#and Batman puts his foot in his mouth

[wonderjanga]

Marvel Being Destructive

Marvel’s destructive. It’s not even on purpose too. It just happens. He can’t control it. For the most part, that is. Like, he’ll get startled and pull a Castiel from that one episode of Supernatural.

Marvel: *trying to steal some food for Billy*

Flash: “Cap, buddy!”

Marvel: *startles and the lightbulb above them just bursts*

*loud silence*

Flash: “Cap, whose leftovers are those?”

Marvel: *slowly turns around to look at Flash, sure enough, Marvel’s holding a container or Tupperware, with a sticky note that said GL* “Uh… mine?”

Flash: “I can see that they’re Hal’s.”

Marvel: *takes off the sticky note and crumples it in his hand. Then proceeds to fry it with lightning* “What’re you talking about?”

Flash: *a little speechless*

Marvel: “Right… So I’m gonna go. See you, Flash.” *little wave as he walks off*

Billy felt really bad about it, but the kid needed it more than Hal at the moment. Probably. Look, he was running low on money at the moment and hadn’t eaten in a couple days. The hunger pangs were getting to him. He did end up making a bunch of food for Hal in an attempt to apologize.

GL: “Woah, what’s all this?”

Marvel: *in full lightning bolt apron* “Uh… Remember how you were complaining last week about how someone stole your food?”

GL: “Yeah?”

Marvel: “Right, well that was me.”

GL: *dramatic gasp* “I vented to you about that! And you just took it like you were innocent?!”

Marvel: “I know, I know, and I’m sorry. Just eat all the food I made for you. Please?”

GL: *looks to the freaking feast Marvel made for him* “Yeah, okay. I forgive you.” *starts chowing down* “By the way, why’d you steal my foot anyways? I thought you didn’t need to eat.”

Marvel: “I just really needed it at the time.”

GL: “Why?”

Marvel: “Just eat the food, Hal.”

Then, there’s the fact that Billy sometimes forgets he isn’t as small as he usually is. Like, he’s gotten used to it. After all, he’s been Cap for almost four years now. He now unconsciously bends down when entering and exiting through doors due to the fact he’s cracked his head on more doorframes than he can count. This even bled over to Billy who’s only about 5’4 and definitely doesn’t need to do it. But, every now and then as Cap, he’ll slip up and forget he isn’t that little scrawny short kiddo.

JL: *all having a meeting* Marvel: *drops something under the table and leans down the pick it it up*

GA: *immediately grabs his mug of coffee and scoots back from the table*

Other JL members: *watch in confusion as GA scoots back but then watch in slow motion at Marvel tries to get back to his chair and stands up to early. The table slowly starts tilting up and all of their stuff slides to the floor. Marvel then gets out from under the table and the table falls back to the floor with a loud bang*

Marvel: *confused by the loud bang and looks back* “Where’d all your guys’ stuff go?”

GA: *scoots back to table and puts his mug back down* “No idea, bud.”

The reason Green Arrow knew to take his stuff and scoot back is that one time when he got lunch with Cap, he watched in real time as his burger and soda slid off the table when the big man went down to grab a fork he dropped.

Then, there’s the super duper ultra rare times he forgets his own strength. Like, once a year, he’ll break something or someone and then end up having to apologize a lot.

Batman: *shows Marvel an explosive batarang* “These are extremely delicate. If they’re chipped or thrown at someone, they’ll explo-”

Marvel: *reaches over to touch it and accidentally snaps a piece of it off*

*silence*

*beeping noise starts*

Marvel: *panics and breaks the rest of it and shoves it in his mouth, basically eating the explosion, Superman style*

Batman: *stares for a solid minute* “I could’ve turned it off, Captain.”

Marvel: *coughs up smoke looking embarrassed* “Sorry, Mister Batman Sir.”

Batman: *stares for another solid minute* “Can we talk about how your first instinct was to eat it?”

Marvel: “I’d rather not.”

Batman: “I really think we should.”

[sanguineterrain]

im begging you to write a part 2 of vigilante reader because the way you write??? the dynamic between reader and jason??? the sex tension???are chef kiss!!!

thanks very much! part 2 and I couldn't put off the reveal bc I'm just too impatient lol 🫶 but I might write another part post-reveal? maybe? cuz I'm growing attached to these two <3

jason todd x gn!vigilante!reader (nocturne). tw explosions, smoke inhalation, reader passes out, canon typical violence, identity reveal, asshole bruce. jason is in love? jason is in love.

read pt 1 here! | all fics are reblogged to @sanguinelibrary

****

"Go home."

"Bruce, I—"

Bruce looks at you, eyes sharp with fury and... something else. Something older.

The others know how to talk back. You still haven't gained the courage to sass The Batman.

"Go. Home. If you need an escort, I can call Superman."

You take a step back at his coldness.

"Bruce, I know I messed up, letting Hood escape but—"

"Yes, you did. You deliberately disobeyed an order. I told everybody to stand down. He could've killed you."

But he didn't, you don't say. He could've, but he chose not to.

He'd felt safe.

"I had it under control, honestly. He wasn't—it wasn't like the other encounters you've had with him. He wouldn't have hurt me."

That is the wrong thing to say. You realize that after the words leave your mouth and the muscles in Bruce's jaw jump.

"You can't be this naive. I know I wouldn't have chosen someone who's this naive," he says savagely. "You know Hood can't be trusted, and you're defending him to me. We've seen time and again he's rogue. He doesn't make sense and that's exactly why he's dangerous."

"But if you would just listen—"

"Enough," he snaps. "Enough. Go home. I'm suspending you for three weeks."

"Three w—I'm not even injured!" you cry.

"No, but you need the time. You're not thinking clearly. Go. I don't want to see you until next month."

You press your lips together before you say something truly foul. Something about Batman's habit of pushing people away. Something about dead Robins.

You don't let the tears fall until you leave the Cave. This is all Hood's fault. You know it would've been a different conversation if you'd managed to successfully capture him.

You'll take down the Red Hood if it's the last thing you do.

****

It takes you approximately two days to break your suspension.

In your defense, you meant to follow Bruce's orders. You would've stayed put and helped Barbara with research instead.

But not at the expense of civilian lives.

"All units to Canal and Riverview, 10-80. Standby. Do not enter the factory until given clearance from the Bomb Squad."

You turn off the police scanner and stuff it in your drawer. In Gotham, explosions usually come in multiples. If there's one, there's bound to be another. The police are generally inept when it comes to evacuating civilians. You know one of the other Bats are on their way, but you're the closest to the docks.

You glance at your suit. No. If you go as Nocturne, Batman might suspend you indefinitely.

You grab your gas mask and put on a black hoodie and a domino mask. You'll just have to make do.

The marina is blanketed in thick smoke. It makes your eyes water. But in the commotion it causes, you're able to slip past the barriers and help workers out of the factory. It's difficult because without the suit, people don't give you the same trust and respect. But you're anonymous, and that's all that matters.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

You ignore the voice and keep hauling two elderly workers towards the exit. They're barely outside before you turn around, determined to clear every level of the factory.

You're yanked backward by a hand on your hoodie. You nearly lose your footing, but the hand is firm, dragging you towards the pier.

You're spun around and put face to face with a red helmet.

Oh, of all the fucking—

"Let go of me!" you shout, smacking his arm. Hood's grip tightens.

"I will as soon as you stop doing stupid shit. What were you thinking, coming here?"

You pause. Whoops. This isn't how a plain civilian would react to being apprehended by the Red Hood.

And that's definitely not how the Red Hood would react to getting swatted by a random civilian. Shit.

"I was, um, I was thinking I could help," you say haltingly. "P-please don't hurt me, Mr. Hood, I was—"

Hood sighs and lets you go, then tucks his gun into his holster.

"Cut the shit. I know you're Nocturne. I also know that you need some acting lessons because what the hell was that? Mr. Hood?"

A chill washes over you. "I don't know what you mean. Nocturne?"

Hood shakes his head. "I don't have time for this. The building's gonna collapse any second. Stay. Put."

He goes back toward the smoking entrance. Your eye twitches as you follow him.

"Last time I checked, you don't have that kind of authority, Hood."

He turns around and looms over you. "Don't I?"

Anyone else would back down. You might've a week ago. You should, after the tongue lashing Bruce gave you.

But there's no soot on Hood's helmet or vest. He doesn't smell sweet like gasoline or pungent like motor oil.

He was in the factory to help.

Something shifts. Batman is wrong. Batman is more wrong than he's ever been.

Because Hood's not the enemy here. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.

You push past Hood. "It'll be faster if we work together."

"Oh, absolutely not. You're not even in your suit."

"As per your request," you say, flashing a plastic smile. "You're welcome."

"Don't get cute with me, you—hey!"

You dart past him and go straight into the factory. Hood shouts your name, which makes you pause, just for a moment.

But revealed identity or not, you need to clear the building. So you pull on your mask and run faster.

Your worst fear is confirmed when you check the upper level: someone was missed in the evacuation. It's a worker, and she's unconscious.

You don't think about how explosions come in pairs in Gotham. Don't think about how long it'll take to get to the exit.

You take off your mask and slide it onto her face. The smoke burns your throat immediately, but you ignore it and lift her in a fireman carry, just as you were taught all those years ago by Robin. He's the one who taught you how to save people without relying on brute strength or height.

You hope he's alright, wherever he is. You hope he's not too upset seeing you rush into a burning building.

That's your last thought when you see the entrance. Your face is covered in sweat and grime. The heat from the fires is exhausting. You can feel your eyes beginning to close.

"There's something seriously wrong with you," a decoded voice says in your ear, and then the woman's weight is lifted from your shoulders.

Hood grabs your hand, the woman over his opposite shoulder, and you make it out just as the second explosion goes off. It knocks you forward.

Hood puts the woman down just in time to catch you. His arm is around your waist, the other hand cradling your head. His gloved thumb touches your mouth, and you feel his dawning realization as he finally sees your mask on the woman.

"Don't tell Ba'man," you slur.

"Jesus fuck—" Hood starts to drag you. You feel lightheaded. He's moving, and you wish he'd stop. "You don't take off your mask. You never take off your mask. We taught you that!"

"She was unconscious, J'y..."

Arms tighten around you. Everything goes dark.

****

You wake up to the smell of scrambling eggs.

For a moment, you just bask in the smell. It smells like Alfred's breakfast scramble. Bacon. Butter. Golden potatoes.

Then you wake up further and realize that you're not in the Manor. You're in your apartment.

So who's cooking?

You get up quietly, slipping out of your room. You pause in front of the full-length mirror.

Honestly, you've looked worse. Your hair needs a wash, and you're in the same clothes you went into the building with, which are now a little charred. But your face is clean of soot, and your throat hurts only a little.

The kitchen sink runs. You slowly creep out into the living room, keeping your breathing even and silent.

The mess of black hair, you recognize. Sort of. You might've mistaken him for Bruce if you didn't know that Bruce has a lifetime ban from kitchens all over the world.

He's too tall to be Dick. Too skilled in the kitchen to be Bruce. Too nice to be Bruce, too—you can't imagine Bruce Wayne making you eggs. Especially when you disobeyed his orders. Again.

The red helmet on the kitchen stool turns your blood to ice.

You grab the letter opener from a drawer and wait a few seconds to see if Hood's heard you. Then you throw the letter opener with near perfect aim at his exposed shoulder.

He catches it without turning.

Your heart skips a beat. Every time you think you might get the drop on him, Hood reminds you just how competent he really is.

A mix of fear, aggravation, and something you don't want to examine too closely swirls in your gut.

"Impressive," he says. "Dami been training you? Mama Al-Ghul spent a lot of time on his knife lessons."

"Why are you in my apartment?"

Hood sets the letter opener down on the counter and turns off the stove. Then he serves the breakfast scramble on two plates, then sprinkles chives over them.

This is the weirdest kidnapping ever.

He sighs, back still facing you.

"You can't tell anyone it's me," he says.

"You make a lot of demands for a guy who just used the last of my eggs."

Hood laughs. It sounds wet. It sounds like grief.

"God, I've missed ya, honeylove."

Your heart pounds. You try to find another weapon, anything. Hood doesn't give you the chance.

He turns around.

The first thing you see is the stark white streak of hair and the curls you once loved. The curls that were near unrecognizable in the casket.

You were right: Batman was wrong.

[redflagshipwriter]

Mamabat Chapter 11: the trap snaps shut

masterpost

Five vans peeled into view, rocketing around the curved road fast enough that they visibly tilted through the turn. They all bristled with weaponry.

Cass felt her lips press into a faint line. She glanced at Dannybaby: scared. I knew it. Here they are.

They didn’t have to talk about it. The three adults stepped out and put their backs to ring Danny, facing outwards to the threat.

“Shoot the racks,” she commanded. The mounted weapons. She didn’t like that. She pulled out a batarang herself and squinted to find her aim. The construction? Sloppy. Exposed wires. Weakness.

A gun cocked. “Aye aye, captain.” Jason hefted a gun in each hand and started shooting as the vans screeched to a stop in a circle around them. Bang! Sparks flew where he hit. Cass and Dickiebird did the same with quieter precision, slicing wires and leaving projectiles sticking into the metal monstrosities. Electricity sparked. Just in time: machines whined as they were powered on. One gave out with a huge bang!  The van attached to it jolted as the machine punched a huge dent into the roof. White smoke floated away, clouding the nighttime scene with a chemical stink.

“Whoa,” Danny breathed.

She felt a twinge of satisfaction.

Jason hit the last set-up with a bang! Bang! Then his foot scuffed across the pavement to knock against Danny’s. Check, you’re here, you’re safe, you’re little.

“They’ll come out!” Danny warned.

He was right. Doors clicked unlocked all around them and men in white suits piled out, futuristic looking guns aimed at the little group. 

She felt a twinge of disbelief. “Can’t shoot,” Cass said. No way. So dumb. They were in a circle. Friendly fire, new concept to losers??

They shot. She hit the ground in a roll and trusted that everyone else would. They did. She turned her head to see that one agent was down from friendly fire. There was no blood as he was lifted off his feet and blasted backwards against the van he came out of.

“Ghost scum!” howled one of the suits.

“We knew it!” 

The victory in their voices set her blood boiling. Cass launched herself to the closest opponent and took him down with a nasty hit. She whirled on the next one, two mean hits. Go, go, clear the area! She heard feet scuffling and weapons whining as they fired, fired, fired on the boys.

She took number 4 down as the smoke was starting to clear. She heard a pained oof from the center, where Jason and Dickiebird were blocking Danny.

“Jason!” Danny said. He sounded very young. “Oh, shit.” Cass cast a frantic glance over at his posture and sucked in a breath even as she bulleted towards the next opponent. Determined. I have to do this. Here we go! 

No, no!

Jason was down. Dickiebird was darting between Jason and the man actively firing. Danny was pale. He opened his mouth. He put his palms out. He flashbanged. 

She blinked away stars and slammed a man’s head into a van before he could aim at her. Slam, slam, drop. She stole another glance. Danny was- Danny had white hair now and he was flashing green light at their enemies. Hm. She couldn’t afford to watch. Cass bared her teeth, angry. 

Air sizzled: GIW firing wildly. Guns fired: Jason was still conscious. Danny yelped: what? 

Cass didn’t dare look more. She moved faster than Batman could ever, brutally taking down these criminals with disdainful ease. They had nothing but numbers and lasers. 

Green shot past her vision. She traced it back: Danny! Her eyes went wide. Wow. He had some kind of organic blast, like Starfire. Very useful! 

 It wasn’t enough. Danny screamed. She heard him hit the ground. Sizzling.

She howled, wordless with fury. She tackled the next agent and cracked his head against the pavement. Only two more. She flung a batarang down the barrel aimed at her and then yanked the weapon away to brutally jab the air out of the agent’s diaphragm. Cass tossed it at him as he fell. Solid thunk. It hit his head.

The last man tried to say something, white teeth flashing in the gloom. Her ears were closed to it. The only language she spoke right now was violence. She used it to get him down and wrench him into zip ties. She could hear Dickiebird talking his soothing sounds at Danny baby. Cass wanted to go there. Cass wanted to soothe him. She wanted to see his hurts. 

But she had to secure the area. She rushed around to the groaning and crying men she had put down. She immobilized them. The foolish ones tried to get up as she approached. The smart one (and there was only one) held his hands out, eyes wide in the night. He talked at her. Beseeching, reasoning, she just doesn’t understand. You’re like me. Not like them.

Cass snarled. She understood just fine. She pressed his face into the ground harshly, fingers digging into his jaw. “Shut up,” she gritted out. She left him with effort, ignoring the mean impulse to smack him. 

All the boys were on the ground. There was no blood. Eyes open. Not dead.

Something in her gun unclenched.

Dickiebird looked up at her from where he was supporting Jason, sitting halfway with a grimace as he holstered his guns. Hands shaking. “He’ll be fine!” Danny pressed his body against Jason like he was trying to absorb his body heat. His hair was black again and his eyes looked tired. “He, uh, it’s shock,” Dannybaby babbled. She knelt to rub at his back, silently encouraging the explanation. “They basically zapped his ecto, stopped circulation. It should start up again in a few minutes and he’ll feel fine.”

“Get off,” Jason grunted. He shoved at Dickiebird. Weak. “I feel fine.”

Lie.

“I feel drained,” he admitted. “But fine. Just weak. I can stand.” He struggled to stand, biting his lip. He swayed only slightly. “Man,” he cursed under his breath. Jason cast an unhappy look at the 14 agents groaning on the ground, on their bellies like the worms they were with hands ziptied at their backs. “Not my best showing.”

“Next time, you could dodge,” Dickiebird suggested lightly. 

“You’re lucky it got him and not you,” Danny snapped. “Didn’t you see that guy go flying?”

Tense. Dickiebird paused. Smile. Soothe. “I’m only teasing,” he said. “It’s fine, Danny.”

“None of this is fine!” Cass swiveled her head to make sweltering eye contact with the scumbag who was cutting in. He was bold, for someone with his cheek digging into the rocks and cement. “By the authority of the US Government, you are required to submit these ecto-entities for testing and capture into our custody. Release us, or face dire consequences!”

Cass looked at him. She felt hate. Disdain. You’re nothing, you’re a worm to me. 

“They’re telling the truth,” Danny whispered. “It’s, uh, it’s legal.” He looked haunted. He rubbed at his chest: some memory of sharp pain.

Dickiebird snorted and slung an arm over Danny’s narrow shoulders. “Maybe by US laws, but Oa has jurisdiction that supersedes. This was a clear case of assault.” He gave an unpleasant smile. Big brother. Big angry. Guard dog at the door. “I’ll make a call.” 

The next minutes felt very long. Cass pressed Danny’s face into her shoulder so that he didn’t have to make eye contact with the fallen agents. She stroked his hair with her free hand, boiling inside with fury. 

Dickiebird called. A Green Lantern answered: coming.

They waited. Jason said he felt better. His body said: mostly better. But strange. They ignored the threats and complaints from the GIW men on the ground.

Hal Jordan came, with one more Green Lantern that Cass didn’t know. He gathered up prisoners in a green veil. He talked with Dickiebird. He nodded, and left.

“I wanna go home,” Danny said quietly. “But I think that we need to get Jason to my doctor. He’s really not right. It’s… It might be time sensitive.”

[thebirdsandthebats]

Okay @s-p-r-i-n-g-t-i-m-e I’m sure you know plenty BUT I’m going to use your wonderful and hilarious comment on this as an excuse to talk about Bernard, bc I realized recently that there are plenty of ppl who haven’t read most of the comics he’s been in. So get ready for my long overdue:

UNPACKING BERNARD DOWD + HIS TRAUMA (for those who cannot keep up with comics but want to get to know him)

So to start, Tim met Bernard years ago ofc, when they were in high school. It’s established pretty quick that Bernard is an extremely Unserious guy LMAO, the first thing he does is literally circle Tim and try to feel him out socially, see what kind of guy he is. He’s the kind of guy who gets himself in trouble with his big mouth, and seems to enjoy poking at Tim and testing his patience. By the time we meet Bernard again in the recent years, he’s grown a lot, but at his core he’s still the light-hearted, fun, goofy guy with very strong opinions. Just less stand-offish, maybe

Throughout the time Tim spends at this school though, Bernard does experience some wild shit. He lost Darla (somebody he really cared about), he experienced a shooting at his school, and then Darla came back from the dead, kind of scared the hell out of him, and used him to contact Tim again. It was kind of played for laughs, but like. That’s gotta fuck you up. (Robin #140)

Obviously this is the kind of thing that maybeee has a lasting effect on you. And BECAUSE Tim Drake: Robin got cut so short and the writer had to rush to wrap up the series, we’re left to fill in a lot of gaps and draw conclusions about the years we didn’t see Bernard ourselves. But we absolutely get some insight as to his life after Tim left that school and we stopped seeing him in the comics. Spoiler alert: it was hard.

In TDR, Bernard discusses the the cult that he’d been in that Tim saved him from in Urban Legends. He says that “he’d accepted himself”, but others hadn’t. Obviously there’s the natural reading that he means his queerness (which has me chewing through drywall), but I think that he’s speaking very broadly too. Bernard is a very odd example of a civilian, because he’s always getting dragged into things much bigger than him. And even before that, he had his big ideas, his conspiracies, his loud personality. He tended to rub people the wrong way in high school. Then in issue #7 of TDR (the Bernard pov issue my most beloved, weird pacing aside) Bernard refers to this “oozy, sticky feeling” that he ALWAYS feels when Tim isn’t around. He says when he’s alone it’s harder to put one foot in front of the other. To keep GOING. To wake up every day.

I think that Bernard has always felt like an outcast. (Robin #121, he doesn’t fit into any clique). He wasn’t as okay with it as he acted. And I think he wasn’t getting any attention from his parents. (Batman: Urban Legends #5, Bernard’s parents nonchalance to the days leading up to his kidnapping)

So just like Bernard explained to Tim, that feeling got bad. and he wanted to let go. The chaos monsters, the cult, all of it was a means to an end. But then Tim agreed to see him again, and I think that sparked something in him. Because he started learning to fight. When he was tied down to that alter and Tim was saving him, I think it fully sank in to Bernard that he didn’t want to die. Reconnecting with Tim gave him hope and made him really feel something good for the first time in ages.

So now that they’re dating after the cult fiasco, we get to know this current Bernard. A less goading, maybe calmer Bernard. But he’s still himself, of course, rambling about his ideas and making bad jokes and sticking to his guns (he has NEVER been a pushover, no idea where people get that idea?). I think a lot of people complained that Bernard mellowed out too much in terms of attitude, but I think if he seems “nicer” it’s because 1) he’s grown now. It’s been a while since we last saw him, and he’s clearly changed a lot. And 2) because he’s dating Tim now. He likes him a lot, and he’s an affectionate partner. He wants to lift Tim up.

But the fact that he was pulled into a cult still remains. And as lighthearted as Bernard tries to be, that traumatic experience still happened. It said in Urban Legends #5 while Tim was searching for him that Bernard had welts on his arms and legs and had been acting different, so it’s not like he was just snatched up on a whim. He’d spent significant time there. For those who haven’t read much abt the ways cult trauma specifically can fuck you up, I recommend doing a search if you’re in a good headspace for that and want to understand him more. because it’s pretty bad.

And then! yeah. you guessed it. Bernard gets kidnapped again. Chained up next to a BOMB that’s counting down. RIGHT WHEN HE’S WORKING ON HEALING FROM ALMOST BEING SACRIFICED BY A CULT.

And surely this can’t get crazier. He’s almost died twice in the past 6 months. except, remember his parents? In TD:R #7, we really see a little more of his relationship with his parents. He doesn’t live up to their standards, and his dad specifically seems to just want to argue with him. The restaurant they’re at is attacked, and everything goes to shit, and. you know, I think these panels really speak for themselves.

And for the record, when it’s revealed that everyone is seeing their worst fears, Bernard’s parents fears are not about him.

So now Bernard has to deal with that. And we start to see that Bernard is really not as okay as he’s tried to be. He keeps a baseball bat by his door because he’s been kidnapped twice now. And just when he’d likely thought things couldn’t get worse, he heard the Chaos Monsters were back. I can’t imagine he feels safe. He lashes out for the first time since all this has happened and yells at Kate and Tim, because while they’re doing what they feel is necessary to save more people (AND I DONT BLAME THEM AT ALL), Bernard can’t talk about it.

And I will forever be sad and insist that TD:R got cancelled too soon, just before we could get into the really juicy stuff, because things had to be wrapped up pretty quick and this was the only comic Bernard was consistently appearing in. But when Tim is giving himself up to the chaos monsters, Bernard goes out and rallies anyone he knows can help. Things were rushed because there was no more time to flesh out the story the way it could have been, but I’m including these panels just because I love Bernard Audacity Dowd using a fucking flashlight and shadow puppet to call Batman. geeking out for a minute. And then leading the battalion to save Tim with a SLEDGEHAMMER. gay people rule.

So yeah! While I see the vision of how a lot of Bernard’s trauma was meant to be semi-resolved and let him come to peace after saving Tim back, we just didn’t have the time for him to heal properly. I’d give anything to get inside his brain again. UHH IF YOU READ THIS I HOPE YOU LOVE BERNARD NOW and don’t come at me if I left something out, some of my comics aren’t with me rn. Bonus TimBer for the road:

[princeoftheeternalbog]

OP characters reacting to you kissing them and running away (here's part 2) established relationship ish. Feel free to ask for other characters.

ALSO I've definitely seen another creator who did this idea with op characters but I can't remember who so if someone could tell me I would really love to credit them :(. I tried to make mine different but still it's the principal of it.

Slightly suggestive in some parts so mdni.

Luffy

Thinks its a new game like tag but with kisses and it ends up actually becoming one. You'll both wait for the other to become distracted and then you'll strike, planting a kiss and sprinting off around the ship or the island you're docked at. It's not hard to chase after each other because the trails of laughter are so easy to follow and it always ends up with one of you on the floor from a tackle or something similar.

Zoro

Gobsmacked. Genuinely his jaw drops especially if there's other people there and you get away so easily only because of how long it takes his brain to boot back online. Oh but he doesn't let it go. He waits until you're in a similar situation, either talking to someone or doing work and he sneaks up to pull you into a deep, intense kiss that leaves your knees weak. Like he fully puts the moves on you, hand on your lower back, other hand cradling your jaw, hes literally licking into your mouth and then he just disappears for the rest of the day. Asshole.

Sanji

You are not running away from this man. Not in a scary way but he can't do just one short kiss, as soon as you're leaning in his hands settle firm on your hips and that grip is not something you can wiggle out of. You can try to run away but he just laughs at you and pulls you closer to him, ofc he would let go if you actually wanted him to but he knows what you're trying to pull. Says something like "Oh? Trying to run darlin? How sweet." swoon- Just don't even bother, he will always try to win if your affection is involved.

Nami

Honestly thinks nothing of it. A lot of your affection is sweet but quick because yk pirate life. But if you look disappointed from her lack of reaction then she catches on quickly and starts playing along. So sweet even though she can be scary. Oh but don't try to run if she's initiating, like Sanji you aren't going to get out of her grip. If she wants to shower you with affection, she is going to thank you very much. If you do manage to slip away she's surprisingly quick and surprisingly stealthy. Like you'll think you got away and you walk into a room and she drops down from the ceiling like fucking batman.

(maybe not that dramatic but shes good)

Robin

She lets you run away but only because she knows she could summon a mouth to kiss you at any time and in any place so she's content knowing she always wins. Also thinks it's really cute when you try to rile her up like this, she just finds it so endearing and usually ends up playing into it anyways- "My, my, aren't you getting so bold my love". Sometimes will purposefully trip you up while you're doing these antics so you can't get away or so your plan is ruined, absolutely pretends she has no idea what you're talking about.

Usopp

Highly likely he was doing something when it happened. Highly likely he dropped something onto his foot as a result. Yowls like an injured cat and then when his brain catches up it's like steam comes out of his ears. Stands there with his mouth open and pointing at you like you betrayed his entire family. Very funny and very cute. Also a possibility of him smacking you out of fearful instinct in which case he'd probably cry his eyes out and beg for forgiveness. Nami makes it worse by punching him in the face for hitting you. A mess all around if you get him at the wrong time so just be careful.

Ace

Immediately sprinting after you, it's actually a bit scary. But like hey he's not letting you get away with just one measly little peck on the cheek. Absolutely nobody on the crew helps you unless it would be funny, i.e. someone tripping Ace up so he faceplants. If it's near the beginning of your relationship then you likely go back out of concern which he takes as a chance to catch you, but if it's later then you already know this man's antics and you know he wouldn't be injured just from tripping so you use it as an opportunity to get away💪. You still have to kiss it better later though when hes whining to you about how cruel you are for leaving him in the dust(he would do the same).

Izou

Don't bother. As soon as you turn he snatches you by the back of your collar and pulls you onto his lap, proceeds to resume his conversation like nothing is wrong but his arms are firm around your waist and his cheeks and ears are a particularly pretty shade of red. Once his conversation is over and the other person has left, he turns his attention to you with a very pointed look. He's not actually irritated but if he enjoys watching you squirm that's his business. "If you wanted a kiss you should've just asked my love" and then he's practically devouring your mouth. Doesn't care about the other people in the vicinity. Doesn't care that he's smudging his lipstick. Just wants to fluster you more than you flustered him.

Marco

Do you even want to run away from this man lets be real- anyways.

If he's doing work then he just laughs and lets you get away with it, tallys it in his head for later, but if he's free and hes in a good mood then he absolutely plays into it. Will chase after you. Will cheat by using his powers. Its a bit scary but also very attractive, somehow ends with him pinning you in some way (☺️), looks very smug when he wins. Like you'll end up flat on your back, legs trapped under his and his hands restraining yours and he's just grinning- "Oh what a surprise. You were so easy to catch-yoi" Yeah yeah shut up. Absolutely asks what his reward is just to see your shocked face (absolutely asks again later when you two are alone).

Sabo

VILLAIN!!!!!! Sorry only way i can describe how devious and obsessed this man would be. Like Izou he tries to snatch you immediately but you planned for this so you manage to spring out of his grip in time. You falter a bit at his reaction then because he just blinks at you for a while. You start to feel a bit nervous and when he finally grins at you, you definitely feel nervous. "Playing like that are we honey? How about I give you a headstart then?" Evil. You know he's going to catch you. He knows he's going to catch you. He's just giving you false hope but yk hope is hope so you take the chance.

You don't get far. It's not even fair how quickly he catches up to you and gets you underneath him, it takes him barely any effort, not even a strand of hair is out of place. Spends the next 10 minutes kissing you on the floor of the hallway until Koala comes back and promptly drags him back into his office.

[skylersprompts]

DC x DP Prompt *30*

If anyone would ask Bruce how he could have known, he would tell them that it is obvious. Phantom - the new part-time member of the Young Justice - who seemed to be forever young and their new engineer Danny Fenton who is in his early twenties have perfectly fitting schedules. When Fenton is working in the Watchtower, Phantom will be unavailable for the Young Justice and vice versa. Also, the pranks started after both of these figures appeared. Of course one could argue that they could just be related or somehow knew each other otherwise, but the pranks that were pulled on all of the mentors of the Young Justice were only possible with Phantom Powers. And because of the new Ghost Shield the young hero wouldn't be able to just fly into the Watchtower and had to use the Zeta-Tube, what would mean that they should be able to look at the logs. But Phantom never entered the Watchtower while the pranks were under way. And as soon as his team really needed him, Fenton would make an excuse to leave work early.

What he wouldn't tell anyone, is that he saw how Fenton had transformed himself into Phantom, shortly before the Flash got up to run for a snack, just to fall down because his ankles had been cuffed together.

And maybe he helped him from time to time, with a well timed question to distract his fellow heros. Because the motive became clear really fast. Everytime someone got pranked, that someone had done something to ignite the wrath of the younger heros.

All of that also meant two things.

First of all, as soon as Danny was at work, Batman would be extra aware of his surroundings. The pranks never worked on him, which meant he had to dodge more attempts for the rest of the day.

And secondly: He should talk to Tim, after he found out how he had put his foot in his mouth this time, since he just saw his spoon move in his coffee mug without anyone's involvement. He just let his (probably salty) coffee go cold, brooding. Maybe he should go home early today and spend some quality time with his son...

[xan-izme]

Double Life 7 (ATSV x reader x Batfam)

Summary: An unwilling partnership is formed between reader and Redhood. Damian wants to know more about his half-sister. And visits New York to seek answers there is only one problem, his father decides to come along.

part 6, part 8

You're in deep shit now. The whole time Jason was at the mansion, he had been eyeing you and giving you dirty looks every moment you spoke. You would glare back.

it was clear to others that you and Jason, were not fond of each other. But no one spoke up about it. Bruce would give Jason a stern look to stop and give you a gentle pat on the back.

And what's worse, Jason brought it onto himself to stay at the mansion to get to know the new member of the family a little better.

You were in your room. Thinking on this whole day and how everything just had to go downhill the moment you got back into action.

You were currently staring at the silver case you got earlier that was on your desk.

Alchemax . . .

You let out a deep sigh and sat on your bed. You felt a small headache come in as you thought about how you were going to get through this. You had to talk to Jason. And get things settled. Make a deal or something.

Suddenly you hear a knock at your door. You quickly hide the case. "Who is it?"

"It's me, you little thief." The voice on the other side of the door was clearly Jason. You frown and march over to the door and opened it. "Jason. . ."

Jason had a smug smirk on his face as you pushed through you to enter your room. "Where's the case." Jason stood by your bed and scanned your room. Taking in the art and pictures. The boombox and vinyl was pretty odd to see.

"Don't know what you're talking about." You let out a small sigh as you crossed your arms and leaned against your door frame. Jason glares at you and went over to your door and closed it shut.

"You know damn well what I mean." He got all up in your face as he had his finger pointed at your chest.

Your frown deepened as you glared back, glancing to his finger and back up to him. Making it clear, you don't like how close he is.

Jason calmed down a little and put distance between you two. "Look, we got off the wrong foot. . . I know your true identity, and you know mine." Jason spoke slowly, making hand movements and keeping eye contact. As if he was speaking to a toddler.

"Let's talk."

You were actually satisfied with this. But you have a feeling you should still be cautious with this one.

"Talk about what?" You leaned off the wall, still keeping your eyes on him.

Jason stayed silent and crossed his own arms. "A deal. You have something I want, I have something you want."

Your eyes narrowed. "What exactly do you have, I would want?"

Jason smirked "Your identity. You know, you're in a different city now, Spider-woman. There's a bigger vigilante out there, that would either put you down, or force you to join him. I have a feeling you don't want both."

You had to process for a second to understand who Jason was talking about, then you realized it. "Batman." You had completely forgotten about the famous batman. So focused on your own personal life. You had taken a risk to go out without thinking you'd run into Batman who has been in the game for years.

"Yup, so. How about we work together for now. Whatever is in the case, seems important. I don't want the old bats to find out about this either, so let's just play nice together and get this over with. I'll keep my mouth shut if you do the same, deal?" Jason extended his hand for a handshake.

You took a moment to think. And after what Jason had said, you realized, you possible have more to lose. You needed this deal more than him.

"Deal." You shook his hand to seal it all.

You let out a small yawn as you exit your room. About to leave for school. Your met with Damian waiting outside of your room, as usual. "Morning, cupcake." You spoke in a joking way. Damian frowns "Don't call me that- your shoes untied." He seemed bothered by your untied shoe.

"I know. It's a choice." You say with a shrug as he followed you down the stairs. Once you and Damian are downstairs, Alfred has already prepared breakfast.

"Morning Alfred smells and looks amazing, per usual." You had a nice smile on for the butler. You truly are grateful for Alfred. He just feels like a person you should respect. He does so much in this big mansion.

"Lady Y/n. Your usual f/f and Coffee-" Alfred paused as he noticed your coffee, he set down was no longer there. "Odd, your coffee." He mumbled a little confused.

Before you could say it was okay for now, Jason came out of nowhere.

"Oh, sorry was the coffee yours?"

Everyone looks over to see Jason, with your coffee mug.

Damian was quick to scold the older about taking your cup of coffee. You deadpan at the whole situation. Jason just smiled and gave you a half ass apology.

"Oops, my bad kiddo.'' Jason ruffled your head and set your empty mug in front of you.

"I'll make you another cup-" Before Alfred could even attempt to take the mug. You shook your head. "It's aight." You just ate your food and dragged Damian to the limo with you. Of course, you didn't leave without catching Jason giving you a mocking smirk.

You and Jason might be teamed up for the moment, but it doesn't mean you two are going to be the best of friends.

Damian has been doing more deep searching on you for a few days now. Trying to take everything in and find out what you're hiding. He hasn't found anything about this Miguel. In fact, no one in your life that he had searched on the Inernet mentions any Miguel.

What's gotten Damian a little more interested, and suspicious is your school records. Before your mother's death, you seemed to have been determined to go into a privet school in Brooklyn. Both you and your cousin seemed to be determined to enroll in the same privet school.

But why this specific school? there were other privet schools more fit for you and your cousin. Closer to New York. So why did you and your cousin pick Alchemax Academy?

"Y/n?" Damian spoke as he stared up at you, you and he were just sitting the bleachers during lunch.

"Hm?" You were still focusing what you had on your laptop, probably one of your assignments.

"That party you're going to for your uncle's promotion, can I come with you?"

You paused and looked over to Damian. Your surprised from this request, but you smiled down at him softly. "Of course, sweets." You pat his head and go back to working on your laptop.

He knows you won't tell him much, and you're not exactly an open book, nor are you easy to read. So, he should get some more info on you a little more on the deeper level if he visits your family.

You were excited to be back in New York again. And see Uncle Jeff and Miles. You missed them so much.

"Okay, let me go over the rules." You were about to explain the rules with Damian. So he makes a good impression on your uncle and aunt. Well, mainly Tia Rio. He's your half brother, and you want to make sure he won't fully mess up.

"Never call the adult by their first names, unless they insist. No talk back, like you usually do. If they offer you more food even when your full, don't refuse, you have no choice in the mater. And please, please don't go into the house with your shoes on. Okay?" You gave Damian a small smile of the basic rules.

"I see. . . may I ask who will be at this party?" He wants to know who his first target should be for conversation. Who he could pull more information from.

"Well, my cousin, aunts and uncles. A few family friends. Nothing too big." You had your back faced to Damian as you were fishing out some clothes that were nice and casual but still nice for the event.

Suddenly, a knock is heard at the door. "Can you get that for me Cupcake?"

Damian frowns as he gave you a glare, you were unbothered by it of course. "I told you to stop calling me that." He crossed his arms a he got off your bed and approached the door to open it up. He's met with the sight of Alfred and Bruce.

"Father." Damian raised a brow, showing his confusion as to why he was at your door. Bruce gave him the same look, wondering why he was even in your room.

"Damian, is Y/n here? What are you doing in her room?" Bruce asked as he attempted to peek into the room. But you heard his voice, and you walked up behind Damian with a greeting smile.

"He's getting ready with me. I'm bringing him along today."

"Oh?" Bruce was shocked to hear this, knowing Damian isn't the type to go to these kinds of things.

"Yup!" You ruffled Damian's hair. Bruce and Alfred couldn't help but soften at how the two of you have gotten along so well.

"Y/n, I was planning on coming along with you. If you don't mind."

You smiled at Bruces offer. "Of course, the more the merrier. Right Cupcake?" You smiled down at Damian, who did not like this idea at all.

[jolalibrary]

9. breath of fresh air

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter nine of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.3k chapter warnings: frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. an: this one is called jo kicked her feet mid-writing and editing.

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Baby, where are you?

I’m coming now just needed to get some plants.

If you’re the forest on wheels coming towards me line up somewhere else.

Wow, that's mean, Morales.

I am. But also, that’s a fuck load of plants.

It is and we’re going to have so much fun naming them.

Surrounded by unopened boxes, and paint tins that are due to be put on the wall, you both sit cross-legged on the floor of your soon-to-be office floor.

It's hard to stop it, the smile which spreads across your lips. The scent of fast food flows from your ripped-open bag and his neatly opened one, as you watch him turn his cap backwards and dig a hand into the paper bag as he pulls out a sauce pot.

Of course, he still finds a second to glare at the plant behind you.

“It’s up for debate, but french fries might be the way to my soul.”

Dipping his own into the sauce, he smirks. “What’s the other contender?”

You, you think.

It's there, threaded inside of you. Sewn in now. Stitched so deep into you that he’ll be remembered forever, no matter what.

Meeting his eyes mid-chew, the word you reverbing around your skull. Echoing. Practically marking itself against any surface space it can in there.

“Your mouth.”

Choking, his hand is quick to cover his mouth, eyes alarmed, quickly filling with tears as he continues to hack. Sliding his drink towards him, across the floor of the project that brought him here today.

“You can’t…” he begins, taking another mouthful, “Do that to me.”

Smirking, you grab another handful of fries. “From the gleam in your eyes, I say you like it.”

“I am not gleaming.”

“No? Damn, I’m disappointed.”

Rolling his eyes, he nudges you with his foot—your eyes glancing at the dinosaur-covered socks for the twelfth time since he’s been here.

“Luca has good taste in socks.”

“You’re telling me,” he replies, “I also have Batman ones, some cartoon ones and ones with flowers on.”

Smiling, you continue to chew. “Which ones are your favourite.”

Scrunching up the paper your food came in, you throw it into the bag. Watching him take a final bite of his own as you smirk.

“It’s the flower ones, isn’t it?”

“Definitely the flower ones.”

Laughing, tongue peeking between your teeth, you lean back on your hands, legs outstretched. “Saving them for a special occasion?”

Nodding, he takes another slurp of his drink, feeling his eyes drag up and down your legs. “Thought I could wear them for when I woo you later on this week.”

“Yeah? You want to model your socks for me, Morales.”

“Dinner and a show I heard is the perfect date night.”

Wiping his hands on his napkin, he stares at you—clean hand on your ankle, massaging it.

“You keep doing that, and we won’t be building furniture.”

Groaning, he sighs. All deep, layered with confliction—until he whispers it: after. It’s low, practically dragged through the gravel of his voice by the time it reaches your ear. Heat spreading through your stomach, not able to tear your eyes from him, just thankful that he does when he goes to stand.

A moment of reprieve, a chance to collect yourself.

That is, until he stretches out his hand, sliding yours into it as he pulls you up to stand. For a moment, just paused—staring at him, a tuft of curls poking through under the rim of his hat.

“I told you how handsome you are,” you say, arms sliding around his neck, leaning close—just enough, to press your mouth to his. “Cause you are.”

Biting the edge of his lip, he smirks. “I’ve got a utility knife in my pocket.”

“Oh?”

Brows lifting, grinning, Frankie pulls you closer. “You into that?”

“On you? Fuck yeah.”

Your lips glide over his, tasting the salt from his fries and the onion from his burger. Not caring, not as you hold him close, keeping him flush, deepening it until he clutches your jaw, walking you both back, kicking a box.

“Fuck.”

Almost laughing, you smirk. “We should…”

Tongue swiping over his lip, Frankie nods. Gaze unmoving even as you step back, bending to tidy the wrappers and bags as you glance back periodically.

“What?”

Shaking his head, he shrugs one shoulder, eyes widening as he smiles. “Nothing. Jus’… hurry back.”

It leaves your lips breathlessly, the word sure. It flows through the air to him, before you leave the room, before giddiness swallows and smothers you up. A grin not easily wiped by your knee connecting with the cabinet as you skid into the kitchen. Dousing your hands in cold water, hoping the temperature will touch your cheeks and cool them.

Thinking of him waiting near the checkout—broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his worn

You do. Almost skidding in your kitchen when you throw the trash away, pausing at the sink to wash your hands, before you’re casually walking back. Doing so, just in time to see him slide that knife along the flat-pack furniture, unboxing the drawers—staring at them all crouched wearing a furrowed expression with an IKEA pencil behind his ear.

And you’re glad he doesn’t look up at the doorway, because it gives you a minute, to lean, head resting as your heart skips a step, feeling all large and full and full of happiness. A feeling, one surging up inside of you—full of lightness and truth—swirling around your breath and trying to form into words.

But, then he looks at you. Lifts his chin, the biggest brown eyes smoothing out to look at you—and you’re sure the words are going to rip out of your throat. Forced to greet the air, and burn themselves into it.

I really like you, Frankie.

I really, really do.

Each letter swallowed back, sight dropping to the knife he holds back—an act you’re apparently quite into from the way you feel the heat in your stomach, a little ripple of want starting to stir as you slowly edge your way into the room. Listening, hanging onto his words as he offers suggestions of how the two of you can do this.

It’s why it makes sense, at first, when he asks if you’d begin building the drawers while he begins the carcass. His toolbox he’d brought in with him opening, pulling various tools you’re not sure were listed on the instructions.

It continues to make sense until you realise you began constructing the drawer, incorrectly. A disappointed voice ebbing, beginning to nip. It breeds in doubt as you study the paper again, and again. Mouth opening and promptly shutting as you try to make heads or tails of what should be a very easy thing.

But that means confessing you’re about as hopeless at building as you are at the rest of the DIY project.

Peering at the instructions again, you try not to sigh. Try not to let a heavier exhale escape through your nostrils, and possibly showcase your growing anxiety-brewed annoyance.

Because you hope he’s not having you build drawers because it’s easier. Because he views you as this hopeless thing that can’t be taught. Even if, in some ways, that assumption would be correct. You just hope that it isn’t pity or any other negative connotation that has begun popping into your mind and bursting behind your eyes in sorrowful falling dark-hued confetti.

An increasing need to prove yourself rising, flooding you as though it wishes to drown you. Making it hard to swallow, never mind breathe—eyes glancing down as they begin to burn with worry, with annoyance and a lot of other emotions you’re struggling to handle—

“Hey,” he says, soothing—hand cupping your cheek as you're tilted up from diagrams to his eyes.

The ones that soothe, that calm—that feel like a safe place.

“Hi.”

Slowly smiling, he strokes your skin. A thing you’re not sure you’ll ever tire from. Not ever. Not as long as his eyes remain as kind and full of warmth.

“I was calling out for you.”

“I’m so—“

“Wondered,” he continues, interrupting, burying your apology before it meets land and plants itself, “If you wanted a go at helping me build this bit.”

Swallowing, both the emotions that remain fizzing and the worries, you smile. “You sure? I’m not… this isn’t something I’m good at.”

“That’s why I’m helping. To teach you, right?”

Nodding, you grin when his lips find your forehead, helping you up before grabbing something from his toolbox. If newer, shinier than the one you’d seen him using—a colour as close to the one you’d said was your favourite.

“Did you buy me a tool, Butterscotch?”

Scratching the back of his head, he tries not to blush. A thing you can tell from the way he averts his eyes, and pink creeps up his neck. “Yeah, it was nothing. Just thought it be easier for you to have your own.”

“My own… prodding device?”

Shaking his head, his eyes land on you. “It’s an electric screwdriver.”

“Of course it is, I was testing you.”

Snorting, he grabs a piece of wood, bringing it between the two of you. “I almost believe you.”

You think Harry would hire me even if I know absolutely nothing about hardware or tools?

To annoy me, most probably. You doing okay?

Not really.

They want more tweaks?

Yeah. I don’t mind making the changes, but wish they’d been more clear from the beginning. So I don’t feel like a failure.

You want me to call in half an hour? Can try and make you smile.

You make me smile effortlessly. But no, it’s okay. I’m going to enjoy a shower and have an early night. Sleep off my bad mood and rest my muscles from building all that furniture the other day.

You goof.

A goof who has your toolbox and her own electric tightener.

That will sound so wrong to anyone else.

Especially if I tell them it goes with my bedside power tools.

Are they what I think they are?

Maybe.

Fuck. Put thoughts in my head now.

Do I look hot?

Always. Will you message me in the morning?

Of course, baby. Try not to dream of me.

Impossible, baby.

Just got out of the movies, was able to eat half the popcorn tub before a jump scare made it mysteriously land on the floor.

Do butter-caked fingers have anything to do with it?

No. I believe the leading cause was a mean friend picking a movie that they knew would scare me. The jury is still out on whether I could have saved the popcorn if properly notified of the jump scares.

You both have fun though?

Yes, a lot. Even if I won’t sleep for a week. I’m excited to see you tomorrow. I’ve missed you.

You’ve missed me?

Try not to grin too much, Morales.

Too late for that, Rainy. I've missed you too.

I've missed butter-SCOTCH fingers.

Can tell me how much later, if you want?

Do you want to phone sex with me, Morales? I think I'd rather make you wait till tomorrow when I see you.

Now who's mean.

It’s hard to avoid the smile on your face, even in the fogged-up mirror. Water dripping down your neck, collecting in the towel wrapped around your chest as Frankie presses his lips to your hairline.

“You feelin' clean, baby?”

“I don't think what we just did in your shower could constitute as cleaning, Butterscotch.”

Smirking, skin radiating heat, Frankie tips your chin up, mouth sliding back over yours like he had done when the two of you had stepped under the shower. The intention innocent, until hungry eyes raked over bare skin.

"Robe's on the back of my bedroom door, baby," he whispers, leaving you to finish drying in his bathroom.

As though it’s normal, routine.

Your toothbrush beside his—the products you’d packed in your overnight bag on the side of the counter.

It's a thing that makes your teeth bite down on your lip and your fingers retraced the path he drew against the suds on your skin. Thinking about how the water fell down along his jaw, ran down between your bodies as he hiked your leg up—

You jump when a clatter pulls you to the present. Heart fluttering, body resting against the side of the basin as your breath dances with the steam. Even if he's rooms away, you hear him singing.

It travelling, calling to you.

A soundtrack to you re-dressing as you hang the used towel on the hook, sliding some clean clothes on, before padding out to wrap the robe around you and grab his t-shirt from the bed.

With each step to the kitchen, you're aware of how your body smells of his body wash. A scent you wish your skin only ever smells like now, if it can’t be his aftershave. Just so you could have a piece of him, a thing to go with the texts, phone calls and video chats when the two of you find moments in between the busy.

There's no need for that tonight, not as he’s cooking for you.

Shoulder resting against the door, you find yourself not wanting to announce your arrival. Just take in his frame, how his back is to you, allowing you to watch how his muscles flex along his bare back as he grabs a knife from a drawer.

“You know, if you posted this kind of video on your Instagram, I think you'd beat that one where you're showing people how to paint wood."

Glancing over his shoulder, you hold the top up. His face shifts into gratitude as he drops what's in his hand and takes it from you. Simple, a very nothing thing that his face seems to show the opposite of.

He fidgets uncomfortably, the shyest smile trying to appear. “Shut up.” 

“While you were very informative about preparing the wood before beginning in that video, I think I know how you got one hundred thousand views in a weekend.” 

Smirking, he folds his arms. “Because you watched it on repeat while you missed me?”

“No,” you grin, watching him run his tongue over his teeth to stop himself from smirking. “You like to do a little thot-shot.”

“A what-what?” 

Licking your lips, leaning against the wall, watching his fingers run up and down his bicep, arms still folded. “You wipe your face with the bottom of your t-shirt, Morales. Showing off your… physique.” 

“Mierda.” 

“You look very good. Had to watch it myself a few times, to be sure.”

His eyes dart away, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I mean it,” you add. “You look really good, Frankie.” 

Stepping forward, you kiss his cheek. The heat from it warms your lips as you try to hide your grin. Instead, pulling out a stool from under his island and sliding onto it, elbow on the worktop, you rest your chin. Watching him turn, facing back to the ingredients and pans.

That's when you spot it. The loose curl that has fallen over his forehead as he leans forward. It just hanging there. Slowly beginning to sway as he resumes chopping and slicing.

“What're you making me?”

“Special asado tacos.”

It’s hard to suppress the whimper in the back of your throat as your stomach rumbles, his chin lifting—brow raising as you try to clear your throat.

“Sounds delicious… what makes them special? Is it the chef?”

Smirking, he shakes his head. “It’s a family recipe. So, I hope I don’t fuck it up.”

“I doubt you could, right? It’s in your bones.”

Shrugging, he stares down at some paper—his pinky flattening it, before he brushes the chopped peppers into a pan and grabs something else.

“I don’t make it often.”

“How many times have you?”

Pausing, he doesn’t look up. Just stops his knife over the skin of the vegetable.

“Frankie. Is this the first time you’ve made it?”

“No,” he answers. Quickly, red rising up his neck. “It’s just… the first time I’ve made it for someone.”

Licking your lips, you smile—fingers outstretching over his counter, it cool under your touch. “Oh, you like me, like me.”

Smirking, he continues to chop and dice, shooting glances at you. “Maybe.”

“I think you do.”

The precision he cuts with makes you almost forget your teasing—your own name, even. The quickness of it, the perfect way they’re all cut. It’s enough to make your thighs press, a new competency unlocked it seemed—as though you were both collecting and becoming aware of them all at once.

Distantly, you hear your name. Briefly aware as you flick your gaze up, of the concern etched there—the sudden silence damning.

“Hm?”

Grinning, shaking his head as he slides the chopped food away. “I said, what makes you say that?”

Sighing, all deep—almost soothing, you smile. “Well, you named all my new plants with me.”

“I did do that.”

Nodding, you roll your lips as he uses his little finger to trace down the recipe in front of him.

“And you didn’t judge me for the fact they all needed a name.”

Casting a glance your way, he both frowns and smiles simultaneously. “Baby… I’d… I’d never.”

“I know,” you say, encased in confidence, sitting up straighter, “Because you like me.”

Shrugging, he begins moving around, collecting ingredients—the back of his hand brushing over his forehead. “Maybe you’re on to something.”

Humming, you shift on your stool—watching. Finding it hard not to keep your eyes on him, not as he moves around confidently, capably, sprinkling things in and adding pinches of others.

It isn’t until he seems more content, that things are doing what they’re supposed to, do you slip from the stool. Moving towards him, sliding between him and the worktop as your fingers brush over his cheek—an act so similar to the shower, before his hand slid between your thighs and made you struggle to stand.

“I like you too,” you whisper.

His eyebrows raise at the suggestion, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Is that so?” he asks. “Well, guess if we both like one another, that means I am allowed to ask something…”

Sucking in air through your teeth, you scrunch your nose. “I don't know, do you think you're allowed?”

Pinching your side softly, he smiles. “I wanted to ask... what we are, what are we?”

Narrowing your eyes, you roll your lips, fingers continuing to twist his curls around your nails. “What do you want me to be?”

Shrugging, he smiles—eyes slowly crinkling, all slow in the way they eventually narrow, mouth parting, basking you in human-made sunshine.

“You want me to be yours?”

He groans, it vibrating through you, hips rolling against his as he presses you to the counter. Body somehow humming, even after earlier.

“Want to be mine, Francisco?”

His hand grasps your hip more intently. “More than anything.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Nodding, you tug him closer too, bodies flush, little space between the two of you. “All yours.”

His nose slides against your cheek, before his forehead rests on yours. His eyes almost blend into one large brown oasis—almost.

“Now I’m your girlfriend, do I get extra privileges?”

Frowning, he steps to the side, stirring the cooking food—one hand on your hip, as though not wanting you to move.

“You know, show me how to use your power tools?”

Snorting, he rolls his eyes. “You say mine like others are different.”

Smirking, looking at him with the most innocent eyes you can fake, taking his hand in yours. “They’re different from mine.” Frowning, he stares for a second, seemingly baffled. “Mine aren’t used to build things, rather… make legs shake and make me cry out your name.”

You hear his swallow, as well as see it.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he lies, stirring again. “Jus... Y’just incredible.”

Picking up a piece of pepper, you smile—all wicked. “Oh, I know. And aren’t you lucky I’m yours?”

THEY'RE BACK, GOD I'VE MISSED THEM. next week, we enter a spicy chapter (muhaha) and a nice little announcement about them too.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

[tsuvvy]

"I thought you wanted a nemesis.."

Pairing: Harley Quinn x platonic batgirl y/n

Summary: Harley Quinn (from her series show) meets Batgirl (y/n), who tries to be her nemesis much like Damian did

Warning: The only name used for you is Batgirl

A/n: I remember finding another person's post that inspired this, but it was a while ago, and I never put a link or anything to it anywhere. So if you are a maker of anything similar pls know I'm not trying to copy without giving credit. I just couldn't find your post 😭🙏

Clayface yelled, catching the attention of Harley. When she turned around, she watched Clayface fall into two, his top half sliding off of his bottom and landing on the floor with a splat. Behind him stood Batgirl with a pretty long dagger.

"Aw, c'mon!" Harley groaned, grabbing her bat from her bag as she blocked a hit from Batgirl. "I'm not gonna fight another kid!" She yelled. Batgirl raised her foot, kicking Harley in the stomach and sending her backwards.

"I thought you wanted a nemesis." Batgirl spoke bluntly.

"Not a kid!" She yelled, "I've already made that clear with Robin! Don't you Batman sidekicks talk?" Harley spoke as she stood up, waving her hand to emphasize what she was saying.

"Yeah, Robin won't stop talking about how you get on his nerves.." Batgirl scratched at her chin as she spoke awkwardly. "Oh! I also wanted to say, your hair is really pretty!"

Harley's mouth fell agape, "really kid? Don't think complimenting me is gonna get you on my nemesis side or whatever.." She crossed her arms. "Let's go, Clayface!" Harley said, turning to walk out at the guy reformed next to her.

"And also!" Harley turned back around to face Batgirl, "I think it's really cool how you finally stood up to the Joker, he was never nice to you.."

Harley stood there for a second before smiling softly. "Thanks, kid."

[impyssadobsessions]

DPXDC FIC: RAISING PHANTOM CHPT 12

This a double/triple length chapter ;3. Took me FOREVER. Sorry ;3 Raising Phantom (40084 words) by Imp_y Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Danny Phantom Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Danny Fenton & Jazz Fenton, Danny Fenton & Jason Todd, Jazz Fenton & Jason Todd Characters: Danny Fenton, Jazz Fenton, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Batfamily Members, Barbara Gordon, Sam Manson, Tucker Foley, Vlad Masters, Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Duke Thomas, Joker (DCU) Additional Tags: Family, Age Regression/De-Aging, Sexual Harrassment, she got saved before anything happen, Fun, Chaotic Batfamily (DCU), Wayne Gala (DCU), fake implied sensitive themes, Art, dpxdc, uwu faces are a thing, no beta we die like danny, Action, Comedy, Suspense, Angst, Danny Fenton Needs A Hug, Jazz Fenton Needs A Hug, Explosives, Gun Violence, Child Danny Fenton, mention blood and injury, Trauma

EXCERPT below

“ There we go.” Jazz patted her leg, flinching instantly. She had used her body weight to break the pipe off the wall and tied it to her leg with the rope that had previously tied her to the chair. It wasn't the best makeshift splint, but it'll do. She let out a breath, then pulled herself up to her feet using the pipes still fixed well onto the wall, hoping they wouldn't break. It hurt a lot, at first, but slowly grew dull when she became sturdy on her feet. She balanced herself, mostly putting weight onto her good foot, before eyeing her surroundings. The Joker still lay flat on the floor. The chair legs had hit him square between the eyes. Maybe if she shot chairs instead of lasers, she would have been more helpful to Danny when he was fighting ghosts. Not that it mattered now. An exit-she needed to find one, but first. Her eyes went from the door, to the blinking lights, and down to the Joker's trousers. Her face scrunched up. The remote. Whether it actually did anything or not was up in the air- but... if it did. She had to have it so the Joker couldn't blow up the place before she could escape. She hobbled over to the Joker carefully, kneeling down on her good leg. She eyed him for a moment. His tongue hung out the side of his mouth, head hung back. His body was still with only his chest falling and rising. Make this quick. She reached into his pants pocket. Gently, she felt around for the remote with her fingers, trying to avoid hitting any buttons, and then carefully slid it out. She let out a sigh of relief as she glanced over the remote. Good. Now to- She screamed when her wrist was suddenly grabbed and pulled away from her, making her fall onto her hip. “A pick-pocket too?” Joker's voice darkly chuckled, “What a perfect little bat bait, aren't you?” She pulled back at Joker's grip, but he had already slammed her hand into the ground. Her eyes widened as Joker rolled on top of her. She pulled back her knee to keep him from being able to sit on her and kicked him as hard as she could. The Joker flung backward onto the ground. Jazz scrambled to get onto her feet, the remote still in her hand. When she noticed the Joker getting back up, at about the same time as her, she quickly reached for the nearest piece of furniture- the table. She put all her weight into slinging it at the Joker, making him stumble back. She bolted for the door, using her body weight to bust it open. She heard the Joker growl darkly before the door slammed behind her.

[robjn93]

Concerning Convergence Batgirl and Detective Comics Rebirth, do you think Tim was too much of a dick in convergence given the not talking to her, saying she wasn't ready, and expecting them to get back together because she was batgirl again. The sudden romance rekindling felt a bit left field.

As for TEC Rebirth a common criticism is how Steph felt mainly defined by Tim and was just mainly his GF throughout that arc. Do you feel the same way?

LOVE THESE QUESTIONS for the first point i would normally agree but this was a complicated stage for both tim and steph. tim being a dick, considering everything he was going through and the whole ‘steph’s dead but not really’ makes sense from his side. its complicated

may be controversial but i wouldn’t mind steph ‘fake dying’ as long as some writer handled meaningfully steph’s side of the story, how she just had to pretend she didnt exist for a year and how essentially her mother was miles away and she couldnt even ask her if she was okay and take care of her. i think it would also make an interesting commentary on ‘deciding to lie for batman’ and ‘being batgirl’ to appeal to someone who will never accept her, but we know it will never happen. sighh.

but back on the subject:

what i like about timsteph is that they are not perfect, they are not just ‘i love you and will ignore your flaws’ but more ‘i love you and your flaws, i love you unconditionally in spite and because of your flaws’ and it’s something that the writers in the red robin/batgirl era have been handling well in my eyes but i might be biased. in a situation where tim acts hard to reach, steph trying to get a rise out of him is her way of reminding him of ‘the good times’ and make him loosen up.

personally i didn’t feel like the timsteph’s romance rekindling came out of nowhere mostly because they never really… broke up? they were forced to be separated by the whole ‘fake dying’ and, before being able to set their issues aside, bruce ‘died’ too and tim went berserk so it’s natural their original feelings are still up and running.

as for the ‘he liked her again now that she was batgirl’ i mostly feel like it was just an (average) giant ‘foot in mouth’ tim drak-ian situation. he is an ass that sucks at explaining his feelings, even worse since he spent a year trying to detach himself from his feelings and is now (awkwardly) trying to piece his life back together and failing so he deserved that punch. always does i fear.

but in general i think that convergence, as admittedly a bit rushed as it is, was the perfect way to put them back together. they’ll have to pry the klimt inspired kiss from my cold dead hands.

onto the second one, much easier to agree with because I DO. GOD. i ADORE tec 939-940 but i can’t for the life of me enjoy rebirth steph. i don’t blame tynion cause the damage comes from within (looking at you, new52) but yeah absolutely. in a just world, the timsteph death speech moment would be written in a much better setting where steph actually had other things going on in her life but i cant ever win

[ilovetheriddler]

The Conundrum of Home Cooking.

(2022 Batman) Edward Nashton x F!Reader.

Word Count: 691.

Contents: Fluff, Nervousness, First Date, Cooking.

Edward let out a frustrated and nervous sigh as he attempted to clean up his apartment. His nerves were practically shot with much stress he was currently under. His new cute coworker was coming over for dinner. Why did he have to put his foot in his mouth and say that he'd cook? He's not necessarily a bad cook, but he most definitely isn't a great one either. His thoughts were running a hundred miles per minute as he frantically tried to clean up his messy apartment.

"Damn it! This has to be perfect, I can't allow myself to be humiliated in front of her! Oh God, she's so cute. I wonder if she'll enjoy herself? Wait, what's that burning smell?"

He turned around and immediately felt his face pale. The food he had been working on was currently on fire, like the pan itself was on fire! He carefully tosses it in the sink before running water onto it. He lets out a frustrated sigh as he takes in the depressing sight of his attempt at making you a nice home cooked meal.

He felt his heart rate skyrocket when he heard a knock on his door. You were already here, and ten minutes early! He ran his fingers through his hair quickly in an attempt to untangle it some. He walked over and opened the door, his nerves practically on fire.

His eyes lit up as he took in your appearance as you stood there. You were absolutely gorgeous in his eyes.

"P-please come inside and um... make yourself comfortable! I'm um.. I'm almost done with dinner..."

"Thank you, I'm sure it'll be great!"

You smiled at him as you walked inside, glancing around his apartment. You notice several trash bags filled with garbage from where he clearly tried to tidy up his apartment for your arrival. It was still a bit messy, but you appreciated the gesture. His apartment is filled with notebooks he's filled with his writings. You're a bit taken aback when he suddenly hands you a small bouquet of flowers. His face appears incredibly sweaty, so you assume he must be quite nervous.

"These are for you! I hope that you like them...."

"Thank you, Edward. These are absolutely lovely!"

You take the flowers from his and sit them down along with your bag. You then are immediately hit with a horrible smell, almost as if something was horrifically burnt. He notices the way you react to it.

"I-I'm sorry about the smell! Um... i... I may have burnt the food.... and my only nice frying pan...."

"Oh... well, that's okay! I can just help you make something else!"

You made your way over to his kitchen area. You took a brief look in the sink, Whatever he originally attempted to make for you was so burnt that you actually couldn't even begin to guess what it was supposed to be. You check his cabinets to see what you could possibly make the two of you for dinner. He had enough for macaroni and cheese. That would do just fine. You quickly set out everything that you would need and began working away.

Edward just kind of stood off to the side, not really sure how he could help you when it was something with as few steps as macaroni and cheese. So, instead, he took the chance to finish cleaning up around his apartment. Once he was done, so was dinner. So the two of sat down at his table to eat.

Despite Edward's initial worries, the evening went surprisingly well. The two of you talked into the late hours of the night. After dinner, you helped him wash the dishes. The two of you moved over to the couch and watched a movie to finish off the incredibly pleasant evening. He felt his face heat up slightly once he realized that you had fallen asleep with your head resting on his shoulder. He ultimately decided against waking you up right now, There was no harm in letting you rest just a bit longer. Especially not when you looked so adorable in your sleep.

[k-marzolf]

I’m gonna live forever;

title inspired by Irene Cara’s song Fame.

cw; hit man!Billy Russo, ADHD coded reader, kissing, a hint at Billy’s darker side, fem!reader.

summary; Billy is your neighbor that you’re enamored with, but what secrets is he hiding?

tagging; @terry2227 @kayhi808 @e-dubbc11 @bookloverfilmoholic @aoi-targaryen @firequeensposts @oops89 @thejanecampaign @littleblackcatinwonderland @zz-kennedy @fictional-hooman @cant-help-simping @tortilla-chips-and-allioli @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @danzer8705 @firexfate @rosaleenablack @idaofinfinity @russosafehaven @vaguekayla

&&&&&&

You see him with her in the drink aisle; she’s flirting as he grabs your favorite wine, and puts it in the cart. You feel the sting of jealousy; she’s beautiful.

She was like Snow White, or maybe some Twilight vampire, minus the sparkling. A Volturi member, ready to kill you for your blood. Or maybe—a fairy but ones with claws, and fangs. A human—you stop yourself as you go on yet another tangent.

You look down at yourself in your sweatpants and one of his PT shirts you’d swiped. You made a habit of stealing his clothes like a little gnome, they were comfortable. And they smelled like him. You casually make your way over, missing the way his eyes light up when he sees you.

You know your neighbor isn’t yours, but god you want him to be. Karen had seen him twirling you around in the hallway, with a glass of wine in your hands, somehow not spilling.

“I got the better wine.” He had husked in your ear, opening his apartment door.

“Are you sayin’ I have cheap wine, sir?” You had huffed.

He hummed, “‘I’m trying to catch a fairy.” He said, breath tickling your ear.

You had stumbled forward, nearly spilling the wine.

He laughed, “First day on your new legs, Ariel?” He said, helping you into the apartment.

“He’s an asshole, but a beautiful one, isn’t he?”

When you approach, the woman looks at you with disdain. But Billy wraps his arm around you, kissing your mouth, making your cheeks blaze, and eyebrows raise in surprise. “Hey, fairy.” He says, smiling at your wide eyed expression.

The woman curls her lip glaring at you, before she leaves the two of you. Not a vampire, then. He sighs once she’s gone. “What a pain in the ass. They only ever want my beauty. I’m a goddamn prize to them.” He admits in irritation.

“You could walk around with a bag over your head. Like Scarecrow. I’d dress up like Batman, too. You know, so you won’t be alone. Or a pumpkin like the headless horseman. We could put LED lights inside to give it the murder kitten vibe, and I could be Ichabod Crane, or—” You ramble, the train wreck gaining speed.

He cuts you off, kissing you mouth, tasting your iced coffee, and you make a surprised noise in the back of your throat.

He looks at you as he pulls back, and gives you a boyish grin, making butterflies erupt in your belly. “Wanna get some wine and snacks?” He asks you, pointing to the wine in the cart, enjoying your sweet smile.

“We could have a movie night, we could watch the Terminator, or Alien. Bloodthirsty aliens against a woman and her cat, I’m also not opposed to homicidal dinosaurs, or The Mummy, gets the ancient Egypt nerd in me happy—” You ramble.

Billy grins, cheeks dimpling. “Sounds good, fairy.”

You both agree no to rom-coms (you loathe those, something Karen never understood, “Romance and comedy, what could be better?” She asked you one time. “Criminal Minds. Serial killers and Spencer Reid,” you had deadpanned. Karen had blanched), so you and Billy decided to throw some movies in a bowl, and select one.

Forging relationships has always been difficult, due to you being so ditsy and a chatterbox.

Maybe with Billy, it doesn’t have to be.

x

“Young man?” An older lady stops Billy in his tracks as he moves to climb the stairs. Her hair is graying, and pulled up in a tight bun; she has laugh lines, and her eyes are warm.

“Yeah?” Billy asks, one foot on the step in front of him, body turned.

“Thank you for befriending her. I’ve always worried about how isolated she is. But she seems at ease with you. No one should be alone all the time.” She says, and Billy’s heart aches at the image of you alone with no one.

You peek from the top of the stairs, “Bill?” You say impatiently, giving him golden retriever energy.

“Comin’,” he says, turning back to the lady who shoos him up the stairs.

“What’d she want?” You ask, bouncing on the balls of your feet, noticing an outline of a knife in his combat boot.

Billy ruffles your hair distracting you, “Just worried about you.” He hums, kissing your cheek. “How about that movie night?”

You give him a sweet smile, giggling as he raced you down to the end of the hall where your shared apartment was, carrying chips and salsa.

He was going to steal your heart, you were sure of it.

[thebigbadbatswife]

Internal Conflict (Part 1 of 3)

Pairing - Batman x F!Hero!Reader Series - Under Your Skin Part 2 here | Part 3 here

Summary - While Batman is at war with himself, some members of the Batfamily start picking up on his odd behaviour.

Warnings - None that I can think of.

A/N - What's that? Is there some actual plot here? My, I think it is! 😂 I know, it's been quite a bit of time between updates again. Sorry about that, this (and the next couple of parts) took a while to outline first and then obviously life kept getting in the way. But it's here now! And the time between updates shouldn't be quite as long. Thank you for being patient with me. Anyway, enough rambling, enjoy! 💜

Taglist - At the end of the fic. Please message me if you would like to be added/removed.

Word Count - 2.5k

The wind ruffled his cape, making it blow out behind him. He was still on the rooftop, a frown on his face. You were already gone, having stormed off a few minutes ago. Your blood boiling, no doubt. Much like his was right now. The only thing he didn’t know was whether his anger was directed toward you or himself.

You had a talent for getting underneath his skin. In record time as well. It was something that he had quickly discovered not long after you had accepted the invitation to join the Justice League. Somehow, you were worse than Hal and Oliver combined. All week you had been pushing each other’s buttons and tonight you both had finally hit your boiling points. It was bound to happen at some point. In truth, he was a little surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. And while he was sure you had meant every last word you had shouted at him, he hadn’t.

He hadn’t thought about it. The filter between his brain and mouth failing as he snapped. He supposed he should count himself lucky that you could, mostly, see through his bullshit. If you didn’t he imagined that you would have quit long before now. Though, after tonight, there was now a very real chance that you would. And if you did, he was positive you would make sure it was known why you had walked away. He could already invision the line of people that would be ready to deck him for it.

With you long gone and the crisis in Star City now averted, Bruce left the rooftop. Grappling and gliding to where he had left the batwing.

The entire flight back to Gotham he replayed the argument over and over again. Analysing it. Like always.

“At first I thought it was because you wanted to make sure that I was cut out for this…”

That was true! When it came to flying solo, you were more than capable. It was one of the things about you that had caught his eye. Obviously, working with a team was far different. You had more than just yourself to worry about. He had to make sure you could do that.

“...now I think it’s because you want me to quit… For whatever reason you’ve decided I’m no longer good enough…”

That wasn’t true. He didn’t want you to quit. In the short time that you had been a member of the League, you had quickly become an invaluable member of the team. To say that it would be a shame to lose you was an understatement. Not that he was every going to say that aloud. Especially not after tonight. Chances were you wouldn’t even believe him so why waste his breath?

You had been right to call him out. If he had thought you incapable or not good enough, then you really wouldn’t have set foot on the Watchtower. But you were good enough. You were more than good enough. He knew that better than anyone. He had looked into you, put your name forward. Not that you knew or needed to know that, as far as he was concerned. And to say that he was nitpicking just to rile you up to have sex was ridiculous. Sex was just a byproduct of adrenaline caused by the arguments and being in such close quarters. It was a surprise that it hadn’t started far sooner.

It had become a vicious cycle. That he could admit to. And now it was one that had finally been broken by you. Not that he cared. He didn’t need to have sex with you. There were plenty of people out there that he could sleep with instead. Besides, you were teammates and relationships like that could get messy, fast. It was best that it was brought to an end before something happened that would jeopardise future missions. If you hadn’t done it tonight, then he certainly would have.

The sound of his boots on the metal platforms and stairs that made up this portion of the batcave, that hung over a dark abyss were loud and echoed off of the walls. The bats, high above him, squeaked in dismay, dropping from their perches to either fly deeper into the cavern system or leave it altogether.

He tugged his cowl off, setting it down onto the desk of the batcomputer as he took a seat, sighing deeply.

“Another fight with Mr Queen?” Alfred asked as he set a silver tray down, a cup, teapot and a plate of cookies on it, and poured him some tea.

Bruce grunted in response. All he wanted to do now was focus on the keyboard and screen in front of him, no longer wishing to think about what had happened tonight. There was still a few hours before dawn and he had a lot of case files to look into. He also really didn’t want to get into this with Alfred. It wasn’t any of his business.

“As talkative as ever, I see,” he muttered as he walked away to tend to other things. Alfred had decided a long time ago, since this whole vigilante business had started, that if Bruce wished to sulk over something then he could bloody well do it alone.

According to his phone, the sun had risen several hours ago. He had yet to even think about making his way up into the manor and toward his bedroom. His mind wouldn’t still, the gears just kept turning. Focusing on the argument, no matter what he did to try and steer his mind away. The anger in your features, that weren’t hidden by your mask, and your body, the venom that had dripped in each word, the clenching of your fist as you debated whether to try and deck him or not. In the end you had decided not to. Likely because he would have easily caught your hand had you tried. 

He shook his head. It shouldn’t be bothering him this much. And yet…

His thoughts were broken by the sound of boots marching toward him. He frowned, turning away from the disassembled equipment on the workbench to see who it was. Diana. Of course. She was angry, a storm dancing in her eyes and her fists clenched by her side. The only thing that he could think was that you had actually done it. You had quit and let her know that he was the reason you were walking away. Bruce swallowed thickly and composed himself, ready to be run through with a sword.

“And what did you say this time?” she demanded, stopping in front of him, crossing her arms against her chest.

“She quit?”

“Not yet, but I don’t doubt she’s thinking about it,” she replied. 

You hadn’t quit? He felt relieved, a weight he hadn’t been truly aware of lifting from him. He couldn’t dwell on that feeling for long, as Diana continued speaking.

“Now I’m not going to pretend like I know what’s going on between the two of you, but whatever it is I suggest you figure it out.”

“You’ve had this same conversation with her?” 

“I will be. I came to talk to you first since you’re the one continuously instigating these arguments.”

He grumbled in response. Instigator?” It made him sound like a damn child.

“I’m not apologising–”

Diana scoffed. “When have you ever apologised for anything. Just figure it out.”

It had been weeks since Bruce had last fought with you. Of course, he had barely said two words to you, outside of missions, because you never stuck around for too long. You were keeping your distance from him. Not that he could blame you.

He couldn’t lie. The distance, it bothered him. And it wasn’t because of the looks that he received every time you left a room he entered. Outside of all of this he lived in the public eye. He was used to dirty looks being thrown his way. Thing was he couldn’t put his finger on why it bothered him so much. It wasn’t affecting missions. You were civil and you fought alongside him like nothing had ever happened between the two of you.

Was it the result of your own conversation with Diana? Or had you decided on this shortly after Star City?

His own conversation with her had continued to lingered on his mind. It had made him wonder if it was possible to start over with you. It was clear to him now that no, that wasn’t possible. You wished to have nothing to do with him, outside of missions, and he would respect that. He told himself that things were better this way. Less complicated.

The sound of your footsteps passing by the laboratory broke Bruce’s thoughts, as well as his focus on dismantling Lex Luthor’s newest kryptonite weapon. Looking away from the weapon, he frowned. He could sworn that he was the only one left awake on the Watchtower.

The battle against Lex had been hard on all of them. The corrupted billionaire’s newest mech hitting harder and causing more destruction than any of the previous ones combined. Things certainly would have gone much smoother had Diana been with them, but the warrior goddess was off elsewhere. Busy dealing with gods and monsters and other things he would rather not think about. The battle had also served as a reminder that the production of his own mech, meant exactly for situations like that one, was taking far too long.

It also had him concerned. Super villains breaking out and working together, all of Lex’s newest tech, his own city being a little too quiet. He wasn’t one to overly rely on gut feelings, preferring physical evidence and facts, something that he could see, but he couldn’t shake it. Something big was headed their way and this was simply the start of it. They needed to be ready.

The kryptonite weapon attached to the mech meant that Clark had suffered the worst injuries out of everybody. As soon as Lex had been apprehended, he had been Bruce’s focus, making sure that he didn’t die. Lois would likely kill him if that happened and he wished to avoid that. It hadn’t stopped him from noticing you though. The way you were favouring your leg, the tear in your suit where blood was running from your thigh, making its way down your leg.

Bruce had been worried about your injury, like he would about anyone of his other teammates, of course. Years as a vigilante had taught him how bad a leg injury could be. He had wanted to see to it himself. With his training and degree, he would be the best option to, but Clark took priority and you refused to be in the same room with him.

Honestly, he was still worried. Before he could stop himself, he was already out of his seat. Making his way out of the laboratory and down the hallway. He was already halfway down the hallway when he heard one of the zeta tubes starting to fire up. He picked up his pace.

In his head, he had it all planned out. Like any concerned teammate, he was simply going to ask if you were okay and if you would like from him to take a look. Make sure that it wasn’t severe. That was it, but when he entered the room, he didn’t get a chance to even open his mouth before you were stopping him.

“I’m really not interested, Batman,” you told him, looking at him over your shoulder, your voice cold and gaze hard. You moved away from the console in front of you and stepping into the blinding light. Leaving him alone on the Watchtower.

In hindsight, he probably should have expected that.

As he headed back to the laboratory, he made a mental note to give Dinah some information she could send your way to help with your injury. You were close with her and it would be easier than trying to corner you.

Bruce worked well into the night after that. Or at least he tried to. His mind refused to focus on the task at hand. Instead it constantly drifted back to you. More specifically how it had felt to have you beneath him. The sweet noises spilling from your lips that sounded so much better than when you were arguing with him. It left him aching and missing those moments. Which he found ridiculous. The two of you hadn’t even been in a relationship. There wasn’t anything there to miss.

One thing was clear to him, he never should have dragged you into that storage room to begin with. He really didn’t know what he had been thinking. That time or any of the others. All it had done was make everything worse and that now there was no way in hell it could ever be fixed. Not that he could see anyway.

None of it mattered in the end. Things were better this way. Less complicated. Less chance of emotions getting in the way and less chance of missions going awry.

It was only after Diana had finally returned to the Watchtower and disturbed him, that he finally realised the time. It was well into the next morning and, no matter how much he would prefer to stay here and continue working, Bruce Wayne had places to be. Huffing, he locked up the now disassembled weapon and left the laboratory and began to head back to his cave.

Dick flipped through the air and landed on the mat. He had come back to Gotham for a visit because he missed Alfred’s cooking and Tim and Barbara had messaged him about Bruce acting strangely. He stepped off of the mat, grabbing his water bottle and taking a sip just as Bruce returned to the batcave.

“Finally! We were about to send out a search party!” he called out to him. He didn’t get a response like he expected he would. Not even a grumble, grunt or a glare. Instead he was simply ignored.

“Told you something was up with him,” Tim said from where he was sitting, eyes still glued to the laptop screen in front of him.

“Yeah.” He took another sip from his water bottle. “Selina’s not in town right now, is she?”

Anyone who knew Bruce knew about the very long and very complicated relationship that he shared with the world’s greatest thief. And no matter how hard they tried to make things work it always ended with two broken hearts and an even broodier Bat with an even shorter fuse. It had always been that way, for as long as he could remember.

Tim shook his head. “Barbara already checked. Selina is out of the country and has been since their last break up.”

Dick nodded. “Interesting.” And it was interesting. If it wasn’t Selina that had him acting like this, then who did? Who had gotten underneath his skin so badly? “Looks like we have an investigation on our hands.”

“He’s not going to be happy about that,” Tim frowned, finally looking away from the laptop screen.

He shrugged. “He’s rarely happy about anything. Come on, we should meet with Barbara and figure out where we should start.”

*

Taglist - @the-last-twin-of-krypton @bakugous-bakahoe @fromfoolishpeopletodeadpeople @little-rivers @callalily2000 @geminicinderella @warsaur @theclassicvinyldragon @aniya7 @bluebear19 @jdream55 @thedeadlythoughts

[r4ins]

Bruce Wayne x Top Male Reader

cw. bottom bruce x dom male reader

He notices the smell first. He notices the smell immediately, because Bruce catalogues changes in his surroundings with infamous paranoia. It’s not a bad smell. It smells...filling. Like noodles, with a hint of fish.

Bruce takes his coat off, but not his suit jacket, and goes to the kitchen, footsteps carefully quiet. It’s highly unlikely anyone besides Alfred would be cooking in the kitchen, and he’d be alerted in the case of any kind of house breach, but still. It never pays to assume safety.

He edges towards his kitchen, ready to launch a defence, and then stops dead. Because Y/N is in his kitchen, setting the table.

Y/N looks up from his plating. He’s not wearing his mask, but not wearing the suit either.. “Hey,” he says with a not-quite smile. It’s wrong on Y/N’s face.

Bruce is left standing, dumbfounded and wrong-footed, watching Y/N garnish two bowls of noodles with parsley. Alfred nowhere in sight. Never a good sign. “What is this, Y/N?”

“Linguini,” Y/N says. He glances back at the stove. “And clams. White clam sauce. Simple enough, although Alfred was pretty strict on timing when he taught me the recipe.”

“Alfred...taught you the recipe,” Bruce repeats. The dumbfounded feeling grew stronger.

Y/N glances up at him, something soft on his face for a moment before he smooths it out. “You look good. But you don’t have to wear a suit tonight. Go put on something comfortable if you want.”

You don’t have to wear a suit. The words strike him hard, harder, he suspects, than Y/N meant them.

Bruce does retreat, and finds himself staring at his closet. He doesn’t really do casual, doesn’t really do being neither tabloid Bruce Wayne nor Batman, but he pulls out a t-shirt and a soft gray sweater anyway. He double-checks with Alfred that yes, Y/N’s presence is intentional, no, he’s not under any kind of influence, no spores, no alien mind control, no weird chemicals. Just Y/N. In his kitchen. Feeding him.

Alfred also takes a moment to explicitly inform him that he “approves of Master Y/N’s plans, sir” and then hangs up on him. Hangs up on him. Bruce walks back into the kitchen, because there’s nothing else to do. He takes a seat across from Y/N, who smiles at him, a real one this time.

It’s weird. There’s no other word for it. But Bruce was raised to be polite, so he swirls a mouthful of linguini around his fork and tastes it. Y/N watches as he swallows. Bruce clears his throat, says, “It’s delicious, thank you.”

“Compliments to Alfred, as I said,” Y/N deflects, modest as ever, looking a little sheepish. It’s that that makes Bruce start to unwind, his shoulders coming down, his stomach loosening. He’s still wary, he’s always wary. But it’s Y/N. Y/N is loose-limbed, relaxed, in a casual green sweater much the same as Bruce is in grey. It wasn’t intentional, Bruce thinks, wryly, but they do never seem to get away from their chosen colors.

“What’s so funny?” Y/N asks. His eyes light up, ready to tease.

Bruce shrugs, elegantly. He’s regained some of his equilibrium. It’s not the first time he’s had dinner alone with Y/N, after all, just the first time in his house, and with no warning. “Your sweater is green. Mine is grey. I assume it wasn’t intentional.”

Y/N glances down at himself as if surprised. “I guess not. I certainly didn’t want us to be in uniform for this conversation.”

Bruce zeroes in on that last part. “And what is this conversation, Y/N?” He lifts another forkful to his mouth, refusing to break eye contact.

Y/N doesn’t say anything for a moment, his cheeks growing a little red. “Ah,” he fumbles.

Bruce steps in, ruthless now that he’s found a weak spot. “A simple seduction? Blowing off some steam with someone else who knows the secret? The idea has some appeal, I have to admit.”

Y/N looks offended, opens his mouth. Bruce pushes on. “Or perhaps the rest of the League has decided they’ve had enough of me and are kicking me off the team?”

“No, Bruce—” Y/N says, outraged on Batman’s behalf.

“Or perhaps, Y/N, you’re here to tell me I’ve contracted some alien disease or other. Or maybe it’s that you’ve contracted some alien disease or other.”

Y/N has closed his mouth by now, and weathers it all with restraint, if not with stoicism.

“Are you finished?” he asks, deliberately mild, taking a sip of his wine.

Bruce arches an eyebrow at him. “Am I ever?”

Y/N laughs, completely tension free. “I guess then the Bat wouldn’t exist.” He puts down his glass of wine, stands up, and strides purposefully around the table to Bruce, all his careful presentation forgotten.

“I assume we’ve come to the point,” Bruce says, because he’s a bastard sometimes and Y/N knows that.

Y/N does know that. “You’re cruel when you’re confused or worried. Especially with me,” he says, and that takes the wind out of Bruce’s sails, some. He refuses to get up, though, to grant Y/N that victory. Y/N’s shoulders tighten, and he takes a deep breath. “All this is, is: I love you, and I want to spend the night with you. Just one.”

Bruce is on his feet before he can process it, snarling and putting his back toward the wall. “You don’t,” he says, gritting it out through his teeth. “You don’t.”

Y/N doesn’t bother responding, just walks towards him, slowly and deliberately. Bruce’s back hits the wall. If it were anyone else, he would keep moving, find any of the numerous weapons he keeps concealed on the property, but Y/N could break him in half in an instant, and Y/N keeps his eyes on his and Bruce can’t seem to make himself do anything except flinch into stillness when Y/N’s hand lands on his face.

“Look, it’s—it’s tactical.” Y/N’s thumb strokes his cheekbone with unbearable tenderness. How many hours of training did this take? Bruce knows that a man like Y/N could crush him without a thought, it’s not just softness, it’s discipline, and that, more than anything, makes Bruce’s breath catch. Y/N’s eyes hover at the base of his throat. Not ashamed, but resigned. “You and I know that—that there’s something between us. Something deep, something permanent. And we also know that you won’t let this be permanent, not in a real way, not in a vulnerable way, so…” Y/N stops, takes a deep breath. Raises his chin to look Bruce right in the eyes. “One night, Bruce. That’s all. One night to acknowledge this and then we let it be.”

“That’s—it won’t work.” Bruce’s heart is hammering and Y/N’s thumb is stroking right over his pulse point under his jaw. “It’ll just make it worse.”

“We all know your self-control.” Y/N’s thumb moves in a smooth line down until it stops right under the point where Bruce’s sternum ends―a perfect, vulnerable path to his heart. “And I know mine.” It’s enormous, this trust, the way Bruce’s body trembles beneath Y/N’s touch—light, so light, lighter than Bruce can even truly quantify because of the power that thrums through every one of Y/N’s cells. There is gentle, and then there is careful, and Y/N is both. Every action he takes is so measured—how did he not realize before?

Y/N leans in, pausing right before their lips touch. Bruce makes no move to meet him. Y/N’s mouth curves upward into a smile. “Please?” he murmurs, the warm air from his mouth brushing Bruce’s skin.

Bruce is only a man, and Y/N is more-than, and—

He leans forward just enough to meet Y/N. Y/N, who melts a little, like this chaste press of lips is a heady, passionate rush. Well, Bruce can do one better than that; he tilts his head and licks into Y/N’s mouth, sliding his fingers into his hair to draw him closer, and suddenly there’s a feeling of air rushing past him and they’re in his bedroom. Bruce can’t even bring himself to be angry about it. He lets Y/N swallow his inevitable gasp, scrapes his teeth against Y/N’s pulse point, slides his hands beneath Y/N’s undershirt, tugging it up from his belt. Y/N lifts his arms obligingly.

He really is beautiful, Bruce can’t deny that. Especially right now, all that lush, seamless golden skin on display, literally saturated in sunshine. Bruce, by contrast, is covered in scars, no matter how well-healed, and he’s not body-shy, but he keenly feels the contrast between them, and the awareness that Y/N can map out the differences between the textures of his skin very nearly to the microscopic. He rubs his thumbs across Y/N’s nipples, a little rough, but Y/N—

Y/N is smiling again, a little helplessly this time. Like he’s really happy to be doing this. Like there’s joy in this for him. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he says, sinking to his knees, fingers hooked on Bruce’s belt loops. Bruce lets him draw his pants and underwear down, divest him of socks and shoes and watches as Y/N does the same for himself before sliding his hands and mouth up Bruce’s thighs.

As arousing and arresting as it is—and it is, the heat coursing through Bruce’s body is of an intensity unlike he’s felt in years—to see the most powerful man in the world on his knees, ready to suck Bruce’s cock, he stops Y/N with a hand in his hair.

“No,” he says, surprising them both. He swallows. “If we’re doing this, if we’re laying all cards on the table, then—I want you inside me.” It’s been a long time since he was shy about sex, shy about asking for what he wanted, but Y/N is just so sincere in everything he does that Bruce feels how the words rattle on their way out of his throat.

Y/N inhales a shaky, sharp breath, stands, and moves to kiss him like this is too much to bear. He walks Bruce backward to the bed, sucking on his tongue, cradles his head as they hit the mattress as though he’s afraid of hurting him.

Y/N takes a while opening him up. He’s gentle about it. He acts like they have time. Bruce wants to snarl, to buck his hips, to force Y/N to get on with it so it can be over and a memory he can look back on with frenzied, punishing, aching regret he can press like a bruise over and over again, but Y/N knows Bruce, Y/N keeps a hand on him, right below his ribs, applying just the barest fraction of that incalculable strength, and keeps moving at his slow, safe pace.

Bruce flings an arm over his eyes. He shudders.

“Show me what you like,” Y/N says. He kisses the inside of Bruce’s thighs, mouths at his balls and the soft place next to his hipbone. “I can’t read your mind, Bruce. Never could. Talk to me. Tell me.”

“More,” is all Bruce says.

Y/N listens, he knows when and how to push, in words, in silences. He does ease a third finger in, carefully, snugly, rubbing the tips of his fingers against Bruce’s walls in slow, maddening circles. Despite himself, Bruce finds his hips trying to bear down just the slightest amount, his muscles twitching in an effort not to squeeze.

It’s only partially because he’s resisting, still. Part of him just wants this to last as long as it can. If he doesn’t chase, if he just takes what Y/N gives—

And oh, how Y/N gives. He’s beginning to pump his wrist at a building pace, sending sparks flying outward down to Bruce’s toes, but his mouth, his mouth is everywhere, reverence evident in Y/N’s eyes fluttering half-closed, then snapping open again as if he’s forcing himself to watch, forcing himself to remember, because he knows he won’t get another chance.

Because he knows Bruce won’t give him one.

Y/N’s fingers stretch just a little wider, pump just a little faster, curl just the right way, and Bruce’s back arches off the bed.

“Christ, you’ve had practice with this, haven’t you?” Bruce asks, laughing a little, breathless. He only sounds a little wrecked, although the effect is ruined by the way his thighs keep shaking. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Y/N grins and twists his fingers again, making Bruce bite back a curse. “Not all of us can be billionaire playboys, but that doesn’t mean I’m inexperienced, either,” he teases. And oh, he is a tease, moving his hand fast with almost just enough pressure, almost at the right spot, and Bruce can’t help it, he chases and lets his muscles squeeze just once to get maximum friction—and then Y/N pulls out. Of course.

Bruce groans and sits up on his elbows, panting. He hadn’t even realized he’s been breathing so hard, or that there’s a sheen of sweat on his chest. He feels a little drunk, actually, and he’s not sure how long he’s been here, how long Y/N has been tirelessly pushing and pulling him to and from the edge. It’s disorienting. He normally is so strict about awareness of time in his body. He’s about to panic a little, to lash out, if only with words, when he’s arrested by Y/N’s soft eyes.

“Stay with me,” Y/N says, and god, where else would Bruce go? The vulnerability of this thought makes him angry, makes him frightened, and Bruce lunges over to Y/N, intent to bruise, and bites along his collarbone, his Adam’s apple, under his ear. Y/N moans and moves with it, holding onto Bruce’s shoulders. “Do what you need to do,” he says. “Do what you want.”

He lets out a cry when Bruce fists his cock, when he hooks an ankle around Y/N’s thigh and pulls him down.

Y/N is big, not especially long but solid and wide, and if he’s as good with his cock as he is with his fingers—Bruce growls when Y/N places one hand on his ribs and the other on top of Bruce’s hand so they can slick up his cock together and start sliding it in.

Y/N goes slow—too slow, for Bruce. Bruce presses his hands to Y/N’s cheekbones, surprising himself by brushing a lock of Y/N’s hair out of his eyes automatically, as if it’s something he does every day. “Y/N,” he says, voice caught between raw and growling, “I’m not going to break.”

Y/N shakes his head, kisses one of Bruce’s palms, then his wrist. Bruce trembles under the weight of it, that emotion, before he can stop himself. “I’m not being careful,” Y/N says, rocking his hips in with tiny motions, brushing a thumb under Bruce’s eye, as if there were tears there. “I’m savouring you.”

It’s a while later when he’s finally fully seated and Bruce almost doesn’t even notice because Y/N has been sucking and licking at his neck, his mouth, his shoulder, and Bruce has been running his hands over every bit of Y/N’s skin he could reach, tugging at his hair and feeling Y/N arch against him and lifting his hips to meet him, feeling like he can just sink into this, like they can just sink into each other and disappear. And then Y/N starts moving.

It’s torture, perfect torture, and Bruce can’t remember being fucked like this, ever, not with the way Y/N brushes perfectly against his walls with every roll of his hips, not with the way he circles and makes his every nerve ending spark. Maybe it has to do with the way it feels less like he’s just fucking Bruce in and out and more like they’ve gone under some kind of tide, or maybe it has to do with the way Y/N has placed them eye to eye, resting their foreheads together, because Bruce doesn’t have to be a detective to know exactly what that means.

Y/N wants to remember this. Y/N wants to watch. It’s awful. It’s exquisite.

“You really love me, don’t you?” Bruce asks, breathless, trailing a finger over Y/N’s cheekbone, letting out a little unh or two, or five, as Y/N moves a little harder, a little faster at Bruce’s question. Like he can’t help it.

“So much more than you’ll let me,” Y/N says, and he looks helpless with it, like he’s the one being fucked, not the other way around, and Bruce hadn’t thought he would feel more liquid desire rush through him at those words, but he hooks his ankles around Y/N’s back anyway, to tell him I’m asking for more now, I’m letting you now without having to say it. Y/N keeps the faster pace, and Bruce starts to feel his stomach grow taut and heat build in his belly, and he can’t stop letting out little pants and moans at every motion of Y/N’s cock against what feels like every part of him.

“I can’t—I don’t think I can live without this now,” Bruce gasps, feeling like the words are torn from him, from that oh-so-vulnerable place under his ribs where Y/N’s hand still rests. If he wanted to—if he wanted to tear them, or anything else out of Bruce, he could. But he wouldn’t. That was Y/N. He locks his arms behind Y/N’s neck, pulling him down to hide his face in Y/N’s shoulder, muffle his own gasping breaths.

And this was Y/N, too, that Bruce knew he knew Bruce meant— I don’t think I can live without you, now

“Look at me,” Y/N murmurs, coaxing Bruce out, gently pulling away just enough to look Bruce in the eye. He’s smiling that not-quite smile again, and rolling his hips in such a slowed, gorgeous, inexorable rhythm that Bruce really thinks for a moment he might die, just like this, just from Y/N’s skin against his, Y/N inside him, Y/N’s eyes not letting him look away. “You won’t have to,” Y/N says, like it’s a certainty, like he really is utterly invulnerable and timeless. “And I’ll live with that, if you’ll have me.”

It’s too much, it’s all too much, Y/N’s naked, unashamed and earnest adoration, and the way he filled Bruce, sheltered him, with his arms and his eyes and this tiding, exquisite rhythm. The human body was so fragile, and the sheets and the mattress under it, and Bruce could feel all of it, in Y/N’s gentleness—and the heat of him, so tight against his walls and spreading to his stomach, his thighs, his chest—

Bruce squirms, fitful, in a way he hasn’t been for years during sex, needing more and less and never-stop-forever and lets out a high, breathy moan that’s nearly a sob. “Y/N. Y/N—”

“Bruce,” Y/N gasps, and they clutch at each other, Bruce clawing at Y/N’s back because it’s suddenly important, so important, that even if they only last a moment that there are marks, and then he remembers he can ask—

“Kiss me. God, please—” His gasp is swallowed up by Y/N’s mouth crushing to his, their tongues mapping each others’ mouths, pants from Bruce’s mouth meeting soft-growing-louder groans from Y/N. He digs his heels into Y/N’s lower back, lifting his hips to meet his pace as best he can, and Y/N shifts the angle slightly, so slightly, but it’s enough. Bruce cries out, completely surrendering, and is gone, gone, gone. His orgasm seems to go on forever, bursting out to his fingers and toes, and settles in liquid and electric to the aftershocks. Y/N fucks him through it and he feels more than hears Y/N groan and stutter his hips, spilling into him, and then they’re still.

Y/N is careful not to rest too much weight on him, but hasn’t moved, letting his cock soften inside Bruce, and Bruce hasn’t made him move. They catch their breath, still mingling.

Bruce still can’t look him in the eye, but he cards a hand through Y/N’s hair and murmurs, “Stay. Please, stay.”

Y/N sighs. “Anything for you.”

[mamawasatesttube]

Tim for 22 and 4?

4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?

OH MAN. so on the one hand i would love to put tim into a classic noir mystery, i think he really belongs there and i would love to see him running around with--

actually wait. scratch that. can we put him in scooby doo i think he needs to be in scooby doo. not like one of the scooby doo x batman crossovers but like fully just put tim drake red robin into something as zany as scooby doo and the loch ness monster. but like specifically one of the scooby doos where the villain really is just some big businessman PRETENDING to be a monster because i think tim would just be like oh brother, another magical giant insect monster hellbent on eating me alive? and then it's just a capitalist and hes so mad about it. like. what the fuck. he deals with so much weird nonsense and then it's just some freak in a costume? ...stop looking at him like that.

22. If you're a fic reader, what's something you like in fics when it comes to ths character? Something you don't like?

something i love to see in tim fics: when the writer understands that he is a HUBRIS guy. he's an annoying baby brother to the core and he's made of hubris and he's not insecure 😭😭😭 i want to see him being a freak and putting his foot in his mouth all the time baybee!!! also he has to be a car guy. love to see the redbird out in the wild

something i do not love to see in tim fics: dishwashers. jason todd. that thing where people act as if he could actually stand a chance fighting kon (or cassie or bart, tho those are rarer), because they have to make the bats sooooo special in every single way. this is not my beautiful house. this is not tim's beautiful car i mean wife.

CHARACTER ASK GAME!!! 💫