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x-gabrielle-x · 2 months ago

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Withered Cards | II

Pairings: Jason Todd x Reader.

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, murder, swearing, major and minor injuries, death.

Summary: Despite the many different problems you overcome with Jason Todd, you always eventually make it back to each other. Even after his death, how could you still love a man who changed so much? Even when you made a turn for the worst.

Series Masterlist

The buzz of the flickering lamppost was almost tantalizing, the dimmed lights making all shadows look as though they were creeping closer from within the dark alleys of Gotham. Your feet were light and silent as you moved along the narrow path, wet from the rain that was beginning to sprinkle down. Broken glass crunched beneath your boots, and you cringed at the loud sound before taking a quick glimpse around. Nobody was here, besides the occasional drunk man stumbling across the street, too lost in his thoughts and large swigs to be paying attention.

The distant sound of sirens wailed throughout the night, and as the rain began to slightly pour down harder and soak your jacket, the cool breeze upon the wet fabric caused for you to shiver.

You almost wished that you could have been back at the lair.

Almost.

Your earpiece cackled to life, and a familiar voice spoke, "Well? Is he there yet!?" The joker groaned into your ear, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes and give a snarky comment.

Glancing out the dark alley you were currently hidden within, the shadows covering your form almost completely, you leant against the wall impatiently.

"No, he's not."

"Oh, fucken shit face!" He let out a loud agitated laugh. "Can't people ever do anything right?"

You glanced down at the wristwatch the Joker had insisted that you wore for his own reasoning, poorly looked after, but still useable. The glass of the watch was scratched and cracked in most places, and the leather strapping on your wrist was barely still attached.

3:43am.

You had been waiting thirteen minutes too long.

Your patience was already beginning to thin; due to the cold weather or the agitating voice speaking in your ear, you weren't sure.

Movement from the corner of your eye quickly caught your attention, and a man emerged from behind the flickering lamp post, his face shadowed as he bowed his head. You recognized him to be the one Joker had sent for you to meet, Dr. Grinvield. A white lab coat draped around his thin frame, gray hair thinning and glasses propped on the bridge of his nose. You noticed a thin scar trailing down his brow almost like a strike of lighting

You frowned, noticing a second man at his side. Tall and buff, with a gun held steadily at his side. You felt unease, and you hesitated to move out from the shadows to reveal yourself.

"Don't be shy, my little clown, go ahead," the Joker giggled into your ear, and you realized that you must have spoken aloud. "A big man holding a gun has never stopped you before now, has it?"

A pause, and when his voice came back, it was free of any humor.

"Just get the job done."

Inhaling a breath, you brushed off the nerves and stepped out from the shadows of the dark alley, your hand resting against your belt that gleamed the blade of your knife.

Upon hearing the gravel crunch beneath your feet, the two men turned quickly to face you, gun cocked in your direction.

Dr. Grinvield slapped the man, eyes wide in horror at the gun pointed toward you. "You fool! You kill her, then were both dead," he hissed, yellow teeth flashing from under his thin, pale lips.

By the time you were now stood in front of them, you took your time in scanning the two. Nothing threatening, to you, at least. Just two silly men trapped within in the Joker's deeds.

"I'd prefer if you came on time, next time," you spoke, eyeing the two. "And alone. The Joker never agreed to you have a little bodyguard."

The Jokers clear instructions played on repeat in your head; Meet Dr. Grinvield. Get the vial. Get out. No distractions, and no plan changing.

With a gruff sigh, Grinvield dug into the small of his pocketed lab coat, fishing out a tiny vial with a thick, dark liquid. What it was, however, you weren't sure. Nor did you care enough to ask.

You were aware the Joker had been planning something deadly, but you knew better than to ask. Perhaps another laughing gas or toxin.

He held it carefully within his palm, almost afraid of any immediate movement he made. He dropped it into your palm, gaze trailed on the sloshing liquid. He paused.

"Now, kid, you must remind the boss that this is only a prototype. It shouldn't be used until I've completely figured out the biochemical formulations and timely affect, but so far, it's what he's asked for."

You nodded, examining the small vial before slipping it into your boot securely.

"Tampering with it will ruin the formula," he continued. "But by the next few weeks, everything should hopefully be running on schedule. Just let the boss know-"

He was abruptly cut off by a nearby clang of metal, the sound echoing off the nearby walls.

You felt the hairs at the back of your neck stand, and you were quick to look around the dark deserted street. Nobody was in sight, but you did feel the lingering gaze of eyes watching somewhere nearby.

You frowned, taking one last glance at the two men before taking off into a quick sprint. You weren't in the mood to put up with any more people, and you most definitely were not in the mood to bump into Batman.

The familiar bat signal glowed brightly in the dark sky, glaring down at you like a taunting reminder. You could only hope that it wasn't him who so happened to stumble upon you just two seconds ago. Yet, something told you that you had yet to be completely alone.

You could hear the faint shouts of Dr. Grinvield cursing out to you for leaving him there, a pathetic whine as he practically dragged his 'friend' along with him.

Rain started to trickle down more until you were almost completely drenched, but despite the sounds of the rain dripping down, you could hear the growing steps of somebody behind you, and you felt your heart rate increase.

They were running.

Running toward you. And fast.

Picking up your speed, you refused to look back. You were panting and squinting from the water blurring your vision under your mask, still conscious of the chaser behind you. You quickly turned a corner and stopped, reaching for your knife hoping that you were a few seconds ahead of them. You clasped your knife tightly within your grasp, adjusting your grip when both the water and the sweat from your palms made your grip falter. You waited, waited for the attacker to come sprinting around the corner, but it never came.

It was like anticipating a jump scare in a movie; waiting for the moment the killer jumps out and attacks within mere seconds...

Perhaps you had lost them.

“Unfortunately, you might need to try a little harder to rid me, Sweets,” a voice called, and you internally groaned once you had realized that you had not in fact lost them, but instead let your guard down for a moment too long.

You turned to see a boy who couldn’t be much older than you by the looks of it, despite the black domino mask hiding his identity. He was clad in a yellow cape, red tunic and green pants. You had to stifle down the smile creeping up onto your face. The evident ‘R’ printed on his chest told you exactly who this was.

“Robin,” you greeted with a mocking bow. Though you had never met before, you had seen and heard countless times of how the Batman had trained a new Robin to take over from Nightwing. So far, you knew nothing of his weaknesses.

“I didn’t know you were waiting to see me. I feel so rude for leaving early,” you faked a smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes.

Your heart was practically pounding in your chest. Surely if he was here, Batman would be lurking too, would he not?

Robin only shook his head, reaching for his bo-staff that was at his back. He twirled it in his grasp - experienced and practiced.

“Unfortunately, I'm not here to chat," Robin spoke, inching closer with a look that you couldn't quite place. Was it excitement? Nerves? Adrenaline?

You shrugged, readying your stance the longer the anticipation dragged. You just managed to catch the small smirk cornering on his lips.

It wouldn't be there for too long.

He was quick to move on his feet, swooping down and swinging his leg and knocking you off your balance. You grunted from the impact as your back clashed with the concrete floor, small pieces of smashed up glass, most likely from one of the drinkers, dug into your back and suit.

You raised your gun, kicking Robin off you and aimed, only for him to knock it out from your hand. You raised your other hand, clenched into a fist and punched. Hard. Kicking your knee up into the back of his knee, he doubled over off balance.

"Damn," you heard him groan, his hand moving away from his face to see the trail of blood trickling from his nose. "You know how to punch."

You went in for another one, only for his hand to stop yours mid swing, but you were quick to kick his stomach and push him down to the floor, his cheek pressed against the cold cement as you heard him groan in pain.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" You shot, your voice dripping in sarcasm the longer you had him pinned beneath you.

You just managed to catch sight of his jaw clenching at the comment, but you were quickly distracted once he managed to wrestle his way out from under the weight of your body, tossing a small ball-like object at your feet. A thick fog clouded your vision in mere seconds. You coughed as the smoke entered your lungs, your hand waving around to try clear an airway, but you gasped once a leg swung beneath you, knocking you off your feet and to land on the wet cement floor with a grunt.

You winced when your tailbone landed on the floor, but you ignored the pain. You needed to get this boy away somehow.

You looked over, seeing your gun just a few feet away, but Robin's hand wrapped around your ankle and dragged you toward him, your chin smacking hard against the floor. He was quick to hover above you just as you had done before, your arms held down by his own.

You grunted in an attempt to kick him off, but he held firm and frowned down upon you. "What's this?" He questioned, a certain tease to his voice that made your blood boil. His hand went to the left side of your face, and you flinched back as his fingers effortlessly removed your earpiece.

He turned it over in his hand, before hovering it over your face with a cocky smirk.

What a prick.

"Did I disturb an important chat?"

Baring your teeth, you flung your head forward into his, using that as the upper hand to kick him off your body and stand shakily onto your feet. You watched as he stumbled to get up, but quickly regained himself.

You let out a tired breath.

“Just give up,” he said, nodding his head toward you. “Seems like somebody needs a break, I can tell.”

“Do I?” You glared, before lunging once again, your arms grabbing around his torso to try getting him on his back again, but he held his stance firm. He knew it was coming.

His own arms wrapped around you and spun you around so that your back was to his chest, his arms pinning yours down at your sides. You twisted in his grip, but it only caused for the both of you to drop to the floor.

Then he laughed.

He laughed.

Your head spun so fast you swore it could’ve flown off, and you glared behind you as you watched Robin try to stifle the evident smirk across his face.

“Your laughing?” You grunted. "Is this a joke to you?”

He quickly shook his head. “No, I’m laughing at the fact that I have had you distracted this whole time," he cracked a smile before releasing you, giving a small bow as he began to walk back.

You frowned, confused. “What?”

He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, trouble! Nothing to worry your little head off, for now.” With a last glance, he grabbed his grappling hook and took off, leaving you confused and drenched.

Surely he couldn't have actually just taken off? There was absolutely no way he would have left you, a criminal, after a tiny fight? Surely, he would have tried to call the Bats, the police maybe, or even hold you hostage and torture questions out of you!

Your confusion only grew the longer you stood in your place, and it was once you had glanced down at the fallen earpiece on the ground that you remembered what you were here for.

You grabbed your gun and the dropped ear comm, taking one last glance over to the place you'd last seen him, and you ran.

@annabellelee

©x-gabrielle-x. Do not steal, copy or translate my works.

#x reader #au #jason todd x reader #jason todd #batfam x reader #batman #nightwing #Tim Drake #Damian Wayne #Bruce Wayne #red hood x reader #red hood #reader #DC Comics #dc

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taylortots-world · 1 year ago

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Come A Little Closer

Summary: You and Dean spent hours in bed. Not for the reason you may think. Research. Open books and scattered papers. You can visibly see how exhausted Dean is. So, you decide to give him a hand.

Warnings: 18+, minors dni!, smut, handjob,

A/N: Enjoy! Reblogs and likes mean the world to me :) Feel free to leave me requests! I know this isn't my best work </3 I'm also currently working on part two of "On The Clock."

12:43AM. Dean and I have been at this for six hours. Research for a single case. I was sitting against the headboard, laptop resting on my blanket covered thighs. Dean was originally resting against the headboard, now he's fully laid down with an open book resting against his chest.

I glanced down at him, grinning. "Are you just going to lay there?" He rolled his head to the side, looking at me with a tired green stare. “Yes in fact I am. We’ve been at this for hours, I think I’ve fried my brain.” He groaned, tossing his book to the foot of the bed. I softly laughed and tossed my own book aside, still looking down at him. “Just try and relax. We’ll call it a night and pick it up in the morning.” I slightly shifted under the blankets, attempting to adjust my partially numb legs.

Dean slightly shifted, planting his hand on my thigh. My eyes flicked to his hand. Watching as he slowly rubbed up and down my thigh. I turned to look at him again, just to find him already staring at me. Those tired green eyes quickly turned into fuck me eyes. “What?” I asked with a slight smirk. “You know what. C’mon.” He slightly tilted his head down, his gaze still piercing my soul.

“Two can play that game Winchester.” My smirk remained wide and devious as my left hand found his thigh, slowly inching more and more towards his crotch. I lowered my face to his, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss. His natural musk filling my senses. “Just relax.” I whispered, our faces still inches apart. His hot breath fanning against the crook of my neck, sending a series of shivers and goosebumps down my body.

Without breaking eye contact, my hand slowly slid past the waistband of his plaid pajama pants. His breathing slightly hitched as I began to palm his cock through his boxers, feeling him grow under my touch. "You're such a fucking tease." He groaned, letting his head hit the pillow. Dean was right, I am a fucking tease.

When we first started dating, I never intentionally teased him. I just slowly began to pick up on the little things I did, that drove him crazy. Wearing oversized shirts with only a thong underneath. The way my cleavage pops when I'm doing research at one of the library tables.

"Y/N- please." He begged. Oh god, he was begging. My core beginning to clench around nothing. My eyes met his, before flicking back down to his growing erection. I could feel my panties getting damper with every touch and twitch of his cock. He lifted his ass off the bed as he helped me slide his bottoms down to his ankles. His rock hard cock now on display, glistening with precum.

I slightly shifted my legs, squeezing them tightly together in an attempt to create any sort of friction. I could've sworn Dean's eyes darkened. He looked at me with lust filled eyed. A blush dancing across his freckled skin. Not wanting to make him wait any longer, I licked a broad stripe from the bottom of my palm to my finger tips. The vein in his cock pulsated as he watched this.

I quickly took ahold of his cock, slowly beginning to pump him in my fist. It felt like I was on fire. My core continuing to clench and throb, my nipples pebbling beneath my tank top. I watched his face closely as I continued to jerk him off, my hand moving a little faster now. His face was genuinely one of my favorite sights, especially during sex. The way his jaw goes slack, his lips forming an 'O'. His brows furrowed in pleasure, a series of moans and profanities rolling off his tongue. Fuck. It drives me up the walls- he drives me up the walls, in the best way possible.

I shifted a little closer to his cock on the bed, now using both my hands to pump him. My left hand continued to work his cock while my right hand snaked down between his legs to gently massage his balls, earning a moan from him. No guy would ever admit it, but it feels fucking amazing when you play with their balls.

"Fuck I'm gonna come," Dean moaned out as his eyes squeezed shut. His hips gently thrusting up into my hand as hot spurts of come landed on my hands and his stomach. I looked at him, waiting for him to open his eyes. Once he opened his eyes, he looked at me. "You continue to amaze me." He said in a breathless tone, still trying to recoup himself after his orgasm. I leaned back and snatched up a wad of tissues from the box that sat atop the nightstand. Carefully, I began to clean up my hands and his cock before laying down beside him.

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skz1-4-3 · 10 months ago

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GOOD MORNING

Yeosang Masterlist || ateez Masterlist || navigation||.

Summary: after a short nap ,which turned out a little longer than planned ,gets you into a cozy moment ,with your boyfriend yeosang.

AU : Bussy CEO! Yeosang x reader

Pairings: Yeosang x reader

Warnings : not proofread, Kisses , small make out session , reader is still half asleep , sleeping in the same bed as boyfriend!yeosang, LMK if i missed anything that could be triggering <3

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„Mhm“ you grunted ,as your eyes fluttered open gazing upon your loving husband. His eyes were still closed and he was sound asleep , to you he just looked so loving right now. You slightly turned to look at the clock beside you on your nightstand as you saw the time. 10:43AM?! You thought and quickly turned to yeosang , right as you were about to wake ,him he spoke. „Don’t bother my love , i don’t have work today.“ like he just read your mind.

You sighed in relief and lied back down , on your boyfriends arm , which had been supporting your head before. „Good morning“ your voice reached his ears and his eyes slightly opened . „Good morning beautiful“ he answered and lifted his one hand , to gently brush back a few stray hairs , that had fallen upon your face , from the previous movement. A few minutes pass , with you two just gazing into one anothers eyes , silently exchanging all the love you held , for one another . Yeosangs hand slid up to your cheek , as he slightly pulled you close , leaning in to you and his lips briefly touched yours , before they came back for more.

„How‘d you sleep hm?“ he asked you , in a gentle tone. „Pretty good , it’s been a while since we got to sleep together.“ you answered him . Since yeosang is the CEO of a big company for clothes , make up , skincare and other stuff , he always has a lot of work on his hands. That’s why you haven’t really had time , to hang out lately . „Im sorry i can’t be there for you more often. You deserve better.“ he muttered and his eyes lowered , a guilty expression inside them. „No baby , don’t think like that. There is no one better for me , than you. You are everything , i‘ve ever wished for.“ you said and put you hand on his , to pull it down to your chest.

„Can you feel this?“ you asked him , a slight smile crooking the corner of your lips , upwards.

„Your heartbeat? Yeah , it’s going really fast . Are you okay?“ he responded, worried for you.

„Im okay , the reason it’s s going this fast , is because of you. You always make me feel like im on cloud nine and get me so flustered. I know , i don’t say this often , because im not good at showing , or telling you my feelings , but you really make me happy yeosang.“ you told him , your voice filled with honesty , which he recognized. He smiled at you , it wasn’t often, that he heard this from you. You had a harsh time growing up, where there was no time , to show any sort of feelings.

„I love you y/n and one day , I’ll be sure that you’re not only my friend or my girlfriend but also my wife . The mother to our children. Gosh you make me act so cliché.“ he said and you both laughed .

„and i will be waiting for that day to come , my soon to be husband , father to our children.“

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This was probably really cringe, but i wrote this at like 3AM ,while i was kind of tipsy ,but hey , atleast its something.

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definitelyisd1ce · 6 months ago

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“It’s always been you.”

K. Baji — Tokyo Revengers.

Synopsis : Being somewhat affiliated with gang because you like one of its members; leaves you feeling strung along. Although, if it all fells, it’ll end well. Right?

Content Warnings!

contains the following ; unestablished relationship(s) , light angst to fluff and comfort, sweet nothings and sweet sorrows! ——— very much SFW!

As always, A/N! : My content is for those who wish to read it, though it is heavily recommended that you are 18+. I have no control over what you read, nor is it my business. Read at your own discretion. I’m not holding your hand.

WC; 2.3K !

Viewer Discretion Advised. <3

7:32pm.

The sun had cast a bright orange-yellow through the sheer white curtains of your bay windows, praising its rays on you as you decided it was time to crash in for the night. It was Friday, so there was nowhere to go. All your homework and upcoming assignments had been done, so you were basically just… here.

You settle in your bed with a book, letting the sun set in on you, and watching you read the book (it's more like reading the words and not retaining the information).

You needed help figuring out why you weren't interested in the book. It fits your taste; it was on your "To read!' list, so what was the problem? Unbeknownst to you, the deep-rooted desire to text your situationship was brewing, and it annoyed you.

You tossed the book to your side and picked up your phone, looking at the time and date on the home screen, though there was no notification from the guy you were looking for.

Keisuke.

You didn't like to accept the fact that he ghosted you every now and again, mainly because he always dragged his sorry ass to see you before anything was said and done. You still couldn't hold that over his head because he had a gang, family, mom, and school to cater to.

He wasn't your boyfriend, and you weren't his girlfriend; at least, that's what it comes out to be after you do the mental gymnastics.

You laid your phone on your chest and stared at the ceiling, the ridges in it doing imaginary dances to entertain your brain and distract you from the impending silence. Eventually, your eyes grew shrouded, and you fell asleep.

2:43am.

The light taps of rocks hitting your window roused you awake and caused you to sit up and glance at your phone.

The time read 2:43, and the day was a new day. The only thing different was a couple of missed notifications: various calls and text messages, Instagram, TikTok, etc. But the one that stuck out to you was from your ravenette.

3 new messages and 2 missed calls from 'Baji <3."

It was weird; you didn't even know you had fallen asleep, exhausted and missing everything lively before the world went quiet.

You were pulled out of your stirring thoughts by another pebble thrown at your window, forcing you to pull yourself out of your bed and head to the window. You pulled the curtain back a little, only giving you a view of the ground below it without being seen, and there he was.

Baji, standing in his toman uniform and leaning against his motorcycle, tossed another pebble in his hand, almost nearing to look like he was about to throw it before he glanced at you and put his hand down.

You drew the curtain back and made a questioning face at him, which only caused him to throw his hand up, insinuating for you to open the window.

You grabbed the crank of the middle bay window, the biggest of the three, and turned it until it was open enough to talk with him.

"What are you doing here?!" You whispered-yelled to the boy below you, who only displayed a shit-faced smirk as he saw you.

You were wearing a fitting tank top, nylon shorts, and a bright pink bonnet—a scene that was way too familiar for Baji. It brought him clarity as he saw that, for the first time in a couple of days, you were facing bright even though your expression was dark as you looked at him quizzically.

"I just wanted to see you. I thought you were with Hina or Emma for a while. You really are a heavy sleeper," he answered, kicking the gravel as he chuckled out his response. His hair was in his all-knowing fighting-style ponytail, blood that may or may not be his, and a snark attitude just for you at this unearthing hour.

You rubbed your eyes and fetched your glasses to get a better look at him. Once you returned, you leaned on your window sill and spoke.

"Yeah, well.. when you have basically nothing to look forward to, what's the point of sleeping light?" you asked, head propped up in your palm.

Baji stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at you with a slight tilt to his head, a light pout to his lips. He looked around, trying to find an answer to lighten the mood.

The streets were empty, with the occasional car passing through. People were either on their way or coming back home from work. Bright orange streetlights shadowed the midnight sky, giving Baji a talking point.

"You normally never miss my calls; if you do, you call me straight back. What up with you, babydoll?" he asked honestly, wanting to understand the scarcity of your two moments.

This sent a countdown in your brain, counting the seconds you were about to have a meltdown or self-implode. What's up with you? More like, what the hell is up with him? Who just randomly ghosts people you claim to be infatuated with? But you digressed.

"What's up with me? Nothing is up with me, Keisuke. It's you. I should be asking that question, considering you act like you don't know what phone or a response is." You answered in a quiet yet tired tone, still putting heavy emphasis on his name.

Being woken up from her sleep was warranted, though her calling him by his name caught him off guard.

You could see the look on his face after you called him his name and not his last name or a pet name, slight appalment, and the look of being taken aback. He couldn't lie; it hurt a little, but his pride was too big to show it.

"First name basis, huh…" he muttered back before standing back up straight and opening his mouth to speak again. "I understand. But can you put off being mad at me for a tad bit longer? We can talk it out, yeah?" he asked, feather-light pleading and a somewhat sincere smile on his face.

"And what makes you think I want to do that?" you asked back, deadpan and with a smirk of sarcasm.

Baji looked back at his motorcycle and then back up at you, clicking his teeth as he insinuated a joyride on it.

“Uhn uhn.. uhn uhnnnnn Baji, no. It's too late, and my mom would kill me if she found out I left to go on a joyride. Especially with you." You gritted through your retainer-ridden teeth.

His bike, Ol' Alessia, was almost as old as Baji. You looked at his bike just about two or three feet from behind him, the memories of your shared laughs, your tears, his sweat and blood, and long conversations flooding your senses.

"Come on, I won't keep you out long—just long enough to fill in the missing time." He begged, a slight smirk on his face, his mischief fang, as you like to call it, on display.

After some thought, you caved and rolled your eyes, strolling to your already shut bedroom door and locking it. A slight prayer to hope for an easy in and out slipped past your lips as you put on your robe and house slippers and came back to the window.

"20 minutes?"

"20 minutes."

You sighed once more and climbed out the window, using the tree next to it as your way down. Once you got on your feet, you avoided Baji and went straight to his bike, putting on the helmet he kept for you.

He got on the bike, pulled it out of its idle stance, and revved it to warm it up. You got on right behind him, your body immediately going to backpack him as he pushed off and started to ride down the street.

The light breeze brought a sense of security that you haven't felt since you've last been with Keisuke. You used to reflect on your non-situation-relationship with him in times like these. Sometimes, he'd be with and around you like a lovesick puppy; others, he'd go with so much without a slight acknowledgment toward you.

You laid your cheek on his back as he made precise turns in your neighborhood, fighting the urge to break the stiff silence between you both. He found you being deep in thought cute, but since it was he who was on your mind, he had stirred the conclusion that it was probably a bad thing.

"I'll give ya a penny for that thought.." he spoke up a while after a mindless 7-8 minutes.

"You can keep your penny. I'm just thinkin'," you responded, perching your chin on his shoulder.

"About?"

"You, me, something I'd normally call us," you mumbled, paying attention to orange-hued streetlights. "It doesn't really feel like it's been that recently, y'know?" you urged.

Rueful silence racked through the air as your question surfaced, and Baji's hand was forced to speed the bike up a little.

"Yeah.. but you know I have good reasons, right?" he wondered, also wanting to see where you stood in understanding.

"No, Kei, I don't." you started, leaning up to sit up straight, "I don't know that you do because you don't communicate that."

He hung his head a little, sucking in his bottom lip. He knew he wasn't (and still isn't) the best at communicating. He wholeheartedly felt awful after Mitsuya and Chifuyu dogged him about it.

He guessed being together and not committed drew a fine line between his girl and his gang. He was together with you, but committed to his gang; thus causing a painful realization. After that brief realization, he got slightly startled out by feeling your hand creep up to his and guide Alessia back onto the road.

"Yeah, I guess I do owe you a lot more than I give you, huh?" he asked, feeling the hell-ridden embarrassment creep up his neck and rest on his cheeks.

"Yeah. I'd like to think so. I mean, for god's sake, Kei. I know we aren't in a relationship, but you can at least have some decency and acknowledge that you treat me more than just somebody. You and I have both admitted that." She ranted, pausing occasionally to push down the urge to cry.

"I don't ask for so much as a 'why, what are you doing, run this by me'… just something. Don't even let me get started because it makes me feel like I'm talking in circles, then I'm wasting my brea-"

"Hey! Hey! It's alright. I hear you." He cut you off, looking over his shoulder at you.

You bit your bottom lip, sniffling a little as you finally caught wind of your word vomit. You shook your head, not knowing what more to say. The silence was filling the space you two as he turned back onto your street, the light cruise bringing you back to a level head.

"Look, it's always and has been about you. I just need to work some things out before I can officially say I'm all yours, yeah?" he murmured, pulling up back under your window.

As much as you wanted to scream and hit him and tell him it was not fair, you understood he wanted to go through the troubles to get rid of them before being with you. And for that, you had to commend him.

"Okay, Baji. I guess I can't argue with that." You answered, taking off your helmet and getting off the bike.

It had been exactly 17 minutes since you left, and you still had 3 minutes to return to your window. Baji had gotten off his bike and came for a hug, wrapping his arms around your neck and bending down to kiss your forehead.

"I'm sorry, ma. I am immensely sorry for not making you feel like a priority, not holding myself up to a higher standard, and leaving you in the mud. It's not so manly and Toman code of me." He spoke, etching his apology into your forehead.

You grinned a little at his formality and apology, hugging him back. You pulled back, looking at his pale brown hue, smooshing his cheeks in your hand.

"I understand. I'll forgive you when I see you change and hold yourself up to what you say. But as for now, come on. I'm not letting you drive back home this late," you confided, motioning for him to help you into the window.

He nodded, boosting you into the open pane, allowing you to climb in and make sure everything was in order. Baji turned off his motorcycle and climbed into your window himself. He looked around, feeling the sense of familiarity creep up on him.

"Hey, while you stand there, close the window." You whispered,-demanded, already back into your tanktop and shorts.

He playfully rolled his eyes as he shut your room off from the outside world, removed his uniform, changed into basketball shorts and socks, and prepared to climb into bed with you.

He followed suit, climbing back into your plush sheets, big-spooning you to give you a tinge of protectiveness. You curled up into his caged arms; his faint cologne that wafted on his wrists seeped into your nose and started to lull you into brief, deep sleep. At least not before you got your final words out for the night.

"Kei?"

He grunted politely.

"Just promise me you won't keep me waiting."

"I won't keep you waiting, n/n. I promise. I want nothing but you. I want your past, your present, and your future." He answered, holding you tight and secure.

You smiled, keeping his promise close to you as he kissed the crown of your head.

And with that, you fell asleep.

silly little a/n!🤭: hey guys! second fic, how we feeling about it? Keisuke Baji is my man so there DEFINITELY will be a lot of fics about him as i write more. Feel free to drop suggestions. i’m open to just about any fandom i’m familiar with. as always, im open feedback and critiques! (though do be nice.). and as per usual; divider by @benkeibear:). reposts are highly appreciated ;).

#baji #tokyo revengers baji #tokyo rev x you #tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev fluff #baji keisuke #baji x black!reader #baji x reader #baji x y/n #toman baji #tokyo revengers #tr fluff #tr fanfic

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moonlight1110 · 9 months ago

Text

Warming up to you ♡

Ghost x Reader ; College!au fluff miniseries

Tags: VERY quick reads, far from canon Simon, fluff, strangers to lovers?, college!au

PART: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5

"Hello again, I guess we're partners for the assignment, I'm really looking forward to working with you"

Sent 8:43am

"We can talk about the assignment in class."

Sent 8:50am

"See you later then!"

Sent 8:50am

Rolling your eyes, a frustrated groan leaves your lips as you slump down on the cushioned seats of the library. It must be a prank right? Some sort of sick joke that you had to be paired up with Simon.

You were intrigued by him, yes, but he was not the most pleasant person to be around, that much was starting to reveal itself.

You could do nothing about it and acceptance was the only route to peace you could find before you would finally be able to talk to Simon in person, and properly.

As you walked to the class, the issue of being paired up with Simon seemed to bother you more and more. Since you were pretty friendly with the class, you had the opportunity to gauge and get to know them... Simon was the only exception of course. Without an idea of how he worked, it was like going into a mission blind.

You sat down at the front of the lecture hall as you arrived, spotting Simon at the far end of the room, your eyes meeting for a split second before he looked away.

"As you have already seen, I've posted the assignment and your pairs. This assignment is due a month from now—" as your professor was explaining more of the details, your mind couldn't help but wander, thinking about your partner.

"A whole month working with him?"

It was a sentence you never thought you'd tell yourself... And the whole class for that matter.

"What was that, Y/N? Do you have something you'd like to share?"

Silence. Silence filled the room as all heads turned to you, including Simon's.

"Oh— nothing, I'm sorry... Please continue" an awkward apology and a wave of the hand would surely suffice for a lifetime of embarrassment that you have experienced within the span of a few seconds.

Even when the class went back to normal, the swelling in your chest and the heat from your cheeks took a considerable amount of time to disappear.

"I will allow you the rest of the time to meet with your partner and discuss how you will work on the assignment, now go and plan" the professor sits down at his desk, leaving the class to sort themselves out.

"Are you really that upset about working with me?" A gruff voice comes from behind you, making you jump a little in surprise, turning your head around to meet Simon's eyes looking into yours.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that, I just-"

"Let's talk about the assignment"

#cod mw2 #simon riley imagine #ghost fanfiction #modern warfare #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #ghost #ghost cod #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #fluff #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #cod #cod x reader #call of duty

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onesidedradiostatic · 7 months ago

Note

If you're Asian, shouldn't you be asleep right now? 🤨

(prev)

THIS IS SO FUNNY CAUSE THIS IS LITERALLY IN MY FAQ

yeah it is currently 3:43am for me, dw this is normal for me just move along 🫡🫡

#ask #osrs.txt #off topic #I am like KNOWN for having that ass sleep schedule among my friends

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ceo-of-daichi · 9 months ago

Note

LYDIAAAAAAHHHHHHUHSBDHAKAL hihihi 💗 I hope it’s ok I join your prompt game!!

May I request one for Keishin or Kuroo, whoever you feel the most like writing. With the prompt “I’m not drunk. Can a drunk person do this?…..” from the Drunken Love Confession list please??

THANK U SO MUCH!

It was rare to get a message off Kuroo this late into the night.

And if you did, it was usually a well composed, put together message. This however, was certainly not that.

You stared at the screen, light mode momentarily blinding you. You really needed to turn your brightness down or switch to dark mode. Your eyes flicked to the corner of your phone, 3:43am, before focusing on who had decided to text you at this hour.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, you could barely piece together the message. Luckily you didn’t need to, because as your sleep induced brain was trying to read the gibberish in front of you, a big picture of the man himself popped onto the screen.

You sighed softly as you answered the call, figuring this could be the end of your sleep for the night. As you answered, the deafening sound of indie music and what you could only assume was hundreds of people hit your ears. You instinctively move the phone away from your ear at first.

“Kuroo? Are you okay?” You ask, hoping he hears you over the noise.

“Heeeeyyyyy!! Are you doing much right now?” He slurs on the other end, you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“You mean apart from getting the 8 hours sleep I deserve? Nope, where are you?” You say, already getting out of bed and starting to get dressed into comfy clothes.

Kuroo was someone who you struggled to say no to. And seeing as though this is the first time you have been inconvenienced at this time of night by him, you didn’t mind going to pick him up.

By the time he stumbles over the address of the bar, you are fully dressed and heading out the door.

It's a brisk night and as much as you are grumpy from having your sleep disturbed, you would much rather he gets home safely. You can only guess the state he is in after that phone call.

As you pull up to the bar, you notice him slumped on the curb, a few of his friends around him, they looked to be laughing and enjoying themselves.

The minute you get out of the car, the door shutting making them aware of your presence, Kuroo lights up. His eyes lock with yours as he gives you the goofiest smile, you can’t help but mirror it as he attempts to get up.

“Your taxi awaits!” You laugh softly as his friend has to catch him, his legs tangling as he gets up too fast.

“Thank you Madame” He giggles, attempting a curtsey, but once again getting muddled and almost falling flat on his face.

“You are so drunk right now, how much have you had?” You ask, a smirk on your face as you grab his arm. Stopping him from ending up on the ground as he stumbles towards your car. You had never seen him this drunk, and despite feeling tired on the drive, you were certainly awake now.

“I’m not drunk!” He shoots you a glare.

“Uhuh… Sure you aren’t. Come on let's get you home” You wrap your arm around his waist to help him to your car.

The minute you start to help him, he stops dead in his tracks and suddenly stands very straight. You send him a confused glance at his sudden stillness.

“Can a drunk person do this?” He says, a determined look in his eyes. Before you have time to be even more confused, his lips are on yours. It's messy, uncoordinated and certainly the drunkest kiss you had ever experienced.

But with the cheers of his friend group behind you both, who had witnessed the whole interaction, you couldn’t help but feel extremely warm.

A/N | Okay so this request is from such a long time ago, and I know I haven’t posted in an AGE! But I hope you guys enjoy, I miss writing for HQ. Its been so long but trying to get back in the swing of things💛 Thank you Nin for the request!!

#kuroo tetsuro #tetsuro kuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo x y/n #kuroo tetsuro x you #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq #hq drabble #haikyuu drabble #haikyuu!! drabble #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! imagines #hq imagines

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hyper-fixates · 2 years ago

Text

Nightcrawler

Bruce Wayne/Batman x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).

Explicit content (18+)

Word count: 6.3k

Tags/warnings: descriptions of blood/injury, angst, allusions to sex, groping/touching, descriptions of medical treatment (suturing), fingering/pussy play, explicit language, unrequited feelings (let me know if anything was missed!).

Summary: Bruce confronts his feelings after you put him back together. Again.

Notes: wrote this all the way back in 2020 right after the first trailer came out…found it sitting in my computer files and figured i shouldn’t let it go to waste! since it was written before the movie came out, please excuse/forgive any inaccuracies regarding the batsuit, terminology, setting, and characterization (and the painfully amateur writing) 😣

The cave is always a little too frigid for your liking.

Especially when it’s already well into the late hours of the night—a time you definitely shouldn’t be awake. The long fluorescents buzz and highlight the metallic sheen of everything, while still piercing through any inch of unguarded darkness in the gloomy room.

A light breeze swirls around your huddled figure every so often, and the rhythmic sound of water continuously dripping onto floor somewhere echoes throughout the quiet, isolated space. There’s still some changes and additions that need to be made to the current set-up he has, but it does the job for now. You don’t bother taking note of what needs to get done—you’ll probably forget it all an hour from now anyway.

You let your head roll back onto the chairs headrest, and your eyes skim over the time at the bottom of one of the monitors screens.

3:43am. It’s been almost four hours—you always wait.

You wait even though he tells you not to, and even though you know you maybe shouldn’t sometimes. But you can’t help it. It’s habit at this point. You’re down here at 10pm on the dot. Daily.

You don’t need to be, but you are; it’s tradition for you to be part of his prep and routine before the nightly endeavour out into Gotham, even if you just sit and watch as he slowly works his way into the suit piece-by-piece, fiddling with various tech accessories that you don’t even know the names of yet.

You try to pass the time by organizing and sorting his skewed files, papers, and small pieces of armour that have been damaged beyond repair—meticulously placing them in their rightful spots on the seemingly never-ending line of desktops, shelves, and hidden drawers.

But mindlessly arranging anything and everything only lasts for so long before there’s nothing left to do but sit. And think. And then sit some more.

Not knowing how long you’ll be rolling around in one of the padded office chairs for is one of the prices you have to pay for caring too much, and he reprimands you for it, even as you furiously dump an entire bottle of rubbing alcohol onto his body, and he never shows that it affects him in the least.

He’s stubborn. He’s stupid.

Your eyes wander along the blank stone walls as you slouch further into the chair, stopping when you see the time again: 3:47am.

You let out a heavy breath through your nose as you repeatedly click the tip of a pen in and out. You push yourself around in slow circles with the toe of your foot, letting the spinning room distract you for just a few moments just to pass another minute at least.

This isn’t necessarily part of your job. He knows that, and you definitely know that. A lot of things have changed with your workplace duties, clearly, as you notice some earlier pieces of his armour piled in one corner of the room.

Unsurprisingly, things have…happened here and there. It’s becoming a more common occurrence, but it feels circumstantial and…convenient. Maybe it’s all meant to happen at this point. You think about it often enough—too often. Enough to make things awkward for yourself sometimes.

Another anxious glance at the leering clock: 3:51am. “This is fucking ridiculous,” you reason with yourself, getting up from the chair and tossing the pen on the desk.

You resort to pacing around the grand floor space, now closely watching the entrance and exit as you circle by. All you can do is wait—

And just as you turn your back to the computer displays and monitors, the clocks turn to 3:59am.

You cut back sharply to begin another circle, and there he is. Four hours later. Alive.

The broad shadow makes your heart stop for a split second, but the only physical reaction you have is your knees locking, keeping you in place and giving you no choice but to stare at the familiar, broad outline of him.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Bruce.” It slips out, a little rushed and aggressive, but you mean it. He knows you well enough to not take any literal offence from it.

Your harsh acknowledgement prompts him to walk in further.

“Yeah, you said that last time,” he points out casually, sauntering into the blinding lights with calm steps, coming around to the front of the desks.

You observe his gait with a hard stare—you take notice of how he hesitantly bends and twists at the hip when he leans back to rest against the edge of the metal desk, rolling his head back until his neck pops with a relieved grunt.

He’s already got the cowl, cape, and gloves off, so whatever the problem is, it must be worse than what he’s playing off, as usual.

And then you see the issue. “Do you need help with that?” You point at his stomach and drop back into the chair, deflating with concern.

Your alert eyes study the suit, looking at the damage.

“With what?” he counters, seeming unaware—avoiding; yet his dark eyes confidently meet yours as he rests back on his hands, trying to find some comfort and seem unbothered by whatever desperately needs your attention underneath the sturdy armour.

A very thin layer of blood has seeped through a small displacement in the suits plating, soaking into the tri-weave fibers that cover the titanium. You roll your eyes and scoot back to a shelf where a med-kit sits, one that you put together specifically for nights like these, which is every night.

Positioning yourself back in front of him, the chair brings you to the perfect height to get a good look at the impairment. You can already tell it’s a knife wound just by the location. It’s at the perfect height. It cut perfectly in-between the overlapped layers of plating, perhaps the biggest flaw the suit has. You’re sure he’s aware of that now.

You inspect it briefly, tugging up on the bent piece slightly to see the amount of blood beneath. He takes a deep breath as the dense pressure is relieved from the tender area.

“Shit—” he breathes in relief. You’ve only heard that clipped tone slip out of his mouth on very few occasions, one of which was barely a week ago, yet you still tense at the vivid memory that you never really want to let go of.

He’s not one for reminiscing, but unfortunately, you are.

“It’ll only be a few stitches,” you say gently, letting the plate mold back into place softly. You tap the hard armour pointedly. “Take it off.”

You flick your eyes up to his—the black paint has smeared around just a bit more compared to when he smudged it on with no real technique earlier.

You’ll help him get it off later.

He brings a quick hand through his damp hair and starts unclipping the few clasps hidden on his shoulders and chest. One by one, the durable pieces are detached, and you carefully place them off to your right as he hands them over.

“Can you get the one in the back?” He motions over his shoulder. You nod and mumble a thoughtful ‘mhm’ as you both push yourself onto your feet again.

He turns his back to you, leaning forward on his palms and presenting the last clasp that sits in the middle of his spine. You know he can reach it, you’ve seen him do it before. You flick the clip, carefully pulling away the last plate. He physically relaxes his already tense muscles as soon as the extra weight is removed.

“I don’t know why you do this every night. It’s not worth it,” you confess while rummaging through the med-kit for a needle, surgical thread, topical antiseptic, a gauze pad, and a self-adherent bandage wrap to hopefully hold it all together.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment as you carefully lay out the supplies next to him on the desk.

“I have to…” he whispers, trailing off, but you catch it, shaking your head as you thread and ready the needle with severe concentration.

“Turn around, please.” He shifts back to where he originally was without a word, leaning back against the cool steel with hesitation once again.

You grab the bottle of antiseptic and apply a generous amount onto the pad, delicately holding it as you take a seat in front of him once again.

“Are you sure you wanna stand for this?” you grimace. The hot sting of a sterile compress isn’t the most enjoyable sensation to experience, especially while bearing weight.

He looks down at you, looking rather uninvolved with the priority. Dazed and distracted; something that could be mistaken for the potential amount blood loss, but the gash isn’t big enough for that possibility.

This is something you’ve seen more often than you’d like to.

“Just get it done,” he starts, “You know I can handle it.” He dismisses the option, letting his head roll back with a deep inhale as he waits for you to start.

You say nothing in return. Carefully balancing the compress in one hand, your other cautiously pinches the soft, spandex material of his base-layer shirt. It fits comfortably, hugging tightly around the curvature and muscle of his body, improving his movement in the suit.

The shirt is slowly pulled away from his stomach. The thick blood sticks around the tear in the fabric, making it peel away instead. You drag it halfway over the rest of his lower abdomen, pulling and letting it bunch up tightly, staying isolated from the torn skin below.

You stare at the ugly cut for barely a second before you quickly dab the antiseptic around, patting it into the irritated, puffy flesh and watching it fizzle with each pull back.

Sometimes, you feel like he likes the pain. Like he purposefully seeks out the discomfort of an incapacitating injury in hopes of suppressing the turmoil of concern…worry…love…

It gives him something else to focus on instead of the sorrowful emotions that avoiding you doesn’t seem to fix. It’s only been making it worse, and things are beyond saving now.

Your free hand gently rests against the burning skin of his waist, and his head drops forward at the surprising contact.

“Calm down. It keeps me steady,” you chuckle, shaking your head lightly.

He hums thoughtlessly in response, unconvinced with your excuse, maybe.

There’s that sudden anxious tension in the room from nothing but a fleeting graze of fingertips. The uncertainty of who’s going to make the first move this time.

You do one more press and then pull the soaked pad away, examining your progress before discarding the bloody material.

“It might only be four sutures or so,” you determine while gently squeezing the inflamed edges closer together to try and gauge the amount of work needed.

He inhales sharply, tightly gripping the rim of the desktop. “Well, the faster you stitch it, the faster I’ll be able to—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” You cut him off with a harsh but accidental hard squeeze of the torn flesh, making his words die in his throat with a groan.

That wasn’t something you really needed to hear right now, let alone think about as if he wasn’t just bleeding out in front of you only minutes ago.

You know how that sentence ends; you’ve heard him say it more times than you’d like to admit, but you can’t let him have his way tonight.

You glare at each other for a moment. Your eyes hold a tired frustration behind them, but his hold a different kind…something that is able to get you to do whatever he says, something that makes you giddy with anticipation, and something that makes you feel just a little more alienated afterwards.

“You can’t lie to yourself anymore,” he says instead.

You laugh coldly. “Well, neither can you. I’ve stopped doing that a long time ago. You should try it sometime,” you counter, snatching the threaded needle with anger while maintaining your unimpressed gaze.

He sighs, messing with his drying hair again as you begin suturing quickly—not so you can get to what he was alluding to, but the opposite.

For once, you don’t want that, and you don’t want the burden of sadness that comes with it.

But it’s so…tempting.

He gave himself away. You haven’t. And of course he’s leaning against the very spot you were pinned down against a week ago, feeling the contrast to the emotions you’re feeling now: excitement, passion, comfort, love—

It puts you into a conscious daydream for a moment. But you’re awoken from it when you feel his body jolt suddenly. You see the needle poking into the tough muscle of his side instead of the spongey cut.

“Shit— sorry,” you mumble, shifting your focus back to the final suture and looping it through itself securely in a rush.

Seven stitches in total, you notice. You were close.

You grab the bandage wrap and press it firmly over the closed wound before snaking it around his back. You’re able to get two layers from it; the pressure should stop any possible bleeding, but he always manages to tear it open anyway. Sometimes you think he does it on purpose just so he has a good excuse to see you.

“Done,” you sigh, packing up the med-kit and rolling back to its shelf.

You stand from the chair and go to make your way to the exit without another word, not interested in any other interaction tonight. Well, that’s what you hope for, but you’ve learned that he will never let you go peacefully.

You go to pass by him mindlessly as he’s carefully pulling his shirt back down, but he manages to grab ahold of your sleeve quickly when he sees your destination. The effortless pull makes you skid to a stop, twisting back towards him with your inverted momentum, almost smashing your face in his chest, but you stop yourself with your forearm.

He holds onto you tightly, with a purpose, as you share a moment of mutual hurt and resentment. His dark eyes, the opaque paint making them look just as black in the hazy lighting, search your conflicted ones desperately.

“If I asked you to stay, would you?” he asks quietly. There’s no demand behind it, seemingly afraid it’ll scare you away.

His face softens, perhaps relief from asking. He’s never had to before.

You furrow your brows together in shock, dumbfounded at his apparent stupidity in this continuous situation. You scoff lightly at his rather domestic request. “Why? So we can just dance around the truth like always?” Your voice never raises in volume, but your tone gets harsher as you continue.

“So I can hope that maybe you’ll come to your senses and fucking realize that I lo—”

The hand he had wrapped around your arm moves to the back of your neck before you can even say the word or finish your passionate rant. He promptly pulls you right to him, his deft lips quickly doing the much-needed apologizing in that moment.

It’s feverish and assertive, seeming out of place in the cloud of desolation and melancholia…yet you don’t stop him. You don’t want to.

He knows you’ve needed this. Not the rushed, messy, convoluted kisses that come from your desperate fucking after a hard night or a close call, the ones that seem to happen almost by accident, by pure circumstance. There’s just always something missing…

Fervour. That’s what you feel now—that’s what you’ve wanted from him every single time he took control of you with ease for the night. You’re never able to make it back up to the manor either.

You shudder slightly when his hand moves to your jaw, gripping it firmly as he slides his mouth against yours consumingly, sucking your lips gently and teasing your tongue with his cautiously. You moan when he deepens the kiss further, letting his tongue fully overlap yours with a practiced versatility. It subdues you, inviting him to give and take as he pleases.

Several whimpers fall against his lips as you stretch onto your toes to meet his height as best as you can, trying to get more even though he’s already giving you plenty. It’s pensive. Each movement thought out and executed with a purpose, something that you can feel has a very clear destination in his mind.

You let him maintain authority, let him kiss you with a force that could bruise if he didn’t soothe the pressure with his soft tongue occasionally, dipping it back into your mouth quickly after. Your taste seems insatiable to his starved soul.

It all draws you in further, and your hands find themselves grasping at his shoulders instinctually when a forceful hand snakes through your hair to gain better control of you.

Your mouth feels a little numb and swollen from the welcome force, and he pulls away hesitantly when he feels your soft touch finally rest at his collar delicately. He barely lets more than an inch get between your lips, and you can feel the reluctancy in his movements as he pulls back.

You open your eyes slowly and see his sombre expression—more sombre than usual. The sorrow in his eyes and the agony on his brow is enough to force you to speak up first.

“I wish you told me months ago,” you whisper, lightly resting your forehead against his own as you wrap your arms around his neck, confident that he won’t pull away like he has before.

He looks longingly into your forgiving eyes, taking his hands and sliding them down to your hips in solace; an abrupt switch from from their dominant spot around your face. You understand the conflicts he has to live with. Most of them are caused by his vigilant habits in the night, yet you expected everything outside of that to still be easy for him.

Unfortunately, trauma picks and chooses its victims at random.

You find yourself looking for words. Maybe for the moment you realized he was different, when he changed.

“I wish it wasn’t so hard for you, Bruce.” You try to comfort him, provide some ease for his always anxious mind.

He squeezes your hip, silently reassuring you that it’ll be fine, that it won’t kill him.

“I wish it wasn’t so hard for you,” he retorts in an indignant tone, irritated with himself.

He regrets all of it. Most of all, he regrets making you feel unloved. The nights where he used you as a release, when he would act like nothing happened, when he would unconsciously ignore you, and when he ultimately closed himself off in the end.

“It wasn’t fair. It was…selfish,” he finishes forcefully, taking a quick breath to regain some composure.

“I just don’t want you to be part of that life,” he admits tentatively.

You can see he’s telling the truth. The way he doesn’t meet your gaze again. He does it to avoid the confrontation that comes with honesty.

You pause to take in his confession, closing your eyes for a moment with relief, but his tone is like a bullet to the heart. The dejected feeling of you possibly not wanting to be here with him in this moment.

“‘That life’?…You mean your life?” you reason, sounding surprised with his absurd claim.

You’d think that having done this religiously with him for a year would make him think otherwise, regardless of your acts together. You always showed up no matter the circumstances or emotions.

He pushes against your hips lightly, making some space between your bodies, and you shuffle back without hesitation. You let your arms fall away from his shoulders, and he does the same as you distance yourself.

“My life is your life,” he explains. “What happens to me affects you, why can’t you see that?” His face falls slightly. The realization of you not knowing you’re significant enough to be considered part of his life is…heartbreaking.

There’s so much you could say to that.

You let the silence linger briefly. “Maybe I’d be able to see that if you weren’t afraid to be in the same room as me,” you say, voice quiet as you test your reasoning.

You don’t want to start a fight. You just want to understand. You want to know why.

You notice how he hesitates when around you, and not in a flattering or complimentary way. It’s avoidant, scared, and even worried. Worry of confrontation.

He takes a deep breath and wraps his arms around his stomach in comfort, carefully avoiding the fresh bandage.

“I…I’m not…scared. I’m—” Batman doesn’t get scared from feelings, but maybe Bruce Wayne does.

“You’re unsure,” you finish for him. His eyes meet yours with a sense of hope that you’re understanding.

“I just…don’t know how to go about…all of this,” he motions between you with a flick of his hand.

All of this…meaning—

“Love?” you try, making it more of a rhetorical question.

He presses his lips together in surprise before offering a firm nod. He doesn’t trust himself to say it. It’s hard to wrap your head around. It couldn’t just be that, it had to be something more problematic? Complicated?

But yet, it all makes sense because he’s him—he doesn’t necessarily do romance; there’s no time. You know that. You’ve seen how he is, nothing but a fleeting moment in the night to most, even to you.

It all clicks, and you rub your face in relief and exasperation. You can’t blame him for it all. You can for some, of course, but a relationship needs communication from both. It can’t be a one-person effort, but that’s what it ended up being.

He was just trying to protect you. That’s all someone can really ask for, but the execution wasn’t right. He abandoned you emotionally to protect you physically, and that’s not the right balance.

“Why didn’t you just tell me the truth at the beginning? So I wouldn’t spend all this time thinking I was doing something wrong,” you pleaded, stepping closer to him again to pull an answer from his huddled form.

The closer you get, the higher you have to tilt your head to hold his gaze.

He looks right back, overwhelmed. “I didn’t know how to say it…I didn’t know if you felt that way. When I realized you did, I thought it was just…too late,” he admits, stuttering briefly at the end.

It was clearly hard for him, too. But was it not apparent that you were waiting? For him. For anything.

You look down, nodding your head in understanding. “I don’t think I could’ve made it any more obvious, but lust can be confused for love, so I understand.” You were serious, but some sarcasm slipped through at the end.

Lust is deadly; it will bait you, hook you, and then drag you under it’s pleasurable and irresistible cloud of euphoria, disguised as the domineering man in front of you.

“At least you know now,” he says, matching your tone.

He straightens his posture and locks his cold stare onto yours momentarily, searching for something he still can’t seem to find.

Giving up, he turns to collect each piece of armour you set aside, and he busy’s himself with meticulously putting it back in its rightful spot for tomorrow.

You watch him with surprise, but there’s no anger at his dismissal. You feel relieved. Relieved that you know. You don’t expect things to be normal right away, not with him.

You know he’ll come around, but you can’t help but ask a prying question just to entertain your already validated thoughts. And to keep him talking. There’s still so much you want to know.

“So…” you start lightly. “You said you weren’t sure if I was interested at the beginning,” you say carefully.

He stops moving the instant he hears the curiosity in your tone. He turns back to you slowly, an amused expression on his face. Shit—

You hesitate when you catch his look, but continue cooly. “So, if you didn’t know…then why did you keep, uh…” You lose your words, too afraid to be so blunt and direct about your past endeavours.

It seems taboo to discuss it while not in the moment itself. Sometimes you wonder if it’s just a dream. Too good to be true.

He raises his brows knowingly as you trail off, entertained with your hesitation and embarrassment.

“Why did you— why did we continue…”

“Fucking?” he finishes for you bluntly, a small smile playing on his lips, yet it’s devoid of genuine humour. It screams danger.

He chuckles when you nod your head wordlessly. “Like you said, lust is confusing. You can never seem to get enough, and I don’t think I wanted to.” He pulls the sleeves of his tight-fitting shirt over his forearms, watching you carefully as you consider his words.

His tone was suddenly light, confident. He could feel that you were walking the fine line of giving in or leaving without another word.

“I’m not trying to persuade you into doing anything, if that’s what you’re thinking about,” he clarifies softly when he sees your eyes dance across the floor rapidly.

You laugh lightly, glancing at him reluctantly. “I’m not, but you wouldn’t have to, anyway,”

That makes him narrow his gaze in question.

You raise a brow in response. “What?”

He glances over his shoulder at a monitor, very obviously reading the time: 4:29am.

And you realize exactly what he’s doing. Why would time matter unless you were to suddenly become busy. Tonight was on the shorter end of time spent putting him back together, and you never fall asleep quickly or peacefully anyway…that’s if you were to attempt it or even make it that far.

You watch him speculatively, still mindful that he’s injured, and probably very, very sleep deprived at this point, even though you can never say for sure.

He doesn’t sleep much. You seem to be his biggest distraction.

He twists a dry strand of hair between his fingers as it’s brushed back from his face, black eyes full of self-assurance as he turns to you for what will be the last time tonight.

“You think we can make it back to the manor?” His relaxed yet serious tone startles you, making you consider the options quickly.

Hard and cold floor, small and cold desktop, small rolling chair—none are ideal, but you’ve made all work before…when he didn’t offer another option, mind you. It was never momentous enough to have taken place outside of the cave. But the manor is…farther. There’s a buffer you don’t think will be beneficial.

Who fucking cares—

“Here seems to work just fine,” you quip nervously. You haven’t taken notice of how your legs have gotten…shaky.

There’s a burning heat between your thighs, an ache that blazes bright from anticipation and just him. Just knowing what’s to come. It feels like you’ve done everything imaginable at this point, but that doesn’t lessen your excitement.

He gives a small smirk that fades just as fast. “Figured you’d say that,” he finalizes.

Stepping back to you with graceful movements, you’re chest-to-chest again in an instant. He glides a delicate finger up your neck, hooking it under your chin and tilting your gaze to his intimidating one.

“Tell me what you want.”

You desperately want to say ‘anything’, but you know he won’t settle for that.

You get lost in your thoughts, thinking of the possibilities you can choose from, and he waits for your answer patiently.

“A week ago…when you came back with a torn rotator cuff in y-your shoulder—” you stumble through the sentence but never break from his studious eyes.

“You, uh, didn’t pay any mind to it even though you definitely should’ve, and you had me down against the desk,” your voice turns to a whisper as you recount the events—as vague as possible to save you the embarrassment of being too vulgar in, perhaps, an irreplaceable moment.

As soon as you finish, you swear you see a flame flicker in his eyes. The same one you feel grow stronger in your cunt at the same time. Your knees almost buckle from anticipation, and he can only make it worse from here.

“That’s…a good choice, even though it was kind of impersonal,” he ponders, clearly running through the events of that night.

He’s not wrong. He kept your chest pinned tightly to the surface of the frigid desk, taking you from behind. No hand-holding, no kissing, no eye-contact, no nothing.

You went on to figure that it was better—easier for him that way. You never seemed to mind anyway.

“That’s nothing I can’t fix,” he mutters, finishing the thought; already set on an alternative for both of you.

Your brows pinch together, curious of what he means exactly. But you don’t have much time to think about it.

His hands quickly curve around your jaw, keeping you still as he swiftly interlocks your deprived lips again. It’s zealous and luring, pulling you even further under the crashing wave of temptation and craving.

The soft joining of your mouths makes your stomach jump with exhilaration and eagerness, clawing your hands into his hair with a gasp of bliss as he grabs your waist just as hard in response. You let out a soft sigh of relief, feeling brave enough to gently bite at his bottom lip as his warm, encompassing hands slide under your shirt.

He barely lets you break for air, delving back into your mouth just as fast as he left it to reposition. The intensity of the heavenly moment builds its tempo, and you find yourself pushing against his chest. Not to pull away, but to try and push him towards the cold, awaiting desk behind his wide shoulders.

You manage to get a single word out in between the consuming and now sloppy kisses he offers. “Bruce—”

He hums contently as he swallows your thoughts, connecting your tingling lips forcibly. He’s too fixated on the passion. He wants it to last forever, but there are more demanding impulses that will be tended to first.

“Bruce,” you gasp when you break apart again reluctantly. He notices the calm assertion in your voice, and only slows the onslaught of kisses enough to reply.

“I know,” he soothes your neediness, now delicately pressing his greedy lips to yours repeatedly in understanding. The heartfelt action controlled by nothing but spirited lust.

His hands glide back up to your jaw, cradling your face in comfort as you twirl the long strands of hair at his neck between your fingers. Heavy breaths cloud your already tangled thoughts, leaving him to take the lead again.

He gives you one last intense taste of him, stroking his tongue teasingly over yours, firmly capturing your lips together in the process with a pleased moan. You’re almost chest-to-chest, a minute sliver of space keeping your bodies just distanced enough to not completely lose what little control both of you have left.

He’s taken note of how tight your thighs have been pressed together, and how your breaths are becoming shaky with each passing second he uses to dominate your mouth.

You’ve taken note of how his tactical pants, in fact, can’t hide his very prominent arousal for you, and how you can feel the warmth finally releasing from his exerted and thoroughly worked muscles. The heat seeps through his shirt and goes directly to your body, making you shudder when you feel the change in temperature.

You draw in a breath when he finally pulls away. His obsidian eyes wild with excitement and dominion. You’ve seen this look a lot, and you’re ready to hop on the desk without another word.

He floats his eyes down your body observationally, but you don’t notice. All of this is a lot slower than you’re used to. Well-paced. If it were any other night, you’d be on round two by now at least. You’d be whining with pleasure, shaking from release and overstimulation, dripping around his cock as he buries himself as deep as your cunt will allow, over and over until he simply feels better.

He was always generous with what he gave you.

You press a hand against his chest again, and he moves this time. Taking a long stride back, he tries to conceal an amused smile as you push him toward the desk. Your eyes light up when you see the knowing and teasing look on his face.

A quiet laugh rumbles against your hand. “This isn’t how it usually goes…” He smiles lightly.

You smile with him. “I never said it’s gonna stay this way,” you challenge, your eyes twinkling with mischief.

You never take charge. You never dominate. He’s more well-versed with it, and you won’t dare to try to match his competence.

The backs of his thighs bump the rounded edge of the desk, and your stomach jumps with elation when his index finger instantly hooks into the waistband of your pants, pulling you just a little closer.

But he leaves it there. He slides it side-to-side along the hem, gently caressing the sensitive skin of your lower stomach playfully. You look into his eyes as he casually continues the slow motions.

Your eyes flick down to his hand instinctually, out of pure reflex, and you watch his finger disappear further as he smoothly twists his wrist, palm resting against your lower stomach momentarily before his shoulder shifts too…angling his hand to travel down.

His fingers graze lower, creeping to a spot that so easily welcomes him.

One of your hands grabs onto his shoulder, simultaneously steadying yourself with a gasp as you bring your faces closer again. He gives a fleeting, comforting kiss, not leaving much behind.

His towering height makes it easier for his hand to reach its destination all too quickly. And when a careful and precise finger slips in-between your folds, your eyes close in anticipation and with the thought of relief.

Your minor reaction makes him smirk. Thankfully, for him, you don’t see it.

It’s sad just how wet you already are, but it spurs him on. He let’s his fingers explore, alternating between rubbing you and slipping a single digit inside, only doing so to gather your arousal to rub across your clit smoothly.

A quiet moan gets caught in your throat as he repeats that process a few times, building you up and teasing you onto the edge continuously.

“Mm— please, f-fuck—” you whimper, fisting the shirt in your grip on his shoulder.

You don’t need to finish that sentence for him to know exactly what you mean. He needs it, too. His tactical pants have become increasingly uncomfortable.

Your plea makes him apply more pressure to the slow strokes he gives your throbbing cunt. You all but drip onto the two fingers that glide over your aching clit and back to your slick entrance, occasionally giving you what you want.

He pulls them slowly in and out of you, making sure you feel them nice and deep before he drags them against something that makes you pant with desperation. Your eyes remain shut, brows pulled together tightly as you focus on the sensation of his intent touches, but he watches your face appreciatively, analyzing your pleasure with each movement he makes.

A particularly harder jolt of his fingers up into you makes you choke, caught between a gasp and a whiny moan. That makes his eyes drop to where his hand disappears.

He hums in satisfaction. “Is that the spot?” he questions with a mocking tone, knowing full well what the answer would be. “I think it is…”

You nod your head quickly, eyes reopening ever so slowly to meet his.

His eyes are full with devilish aspirations, and your knees almost give out when he roughly thrusts his fingers back in again for a final time. You let out a small cry of bliss and dissatisfaction when he slips them out of you, wiping them off on his pants carelessly.

You were decently wet before, and you are definitely abundantly wet now.

“I think you need to lie down.” He sounds concerned, but you know it’s just for show to make your heart pound harder.

He takes your hand from his shoulder, holding it securely as he shuffles your bodies around, putting you in his place and himself in yours. Now your thighs rest against the desk, and he crowds you against it.

“Lift your arms,” he says cooly, observing your dazed expression with care.

You raise them, and he pinches the hem of your shirt, delicately dragging it up your torso and over your head with caution. He tosses it on the chair off to the side.

Your eyes catch the mangled slash at the bottom of his shirt again, and you quickly reach for the thin material.

He doesn’t question your intentions, letting you maneuver the thin fabric over the bandage, his chest, and extend onto your toes to pull it over his shoulders. He peels it from his arms, and your hands can’t help but wander across the firm muscles that stretch around his entire body.

The power he holds within him—the Batman—is unparalleled to anything you’ve ever seen. It was terrifying. It was unbelievable, the things you’ve seen his body do. And he would continue to push his limits.

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