."

He hummed. "I apologize. Today's been an off day."

"No need," Danny waved off politely, "I get it."

"I have to say, Daniel-"

"'Danny', please. My name's Danny."

To his credit, Bruce didn't even skip a beat. "Then, call me Bruce. I must say that I didn't expect Dick to have taken anyone in."

Danny chuckled a bit. "I think it's less of him taking me in and more of me kind of letting myself into his house."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I noticed he wasn't doing too well, so I figured I'd step in to help where I could before he got himself hurt." 'Or worse' was heavily implied. "I imagine Tim did much the same with you?"

Tim stiffened as Bruce sighed. Well, that's not a good sign.

"Yes, though Tim doesn't live here."

"He has a room, though, right?"

"Of course."

"Good. I can't imagine having to travel with the kind of injuries you guys get at night is very fun." Here, he turned and looked Barbra in the eye. "Honestly, you deserve a prize for traveling from here to wherever you live after getting injured."

Barbra smiled sheepishly, "Thanks? I don't really come here, though. Only on occasion."

Bruce interrupted before the conversation could continue, "What do you mean? Dick's the only one of us who could possibly get hurt on the job." He shook his head. "Honestly, why did you ever join the BHPD? It's too dangerous."

Oh, Danny had to put a stop to that right away!

"Sorry, to jump in here, Mister Wayne, but I know what all of you moonlight as." He ignored Bruce's narrowed, sharp glare. "You're Batman, Dick is Nightwing, Tim is Robin, meaning that Barbra has to be Batgirl and, if I'm right, Oracle."

"Who are you?" Bruce demanded. He didn't ask because asking is for people who aren't paranoid enough to have six levels of security at the front gate alone.

"I just told you: Danny." He unflinchingly met Bruce's glare. "Not good enough for you? I'm Danny, personal caretaker of vigilantes who refuse to take care of themselves, bookkeeper, cook, unlicensed medical unprofessional, et cetera. Though, don't call me a therapist because that's my sister. Is that a better answer?"

Bruce hummed.

The meal itself was somehow even worse than before Alfred had brought out the food. Glares were being thrown and concerned glances shared. It made the food taste bad, which was probably a war crime.

Danny had been raised with manners, so he'd thanked Alfred for making dinner. He even offered to help with clean up, though he backed down when he was refused. He knows better.

After dinner, the group had gone back into the very same drawing room as before. Dick and Barbra cuddled together on the couch, Bruce and Tim took the two armchairs, and Danny sat on the floor in front of the now lit fireplace.

"So, Tim," Danny started, "You working on any interesting cases?"

Tim seemed to perk up a bit. "Yeah, actually. It's a murder-"

"We're not at liberty to discuss anything with you, Daniel." Bruce's voice was gravely, almost the voice he used as Batman, as he spoke over Tim.

Danny's eyes narrowed. "I believe I told you my name is 'Danny', not 'Daniel'."

"Well, seeing as I don't actually know you, and you have offered up no sir name, I'll stick with calling you whatever I'm comfortable with, especially in my own home."

"This isn't a fight you wanna pick, Mister Wayne. You might want to rethink your choice."

"I am well aware of what battles to fight. However, you're mistaken. This isn't a battle. I'm merely stating that I will be calling you 'Daniel' until you offer up your sir name to be called by."

Danny very obviously looked Bruce up and down. "I guess my parents were right; You can't ever believe everything you read on the internet."

"Oh? Why do you say that?"

"Because you, Mister Wayne, are horrible with children."

The temperature in the room dropped. Bruce's glare hardened even more. He appraised Danny, assessing him and filing away everything he could find. "Speaking to me like that in my own home is quite the move."

"Are you threatening me, Mister Wayne?"

"Not at all," he denied. "What are you really doing here, Dick?"

"I wanted to come meet Tim," Dick lied.

"Don't lie to me."

"What, I can't even come meet your newest Robin?"

"After the way you treated Jason?"

Dick stood quickly, Barbra scrambling to her feet. "After the way I-! You're the one who let him put on my old uniform!"

Bruce stood to his full height, looking down on Dick. "Me? You barely even talked to him! I spent as much time as I could with him!"

Danny blocked out the already out of hand yelling match and grabbed Barbra's and Tim's hands, leading them out of the room. This was not how he was hoping this would go at all.

He could still hear the yelling, even in the foyer.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to Tim and Barbra, "I didn't expect this to happen."

"It's alright," Barbra said, flinching when she realized that she could hear both men's voices almost clearly.

"No, it's not. I dragged Dick here to apologize to Tim. We were supposed to leave before Bruce even left Wayne Enterprises."

Tim shook his head. "We should've anticipated something like this would happen."

"Yeah..."

The three sat together on the steps, Bruce and Dick's voices carrying through the wood and marble.

"Hey," Barbra said after a few minutes, "How do you know about the Cave being under the Manor?"

Danny blinked at her before turning to Tim. "There's a cave under the Manor?!" He glared playfully at his friend. "You didn't tell me that your base of operations is a cave under Wayne Manor!"

"If it makes you feel any better," Tim offered, "Dick named it the Bat Cave."

"It's called the Bat Cave!?"

Part 12 Part 14

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sukioyakio · 5 months ago

Text

Part-one Part-two

Coolboyfriend!Sukuna x Losergirlfriend!reader

an: sorry i took long with this one,i got super busy with stuff,but ive been working on the request these past days.I hope yall enjoy this.

please forgive any mistakes.

Wordcount:4,887

You wanted to do something nice for your boyfriend today but You were stressing over what to do for him.But it had to be something special that was for sure.

When he left for work, you went to use your very intelligent brain and do research on dates. And the one that seem the least expensive ahem—a date setting inside your home.

So with a wide girn you were ready. But you needed to have food as well as a decorated table.

So, making steak and some mac and cheese sounds fine. And Plus it something your more familiar with cooking mac and cheese and somewhat steak.

And,two it your not Gordon Ramsay that cooks five star meals effortlessly. Nope let not go there.

But Maybe one day

You check the clock and you had a roughly around 5 hours to get the ingredients.Because your man got an early leave today.

My man

Sounds werid to the tounge but it feels right though.

So walking to the nearest grocery store wouldnt be such a big deal for you.

Right . .

OH HELL NO!- in fact today just had to be fucking 80 degrees outside with little or no wind. Without sukuna you realize how MUCH of help he was;because people were fricking ruthless in transportations.

But even worse at a grocery stores,at least—At the one you were at but damn these people were acting as if another golden tickets from Charle and the chocolate factory were alive!

But thank god you got all the ingredients to make the mac and cheese and the steak. You mentally check that off your list.

Just from walking back from the store had your entire back sweat like an athlete.

‘God Why MUST it be so hot!’ You yelled out in your head.As you continued walking with your grocery bag.

The sun was unrelenting, with the temperature reaching a scorching eighty degrees in the blazing mid-summer heat.

You went from enthusiastic to tried real quick.

When you made it home,all you really wanted to do was take a cold shower and relax.

“relaxing, yea and a nice cold shower and gaming and-“

‘NO we Are not going to lack off now’ your mind screamed at you.As you sighs putting down the supplies at the table.

As you look at the living room and clearly see how much cleaning need to do. You sipe off the sweat and got back together to make this happen.

Your arm got into the ever nuke and crevices of the leaving room and kitchen floor dirty floor and making sure it look spotless.As your nose was not making it any better.

You kept sneezing and better yet,your glasses went falling down onto the floor.

“STOP FUCKING SNEEZING!”as You roared out loud as you rub furiously at your nose.Begging for your body to have at least a few minutes of relief from your running,stuffy nose.

After 2 hours, you cleaned everything out,and did the decorations. Which would probably scared any of decorator at your creation.

Because you put one of your black bed sheet as one of those table cloth covers and you use duct tape to hide the huge fabric that was seen under the table.

And as a bonus point you used one of your favorite lava lamp as a substitute for a candle. The brightest one ever for your hubby sukuna. You snickered thinking of his reaction.

You took a step back and analyze your creation and honestly it look like a cult meeting,but one hell of a romantic cult meeting if you were to say so for yourself.

Simply nodding to yourself.

All done you check how much time you have left. You have roughly about three hours left to cook. THANK god time was with you and your dedication.

And cooking couldn’t be hard after all youtube short made it look easy.Especially the all of these mac and cheese recipe.

Since your intelligent brain picks out the pre-shredded cheese already so you didn’t have to worry about doing all the prep for it.

Yea that was like the number one thing that was told not to do, but Hey it ain’t going to come out bad.

Right?. . .

But one must do what one has to do. And that fucking give up -never mind you push through and boiled the pasta already.That was a one check mark.Now you just needed to blend that cheese sauce.

You threw out the pasta water. And pour the cooked pasta in the pot again- just the pasta no water in there. You hope. .

Afterwards you put the already seasoned sauce into a pot as you mix all the ingredients that was told to do,which was fairly easy. Because who would fuck up some simple steps.

After the mixing for a few minutes you saw the cheese mix smoothly and then the sauce and the smell smelled heavenly.

You gave yourself a small pat at the back. ‘Yeah ut look good!’ As you Nodding with a sly smirk.

Now looking back at the recipe it said to continue to mix for a roughly about five minutes longer,and so you did that but it slowly turned burnt. And why is it sticky to the pot and more rough.

Uhhh- is this’ sweat of nervousness appear.

Is this Tina Belcher’s mac and cheese?

No. No, this was an insult to mac and cheese experts.definitely not you

You inhaled deeply. Exhaled. Closed your eyes

Ok - ok this isnt bad like other people burning the house down, or smoking the whole place. Yea definitely…

No- no! This is better that time,yeah!

You sallows a big glup, already panicking inside.

Then—you do like what any reasonable person in this situation would do.

You grabbed your phone and Googled: “how to fix gritty cheese sauce before I actually started to cry.”

And from guessing what was The first result was gonna say? “Don’t use pre-shredded cheese.”

You threw your head back with a groan; grumbling as you yelled.“I know that google,THANK YOU.”

But then—a miracle appeared.

A lone, hopeful comment buried deep in a forum. A wise internet stranger said:

“Add more milk. Low heat. Stir like your life depends on it.”you eyes are filled with hope. As You squinted at the screen.

“Alright, cheese sauce.You and me.One last round time.your the opps of mines.” You grinned at the shimmer of hope. your eyes only slimmer more with joy at the comment.

With renewed determination, you poured in way too much milk, lowered the heat, and stirred with the desperation of a person who refused to be defeated by dairy.

And slowly… the sauce started to fix itself.

It smoothed out. The clumps disappeared. The burnt part wasn’t… too noticeable if you didn’t think about it.You decided to add more seasoning to it,so you couldn’t just taste the milk.

It was edible.And that? That was enough.

You wiped your forehead like you had just returned from battle. And did a happy dance,because why not.

As you went back to doing the finished work, layering the mac and cheese in an oven pan.

First mac and cheese then mac and the cheese and then repeat until the pan was covered with the cheese.You had already set the oven temperature and now just putting the wonderful god send into the oven.

‘NOW IT THE STEAK TIME’ your mind screamed with pride.Pitting the other dishes into the sink.Seeing the sink made you groan out loud in disgust and pure terror of having to do it.

Just staring at them made you stubborn to do it,but they were gonna be done eventually. .

So you remove your focus on that to the getting a pan for the steaks.

Bending down,as you push back your glasses.Getting the pan out of the cabinet and placing it onto the oven tops. Using your feet to close the cabinet door. multitasking as you place the steak on to the pan.

then the sizzle started and it slowly started to cook the steak.

It was then you realized that you didn't season it and so you quickly sprinkle some spices on the steak.

Now you stood in front of the stove, standing awkwardly as the silence was filled with the sound of steak sizzling.

‘Maybe i should go take a shower and put something nice. . . ‘ you pause before considering.

‘Nuh i have like a hour to do all that’ you mumble underneath your breath.

As you got inpatient and turn up the heat,to now hear loud sizzling sound from the pan. You tried to flip it with the pan as if your at the same level as fucking Gordon Ramsay.

The plan was to use the oil to cook the sides but seems like the oil wants to fight with you. Oh no not fight but bring war to you.

“AHH WHAT THE FUCK!OW!OW” You scream in pain as you snatched your hand back.Holding it like it was a baby.You quickly kiss it like how your mama would.cardling it into your chest. Whimpering in pain.

‘omg pls dont show a burn mark or it will show with the dress -i cant loss my only huzz at this ass cooking’ you mumbled.

As you look at the oil sprinkling out of the pan.

A loud gulp echoes throughout the kitchen. intentionally glaring at the oils that literally cooking your steak like a villain would do to a hero.

‘Yea no,let get gloves on’You blankly said in unison with your thoughts. As you searched through the cabinet for some glove.

After a few more second of searching you found it. And now your prepared yourself for the hit oil.You take a deep breath that probably fog up your glasses up after you instantly drove in and turn off the Oven top.

Flip the streak to see .. . Such a beautiful color of dark brown.

As your hope for this meal to taste good wasnt looking so good. But Hey at the steak isnt raw.

Like the last time. . .

Now placing the steak in two place and covering it with another plate to keep it warm. And place it on the table.

You rush to grab your phone to use that you have one hour left. And that hour was use to go take a shower and get dressed nicely.

————— Walking up stairs to the apartment,as each steps he took echoes throughout the stairwell.As he opened to the according door that had his apartment floor number. He was glad that his (and yours) apartment was near the stairs.

As he stops infront of the door getting his keys,almost robotic.He’s fucking tried.He had to fucking sit down on and deal with fucking youngsters who thought they could deal with the pain of a tattoo’s. Cramping his neck and hands.

Because they wouldn’t stop moving.He shakes his head.

‘I would finally get to relax’ he says as he opens the door,staring down at the ground and taking his shoes off. And then place his backpack on the mini table near the door entrance.

What he immediately noticed was the delicious smell flowing throughout the leaving room.It was alarming for him because knowing you.As he closed the door.

“Im here . . .” Sukuna announced in the darkness. In a tried voice. Face furrowed down in confusion.

The room is dark,having him staring hard but he knew his home like the back of his head.

‘It fucking dark here,and quiet as fuck’ he thought,as his face turned into a frown. He sighed hard with exhaustion. He really doesn’t have the energy for your poo-a-boo ass try to scare him challenge.

As he walks a few steps in into the leaving room.

You were behind the counter of the kitchen,you wanted to see his face. (As if you could see him clearly from how dark it was)

But it like your stupid wish come true,because almost immediately his crimson eyes turned into your direction.

Your body jerks up,as fears creeping into your skin.Sukuna literally has such a killer face,almost deadly. ‘Can HE SEE ME??’ Your mind screamed.

You take a peak out to see sukuna is still standing. Your body relaxes just a bit.

It like this man is some ninja.

You closed your eyes regretting this scared attack of your. FUCK this man can be scary as crap.And decided enough of playing around. You were about to turn off but his deep voice echoed through the room like someone yelling in a cave.

“Boo . .” His hot breath came from behind you. Your body jumps out its own skin,as you turned already to see a set of red eyes glowing in the dark.

“AHHH!! WHAT THE FUCK!!” You screamed with a gasp.As you hold your chest,from bursting out in fear.And the other holding the counter.

“How!-What?! You were just there-You scared the living shit out of me!Kuna!” You rapidly announced,with your breath losing it oxygen it needs. As you move your head around to see where red pairs of eyes were.

“Hm” Sukuna say in a unbothered voice.As he walks towards the light switch,wanting to see you clearly then the darkness.

‘This man had to be a ninja or something!’ You mumbled. Then your eyes wince from the sudden switch of color. You blink for a few more seconds.As a short realization come to you.HE TURNED ON THE Light!

“WAIT!!”You shout at him. Who was standing there with an empty expression.As you clearly feel his intense glaze. Making your cheeks flare up.

“What women?!” Sukuna barks back with a questioning expression.His arms crossed. Eye focused on you,looking up and down.he wont lie that he completely memorized by the dress.The way it made you glow in a way he never see you in.It grabs all the right places,even your little tummy-

“WAIT I DIDNT WANT YOU TO SEE ME YET !!” You shouted once more as you covered your dress like it would covered everything. After saying that you fricking wanted to verbally screamed at how cringey that was. Your eyes twitched.

“What women!!?” He shouts back to you again,his tone hold no anger.Seeing your face with a weird expression. Then shaking your head.You were one confusing and complexing person he knows.

But that what makes him like about you.

You shyly twisted your hands.Awkward laugh sip out your lips.As you glance up. “I -i wanted to surprise you-So Close your eyes!” You demanded in a soft tone. Making him roll his eyes.

He huff out in annoyance. “You made the food?” He asked with a little head tilt. Just for you to respond. “No..” you grumble. This man can’t even do a simple thing.

“Then did you order it?” He questioned again with his red eyes glowing with amusement. As you wanted to verbally choke him,the dress is so tight on you,and the food is going to get cold.

“No” You answer with an attitude. “Then what,women” Sukuna respond.

You groans out loud,annoyed. “Yes-no,god just close your eyes!!” You shouted,as you drag your hands down your face.

Sukuna lips pull up in a smirk as he already knew the answer by how much dishes they were in the sink.

“Alright,women” he says as he closes his eyes. Making you sigh in relief.

‘This man doesn’t make my life any easier with trying to surprise him’ you said in your mind.

“Wait there okay!” You exclaimed out loud.As you walked into the kitchen that to grab the two plate.And bringing it to the beautiful design table.And taking off the lava lamp. To show its beautiful cult looking table.

As you walked back to grab sukuna.You paused for a moment to pull down the dress Because it kept getting sucked and making stuff uncomfortable.

“How long are you going to take,women” sukuna grumble,as you huff out back. As you grab him softly,taking him to the table. “Okay when i say open your eyes you open them okay??!” You said with a overwhelming joy.

“1”

“2”

“3-“ “-Im not some fucking kid women”He grumbled with scoff. As you mimicked his words. “You could Open them now!” You shouts with a smile,striking a pose.

His red eyes opened,as it blinks for a seconds to recognize where the fuck was he looking at.

“Ta da!!”A glowing shine of a wide smile plastered on your lips.Your voice and face was the very opposite of what the rest of your date looked like.

“Why the lava lamp,women when there literal fucking candles in the spare closet” Sukuna replies bluntly.As he pinched his nose. The idea of you doing this for him was a nice feeling in his heart instead of annoyance.(that a lie)

“No matter! Jezz you are a party surprise worst nightmare” you Your cheerful voice echoed throughout the house. A glowing shine of a wide smile plastered on your lips.Your voice and face was the very opposite of what the rest of your date looked like.

He huff out,his red orbs staring at your eyes then glancing away.

“you must have been worked yourself . . . thanks” you couldnt help to lift an eyebrow at his comment making you only staring at him with a big smirk on your face.

Sukuna blush as he cover his face with his palm. Grunting as you tiptoeing to lean more into him “no,nonononon REPEAT yourself sukuna~~~ i want to hear it again louder!”

you sing it out in an teasing tone.Putting your hands on your hips. Sukuna eyes twitched in annoyance “shut the fuck up.punk before i go to sleep”

you gasp at his comment.

“Oh hell no!i cant have you do that” You shake your head.As you drag him into his seat, his whole body is stiff but goes along your way but it like his lips has it mind of it own-pulling up into a sly smile when your around.

He’s stomach filling with up butterfly at your presence. At a weirdo and a loser. His loser;the same girl that has him listening to your podcast long sessions of game theories. And the one that loves that talking and explaining every book that you read.

That has him playing games with you just to lose against him.That has the smartest brain cells to explain him something as simple as a biology textbook.

That what makes his cruel and grumpy heart beat for your love.

Now looking at his food you made for him,grabbing his fork and spooning some of both of the food.

The steak is kinda burnt but decent . The macaroni is cheesy but… good.He nodded slightly in amusement. Eyes close as he enjoyed the flavoring touching his tongue.

But that compliment dry out when you had spoken in the comfortable silence.

“Have you ever thought that I could have put some rat poison or poison in it? ”you hummed peacefully.Pushing your glass up. The glow of the lava lamp was shimmering your dress and face like star.

You gleamed at him with innocence staring him down like a hawk.As you continue to eat your plate of food like what you had said wasn’t concerning.

He’s eyes side eyed you and bluntly said “no” loooking back as you laughed loudly almost coughing hard. Sukuna stern,rolling his eyes.Huffing a laugh at your dumb actions.

“Dumbass” he mutters.

You heard it, and looked offended. “and what MADE you think i didn’t?!?” You asked genuinely as you contince to chuck another stake down your throat.

Sukuna stare blankly like it was a dumb question. Staring at you up and down,shaking his head.

Before saying “Because women, your not the type of person to even kill anyone. I mean look at you-you literally started to reenact an anime fight scene.” He says with a straight face his voice casual. As you listened to him,and your cheeks flush with embarrassment.As you thought he was done but nope.

“And then wanted me to help you with making the fight noises . . . So no” he finished,his face staring at you with an obvious expression.

You object.

“H-Hey!! I could kill . . Oka-AND THAT WAS LIKE ONE FRICKING TIME SUKUNA!!” You admitted with a face full of embarrassment.As Sukuna raised his eyebrow in disbelief at your words.You continued on with your glance away from sukuna eyes and into your hands that were rubbing against each other.

“Plus i wanted to reenact it since y-you didn’t want to cosplay with me . . You little asshole” you resorted with a weak tone. As you knowing damn well it hasn’t been only one time.It was many-maybe plenty when you’re bored. But to be honest,your boyfriend is always lying in bed scrolling doing nothing.

And asking the man- holy shit. That was the real pain.But it was the funniest thing we had did that night.

Sukuna took another bite of the mac and cheese, chewing slowly. His red eyes flickered from the plate to you, and then back to the plate again.

You were watching him like a hawk, nervously playing with the hem of your dress. “Soooo… how is it?” You tried to sound casual, but the anticipation was killing you.Putting your glasses more firmly onto your nose bridge.

He swallowed, licked his lips, and let out a deep sigh, setting the fork down. His face was unreadable. Then—

“It’s edible.”

Your jaw dropped. “EDIBLE?! That’s all you have to say?!”

He snorted, clearly amused. “What, you want me to start crying tears of joy? Women, it’s food. You want a gold star?”

You threw your hands in the air. “I SLAVED AWAY IN THIS KITCHEN, SUKUNA! ALMOST DIED FROM OIL ATTACKS! I FOUGHT FOR MY LIFE AGAINST THAT CHEESE SAUCE! AND ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY IS ‘EDIBLE’?!”

Sukuna leaned back in his chair, watching you with a lazy smirk. “First of all, don’t yell at me like you’re on a reality cooking show. Second,” he took another bite, “the mac and cheese is good. Steak is a little burnt, but it’s fine.”

You squinted at him. “…Is that your version of a compliment?”

“Take it or leave it, nerd.”

You grumbled under your breath but still felt a little triumphant. He didn’t hate it. That was a win in your book.

He kept eating, glancing at you occasionally. “Why’d you even go through all this trouble anyway?”

You shifted in your seat, suddenly feeling a little awkward. “I dunno… I just wanted to do something nice for you. You’ve been working a lot, and I figured… you deserved a nice night.”

He blinked, then looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.His ears turning a red color “Tch. Dumbass.”

A slow smirk crept onto your lips. “Oh my god. You’re blushing.”

“I’m NOT.” He barks.

“You so ARE.” You counter with a huge smile

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I swear to god, if you don’t shut up—”

“But it’s so cuuuute~! You look very much like a fricking cat!”You leaned in closer, batting your eyelashes dramatically through your glasses.

Sukuna rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight the way the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He reached out, flicking your forehead lightly. “Shut up and eat, loser.”

You giggled, rubbing your forehead with a pout. “Rude.”

The rest of dinner was filled with playful teasing, snarky remarks, and comfortable silence in between. Sukuna might have been a grumpy bastard, but the fact that he was still sitting here, eating every bite of the meal you made, meant more than words ever could.

To you it just meant that you got his heart and that this date was so worth it. (And to him;he has to say seeing all this stuff and it to be for him made his cold stupid heart beat.)

And when he reached out to steal some of your mac and cheese, you knew. That it was good.

Tonight was perfect.

Hope yall have a great day.

I love to read yall comments and reblogs are always appreciated.

Mutuals taglist- @ukininayu @scoobysnakz @mononijikayu @ciggrx @lynxslokley

Made by @sukioyakio 2025

#random thoughts #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna #choso kamo x reader #jjk choso #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna angst #ryomen sukuna #sukuna fluff #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader smut #jjk sukuna #.sukiopost.

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devotedlyandrogynousyouth · 3 months ago

Text

The New Commissioner in Town

Bruce Wayne x Commissioner! Reader

This is kinda a bit of angst??? Idk, decided to play into Bruce's self-destructive and loathing tendencies. The most that really goes on is a bit of making out. Also some descriptions of injuries!

It’d only been ten months since you started working for the Gotham City Police Department, and it already felt like hell. Around every curve was a new case you’re unable to crack or another drug ring you’re unable to bust. If you were going to be honest, playing by the rules kinda sucked.

When Commissioner Gordon finally threw in the towel and retired, you’d taken your new role with honor. People looked up to you (or down on you- it really depended on which side of the law you asked) unlike ever before. There were so many new advantages and responsibilities that came with being the GCPD’s new commissioner. It was only natural that there would be disadvantages, as well.

Like Batman.

“Gotham’s Savior” your ass. That man caused more headaches for you than anything else. Every single time he showed up, there was more paperwork to be filed on whatever casualties he caused before vanishing again. Actually, you think you may have spent more time covering his ass than sleeping for the past few months.

James Gordon was a smart man, and you knew it. You heeded every single piece of advice he offered when handing over his badge, almost like a puppy eager to please its owner. The biggest tip he’d given you, however, was to stay on the Bat’s good side.

“You’d be a fool not to accept his help, no matter how unconventional it may be,” he told you.

You hate it when he’s right.

His “help” kept more people alive than you’d initially thought. Every single time you’d get anonymous tips on some criminal activity, he’d beat you to it. At first, the Bat would finish the job himself, bringing whatever lowlife he’d stopped tied up to the nearest station. It was like he was subtly undermining your authority, in a way, by making his efficiency seem superior.

But slowly, ever so slowly, he started leaving them wherever he found them. They were still tied up and incapacitated, of course, but at least you were the one who got to make a call back to the station and throw them into their rightful prison cell. It was an unspoken truce between the Batman and yourself.

Besides, you were just as good at finding people as Gotham’s “Dark Knight” was.

The rain started far before you found him tonight.

Cold, needing drops slipped beneath the collar of your uniform, the liquid stuck to the fabric and your skin like something alive. The city was just as bleak as ever, smelling of rust, gunpowder, iron, and something so distinctly Gotham. As unpleasant as it sounds, you almost wished you were able to stay outside just a little bit longer. That way, you’d be able to turn away from whatever state the drug ring had left him in before you arrived.

You should have found him sooner.

The police radio crackled uselessly on your hip. The search teams had turned up nothing, and half of the force wasn’t even looking. Some of them- too many of them- thought that he deserved this. That Batman had it coming. You’ve heard the murmurs at the precinct, the half-smothered smirks from cops who’ve lost too many criminals to the dark figure hiding along rooftops. Vigilante justice doesn’t sit well with men who barely had a grasp on justice to begin with.

Instead, you thought of the blood on the dockside concrete, the spent shell casings glinting in the yellow wash of the crime scene lights. You thought of the gurgling static that cut off his comms, the ragged sound of his labored breathing before it went silent. You thought about Gordon’s parting words when he handed over his badge nearly a year ago.

“You don’t have to like him, but you’d be a damn fool not to trust him”

You hadn’t liked him, not at first. He made your job harder, blurred lines you were so desperate to keep pristine. You told yourself you didn’t trust him either, but you knew that was a lie. You trusted him the way you trusted the city to devour everything it touched- unavoidable, unshakeable, inevitable.

You’d be lying if you said that you only felt trust toward him, as well. And that feeling was clawing at you, twisting in your ribs like something sharp.

Because you didn’t know if he was even alive.

And that thought killed you.

In some abandoned warehouse nearby, he was there, sprawled on the floor, half out of his suit. The cowl was pushed back, most of his face smeared with blood that was undoubtedly his own. This was the first time you ever got to see the man behind the mask (literally) and for one sickening, lurching moment, you thought you were too late. He looked lifeless, skin pallid beneath the crimson streaks, his broad chest barely rising with each shallow, shaky breath. There was blood on his hands, beneath his nais, pooling in a dark puddle beneath him. It was staining the floorboards and dust with something you didn’t even want to name.

You don’t remember moving, but suddenly, you were there, dropped onto your knees beside him. Your hand hovered uselessly over his body, not knowing where to touch, where to press, what to do. You’d seen wounds like this before, seen bodies opened up by gunfire and knives. But this wasn’t the same.

This wasn’t anyone.

This was him.

And you couldn’t lose him.

“Bruce,” you choked out, the name unfamiliar on your tongue but right in a way that made your stomach twist. He didn’t react.

Panic flared sharply in your chest, like a hidden alarm bell that refused to be silenced. You grabbed his face in your shaking hand, tilting him toward you. His skin was clammy, the rough stubble of his chin damp with a vile mixture of sweat and blood.

“Damnit, Bruce, wake up,” the sound of your voice was merely more than a plea, the sound cracking and wavering between each word. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, giving him a small tug, causing him to let out a low, pained sound that sent relief through your body like an ocean crashing onto the shore. He was alive. He was still alive and breathing.

He wouldn’t have been for long if you hadn’t been there.

Your hands were slick as you grabbed the first aid supplies hidden away in a cabinet, but your fingers wouldn’t stop shaking. It took too long to cut away what was left of his suit, the Kevlar stiff with dried blood, soaking through the fabric underneath. You didn’t want to look at his wounds- didn’t want to see the gaping gash torn into his side, the angry bruising spreading across his ribs, the bullet wound sluggishly oozing near his shoulder.

You had to brace yourself before pressing down lightly onto the worst of his injuries, the packing cotton in your hands doing little to soak up his crimson blood. As soon as you did, Bruce’s head tipped back as he let out a low, pained hiss. The sound nearly made your heart stop, but at least it was evidence of his consciousness.

“Fuck… I know, I’m sorry,” it was a weak phrase of empathy, barely even a reassurance, but it was the best you could offer as you packed his wounds. It took nearly everything in you to control the shaking of your hands to a degree. You didn’t even realize you were crying until the tears spilled over, landing like raindrops on the backs of your frantic hands. Mentally, you scolded yourself; you trained for this, you trained for high stress situations, you signed up for this job the second Gordon threw in the towel.

Bruce shouldn’t have been like that. He shouldn’t have been breakable. He was Batman- unstoppable, untouchable. If anything, it should have been you bleeding out beneath his hands, not the other way around.

“Please just stay with me,” you beg in a barely-audible whisper, pressing harder, trying to stop the bleeding. The gause was already soaked through, and your hands were shaking too much to wrap the bandages properly. “You can’t- You can’t just fucking die on me, Bruce, I swear to God-”

He let out a weak, rasping breath. Then, barely above a whisper:

“I thought bats had nine lives… Or were those cats?”

Your head snapped up. His eyes were barely cracked open , dark and unfocused, but there was something there. Something teasing, something amazingly familiar. His mouth pulled into the barest ghost of a smark, and for a second, everything inside you unraveled.

Your breath came out in a shudder.

“Don’t,” you whispered.

Your fingers tightened on him, gripping the ruined skin of his side, as if that alone could keep him tethered here. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like this is—like this is normal.”

His eyes flickered, his throat working as he swallowed thickly. “You’re crying.”

“No shit,” you snapped, voice breaking, and his smirk faded.

You were too raw, too exposed. The emotions clawing through you were too much—anger and terror and something deeper, something you didn’t want to name. You couldn’t lose him. You couldn’t.

You pressed your forehead against his, your breath shuddering out against his skin. He was too warm, fever burning high, and you were afraid that if you pulled away, he would slip through your fingers.

“You don’t get to do this,” you whispered, voice trembling. “You don’t get to leave me.”

His breathing hitched. A slow, agonizing moment passed. Then—his fingers twitched, barely there, before curling weakly over yours. His grip was feeble, but it was enough. Enough to make something splinter inside you.

You squeezed his hand like it was the only thing keeping you from falling into a heap on the floor. Honestly, it probably was.

The rain still pounded against the windows. The city still rotted outside these walls. But here, in this moment, it was just the two of you. Just your hands pressing against his skin, your breath mingling with his, the faint pulse of his heartbeat against your fingers.

The windows rattled as the wind howled through the alleyways, rain slipping through the cracks in the old brick walls, dripping down to pool in the uneven wooden floors. The whole safehouse felt like it was sinking into the bones of the city, swallowed by the weight of Gotham’s perpetual night. The air inside was thick, damp with sweat and blood and the metallic tang of old rust.

And Bruce was still alive.

That should have been enough.

But it wasn’t. Nothing in Gotham worked out like that.

Because even though you had saved him—even though you had pressed your hands against his broken body and kept him tethered to you, to the world—there was still a hollow ache in your chest that wouldn’t go away. Something raw, something unbearable, something you didn’t know how to name.

You shouldn’t have stayed. You knew that.

You should have left hours ago, after the bleeding had stopped, after his pulse had evened out, after you had known he wasn’t going to die in the middle of this goddamn abandoned room with only you to bear witness. But you couldn’t. You hadn’t been able to walk away—not when his skin was still too warm beneath your fingertips, not when his breath was still too shallow, not when every shift of his body sent another spear of panic down your spine.

So you stayed.

Now, in the fragile hush of early morning, you were still sitting beside him, slumped against the side of the old, tattered couch where you had managed to get him off the floor hours ago. You barely remembered moving him, just that his weight had been unbearable, dead-heavy in your arms, and that you had held him too tightly, like you could physically stop him from slipping away.

Your head felt thick, hazy with exhaustion. At some point, your body had given up on staying upright, and you had drifted forward, your forehead nearly resting against the warmth of his shoulder. Your breath was slow, controlled, but your fingers were still curled around the edge of his bandages, like part of you didn’t trust that he was really there.

And then—

A shift. A slow, groggy inhale.

You froze.

The body beneath your hands stirred, and then, before you could pull away, a rough, broken voice scraped against the silence.

“You stayed.”

Your breath hitched.

He was awake.

The words shouldn’t have meant anything. They shouldn’t have made something inside you lurch violently against your ribs, shouldn’t have sent a sharp, unbearable heat rushing beneath your skin. But they did.

You forced yourself to sit up, to school your expression into something neutral, something distant.

“You were half-dead,” you murmured, voice hoarse from disuse. “I wasn’t going to let you bleed out alone in this godforsaken place.”

Bruce didn’t say anything.

He just watched you, eyes dark, unreadable, like he was seeing something he shouldn’t.

And you couldn’t handle it.

You pushed yourself upright, trying to ignore the stiffness in your limbs. You needed something to do, something to occupy your hands before you reached for him again, before you did something stupid. The first-aid kit was still open on the floor, stained bandages and empty vials scattered like remnants of a battlefield, and you latched onto it like a lifeline.

“You need your bandages changed,” the statement was for the sake of keeping away from silence, a mere thing to mention as you were kneeling beside him again, reaching for his shoulder. “Hold still.”

He didn’t.

Instead, his fingers moved—weak, but deliberate—grasping your wrist before you could touch him.

You froze.

His hand was too warm, even through the lingering chill of the night air, even through the exhaustion pressing down on both of you. His grip wasn’t strong—he was too drained, too battered for that—but it was enough. Enough to keep you still. Enough to make your breath come too sharp.

“I’m fine.”

The words were barely above a whisper, rough and broken and so damn full of something you couldn’t place.

You swallowed hard. Your pulse thrummed violently in your throat, in your wrists, in the space between his fingers and your skin.

“Bullshit,” you murmured, but your voice wasn’t steady.

Bruce watched you.

The dim, early morning light cut harsh lines across his face, turning his sharp features into something almost unreal—high cheekbones cast in shadow, the line of his jaw unshaven and rough, his lips parted just slightly, like he was still trying to catch his breath. The bruises stood out even darker now, painting him in deep hues of purple and blue, spreading like ink beneath his skin.

You should have pulled away.

You should have forced his hand off of yours, should have put as much space between you as possible, should have reminded yourself that this was a mistake, that whatever this was—whatever had been circling between you for months—needed to die here, in this moment.

But you didn’t.

Instead, your fingers twitched beneath his, and his grip tightened, just slightly.

The room was too quiet. The air between you was too thin.

Bruce’s eyes flickered down—just for a second—to your lips, before dragging back up to your face.

Your breath shuddered.

No.

No, no, no, don’t do this, don’t—

His fingers slipped from your wrist.

And suddenly, the air rushed back in, the world tilting dangerously on its axis, and you realized—too late—that you were shaking.

You jerked back like you had been burned. Your hands clenched, nails biting into your palms as you forced yourself to breathe, to remember who you were, to remember that this wasn’t something you could have.

Bruce watched you, but he didn’t move.

You didn’t meet his eyes as you grabbed the bandages again, as you pressed them against his wounds with too much force, as you ignored the way your hands were still trembling.

The silence stretched between you like a feel chasm that neither of you would dare to cross.

And then, finally—

“This can’t happen.”

Your hands stilled against his chest as the words washed over you. You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, couldn't bear to see the expression on his face, the one that would surely tell you everything you didn't want to hear. That this was a mistake. That he couldn't give you what you needed. That he would never be able to love you the way you deserved.

So you didn't look at him. You kept your gaze fixed on the bandage in your hands, on the way your fingers trembled slightly as you held it. You tried to focus on the task at hand, on the fact that he needed medical attention, that he was still injured, that he could still die...

The thought made your heart clench painfully in your chest, and before you could stop yourself, you had leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his shoulder. Not kissing him, not quite. Just...touching him. Needing to feel his warmth, his solidity, his life beneath your skin.

He was still for a moment, and then, slowly, carefully, he lifted a hand to your hair. His fingers brushed through the strands, once, twice, before curling around the back of your neck. Gently. So gently it made your eyes sting.

You inhaled shakily, your breath coming faster now, shorter. Your lips parted slightly as you tried to calm yourself, to center yourself. But it wasn't working. Nothing was working. Not when he was touching you like this, not when you could feel the heat of his skin through your clothes, not when you could still remember the way he had looked, pale and broken and bleeding on the floor...

Suddenly, he turned his head, and his lips brushed against your temple. It was a soft touch, a fleeting one, but it sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could stop yourself, you had turned your head to meet his gaze.

His eyes were dark, the blue of his irises nearly swallowed up by the black of his pupils. They were intense, searching, and filled with a longing that made your stomach twist and flip. You couldn't look away, couldn't break the connection, even as your heart began to race and your skin began to heat.

He leaned in closer, slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away. His hand slid from the back of your neck to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

You didn't pull away. You couldn't. Your body felt heavy, weighted down by the gravity of this moment, the electricity crackling between you. His thumb traced the curve of your cheek, the line of your jaw, before tilting your chin up gently. His eyes searched yours, a war raging behind those piercing blue depths. Fear and desire, hesitation and hunger, all swirling together in a tempest that threatened to consume you both.

Your breath caught in your throat as he leaned in, his lips hovering a mere hair's breadth from yours. Close enough to feel the warmth of him, the ghost of his breath mingling with your own. Your eyes fluttered closed, your heart pounding wildly against your ribs, as his mouth met yours in a kiss that started out soft, almost tentative.

It was a brush of lips, a whisper of a touch, a silent question. A chance for you to push him away, to end this before it began. But you didn't. You couldn't. Instead, your hand came up to cover his, pressing it more firmly against your cheek as you leaned into the kiss, your lips parting slightly as you breathed him in.

He made a sound in the back of his throat, a low, rough noise that sent a bolt of heat straight through you. His fingers tightened against your skin, his grip on your jaw becoming more insistent as he deepened the kiss. His lips moved against yours, first in a gentle caress, and then with increasing urgency, as though he were starving for the taste of you.

Your free hand came up to tangle in his hair, your fingers threading through the dark strands as you pulled him closer, as you opened your mouth fully to him. His tongue swept inside, and then he was kissing you for real, his mouth hot and hungry and desperate against yours. He kissed you like a man possessed, like a man who thought he might never have the chance to kiss you again. Like a man who was terrified that this was the last kiss he would ever have.

The thought sent a chill through you, even as the heat of his mouth ignited something deep inside you. You kissed him back just as fiercely, just as desperately, your tongue dancing with his, your teeth catching on his lips, your hands gripping at his hair and his shirt and anything you could reach.

He groaned into your mouth, and the sound vibrated through you, shaking you to your very core.

Your hand slid from his hair to his chest, feeling the racing beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his breathing. The kiss slowed, gentled, until it was nothing more than a soft press of lips, a shared breath. His hands moved to your waist, holding you steady, anchoring you to him.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes were still dark, but now they were soft, almost tender. His thumb brushed over your lower lip, wiping away the remnants of your shared passion.

"Stop," he murmured, and it wasn't a command, but a plea. "Please... I can't..." He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he fought for control. "I can't do this. Not now. Not like this."

You nodded, your heart aching at the conflict in his eyes, the war between his desire and his duty. "I know," you whispered. "You need to rest. You need to heal." You took a shuddering breath, steeling yourself. "We both do."

He was silent for a long moment, and then he nodded once, sharply. "Yes. You're right." But there was a grimness to his voice, a finality that made your heart clench.

You leaned in to press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips, a promise and a goodbye. "Get some sleep," you murmured against his mouth. "I'll be here when you wake up."

He nodded again, his hand sliding from your waist to your back, urging you gently away. You stood up on trembling legs, looking down at him as he settled back against the couch cushions. He looked small, vulnerable, nothing like the larger-than-life hero you knew him to be. The urge to protect him, to shield him from the world, was overwhelming.

"Go," he said softly, his voice already heavy with exhaustion and pain. "Please."

You hesitated, your heart screaming at you to stay, to hold him, to never let him go. But your head knew better. You had to be smart. You had to be strong.

So you turned away, walking out of the room on silent feet, a strange sense of finality settling over you. You wouldn't forget whatever the hell just happened. He couldn't, either, but at least he had the ability to pretend.

The safehouse suddenly felt more melancholy than before, the weight of looming darkness still present as the sun rose through the window. It seemed safe enough- locks and extravagant security systems lined the entire place. Besides, you knew the bat wouldn't have crashed there unless he knew he was out of danger.

You also knew that he would've sent you on your way at the first sign of danger.

There was a brief moment of hesitation as your hand hovered over the front door knob. Staying was useless, no matter how you tried to put it. Being involved with Gotham's crime issues was dangerous, even as the GCPD commissioner. Being involved with Batman was even worse.

But being involved with Bruce Wayne was dangerous for your heart.

And so, your hand turned the brass knob before you stepped outside of the abandoned apartment.

Masterlist

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