#ticklish bruce Wayne

[tickle-bugs]

But You Were Mine

Summary: Still hung up on the fit of Bruce’s body against his, Clark attempts the oldest possible ritual: getting to know his pseudo-sweetheart. Too bad Bruce Wayne is the most unknowable man on Earth. Sequel to Chase the Memory of it Still.

Yet again, blame @fickle-tiction for this. Doing a midnight post and run so I don’t have to look at this in the morning lol. Also warning for mild barely even lukewarm makeouts. Probably tamer than Part 1 lol. 

Also also: the beginning scene with Clark and Lois works best if you imagine that Lois doesn’t know that Bruce is Batman but suspects him, all while thinking Clark doesn’t know that Bruce is Batman. So she’s trying to protect him from being lied to and Clark is like ‘but Lois I love him’

“Clark Joseph Kent, you’re a grade-A idiot.” Lois thwaps the back of his head with a rolled-up newspaper. 

“I know,” Clark groans into the surface of Lois’s desk. She thwaps him again. 

“So, let me get this straight.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “You somehow conned your way into a fake relationship with Bruce Wayne of all people, and now you have feelings for him?” 

“I’ve always had feelings for him,” He mumbles, suddenly feeling very small in his seat. When he looks up at her, she’s glaring at him. Ah, he’s in trouble. 

“You don’t know him.” She spreads her hands on the surface of her desk, knocking aside a few Daily Planet pens. He picks them up and puts them back. 

“Yes I do.” Clark frowns. 

“He’s an airhead playboy with zero priorities. You deserve someone who’ll be honest—“

“Oh? Like Selina?” 

Lois gets very quiet. Her stare pierces like a fine needle through his throat. A few battered emotions flicker over her face, leaving in their wake a rare and unguarded Lois. Then, quicker than the cat that stole her heart, her face resigns into something sharp and deadly. 

“I’m sorry.” He circles the desk and pulls her into a hug. After a begrudging glare, she tips her head into his chest. They inhale and exhale together—a routine they’ve shared for years. She relaxes into him.

“No, you’re right.” She chuckles. “I fell for a thief. That’s on me.” 

“And I spent the night with the one guy I shouldn’t have. We can’t all be perfect.” Clark elbows her, looking for a smile. Lois’s eyes blow wide and she starts spluttering. 

“You hooked up with him?” She thankfully keeps to a hissing whisper, but he can tell she wants to shout. He contemplates flying around the Earth fast enough to undo the moment, but she’s gripping his shirt tight enough to stop him.

“Well, okay, we kissed a bunch but it didn’t go further—“ 

“Oh god, we’re both hopeless.” She groans into her hands.

“No, not hopeless. We can both have what we want. I’ll call Bruce if, and only if, you call Selina.” He pulls her hands away from her face. She huffs and smiles. 

“This optimism thing is going to bite you in the ass. How do you think you’re gonna maintain a relationship with someone who doesn’t know that you, uh, work two jobs?” She casts a weary glance towards the office door and drops her voice even lower.

“He gets me, Lois.” It’s all he can say. It’s the truth. 

“Alright.” She brushes a thumb over his cheek. “Then get to know him at least. Find out if he’s the kind of guy worth being around.”

“I know he's worth it. That’s not ever in question.” Clark can’t help but smile a little as he thinks of Bruce. “It’s an internal thing. He sees me. I see him. We don’t have to pretend with each other. It’s…just us.”

Her keen eyes scan every inch of his face, even as he trails off.

“You should tell him.” She squeezes his arm. 

“What? No. Absolutely not. I only said that because I know you won’t call her. C’mon, you’re supposed to be the voice of reason here.” He squints at her. She flicks him in the forehead. 

“Okay, well the ‘voice of reason’ thinks you should say something before you lose this…somehow healthy-sounding relationship you have. With Bruce Wayne, of all people,” She mutters that last part, but Clark both hears and ignores it. 

“We’re friends and it’s good. Really good. He trusts me at least a little. I don’t want him to think I have ulterior motives. If I could read him at all, figure out what he wants…but I can’t. I can’t lose him.” 

“This isn’t the healthiest advice, but…start a list. Treat him like a case. What are some things that draw you to him? Things he hides? Things he shows only to you? If it makes you do that dopey giggle thing you do, he’s probably worth it.” She leans against the edge of her desk and crosses her arm. 

“I don’t do a giggle…thing,” he mumbles, but his face is already heating up an incriminating amount. 

“It’s cute. He’ll probably like it.” She tweaks his nose. He swats her hand away, but his spirits are far lighter.  

His phone buzzes and he checks it as discreetly as possible. 

B: Free this afternoon?

Clark smiles. 

C: On my way. :)

“I’ve gotta go.” He stands and shrugs on his suit jacket. 

“Boyfriend awaits?” She wiggles her eyebrows. 

“Bye, Lois.” He rolls his eyes. 

“Tell him I’d love to do an exclusive with him.” She snickers. 

“I’ll tell him that when you call Selina.” He smirks. She gasps her way into laughter, her face blooming pink. Her hand comes up to play with a diamond necklace sitting on her collarbone--a cat-shaped pendant he’s never seen her wear before--and shakes her head fondly. 

“I will after you kiss your playboy. Again.” She raises her eyebrow. Checkmate. 

“Bye, Lois,” He says a little louder. She playfully shoos him from her office. He kisses her cheek.

Clark can only smile when he hears her phone ringing and the faint “Hey, kitty” through the glass. 

….

It’s apt that Gotham is as dark and segmented as its protector, Clark thinks, because he’s never in his life met anyone as fragmented as Bruce Wayne. Everyone in the League is broken in some way, battered by traumas that still threaten to crush them, but Bruce is markedly...different. He covers the cracks in his soul with masks. For every unveiling, six more facades lay below it. 

The reporter in him finds a dark fascination with it. The lost Kryptonian in him finds it…depressing. The human in him is currently bouncing on his heels in the lobby of Wayne Tower until Bruce finally meets him downstairs. 

Bruce glides off of one of the elevators and nods at a few hushed executives who scurry in behind him. He must come off so effortless to them—not a hair out of place, a new suit and coat every day, but Clark can see the exhaustion clouding his eyes. Bruce Wayne is put together. Bruce is tired. 

“You seem eager.” Bruce gives him a practiced small smile as they fall into step. 

“I’m having the slowest of slow days. This was a much needed adventure.” Clark stretches his spine. It gives a loud, much needed crack. He’s just a little too big for his chair at the Planet and it’s starting to take its toll. 

“We’re just walking down the street,” Bruce chuckles. He bumps the doors to the building open and Clark darts out. A light flurry of snow twirls through the air as they start their walk. He catches a snowflake on his tongue before he can think better of it. Bruce’s smile grows a little wider. 

“So? Every trip away from my desk is an adventure. C’mon, I know a spot.” Clark nods to the side and they hang a left, passing under a train overpass. 

“You know a spot in Gotham?” Bruce raises a brow. 

“I get around.” Clark grins. 

………………………………………………………………………………………….

They end up at a patisserie on the East side, a small family-run shop that deserves far more business than it gets. Clark can smell the wonders within from a good mile away.

Months ago, when he was helping Lois write a scathing exposé on Wayne Enterprises, this spot had served him well. Nothing better than a building full of sweets and a decent wifi connection to get you through betraying a good friend. Shredding that article was easily the best decision of Clark’s life, especially since Lois’s pivot towards flaying Lexcorp alive won her an award. 

He buys them both coffee—black for Bruce, vanilla for himself—and sets about the intricate ritual of sweetening his coffee to perfection. This is normalcy. Normalcy is good. 

“This is the only part of Gotham I like.” Clark steals little peeks at Bruce, waiting for him to inevitably make fun of him, but his eyes are elsewhere.

A refrigerated display tower of macarons stands proudly next to the register, boasting all sorts of delicious surprises. The splash of color is welcome among the somewhat dreary day outside. 

“Hm?” Bruce’s gaze struggles to find its way back to Clark. 

“You seem distracted.” Clark pops the stirring straw into his mouth and pulls the remaining coffee out with a little slurp. He pops the lid onto his cup much slower than necessary. The first time you crush a cup of boiling liquid in public tends to change you, after all. He’s grown since then. 

“Heavy work day.” For a man so difficult to read, Bruce has never clearly been more full of shit. He doesn’t even try to look away from the cookie display. 

“Do you…want a macaron?” Clark doesn’t bother trying to stifle his amusement. 

“What? No.” Bruce withdraws slightly. 

“What’s your favorite? My treat.” Clark jerks a thumb towards the display. 

“Money isn’t the problem.” Bruce scoffs, but not unkindly. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. Clark tries to ignore the still-fading lovebite on Bruce’s neck that he left. 

“Then what is?” Clark leans forward on his elbows. Surprise flickers across Bruce’s face for the slightest of moments. 

“…I’ve never had one,” Bruce mumbles, shuffling a bit in his seat. Clark beams. 

“First time for everything. C’mon.” Clark vigorously beckons him over to the line. Bruce trails behind with an endearing awkwardness that he’s learned to identify: slow steps, shifty eyes, and silence. 

Clark takes his time to point out his favorite flavors and make a few recommendations, but he feels like he’s stumbling around in the dark. His sweet tooth is only rivaled by Diana’s—even then, their tastes match so closely that he’s a little lost with someone like Bruce. 

Bruce stares deeply at him. Clark’s rambling stutters to a halt. He pulls on his collar a bit. Adjusts his glasses. 

Bruce’s eyes seem so warm. Must be the light. 

“If today was my last day to live and you had to give me a macaron, what would you choose?” Bruce leans close. His eyes are on the display, thank god, because Clark doesn’t know that he can handle more of that eye contact right about now. 

“It amazes me that you’re so committed to the dark and brooding thing.” Clark rolls his eyes, and after some thought: “Raspberry.” 

“Hm. Okay.” And that’s that. Bruce orders quickly and walks away with his prize, leaving Clark to scramble after him. They sit back down in their quiet little corner, the naturally-frosted window fogging slightly at their presence. 

Bruce opens his box of macarons clinically, like he’s stripping it for parts. He takes one out and admires the color, gives it a little test squish, sniffs it. Clark watches the process with vested interest until Bruce pulls out another box and slides it towards him. 

“What’s this?” Clark pulls the box close. 

“Strawberry Cheesecake macarons. I saw you eyeing them when we came in.” Bruce pokes the box again, sliding them just a little more forward. 

“I’m not subtle, am I?” Clark pushes his glasses up again. He cracks the box open and pops a cookie in his mouth. His eyelids flutter shut and he does a little dance in his chair. 

“It’s one of your more endearing qualities.” Bruce quirks a small, smug smile. 

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Clark fake sniffles. The resulting eyeroll is incredibly satisfying. 

Bruce takes a mouse-like nibble of the macaron, catching maybe an atom of cookie and filling between his teeth. He chews thoughtfully. 

“So? Do we have a winner?” Clark rests his chin on his hand. 

“I think so. You have good taste,” Bruce hums, taking another tentative bite of the macaron. A gentle, genuine smile peaks on his lips like a glimpse of the sun through storm clouds. 

“That’s the second nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Clark swipes a macaron from Bruce’s box fast enough to send a small breeze fluttering between them. 

“And it will never happen again.” Bruce peeks open one eye as he finishes his macaron. 

Okay, bumping shredding that Wayne Enterprises article down to number two. This, Clark thinks, watching Bruce smile to himself, this is easily top of the list. 

1 ) He likes raspberries. 

It takes later in the week until they have a moment to truly spend a bit of time together. Criminal roundups never leave much personal time, and Clark’s hearing has him near-constantly running to save lives. But, on a quiet Wednesday night, he has a moment. 

He loves visiting Wayne Manor. It’s been a while since he last swung by, but he adores the place. He could spend hours swooning over the architecture alone. It’s a beautiful place to disappear for a while, and he’s been doing that more and more lately. 

He gets buzzed into the gates easy enough with a lie about taking the bus, and then he’s standing in the massive foyer and hanging up his coat by the door. The manor smells of old wood and citrus. Clark draws in a big breath of it. 

He turns and jumps a bit when a flock of people are suddenly staring at him atop the stairs. Bruce’s kids, right. He knows Dick, Tim, and Jason. The others are still a bit fuzzy to him. They all leer from the landing like royalty watching a gladiator in the pit. 

“Hey there.” He waves at the smallest and angriest of the bunch. This is Damien, he’s pretty sure.

“So you’re the new guy.” A blonde—Steph, he remembers her from the Christmas card—leans on the railing with her forearms. 

“I wouldn’t mess with him, Steph. He’s tougher than he looks,” Dick murmurs out of the corner of his mouth, trying his best to be subtle. Clark gives him a friendly wave. He returns it. 

“He looks like he wears a pocket protector. I could take him,” Steph whispers to Dick. Clark tries to rein in his expression so he doesn’t give himself away. 

“I’m not sure we’ve met. I’m Clark. You’re all Bruce’s kids, right? It’s nice to meet you.” He tries to make himself look as friendly as possible. He gets a few waves, but mostly owlish stares. He sees where they get it from. 

“Is your father home?” Clark sticks his hands in his pockets and tries to kill the silence. 

“Bruce! Your boyfriend’s here!” Jason bellows. Clark bites his lip to hide his smile. 

“Clark?” Bruce peeks around the corner, then shuffles quickly down the stairs. 

“Hey. I, uh, had a few minutes. Just came by to see you before I went home.” Clark rubs the back of his neck with a smile, trying to kill the flutter in his chest. 

“Bruce, say something,” Tim hisses, crouching behind the banister as if Clark can’t see him. Bruce startles, glares at him, and then gestures for Clark to follow him. As they pass, all of the kids watch him go, whispering in a building flurry that he doesn’t bother dissecting. He tells himself it’s because they deserve their privacy, but really…he’s nervous. Severely. 

“I hope they didn’t make you uncomfortable. They can be a bit…eager.” Bruce’s smile is warm beneath the lights of the old manor. 

“They’re wonderful. Terrifying, but wonderful.” Clark chuckles and bumps their shoulders together while they walk. 

It’s these precious minutes that define their friendship more than anything. Clark tells Bruce all about his day, about his Lex Luthor exposé making the front page, about everything and nothing at all. He talks and Bruce listens, egging him on with gentle tilts of the head when he shyly falls into silence.

By the time they reach the gardens, it’s Clark’s turn to listen. Bruce tells him about the kids, occasionally stopping whenever he notices one lurking. He asks for his opinion on random scenarios. Clark can’t tell if they’re hypotheticals but he answers as truthfully as he can, chasing the little noises of appreciation that Bruce makes as he talks. 

Not only are Bruce’s masks interchangeable, taking him from Bruce to Batman to Bruce Wayne, they’re also removable. Clark doesn’t know when he was bestowed with the honor of being with Just Bruce, but he’s immensely grateful for it.  

“Good evening, Mr. Kent.” Alfred nods respectfully in his direction. “Master Bruce, you have a call from Mr. Fox. Line three, sir.” 

“Thank you, Alfred.” Bruce squeezes Clark’s shoulder. “You can wait here, if you’d like.” 

“Am I allowed to touch anything?” Clark teases.

“Anything you want.” Bruce winks at him, completely straight-faced, and disappears into the corridors of the manor. Clark’s face grows embarrassingly hot and he reclines against the lip of the fountain. 

He birdwatches as he waits, counting which of Bruce’s kids make normal, completely non-suspicious trips through his personal space. Dick’s the least sneaky of the bunch, but it lends him a genuine quality. He sits and chats with Clark for a few minutes, asking him about work and the like. He asks about his relationship with Bruce and Clark mumbles something non-committal, cheeks warm. 

Bruce, uh, never put out that statement about them breaking up. Clark thinks he might be alright if it never gets published. 

As the hours draw on, he catalogs where the other Robins like to hide. Tim and Damien have an affinity for hiding in the massive hedges surrounding the gardens, while Steph takes to watching from the windows. Cass is the hardest to spot but he catches her on the roof a few times, perched and enjoying the warm dusk breeze. He sees Jason with her once too.

If he’s learned anything from their father, it’s that staring is caring. Probably.

When Alfred fetches him hours later, he arrives at a scene he wants to burn permanently into his memory. 

Bruce is seated at the beautiful. obnoxiously long table in the dining room. He’s got a knee hiked up on the chair, picking idly at the fabric of his pants. On the table, a black kitten rolls around and bats at a toy. It’s sweet and oddly domestic. 

“Hey.” Bruce doesn’t turn. 

“Hi. Who’s this?” Clark holds a hand out to the kitten and it drops its paw on top of his palm, mewing softly. The squeaky, deflating noise that leaves him is not one he’s proud of. It’s so sweet and small. 

“Nyx. She’s a stray. I give her food when I can.” Bruce scratches her head gently. Nyx purrs and lays down on the table, tucking her head into the attention. She’s a precious baby, is what she is. Clark has half a mind to take her home. 

That is, until Bruce sneezes loud enough to send poor Nyx running. She flings herself off the table and into one of the manor’s seemingly endless corridors. 

“Bless you.” Clark chuckles. Bruce pulls a face. 

“Master Bruce.” Alfred hands him a box of tissues. 

“I can hear you laughing, Alfred,” he sniffles, hair a bit ruffled from the sneeze. Clark purposefully averts his eyes. 

“I would never, sir. Goodnight, Mr. Kent.” Alfred bows his head, sharing that mischievous glint in his eye. 

“Goodnight, Alfred.” Clark grins, settling into the oversized chair beside Bruce. 

2 ) He’s got a cat allergy, but he feeds the strays anyway. Bruce = cat person?

“Stop it.” Hearing the Batman voice and knowing it’s mostly because Bruce is annoyed is truly golden. 

“Stop what?” Clark floats leisurely alongside Bruce, arms behind his head. Keeping pace with him isn’t hard--he’s fast for human standards, but not by Clark’s. He’s made it a habit anyways not to zip too far ahead as they’ve grown closer. It kills the banter. 

“Look, all I’m saying is that if Batman started flying, criminals would absolutely take the week off. If I was a criminal and I thought Batman had suddenly gotten superpowers, I’d simply leave Gotham.” Clark flips upside down and hangs in front of Bruce, still drifting backwards in pace with him. 

He can sense Bruce trying not to smile, but when he opens his mouth to tease, karma speaks instead. Clark smacks his head into the side of a building just as Bruce slips through a narrow space between it and its neighbor. Clark flies up over the building and catches up with Bruce again, scowling. 

“I know you’re laughing.” Clark crosses his arms. 

“Me? Never. Just thinking about how great it is to be grounded.” Bruce allows himself the tiniest of smirks, just enough to be infuriating, and it’s Clark’s turn to roll his eyes. 

3 ) He restrains his emotions. Even the good ones. 

Roaming the Hall of Justice late at night is a cultivated hobby of Clark’s. The best snacks hide in the dark, after all, and he knows that no one’s gonna come bother him about a missing bag of chips at this hour. He needs time to think and food to think with. 

Clark’s feelings for Bruce could both span and fill an ocean. He doesn’t know when this happened. As far as he can remember, there’s always been this beacon of warmth in his chest guiding him to Bruce. Through every late night and early morning, through hopelessness and joy, Bruce is a constant. It’s too much to put on one person. Too risky. 

The ‘l word’ pops into his head like a dark omen, and he skids to a halt. He glances around, listening for any league members skulking around. All he hears is his own thundering heartbeat. 

Fuck. Fuck. 

He makes his way into the kitchen past a snoring Arthur, pausing to snatch the jumbo bag of cheese puffs from his limp grasp. He slips quietly out into the hall, passing by the lounge, where Bruce and Diana are laughing—

Clark backpedals, nearly tripping over his own feet, but god it’s worth it. Bruce is clutching Diana’s shoulder and giggling, stuck in the loop of overwhelming laughter that follows an unyielding barrage of jokes. 

They’re still suited up, probably fresh off a patrol, and Clark wonders how long they’ve been sitting here. A mountain of chocolates, the fancy ones, cover the surface of the table. Diana delicately sorts through and plucks the ones she wants from the pile as Bruce watches. 

“Diana’s the new team comedian. None of you are funny.” Bruce recovers from his laughter, but the smile stays, and Clark makes an active effort to be normal about it. The delirium of another late night in a row must have gotten to him. That’s the only explanation. 

“Barry will be devastated.” Clark chuckles. He leans in the doorframe and catches a cheese puff in his mouth. 

“He will survive.” The sparkle in Diana’s eye has him wishing he had tuned into their conversation. 

“If I had known y’all were partying in here, I would’ve come to hang out.” Clark crunches on another cheese puff, mostly to distract himself from the way Bruce’s eyes are sparkling. He didn’t know they could do that. 

“There’s no reason you can’t party with us now.” Diana gestures to the seat next to Bruce. 

Aw, what the hell? Eating junk food together couldn’t be much worse than doing it alone. 

4 ) Bruce can laugh--he just has to be caught off-guard. He likes to laugh (?) (who doesn’t?)

“When you said you needed help, I thought you meant with translating.” Clark wanders into the room. The concrete is irritatingly cold on his feet. 

Bruce types away wildly at a computer station with too many monitors. A pair of giant goggles on his head pull his hair out of his face. Clark leans over his shoulder to see what he’s doing, but the code flying across the screen is a nightmare. 

At the opposite end of the room, a mechanical rig sits primed on a set of rails. In the center, a gnarly looking gun barrel stares out into an empty expanse. 

“I’m trying to test new ammunition for the Batmobile, but my target system is down. Can’t reboot it.” Bruce clicks something else and the gun starts calibrating. A pathetic clicking sound picks up as targets struggle to ascend from the floor, twitching lifelessly in their compartments. 

“Do you want help?”

“With coding?” Bruce turns with an expression just shy of condescending.

“God no. I am bulletproof, if you remember.” Clark sticks his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. 

“Doesn’t help. I need to study the impacts afterwards.” Bruce gestures to a massive chunk of concrete on a stand nearby. Clark hefts it into his arms with a quiet grunt. 

“Just...keep up with the gun. I prefer my walls without bullet holes.” Bruce quickly turns away from him. Clark can hear his heartbeat pounding. He starts to ask, but the gun rig starts warming up and he sacrifices his curiosity. 

“Alright. Whenever you’re ready.” Clark adjusts his stance to prep for the recoil. The machine whirrs and clicks as it loads itself with rounds. Bruce types in a few things on a nearby control panel and pulls the goggles down over his eyes. 

The gun barrel spins and whines as it gains force. Clark hovers a few inches off the ground and tenses. He lines the concrete up with his chest, his eyes just clearing over top of it. 

The machine fires quicker and lower than he anticipates. 

A sharp zing zips up Clark’s side, then another, then another, and he drops the concrete, instead covering his smile while forcing himself to stay still. That’s certainly not his best idea--no block means no cover, which subsequently means getting pelted with another wave of bullets. 

Clark crumples into a flurry of giggles before he can stop himself. He curls up as much as he can—partly to stop any new onslaughts, mostly to hide his reddening face. He’s been shot more than anything and it’s never bothered him. He didn’t know he could be ticklish to touch, let alone to goddamn bullets. 

“Clark! Are you okay?” Bruce leaps over the gun rig and pulls the safety goggles up onto his head. 

“Y-Yes. I’m fine. Your machine…thing packs a punch.” Clark clears his throat to stop the rogue snickers forming a conga line in his throat. 

“I thought you were supposed to be bulletproof.” Bruce huffs, kicking the pieces of shattered brick out of the way. He swipes at Clark’s torso, probably trying to brush away the dust on him. Clark flinches under the touch and coughs over a laugh. 

“I am. It just…felt…weird.” Clark snatches Bruce’s wrist a little too quickly. Bruce’s brow furrows and he leans close, eyes glued to Clark’s stomach with sheer worry. His face resolves into tense understanding. Clark lets his hand go. 

“What? What?” He tries to catch Bruce’s gaze. There shouldn’t be anything wrong. He feels fine. Nothing pierced. Definitely not bleeding—he learned what that feels like and he hates it. But Bruce has an eye for things that Clark could never dream of noticing, and right now he’s staring like Clark already has a foot in the grave. 

“Can’t believe you fell for that.” Bruce smirks. He pulls Clark close—hello—and kneads unhurried fingers into his stomach. 

No one will ever believe him. Bruce Wayne is tickling him and no one will ever believe him. 

“B-Bruce!” Clark strains out of Bruce’s grip as best as he can, trying not to break any useful bones, but his joints keep turning to jelly. His forehead collides with Bruce’s shoulder and he shimmies rather uselessly. 

“This is very entertaining, in case you were wondering.” Bruce hums and starts pinching up Clark’s sides. His warm breath sends goosebumps flaring over his throat. 

“I wasn’t!” It’s more of a squeak than words. Evil fingers manage to squeeze beneath his arms and Clark jumps directly into the air. 

“Did you just fly away?” A genuine laugh floats out of Bruce, warm and a bit scratchy. Clark wishes he could hear more of that instead of his own dorky laughter ringing in his ears. 

“Not on purpose—shut up!” Clark aims a half-hearted kick at Bruce’s shoulder. His face burns hotter than the sun and he hides in his hands. 

Bruce grabs his ankle and tries to reel him in like a lost balloon. Clark almost falls for it until suddenly calloused hands are scritching along the bottom of his foot. He giggle-snorts. Kryptonite through the chest would be a mercy, at this point. 

A hush falls over the room. Clark dares to peek through his fingers. 

“Oh.” Bruce blinks, then the most wicked grin overtakes his face. “Do that again.” 

“You’re the worst!” Clark pulls his leg towards his body and accidentally takes Bruce with it--who doesn’t seem the least bit bothered, by the way. Every time he lowers his leg, Bruce doesn’t let go. 

“I don’t want to drop you!” Clark shrieks as if a bug is crawling on him, rather than a person. 

“Then don’t.” Bruce squeezes his calf and Clark whines his way into a fit of cackles. His body trembles with the effort to not fly directly through the ceiling. The illusion of escape makes it so much worse, especially with Bruce’s fingers worming behind his knee. 

“You coming down or am I gonna have to call the fire department?” Jesus, Bruce has a real talent for smirking out loud. Clark tries to shake him off without throwing him across the room. Bruce digs his fingers into Clark’s thigh like he’s climbing a tree and the resulting yelp has Clark resolving to flee the country. 

“Y-You’re not building a great case as to why I should!” He flinches after a flurry of giggles and slams his head into the ceiling. Plaster and dust rain down on the two of them. Clark tries to cover the crater he left behind with his hands and a bashful smile. 

“Alright, I’m done. I’d like to keep my ceiling in one piece.” Bruce pulls him down to Earth, only letting go when he’s sure that Clark won’t float away again. 

“Ticklish Superman. Who knew?” Bruce scritches beneath Clark’s chin, just like at the gala all those weeks ago, and Clark shoves his chin down with a snort. 

“No one, and I prefer it that way. Keep it quiet.” He can’t muster any severity in his voice and he’s not sure it would help if he could. The thought of Lois finding out--or worse, Diana--starts an inescapable loop of nervous smiles and a light fluttering in his chest. 

“No promises.” Bruce smirks. “I hear Lois wants an exclusive. Maybe I’ll give her a call.”

“Don’t you dare. Bruce—“

He dials her office line, jogging towards the stairs. Clark shrieks and chases after him. 

5 ) He’s mischievous. Deathly so. 

…

After a long while of staring at his pitiful little list, Clark still finds himself restless. He has naught more than a skeleton, clinging scraps of Bruce’s infinite depths. The paper isn’t suited to contain him. He might actually know less than before.

Even as Bruce beats the shit out of him, he can’t think of anything else. 

“Why don’t you let anyone get to know you?” Clark frowns at Bruce across the sparring mats. Bruce runs and leaps onto his shoulders, executing a flawless scissor grip. Clark raises his hand to support his back and Bruce swats him away. 

“What?” Bruce grunts, bringing his elbows down onto Clark’s head. He barely notices. 

“You’re always so stoic. You never let anyone see you happy.” Clark flips Bruce off his shoulders and down onto his back. He puts his hands on his hips and stares down at him. 

“No, I never let anyone see me vulnerable. There’s a difference.” Bruce wraps his legs around Clark’s and takes him down, quickly rolling atop him. Within a second, Bruce unleashes a flurry of blows that, if Clark could feel more than dull impacts, he probably would fear.  

“You’re allowed to be vulnerable in front of your friends, Bruce. That’s what makes them friends, not coworkers.” Clark catches his fists and holds them. 

“I’ll pass along your suggestion. Are you going to fight back or should I go get Diana?” Bruce raises an eyebrow, breathing hard. Clark flips them both and pins Bruce down. 

“I just think—stop wiggling—we should bond more, y’know? Know thy enemy, and all that.” Clark keeps pressing down until Bruce sighs and goes still in his grip. He knows he’s defeated. Smart man. 

“That tends to apply to actual enemies, not coworkers.” Bruce sighs. 

“Well, we’re more than that, aren’t we?” Clark presses, searching Bruce’s eyes. Bruce nods, looking all for the world like he might bolt from the room. 

“Sooo, what’s your favorite color?” When Bruce is silent, Clark rolls his eyes and sits back. “Mine is yellow. Your turn.”

“…lavender.” Bruce eyes him warily. Clark helps him to his feet and they start the cycle again. The minute they stop fighting each other’s rhythm, they find a flawless sync. 

“Nice! Okay, uh…favorite food?” Clark ducks under Bruce’s left hook and shoves him back. 

“Alfred’s chicken noodle.” Bruce kicks Clark across the face and he lets himself go down. He brushes some of the dust off. 

“That sounds nice.” He grins up at Bruce from the mat. The light haloes behind his head so beautifully. 

“Yeah.” Bruce clears his throat. “And you…?” He pulls Clark to his feet and resets his stance. 

“Can’t go wrong with a slice of fresh apple pie.” Clark sweeps forward with a wink. 

Bruce shakes his head and snickers, then punches Clark hard enough in the ribs to crack his own knuckles. 

…

Two sharp knocks on the doorframe announce Bruce before his voice does. Clark looks up from the dull light of his laptop. 

“Got a second?” Bruce leans in the doorframe, cloaked in slight shadow. He’s dressed comfortably, surprisingly, in a soft t-shirt and sweatpants that hug him well. It makes Clark wanna pull him close. 

“Always, yeah.” Clark sets his computer aside and sits up. Bruce leans against the edge of his desk and fishes something out of his pocket. 

“Found some intel. I could use a fresh set of eyes on it.” The moon casts loving light across his eyes and jaw.

“Of course.” Clark sits up more. 

“Found this nearby. I was hoping you could decipher it.” Bruce hands over a scrap of folded paper. Clark furrows his brow as he takes it, gingerly opening it up. He casts a curious glance at Bruce before he starts to read.

It’s his notes. His notes on Bruce. Shit.

He looks up slowly, horrified. Bruce smirks in full force, oozing mischief that Clark now knows is very much in character. 

“Normally, I’m not a fan of being watched. Try to avoid it as much as I can.” 

“You’re a hard man to read.” Clark clears his throat and folds the paper down to hide its contents further. 

“Yet it seems you’ve cracked the code,” Bruce hums. Clark catches the faint glimmer of that old playboy spark. Bruce’s lips tilt into a devilish smirk. 

“So, I’m right then? It’s important…for the record.” Clark scoots up against the headboard in an attempt to look casual. Bruce sits at the foot of the bed. Voluntarily. Clark stops breathing.

“I would say that parts are accurate.”

“Parts?” He clears his throat. Bruce snatches the paper from his grip. He starts murmuring as he skims the list. 

“Let’s see…I like raspberries but I’m allergic.”

“You’re what?” The color drains from Clark’s face. Bruce shrugs.

“What else? Oh—I’m a dog person. I have a soft spot for cats.”

“Huh.” 

“I am physically capable of laughter.” Bruce rolls his eyes.

“Proved that one already.” Clark smiles. Bruce scowls, then turns back to the paper. Clark remembers, in a terrible flash, the looping doodles of ‘Clark Kent-Wayne’ at the bottom of the page and chokes out a strangled scream. 

He disintegrates the paper with a precise blast of heat vision. He feels a little bad for scorching the wall, but not that bad. The evidence is gone. Plausible deniability. 

“Seriously?” He brushes the ash off his hands. 

“I gotta keep my secrets.” Clark shrugs, but his face is incandescent with heat. 

“What about that paper was so bad that it made Superman blush?” Bruce smirks. 

“There is nothing on God’s green earth that you could do to make me tell you.” Clark grins from atop the high ground. 

Bruce plucks his glasses off of his nose and sets them aside, careful not to touch the lenses. It’s a tender gesture for what is essentially a costume, but something in his heart flutters at the delicate care. 

“Are you sure?” He leans close—close enough for Clark to catch a whiff of cologne and the intoxicating sparkle in his eye, close enough for Clark to lean in on instinct, and close enough for Bruce to wrap his hands around Clark’s waist like he’d been wishing he would since that stupid gala. Clark’s lips part. 

“Okay, there might be a couple thi—“ Clark cuts himself off with a squeal, slamming his head into the headboard—the resulting crack speaks to a later promise of duct tape. As Bruce shoves his hands under his arms, Clark’s laughter bowls him over quicker than he can apologize. 

“You are such a kid!” He throws his head back and cackles, curling into the tightest possible ball that his hulking form could take. Bruce leans over him. 

“You have no grounds to call me that. You’re giggling.” Bruce raises an eyebrow, 

“Because you’re t-tickling—” Clark regretfully finishes his sentence with a snort. Bruce lights up and chases the sound, relentlessly working his fingers into the grooves of his ribs. Clark hits his head again--there goes the rest of the headboard. And part of the wall.

Between the buzz of being touched by Bruce and being unused to this kind of touch, Clark melts into a haphazard pile of Superman with embarrassing speed. Bruce manages to work his fingers up further, right into his top rib, and he punches a hole directly into the nightstand, sending the lamp toppling over. Bruce relents then, passively assessing the damage while Clark drags in a deep breath. 

“You really think it’s a good idea to tickle someone who could throw you into the sun?” Clark huffs, wobbling on a smile. Bruce smirks. 

“Never said it was a good idea. Just an alluring one.” 

“You find me alluring? Scandalous, Mr. Wayne.” Clark offers a teasing grin. Bruce’s brow crinkles with concern. He goes from fiddling with Clark’s waist to fiddling with his hands. 

Bruce gets tactile when he’s stressed. Or when something’s on his mind.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Clark asks softly. He scoots just a bit closer. 

“The day after the gala, I had Vicki write up a piece about you and I splitting. Like I promised. It was never published.” 

“I noticed,” Clark says carefully, tracking every detail of Bruce’s face. 

“I asked her not to.” 

“Why?”

“I knew if the article went live, you would stop with the affection and the dates. I know it was only for appearances, but…I really enjoyed it. I wasn’t ready to let it go. I…care about you.” Bruce looks up at him, worry entrenched in the dips of his face. It slips to something resigned and neutral, a blank mask. 

Clark smiles like a lunatic, covering his mouth to hide it. He contains the desperate urge to take a lap around the manor. Months, years, of pining bloom into sweet possibility within him. The weight of guilt sloughs off his shoulders. Bruce likes him. 

“Y’know, for the smartest man in Gotham, you miss quite a lot.” Clark leans in and waits. Bruce’s eyes flick to Clark’s lips, and in a Batman-esque flash of motion, he swoops down and kisses him. Their bodies slot together almost magnetically. Clark flips them over and bears back down, swallowing Bruce’s gasp of surprise in his mouth. 

In an insane way, kissing Bruce is like coming home. 

He flings his arms around Clark’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer. Clark immediately, greedily, lets his lips travel along Bruce’s pulse point. He chases the memory of the gala, littering desperate bruises along the cologne-tinged skin. His hand lingers at the base of his throat, brushing reverent fingers as he marks every inch available to him. 

Bruce yelps into a giggle, breaking them apart. Clark blinks, processing, then grins with unbridled power. 

“This feels…counter-productive.” Bruce swallows, bobbing Clark’s hand. His skin is hot and red to the touch. 

“Nice try. You already enabled me—that was your first mistake.” Clark tickles him everywhere he can reach, dodging elbows and headbutts. Bruce cackles from his core, stumbling through a few high-pitched syllables of protest as he twists. He works so hard to force his voice back into its usual octave that it cracks. Clark snickers. 

“I am going to kill you,” Bruce growls, reaching back to return the favor. Clark slams his arm down on the mattress, caressing the back of his hand with immovable fingertips. 

“Then this is a wonderful last night on Earth.” Clark nibbles on his earlobe. Bruce’s giggly scream and the ensuing threats on his life are music to Clark’s ears.

[13phantom13angel13]

Not Fair!

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A/N: I am so terribly sorry about this being late! To whoever requested “This isn’t fair” with Bruce vs the batkids, here you are! I hope it’s to your liking! It’s a bit long but I’m hoping it’s a strong comeback from my unplanned hiatus. Also, the ending kinda sucks. Sorry! 😭 Much love! ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bruce was screwed and he knew it. He was tricked. Bamboozled. Taunted into his current situation. Tim, Jason, and Dick challenged him to a group sparring match. Little did he know, it would be the three of them against him alone. So when he found himself pinned on the mat with all three of them holding down one limb or another, he knew for a fact he was in for an unpleasant time.

“This is so not fair.” Bruce grumbled at them.

“Life isn’t fair, highness.” Jason stated as he tightened his grip on Bruce’s wrists. Bruce looked up at him with a flat expression.

“Don’t you pull a Princess Bride on me.”

Jason’s only response was a cheeky grin. Bruce looked up at Cass, Stephanie, Duke, and Damian with pleading eyes as they all watched on with amused smiles.

“A little help here?”

“Nah. You got yourself into this one, fam. Find your way out of it.” Stephanie replied. The others nodded in agreement. Bruce grumbled at them.

Tim, Jason, and Dick all exchanged glances with each other with mischievous grins and nodded, all three coming to a silent agreement.

What Bruce didn’t know is that the three of them had been planning this for a while. The man had been tormenting them for weeks. He would randomly sneak up on them when they weren’t paying attention and tickle them to tears. They got tired of Bruce’s reign of terror and decided to gang up on him as revenge.

Dick, who was perched on Bruce’s ankles, cracked his knuckles, gaining the man’s attention. Bruce looked down at the younger man with a confused expression; until he saw the wiggling fingers. His eyes went wide.

“No. Nonononononono! Don’t even think about it!”

“Oh. We thought about it. And it’s gonna happen.” Tim responded from his place on Bruce’s knees. Damn these kids for outsmarting him! One on one, he would’ve been able to hold his own. But with the three of them together? He was about to be on for a rough ride. And he was.

Dick very gently traced his fingers down Bruce’s feet, causing the man to jump with a startled yelp. The mischievous grins widened. Bruce was getting increasingly more nervous.

Jason struck next, fluttering his fingers into Bruce’s armpits. He somehow managed to choke back a laugh with that one; a strained noise escaping him mouth.

When Tim spidered his fingers over Bruce’s stomach, the man was a goner. Bright giggles flooded out of him with no hopes of stopping.

“Nohohohoho! Hahahave mercy!” Bruce giggled.

“Nice job, Replacement. You found his weak spot.” Jason smirked at Tim. Tim rolled his eyes at the nickname.

“Power of deduction, I guess.” Tim shrugged nonchalantly as he continued. Jason moved down to Bruce’s ribs as Dick remained where he was, fluttering under Bruce’s toes. Bruce jerked as he giggled harder.

“Bohohoys! Plehehehehease! Dohohohon’t tihihihihihickle!” Bruce pleaded, his pleas falling upon deaf ears.

“Uh, esqueeze me, sir? You don’t want us to tickle you?” Dick inquired sassily.

“That’s rich coming from you! You’ve been a menace towards us for weeks!” Tim exclaimed.

“Aw! What? The big bad bat can’t handle what he dishes out?” Jason cooed in a taunting manner. Bruce knew this was only going to get worse as Jason and Dick’s tickling fingers also converged on his stomach. When did Dick get up? He didn’t even notice! Bruce’s giggles turned into full blown laughter by that point.

He attempted to curl into a ball to protect himself against his sons, but that proved unsuccessful. Someone’s hands moved towards his sides and his back arched off the mat with a loud squeal. Jason laughed.

“Oh my god! You sounded like a girl!”

“Shuhuhuhuhuhut uhuhup giggles!” Bruce snarked at him. Jason let out an offended gasp as Dick and Tim tried to restrain their giggle fit.

“How dare you! You take that back!”

“Nehehehehever!” Bruce cried out defiantly. “You sohohohound cuhuhuhuhute whehehen yohou gihihihiggle!” Jason’s face turned bright red as his jaw dropped in shock. Tim and Dick’s laughter started to mix in with Bruce’s by that point.

“The absolute audacity!” He cried as he tickled Bruce’s sides more. “Take it back! Take it back or I won’t stop until you cry!” Jason’s hands came back to his stomach. At that point, all three of them were tickling Bruce’s stomach like there was no tomorrow. Bruce’s laughter turned into wild cackling before falling silent a moment later.

Damian was the one to break the silence of Bruce’s agony.

“I do believe father has withstood enough torture for today.” He motioned towards him.

“Yeah. His face is getting awfully red, guys. I think it’s time to call it quits.”

The boys all looked at Bruce, looked at each other, and nodded as their hands came to a stop. They got off of Bruce to give him some room to breathe. The man sucked in large amounts of air as residual giggles slipped out of him. He looked up at his torturers. Jason squatted down next to his head with a dangerous look in his eyes.

“Next time you decide to come after us, even Superman himself won’t be able to stop us. Got it?” Bruce nodded weakly. “Good. Good talk.” Jason patted his cheek before standing up. All the kids walked out of the cave leaving Bruce to recover in peace.

Next time, he’ll have to remember to never agree to a ‘team sparring match’ again. Those heathens.

[fickle-tiction]

Okay but Bruce is minding his business at some bouji gala that Clark and Diana are also attending for fanfic purposes. And Diana has a gorgeous black feather Boa on as part of her outfit because that woman can pull off any look. And this woman can't go a single day without messing with Bruce in some way, so she slinks up to him while he's fake flirting with someone else and she slides the Boa over his neck to get his attention. She is NOT expecting his shoulders to shoot up to his ears, nor is she ready for the strangled squeal he let's out when the feathers unexpectedly drag across his skin.

Diana's smirk is terrifying when she shoves her way into Bruce's space, casually bumping the man he was flirting with aside as all her attention is focused on the blush crawling up Bruce's neck and into his cheeks.

"Do not." Bruce warns, eyes wide as Diana uses to Boa still laying around his neck to pull him closer. "Not here." He pleads ammends when she raises an eyebrow at his harsh tone.

"Clark." Diana murmers, even as she continues to lock eyes with an increasingly worried-looking Bruce. "I think it's time we make our exit." Clark must say something back, because Diana grins and Bruce has to fight the urge to take a step back. Not that it would do him any good with Diana loosely holding onto either end of the Boa still draped over the back of his neck.

[august-anon]

Oooooo! I love batfam! I got a prompt! Dick can be a serious tickle monster and what sucks about dick is he can school his reactions best of everyone besides cass and batman so its hard to get him back. Bruce holds all the secrets. I think dick would definitely try to tickle bruce after destroying his siblings and bruce just absolutely turning the tables and destroying him. And being super educational and making it interactive like a training course :p

ahhh thank you for the prompt, i hope you enjoy the fic!!! (also once again this is barely edited so i hope its okay!!!)

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Marked Improvement

Fandom: Batfamily (no specific source material/continuity) (your friendly reminder that the author has read no comics yet and this is fully fanon based sdjkfh)

Ship(s): Gen!!! Platonic!! Familial!! No batcest here

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Dick & Ler!Bruce

Word Count: 3081 words

Summary: Dick's been on a tickle monster rampage, and he just set his sights on his most difficult victim yet. Unfortunately for him, said victim knows exactly where he's ticklish and how to take him down.

[ao3 link]

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When Jason’s hand shot up to that soft, vulnerable spot just below his lowest rib, Dick realized he greatly miscalculated his recovery time. Whether that was by virtue of Jason growing up or some effect of the Pit, Dick wasn’t sure — but he was sure that he couldn’t afford to let Jason get the upper hand here. 

Unlike their babiest brothers, Jason actually had a vague idea of where Dick was ticklish. Not as well as Dick knew Jason’s tickle spots — things between Dick and Bruce were tense during those years, after all, and the playful attacks had really started to dwindle by the time Jason came around — but he knew enough to be dangerous. Dick needed to play his cards carefully if he didn’t want a swarm of younger siblings out for revenge.

So, after the initial ticklish twitch, Dick forced his muscles to stay relaxed instead of tensing or jolting. He forced his breathing to stay even and swallowed down the ticklish squeak that little spot always tried to force out of him. He couldn’t stop the smile, but Dick was almost always smiling, so it wasn’t hard to turn it into a playful grin at Jason’s expense. And at Jason’s frustrated huff, he twisted that playful grin into something a little more smug.

“What the hell?” Jason muttered under his breath.

“Sorry, Little Wing,” Dick said, “but unlike you, some of us actually did grow out of being ticklish.”

Jason scowled, glaring at that spot on Dick’s side like it was the source of all his life’s problems. “I don’t believe you,” he said. Then, Jason lunged.

Dick couldn’t help but laugh then, diving out of the way of Jason’s hulking figure to avoid being crushed. He narrowly avoided knocking a probably-outrageously-expensive vase off a small, too-old wooden table against the wall. Perhaps the hallway was not the most well thought out place for the attack, but Dick just hadn’t been able to help it when he’d seen Jason sulking through the manor without the usual protection of his trusty leather jacket. 

They only paused in their tussle when someone cleared their throat, glancing up to see Bruce hovering over them, one eyebrow raised and eyes crinkling at the corners despite the lack of an obvious smile. Dressed in sweats and an old, faded Superman t-shirt (Clark had given it to Bruce as a joke when Dick was still a kid — and gotten Dick one to match. Bruce told Clark he’d burned them, despite the fact that Dick forced Bruce into wearing them as matching pajama shirts until he inevitably grew out of his) with a steaming, oversized mug in his hand, it was clear Bruce was on his way to hunker down in front of the Batcomputer for the next several hours.

“Do I even want to know?” Bruce asked, his mouth finally ticking up at one corner to match the crinkles at his eyes.

Jason shoved at Dick’s chest. “Dickhead’s been on a rampage this weekend. Better look out, or you’ll be next.”

Bruce was fully smiling now, his eyes warm and fond in that way that made all of them squirm with discomfort as their chests melted with unaccustomed affection. Dick almost had to look away, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable at Bruce’s show of emotion. Jason did look away, scoffing as he pretended to brush dust off his shirt. As if Alfred would ever allow enough dust to accumulate for that to happen.

“I’ll be on my guard, then. You boys be careful — you know how Alfred feels about you roughhousing in the halls.”

At their annoyed acknowledgements and eye-rolls, Bruce carefully stepped between them and continued down the hall towards the study. Jason’s glare returned in full force.

“I still don’t believe you.”

Dick laughed again, pushing himself to his feet. “Whatever you say, Jay. If you’ll excuse me, you just gave me an excellent idea for my next victim.”

He ruffled Jason’s hair as he darted after Bruce, ignoring the indignant squawk and shout to “go back to Bludhaven, already!” He took the stairs down to the Batcave three at a time, and despite how lightly he landed on his feet at the base of them, he knew Bruce knew he was there. He didn’t bother to conceal himself, skipping right over to Bruce and draping himself across the back of the desk chair.

“Whatcha working on?”

In typical Bruce fashion, he ignored Dick’s question completely, instead asking, “Are you prepared for the day your siblings finally decide to overthrow you?” even as he continued to scroll through suspects’ rap sheets.

Dick scoffed, leaning more heavily on the back of Bruce’s chair. “Please, B, they’ll never manage it. Even if they could get along for long enough to plan an attack, they can’t get me back.” 

Bruce hummed and then, shockingly, actually looked away from the evidence spread across the monitors to glance back at Dick, both eyebrows raised. “Because you ‘grew out of it?’”

Dick gave him a smile that was all teeth. “Exactly.”

“Hn.”

Bruce turned back to his screens, leaving Dick still wrapped around the back of his chair. A foolish mistake, really, because with the oh-so-casual way he had oriented himself, his fingers were at the perfect place to target Bruce’s one weak spot — a coveted secret that Alfred had let slip to him when he was 16, but had never managed to get more than a few seconds of use out of before Bruce expertly took him down.

Okay, maybe Bruce’s disbelief with his “grew out of it” excuse was well-warranted. But that was, like, a decade ago! He totally could have grown out of it since then! He hadn’t, but he could have. 

When Dick’s sneaky fingers were only centimeters from Bruce’s neck, Bruce’s hand shot up and captured his in a tight grip. He spun the chair around, giving Dick a flat look.

“Did you think I wouldn’t take Jason’s warning to heart?” 

Dick pouted. “I’d hoped you’d think it was a joke. Or not expect me to try and get you right away, so I could catch you off guard.”

“I see.”

After a brief staring contest, Bruce released Dick’s fingers and Dick let out a defeated sigh. He’d have to regroup and actually plan out his next attempt if he wanted to have any chance of catching Bruce off guard before he headed back to Bludhaven for the week.

“Fine, fine,” Dick said as he turned around. “I’ll leave you to your brooding.”

Only, the second Dick had his back turned, two sets of evil fingers tasered those matching sensitive spots below his lowest rib on either side. 

Bruce’s tasers were lethal - they weren’t the normal sort of ticklish once-and-done poke or jab to make someone jump or squeak or trip over their own two feet. No, this was the one time Bruce shot to kill, poking two fingers into your ticklish spots as he vibrated and wiggled them around for a couple seconds to really make sure that ticklish shock made you weak in the knees. As a little kid, it would send Dick sprawling to the ground in squeals and giggles, already anticipating a more focused tickle attack. Now, as an adult, it still made him shriek and dart forward, twisting away from the fingers even as he stumbled over his own two feet. He whipped around to stare at Bruce. One corner of his mouth was quirked up.

“‘Grew out of it,’ indeed.”

“Bruce—“

Bruce twitched a finger on the keyboard. The Batcomputer’s screensavers flicked on. Dick’s eyes darted toward the Cave’s entrance. 

Elevator would be too slow – he would need to take the stairs again. Three at a time, just like before, and then he would run and hide in the— But no, he couldn’t. There was no universe in which Dick not only outran Batman, but managed to successfully hide from him until he gave up. No, Bruce catching him was an inevitability, but that didn’t mean his lies had to be exposed in front of all of his siblings. He’d rather they not find out at all – he had to keep some kind of leverage on all of them as the eldest.

Bruce stood from his chair, carefully rolling it back into place without looking away from Dick.

Dick’s eyes darted around the Cave. All his siblings were busy – Damian was training Titus, Tim had buried himself in W.E. work upstairs, and Jason (aside from Dick’s own interruption of his plans) was meant to be baking with Alfie all afternoon. No one was expected downstairs until it hit time for patrol. He should be safe from prying eyes down there – but did he really want to be brought down on the cold stone floor next to the Batcomputer?

Bruce took a step forward. Then another.

Dick took off without another thought, letting his body move on autopilot. Bruce’s footsteps picked up behind him almost immediately, giving chase. A giddy, incandescent feeling bubbled up in Dick’s chest. When was the last time he had genuinely just goofed off with his dad? He honestly couldn’t remember. There was always so much going on, the both of them too busy to spare time for these sorts of games, or the tension between them of unspoken hurts and barely-restrained anger was too much to let go of. Could it really have been so many years?

“You’re getting sloppy,” Bruce said, and despite the words, his tone was light. “You should have been able to bury that reaction, surprised or not.”

“Hey, I can too hide it! I fooled Jason!

Dick stumbled into the training area, glancing over his shoulder to see where Bruce was – too close – and almost tripping over the edge of the mats in the process. He supposed it made sense that his body would lead them here. Bruce had tickled him to tears on these mats too many times to count. Not to mention, it was the softest surface he would find in the Batcave, and he wasn’t exactly looking to crack his head open on the stone floor if he was still as much of a squirmer as he was as a kid. Dick hauled himself to the center of the mats and turned around, ready to make his final stand.

“Perhaps we need to go over your training again,” Bruce said, his voice obnoxiously conversational. “Just to make sure the lessons stick this time.”

“I think I’m good,” Dick said, twisting around as Bruce slowly started to circle him. “It was just a fluke.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yup.”

“Then you shouldn’t have any problem not reacting in the future.”

“None at all.”

Bruce lunged at him, hands outstretched towards Dick’s ribcage. Dick couldn’t stop the quiet gasp from escaping his lips, instinctively stumbling back at the evil grin on Bruce’s face. Bruce’s hands stopped not even an inch away from his ribs and he hovered there for a few horrible seconds before backing away and starting his circling once more.

“Is that so?”

Dick didn’t reply, too busy trying to coax his heart out of his throat and watching Bruce’s hands for further threats.

“A marked improvement from your last test certainly, but that’s years outdated at this point.”

Dick wrapped one arm protectively around his body while the other reached out as a feeble defense against Bruce’s next attack. A wobbly smile forced its way onto his face. “B, come on, we don’t have to do this.”

Bruce smirked. “On the contrary – I think we’ll have to repeat this training until you can do it in your sleep.”

Dick didn’t bother trying to run or dodge as Bruce lunged for him again, tackling him down to the training mats. He was already suppressing giggles by the time Bruce was hovering over him, which made even Bruce break character to give a brief chuckle. Still, when Bruce made his first move, Dick decided to play along, attempting to school his expression and relax his muscles as Bruce wiggled fingers into his stomach.

Of course, with all the anticipatory feelings racing through his body, his traitorous muscles still flinched involuntarily under the ticklish touch. It only made Bruce hone in, finding all the hidden, micro tickle-spots that even Dick had forgotten about over the years. 

“You need to learn to relax into the sensation,” Bruce said, adopting a lecturing tone Dick hadn’t heard since he was Robin. “Tensing up or flinching will only give you away.”

“I couldn’t help it,” Dick gritted out, still valiantly trying to suppress his laughter.

Bruce unexpectedly dug into his ribs, having to raise his voice to be heard over Dick’s sudden bark of laughter. “You’ll learn to.” He paused his attack. “Relax your muscles.”

If anything, Dick just tensed up further, his eyes going wide. “No way.” 

Though his face seemed impassive, Dick could see the mischief in Bruce’s eyes, especially in the way they crinkled at the corners. “How will you learn if we don’t practice, chum? We’ll just have to do it over and over until you get it right.”

“Bruce!”

Bruce huffed as though he were put-out. “If that’s too difficult for you, we can start elsewhere.” Then, he looked Dick right in the eyes and very seriously said, “Don’t laugh.”

Of course, that made Dick instantly want to laugh — a problem that only worsened when Bruce latched onto those twin soft spots just beneath his ribs once more. Dick pressed his mouth into a thin line as he held his breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

Bruce clicked his tongue — a habit he seemed to be picking up from Damian – as he stopped his brief attack. “It could use some work, but I suppose it’s a functional resistance – for now.” 

Wow. Thanks, Bruce.

“But can you remain consistent?”

Oh, fuck.

Before Dick could even cry out his feeble, half-baked protests, Bruce’s hands were back on that evil spot, squeezing and wriggling and massaging. Between the uncommonly playful atmosphere and Bruce’s knowledge on the perfect ways to tickle Dick to tears, it was only a handful of seconds before Dick was struggling to keep his laughter contained. He tried to bring his hands up to his mouth, to put up some half-hearted attempt at keeping up this guise of training, but Bruce snatched them up out of the air and pinned them under his knees before he even made it halfway there.

“Now that would be cheating. We can’t skew the data.”

Dick lost to his reactions, letting out a nearly painful snort before giving into his laughter. “Bruce, you asshole!”

Bruce let out one of his infuriating hums. “Not as bad as the last data set, but you can do better. Get control of yourself, we’ll try again.”

Dick sucked in a deep breath, trying to get himself back under control and back into character. Except, there was one glaring problem with this: Bruce wouldn’t stop tickling.

In fact, he didn’t seem inclined to stop any time soon. While one hand remained at the soft spots just below his ribs, the other started climbing up his ribcage, trying to worm up under his arm. With his wrists pinned, the best Dick could do was try to press his elbow to his side, failing to provide himself with any real protection. As Bruce’s fingers inched higher, Dick couldn’t help the way his laughter turned giggly and squeaky.

“Come on , Dick. We can’t proceed with the training until you stop laughing.”

“I can’t!” Dick said.

Bruce’s other hand joined the first, crawling up his ribs towards his armpit. Dick snorted and giggled, kicking his legs out behind Bruce to try and propel himself away from the fingers. When that didn’t work, he tried to toss his torso around to throw off Bruce’s hands. 

“It’s just a little tickling, chum.”

Bruce was such an asshole. Just for that, Dick jolted his leg up, jamming his knee into Bruce’s back. Bruce grunted at the impact, but was barely swayed. Still his tickling fingers paused, and Dick managed to suck in non-giggly breath to try and regain control.

“That’s right,” Bruce said. “I almost forgot.”

Dick’s eyes went wide. “Wait – Dad, no!”

Bruce’s evil grin returned full-force. “It’s for your training.”

And then Bruce reached behind him and latched his fingers onto the muscles just above Dick’s knee, squeezing rapidly. Dick tossed his head back against the mat and cackled, trying and failing to kick his legs out of Bruce’s grip. He heard Bruce laughing along above him, and Dick couldn’t help the embarrassed flush spreading across his face. It wasn’t because of his own ticklishness or Bruce’s teasing, but because of just much fun Dick was having. He was an adult, not a little kid – his dad tickling the snot out of him shouldn’t make him so happy. But – this wasn’t Batman and Nightwing, and it wasn’t Brucie Wayne and his wayward ward. It was just Bruce and Dick goofing off, nothing else hanging over their heads, for once able to exist in this moment together. And Bruce was having fun too.

And Bruce almost never had fun.

Of course the fondness immediately dissipated when Bruce’s fingers started pinching their upward and routing back down, traveling between his knees and mid-thigh. Dick shouted wordlessly through his laughter, finally wrenching one arm out from under Bruce’s knee and using it to tug at Bruce’s shirt uselessly. He flopped against the training mats like a fish out of water, completely losing control of his body’s responses. By the time Bruce finally slowed his fingers, Dick’s eyes were watery with unshed tears and his abs ached from his laughter.

“Hn,” Bruce rumbled, hauling himself off of Dick to sit next to him on the mats. “I expect you to perform better, next time.”

Dick choked on his next breath, shooting Bruce a wide-eyed look. “Next time?!”

Bruce’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Practice makes perfect, chum. You need to keep up your training.”

“Oh, screw you.”

Bruce laughed and ruffled his hair, at which Dick hummed and couldn’t help but go boneless against the mats. Then Bruce stood and brushed off his shirt as he left the training area, Dick hearing the clack of the Batcomputer’s keyboard just a few minutes later. He closed his eyes and caught his breath. The training mats were pretty comfortable. Surely no one would mind if he took a nap, here.

[tickletastic]

25 superbat?

Ask Meme

25: “Well now you’re just asking for it.”

"Clark Kent, Daily Planet staff writer and long time collaborator of Pulitzer Prize winning journalist, Lois Lane, has recently caught media attention after his two left feet got him into yet another public fumble. Kent, as pictured in the image below, managed to knock over a 17-story champagne tower at a recent Wayne Foundation Gala, and internet users were quick to label the event '#ChampagneGate.'" The grin on Bruce's face as he read the article from his phone could only be described as impish, his eyes glistened with mischief as he watched Clark's face deepen into a dark blush.

"Bruce," Clark warned, his voice a low rumble. He shot Bruce a glare that lost all of its heat when he immediately had to avert his eyes, embarrassment making his face redder and redder the more he looked in Bruce's direction.

"Other words of interest used in the article include 'bumbling,' 'ditsy,' and 'endearingly incapable'." Bruce smiled, trying hard not to give into the embarrassed puppy eyes that Clark was sending his way. "I am, unfortunately, quite endeared by you, so I've got to agree with that one, but don't you think the dorky, clumsy reporter thing has gone a little too far?"

"Whatever, playboy," Clark groaned, bringing his hands up to cover his face, "don't pretend like it wasn't your fault."

"My fault?" Bruce scoffed, "it's not my fault you're ticklish. How was I supposed to know you'd take it out on my poor champagne tower?"

Clark couldn't see it, but he could absolutely hear the shit-eating grin on Bruce's face. He was done feeling mortified for one night. "Well," Clark said, his own playfulness coming out. He turned around on the bed, face still tinged red, developing a predatory grin of his own "I think now you’re just asking for it.”

"Wait- Clark- Clark, Nohoo!"

[kourtniwritesagain]

Hi :D it’s so good to see you back ! I hope that you are well , if your still opened for asks , could you do hc’s for Jason Todd and Dick Grayson ? I adore these two brothers so much

Jason Peter Todd...oh this big, dumb, ticklish man. He was pretty ticklish pre-pit. Post-pit...he's still just as ticklish. He was pretty pissed off when, after he'd come back to the Batfamily, Dick tazed his sides (like he did when Jason was a kid) which caused a very high-pitched and embarrassing squeal to fall from Jason's mouth. Dick grinned much like the man who killed Jason and proceeded to tickle Jason like a man possessed. Jason was just as ticklish in all the same damn spots, which of course Dick remembered each and every single one. Jason has pretty much the most ticklish thighs, knees, calves...legs in general, in the whole world. Jason definitely doesn't prefer to be the lee; however, he actually doesn't mind being tickled. He spent years being angry, so it's a good excuse to laugh. Not that he'll ever say that. Dick knows, though. Dick knows and teases Jason about it while tickling him. Jason always threatens to shoot him, but they both know he'd never do it.

Dick absolutely loves all things tickling. He loves to be tickled; he loves to tickle others...he just loves tickling. He's very ticklish, but he's outrageously ticklish all over his torso. His death spot are the back portion of his sides, right around where his kidneys are. He'll be cackling like one of Harley Quinn's hyenas the moment those spots are touched. All the Batkids are privy to the knowledge of Dick's ticklishness. They're also privy to the knowledge that Dick is downright ruthless when it comes to tickle fights. No one knows this better than Jason and Tim. Jason gives as good as he gets every time, often wrangling the other Batkids to help him, which they're all too happy to oblige as Dick's laughter is amazing and they're usually ankling for some revenge because of their own destruction earlier via tickles by Dick. Dick loves every minute of it.

*Bonus* Bruce is also ticklish. Alfred, the Batkids, and Clark know this. They also know Bruce makes Dick's attacks look like child's play, so rarely is he a target. When he is, though, they know to take him down fast and hard, ensuring he's laughing and trying to protect himself. He's ticklish on his ribs, his hips, and his neck.

[nouearth]

nsfw alphabet w/ bruce wayne.

bruce wayne x male reader.

a/n: something new i've been meaning to try, so thank you for this request for finally pushing me to do so!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

we all know bruce is a busy man. it's an unfortunate norm to wake up in the morning to his side of the bed and see nothing but the wrinkles of the bed sheets that once warmed his body; to visit him at work because he forgot lunch (again) and wait in his office because he was currently in another meeting; to watch him with exhaustion and worry in the night while he scans through evidence files regarding a new criminal case.

in short, it's exhausting to even think about putting yourself in his shoes, and bruce wonders how you managed to stay with him for so long. it's not his fault, though, and you tell him that through sweet whispers in his ears when he's feeling down, through a simple doting embrace when he falls asleep during the rare occurrence you two could watch a movie together. and he's grateful to have someone like you.

whenever you two had sex, bruce would make sure he took his time with you. he doesn't stop until his body is spent, until your body is wrecked from the love and lust he has for you, and when you two finally finish after a series of rounds, he holds you close. breathing, panting—floating because he lost count in how many times he had come in your wrecked hole.

he spoons you, your back to his sweaty chest, refusing to pull himself out of your hole (at least until his cock goes limp), and he likes having his palm over your own chest to remind him that you're still here. your heart runs an electrifying marathon, then slowly comes to a calming jog because he adores your body, caressing and allowing his hands to roam free wherever he pleases. he loves feeling every tremor your body would retrieve as he dozed you off with a slurry of languid kisses across your nape, then the melt of your muscles the closer he holds you, and when you've fallen asleep and let slumber press your full weight into him, he does the same—because you're safe now.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

not to sound like a pervert, but bruce really loves your thighs. whether they were exposed in those shorts you like to wear inside the manor or deliciously full and contained in those dress pants he brought for you; he always had his hand on your lap. whenever he needed your attention and you were sitting next to him, he would squeeze your thigh because you were ticklish there. whenever you two went out to eat, he preferred sitting next to you because your thigh was the toastiest furnace for his hand. he just liked how... complex your thighs were. soft and malleable to touch yet toned and firm when he suckled on the flesh. not to mention, they were the perfect handles whenever bruce went down on your cock and sucked you off.

for bruce, he's quite proud of his shoulders. they've always been broad since he was younger, but with intense training, they've only gotten larger and broader since then. and he's glad that he isn't alone in this inclination. whenever bruce was stressed, you'd massage his shoulders until he snapped out of his migraine and turned to thank your presence with a kiss. and of course, bruce's shoulders weren't for purely aesthetics. they were also extremely useful, practically acting as your own bike handles, as you rode his cock. they provided you balance and leverage as you worked a sweat on riding out his orgasm inside of you, until your ass was thickly filled with his warm seed. and even that, that doesn't stop you from stopping and milking him out.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

god, when it came to you, he is obsessed with your cum. he's completely enthralled how much cum could come out of you simply from him fucking you, and it was why he preferred you riding him, or at least on his lap, so he could have the best view of your cock spitting out thick loads of cum and fuck, splash zone much? he loved how warm it was when you would spray across his face, even his face at times as he proceeded to fuck you harder. and knowing that it would make you blush and whine, he loved scooping your cum up off his body and tasting you. nowhere near sweet like fantasies have endorsed, but perfectly and deliciously edible on his tongue, to the point where he makes sure he'll be sucking you off clean before you doze off.

for bruce, he loves the sight of his cum anywhere on your body. in your ass, on your back, between your thighs, every place imaginable was a turn on. but if he had to pick, fuck... coming on your face was a true delight that would beckon him for another round simply from watching your features get layered and layered with his thick loads. it was dirty, erotic, and demeaning, especially as you waited for his loads on your knees, but fuck—he couldn't get enough of it. he couldn't get enough of decorating you in his own musk.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

it's all about taking control for bruce. whether it's him as the caped crusader or him in bed, bruce likes being treated as someone respectable, someone with honor, someone with authority. and when it came to you, he likes being called sir.

on some occasions, it would be your secret code for him if you were horny and needed to go somewhere private with him in public.

feeling a little famished, sir. hm? couldn't quite hear you. sir, i said i'm feeling famished. now get in the bathroom before someone takes— okay, okay! geez.

on many occasions, bruce would use it to his advantage and tease you in bed. the tip of his cock would barely graze your pucker, tracing and circling the tender flesh with a covet for your begging. c'mon, tell me what you want. use the right words. f-fuck, please. i n-need your cock, sir. louder. i need you to speak clearly. sir! please! sir! i need you cock!

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

they weren't wrong when the media labelled him as a 'playboy'. although, he had definitely settled down by the time he met you; earlier on, it was nonstop hook-ups with majorly women. for men, he'd leave it at blowjobs and nothing more. but hey, despite his inexperience with men, a hole was a hole, right? as long as it took his cock without any pushback, there was no complaint! besides, there was little difference in pleasuring women and men. he even found it exciting to learn from you, to learn with you, in how to give each other the best pleasurable one could offer.

you could proudly boast that you were the first one to put a finger in bruce's ass. and perhaps, convince him to put something else inside of him.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

it's already been mentioned before, but bruce loves having you on his lap. not because of laziness or anything, but he truly loves your body and how incredibly vulnerable it had become as you fuck yourself on his cock. it was a culmination of your body putting on a performance for him and showing off his favorite parts about you, exposing it and further enticing bruce to do whatever he wanted to you, with every single bounce.

the bounce of your cock and pecs in rhythm with your hips, fucking yourself down on his cock; the droplets of sweat covering your skin in a greasy yet glorious sheen that could make him cream inside of you right then and there; the change in your expressions whenever bruce began fucking up into you instead, meeting your own hips in a steady and quick pace. his arms hurt from straining his own weight, but fuck was it worth it when you came all over him in thick, long spurts.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

bruce isn't usually humorous in bed. rather, he finds enjoyment in teasing you through a mixture of his demands and his actions. what always worked was pulling his cock out until only the plump tip was nearing its exit, and he always found amusement in how quick desperation came to possess your body and thoughts as you'd wiggle your ass back in attempt to shove him back inside.

mm-mm, what's the word? p-please, sir!

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

since you've known bruce, he had always maintained a very tidy and orderly appearance, probably because he was constantly in the spotlight since he was a kid, and his groin completely mirrored that upbringing. rather than completely going bare, he likes leaving enough hair to provide you a preview of what's to come after the first few centimeters of trimmed hairs—an appetizer before the main course, he reckoned.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

with how much work and his second persona has taken over his life, that left little time with you, and he feels absolutely guilty about it. it depends on the mood, but whether you two were engaged in rough or vanilla sex, bruce made sure to stick close to you. lace his fingers into between yours, have his mouth on your body at all times, mark you and kiss you wherever he hadn't, remind you how much he missed you, how much he loved you, how you were only his. fuck, he was possessive, and you found that incredibly romantic as much as it was suffocating at times. he made sure you praise you, to remind you how beautiful you looked taking his cock like this.

and before he falls asleep, he'd always whisper in your ear that he loves you, even if slumber had already taken you as hostage and stripped you away from the comfort of his assurance.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

bruce tries his best from jacking off, especially since he knows how much more gratifying it is to have you clench around him; to have you on your knees and swallow his cock down. but fuck, you were a tease. you loved sending him thirst traps whenever you knew he would be swamped up in a day full of meetings, and you knew you'd successfully infiltrated his mind when he would dislike your message with a thumbs down.

though, thanks to bruce sending you countless videos of him rubbing himself through his pants, you were left with little imagination on how bruce was spending his short break.

bruce has never been so thankful for you in his life. it took some convincing to get bruce on board with filming himself fucking you. and ever since then, bruce no longer had to rely on the memories of your warm touch, of your sweaty scent, of your whimpers as he blue-balled himself in his office.

right then and there, he'd whip his cock out from the zipper of his pants, and jacked off to the most recent video between you and him on his phone. and not to toot his own horn, but fuck was bruce a great director. up-close shots of your body, glistening under a layer of your own hot sweat, followed by thick droplets from bruce's. the flash on his phone made it so much more erotic, like an amateur porno, as it would focus on his cock driving deep into your ass from his perspective, his groans rumbling intimately over the speakers. bruce's abdominal muscles would flex and his core would engage as he mustered another strength to power through exhaustion, fueled by your begs and whimpers for him to fuck you harder, and fuck, it was better than porn. to recount and watch how he wrecked you that night made him bust multiple thick loads, and unfortunately soil his pristine suit.

to which, you'd most definitely pay for, one way or another, when he gets home from work.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

remember when i mentioned bruce liked having control? well, that definitely comes into effect when he's rough-housing you. only if you're in the mood of course (and you were always in the mood), but there's something so gratifying to him when he has his hand around your neck, your skin blooming under the warmth, squeezing harder and harder as he's fucking you into the bed. being rough with you also goes hand-in-hand with his praise kink, singing you low and sweet affections in your ear while you're taking his cock like you've always meant to.

that's it, fuck. good boy. like that? you like that?fuck, your sweet hole loves that.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

he'd love to be more experimental, but unfortunately that has to account for his schedule and for the most part, you two mostly have sex in bed. if not, it was a little quickie in his office. which isn't bad, but the idea of his temptation wearing his patience thin and just absolutely ravishing you in his car, or in a bathroom some place, had run through his mind multiple times.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

as much as bruce knew that you dreaded it, there was a reason why he insisted on you coming to his charity galas. it was those god-damn suits he'd buy for you and it would be the only time he'd think to himself that the money was well-spent, if it even mattered to him.

bruce, i don't think i need another suit. what's wrong with the ones you got me two years ago?

out of style, out of season. see, i told you there's a reason why we don't follow trends.

it was distracting. it was the rare times where you'd look completely different from your normal self. your hair in a different style. your suit tailored according to your build. your confidence covertly reviving because you didn't want to admit that you actually really liked looking like this. your forearms breaching free when you rolled up your sleeves, and fuck, it was so seductive. if bruce hadn't dressed you and helped out with the styling, he'd assume you'd come from old money.

sometimes he'd regret it because all eyes were on you, on bruce's man, and it was a complete nuisance dealing with drunk patrons attempt to flirt with you as if you could even understand anything they were saying with their limp tongue in the way of their speech.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do)

listen, bruce is down for anything, but he doesn't exactly get wax play. maybe he's been almost set on fire too many times to count, but the idea of accidentally burning your skin because he poured too much or something makes him freak out. it was more about the discomfort regarding your safety, than his overall distaste for it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill,)

bruce doesn't admit it, but in your words, he's pretty selfish. not in a bad way because he always makes it up to you afterwards, but it was the control thing coming to play again. you suck him off first, and then he'll reward you with his own mouth if it was deemed worthy enough (you know it's a bluff, but it's always fun to play along).

he loves seeing you take his cock. it feels like almost every other day where you're down on your knees and sucking him off, and he hasn't gotten tired of it yet. you know where his cock like no one else, know where he was the most sensitive, how he liked it sloppy and dripping from your spit. it was a fucking turn on to see you so devoted to pleasuring him.

for giving, he's better at rimming than giving you blowjobs. for the most part, he hates that gagging feeling whenever he barely took his cock in your mouth, and you'd always tease him for it, making him blush profusely. he's never been bad at something, even if you don't say it, so he makes it up in devouring your ass like it's been a week since he's had proper food. like your blowjobs, he likes having you dripping in spit, your musky hole wet and tender from the amount of turns he's had licking and fucking you with his tongue. and the way you pushed your ass out and arched into the back as he buried his nose in between your cheeks discovered a new kink of his: asphyxiation.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

for the most part, it depends on his mood and energy. if it was a stressful day, he expects you to let him wreck your body until it was spent and pliant beneath him. to properly get him off, he needed the most lewd sounds to come out of your mouth; the writhe in your body because he got a little carried away at first but you then slowly adjusted yourself to; the friction of the sheets burning at his knees; he needed you hard and your body was going to feel the consequences the next morning. and then there are days where bruce wants to take his time with you, worship your body with the hands you would always hold onto whenever you felt at unease; with the mouth you would always latch onto with your own whenever you needed to renew vitality; with his body you would always safeguarded yourself in no matter how you were feeling because you knew bruce never failed to protect you. his thrusts would slow, languid but never lazy as he liked keeping you on your toes and hitting you at the deepest spot with a sudden rut, and then measured again as he pulled himself out, watching his cock throb and watching your hole take all of his love in with no objection.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often)

quickies were never as satisfying as the time fully spent with you, but it got the job done. usually on days where he was the most stressed and needed to let something out, he'd call you over to the office for lunch and where you were expecting to eat your steamy leftovers with him, you ended up bent over his office desk, naked from the waist below, taking bruce's frustration up for the day. not that you were complaining, though. he always extended his lunch to properly eat with you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks)

bruce is pretty content with his sex life with you. if you mentioned something about a new kink or wanting to experiment, he'd take up the entire night or two researching up about it, studying it methodically to ensure nothing wrong can happen and how to handle the situation if it does.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)

the man can go all night, have you seen his training regime? and the best part is? you let him have his way with you with multiple rounds despite usually being the one to cum first, and it would be a norm to have you coming again in the same night.

T = Toy (do they own toys? do they use them?)

he owns very little toys, no other reason being than bruce wanting you to rely on his dick for pleasure only. he wants you dependent on it, so there's a pretty big chance you might offend him if you suggest a phallic-type toy.

why the hell do you want a dragon dildo?! fifteen inches?!?! jesus christ—am i not big enough or something?!

what—no! didn't you say you liked seeing me struggle?! if anything, it's for YOUR own pleasure, bud. geez...

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

bruce loves teasing you. to be honest, who in the world doesn't love teasing their partner? it's adorable to see you try to squirm away from him when he's hugging you from behind while you're doing whatever and kissing the shell of your ear, then slipping his hand down your pants to feel how hard your dick had gotten from the most minuscule action. and fuck, when he throws in a little verbal play to remind you about how your dick is his and no one else's; you'd be thinking about it for the rest of the day, at least until bruce left for work and you were back onto his bed, sprawled out and whimpering as you spilled multiple loads over your tummy.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

there's something extremely sexy in a way that bruce tries to contain his volume through gritted teeth. it was intimate the way lust unveiled himself. hushed groans in your ear, biting into your earlobe then neck to keep himself from moaning out loud, and fuck, he'd tremble from how much pleasure you were giving him. it would be reflected through his breaths, ruptured as he panted in your mouth during a kiss.

and you were so fucking proud when the moment he disposed a load inside of you, he couldn't help but gush out a deep, guttural moan from within, one that would shake you to your core, and possessed you to spill your own load simply from the sound of his relief.

W = Wild Card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

if bruce had all day with you, he'd want to spend it dry-humping you, specifically in suits. he saw it in a movie once, two men gyrating each other while one was on the other's lap, and it was even hotter than two nude men blowing each other off. and fuck, was he right. there was nothing more infuriating than seeking for pleasure that could be more gratifying. he'd angle his hips, you'd angle yours, and you two would rub, hump into each other's cocks, grind against one another with a steady rhythm while he stilled your head for an equally heavy make-out session. you'd beg for him to just take you right then and there, rip your clothes off and everything, but no. bruce doesn't and never does, and he persists, relieving your aching cock with his own until you two stain the inside of your dress pants, a deep and thick wet spot forming at the center of the trousers afterwards.

X = X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

bruce would be above average, but definitely not hung like most people assume, and you liked that. it was perfectly fit for your body and most importantly, bruce knew how to utilize that thing. he dug deep, made sure you feel every inch, and fuck, his heavy balls holding his thick cum-loads were the cherry on top of your desires for him.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

sex would be the first thing on his mind whenever bruce is stressed. maybe not so much when he's pummeling down criminals, but more so in his daily life where he's swamped in meetings and talking with shareholders. i mean, is it his fault that you looked so good frying up eggs this morning? you had absolutely no reason to, especially when sleep was still laced in your face.

Z = ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

bruce has always been a nocturnal animal. even when you've fallen asleep first and nothing but the sounds around him were a droning brown noise specifically curated to lull him to sleep, he'd still remain awake for a while before falling asleep. there was too much on his mind, even if he had emptied it out inside of you. overwhelming thoughts came in as quick as they came out, and luckily, you were there to be the support he needed.

the soft snores of your slumber were evidence that you felt safe with him, a reminder that you were able to sleep like this because he did a fucking great job in keeping you away from danger, and he hoped it would remain that way as he snuggled into you, holding you close to his chest as if tomorrow could change the trajectory of fate.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[tickle-bugs]

Chase the Memory of it Still

Summary: Clark is deeply, madly, head-over-heels in love with the one person he can't have. What happens when he can have him, if only for a little while? Fake dating friends to lovers superbat hehe

this one's for @fickle-tiction as payment for being a goblin in her dms LOL love ya!! the sequel to this is in progress >:) also it literally doesn't matter but vicki has a jersey shore/boston accent to me. i won't justify it.

Edit: now with a sequel, But You Were Mine

Clark has never really cared much about his paycheck—not in the grand scheme of things, anyway—but fuck he really doesn’t get paid enough. 

“Sorry, Mr…Kent, but no press is allowed at the event. You’re more than welcome to wait outside with everyone else.” One of the guards—a bald fella who looks way too excited to turn him away—crosses his arms. 

“…in the freezing rain.” Clark attempts to wipe his glasses on a dry part of his outfit. All he does is push the water around on the lenses. His suit’s about three shades darker from the storm. Why didn’t he wear his coat? 

“You all seem quite dedicated. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” The guard smiles at him and shifts his weight, looking straight ahead as if all six feet of dripping Kryptonian have just vanished. The doorman reopens the door and shows Clark his people—a swarming mob of reporters hunched behind metal barriers in windbreakers, using plastic bags to keep their livelihoods safe. 

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Clark clenches his fist until it shakes. Inhale, hold…exhale. He came all the way out to cold, rainy Gotham—wait. Gotham.

He glances past the guards and sifts through the noise of the gala until he finds the one heartbeat he knows better than anything. He smiles. 

“Oh, my mistake. I thought he hadn’t shown up. My partner is right there.” Clark points. They both turn to look—would’ve been an excellent time to subdue them if he was feeling more brash—as he waves across the floor at Bruce. 

He looks spectacular, honestly. His hair is doing that ‘I woke up this perfect’ messy thing, his shoulders are unfairly crisp under a three piece suit that’s probably worth more than Clark’s rent, and he just…glows. He’s chatting with a young woman who looks more than happy to fawn over him. Clark’s no longer staring but gazing, he feels it, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do. Maybe Bruce should stop being so…distracting. 

He sees the surprise and hears the murmured ‘Clark?’ under Bruce’s breath. He thankfully doesn’t say anything else as he approaches, just glides over with a glass of champagne. 

It’s at this moment that what he’s done, what he’s implied really sinks in, but it’s too late to turn back now. 

“Hey, I left my invite at your place and these…upstanding citizens can’t find room in their heart to let me by. That’s what I get for showing up to support my partner, huh?” He hopes his emphasis isn’t too much, but he really, really doesn’t want to stand outside after all of this effort. 

Bruce’s expression lands somewhere between pleasure and disbelief, minute and restrained as always. It’s only the uptick of his eyebrow and the slight narrowing of his eyes that gives him away. Bordering on amusement, but not quite. 

“That’s unfortunate. What seems to be the problem?” Bruce sips. The guards shift uncomfortably. Clark tries to quell his shit-eating grin. 

“I guess they think you’re outta my league.” Clark can’t help but snort a little. Bruce rolls his eyes. 

“Mr. Wayne, can we see your invitation please?” Baldy clears his throat and plays official, knowing damn well it won’t make a difference. Bruce hands it over without a second glance.  

“You look handsome.” Clark winks at him. He could smell Bruce’s cologne before he even walked over. At this proximity, he’s starting to get a little weak in the knees. 

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” Bruce reaches past and adjusts Clark’s tie. Nice touch. 

“Alright, Mr. Kent, you can enter.” The guards shuffle aside. Just to be an asshole, Clark shakes all the water off his form like a dog, splattering both the guards with the rainwater they tried to keep him in. Their shouts of confusion and disgust are the perfect soundtrack to his entry. 

Bruce offers an arm as if he hadn’t seen a thing and leads him over to the coat check, as if he would have a coat to check. He takes Clark’s glasses off his nose, dries them with his kerchief, and puts them back. Clark wrinkles his nose at the gesture—it’s so Bruce to just…do it himself. 

“Thank you. I’m so sorry,” Clark sighs. The lenses are terribly smudged. He plans for a headache.

“You owe me. Boyfriend? Really?” Bruce passes him a glass of champagne. 

“I know, I know. I tried to get by as press and when I saw you, I panicked. Lex is here and Lois and I have been trying to corner the bastard for weeks—“ 

“Hold my hand.” Bruce extends a palm. Clark chokes on his drink. If champagne wasn’t trying to migrate into his lungs, he would’ve taken a serious crack at x-raying and double-checking it was really his Bruce. 

“Clearly you’ve never done this before,” he murmurs, the very same palm sliding down Clark’s back. “Casual affection is key. We’re being watched.”

Bruce subtly laces their fingers together as they walk through the crowd. Clark tries to appear as put-together and boyfriendy as possible, but when he looks around, every single eye in the place is on him and Bruce. He starts to sweat and doesn't take another breath until they arrive at a little private corner on the far side of the room. 

“So, you were saying about Lex?” Bruce leans against the wall, scanning the room over the rim of his glass. His eyes catch back on Clark, warm and intense. 

“I, uh…he’s here.” Clark swallows. He’s starting to feel dizzy. This is a lot. He’s used to the grit of Batman or the gentle gruffness of Bruce. Bruce Wayne is a whole different creature. 

“Mhm. He’s looking for R&D investments again. I was told it’d be rude for me not to attend.” A wry smile crosses Bruce’s features. He breaks eye contact to scan and it gives Clark the wherewithal to finish his thought. 

“Lex is pulling his whole ‘get rid of anyone with superpowers’ shtick again. Really mad at me specifically, as usual. I’d bet you ten bucks he has a Kryptonite ray upstairs. He’s probably in the process of building more…or something worse.”

“You have a plan?” 

“I was going to go up there and, yknow—“ he mimes smashing something— “but I can hear about twenty people whispering about us and I don’t want to make you look bad. Not that you look bad, you look great! I just know your reputation is important and I put you in a weird spot and I’m sorry—“ 

Bruce shushes him. Clark blinks and splutters, because who shushes people, but suddenly Bruce is so close that he can’t think. He can see the tiny scar on Bruce’s lip, the one he lies and says was from a household accident. Clark wants to brush his thumb over it. 

He feels entirely normal about Bruce Wayne. 

“Stop overthinking. You’ll hurt yourself.” Bruce roughly pats Clark’s cheek. Clark has to actively shift his focus from the calloused warmth of Bruce’s hands to his eyes.

“Okay, ouch.” Clark rolls his eyes. “I’m just…this is your element. I’m not good at this.” 

“If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to stay.” Bruce tilts Clark’s chin down. Brushes some schmutz off his face. 

“I got us into this. It’s alright.” Clark can’t look him in the eye. He’s so painfully aware of all the ways Bruce is touching. A perfectly choreographed performance for the outside eye. An act.

For a moment, he indulges himself, allows his mind to wander to a different world where Bruce might do this for him anyway. Somewhere so gently domestic that their rituals of touch are sacred. He wonders what it might be like to have a Bruce that’d dote on him like this, even while fussing at him. 

Of course he has it now, but it’s not the same. Not when the eyes of hungry spectators cling to them from every shadow. 

“I’ll arrange for someone to pick you up.” He already has his phone out and is halfway through dialing by the time Clark can grab him. Bruce spins out of the hold and starts walking away, still dialing. 

“Bruce.” Clark yanks him back by the bicep. “I can survive mingling for a few hours. It’s no different than using a cover. What do I need to know?” Clark releases him only when it’s clear his stubborn streak is done rearing its head. Bruce works his jaw for a while and then sighs. 

“When you’re talking to these people, they’re going to try and get to the center of you. Try not to lie. The truth will always be easier to remember. Just repackage it.” Bruce adjusts the clean lines of Clark’s suit with his fingertips, procedural and routine. Clark wonders briefly how many times he’s done this. 

“Makes sense. Anything else?” Clark takes a measured breath. 

“We have to sell this. People need to see easy affection before they believe that we’re…doing okay. Now, imagine someone’s watching us—“

“Are they?” Clark tries very hard not to scan the room. He starts to sweat. 

“Shh. Someone’s watching us and you notice. They’re definitely gossiping. What do you do?” Bruce raises an eyebrow. The light of the obnoxious chandelier on the ceiling gives him a gentle glow. His eyes crinkle at the corners just slightly, even without a smile, and it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. The surge of emotion in Clark’s chest knocks him off balance. 

“Well, staring isn’t—“ 

Clark kisses him breathless. 

Bruce leans into it, one hand cupping the back of Clark’s neck. There’s a perfect sunburst of giddy adrenaline—his hands find Bruce’s hips and pull them closer. Bruce’s heart thunders in his chest yet his hands are steady as they brace against Clark’s back. Clark cups Bruce’s jaw and brushes his fingers through the gentle stubble there, lets it tickle at his fingers. 

Clark breaks them apart with a quiet, triumphant chuckle—years worth of watching, waiting, and yearning all cresting towards this one moment. He can hear their comfortable status quo shatter as he does, but it’s worth it. It has to be. 

“Wow.” Bruce smooths his hands down Clark’s chest. He can’t tell anymore if the heartbeat thundering in his ears is Bruce’s or his own but he doesn’t care to know—if it’s the former, he’ll combust. Or faint. Somewhere in there. 

“How’d I do?” Clark manages to adjust his glasses without snapping them clean in half. 

“I might have a few pointers,” Bruce clears his throat and looks away. 

“We have plenty of time.” Clark steals another kiss and thanks the universe that Lois isn’t here to talk some sense into him.

……..

“So, you and Mr. Wayne, hm?” A blonde woman with a massive fur shawl wound through her arms sidles up with a glass of champagne. Clark freezes at the snack table. 

“Hm?” He hides the multiple horderves in his hand behind his back. He’s very acutely aware that he shouldn’t be unsupervised right now, but Bruce is being flocked by investors with no hope for escape. He sneaks a pleading glance in Bruce’s direction.

They do lock eyes above the crowd, but the horde encircling him has the tenacity of seagulls on the boardwalk. Bruce apologizes with his eyes. Clark resigns himself to perish. 

“Phyllis Hough, a pleasure.” She extends her hand to him and he takes it out of practice, kissing the knuckles. Her skin is so dry and clammy that he has to bite back the urge to gag. 

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.” He presses his lips into something like a smile. 

“Forgive me for intruding, but you’ve been the talk of the party since you arrived. How did you and Bruce meet?” She sidles too close, like they’re sharing a secret about someone else. Her demeanor reminds him too much of the foxes that used to terrorize his chicken coop growing up. 

The truth is always easier to remember. Just repackage it. 

“Well, he…needed my help. We met through work. We realized we worked well together and after that, everything sort of fell in place.” Clark shrugs. 

“That’s just darling. My husband and I met on a mission trip to Ghana.” She points to a deflated puddle of a man who’s leaned up on the bar, looking like he’d rather disappear than be here.

“A mission trip? That’s so…necessary.” Clark smiles and tries not to throw up in his mouth.

“I adore helping the less fortunate. It’s a hobby dear to my heart.” She places a hand on her chest, showing off the obnoxious diamonds on her bony fingers. Diamonds likely stolen from the same places she claims to ‘help’. 

“Ah, Mrs. Hough. Looking lovely as always. Do you mind if I steal Clark from you?” Oh thank god.

Bruce gives her a quick spin, using the move to squeeze closer to Clark’s side. He winds an arm around Bruce’s waist. Bruce rests his hand overtop Clark’s and he can’t help but grin like an idiot. He’ll never get over the little zing of his nerves every time they brush hands. 

“So soon? We were just getting to know one another.” Mrs. Hough tries to slide back into their space. Bruce stares her down, but not unkindly—just a blank, mannequin-like stare and a smile that almost looks real. 

A tense silence blooms between them. Clark’s sure if he listens just a bit harder, he’ll hear Bruce cursing this woman to high-heaven in his head. The silence stretches on.

“Forgive us. We haven’t spent much time together this week. I’ll admit I’m a little clingy. I never like to be far from him.” He cups Bruce’s cheek and gives him a quick, chaste kiss. Bruce chases his lips and lingers longer. Clark actually gets a little lost in it until a feeble cough splits them apart. 

“Well, who am I to interrupt love?” She strains the word strangely. “I best take my leave. I’ll see you around, gentlemen.” She waves over her shoulder and traipses back into the crowd. As soon as she leaves, Clark heaves a deep, weathered sigh. 

“How do you do this? I’d rather chew off my own fingers than rub elbows with these people.” Clark takes Bruce’s glass from his hand and downs it. The fizz is nice, but it might as well be water. He starts munching on his poached horderves. 

“Trust me, it’s not fun for me either.” Bruce grumbles, plucking a cracker with crab dip from Clark’s little stash. 

“Why do it then? Why pretend?” 

“It’s part of the job. You know that better than anyone.” There’s something so very tired in Bruce’s eyes. Even as he smiles, it’s empty and rueful—the light doesn’t make it to his eyes. 

“You don’t have to do that with me.” Clark squeezes his shoulder. Bruce’s gaze drops to the floor and his shoulder sag minutely, the tiniest give in his guard that Clark’s privileged enough to see. For a moment, he’s not Bruce Wayne but Bruce. 

He doesn’t lean to catch Bruce’s eye—he knows he hates that—so he just stands there and rubs circles into his shoulder. 

“I like who you are under the mask.” Clark offers him another cracker. Bruce takes it and taps it against Clark’s last ones, as if they’re holding glasses, and pops it in his mouth. Clark snickers. Only Bruce could make something so dorky look so charming. 

“Am I dreaming, or is that you, Bruce?” A feminine voice cuts through the din with ease. Clark catches the moment that Bruce’s muscles lock up and the eyeroll before he turns around. Just like that, Bruce Wayne returns. 

A woman in a long green gown slinks across the floor. Her posture sets her aside from everyone else in the room—her stance is powerful and lithe. 

“Vicki. It’s been a while.” Bruce gives her that practiced smile he’s been wearing most of the evening. His posture is so unnecessarily rigid that Clark rubs his back before he can think better of it.

“How’ve you been, Brucie? Hear you’re gettin’ into some interesting trouble. Speaking of trouble—“ 

“Vicki Vale, Gotham Gazette.” She sticks out her hand to shake. Tall, blonde, terrifying eyes—yeah, he could see how she would be Bruce’s type. Definitely an ex. 

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.” He shakes her hand. “I thought press weren’t allowed in.” 

“I have my ways. So do you, it seems.” She winks and passes him a flute of champagne. He graciously accepts. 

“Ah, well. Perks of being around this guy I suppose.” Clark bumps Bruce’s hip a little. Bruce looks so startled by the motion that Clark can’t help but laugh a little. 

“Listen, Clark, I’ve been with Bruce before and—“ she leans in close but doesn’t whisper, like she’s giving the world’s most public secret— “He’s honestly a softie under all the suits and cars.”

“I am not a softie. I can hear you.” Bruce shoves his hands into his pockets. Even though he’s turtling, there’s a levity to it. 

“He has a thing for stubborn asses who get into trouble, ‘cause he is one. If that’s anything like you, you’ve got a good thing going here.” She smacks Clark’s chest with the back of her hand. Her honesty is…jarring, but not unfun. 

“Oh, do you now?” Clark raises an eyebrow at Bruce over the rim of his glass. 

“It’s not a thing. I don’t have a thing.” Bruce grumbles, the faintest hint of pink tinging his cheeks. 

“Kinda sounds like you have a thing, Brucie.” Clark grins. Bruce scowls. He might be pushing his luck but it’s the only fun he’s really had all night. 

“You two been together long?“ Vicki snatches a fresh glass from a passing waiter like a viper. 

“Few months. Feels like longer.” Bruce doesn’t skip a beat. Clark hopes his smile makes Bruce’s tone sound less under duress. 

“Wow, that’s pretty serious. Congrats.” She raises her glass in salute. Clark wants to cut in—that absolutely felt sarcastic—but Bruce gives his hand a squeeze. 

“Can’t imagine life without him.” Bruce gives him such an earnest look that Clark has to avert his eyes before he gets too hopeful. His stomach twists. Play the part. 

“Do you got somethin’ you like most about him?” Vicki locks onto Clark and he jumps a little. She dissects him with her gaze in that way only journalists can. He does his best not to shuffle under her scrutiny. 

“Vicki, I hope this isn’t an interview.” Clark gives her his best stern stare. 

“If it was, you botched it.” She bumps shoulders with him. “I’m kidding. Off the record. I haven’t seen Bruce glow like this, ever. Just lookin’ for your secret.“ 

That sends a sweet, traitorous flutter through his ribcage. 

“Do you want to dance?” Bruce abruptly turns on his heel and shoves his hand into Clark’s personal space. 

“Do…you want to dance?” Clark furrows his brow. Bruce looks like he might explode. 

“Come on.” Bruce pulls Clark onto the dance floor. 

“Bye, Vicki!” Clark calls over his shoulder, but Bruce is spinning him into the gentle embrace of violin song faster than he can resist. They glide far, far away from that corner of the room, losing her verdant silhouette in the crowd.

“Be honest. Did you just run from your ex?” Clark laughs, trying to keep in time with Bruce’s steps. He’s always had two left feet, but Lois had forced him to go to ballroom dancing classes with her enough times for him to pick up some semblance of rhythm.

“No.” Bruce leads just a little too fast for the music at hand. Clark drags his feet in an effort to slow them down. 

“I don’t buy it. You would’ve been happier to see Harley than Vicki.” Clark almost dips Bruce on autopilot. He course-corrects pretty quickly and pulls a tight-lipped Bruce close instead. Nearly cheek-to-cheek, Clark takes the lead as easy as breathing. 

Clark isn’t sure when he started humming, but he lets the music take them both. Bruce allows him to maintain the lead, surprisingly, and he guides them languidly around the dance floor. He even twirls Bruce, shocked he gets away with it, but he’s too wrapped up in whatever this is to question anything.

When Clark pulls back a bit to tease, Bruce is staring at him with those wide, pretty eyes. 

“What?” Clark can hear the gears in Bruce’s head turning, even when there’s nothing to say. A remarkable talent.

“I…didn’t know you could dance.” Bruce shifts his hand from Clark’s shoulder to his back. 

“I’m full of surprises.” Clark grins. Their form slowly morphs from proper ballroom to a casual, dance-in-the-kitchen kind of waltz--Clark links his fingers with Bruce’s and leads them by the hands, they somehow find a way to get closer to one another, and they end up in a slow, gentle sway. 

“We should dance more.” Clark spins Bruce again and they end up back-to-chest, arms crossed over Bruce’s torso. 

“You can’t be serious.” Bruce’s ears are adorably rosy. Clark chooses to remain alive and not comment on it. 

“It’s good for you, Bruce! Lord knows you could use the smiles.” Clark spins them again, back to proper form. Bruce’s whole face scrunches and he stops in his tracks. A tinnitus-like sound ringing gently from Bruce’s ear and into their personal space makes Clark wince a little.

Of course he’s wearing comms. 

“Diana’s got Lex cornered upstairs.” Bruce leans in and murmurs low in Clark’s ear. He fights tooth and nail against a full body shiver. 

“Diana’s here? You called for backup?” Clark adjusts his glasses.

“If anything we’re her backup.” Bruce scoffs. “We need people to see us disappear so we have an alibi. Act natural.” 

Clark walks away. Bruce yanks him back by the bicep and leans in close. 

“Flirt with me. No, no—Clark, like you mean it.” Bruce compensates for the awkwardness by messing with Clark’s tie, but it starts to look like a tic more than anything else. Clark caresses Bruce’s cheek but it looks more like he’s wiping something off his face. 

“I’m trying!” He huffs. “This isn’t exactly my skillset.” 

“You had all of…that a minute ago—“ Bruce gestures at him— “where’d it go?” 

Clark tries to summon ‘that’,  whatever that means. The best he can do is scowl uncertainly and lead them back into an awkward sway. 

“You could at least pretend like you like me,” Bruce huffs, uncharacteristically petulant. Clark almost gives himself away then and there.

“I’m not good at this.” He swallows and averts his eyes.

“Come on, American Pie. You’ve gotta be working with more than those doe eyes.” Bruce’s devilish smirk genuinely tears the breath from Clark’s lungs. He takes a ridiculous inhale to buy him time until—yep, there it is, the smirk disappears. 

“Nope. This pie is fresh outta doe…eyes…that was going to be a dough joke but I think I should let it die.” Clark lets his forehead collide with Bruce’s shoulder as they sway, relishing in the comforting pat on the back that he gets. 

“That would be merciful.” Bruce laughs. 

“Did you just laugh?” Clark perks up. 

“No.” Bruce’s jaw tightens. He can’t kill the sparkle in his eye though, no matter how hard he tries. It’s there and it's stunning, like the cosmos in its depths. 

“You actually think I’m funny. You laughed at my joke!” Clark doesn’t realize that he’s dipped Bruce until they’re nose to nose, sharing the space of a breath. He quickly pulls him back up. 

Enough dancing. Clearly he can’t handle that. 

“I think you are…moderately amusing.” Bruce rolls his eyes. Clark squints.

“I think you are super…man.” Clark drags out the pause. Bruce all-but-scoffs. 

“Seriously?” He shoves Clark’s chest. There’s a fondness to the gesture that makes his heart ache. 

“You wanna laugh. I see it in your eyes, you do this squint—“ Clark pokes Bruce’s nose, mostly because he can’t do anything about it.  

“I don’t want to laugh. I want to punch you.” Bruce gives his best scowl. Clark’s finger on his nose cuts most of the threatening aura. 

“You’re smiling though. You are!” Clark scritches beneath Bruce’s chin as a fond gesture, something Lois often does to him. 

Bruce squeaks.

“You are beyond immature,” Bruce huffs, jerking away from the touch. Clark’s brain struggles to reconcile what he just heard with what he’s seeing, as a suddenly perfectly-stoic Bruce adjusts his suit jacket. 

Clark reaches out to do it again and Bruce latches onto both of his arms to push him away. Clark pushes back with no strain, as if the grown man clinging to his wrists weighs no more than bracelets, and repeats the gentle tickle. 

Bruce smashes his chin down to his chest as a couple of scratchy snickers force their way free. 

“No way.” Clark beams. 

“Don’t you dare. Do not. Clark—Clark.” Bruce starts to back away. Clark snakes an arm around his waist and holds him tight. 

“What? I’m flirting.” Clark presses his fingers into the curve of Bruce’s waist and it earns him a headbutt—thankfully avoiding the glasses. He finds a spot beneath Bruce’s ribs that gets a snort. 

“You’re so cute. I wish you’d smile more.” Clark worms his fingers beneath the curve of Bruce’s jaw, chasing that squeak that opened up such beautiful horizons. 

“I am not cute, you dick.” Bruce tries to bite at Clark’s fingers. 

“Mmm, I disagree.”

“I’m going to bury you in the shallowest of graves.” Bruce grits out, curling into Clark’s shoulder. A strangled squeal flies out upon contact with his ears and Clark stays there, fascinated by the degree of squirming happening in his immovable arms. 

“I’m sure you will.” He persists until finally, finally, a choked giggle emerges. It’s quiet enough to float beneath the ambient noise of the gala, but it rings loud and clear in Clark’s ear. 

“Are you coming? Otherwise, I’m taking him to Arkham myself. He’s…irritating.” Diana’s voice is a tinny pinprick in Bruce’s ear, but Clark still picks up on her message. He stills his fingers.

“On our way,” Bruce murmurs. As soon as the connection is severed, Clark steals one more squeeze at his side before they vanish to the service corridors to meet Diana. 

…

“Boys. You’re late.” Diana looks up from where she’s been braiding the Lasso of Hestia. On the other end, Lex Luthor hums an irritating tune. 

“Busy day,” Batman grouses, flexing his fingers. He makes his way over to the contraption in the corner and starts picking at the wires. 

“Whatcha got over there?”

“A highly concentrated laser stocked with a rainbow of Kryptonite strands. We were right on time.” Batman dislodges something with a mighty crack. In his hands, a glass capsule full of suspended Kryptonite crystals glitters in the light. The lenses on the cowl flick blue as he analyzes them further. 

“Well, Lex, you’ve just made me ten dollars richer.” Superman puts his hands on his hips. He can feel the faint, crawling fatigue starting to burrow into him from the proximity of the Kryptonite, but he resists it. He yanks a handful of wires free from the machine, crushes the focus, and kicks the motherboard hard enough to disintegrate it. 

“I hope your investors don’t hear about this,” he tuts, crossing his arms. “I’d hate for Wayne Enterprises to leave you in the dust for the…what, sixth year in a row?”

“We’ll see who’s laughing soon, Man of Steel. Your supposed altruism is nothing but your own selfish desire, fueled by greed—“

Superman knocks him out before he can finish.

…

“What the hell do you gel your hair with? Cement?” Bruce ruffles Clark’s hair again with a scowl. It doesn’t move. 

”Mrs. Duvet’s Quick-Dry Iron Hold gel. Otherwise it gets super obvious when I’ve been out flying.” Clark carefully starts pulling strands to the front, mimicking Bruce’s helmet hair. 

“Of course you do.” Bruce continues carefully messing with his hair. Clark shivers at the fingers on his scalp. 

“I can just wet it and shake it out real quick?” Clark grabs for the sink handle and starts sizing up how to fit his head into the basin. 

“I’d rather not leave a soaking wet bathroom for the custodians.” Bruce runs his hands beneath the tap, then holds them towards Clark. “May I?”

He nods numbly. Bruce runs his hands through Clark’s hair and he utterly melts into it. Oh, it’s a crime this won’t last.

“Looking like, uh, we had sex is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” Clark starts fiddling with his tie. He can feel his face heating up at the idea of it. 

“There is an art to it. Here, let me.” Bruce takes the ends of the tie and gives it a quick full Windsor with practiced hands. Then he loosens it just right. 

“Honestly, Bruce, no one will notice if I sneak out. I’m just some reporter they’ve never heard of.” Clark’s eyes dart to Bruce’s lips for a moment. 

“These people have nothing but time and wealth—they’re always looking for gossip. We disappear and you don’t come back? In two days, someone will find you and hunt you down for the exclusive on our ‘tumultuous relationship’.” Bruce fiddles with Clark’s shirt collar. Undoes a button. 

“So I’ll tell them we went our separate ways. Big deal.” Clark clears his throat. 

“Vicki and I broke up eight years ago. To this day, she still gets harassed by paparazzi on her way to work. Maybe that doesn’t bother you, but what are you going to do when people with cameras and time start realizing how much you disappear from the Daily Planet?” Bruce makes an exasperated hand gesture that seems to lack a target. 

“Fair enough.” Perry and Lois can only protect him so much. Bruce, regrettably, has a point. 

“We’re playing a part. After this, you won’t have to worry. I’ll give a statement that we quietly split and in a week or two, you’ll be left alone. Let’s focus on getting out of here.” Bruce returns to fiddling with Clark’s hair. 

Clark takes Bruce’s hands in his own. His breathing stutters a bit.

“Can I kiss you, Bruce?” Never has a question felt so heavy, so precarious. 

“Is there someone in here?” Bruce’s voice drops low, eyes darting to the stalls. 

“No! No, I just thought it’d be easier to…y’know…rather than faking it.” He can’t bring himself to look Bruce in the eye. He loses track of whose heartbeat is thundering in his ears. He feels like he’s back in high school and fumbling his way through practicing in the mirror. 

“What?” No going back now. 

“It would just be for a minute or two. It might be more effective than pretending. We could kiss a little. It doesn’t have to mean anything.” Clark shrugs. Yeah. Logic is good. This is strictly a business arrangement. Friends kiss sometimes. They’ve been through hell and high water together, this should be easy. 

Bruce stares at him for a long while, long enough to make him sweat, to make him sick. Years of friendship and trust suddenly hang in the balance and he’s not ready for that. He’s not ready to lose that. What the fuck has he done? 

“I—“

“Are you…reasoning your way through making out with me?” Bruce puts his hands on his hips, expression utterly unreadable. 

“Maybe?” Clark swallows. 

Silence envelops the bathroom. Clark starts running through ways to retcon the worst mistake of his life—passing it off as a joke? Yeah, that might work. He starts to fumble his way through the syllables of an apology, when—

Bruce laughs. Hand on the wall, shoulders shaking, laughs. He tips his head back as the last snickers float and echo. He looks at Clark down the length of his nose, still beaming. It’s the rarest thing he’ll ever see and he commits every detail to memory. 

“I don’t think anyone’s asked so nicely before. Is this how they do it in Kansas?” Bruce unravels Clark’s tie in seconds. He wraps both ends around his knuckles idly, hanging his wrists off of Clark’s shoulders. 

Clark grabs both sides of Bruce’s head and kisses him deeply to shut him up. Bruce tilts his head and pulls Clark roughly forward, slamming them both into the wall. He lets out a beautiful little noise as his hands slide beneath Clark’s jacket and absolutely ruin the clean press of his shirt. Clark has half a mind to hoist Bruce onto one of the sinks, but he resists. 

He’s beautiful. It’s the only clear thought that runs through Clark’s head as he starts unbuttoning the buttons of Bruce’s shirt. He tilts Bruce’s jaw up and presses tender, lingering kisses down the column of his throat. Bruce pulls at Clark’s hair, forcing his head up, and catches his lips with a growl. 

“That’s how we do it in Kansas.” Clark breathes, hovering in Bruce’s personal space. His glasses are fogged and smudged but he can still see the tantalizing tilt of Bruce’s lips. 

“Again, I have a few pointers—“

This time Clark does pick him up. Bruce’s eyes go wide. 

“Nevermind.” Bruce pulls him back in with a forearm around the neck. Clark surges forward and mouths beneath Bruce’s jaw. He can feel Bruce’s heartbeat nearby and he hunts for it, spurred on by the storm of his own want. When he finds it, he sucks slow and steady against his warm, soft skin until he’s sure it’ll bruise. Bruce lets out a keening whine that stutters into a gasp, gripping Clark’s shoulders. His thighs clench around Clark’s waist. 

Clark’s better judgment grabs him and he breaks them apart. Bruce doesn’t move away and that lights his brain up like a Christmas tree. He hovers there for far too long, fighting tooth and nail against the urge to chase the adrenaline. Bruce looks utterly sinful in his grip, flushed in a way Clark hasn’t ever seen. 

The concept of self-control comes to him in a whisper like it’s foreign. He remembers himself. 

“Are we…good?” Clark vaguely realizes he’s still holding Bruce and sets him down. He’s buzzing from head-to-toe, like he’s just taken a full day’s nap in the sunlight. He’s not entirely certain he can feel his face. He touches his own lips reverently. 

“What? Oh. Yeah, c’mon.” Bruce grabs him and leads them through the venue. 

When Bruce pulls him through the party and towards the front doors, he doesn’t even process the prying eyes and whispers. All that matters is Bruce’s hand gripping his own. 

Clark’s determined to catch this shooting star in his hand, even if it doesn’t last. Even if it burns him down the line. 

[womanofwords]

Everybody's Favourite (Part 8)

You stared at the Batfam, who looked ready to kill everybody in front of them. Then you looked at your adoptive family of villains, who looked ready to kill anyone with a superhero name. "Stay out of this, Batsy," Joker warned. "We're raising Y/N now."

"You were about to torture them, you sick monster!" Jason said. "We heard the screaming from outside."

"Oh, that? Y/N is ticklish," Bane said, casually.

"Do you think we're stupid or something? You're obviously torturing them!" Nightwing shoved his escrima sticks dangerously close to Bane's nose. "Come on, Y/N. You're going back to your home in Wayne Manor. You'll never see these degenerates ever again for the rest of your life."

"What?" That got your attention. "I'm leaving?"

"Yes, you are," Batman said. "Come with us, Y/N. Your family awaits." He took your wrist, and you yanked it back.

"My family is right here," you insisted. "My blood relatives didn't know I was even missing until my new dad here put out that video. And anyway, they're not asking you for help because they want me back. They're asking you for help because they're worried about what people will say about them at the fancy galas they go to while they leave me at home with Alfred. Heck, Titus got to go and I stayed home."

"Makes me wonder why I ever wanted to become one of them. Utter filth," Penguin scoffed.

"Your family is worried about you and wants you home," Red Hood said.

"Of course they do! They want me home where I can't be seen and can't embarrass them. I want family members that will be proud of me and refuse to hide me! I don't want to be told that I'm a disgrace and don't deserve the family name."

"That won't happen," Orphan said, a little hurriedly. "We've made sure of it."

"You have no assurance of that! I'm staying here with my new dad and my aunties and my uncles!"

"You tell 'em, kiddo," Two-Face growled.

"They committed a crime, Y/N. They're going to be arrested," Robin said.

"As the victim, I'm willing to drop all the charges," you said.

"My little baby bird," Penguin sniffled, wiping tears of pride away. "My darling dove. Oh, Daddy's so proud of you."

"Shut up! They're not your child!" Batman growled.

Penguin growled at the dark knight. "They're as mine as I want them to be! Tell Bruce Wayne and his gaggle of children that he'll have to live with it."

And Batman punched Penguin in the face.

"No! Dad!" You rushed towards the fight and pulled your adoptive father away from Batman. "Papa, are you all right?"

"That is not your papa, Y/N!" Red Robin yelled.

"You leave our Y/N alone, you little Bat-creeps!" Catwoman yelled, kicking Red Robin into a wall.

"They're coming home, Catwoman!" Spoiler demanded.

"But I don't want to! I want to stay here! Why won't you listen to me?" you sobbed. Around you, your aunts and uncles fought the Batfam for you and were beaten into submission. You felt your feet leave the ground as Red Robin scooped you up and took you away.

"Good job, Red Robin," Batman said. "Let's take them home. Their family awaits."

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8 <- You are here

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Taglist: @tinybrie, @enchantingarcadecreation, @hopingtoclearmedschool,, @sh4rk-k1d, @prorpy, @angelicbear, @sulleha, @sirenetheblogger, @omgfangirlland, @heather-hutchcroft, @wannaflyaway, @jaybunsblog, @sugarrush-blush

[13phantom13angel13]

Wayne Woes Pt 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I am extremely late with putting this out. Too much shit has been going on in my personal life so I haven’t had the time. So, without further ado, here is the long awaited part 2! Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clark had noticed the past couple of times that he and Jonathan went to Wayne manor that Damian was a bit mopey. And maybe a little jumpy. He avoided being too close to Jon at all costs. He noticed the little flinch he gave if Jon moved too suddenly; noticed his heart rate increase with anticipation.

Jonathan, out of respect for his friend, tried to keep his distance to not spook the baby bat. Sure, it was fun to tickle the hell out of him, but he wasn’t so cruel as to continuously do it every time they visited.

So, they’re current visit had the boys hanging out in the cave again as their dads worked on another case. This time they just sat around playing on their phones several feet apart. Clark watched them intently with a slight frown. He knew Damian was a little upset still. He wanted to cheer him up and let him know it was ok to be ticklish. It didn’t make him weak.

His gaze fell on Bruce as he worked on the bat computer. A wicked smile started to form on his lips. He glanced back at the boys.

“Hey Damian. Come here for a second.”

Damian glanced up at Superman and stood from his spot, walking over to him. Clark grinned, leaning down slightly to whisper to him.

“Wanna know a fun secret about your dad?”

The mischievous glint in the Kryptonian’s eyes intrigued him. He tilted his head slightly in curiosity. Miraculously, Bruce hadn’t heard them; too focused on his current task.

“Watch and be amazed.” Clark stated as he zipped up behind Bruce with the speed only a superhuman can have, latching on to his sides before Bruce even had a chance to react.

The squeal that ripped out of Bruce’s throat was loud, high pitched, and hilarious. But Clark didn’t stop there. He started wiggling his fingers up and down from the tops of his hips up to his armpits. Bruce’s back arched away as frantic laughter escaped him with no hope of stopping it.

Bruce squirmed around in his chair in hysterics trying to grab ahold of Clark’s hands.

“DAHAHAMMIT CLAHAHAHARK!!! STAHAHAHAHAP!!!”

Clark laughed along with him, continuing the torment as Damian and Jon watched on. Both of them wore highly amused smirks with just a hint of surprise. Who knew Batman would be so ticklish?

“CLAHAHAHARK PLEAHAHAHAHASE!! I’M BEHEHEHEHEGGING YOU!!!” Bruce sank down slowly in his chair as his cheeks flushed pink, tears of mirth beginning to form in his eyes. That was new.

“Aw…come on, Bruce. Damian needs to see that even big bad Batman is ticklish too.”

“OHOHOHOK!!! YOU MAHAHAHADE YOHOHOHOUR POINT!!! I GIHIHIHIVE!!! CUHUHUHUT IT OHOHOHOHOUT!!!”

Clark chuckled, retracting his hands. Bruce slumped forward against the computer system gasping for breath.

“Alright alright. I’m done,” he stated turning back to Damian. “See? Even your dad is ticklish. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone is ticklish somewhere.”

Damian’s eyebrow raised with a slight smirk.

“Everyone? Including you?”

Clark paused, his eyes going wide. Jonathan laughed on the other side of the room.

“Yes he is! Don’t let him lie to you!”

“Jonathan!” Clark squeaked out in embarrassment. Damian chuckled softly.

“Thank you for the demonstration of father’s weakness. Jon already informed me of it. However, I’ll keep that information safe for a time when I need it.” He turned to face Jonathan and motioned for him to follow. “Come, Kent. Let’s go play a video game.”

As soon as both boys were out of the cave, Bruce growled out in a menacing voice.

“So, about my revenge…”

Clark swallowed hard. Oh he just screwed up.

[fickle-tiction]

“So, what’s this I hear about you being deathly ticklish?”

Years of training was the only thing that kept Bruce from freezing in his tracks at the voice suddenly inches from his ear. He continued tightening the small screw on his grappling hook, ignoring the sudden pounding of his heart.

"Deathly is a stretch." Maybe if he didn't turn around Diana would get bored and walk away.

"But the 'ticklish' part is not?" Naturally, Diana reached over and goosed Bruce's side when she said 'ticklish'.

Despite the fact that he was expecting the touch, Bruce still flinched away from the nimble fingers gently pinching in just the right spot to make him squirm. He sighed, knowing she wouldn't drop this any time soon. "Who have you been talking to?" He asked, setting his tools down and turning so he was face-to-face with his assailant.

Bruce never failed to surprise Diana. She was expecting him to lie, or threaten to kill Clark. She did not think he would accept defeat so easily. "Is this common knowledge?" Diana asked, wearing a sly smile. "Why am I just now finding out about it?"

"It's on a need-to-know basis." Bruce was too experienced to dart his eyes around in his search for escape. He already knew Diana would be able to read his next move before he even decided on one. Now his only goal was to mitigate the damage she was sure to inflict upon his ego.

"And Clark needs to know, but I do not?" Uh oh. That was a dangerous tone. Bruce did not like being on the receiving end of that one bit.

"Clark doesn't know how to keep his hands to himself."

"Unfortunately for you, we share that trait."

Bruce was too dignified to try to run away, but that didn't mean he had to just lay down and take it. When Diana reached out a hand, presumably to latch onto his sides, Bruce seized her by the wrist. He was in the process of throwing her over his shoulder when Diana's free hand found it's way to his topmost ribs.

Bruce bit his tongue in his haste to stifle his laughter, but he could not hide the full body flinch from Diana's keen gaze.

"So it's true!" She laughed with delight. She easily pulled her hand free and crowded Bruce against his workbench, hands roaming over his torso in search of a better spot that might draw his laughter out.

"Why--are you both--so--fascinated by this?" Bruce was trying to shield as much of his body from Diana's wandering fingers as he could. Unfortunately for him, Diana was faster. When he drew his arms in to protect his ribs, she tickled at his stomach. When he pushed her hand away to shield his stomach, she wiggled quick fingers under his chin. When he shrieked and slammed his chin down towards his chest...well, her eyes lit up and she chased after that sound.

"This is why." Diana laughed as she gently tickled at the thin skin of Bruce's neck. His shoulders had come up to try and protect his neck, and he had both hands latched around Diana's wrists. Diana didn't seem to mind, ignoring his attempts to stop her and testing to see if his ears were as bad as his neck.

They were worse.

"Diana!" Bruce gasped, jerking away from the nails gently scratching the shell of both ears. The laughter she had been so desperate to hear finally came out, and Bruce was helpless to stop the onslaught of giggles pouring out of him.

"Clark did not mention this." Batman was not only giggling, but blushing. His cheeks had taken on a soft pink glow, and the hapless smile stretched across his face seemed to take 10 years off him.

"Dihihihihi come o-hahaha-on!"

Diana decided to take pity on him, and move on. She quickly tickled down his neck, across his collar bones, down his ribs, ending at his stomach.

"Jehehehe-Jesus Chri-hihihihihi-st!" Bruce cackled, practically folding in two at the onslaught of sensations.

"Clark only spoke of your stomach being sensitive." Diana was deftly avoiding Bruce's hands once again. "We will have to compare notes later."

Bruce shook his head, not confident that he could form any words between his near-constant laughter. He couldn't slip past Diana, though not for lack of trying, and he couldn't catch her hands long enough to gather his sanity. There was only one other tactic he could think of. Bruce darted his own hands out, latched onto Diana's sides, and squeezed as fast as he could.

"Bruce!" Diana gasped, hands finally leaving his body as she drew her arms inwards to protect her sides.

"Does Clark know about this?" Bruce was panting as he caught his breath, but he did not slow down his attack. When Diana brought her arms in to block her sides, Bruce went for her stomach. When she laughed and gently pushed him away, his hands darted up to her neck. When that didn't get a response beyond her pushing his hands away, Bruce seized his opportunity and buried his hands into her armpits, fingers wiggling furiously.

"Ohohohoh my!" Diana laughed, jerking away from Bruce to try and protect herself. Bruce followed after her, using her distraction and his bulk to his advantage and wrapping Diana in a bear-hug from behind.

"Not so fast, Princess." Bruce had his left arm wrapped around Diana's waist, and was squeezing her hip. His right arm was stretched across her torso, and his hand was buried in her left armpit.

"You--are--terrible!" Diana laughed, hands loosely wrapped around Bruce's wrists as she let her laughter flow freely. It was not lost on him that she was allowing him to get his so-called revenge.

"You started it!" Bruce pointed out, walking his left hand up Diana's side, gently digging into her ribs at random.

"Actually," A voice said in Bruce's ear, causing him to let go of Diana and whirl around, a batarang appearing in his hand from seemingly thin air. "I did." Clark smirked, unphased as the sharp blade was held to his throat.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Bruce grouched, the batarang disappearing just as fast as it had appeared.

"Clark, you must see this." Was all the warning Bruce got before those damn nails were back to dancing across the shells of his ears.

"Son of a bihihihihihihitch!" The laughter was once again pouring freely from Bruce. He knocked Diana's hands away and clamped his hands over his ears to keep them safe. "I thought that was going to be our little secret?" He had to turn to say this to Diana, and that's when he realized just how close the two of them were standing. One look at their faces, and he knew it was not an accident that they were crowding him between them. "....now wait a minute."

"I call his stomach." Diana's snaked around him as she drew his back against her chest.

"Clark, if we work together we can take her down." Clark looked like he might be considering it, but Bruce couldn't be sure because Diana's fingers were suddenly wriggling into his armpits as soon as he finished speaking.

"Tempting, but I've never seen you laugh before." Diana eased up, not wanting to overwhelm Bruce. Tickling him would not be any fun if it was overstimulating. "I call his neck." If Diana's smile had been scary, Clark's was downright terrifying.

"Di, we can definitely take him down together." Bruce's eyes stayed fixed on Clark's hands, and when he reached out for him Bruce did his best to flatten himself against Diana to get as far away as he could.

"Oh, so you're ticklish and a traitor." Clark didn't seem at all bothered by the hands gripping his wrists. "That calls for drastic measures."

"I hate both of you." Was the last coherent thing Bruce said for quite a while. It turns out deathly ticklish was a fitting description after all.

[august-anon]

superbat (or superwonderbat) ASMR AU where clark is the ASMRtist and he uses bruce (and diana) as his ASMR subjects (hair playing, nape attention, massages, back scratching, etc.) for live-person ASMR, but also sometimes his ASMR methods tickle real bad

is this anything sdfhsdhf

[tickletastic]

Please, Call Zatanna

Fandom: DC

Ship: Mentioned Birdflash (haven't said this on my previous DC fics, but batcest shippers, please DNI)

Summary: If Dick had a nickel for each time he woke up in Jason's body, he'd have two nickels. At least this time he can take advantage of it.

Strangely, it’s not the first time that Dick has woken up in someone else’s body. Or the second, even. The first time was after a weird mission with the Titans, and he woke up in Bart’s body, buzzing like he was going to die if he didn’t move, starving like he hadn’t eaten in months. The second time, he woke up in Jason’s body, a familiar redhead in the bed next to him, a small child cuddled between him and Roy. He had jolted like he was electrocuted and stumbled to the manor while Lian and Roy still laid peacefully in bed. It was, without a doubt, not the highest on the list of ways that Jason would have liked to come out to his family, but none of them had made a big deal of it. 

That’s all to say that, while nobody expects to wake up in another person’s body, Dick weirdly recognizes the weight he wakes up with, has a muscle memory of throwing the weight around the last time he and Jason ended up in this situation. Last time, Jason’s body had been sore, bruised ribs and two fractured fingers that he hadn’t bothered to mention to anyone. This time, he feels pretty alright other than the ebb of exhaustion encroaching on his alertness, and the dizziness that could likely be contributed to missing a round of meds the previous night. 

He can hear a groan from somewhere down the hall, the clattering of stuff falling to the floor, and predictably, Dick’s own body is dashing through the door. Jason looks beyond fed up, and the only relief is that he hadn’t gone home to Roy and Lian the night before, and that he had somehow, for the second time, avoided Roy seeing him in this embarrassing ass situation. Jason rolls his eyes with a grunt before glaring daggers towards Dick, “what the fuck did you do this time?”

“Me?” Dick gasps, offended, but unsurprised. He has been known to piss off a magician or two from time to time. “It was your fault last time!”

“Was not! How was I even supposed to know there was a witch in Gotham? She wasn’t fuckin’ around in crime alley, I never encounter the weird shit that you and Bruce do!” 

“Master Jason,” a voice says from the hall, Alfred clearing his throat, “language, please.”

“Sorry, Alfie,” Jason sighs, looking down at his hands. 

“Wait,” Dick says, tilting his head to one side, dark brows furrowed, “how’d you know that’s Jason?”

“Consider it an old man’s intuition,” Alfred looks between the two of them, partially flabbergasted that Dick’s body is wearing an expression so vividly Jason, and Jason’s body is wearing one that’s so vividly Dick. “Though I was unaware we were dealing with another magic incident.” 

“We were unaware too,” Dick groans, “I want out of this bulldozer.” Dick makes for the door, grabbing Jason and dragging him non-committedly behind him. They’ll have to call Zatanna again like the last time, and Dick is praying she’s not off-world again. He doesn’t love having to call one of his ex-girlfriends to get him out of embarrassing, avoidable situations, but it could’ve been worse, Wally had begged Dick to stay the night last night, and Dick is suddenly very glad he had said no. 

Jason rolls his eyes, following behind Dick, not making much of an effort to actually walk, “don’t talk about my hard-earned muscle like that.”

When Jason stops in the kitchen, claiming he’s hungry and his pit-stop is Alfred-approved, Dick paces the hall anxiously, hearing constant, numb buzzing in his mind. He remembers the noise from their last body-swap, remembers having to fight off a green haze that nobody else could see. Jason grins when he peeks his head into the hall, but it seems he hasn’t even realized that he’s not hearing the buzz, as if he’s the same with it or without it.  “Chill, dickface. Can you like, eat an egg or something? My body needs protein.”

Dick glares in Jason’s direction, and it almost startles Jason how stern his older brother is able to look in a body that’s not his, “I’m sure you’ll last two hours without a protein bar.”

“Says you, you weigh like three pounds,” Jason jabs, walking into the hallway to follow Dick to the cave. 

“I’m lean,” Dick groans, “you try doing a quadruple front flip with the body of a football player. In fact, I’d love to see you try.”

The cave, as usual, is dark and cold, a breeze seeming to come from nowhere at all. Tim is at the table closest to stairs, slumped over his laptop, eyebags deep and drooping. He has a mountain of Monster cans in front of him, and a coffee pot that Dick is certain Bruce swapped for decaf at some point, though it seems it didn’t matter anyways. Dick shoots him a disappointed look, letting out a tired sigh knowing that he’ll probably have to drug Tim’s tea or something to get him to actually sleep. 

Tim looks startled by the expression, a light blush on his cheeks, and Dick is reminded that he’s not in his body, but in Jason’s. Jason shows his affection through playful aggression, he doesn’t have the oldest sibling instinct to be exhausted by Tim’s shenanigans instead of worriedly amused.

“Timmers,” Dick calls, Jason’s timber voice coming out higher, more cheerful, “is B down here?”

Tim’s brow furrows, and he squints at Dick, His glasses sit low on his nose, and he pushes them up closer, but seems no more satisfied, no less confused. “Uh, I think so. He was like,” Tim takes a moment and looks at the time on his phone, “like two hours ago? I don’t remember him leaving I think?”

“Great, thank you, Timmy!” Dick skips deeper into the cave, and Jason has to physically restrain himself from tackling his own body because of how fucking stupid Dick is making it look. 

Bruce doesn’t look as exhausted as Tim, but he’s certainly getting there, slouched over a pile of files, sifting through them lazily and looking between them and his computer screen. He looks infinitely more exhausted when he looks at his eldest sons, putting his head in his hands and lightly pulling at the ends of his hair, “I will contact Zatanna again.”

“Thanks, B!” Dick exclaims, grinning widely. There’s something dopey about the expression being on Jason’s face, but Bruce still has to look away to hide his own grin at seeing a rare smile on Jason’s face. 

Dick turns back around, heading back towards where Tim was sitting, and Jason watches as Dick throws the younger boy over his shoulder, overestimating Tim’s weight, or, more accurately, underestimating his strength, and having to adjust. 

“Jason, what the f-”

“Not Jason!” Dick quips, pretending to drop Tim, “all thanks to some evil witch or warlock out there.” 

“Even worse,” Tim responds, but he hardly struggles when Dick moves to the stairs, intending to get him to finally sleep after who knows how long awake. 

Jason takes the opportunity to move towards the training area, hoping to try out Dick’s escrima sticks in Dick’s own body. He had tried to use them a few times, when he found them lying around or during the odd training session, but he just didn’t have the nimbleness to make them work, it was all about fists when he was fighting. 

He does a few flips, practices throwing himself around like it’s nothing, grabbing onto things he had never been able to jump to, doing tricks he hasn’t done since his Robin days. When Dick comes back, he watches Jason attempt some sort of backflip, one that lands him facedown on the mat. 

Dick rushes over, grabbing one of Jason’s arms and flipping him over on his back, looking unimpressed when Jason groans, a hand finding his face. “You better not have just bruised my body.”

“Bruised? You’ll be fine, dickhead, I’m sure you’re not made of glass,” Jason replies, rolling onto his side. 

“What hurts? Seriously, Jason, if you messed up my body I’m going to break one of your fingers before Zatanna gets here.”

“Chill!” Jason replies, sitting up, criss-cross in a way that makes this feel like he’s in a primary school class, getting chided by a teacher for spoiling To Kill A Mockingbird for the rest of his class.

“You’re impossible,” Dick sighs, reaching down and reaching for Jason’s ribs to make sure he won’t be feeling pain once he’s back in his body. Jason jolts away with an aborted squeak, swatting at Dick’s hand. 

“Fuck off!” Jason shouts, rolling away from Dick, he stops once he feels far enough away and gapes at Dick, “your body is like, crazy ticklish.”

“Oh, shut up,” Dick replies, waiting to plan his attack.

Jason eyes the room’s exits, figuring out which one could get him as far away as possible. Dick just grins, knowing it won’t matter once he catches Jason, knowing there will be no way for him to actually escape. 

Luckily for Dick, he sees Jason looking shiftily towards the back exit, the one that leads from the training room down the hallway to the medbay. Dick jolts forward and narrowly misses Jason as he runs, making it to the hall. Dick rounds the room to another exit, walking briskly down the hall, and he’s soon cutting off Jason’s path, grinning evilly as he watches Jason contemplate his next move. 

“You know what’s about to happen,” Dick says with a light laugh. 

“Can you ever just leave me alone?” Jason grunts, looking around to bolt again, “you’re so annoying.”

“I legally can’t,” Dick responds, and in seconds he’s tackling Jason to the ground, Jason, who had made the mistake of looking back for an escape route, “I’m your favourite big brother, after all.”

Jason is grappling against Dick’s hold, but he knows it’s over when Dick uses his thighs to pin him down, Jason’s current body no match for his actual one when it comes to strength. He doesn’t even know where to protect, other than the vague ideas he has from when Bruce used to tickle Dick, or he and Dick would get into mostly one-sided tickle fights as children. He moves his arms down to protect Dick’s ribs, but he’s not even sure if they’re Dick’s worst spot, and he’s beginning to realize that Dick knows exactly where to tickle, it’s his body, after all. 

Dick grins, lopsided and playful like he always has when he’s messing with his siblings, and he pretends to think, looking at Jason as he gradually grows more anxious. Dick moves his arms down so they rest limply by his sides, and Jason, noticing that the hands are eerily close to his sides, tries to jerk away. Dick grins, teasingly wiggling fingers next to Jason’s stomach, content when Jason starts to squirm. 

“Whahat thehehe fuhuhuck,” Jason giggles, “why ahaham I laahahaughing?”

Dick blushes faintly, shaking his head, “no way, is this bothering you?”

Jason shakes his head, brows furrowed, “it’s yohohour fuckin’ bohohody, why ihihis thihis getting me?”

“It’s the anticipation,” Dick explains, frustratingly level and calm, despite the pink blush on his cheeks, “I guess my body doesn’t like it.” 

“Yohohou’re tehehlling meHEHE,” Jason shrieks as Dick’s hands finally truly descend, fingers spidering over Jason’s tummy, “DiHIHICK! Stahahp ihihit!” 

“Nope, I’m taking full advantage of this situation, I never tickle you anymore.”

“Behehecause I’d kihihill yohohou!” Jason squeals, hands firmly on Dick’s wrists, not doing enough to push his hands away. Jason doesn’t know enough to predict that Dick is going to go for the sensitive spot between his belly button and left hip bone, but he’s suddenly arching his back, gasping and squealing as he tries to figure out some sort of strategy to defend this body he knows nothing about. 

“Hmm, where should I try next?” Dick thinks out loud, examining Jason’s red face, the smile up to his ears, he shakes his head when Jason insists that he try nowhere, and settles for a spot that will make Jason snort, “you know, I’m pretty bad on my ribs.”

Dick’s fingers wiggle upwards and drill into each rib, and Jason flops between arching his back and falling flat, “Plehehease! Yohohou- yohohu’re stuhuhupidly tihihicklish!”

Dick blushes, but he doesn’t bother denying it, he’s very acquainted with it, “alright, but right now it’s you that’s stupidly ticklish.” 

Dick does a motion that’s something between pinching and spidering on a middle rib, and Jason snorts before falling into hysterical giggles, throwing his head back. When he does the same to the top rib on both sides, Jason shrieks, trying to clamp his arms to his sides. Jason’s face is progressively growing redder and redder, and he can’t seem to figure out a way to predict where Dick will go next, entirely unaware of how ticklish Dick’s body is and where. 

Dick’s tries to put his hands under Jason’s arms, but is unable to because of how strongly Jason’s arms are clamped down at his sides. “Alright, well, you asked for this.”

Dick’s fingers fly down to Jason’s thighs, skittering between his mid thighs and hipbones, and Jason screams, bucking violently, flinging his arms instead of strategizing. “FUHUHUCK- N- DIHIHICK, PLEHEHEASE!”

“I think you can take a little more,” Dick laughs, shaking his head, “I have pretty decent lung capacity.”

Jason has felt Dick tickle him to pieces before, he knows that Dick’s skilled in tickling younger siblings to pieces, tickling all the back-talk and sarcasm and bad moods out of them. He himself has been tickled to tears at the hands of Dick. But this? Jason has never felt so thoroughly tickled before in his entire life. Every spot, every tactic, completely taking him apart. 

When Dick pinches above Jason’s knee, scratching underneath it every few seconds, erratic and unpredictable, Jason’s done for. He descends into wheezy, silent laughter, his hold loosening on Dick’s wrists. 

Dick relents, pulling his hands away as he watches Jason try to catch his breath, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes. He suddenly looks sheepish, looking off towards the door, “you know, I uh- I actually can’t tell your signs when you’re in my body. Did I go too far?”

Jason waves Dick off with a limp hand before covering his face with his arm, “you do that weird half snort half wheeze thing.”

Dick glares, his voice scandalized, “no I don’t!”

“You so do,” Jason responds, reaching a hand up to taser Dick’s bottom rib. 

Dick snorts, rolling off of Jason, “you’re still ticklish? Why didn’t you try to fight me off?”

“One of us has some self-preservation skills, Dickie,” Jason says with a wink, the expression is completely Jason, even though it’s Dick’s face, “you and I are going to have some fun when this is over.”

Dick pales, laughing nervously. “Uh, did you hear that? I think I heard Bruce call me, I’ll- I-” Dick bolts from the room, leaving with a bright blush. 

Jason just laughs, rolling his eyes. Dick might play the role, but he’s not dumb enough to expose every spot, every tactic that makes him a hysterical mess… Unless, of course, he was looking forward to the revenge.

[ghostlyshellofapuppet]

Could you do bat boys reacting to you getting them flowers just cuz

Getting flowers for Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, and Jason Todd

Hope you enjoy and I'm sorry this was supposed to be posted like two days ago but I didn't realize I accidentally saved it to drafts. That's my bad. Also not beta read, sorry

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Bruce Wayne

Bruce was coming home from a hard night as batman where he can't seem to relax. He was sent home early by every single one of his kids because they all agreed he should be in bed since he broke five ribs last week along with other injuries he didn't tell his kids about.

With a sigh he set down his cowl when suddenly he hears you falling fumbling on the floor above and stumbling down the stairs because you didn't realize he was home so soon. He didn't tell you about his injuries at all so you were unaware and without worry of his pain and he preferred not to worry you like that, so when he saw that dopey smile and flowers he was confused. Still in batman mode he tried to start investigating because he may be busy but he tried his best to remember important events and he didn't think there was one so soon.

"....what's this for?" asked Bruce with a raised eyebrow.

"just flowers, you deserve flowers", you say as you gesture the flowers towards his face to smell. He was used to getting flowers in a way as "congratulations" before as Bruce Wayne but not randomly.

"....just because? I don't need to look into the flower's meanings to see what you're saying or-" Bruce but gets cut off but your finger to his lips. "Nope, no secret, no meaning besides I love you and I think you deserve flowers....and I love you and your handsome.....very handsome...and I love you", you repeat trying to drill the idea into his head as he smiles fondly and grabs the hand against his lips to hold with a kiss.

"well thank you, my dear. I appreciate the flowers and I love you too"

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Dick Grayson

Just as he was waking up from sleep in the morning he feels something raining onto his face, ticklish little.... confetti? Opening his eyes and all he sees is your hand dropping rose petals over his face. Still tired and confused he blows away the petal that lands on his lips with a small smile when he hears your giggle.

"what's all this for, baby?" he mumbles with his voice still deep from sleep. Sitting up and grabbing your hips to pull you onto his lap and pouting when you move out of his reach.

"nothing, just cause I love you", you respond with a smile as you hand him a actual bouquet of flowers and set a tray of breakfast on his lap. A hum of surprise from him quickly replaced with a smirk when you kiss his cheek.

"well now, didn't I get lucky this morning. Are you sure there's no reason for all this?" he asks as he leans back on his hands looking up at you.

"nope, just felt like spoiling you a bit. You like it?" questioned with a smile as you let him pull you closer this time, his hands never been able to keep off you for long.

"I love it baby, thank you", he reassures with a long kiss before placing a bit of whipped cream on your nose just to see you go cross eyes and whine.

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Jason Todd

For the past five minutes he's heard you try to sneak up on him as he sits on the couch, hearing you occasionally moving closer and hiding behind another piece of furniture. It's cute, he thinks, cute how you think he can't hear you, so he'll let you continue moving towards him as he plays unaware.

When you finally get to the couch to hide behind and are about to hop up to surprise him, he stands up with a teasing smile you can't see and pretends to walk off to the kitchen, still acting like he doesn't know you're there as he walks away and catching a glimpse of your pouty face. A new plan of sneaking around the kitchen island to surprise him as he opens the fridge.

When he closes the fridge door all he sees is you holding flowers, your hair slightly messed up from sneaking around, and a dumb little smile for finally catching him and his amusement turns to confusion when he sees the flowers.

"where'd you get those, sweetheart?", he asks as his head slightly tilts to the side as he flicks the wrapping around them. "For you", and he hums surprised when he hears your answer, not answering his questions correctly but he gets the point. "Why for me?"

"because I love you and you deserve them...you always get me flowers a lot and you need them too so I got you some", you say as you press them towards his chest and he smiles softly, feeling soft at the fact you did this for him.

"thank you sweetheart, you're so sweet to me." he praises as he presses kisses to your cheek with a arm around your waist. "I have another gift for you too, your favorite take out but it's in the car"

A breathy chuckle with a kiss and he sets the flowers and you on the counter. "I'll get it plated and ready to eat",he says as he starts to walk away and you hop off the counter after him. "It's your gift, I should plate it",you try to argue but he just starts to run out to the car to get it first with a smile when he hears you call his name.

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Thank you for reading, hope you all have a good day/night

[igotanidea]

Prevaricate: Dick Grayson x reader

(prevaricate - to avoid telling the truth)

Part 2 of The truth

***

“So, Y/N… What brings you to me today?”

“I’m seeing things—”

“What kind of things?”

“I think I saw my dead ex-boyfriend”

***

“Morning, sunshine…” Dick hummed, rolling on the other side of the bed, instinctively reaching arms to Y/N, who was still asleep next to him. “Wakey wakey…” with few strategically placed kisses he tried to coo her to open those beautiful e/c eyes and look at him.

“Hmmmm…” she only muttered in response, nuzzling into the mattress, trying to hide her face and prevent the ticklish sensation on her skin.

“Oh no, you don’t!” In a swift, quick movement she found herself on the back, ridiculously exposed and vulnerable. Dick only grinned mischievously and without missing a beat started showering her with affection once more, this time not limiting the multiple pecks to her face, but daring to kiss also her neck and shoulders. And adding some tickling on her side and under her armpits where he knew she was most sensitive.

“Stop it!” she chuckled, squirming in a poor attempt to break free. “Stop, stop!”

“Mmm, no. I don’t think I will. Not when you are clearly enjoying it.” He intensified the movement of his fingers, but still keeping it PG. They had the most wonderful night yesterday and as much as he’d love to just repeat it, she had to get her rest. And it was his job to let her know that Dick was head over heels with her, this was not a one-time-thing, that he was going to love her and take care of her. So the tickling was just that. Tickling. Without any ulterior motives on his part.

She deserved that much after everything that happened with Jason.

Jason.

Shit.

“Hey, you good?” Y/N looked at him carefully, quite surprised that he stopped teasing her so abruptly and got a little fogged gaze. “Mmm, Dick?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m good. Perfect, actually”  he hovered over her, placing a kiss on top of her nose, making her giggle. “Come on sunshine, get up. We got a whole day ahead of us, and I’ll make sure everything goes perfectly smoothly.”

“But –”

“Starting with breakfast.”

“But Dick-“

“Nuh-uh. You don’t dick me” he responded without thinking and then chuckled at the unintentional double meaning “Still. We’re having a perfect day.”

“Last night—”

“Hush.” He placed finger on her lips “Last night was everything I dreamed of. So do not tell me you regret it.”

Dick might have been smiling and having a teasing attitude at that moment, but in the back of his mind, the name of his younger brother was flashing like a red neon light.

Jason. Jason. Jason.

“I don’t regret it.” Y/N smiled.

Jason. Jason. Jason.

“Good. Very good.”

Jason, Jason, Jason, JASON!!

“Now come on, put something on that pretty curves of yours, so I can focus on pampering you and not on other things” Dick bent and threw her his shirt, earning a surprised gaze and a quirked eyebrow. “What?”

“You want me to wear your shirt?”

“Sure. You’re my girl now.” Dick shrugged casually.

“You’re so awfully confident of that-“

“Besides, that’s like killing two birds with one stone. We’ll both look hot like hot -you in my shirt and me bare chested. Unless you’d rather use some other combination of lack of clothes?”

“You’re such an idiot!” she laughed, putting on his shirt and following him to the kitchen.

***

Acting in his best interest, Dick decided that it was an absolute necessity to show Y/N off a bit, therefore after breakfast, she was almost dragged across the city, to make sure everyone noticed that the Dick Grayson had his arms all over Y/N Y/L/N while walking. That the Dick Grayson stopped almost every five steps to steal a little kiss from her lips. That it was the Dick Grayson pulling her to his side and guiding her to Bruce Wayne’s private jet just so they could have a little trip to whatever country they fancied.

It was so shallow and on show and should have felt wrong, but –

She was a woman.

There was no way for her to not enjoy it.

And even with the overboard uptake on things she was beaming like the sun (almost replacing the sun since Gothamites could not complain about its excess).

It was all too perfect.

***

What’s the saying?

All good things come to an end?

Yeah… well—

***

While Dick and Y/N were casually strolling around, happy with their happiness, someone else was following them.

Someone stealthy, quiet and observant.

And very, very angry.

“Hey, how about we get some ice cream?” Dick suddenly stopped in front of the ice cream stall. “Wait, let me guess, you want your fav flavor again?”

“Actually-“ she grinned “I’d rather try something new.”

“Oh?”

“You go and surprise me. I’ll wait here for you.” With a little peck on the lips she gently pushed Dick to the stall, wanting to somehow test his taste in flavors and maybe check out if he really knew her and would pick something she’d like.   

And then—

It must have been a mirage. There was no way that she actually saw who she saw.

Jason, Jason, Jason.

That was just someone confusingly similar to her lost lover.

With the very same hair and eyes and face and everything.

Looking right at her from the other side of the street.

Gone the very second the car passed through.

Y/N shook her head, rubbed her eyes and mentally called herself crazy.

“You good, babe?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, sure! What did you get me?”

She was with Dick now. And the sudden mind trick producing Jason’s silhouette in front of her eyes was nothing more than saying goodbye to her past.

Closing the door to what was and opening the ones to what would be.

***

A few hours later, they got back to their shared apartment, Dick immediately moving to start responding to the messages and reaching out to his friends, bragging about getting the most beautiful girl in the world.

Meanwhile, Y/N used the opportunity to excuse herself and call someone too.

“Bruce?”

“Y/N?”

“I need your help.”

***

“You didn’t tell her.” Batman said to Nightwing in a distinctive low voice.

“No. No, I didn't tell her.”

“So she doesn’t know.”

“Yeah, usually when someone is not told something that person doesn’t know, Bats.” There was a slight hint of annoyance in Nightwing’s voice.

“Not necessarily.”

“Huh?”

“Did you threaten everyone around to keep her in the dark as well?”

“I did not threaten—”

“Does she know, Nightwing?”

“NO.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“She called me earlier today.”

“What? Why would she call you?”

“She saw Jason. A few times actually. And now, she’s convinced she’s going crazy.”

“What?! There’s no way—she couldn’t have seen him! I was with her the whole time and—fuck!”

“She almost begged me to see our therapist.”

“Leslie!?” Dick stiffened.

“Hm.”

“Fuck! Batman! Do not tell me you arranged the appointment!”

“I did.”

“Fuck!” Dick groaned again. Leslie was a professional and helped the bat family on multiple occasions. But, the bad side of all that, was that as a therapist, she would probably encourage Y/N to dig in the truth. And that would mean a total disaster to their blooming relationship. And if Jason was already bold enough to start closing in on them – on her – this would mean trouble.

“Nightwing.”

“I’ll deal with it.” Dick hissed with the clenched teeth.

It looked like Gotham and Bludhaven’s favorite chatty and witty hero had just discovered his dark side.

Or just a possessive one.  

@avery1709 :)

[spider-jaysart]

Today I'm introducing a dear oc created by both me and my friend @paladin-of-nerd-fandom65 !!

Marco Grayson!!!

(Click for better quality) The first pic is their hero suit and the second one is their casual, default outfit

Name: Marco Grayson and Markoand'r in Tamaranean (which is a name of one of Tamaran's first Kings/Warriors "Markoand'r the deathfire". A little headcanon by @pin-crusher2000 )

Hero name: Starwing

Age: 6-7 years old

Personality: Fierce, stubborn, is always too brave without a care, sometimes is weird in his little way, often passionate/determined, and is a sweet kid with a good heart

Orientation: Gay

Random facts:

Marco is the third and youngest child of Dick and Kory

Marco's favorite Uncle is Damian. Marco looks up to him a lot too and they get eachother, since they're mostly similar in their ways, and are usually chaos together because of it

For others Marco is also close with besides him, it's their Siblings Mar'i and Jake, their 6 year old Aunt Helena Wayne, Wade West, and two playful civilian friends from school named Jarred and Lizza

Marco is in a hero duo with Wade West (aka The Blur) called SpeedStar. They are best friends who grew up knowing eachother ever since they were babies (another headcanon by @pin-crusher2000 )

Marco loves dinosaurs and they are their fave animal. They even own lots of toys and other things of them because of it and they also know lots about them too, because of their interest in them. Bruce and Marco bond over this a lot and on special days, Damian will usually gift them cool art of dinosaurs too

Marco's fave films are the Jurrasic park movies and they're also not the type to mind the gore and instead thinks horror like that is cool

Marco has the condition CIP, which never let's them feel pain at all. This causes many worries most times from family, especially their parents. Dick and Kory usually have to check them to see if they're really okay anywhere, even on normal days for anything, since they don't understand how bad pain is or what it's like at all, which can often make them feel overbearing to Marco, but they only do it cause Marco would never be able to tell them themself if there ever was a problem, so they both have to always keep up with them for their child's own good just to be sure

Marco actually has 7 stomachs while both their siblings have 6

Marco's voice sounds like AJ's from TellTales the walking dead games series in season 4, but slightly lighter on the heavy part

Marco is ticklish on their feet like their Dad, but their most sensitive spots are their ears and ribs

Marco will eat anything, which can also be concerning sometimes. They get this from Kory who isn't a picky eater and Dick who just be tasting anything that's apart of clues like it's normal💀 Marco's fave foods tho are cookie dough and their Mom's more stranger cooking, which are unlike her usual Tamaranean dishes

When Marco becomes a teenager in the future, they begin going by They/Them pronouns and have a boyfriend by that time too, who is Dorin (aka Green Troia), the Son of both Donna Troy and Kyle Rayner, and is also a popular supermodel who sometimes takes up gigs in his spare time (once again another headcanon by @pin-crusher2000 and that oc is created by him)

Marco got help on their hero suit from Mar'i and Jake and got it approved by Damian after immediately taking it to him for reviewing lol. Damian was impressed by the results of the design and the only thing he suggested was a mask, but Marco rejected the idea, since they like the idea of being free like their Mother and big Sis, which left Damian a bit grumpy internally but he just dealt with it lol

Marco is a proud member of the Robin!Damian defense squad/fan club with their Aunt Helena, since Damian is one of them that just gets too much hate a lot of times

Unlike others who often make fun or judge it, Marco actually loves Damian's horned boots and thinks they're so cool, since they remind them so much of dinosaurs

Damian has a nickname for Marco, which is Goofball

Marco is one of the only special ones Damian gives out forehead kisses to as a habit from Talia always doing it to him when he was younger. But it's only between them, cause he has a tough reputation to keep still lmao

Marco has the the unique ability called Starblast, which is being able to breathe out a huge blast of Starbolt energy from their mouth after transferring it from both of their hands up into their lungs (think like Godzilla)

When Marco watched fireworks for the first time at 3 years old, they got so excited and overjoyed from the show, so since Starbolts are so similar to them, that's when their powers finally came out, when they were imitating them with their hands