time waits for nary man

she/her. purely fic recs. multifandom. interact w/ cosmic-parker.

[utopeian]

unbelievable

SUMMARY Dick Grayson is not just “some guy”, he's your very dramatic boyfriend.

PAIRING dick grayson x fem!reader

GENRE fluff, established relationship

WORD COUNT 577

WARNINGS not proofread, probably ooc dick, cheesy as hell, no use of Y/N

AUTHOR’S NOTE first fic for any of the bat family members! i had the idea first, no character in mind, then i thought that it might fit dick. hope y'all enjoy xx

“I don’t think I’ll get used to seeing some guy on my bed, ever.”

What was supposed to be an internal thought slipped right out at the sight of Dick lying on your bed like he owns your place. Your inability to hear someone enter your house and room as you took a shower should be more concerning, but the warm water evaporated your care away.

He sits up at an alarming speed, face scrunched up in offense. “Hey! I’m not just ‘some guy’ and you know it!”

“Stop being dramatic. You know what I meant.”

He scoffs to himself as you follow through with your skin care routine, barely sparing him a glance. He keeps going, much to your dismay, talking to an invisible audience.

“Some guy. Ridiculous!” He throws his hands up in disbelief.

Despite the words coming out of his mouth, he moves to perch on the edge of your bed to get a better view of your face through the mirror.

“Would,” he puts up both of his hands to create aggressive air quotes, “‘some guy’ go out of his way to restock his lady’s fridge with food? Would he get her her favorite flowers and put it beside her bed?”

The movement of your hands continue to work in your serum as your eyes trail to your bedside, away from your own reflection. There it sits, the flowers he spoke of, bundled in a vase.

“Huh.”

“Uh huh, yeah. You’re welcome,” he crosses his arms like a little boy. With the way he was acting, it wouldn’t be too far off. “Would ‘some guy’ have a date planned at the end of the week because his woman deserves it?”

He pauses.

“Actually, forget about that, it was supposed to be a surprise. And would this guy—”

You sigh, turning around to stand in between his legs, your hands finding their way to his soft hair. That was fast, Dick thinks to himself as he takes a proper look at your newly moisturized skin, but considering with how his mouth went running, he probably lost track of time.

“Shut up and hold me.”

His response in both words and actions are immediate. His arms slither around your torso as he says, “Yes, ma’am.”

Half a minute of silence passes before you sigh again, the side of his head resting against your stomach.

“Would the not-some-guy have the pleasure of carrying me to bed and holding me properly?”

“Oh! Yes, definitely, absolutely.” He scoops you up at an instant, making a smirk grow on your face at him taking the easiest bait of your life.

Settled in his arms with your head tucked into his chest, your breathing and pulses in sync, you mumble sleepily, “Guess you really aren’t ‘some guy’.”

He kisses the top of your head, murmuring back with a hint of satisfaction.

“Damn right. Never doubt me.”

That earns him a hard pinch to his side that makes him yelp.

…

“So about that date…”

“This is the only time I’ll mention it until then, but I got you an outfit.”

You pinch his cheek and he pretends to be upset at it (he loves it).

“Okay, you’ve convinced me completely, not-some-guy.”

He sighs, watching your relaxed features in adoration. “You’re never gonna live this down, are you?”

“I’m telling your siblings first thing in the morning.”

Dick groans and closes his eyes. He holds you impossibly closer. “Of course you will.”

[lucylockets]

Always Have Been. Always Will Be.

synopsis: an old photo album of yours is found in the attic, and you’re reminded of how much you’re loved in the family. requested by anon!

warnings: drinking mentioned (taking shots). fluff

pairings: batfamily x batmom!reader

dividers by: @/cafekitsune

[Main Masterlist]. [DC Masterlist.]

Dick was the one who found the photo album. He, Jason, Cass, Tim, Duke and Damian were tidying the attic. A punishment given by Alfred, and approved by you. It was for a mixture of being careless on patrol, sneaking out when banned from patrol the night after, and a build up of disobedience.

The only reason Bruce wasn’t up there with them right now, was because he claimed he had “important work” to finish, but you promised the children that Bruce would join them shortly. Plus, Alfred remarked that the Christmas decorations needed to be found up there anyway.

Dick pulled the album out of an old box, and opened the cover to be met with a photo he had to blink twice to figure out properly.

It was very obviously you in the photo, but much younger. You looked like you were college age, standing with a group of girls that were clearly your friends, judging by the arms around each other.

After flicking through a few more pages, Dick held it out and called, “hey look, it’s all old photos of mom.”

Damian’s head appeared from above the small wall of junk he had built while searching through the different piles. He made his way to Dicks side, stepping over whatever Tim or Jason had carelessly tossed over their shoulders. “Let me see.” He demanded, before humming a little as Dick lowered his hands.

Cass had appeared at the other side of Dick, also interested in the pictures of her mother. Duke had also made his way over, equally as interested. Jason shrugged, deciding that it was definitely better than continuing to clean and walked over. Tim was also interested, wanting to see any picture that he wouldn’t have seen when he was doing his previous research.

When they properly turned each page of the album, they found that the pictures started when you were a baby. There was a picture of you, small with chubby cheeks blowing spit on a birthday cake with a big ‘1’ decoration on it.

A couple of pages later, there was a picture of you, a couple of years older. You had hair that was just past your shoulders, flashing small teeth in a smile with one missing in the front. There was a small note underneath the picture that said “First day of school.”

First school play. Graduating elementary. First day of middle school. First day of high school. Prom, homecoming, and you with your diploma. You throughout different years crouched by a Christmas tree or you with different costumes through the years on Halloween.

That was the first half of the album.

Dick flipped the second half, when you had started college and most of the pictures were now taken by you or your friends, rather than your parents. They varied from different locations, from parties to your dorm room.

In one picture, you’re taking a shot with one of your friends, the clock in the background showing that it was 2:30AM. “And she tells me not to stay out too late.” Jason rolled his eyes, but had no real bite to his words. “She was cool.” Duke said, his voice laced with awe.

When Bruce made his way up the ladder to the attic, the album was open on a page that showed a picture of you getting ready for some event. You had rollers in your hair, and a bathrobe on as you beamed at the camera. The lighting made your eyes sparkle and your smile shine. There was a different look of happiness that the children hadn’t seen on your face. You looked much more carefree, and you had the look of someone that could never fathom the horrors the world had to offer you. It wasn’t that you weren’t happy now, it was just clearly different back then.

“What are you all crowded around?” Bruce asked them, making each of their heads fly up to notice him.

“A photo album of Mom.” Tim answered him before swiftly turning back to the photo album.

When Bruce cast his eye on the photos of you, he didn’t look surprised. A small, easy smile appeared on his face. Cass reached out to flip a couple of more pages, and they reached the section where you had clearly just started your relationship with Bruce.

The picture was the two of you in a kitchen that looked very different from the one in the Manor. Even though it was barely seen in the background, it was clearly smaller, with much simpler looking furniture. You were both dressed in pyjamas, the morning light coming knocking through the window in the background.

The camera was held in your hands, just the upper half of your bodies shown. You were making a face at the camera while Bruce wasn’t even looking at it. His eyes were closed, his lips pressed to your cheek as he stood behind you. Bruce looked younger too. He had some lines on his face, and there were a couple of scratches on his shoulder from presumably the previous night as Batman. But still, younger.

Bruce’s fingers reached out, eager to see more pictures of the two of you from the past. That’s when they heard somebody else enter the attic.

“Are you all doing alright up here?” Your voice was heard before you found them huddled around something in the middle.

“Grayson found an album of you.” Damian answered, already taking a step towards you as you joined their huddle.

You smiled upon seeing the different pictures of you when you were younger. There was a picture of you when you first appeared at a gala with Bruce. Your face was smoother back then, the crease between your brow not yet there. you weren’t yet aged with the stress of having a husband who likes to throw himself into danger every night, and six children who did the exact same.

“I was fairly pretty back then.” You said, “Been a while since that was a relevant fact, though.”

Bruce’s head immediately turned to yours at your words, his mouth opening. But a couple of people got there before him.

There was a chorus of outraged sounds, shouts of confusion and overlapping voices of siblings that don’t know how to speak in turn.

“Absolute nonsense.” The smallest boy at your side said, shaking his head. Damian was acting as if you had gotten a simple question wrong on a test. “You were beautiful then and equally beautiful now.”

“Exactly.” Tim nodded. “You’re gorgeous, mom. The amount of camera flashes when we’re forced to galas should prove it.”

Cass had slid herself close beside you, so that your arm subconsciously went around her. She shook her head at you too, before saying quietly, “very pretty.”

Dick looked downright horrified at your words. “How could you even think that?” He said. “Mom, you’re literally inspiration for like, five different clothing brands.”

“You’re stunning.” Duke declared. “In all these pictures you are. And you are now.”

Jason also tutted. He looked pained to agree with all of his siblings, but he had no choice. “Saying nonsense.” He muttered. “You’re beautiful, ma, always have been and always will be.”

You were silent for a moment before you smiled. “Thank you.” You said, a little sheepish. You pressed a kiss to the top of Cass’ head and ruffled Tim’s hair. “You know how to make me feel special, anyway.”

They continued fussing over you before you eventually reminded them to return to their ‘punishment’.

Later that evening, Bruce found you in your shared en-suite bathroom, washing your face before bed.

He stared at you for a moment, letting that indescribable feeling settle in his body again. Even after years of marriage, gentleness is still unfamiliar to him. He would’ve stayed there for hours if you hadn’t noticed him.

You caught his eye in the mirror before turning to him, “you okay?”

Bruce just nodded before walking the few steps to put his arms around you. “i’m okay.”

and that was enough.

“they’re weren’t lying earlier, you know.” he mumbled into your hair. “when they said you were still beautiful. you are. you’ve always been.”

You smiled against his shoulder. “thank you.”

And Bruce took every opportunity he could to remind you of it. because it wasn’t just your face that Bruce found beautiful, it was everything.

How you loved and cared for his children, how you put up with him and his late nights for years, how you cry and laugh at movies and books, how you treat Alfred with kindness and respect, how you were able to bring in so much love into his life when he thought it wasn’t possible, how you held him even when he couldn’t admit he wanted to be held.

Bruce Wayne might be the best detective in the world, but he’ll never figure out how you didn’t see how gorgeous you are.

[vigilvntes]

A World Alone - Bruce Wayne x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: i went from bruce wayne finger-banging to 8000 words of fluff, mutual pining and a lil bit of angst. i am not ok <3 also can you tell i listen to lorde :// anyway come talk to me about batman or the riddler or adrian chase <3

Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: Language, mentions of alcohol, not beta read idc we die like men, spoilers for the batman, cringe fluff and i don't CARE because bruce wayne deserves loves ok???? (i think that's all <3)

Summary: Bruce makes his first public appearance since the memorial service, with you by his side.

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The creaking of floorboards behind you catches your attention instantly. You place your teacup on the table gently (avoiding another lecture from Alfred about taking care with his finest China) and twist your head, a small smile crawling on to your lips when you see him approaching slowly. “Oh, look who's finally emerged from his cave.” You tease, glancing over at Alfred in amusement. He doesn't find it that funny, though.

“I can only offer my apologies, (Y/N). I did call him up an hour ago.” Alfred says pointedly, shifting to stand up from the seat beside you. You recall sitting at the table, listening to Alfred bicker back and forth with Bruce, until a few stern words and the slamming of the telephone had him making his way back to you, informing you that Bruce would be up in ‘just a moment’. An hour, in Bruce Wayne terms. “Tea, Bruce?” He offers, his hand already on the handle of the teapot.

“No. Thank you, though, Alfred.” Bruce says, his voice quiet yet polite. Like a child who's been scolded by their parent.

The room falls quiet. He hasn't made any moves to sit down, to join you at the table. He's just lingering behind you, probably wondering why the hell you're here. You know he's suspicious, you can tell by the way his gaze flicks between yourself and Alfred. Then, his eyes land on the small envelope in front of you. Now he's definitely suspicious.

You're not so sure what to say. It's been a while since your last visit, since you last saw Bruce Wayne without the cowl or the suit. You see him on TV screens much more than you see him in person, nowadays. While he's been busy helping the people, working with Gotham P.D. on search and rescue missions (you're sure he's been patrolling the areas with high crime, too), you've been working closely with the mayor and politicians. You spend most of your days in conferences and meetings, negotiating donations to whoever and whatever cause. You don't care. As long as it helps, as long as it contributes to the rebuilding of Gotham, you're game. You always wanted to do good with your money, and now you're doing exactly that.

Alfred breaks the silence, the quiet cling of his teacup against the saucer echoing around the room. You watch him down the rest of his tea quickly, more than eager to leave before your conversation with Bruce can even begin. You curse him internally for that. You always found it easier to negotiate with Bruce in Alfred’s presence. Bruce would break out the classic 'you're not my father’ line, (as if that's ever deterred Alfred from advising him, or telling him what to do), but in the end he'd always buckle. And you… well you'd sit there with a smug smile, watching the whole thing go down. You're on your own this time, evidently.

“Well…” Alfred starts, picking up the saucer from the table, “It's certainly been lovely seeing you, (Y/N). Unfortunately, I can't stay and chat any longer. The Wayne household doesn't run itself, you know.” He jokes. Though it's not really a joke.

You smile up at him, “It'd be lost without you.”

“Oh, I know that.” His gaze lands on Bruce for a moment, before flickering back to you.

“It's been so great seeing you, Alfred. And thank you for the tea.” You say.

“My pleasure.” He squeezes your shoulder before he begins making his way out of the room. His footsteps stop after a few moments, and you hear whispering, though you can't quite catch what's being said. Then, the gentle tap of his shoes resume until they're out of earshot.

You suddenly feel incredibly awkward without Alfred by your side. You can feel Bruce’s eyes burning into the back of your skull like lasers in the mist, cutting right through you. Your palms are sweaty, you can practically hear your heartbeat, feel it pounding through your entire body. “Why don't… why don't you come and sit down?” You ask, patting the backrest of the seat next to you. Nothing. “Please?”

He moves then, slowly circling the table, though he walks right past the seat you gestured to. Instead, he sits himself down two seats away from you. You can't help but scoff at how petty he's being. “Really?” You shove your tongue into your cheek in annoyance. He doesn't respond. Instead, he turns his attention to the window, seemingly taking in the scenery in the bright light of morning. Which is funny, really, because he never cared for the view.

You're getting a good look at him now, and he looks like shit, to be quite frank. Like he hasn't slept, showered or even been out of the literal cave underneath the mansion in days. All of those things are probably true. In fact, you know they're true. Except for that last one, you're sure you saw Batman on the news yesterday. Either way, he looks like he hasn't seen the light of day in, well, days. There's dark circles under his eyes, and he's squinting against the natural light flooding in through the window. He looks tired. You're starting to feel bad for what you're about to spring on him.

You're staring at him, and he's staring out of the window. You're trapped in some kind of deadlock. Neither of you know what to say or do, how to break the silence or cut through the tension. You figure out pretty quickly that he has no intention of cracking first, so you decide that it's up to you. You'll take the fall, happily. Anything to feel like you can breathe again. “Look, I know it's been a while—"

“Two months.” It's quiet, barely above a whisper, but you hear it loud and clear.

Two months.

You nod your head, “Yeah. Two months.”

Two. Whole months. Fuck. The last time you saw him was at the hospital when Alfred was hurt. You remember that not much was said between the two of you. You just sat next to him quietly, holding his hand in yours and hoping for the best.

“Listen, you know as well as I do that things just got really crazy. We've both been busy, and—”

You almost jump when he snaps his head to you, but you have no plans to back down under his intense gaze. “We have?”

“Yes, we have.” You say through gritted teeth. “And you know that.”

“Do I?” His voice is soft, quiet, yet there's a certain degree of animosity in his tone.

You huff out a laugh, though there's no humour in it. You're smiling, but you're far from amused. “Can you just let me fucking finish?” One more snide remark, one more interruption, and you would be walking out. Judging by the slight nod of his head, he knows that too. “Look, I know it's been a while, okay? I know that. Two months is… it's crazy. And I'm sorry, okay? I am sorry. I just... I needed some time to think. I felt like I was losing my mind here. The sleepless nights, the worrying... The isolation. It just… it got a little too much for me. Two weeks. That's all I wanted. But then shit got so crazy. I think—… I think both of us just lost track.”

He drops his head, focusing his gaze on the table and the intricate patterns in the wood. “Yeah.” He mumbles under his breath, but you hear him loud and clear.

You've known Bruce your entire life. Family friends, as cliché as that may be. You're not sure when your little affair started, but you remember the moment you found yourself in his bed as clear as day. It was an unspoken thing, as far as you knew. Neither of you mentioned relationships, becoming something more wasn't a topic either of you wanted to broach. It kind of happened naturally, though. He sought you out after spending his nights on the streets, and sometimes you'd make the trip to the mansion to be there for him when he got back. You'd have sex, and then you'd have breakfast together, sometimes dinner, and then he'd drive you back to the city in the evening. It was… nice. Really fucking nice. You might've called it love. But it didn't come without its fair share of grievances. Evidently. You just needed to be away from him for a while, to clear your head. Things had gotten really intense, and you needed some time. But then the Riddler happened, and the flood. You'd managed to get on with life for a while, doing what needed to be done before dealing with personal matters. But a part of you felt— feels empty, like you're missing something. There's a huge, obvious hole in your heart in the shape of Bruce Wayne, and you can only hope that it's able to be fixed at some point.

“What's that?” He asks quietly, gesturing to the envelope on the table.

You're thrown off by that, yet it's so typical of him. He never did like to talk about his feelings, or give you anything deeper than an 'I'm fine’, even when he clearly wasn't fine. Whatever. You know him well enough to know that he'll come around at some point, that he'll talk when he's ready. You shake your head quickly, pulling yourself together. “That would be your invitation to tomorrow night’s charity ball. We're raising money for people who lost their homes in the flood.” You tell him, sliding it across the table slowly.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you have it?” He questions, picking up the invitation, pulling the seal gently.

“Because I told the mayor I'd personally deliver it to you. She's getting tired of being ignored and sent to voicemail, Bruce. She wants to talk to you.” You lean back in your seat, your shoulders finally relaxing as you let out the breath you didn't realise you were holding in.

“So that's why you're here.” He says, unfolding the invitation, his eyes scanning over it quickly. You know he isn't reading it, that he has no interest in reading it.

“That's part of the reason why I'm here.” You shrug.

He huffs, raising his eyebrows at you and dropping the invitation back on to the table, “There's another reason?”

You shove your tongue into your cheek for the second time, suddenly understanding why Alfred was so quick to leave. You forgot that dealing with Bruce sometimes feels like dealing with a moody teenager. “I heard Batman dabbles in detective work now.” That gets his full attention. “Y’know, I always thought you to be a little more… What's the word?” You pause for a moment. “Hm. Intuitive.”

No response. Just his eyes staring straight through you.

You sigh, “Yes, I'm here on behalf of the mayor. I told her I had a personal connection to you, and that I'd deliver the invitation myself.” You pause, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth. “But… I'm also here because I wanted to see you, Bruce.” You admit.

“You needed an excuse.” He says, finally catching on.

You drop your head, huffing out an awkward laugh, “Yeah. Sounds kinda pathetic, now that you're saying it out loud. I mean I could have just called, or… stopped by. I don't—”

“It's not.” You glance up at him. He clears his throat, repeating, “It's not pathetic. I'm… I'm glad you're here.” He doesn't meet your eyes, but it's okay. You don't feel uncomfortable or awkward anymore. You feel relieved. You're certain there's no way he'll want to talk about… anything. That you're better off just moving past it, at least for the time being. You are glad to see him, and he is glad to see you. Middle ground.

“I'm glad you're here.” He repeats, and you brace yourself. “But—” there's always a fucking ‘but’. “I'm not going to the charity ball.”

“Bruce—”

“No. I'll make a donation, but..” He shakes his head.

“Look, I know going out isn't really your thing. But the mayor wants you to step up—”

He cuts you off, “I am stepping up. I'm already playing my part.” There's a certain bite in his tone.

That's true. There's no denying that it's true. Almost everyday you see that familiar cowl on the news or in the papers. Everyday you see headlines about the Batman, about how he's doing the right thing for Gotham, protecting the people and the streets. But that's Batman. Not Bruce Wayne. Well, it is Bruce Wayne. But it also isn't, as far as the people and the mayor are concerned.

“Batman is playing his part.” You say gently, leaning forwards and resting your hands on the table. “I know what you do for this city, I've seen everything. You're working so hard and I feel so guilty being here, asking for more. But as far as the mayor is concerned Bruce Wayne is living outside of the city, sitting in his ivory tower and doing nothing.” He seems to straighten up. “You— Bruce Wayne, were mentioned by name. He had a whole— I don't know even know what to call it, a… a whole presentation dedicated to you and your family. Whether you like it or not Bruce Wayne played a part in what went down.”

“That's not— It's not—… I didn't know. I had no idea about—…” He tries to argue but voice breaks.

You push your chair back and stand up, plopping yourself down in the seat next to him. The one you asked him to sit in earlier. You take his hand, feeling him tense up for a moment before relaxing into your touch. “I know. I know it's not your fault. I can't—… The people know it's not your fault, too. They just… they just want to see you. He tried to ruin you, but I promise you that the people are still on your side. You just… you need to make an appearance.”

He's silent for a moment. More than a moment, actually, and you hope that he's considering you. Or he's thinking of a way to let you down gently. Yes, definitely that. “I'm not accepting the invitation.” He mumbles, pushing the invite away. Ouch. Okay. That wasn't gentle.

You were quite convincing just then, you think. It didn't seem to be enough, though. It's okay. Because you came prepared. You anticipated this from the moment you agreed to give him the invitation yourself. “Oh, well that's perfect.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “Why's that?” He asks slowly. He knows. Oh, he knows you have something up your sleeve.

“Because I kind of, sort of, maybe… already have you down as my plus one.” His stare is blank, but it says everything. He's less than impressed. “And my driver might have the night off.” You add, placing the cherry neatly on top of the already-pissed-off-Bruce-Wayne-Sundae.

“I suggest you fix that.”

You shake your head. “Uh-uh. No. I don't think so. It's his daughter’s birthday so… special occasion. I wouldn't want to ruin any plans.” You shrug.

“Well you're ruining my plans.” He comments, sitting back. He hasn't dropped your hand, though.

“And what are your plans for tomorrow?” You ask. He glances away, and you can practically see the cogs in his head grinding against each other as he tries to think of something— anything that he could possibly be doing tomorrow night.

“Gordon needs me.” He answers, finally.

“That's a lie.” Blatant, actually. You're offended that he thinks you're stupid enough to fall for that.

“It’s not a lie.”

“You're lying. Your nostrils flare when you lie.” You can't help but smile at him. You know him, and you've always known him. You know when he's lying, when he's being truthful, when he's happy, when something’s bothering him. You know him like the back of your hand. Like you know the alphabet. “And even if Gordon did need you, the event starts at six. So I was thinking we get there at six thirty, leave for eight. You show face, and it leaves you plenty of time.”

He's staring at you. You're staring at him. He's silent, you're waiting for a response. He sighs quietly, “I'm not getting out of this, am I?”

You shake your head, “I don't think so. I think I've backed you into a corner enough. But I have more excuses and reasons if you wanna hear those, too.”

His lips twitch, and soon enough he's breaking out into a smile. It's not a big grin, but you can see his teeth and that makes you grin right at him. He drops his head for a moment, shoulders shaking as he laughs quietly. “You're unbelievable.”

You squeeze his hand gently. “So are you.” You really mean that, too. Maybe not in the way he means it. “So, I expect to see you parked up outside of my house at five thirty tomorrow. It's black tie, so do what you will with that.”

“Fine.” He mumbles, though his smile still hasn't dropped, and he's staring down at your intertwined fingers.

The two of you sit there in silence for a minute, finally comfortable in each other’s company. Without the tension, the awkwardness, the uncomfortable elephant in the room. It feels nice, you think, to just sit there for a moment and be. It makes you realise how much you've missed him. How much you've missed just sitting at his table in a comfortable silence, eating breakfast together in the late afternoon while Alfred scolds you for being lazy. You hope this is the first step to fixing things, getting things back to how they used to be. Maybe you would become more.

You don't want to go. You want to stay right there with him. But you have to go.

You chew on your bottom lip for a moment. “I hope you don't mind but… I have to leave. I have a meeting soon.”

Bruce shakes his head, “No. No, of course. You—… Do you need a ride back to the city?” He asks.

You shake your head, “No, I'm good. Patrick’s waiting for me.”

“He's been out there the whole time?” He asks, his eyes widening in surprise and… probably guilt. It did take him an hour to bring himself to leave the cave.

“Uh-huh. Even more reason for me to give him the night off.” You stand up, and he doesn't let go of your hand. In fact, his grip seems to tighten. You feel guilty for leaving already. You really don't want to fucking go. You want to sit with him, kiss him, wrap your arms around him and tell him how much you've missed him and how you think about him every single day. But you have to go. “I'll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.” He mumbles.

You start to walk away, and he still has your hand in his. Right up to the moment you're no longer in reach, his arm is outstretched. You swear you see him lean his body back, so you're fingertips can graze against each other for just a moment longer. You drop your hand down by your side slowly, the ghost of his touch lingering on your skin. Fuck, you miss it already. “If you stand me up tomorrow, I'm telling every magazine and newspaper in Gotham.” You tease.

“I wouldn't dare.” He reassures.

And then you're gone, your footsteps fading as you make your way down the hall.

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Bruce doesn't disappoint. You didn't think he would, anyway. He was parked outside at exactly five thirty, looking far from impressed, but his frown dissipated as soon as his eyes landed on you. You smiled at him, and he managed to smile right back. He's wearing a simple black suit and tie, that long coat of his over the top. You remember it's the one he wore to the memorial service, too.

Now, you're sitting in his car, dressed to the nines, waiting in the traffic. You feel like you've been here for two hours already, but really it's only been ten minutes. It's quiet in the car, which doesn't surprise you. He's nervous. So, so nervous. You can see it in his furrowed brows, his tense jaw. In the way his eyes flick between you, the road and his own hand on the steering wheel. You do feel guilty for dragging him out, for making him leave the comfort of his own home, the comfort of his armour and cowl. Tonight, the eyes of Gotham would be on Bruce Wayne, not Batman. People would talk, because that's what people do, and they'd talk for a while. But at least he'd only have to do it once. One public appearance is enough to cause a stir, you think.

“How are you feeling?” You ask gently, glancing over at him.

“M’fine.” He mumbles in response, nostrils flaring every so slightly. You know he tried so hard to hide that. His eyes are focused on the road now, the traffic moving along just a little. There's only five or six cars in front of you now. They'll know it's him immediately, just from the model of the car. You swear he's the only person in Gotham who drives himself to events.

“Okay. That's cool. Now tell me the truth?” He looks at you, then, almost incredulously. You shrug, “Why do you always forget that I know exactly when you're lying?”

He sighs. You're right and he knows it. “I'm feeling okay. Just… Just a little nervous.” There's more truth to it. Not the full truth. You know he's shitting bricks, to put it quite plainly. But you'll let him have that. You figure that's the most honest answer you're going to get.

“You'll be okay.” You reassure, but he doesn't look so convinced. “It's just for tonight. You don't have to answer any questions, if you don't want to. We'll go right in there, talk to whoever you need to talk to— definitely the mayor, and then we'll get out of there. Sound good?”

“Yeah.”

Soon five or six cars turn into two or three, and before you know it, you're right in front of the steps. You turn to look at him, to make sure that he's okay one last time before you step out, but he's already opening the car door, getting out quickly and slamming it shut behind him. Never mind then. You watch him walk around the front of the car, keeping his head down the whole time as all eyes and all cameras are pointed directly at him. He opens the door for you and offers you his hand, which you gladly take, mumbling a quiet ‘thank you’. And then you're in the thick of it, too.

Cameras flashing in your face, reporters shoving microphones in front of you, everyone’s so desperate to get anything from either you or Bruce. He has his back turned to the press, handing his keys to the valet while you try and offer your best smile. It's pointless though, all attention is focused on the prince of the city, as they like to call him. You don't even register that he's turned his attention to you until he's tugging on your arm, pulling you gently towards the steps.

The ball is being held at some fancy hotel just outside of the city. It's big and bright and lavish, lit up from top to bottom, totally opposite to everything else in the city. It looks so out of place, honestly, compared to the monochromatic nature of Gotham. Oh well. You'd have plenty of time to complain about the ugly venue later.

You loop your arm around his, pulling him close to you, and immediately you feel him relax against you. The two of you ascend the white, marble staircase arm in arm. You smile and occasionally wave, answering any questions directed to you as quickly as you can. Bruce, on the other hand, ignores all of them. He doesn't even smile, you don't think. He just keeps his head down, blocking out the screams of his name.

“Mr Wayne!”

“Mr Wayne! It's so good to see you!”

“Mr Wayne, why are you here tonight!?”

“Mr Wayne, how are you contributing to the effort to rebuild Gotham?!”

“Mr Wayne, are you dating (Y/N)?!”

“Mr Wayne, you're the only one mentioned by name that survived the attacks. Is it true that you were working with Edward Nashton?!”

You feel him tense up.

“Mr Wayne, how does it feel knowing your father’s a murderer?!”

Fuck.

That one gets to him.

He stops dead in his tracks, and you stop too. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. You don't know what to do. He's frozen in place, breathing heavily, cheeks turning red with anger, giving the reporter who asked that question the deadliest glare. Seriously, if looks could kill, this guy would be dead one million times over. He'd be six feet fucking under. The only thing that comforts you is the fact that Bruce makes a conscious effort to not kill. You still fear that he'll lunge over the barriers, though. Give the reporter a piece of his mind with his fists instead. Warranted, though not entirely ideal, and you know he has enough sense to not go through with any acts of violence running through his head right now.

It’s your soft voice, the gentle tug on his arm that snaps him out of it, that quells his rage for just a moment. “Hey, let's get inside.” He looks between you and the reporter for a brief moment, then nods his head. You sigh quietly in relief as the two of climb the last few steps, making your way into the building quickly.

He's shaking. You can feel him shaking against you. You assume it's because he's angry, but then you see his eyes, red and glassy, and you realise he's on the verge of tears. You're not sure whether he's upset, or whether he's just really fucking wound up. Or both.

“So much for ‘the people are on your side’.” He mumbles under his breath, but you hear him. Oh, he's pissed off. Rightly so, but you don't appreciate his snide comment. He tries to pull away from you, but you don't let him. You keep your arm firmly locked around his, wrapping your hand around his bicep and squeezing gently. The moment you allow him to let go of you will be the moment you lose him. You don't trust him to not bolt straight out of the doors, to fly back down the steps, get back into his car and drive home. You've only just got him back, and you'd like to keep him for good this time.

You're in the fancy lobby, now. Bright red carpets, golden wallpaper and large paintings in golden frames hanging on the walls. It's ugly even on the inside, you think, but it's far nicer in here than it is out there. In here, you're surrounded by ugly decor, politicians, socialites and pretty much anyone who's anyone in Gotham. But you're safe. Out there… you're like pieces of meat to a pack of wild dogs. They're hungry, desperate for anything they can get from you. At least inside you're away from the flashing lights, the microphones being shoved under your noses and the screaming of your names.

The large, wooden doors that lead to the hall where the event is being held are just up ahead, but you pull him to the side before you even think about going right in. “Hey…” You whisper, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Don't.” He warns, refusing to meet your eyes.

“You just have to ignore them, Bruce. I know it's hard—”

“You don't know.” He's trying to be cutting, actively trying to ward you off. The same way he does with Alfred. But just like how it doesn't work with Alfred, it doesn't work with you, either. You know that deep down he's desperate for some kind of reassurance, but he only knows how to fight against it.

You bring your hands up to his face, cupping his cheeks with your palms. “You're right. I don't know. But what I do know is that not everyone thinks like that.”

“But some people do.” He sounds genuinely hurt. Bruce spent his entire life idolising his father. He started the Gotham Project for his father, to continue his family's legacy. He knows the truth about what went down with his father and Falcone and the reporter who had dirt on his mother, and that should be enough. But it isn't, and you can understand why it isn't enough. It has to be, though.

You nod. “Yeah. Some people do. They'll believe the gossip and the lies and the fucked up shit they hear over the truth, as long as it lines up with their ideals. You know the truth, and the majority of the city knows the truth, too. And they're on your side, I promise you.” You take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, squeezing gently.

The two of you stand there in silence for a moment. He seems to be calming down, which is more than a relief to you. His cheeks are returning to their normal, pasty colour and he's breathing deep and slow now. He's okay. He's going to be okay. He's going to get through the next hour, at least, and then you'd be free to leave.

You bring his hand up to your lips and press a soft kiss against his knuckle, “Are you good, Bruce?” You ask gently. You don't want to push him if he's not ready yet.

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

“(Y/N).” He speaks your name so softly, and it commands your full attention. “I'm okay.” He brings your hand up to his lips now, pressing a kiss against your knuckle just like you'd done only seconds ago.

You almost melt.

God. Just being with him, touching him and talking to him, makes you wonder why you ever spent so long away from him. Two fucking months. You can't even comprehend it, but you know it's never going to happen again. You're never going to spend that long away from him ever again. It's Bruce, it always has been and it always will be. You're certain of that. You'll never miss anyone like you miss him, crave anyone’s attention like you crave his, buckle under anyone’s touch like you buckle under his. You're not sure if the same can he said for him, but he's here with you, and that's all that matters.

“Okay. Do you wanna head in?” He nods his head, and this time he moves to take hold of your arm first. You smile up at him, and you see his lips twitch upwards. That's enough for you.

The two of you make your way towards the wooden doors. Most, if not all, guests are already in there, you assume, since the lobby is almost barren. “Are you ready?” You ask. He nods and without a second of hesitation you're pushing open the doors. It feels like there's a spotlight shining directly on you, or maybe that's just the effect of the bright lights and golden walls meshing together to create some kind of optical phenomena that has you blinded for just a moment. Fuck, if you thought it was light out there, you have no idea how to describe this. Though, it's prettier in here than in the lobby, you think.

People are staring, and he's incredibly tense, unsure of what to do. So, you just pull him along, out of the doorway and into the crowd. “People will talk, and they'll stare, but it's because they probably weren't expecting to see you here tonight. So you're gonna say hello, you're gonna say 'I'm doing fine thank you, how are you?’ and then we're gonna move along. Okay?”

And that's exactly what he does. He's still quiet and mildly awkward, but there's a charming edge to him, too. One that doesn't come out so often in public but it's there and tonight, as he chats to politicians and friends of his father, with you by his side for comfort, you see it. You know he wants to leave, to be out of there as soon as possible, you can see it in his eyes, but he's pulling it off. He's playing the part and he's playing it well. He's latched on to you, his eyes never seem to leave you, but you're more than happy to be his safety net. Though that won't last much longer.

“(Y/N), you must work miracles.” An oh-so-familiar voice calls from behind you. You turn around, dragging Bruce with you, and you're met with the eyes of the mayor, Bella Reál. She's beaming, smiling brightly at the two of you, but you can't help but notice she's eyeing Bruce from head to toe. Almost in shock. “Look who it is. Mr. Wayne himself.”

“In the flesh. I thought I'd never get him out of that tower.” You tease, a grin on your lips as you squeeze him closer to you. You can feel his unimpressed stare, but you're not intimidated.

“I always had faith in you.” She reassures. “Do you mind if I steal him from you? I've been dying to speak with him.”

“Oh, no. Of course not. He's all yours.” You try to pull your arm away from him, but his grip tightens. He won't let go, he doesn't want to let go. But he has to. You give his bicep one last squeeze before you yank your arm away from him, careful to keep your elbows to yourself. “You'll be fine. I'll talk to you later.” You mumble. He isn't happy, his tongue is pushed against the inside of his cheek in annoyance, but there's nothing you can do.

“I promise I'll bring him straight back.” She jokes, giving you one last smile before she turns and starts walking away, with Bruce reluctantly in tow.

You're not so sure what to do now that you're on your own, so you pick up a flute of champagne from a waiter and make your way through the crowds of people. You talk to family friends, introduce yourself to unfamiliar faces and chat about any new plans or projects you have in the works to aid the city. You keep a smile plastered on your lips and a glass in your hand at all times, ready to greet anyone and everyone. It's exhausting, you have to admit that, but it's what you do. Occasionally, you feel Bruce’s eyes on you. When he's not in conversation, and even when he is, you feel him staring right at you from across the room. You're surprised he can even find you amongst the crowd of black suits and dresses, but he does. Every single time. You always look back, give him a reassuring smile and watch as he visibly relaxes. You're glad he's making an effort, that he's finally giving the mayor a chance to speak to him and discuss how he's going to help the city (though if she knew even half of what Bruce had done for Gotham, you're sure there's no way she'd be on his case about it). You can't wait for him to be back by your side, though. He's a comfort to you just as much as you're a comfort to him.

You're at a small table in the corner that's covered with champagne flutes, your back turned, when you feel hands grab on to your waist from behind. You gasp and jolt backwards, bumping against a firm chest. You're about to swing your elbow back when you hear a familiar huff in your ear, the fingers on your waist digging into your flesh lightly, forcing a quiet giggle out of you and making you squirm in his grasp. You curse the day he realised you're ticklish. “You're an asshole.” You mumble, but there's no real anger or annoyance in your tone. “How'd it go?” You ask, picking up a flute and bringing it to your lips.

“Terribly.” He says simply, though there's amusement laced in there somewhere and you know he's messing around.

“Hm. I'm sure it was awful. I bet she had you talking about all sorts of diabolical shit. Like going outside, making more public appearances, attending meetings, doing inter—”

Bruce squeezes your waist gently, cutting you off, “Yeah, yeah. I get it.” A pause. “Can we leave now?”

You pry his hands from your waist and turn around, your eyebrows raised in amusement. It's not a shock to you that he's already so eager to leave. “You wanna go? Already?”

He nods his head once. “I did what you asked me to do. I spoke with the mayor. You said we could leave early, so let's go.” He tries to tug on your arm, but you stay firmly in place.

God, you've only had two or three glasses to drink but you're already feeling slightly fuzzy. You give him your best pout, “You wanna get rid of me already?”

A beat of silence. His brows furrow, “That's not— I didn't—”

“We should dance.” You tell him. There's an orchestra playing in the background, certainly not anything yourself or Bruce would typically listen to, but that's not a problem to you. There's other couples dancing in the middle of the room, stiff and looking far from happy. Probably talking about some important matter or another that would be too intense to discuss without the distraction of dance.

“I can't dance.” A lie, for sure.

You scoff, shaking your head, “Do not disrespect Alfred like that ever again. I know he's taught you how to dance.”

He sighs, fully aware that you're right. Alfred would scold him for that. “Fine, then I don't dance.”

“You could.” You retort.

“I don't like dancing.” He says.

“Do you like anything?” You ask playfully.

His mouth opens and closes for a moment, as if there's something he want to say, but he's just not quite sure how to say it, or if he can at all. “I just don't want to.” He says, as if it's final, but you know he'll cave.

“I think it'd be fun. Just one dance.” You hold up your index finger, as proof that you truly mean just one dance.

He's silent for a moment, and you hope he's considering you. “People will talk.” He mumbles. About him, about you, about your maybe, sort of, kind of relationship. About your outfit, his hair. About why he's here tonight, why he came with you on his arm. You can understand why taking your hand and allowing you to lead him into the middle of the room, to have him wrap his arms around you and pull you close in front of so many people would be so daunting, but—

“Fuck it.” You say confidently. “People are always gonna talk. They're talking right now and we're just standing here.” You bring your hands up and cup his cheeks, looking up at him. “Let them.” You grab his hand suddenly and begin leading him to the dance floor. He tries to pull against you, to tug you backwards, but you don't care, you know he'll give up eventually. And he does. He reluctantly lets you guide him around small crowds of people and couples dancing together until you're right in the middle of… everything. The room, the dance floor, the crowd. The song that's playing is something classical. You think you recognise it, though you can't quite put a name to it. You don't really care to. You're more focused on Bruce. He looks so fucking awkward, and you can't help but feel guilty. But then you remember that if he really didn't want to dance, he would have said so. He's a big boy, and you're sure he can make his own decisions.

So, you wrap your arms around his neck, and after a moment of hesitation and a barely audible sigh, his hands find their way to your waist. You're quiet, just watching him and his facial expressions. His eyes are flickering around the room, his lips pressed into a thin line, and there's a slight tinge of pink in his cheeks. Completely different to the angry red you saw earlier. You can feel the stares, the whispers and the conversations, and you're sure not all of them are about you but you know he probably thinks otherwise. You know he wants nothing more than to sink into the floor. “Hey…” you whisper, catching his attention. “It's okay. Forget about them. It's just us. We're alone. Just me and you.”

He doesn't respond, but he sways when you sway, he moves when you move, breathes when you breathe, until the pressure releases from his shoulders and he relaxes into the dance. He still looks anxious, and slightly uncomfortable, but you're just grateful he's still entertaining you. He never did know how to say no to you, after all.

“I'm sorry.” His quiet voice cuts through the silence between the two of you. It's so sudden, and it almost makes you jump.

You're confused, though. “You're sorry… for what?” You ask slowly. You're not trying to make him admit anything, you're genuinely baffled. He hasn't made any sudden moves to leave, he hasn't left you stranded, or done anything wrong at all.

“Yesterday… when you said you were sorry for leaving for so long. I never said sorry. So I'm saying it now.” He's not looking at you, instead choosing to look straight over your shoulder, but you know he's being sincere. “I missed you.” He breathes out.

You screw your eyes shut for a moment, shaking your head. “No— You don't— Please don't be— We're both at fault.”

“I guess we are.” He looks at you, finally. Wanting you to know that he really, truly means every word. “I thought about you every day.”

You glance up at him, slightly taken aback by that admission. “Y-you did?” You curse yourself internally for stuttering over your words. God, you must sound so pathetic.

“Yeah. I did.”

“Well… you could have called.” You shrug. “I don't bite.”

“I wouldn't say that.” He's teasing you, and he's trying so hard to stop himself from grinning at his own joke.

“Wow, your comedy career’s really coming along, huh?” You bite back (fitting), but there's no malice. You take note of the fact that he doesn't even entertain the idea that you could have called him. He's somewhat self aware, at least.

“Hm. It could use some work.” A beat of silence. “I'm sorry, though. Truly. I—” He stops himself, because he knows you're about to cut him off. The look he gives you is stern, and you back down instantly, deciding to stay quiet. “I'm sorry for driving you away. It shouldn't ever be that complicated.”

“I don't mind complicated. I just— I just needed a little time. I was always gonna come back because— Fuck. Because I can't stay away from you. I'd go through forty sleepless nights in a row for you.” It's all coming out now. You're just talking and talking and you can't stop it, you're not even sure that you want to stop it.

“You shouldn't have to—”

“But I want to. I just— I want you. And everything that comes with having you.” You admit quietly, barely above a whisper. It occurs to you then that you've become the couple on the dance floor having an intense discussion. But it's not about finances or divorce or whatever the hell else, it's more along the lines of love. “I want you.” You repeat, reaffirming it to yourself and to him.

He's silent, and you fall silent too. You're not sure what to do, what he wants you to do. You're just staring at each other, and you only realise now that you stopped swaying along to the music a long time ago. You feel his hands move to your hips, pulling your body closer to his, and you take the opportunity to slide your hands from the back of his neck to his cheeks. He's leaning down, and you’re standing up on your tiptoes to meet him in the middle. Everything's so fucking loud, now. You can hear every word of every conversation around you, your heart thumping in your ears, though you can't hear your own breathing. Are you even breathing? Fuck. You don't know. Fuck. Are you breathing? It's all too much. You feel like you're going insane. You can't think or do anything. It's getting louder and louder, to the point where even quite exchanges seem deafening.

Until your lips meet his, and then the room falls quiet. Well, not really. But it feels like it does. You can't hear anything now, you're so focused on him and his lips and how they mesh perfectly with yours. It feels like the first time. It's not. It's far from the first time you've kissed the prince of the city, actually. But those sparks you felt in your stomach the first time, the ones that sent tingles through your entire body and made your legs feel like jelly are back in full force. You don't want to pull away, to be reminded that you're in a room full of people you don't know and probably don't like, to be reminded that people are watching. You want to stay in this little world that you've created forever, where it's just the two of you alone together.

He pulls away first, and you almost whine in protest as you pull him back in for another. And another. And another. Just one more. One more. His shoulders are shaking in silent laughter as you refuse to let him go, to let your lips part from his just yet. When you eventually pull back, you grin at him. It's lazy and love-drunk, and you're sure he's looking at you in the same way. “I want you.” You tell him again.

He doesn't need to say it back, and he probably won't. At least, not here. It's okay, though. You don't need him to. You know he feels the same way. You can see it in the way he looks at you. He's smiling. Like, actually smiling. In public. And that's enough for you to know that he feels the same way. He wants you too.

“Hey, do you wanna get out of here?” You ask, smiling to yourself because just ten minutes ago you were practically begging him to stay. Now, you just want to be alone with him.

“Yeah. I do.” He breathes out, and within a second he's grabbing your hand gently. He leads the way this time, weaving you through the crowd, ignoring everyone's stares and calls of his name or yours, dead set on making it to and through the wooden doors without interruption. You're giggling the whole time, and from the few glimpses you catch of his face, you think he's smiling.

When you make it outside, still hand in hand, you're not exactly thrilled to see that the press are still there, camera men and journalists focusing all of their attention on the doors, ready to capture any and all swift exits. You notice that the guy from earlier, the one who called Bruce’s father a murderer, has gone, and you thank your lucky stars for that. The attention is on you immediately, from the moment you step foot through the doors. They're shouting his name, snapping pictures, vying for any trickle of attention they can get from him, for anything to talk about in their gossip columns or front pages. He's intent on leaving, but you're more than happy to give them something to talk about.

You stop right in the middle of the marble staircase, and he stops too when you tug his arm back. “What are you doing? What's wrong?” He asks, his brows furrowed.

“Come here.” He doesn't move. “Just come here, Bruce.” You encourage.

Slowly, he makes his way up the few steps between you, and you waste no time in flinging your arms around his neck and planting a kiss on his lips. You can hear the cameras snapping photos, and even with your eyes closed you can still see the faintest flash of white light.

You know he won't be happy when he wakes up the next morning and reads the headlines, when he sees the photos plastered in every newspaper and magazine, but you can't really bring yourself to care. You're his, and he's yours, and you don't care who knows it anymore. It's your world, and you're alone together. People will talk, so let them talk.

[twinklelilstarkey]

I won't drown, Batman - Bruce Wayne

Words: 1.9k+

Type: Fluff

Summary: After a hard and tiring day, Bruce finds you taking a relaxing bath.

Warnings: No Spoilers! Sleepy and exhausted Bruce. Mentions of being naked in front of your significant other, and showering together (very brief).

It has become a routine. Every Friday, to end your week on a good note, you try to relax as much as you can. You do a little bit of everything that you enjoy doing throughout your day. A little bit of reading here and a little baking over there. Anything, really, to get your mood at its highest before the weekend even starts.

Sadly, you don't happen to have much time to spend with your boyfriend these days since Fridays tend to be harder for Bruce. It's where the nights are the busiest. No one wants to go home right after their week's worth of work is done. And a little bit of alcohol later, a group of assholes can become the absolute shitholes of the city.

And, Bruce also doesn't really have an exact time where he gets back to the tower. There are nights where he might come home hours earlier than usual but stay at the cave for the rest of the night, or, sometimes, he might just come up the elevator after the sun rises. Nobody really knows when he's going to be back.

You began to wait for him awake around the time your relationship became more serious, but that only really left you with a really messed up sleep schedule.

And, that might be the reason why you're taking a bath at 2:30 in the morning.

The warm water around you surrounds your body in the coziest of embraces as the foam above the surface hides your body in its entirety from your own eyes. The soft and not-to-fragrant smell of your favorite candle reaches your nose even when it burns away at the top of the counter.

There's no way to be more relaxed than this. Your eyes are closed and you have just your shoulders and face out of the water. The bathroom is naturally warm and your breathing is calm.

But that’s when you hear the soft noise of footsteps in the hallway above all the silence.

It could truly be anyone that shares the ceiling of the tower with you and Bruce, but you highly doubt that either Alfred or Dory would be awake at this time and not trying to walk on their tippy-toes.

Only one person doesn’t care enough to not lift off their heavy boots off the floor when walking.

The absence of noise of the steps just by your bedroom, reassures you more of your assumption, as the room is one that just so happens to have carpeted floors, and who else would get themselves inside it?

There's a soft knock on the door of the bathroom and with a small grin stretched over your lips, you open an eye only to check to see the door slowly opening.

A messy head of dark hair appears before the familiar tall and broad figure of Bruce's body does. His eyes are on the ground but his head is still held high.

You can tell, as he tries to re-close the door and not make too much noise, that his face doesn't have that much of the usual dark paint around his eyes. He must have already washed his face before making his way up.

You open your eyes fully at the same time the door clicks closed. Bruce leans back tiredly to the door for a second, hand behind his back as he holds the doorknob, and then finally leans back forward and starts making his way to you.

His eyes lift from the ground finally and he watches you for a bit. Your head still leaning back on the white porcelain bathtub and gracefully resting under the bubbles of your beloved Friday-late-night bath. You don't look in any way alarmed, already very much used to the way he intrudes himself into your relaxing moments in seek of his own.

Even though he tries to hide it, you notice Bruce favoriting his right side over his left while he walks. You don't say anything, though, not yet at least.

He comes closer to the tub and then he stops a simple step away, to your left. You hide your smile as he, in his still fitted and dark clothing, slowly crouches down to your height in the tub and sits right by you.

"You don't want to get in?" You ask him in a whisper.

He shakes his head. His eyes feel heavy but his body is tense and it aches with every movement that he does. The side of the tub is pretty high so it’s easily comfortable for Bruce to rest his arms over it.

As he holds onto it, his eyes come back, right after he stared at the floor for a little bit.

"You're back early." You tell him, keeping your voice soft but now above a whisper.

"I got too tired." He answers you, and a small smile creases your lips. It's rare to hear Bruce ever admit that, and it never seems to not surprise you when he does it.

Bruce can feel the heat of the water slowly come up and touch his forearms, and he stays silent for a little bit. Enjoying the calmness that surrounds him.

He has a crease over his forehead as he seems to think about something, and you watch him as he squints since his eyes looked too close to a harsher light of the bathroom. He highly regrets looking and for that, he brings his eyes back to you all over again.

You move a bit closer to him, making the warm water around you move and collide slightly over the sides, and you turn your head a bit to the side to look at him better. He stares back at you with ease.

You can totally see a bit of paint still at some spots of his face, and you bring your hand up from under the water.

Bruce watches as your hand appears in front of him and your wet fingers smooth over his face. Just by the side of his head, close to his hairline, you scrub softly and the paint comes off effortlessly.

You bring your hand back to the water and scrub away the paint from your own fingers.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" You ask, this time, in a whisper.

"Just bruised."

You nod at him and Bruce quietly studies every inch of your face. He has his arms folded as one hand rests over the other. You look away from your hands, just in time to watch him lay his head over his arms.

His hair, which was already freely cascading down his head, falls over from the top and left side of his head towards the water, and its tips gently touch the bubbles.

You bring your hand up again and try and get the rest of the paint from this side of his face.

When done and with your hand is clean again, you notice how tense his shoulders still look under the fitted shirt. He is now sitting on his knees, much closer to you, and his eyes blink from time to time, possibly dry and tired from all the hours he's been awake.

Your hand lays over his head and your warm and wet fingers work through the messy strands of hair. As your nails softly touch his scalp, you watch as Bruce fights to keep his eyes open.

Your soft digits caress over his forehead and smooth down the skin over his eyebrow, and slowly down to his cheek. Right as your hand lays over the side of his face entirely, you notice how Bruce closes his eyes.

As you pull your hand away, his eyes reopen from this rather long blink and his eyes stare back into yours. You move a bit and lean your head down over his arms as well, just by his right arm while he lays over his left.

You stare back at each other for a little bit and then your hand comes back to the top of his head, working tenderly over his scalp. Bruce closes his eyes and feels his body finally relax as pain doesn't reach him at every shift of his limbs.

"You need to go to bed, Bruce." You whisper to him while snuggling your cheek closer to his arm.

He doesn't answer, but he does reopen his eyes. He stays still for a good few seconds.

"Don't make me have to carry you there." You playfully add.

A soft curve of his lips appears and your heart swells at the sight of a familiar sleepy face. He lifts his head and leans down, closer to you. He lays a simple kiss over your lips, one not too long. When he pulls away, your hand comes down to his cheek as he stares down at you.

"I can wait for you until you're done." He tells you, voice low and soft.

"There's no need."

He doesn't move nor say anything back.

"I won't drown, Batman." You tease him, "You can go sleep."

You lift your head from his arm and take your hand off his cheek. You sit straight as he looks back at you, giving a look over at the shower just a few steps away from you. He still has to shower before going to bed. Even if the night wasn't the busiest, Bruce really didn't want to go to sleep while still smelling like all the smoke and usual smells from Gotham's streets.

His body feels so tired and heavy that he struggles a bit to force himself to even get back into a crouch and stand back up.

"I got to shower, first." He tells you simply.

After you give him a short answer in return, he drags his boots slightly over the tile of the bathroom and walks up to the shower to turn on the water.

It doesn't take him long to get undressed or get into the shower. You, using the foam as a random excuse to get into the spraying water as well, hop out of your tub. You know you wouldn't enjoy the rest of the bath as much now that you finally got his company, so, you unplug the tub and go into the shower.

The shower is quick and not really where you two shared many words. And, after that, it took you almost no time to get Bruce to walk back to the bedroom, and even as he was half dry, yet tired enough, he got himself into the covers with no hesitation.

You joined him not too long after.

As both of you lay on the bed, the silence sets comfortably over you. Bruce stares, as he always does, while you seem to feel tired just by laying on the comfortable bed. His eyelids are heavy and his bruised body is hurtful as he lays on his side and has his arm under your pillow. You face each other as sleep gets the best of the two of you by the second.

Right as your eyes are about to close for a final time for the night, you feel a pair of soft lips press a small kiss over your forehead. Bruce pulls away and lays his head back on his pillow, watching you slowly fall asleep. You snuggle your face closer to his chest and his vacant arm lays over your back, caressing it with his palm.

Your breathing softens and so does Bruce's, as both of you fall peacefully asleep.

I'm not leaving any character soak in their dirtiness, so, yes, I made Bruce take a shower over a bath.

Hope you enjoyed this!! I didn't have much time to correct it, so I hope it's not too bad!

[imaginedisish]

I Want You To Love Me (Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hello friends!!! Here is the Bruce Wayne fic I promised!! This is a combination of the last two Bruce x Reader requests I got (reader finding his journal/a big fight with Bruce), so I hope you guys enjoy!! I based this on “I Want You To Love Me,” by Fiona Apple. It felt like it fit. Next post will most likely be chapter two of “Two Weeks,” (my Din Djarin chaptered fic). Also, lmk if you want a part 2 of this with smut. See you guys soon!

Summary: You and Bruce get into your biggest fight yet, which leads you to find something you shouldn’t have seen. 

Warnings: Major mutual pining, lots of angst but eventual fluff. Cursing most likely, mentions of gun shots/wounds/blood/typical cannon violence. Probably some grammatical errors I didn’t catch. 

Word Count: 3,095

Keep reading

[lovergirlcinema]

Turn the Mic Off..

Michael b. Jordan x black!reader

Summary: Rule #1 on Zoom, always turn your mic off!😏

After hearing Michael’s quick little moan in that video, I had to write something. Also based on this request.

“How long are these interviews supposed to take again?” You ask Michael, as you sit across from him on the couch in his office. 

With the recent release of Sinners, the interviews for press were constant. Luckily for you and Michael, today was one of those rare interview days when he could do them from home in the comfort of his office. 

You had the day off and you missed your man, so you opted to sit in his office while he worked. This wasn’t an unusual routine for either of you. You and Michael often worked together in his office. The simultaneous clacking of your keyboards, along with just being in each other’s presence was comforting. 

Today, however, you’d have to wait for Michael to complete his interviews before you could truly spend time together. Also unfortunately, today was just one of those days when you were really horny. 

It also doesn’t help that Michael is dressed in that black t-shirt that contours to every muscle on his body. He don a pair of sweatpants to keep himself comfortable during the interview. 

It’s not helping the wetness between your legs because you know that he’s free balling beneath the sweatpants. You’re practically hypnotized watching his print through the pants. 

“This is the last one. It’ll be about thirty minutes,” Michael responds, leaning back in the chair as he casually tosses up the fidget toy. 

He subtly eyes his Naruto hoodie that adorns your frame, along with the shorts that hug your thighs. He clears his throat and adjusts himself discreetly. 

The last thing he needs is to be hard during this interview. 

“And then we’ll spend time together?”

Michael catches the needy look on your face, “Yeah, baby. I’m all yours once this interview is over. We can do whatever you want.”

“Okay baby!” You chirp before settling back on the couch. You slide your book over to you and lay back to start reading it. Michael eyes lock on your bare legs. He clocks the anklet dangling from your anklet with his initials on it. 

For a moment, he allows himself to imagine the sight of the anklet as it dangles from his shoulder. He thinks back to a few nights when he had your legs over his shoulders as he feasted on you. He can still remember the chill from the anklet and the feel of your hands in his hair. 

His phone dinging from the desk reminds him of the upcoming interview. He clicks on the interview link before sitting up in his chair. Michael turns the camera on as he waits for the interview to start. 

Soon, the interview starts as Ryan, Wumni, Miles, Jayme, and Delroy also appear on the screen. Michael chuckles to himself because he can tell that they all had the same idea for keeping it casual. 

“Hey everyone, it’s nice to have you all here today. Thank you so much for your time,” the interviewer greets with much enthusiasm. 

Michael dons a wide smile as he waits for the interview to begin her questions. He peeks off the side to look at you, only to notice that you’ve changed positions while reading. 

You now lay on your front, casually moving your feet in the air. Michael’s eyes zero in on your backside, specifically where he can see that your shorts have hiked up. 

He swallows before directing his attention back to the screen. 

“Question for you Michael, how would say that all of your roles before this have prepared you to play twins?”

“I would say that all of my previous roles have taught me discipline and made me lean into creativity a lot more. I think that playing twins on screen, you kind of want to tweak them to make them their own separate entities. Like with Creed, it was the first time that I had to transform my body, so I think with playing Smoke and Stack, it helped to inform my choices on how I wanted to shape my body and move around as those characters.”

The interviewer hums. 

The interview continues to go on with additional questions being asked to different cast members. 

It turns out that you picked the wrong book to read. You were in your romance era of reading, so you’d trusted your homegirls in your book club with their next choice of book. Your friend had mentioned that the book was spicy, but you weren’t expecting it to heat up this early. 

You clench your thighs as your clit throbs from reading the steamy scene. To Michael, it looks like you’re adjusting your position, but actually, your shorts have pressed against your center and you have to control the moan from the stimulation that the fabric is giving you. 

You get to a specific part where the female lead is giving a blowjob to the male lead in the bathroom. You think back to having Michael’s dick in your mouth. Your mouth waters when you think of the heavy weight against your tongue and the taste of his cum hitting your taste buds. 

The idea hits your brain immediately. There might as well be a light bulb shining brightly above your head. You close the book before you can abandon the idea. 

You stand from the couch before dropping to your knees. You start crawling across the floor until you reach Michael’s desk. He’s so engrossed in the interview that he doesn’t notice you until you brush against his leg. He jumps before disguising the action like he’s adjusting in the chair. 

You move between his legs until you’re sitting pretty between them. With the height of the desk, it hides the fact that you’re sitting there. 

Michael tenses as you move forward and lay your head on his thigh. He tries to stop your hand as you grip him through the sweats. You smile mischievously at him as you fully stick your hand in the sweats to take his dick out. 

“So pretty,” you whisper to yourself. 

Michael’s mushroom tip is already leaking the pearlescent liquid that contrasts against his brown skin. You spit in your hand before moving it to wrap around Michael’s length again. You move your hand up until you’re firmly grasping the tip. 

Michael tries to control his breath as his pleasure starts to spike. For a few minutes, you casually jerk him off like you’re playing with a toy. 

But you are. He’s your favorite toy, and fortunately for you, you are allowed to put this one in your mouth.

Michael covers up a moan with a cough as your lips fully envelope him. You pull back to lap at his tip like it’s a lollipop. You allow a large glob of spit to leave your mouth as it trails over Michael’s length. You slurp the spit back into your mouth before repeating the process. 

You’re killing Michael. He tries to keep his cool as he answers questions dutifully. When he looks down again, you’re tapping his dick against your tongue while looking up at him. 

“Yeah..like I was saying….um..I’m sorry, what was the question again?” Michael asks, his mind foggy with lust. 

Everyone chuckles, but they’re completely oblivious to you taking the man apart under the desk. It’s at that moment that you choose to fully submerge your mouth on Michael’s dick. Your nose presses against his pubic hairs as you breathe him in. 

There’s faint sounds of your throat catch on the microphone, but everyone’s professional enough not to comment. Michael still yours head as he holds you flush to him. You breathe through your nose as you relax at the feel of him in your throat. 

Spit collects in your mouth and begins to leak out of sides as Michael continues answering the question. He keeps his voice calm, but wavers at the end when you swallow around him. 

He turns the mic off as the interviewer asks Delroy the next question. He releases you as you move back up to breathe. A long, thin line of salive connects your lips to him. 

He briefly glances down at his phone as it buzzes.

Coog

You good?

Michael

I’m straight..

Coog

So what was that noise?🙂

….Y’all nasty af man💀

You choose that exact moment to pull his balls out of the sweatpants to start mouthing at them. You suck on them as you jerk him off. 

Your tongue slides up until you fully envelope him down your throat again. Michael checks the mic to ensure that it’s muted as you fully start sucking him. You hallow your cheeks and moan lowly. 

He can feel the rising of his orgasm in the pitt of his stomach. He glances down at you and you’re honestly lost in your own world as you throat him. It only takes one more gag before he’s exploding into your throat.

Michael’s abs and thighs clench as pleasure radiates through his body. He feels the orgasm in his toes. He closes his eyes briefly before opening them again. 

Spurts of his cum hit your tongue and the back of your throat. It makes you wetter because it’s one of your favorite treats. Michael feels like he could cry as you swish his cum around in your mouth with his length still there. You lick the remnants of his cum from him as you release him with a soft pop.

“And that was our last question. Thank you all so much for being here today. It’s truly been an honor. Congratulations on the success of the movie!” 

Michael unmutes the microphone as he thanks the interviewer before he leaves the meeting.

Immediately, he slides the chair back to look at you in surprise. 

You shrug your shoulders, “What? I needed something in my mouth.”

End.

_____

Taglist: @plan3tch1ld @nainai5243

@anniebelsworld2 @jc3m @krissy455

@irissunshines @mauvecherie-writes

@nova-rae @wowitsafemale @straykids1011

@mirathebookworm @blackgrlmagic @3ricstuff

@zzzyiluv @fabulousgurlll @khxna

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@1-800-black-readers-r-us @closetednerd

@tyinek @bananajoeclone @diamadozen

@shawnytae @tonichildsdaughterduh @blyffe

[coligraven]

𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

invincible x reader | grand regent thragg x black! fem! reader

three: three months of interrogation and planning brought you to the morning before the coalition ambush. thragg is still unsure what to make of you, but a talk among the clouds during a viltrum sunrise helps him realize that the two of you aren't so different. yet still, he is plagued by an unknown sensation in his chest.

cw - wc: 1.2k short one, thragg and iris beef, reader and thragg understand each other, reader has magic based superpowers, reader is very strong (contends with viltrumites) but still human, the plot WILL NOT make sense if you are a non-poc reader soooo... do with that what you will, all my works are black! fem! readers anyway

Three months passed without mercy.

Interrogation and counsel.

Interrogation and counsel.

Interrogation and counsel.

It became rhythm... routine... ritual.

Every day, you sat across from Thragg in that cavernous war room, laying bare the inner workings of Earth piece by piece—its defenses, its weaknesses, its ingenuity, its desperation.

You spoke of weapons still in prototype, of contingency plans, of heroes who would die before they bent, and villains who would burn the world before they let it be taken.

You unraveled it all.

Perfectly.

Too perfectly to be fabricated, too intricate to be false.

It helped that—though he would sooner tear himself apart than admit it—Viltrum needed this.

Needed you.

Their numbers were thin, their margin for error thinner.

And so, he listened.

And as you supplied him with the blueprint of your world's destruction, he endured something far more insidious.

Something he could not strike down.

Something that did not yield to strength.

It began as a faint, unwelcome presence.

A tightening low in his abdomen—a pull.

Then it grew day by day.

Morning by morning.

Every time he retrieved you from your quarters, every time you spoke, every time his gaze fell upon your form—he felt it deepen.

He thought understanding your power would end it.

It did not.

It made it worse.

His attention—already sharp enough to split atoms—turned microscopic.

Unforgiving.

He noticed everything.

Every spiral of your hair, coiled and defined with a precision nature seldom afforded.

The placement of each mole, each mark along your exposed skin—random, yet memorized.

The way your lips moved when you spoke—the stretch, the curl, the shaping of sound.

He had studied battlefields with less intensity.

It was intolerable.

He was Thragg, Grand Regent of Viltrum, a being above all others.

You were meant to be insignificant, a means to an end, a tool.

Less than a worm.

And yet you occupied space in his mind with a blatancy that bordered on arrogance.

He hated it.

Yet he cataloged it anyway.

Which is why when he entered your quarters that morning, he felt instantly that something was wrong.

He didn't hover and watch anymore, not after you'd earned a measure of trust.

He entered as he always did—direct, commanding, absolute.

"Awaken, Earth witch."

Silence answered him.

His eyes moved to the bed.

Empty.

No protection spell, no faint orange glow, no bonnet sticking out under the covers.

Nothing.

Just... Iris.

She curled lazily atop your pillow, stretching with a soft, contented sound as if nothing at all was amiss.

Thragg's brows drew together sharply.

His gaze hardened.

"Where is your master?" he demanded, as if she could respond.

Iris blinked at him, then meowed—soft, sweet, and entirely unhelpful.

He scoffed, a low sound of irritation.

"Useless creature," he muttered under his breath.

His eyes scanned the room again, then... something.

A piece of parchment resting atop the covers.

He moved closer, lifting it with two fingers.

One word.

SKY.

That was all it took.

He was gone in an instant.

The palace blurred beneath him as he shot upward, cutting through the air with impossible speed until he rose above it—above the towering structures, above the vast, gleaming expanse of Viltrum itself.

The sky was shifting, night giving way to day,

And there was you.

Floating. 

Still. 

Watching.

Viltrum's sun crested the horizon—massive, overwhelming, easily ten times the size of Earth's.

It's light wasn't gentle, but rather potently saturated, burning a deep orange that painted the entire sky a molten color.

It was beautiful, and violent in its beauty.

Thragg slowed as he approached you.

And the moment his eyes landed on your form, that faint, unwanted thrum in his chest rang again.

He hovered beside you, close but not touching.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The silence was full, heavy with presence, with awareness, with something neither of you named.

Because he wasn't the only one who noticed.

You had, too.

From the moment you arrived, you had felt it.

His presence.

It wasn't just physical—though that alone was overwhelming.

The sheer scale of him, the density of muscle layered across his frame, the way power seemed to sit naturally in his posture like it belonged there.

But it was more than that.

It was the way he carried himself.

Every movement deliberate, every word chosen, every look precise.

He didn't demand obedience, he made it inevitable.

You had never respected authority—never bowed to it, never trusted it—but this...

This was something else entirely.

A force of nature given form... a lion at rest, knowing nothing around him could hope to compare.

It was... compelling.

"The Coalition of Planets will arrive tomorrow,"  Thragg said, voice cutting cleanly through the air. "With Nolan in their company."

Your gaze didn't shift from the sun, though the words hung heavy.

"They intend to kill me."

Another beat.

"All active Viltrumites have been recalled."

Still... you didn't look at him.

"Do you know what it's like," you asked softly, "to be the last of your kind?"

That wasn't what he expected.

Not even close.

His brows flared just lightly.

You continued anyway, voice distant and thoughtful.

"Being the last whisper of something that used to be... everything," you breathed. "Your culture... your traditions... the old ways... They all sit on you. Rely on you for survival."

The sun climbed higher.

"You wake up every day knowing that when you die... it will be gone. Forever."

You let out a small, humorless exhale.

"The universe is fickle like that... One minute something exists, the next... nothing."

A pause.

"I just..." you murdered, quieter now, "wonder sometimes what will become of my kind without me to carry it on."

Silence followed, but it wasn't empty.

Thragg stood completely still.

For the first time, he felt something he had not anticipated.

Recognition.

Deep, unbridled recognition.

He had known you were the last of your lineage, but he had never considered what that meant.

Not like this.

Not in a way that mirrored his own.

Viltrum—once vast, once unstoppable—reduced to forty.

Forty living beings carrying the weight of an empire, of a species, of a legacy that refused to fizzle out.

You were the same.

Different scale, same burden, same inevitability.

Two sides of the same coin.

The realization settled heavily, and with it, something shifted. 

Respect.

You let out a small, awkward chuckle suddenly, shaking your head.

"Sorry," you muttered. "That was... a stupid question."

You rubbed the back of your neck lightly.

"Just woke up with a lot on my mind."

For a moment, Thragg remained silent.

Then—

"Forty," he said.

The words came without warning

Even he did not know why he said them.

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide.

"...What?"

His gaze remained fixed ahead on the rising sun.

"Forty Viltrumites remain."

Your expression shifted—shock, understanding—you had known their numbers were low.

The emptiness of the planet made it clear, but...

Not that low.

"Our emperor, Argall, was betrayed," his tone didn't waver, but something beneath it hardened. "A member of his own council assassinated him. Then released a biological weapon called the Scourge Virus... which eradicated 99.9 percent of our population."

A pause.

"Kregg and I... and those returning now... are all that remain."

Your face softened just slightly as you turned to look at him fully now.

And for the first time... you didn't just see the Grand Regent.

You saw what he carried.

He did not return the look.

His gaze remained fixed on the sun.

"It is of no consequence," he said flatly. "Viltrum endures... We are without end."

The words sounded like an affirmation, something to be repeated until it became truth.

"Once the Betrayer and his coalition are destroyed, order will be restored.

Then, he turned to you.

His eyes locked onto yours, sharp.

"There will be a place for you in that order... if... you fight alongside us."

The air stilled.

You looked at him.

Really looked.

And then, you smiled, soft but certain.

Something in his chest stuttered just once, before he could stop it, before he could understand it, before he could crush it.

Against your better judgement, you moved, lifting your hand and resting it on his shoulder—warm, solid, and real under your finger tips.

And against all logic, he allowed it.

You met his gaze.

"For now," you said quietly, "your cause is mine."

The sun rose higher.

For the first time since you arrived, something unspoken passed between you.

Not alliance.

Not trust.

Something deeper.

Something far more dangerous.

.

.

.

@lettucel0ver

@just-simpins-blog

@ironsaladwitch

[coligraven]

𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝐭𝐰𝐨

invincible x reader | grand regent thragg x black! fem! reader

two: you are a mystery to thragg. a puzzle he wishes to piece together as soon as possible. your interrogation only furthers his curiosity. and his creeping madness.

cw - wc: 2.1k, thragg is thragg, thragg has beef with your cat, thragg doesn't know what butterflies are, reader has magic based superpowers, reader is very strong (contends with viltrumites) but still human, reader is super chill, the plot WILL NOT make sense if you are a non-poc reader soooo... do with that what you will, all my works are black! fem! readers anyway

Mornings on Viltrum arrived surprisingly gentle—a golden wash of sunlight, a gradual warmth bleeding into the sky.

Pale light from the four moons faded into a stark, silvery dawn that felt almost clinical.

High above the vast bed, Thragg hovered in absolute stillness.

Arms crossed over his broad chest, expression unreadable, eyes sharp and critical.

You slept below him, peaceful, soft in a way that did not match the woman he had seen the night before.

Your body curled slightly into the sheets, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, your breathing slow and even, unbothered.

Unaware.

Atop one of the pillows, a small, unfamiliar creature lay curled into itself, fur rising and falling faintly with each breath.

Thragg's gaze lingered.

He did not understand it.

You were on a foreign planet, surrounded by beings that could end your life in seconds, and yet, you slept like a newborn.

Did you truly believe yourself to be so strong?

Or did you believe him and his people to be so weak?

His eyes shifted toward a faint glow—a dome encapsulating the bed entirely.

A translucent barrier of soft orange energy, humming faintly, almost imperceptibly unless one was looking for it.

A protection.

So... not naive.

He had been there for over an hour—watching, observing, studying, turning over every detail in his mind.

Your power... its nature... its limits... the way it did not behave like anything he had encountered before... the way it ignored the laws of reality.

It intrigued him more than it should have.

More than anything had in a very long time.

Was it your strength?

The mystery of it?

The controlled way you wielded it?

Or—

His gaze lowered slightly.

—your appearance?

Viltrum did not subscribe to human concepts of beauty.

Strength was the only standard that mattered.

And yet you were not... unpleasant to look at.

There was something in the way you carried yourself.

Even in sleep, it lingered—an ease. 

A confidence that did not demand attention.

He had gleaned all of that from a single conversation.

Which meant it was not surface-level... it meant it was real.

A shift—subtle but immediate—snapped his attention to the side, then back to you.

Your lashes fluttered.

The low hum of your own magic stirred you awake before his presence.

Your brows knit faintly as consciousness returned, your body shifting beneath the covers.

Slow and unhurried, you blinked your eyes open.

They adjusted, focused, then landed on him floating above you.

Watching.

There was a beat.

Then, with a slow exhale, you pushed yourself upright, one hand sliding over your face as a yawn escaped you—unbothered, causal, like waking up to find the most powerful man in the galaxy hovering over you was the most normal thing in the world.

"You always watch people sleep?" you muttered, morning voice rough, "Or am I special?"

He ignored your question entirely.

"What is this?" he asked instead, tone firm, chin tilting slightly toward the glowing dome around your bed.

You glanced at it.

Then, without ceremony, snapped your fingers.

The barrier vanished instantly.

"It's a protection spell," you said simply. "Makes sure no one tries anything funny while I'm asleep."

His gaze flicked sharply.

Not to your face, but to your head.

Specifically the bonnet neatly tied around it.

"What is that?" he asked.

You blinked once, still waking up.

"...A bonnet."

"For what purpose?"

You shrugged, shifting the covers aside slightly.

"To protect my hair at night."

 His brow furrowed.

"Why would your hair require protection?"

Another shrug.

"I move around a lot in my sleep. Don't feel like waking up looking crazy."

A pause.

"Where did it come from?"

You gave him a look, then snapped your fingers again.

The bonnet disappeared.

Your hair fell free—coils cascading down naturally, settling around your face and shoulders with effortless volume.

"I can conjure anything I want," you reminded him.

A small sound interrupted.

The creature atop your pillow stirred, stretching languidly, its back arching as its tail lifted into the air.

Thragg's expression shifted instantly but unmistakably with displeasure.

"What is that?" he asked.

You smiled faintly, reaching out to scratch behind its ears.

It leaned into your touch with a soft, please rumble.

"That," you said, "is a cat. My familiar, Iris."

The creature blinked up at him, unimpressed.

"She assists me," you continued. "Warns me if something's off. Keeps me company."

Silence.

Thragg glared at it.

It glared back, unflinching.

The audacity alone was... notable.

"I did not grant you permission to bring this... familiar into my palace," he said flatly.

You rolled your eyes, swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

"She's not here to cause problems," you assured. "She's strictly for my safety. You won't even notice her."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, annoyed.

But not enough to press it further.

"Regardless," he said. "It is time to begin your interrogation."

You yawned again, stretching your arms overhead as you rose to your feet.

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered. "Give me a second. I need to change."

You waited a beat.

Then two.

He didn't move.

Didn't turn.

Didn't even blink

Your brow arched slowly.

"...You planning on watching?" you asked.

Silence.

He continued to stare.

You shrugged.

"Alright. Suit yourself."

Your hands lifted, magic swirling instantly into existence—soft and deliberate.

A dressing screen materialized between you and him, old-fashioned in style.

You slipped behind it, tugging off the nightgown you had conjured the night before without hesitation.

Fabric dissolved into nothing as your magic moved again, forming something new.

More fitting.

The material wove itself around you seamlessly—a halter-neck gown, backless, flowing in soft layers of Viltrum white and gray.

The fabric moved like liquid, light catching against the subtle shifts.

Detached sleeves formed next—long, wrapping delicately around your upper arms and trailing down to your wrists.

Silver metallic accents settled at your neck and arms, sleek and minimal.

You hair lifted, guided by unseen hands, twisting and gathering into a structured updo, while a few curls were left loose to frame your face.

You conjured a sink and a mirror, brushed your teeth, washed your face, smoothed your hands over your skin.

Then, with a snap, it all vanished.

The screen disappeared, and you stepped into view again.

"Alright," you said with a soft, satisfied huff adjusting the fall of the fabric slightly. "Let's get this over with."

For a fraction of a second, Thragg's composure slipped.

His brows lifted, eyes widening just slightly.

Something unfamiliar curled low in his stomach.

Warm.

Immediate.

Unwelcome.

Viltrum had not had an empress in over fifty millennia.

He had never seen one, never needed to.

And yet, looking at you now, there was a certainty that rose, unbidden, unwanted, undeniable:

This is what one would look like.

Effortless.

Powerful.

Regal.

The colors of Viltrum... they suited you.

Too well.

When the thought struck, Thragg crushed it instantly.

Buried it.

Rejected it with sharp, internal force.

It had no place here, no purpose.

It was irrelevant, and he despised that it had formed at all.

His expression hardened immediately.

Tearing his gaze away, he turned sharply in the air.

"Follow," he said, voice cutting through the space with renewed edge. "You have wasted enough time."

The shifted was abrupt and noticeable.

You blinked once, brow arching slightly as you glanced toward Iris, who not sat upright on the bed, tail flicking lazily.

"...The hell is his problem?" you muttered under your breath.

Iris blinked slowly.

Unhelpful.

You pushed off the ground anyway, your body lifting into the air with smooth ease as you followed after him.

Whatever that was, you'd figure it out later.

For now?

You had bigger fish to fry.

.

.

.

The war room was long, expansive, and severe in its design.

The table alone stretched nearly the length of a school bus, forged in the same smooth, pale material that seemed to define all of Viltrum—reflective and mercilessly clean. 

You sat at one end.

Thragg sat at the other.

Between you... distance—every word had to travel, every glance held weight.

To his side and further back stood Kregg, posture straight, silent but watchful.

Thragg leaned forward slightly, forearms resting against his thighs, hands loose but ready.

His gaze moved over you with deliberate precision, taking in everything—your posture, your expression, your breathing, searching for any crack.

There was none.

You sat cool, composed.

Your face gave him nothing.

"Begin," he said firmly. "Explain the generalities of what you know of Earth. Details will come later."

You nodded.

"Earth isn't unified," you said. "Not even close."

Your voice carried cleanly through the room.

"It's divided into regions called countries. Each one governs itself differently. Some have presidents. Others have kings, queens, ministers, dictators. A handful operate independently."

Thragg didn't interrupt.

"They function separately for the most part. Occasionally, a few form alliances. Treaties. They meet, negotiate, pretend to cooperate."

A faint, dry note slipped into your tone.

"But it's not real diplomacy."

You leaned back slightly.

"Each country has its own military. Land. Sea. Air. Millions of trained soldiers across the planet if you count them all."

You paused.

"But that's not your problem."

Thragg's brow quirked.

You met his gaze.

"The real obstacle... is the GDA."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"What is this... GDA?"

"The Global Defense Agency. They're the only ones actually preparing for you," you said. "Their entire purpose is to defend Earth from threats like Viltrum. They're the ones I mentioned. The ones building weapons designed specifically to kill your people."

Kregg shifted faintly behind Thragg.

Thragg's gaze sharpened.

"What weapons?" he asked.

You lifted your hands, and orange light spiraled outward, forming a rectangular pane in the air—a window into something else.

Footage flickered to life.

A boy... flying... breaking into a facility.

Invincible.

Then, a sound.

His body seized in midair before crashing into the ground.

You gestured lightly.

"That's Invincible," you said. "Half Viltrumite. Half human. Nolan Grayson's son."

Both Thragg and Kregg stilled, just slightly.

You noticed.

"They found a specific sonic output that disrupts Viltrumite equilibrium," you continued. "It's not just disorienting. It's painful. Severely. It incapacitates you, and only stops when the sound does."

You swiped your hand.

The image changed.

A cold, sterile lab appeared with a man working methodically over cadavers.

D.A. Sinclair.

You leaned forward slightly.

"A few months ago, Earth was attacked by multiple versions of Invincible from alternate dimensions," you said. "When they were defeated, the GDA collected the bodies and gave them to him."

Sinclair continued his work in the projection—metal, flesh, machinery blending into something unnatural.

"He turns them into Reanimen. Undead puppets under complete control."

Kregg's jaw tightened.

"They're weak individually," you explained. "But in numbers? They can overwhelm. Damage and even potentially kill a Viltrumite if given enough time."

Another swipe.

Darkness swallowed the projection, then a figure moved.

Night Boy... dragging a screaming criminal into a void.

"This is Night Boy," you said, tilting your head slightly. "His mentor was murdered by Nolan."

The void pulsed, endless.

"He controls something called the Shadowverse. It's not fully understood, but it's a pocket space. Pure darkness."

Your tone lowered just slightly.

"If you're pulled in... there is no known mode of escape. Not unless he lets you out."

You paused a beat.

"You can imagine the problem that presents."

With a snap of your fingers, the projection vanished.

The room returned to stillness.

"That's just surface-level," you said with a slow exhale. "There's more. A lot more. B—"

Thragg raised his hand, and you stopped immediately.

"You describe these threats," he said slowly, "and expect me to believe your... magic can counter them all?"

There was no mockery in his tone, only scrutiny.

"I have a hard time believing this when I do not understand how it functions."

You sighed lightly.

Fair.

"I figured you'd ask."

You shifted slightly in your seat. 

"I come from a long line of sorceresses. Women born with a natural affinity for high-level magic," you explained, fingers tapping against the table. "It requires concentration. Willpower. Physical strength. And with enough of it, I can do anything I imagine."

His gaze didn't waver.

"But..." you added, "there are limits."

You leaned forward slightly.

"The bigger the spell, the more it costs. I push too far, my body starts to break down," you gave a faint shrug. "That's why I can turn people into snakes... but I can't turn a planet into an egg. I'd disintegrate before I got halfway through the spell."

Kregg's brow furrowed.

Thragg's eyes narrowed slightly.

"To reach that level, I'd need at least ten thousand more years under my belt."

Thragg spoke again, "How long does your kind live?"

"I've never met one older than five thousand," you answered. "Most don't make it that far."

A pause.

"But when I was a kid... I heard stories. About one who lived to twenty thousand."

His gaze sharpened.

"Are you the last of your kind?"

You nodded.

"On Earth? Yes. There are others out there. Different species, different universes. But in this galaxy, I'm it."

Silence fell again, longer this time.

He blinked once—processing, weighing—then his eyes opened again and settled on you with renewed clarity.

"What you have told me," Thragg said, voice steady, "if true... will be useful."

He paused.

"You have demonstrated value."

Your shoulders eased, barely.

"Further discussion will continue tomorrow."

You nodded, rising smoothly from your seat.

You bowed your head, "Thank you, Grand Regent."

He inclined his head once in acknowledgement.

You turned, and lifted effortlessly into the air, gliding toward the exit.

The soft fabric of your gown shifted with the movement, exposing the smooth line of your back as you disappeared into the corridor beyond.

Thragg's gaze followed unintentionally, lingering for half a second longer than necessary before he tore it away, sharply.

Behind him, Kregg stepped forward slightly.

"Is all of this truly necessary?" he asked, tone edged with skepticism. "We could simply go to Earth and take it by force."

"No... we are already few. We cannot afford any more loss," Thragg shook his head once, voice carrying firm and measured. "If what she says is true, these weapons pose a legitimate threat."

Kregg's expression tightened.

Thragg's gaze shifted back toward the doorway you had exited through.

"We will continue to question her," he said, calm and certain. "And the information she provides will lead us to victory."

.

.

.

[coligraven]

𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝐨𝐧𝐞

invincible x reader | grand regent thragg x black! fem! reader

one: you arrive on viltrum and power your way in to plead your case with its leader. the grand regent. he hears you out, and, against his better judgement, agrees to your terms. you are strong. and you intrigue him. so there might be use for you yet.

cw - wc: 2.4, reader has magic based superpowers, reader is very strong (contends with viltrumites) but still human, this is going to start slow, thragg is canonically very attractive, kregg does not like you, the plot WILL NOT make sense if you are a non-poc reader soooo... do with that what you will, all my works are black! fem! readers anyway

The moment you stepped through, the portal sealed behind you with a thin, glass-like snap—reality stitching itself closed as if it had never been touched.

Viltrum.

It hit you all once.

The air—clean, sharp, almost metallic on your tongue, like breathing something too pure to belong in lungs built for Earth.

It carried no pollution, no decay, no softness. Just something cold.

Refined.

Gravity settled heavier across your shoulders, as if even the planet itself demanded posture and strength.

You stood at the base of something colossal.

A city stretched endlessly outward, its architecture sleek and impossibly advanced—towering structures of smooth, pale metal and glass rising like blades into the sky.

Everything was uniform. 

Purposeful.

No wasted space, no ornamentation.

And at the center of it all—

A castle... if you could even call it that.

It wasn't ancient stone or crumbling towers, but something evolved.

Massive, angular, built from the same gleaming material as the city around it, yet somehow heavier in presence.

Its walls rose high enough to dwarf everything nearby, its design regal in the most minimal, terrifying way.

And the sky stretched wide above it, darker than anything you'd ever seen on Earth—deep, endless black scattered with stars so sharp they almost looked artificial.

And there—four moons—all hanging in silent orbit.

Different sizes, different distances, casting layered light across the city below so that everything existed in gradients of blue-gray, silver, and faint violet, no shadows fully dark.

You swallowed.

For the first time since stepping through, you felt it.

The subtle shift in your gut.

Not fear exactly, but something close enough to it that our body recognized the difference before your mind did.

You'd only been off-world once before.

Barely more than a memory—your grandmother's hand tight around yours as space bent and folded around you.

She told you later it was for something that only happened once every thousand years.

You didn't remember the place, but you remembered the feeling.

This—

This felt bigger. 

Heavier.

Like you just stepped into the center of something unmovable.

This wasn't your woods.

Wasn't your home.

Wasn't even your planet.

And for a brief, flickering second, you felt small—though it passed just as quickly as it came.

There was too much at stake, too much already lost.

You couldn't afford hesitation—not now, not ever.

There was no going back.

Your expression smoothed out, sharpening into something cool.

Your feet lifted slowly from the ground, you body rising with effortless grace as you hovered forward toward the massive doors ahead.

Where there was a castle, there was a king.

Right?

Your hand cut sharply through the air.

Orange magic bloomed instantly—bright, volatile, swirling around your fingers like living flame before snapping forward with your motion.

The blast hit the doors harder than you intended, so hard that they didn't just open, they detonated inward.

The sound thundered through the structure, a deep, echoing boom that rippled down the corridor beyond like a warning shot fired.

You paused.

"...Shit."

So much for knocking.

The hallway beyond stretched vast and open—high ceilings, smooth walls, everything built on a scale that made human architecture feel miniature.

It was regal in its simplicity. No clutter. No excess.

Which allowed the sound of movement to come fast.

Two figures.

They flew in before your second breath, both male, both unmistakably Viltrumites—tall, broad, clad in white and gray uniforms that hugged their muscles.

Their eyes locked onto you instantly.

Shock flickered, then it vanished, replaced by action.

No questions, no hesitation, they launched forward at top speed.

You sighed softly, flicking your wrists.

Magic spiraled outward, curling through the air in tight, precise loops before snapping into place.

Their mouths vanished—gone.

Both of them jerked mid-flight, confusion flashing through their eyes—but momentum carried them forward anyway.

Your fingers twisted, and their arms warped—stretching, reshaping, bones and flesh falling into something else entirely.

Scale rippled across their skin as their limbs elongated, splitting and thickening into massive boa constrictors that hissed violently the moment they formed.

The snakes turned on them in an instant.

Coiling.

Crushing.

Binding their torsos, locking their movements down as they struggled midair before gravity pulled them back down hard.

They hit the floor with a heavy thud.

You didn't even look strained.

Another flick.

The ground beneath them liquefied instantly—metal turning to dark, rippling water.

They sank fast, bodies dragged down by their own weight, eyes wide, movements frantic as the serpents tightened their hold.

Then, with a soft decisive motion, you closed your hand.

The floor snapped back to solid.

They were trapped, half-submerged, pinned.

You drifted past them without a second glance.

"I don't know how susceptible Viltrumites are to Earth animals," you muttered dryly, voice echoing in the cavernous hall. "But if it's worth anything, they're non-venomous."

The next set of doors loomed ahead.

Bigger.

Heavier.

You didn't slow down.

Your arm sliced through the air again.

The doors shattered inward, but this time you didn't pause, instead floated straight through and right into the throne room.

It was huge. 

Even larger than the corridor before it, the space opened wide, the walls impossibly high, smooth and unbroken, the same sleek material reflecting the pale glow of the mounted torches.

At the far end sat a throne—large, plain, perfectly centered.

And on it... a man.

He sat with an ease that was relaxed yet controlled, a massive figure, easily pushing three hundred pounds of pure muscle.

His frame was immense, broad shoulders draped in a white fur-lined cape that rested heavily across his back.

His arms—thick, powerful, veins subtle beneath his skin-tight garb.

His thighs spread slightly against the throne, grounded, immovable.

His face was sharp, defined like it had been sculpted rather than born, a strong jaw cut clean and precise.

A thick black mustache resting over a firm, unyielding mouth.

His hair cropped short in a dark buzz, neat, disciplined.

He looked exactly like what a ruler of Viltrum should look like.

Perfect... uncompromising... devastatingly handsome in the worst way.

What looked to be his advisor—Kregg—turned sharply, the red prosthetic replacing his right eye catching the light as he took you in.

Shock.

Then aggression.

He shot into the air, posture tightening into a combat stance as his voice rang out.

"Who are—!"

Your hand flicked.

His mouth disappeared mid-word.

The wall beside him softened instantly—its smooth surface turning pliable, clay-like.

It reached for him as if alive, pulling him in with unnatural force.

His body slammed into it and sank, absorbed deep into the structure as it swallowed him whole before hardening three times over.

The room fell still.

You turned your attention back to the throne—to him, really.

Thragg hadn't moved a muscle.

Only his brow lifted slightly—just enough to acknowledge what he had seen.

You studied him openly.

Then, calm, even—

"I come in peace," you said plainly. "I don't mean you or your people any harm."

His gaze didn't waver.

When he spoke, his voice was exactly what you expected.

Low.

Firm.

"I find that difficult to believe," he said, monotone and unhurried, "when you enter unannounced and attack my soldiers."

You tilted you head slightly.

"Subdued," you corrected, just as calmly. "They're not hurt."

A beat.

"This is urgent. I don't have time for formalities."

Silence stretched.

"What makes you think I would concern myself with anything you deem urgent?" he continued. "You are a stranger to me."

You didn't hesitate.

"Because it has something to do with Earth."

That... did something.

Small, subtle, but you saw it.

A flicker, a tightening so slight most wouldn't catch it.

His eyes sharpened, focus narrowing just enough to change the weight of the room.

"You are human?" he asked, almost rhetorically.

"Yes."

The answer came easy, and right on its heels, the wall exploded.

Kregg tore free with a sonic boom, debris scattering as he launched straight toward you, fury written across every inch of him.

You didn't even turn fully.

Didn't need to.

Because before he could reach you, Thragg raised his hand.

Kregg stopped mid-flight, frozen.

The room held still again, and Thragg's gaze returned fully to you.

"I would like to hear what she has to say first," he said, voice absolute.

And just like that—

You had his attention.

You took a breath—slow, measured, cooling the faint hum of magic beneath your skin.

"It's my understanding," you started, voice carrying cleanly through the vast chamber, "that Viltrum intends to take control of Earth. Colonize it. Subjugate it. Call it whatever you want. I don't really care."

Your gaze didn't waver.

"The only thing I care about... is my people."

At the same time, both Kregg and Thragg raised a brow.

Thragg spoke first, tone unchanged—calm, exact.

"What do you mean by your people?" he asked. "You are human. Is there not only one human species on Earth?"

You inclined your head slightly.

"I am a human biologically," you said. "But socially, that's not how it works."

You gestured lightly toward yourself.

"Humans on Earth are divided by the pigment of their skin. My people are those with a similar color to mine."

Thragg's gaze sharpened, assessing.

"And what does that have to do with your presence here?" he asked.

Your expression didn't change.

"Everything," you replied. "Because those of us with darker skin have been unfairly ostracized, targeted, incarcerated, and killed for hundreds upon hundreds of years. Systems are built everyday to keep us beneath everyone else. It has been this way for generations."

A quiet scoff came from the side.

Kregg.

Muffled. Annoyed.

You flicked your hand without even looking at him.

His mouth reappeared instantly.

He inhaled sharply—more offended than grateful—and shot you a glare before letting out a short, incredulous chuckle.

"That is the most absurd thing I've ever heard," he said, voice edged with disbelief. "You divide yourselves over skin?"

His tone made it clear he found it laughable.

Pathetic.

Thragg, however, did not laugh.

His brow arched slightly higher, processing.

"I understand what you are describing," he said evenly. "But what I fail to understand is what it has to do with Viltrum."

"That system is why I'm here," you said, meeting his gaze again. "I want to make a proposition."

Silence fell again, but this time, it was expectant.

Thragg didn't interrupt, instead waiting for you to go on.

"I have intimate knowledge of Earth," you said plainly. "Its defenses. Its governments. Its people. How they think. How they react... So help me, and I'll help you."

Kregg's expression tightened.

"I will assist Viltrum in its takeover of Earth. My knowledge. My power. Whatever is required," you paused a breath. "In exchange, my people are excluded. They are not enslaved. Not absorbed into your Empire. They are given a designated territory on the planet. Protected and left alone."

Your voice remained steady.

"A place where they can live, grow, and thrive without interference."

Silence settled heavy.

Thragg's hand rose slowly to his chin, thumb brushing lightly along it as he considered you.

"And why should I extend such a courtesy?" he asked, his eyes locked onto yours. "Viltrum does not need your assistance to conquer a planet."

You didn't miss a beat.

"Maybe not most planets," you said. "But Earth isn't most planets. Earth is full of superpowered individuals. Not just one or two. Hundreds. Maybe more."

You hands lifted slightly, palms open.

"Scientists, too. Entire sectors and departments dedicated to building weapons specifically designed to kill Viltrumites. And from what I've seen? They're already halfway there."

Kreg's expression hardened at that.

Thragg didn't react outwardly—but you saw it.

The calculation.

You lifted your hands higher.

Orange magic bloomed again, this time calm and controlled, almost lazy in the way it curled around your fingers.

"My powers make all of that irrelevant."

The energy shifted, forming shapes in the air—a miniature sonic cannon, sleek and metallic.

With a swirl of your hand it unraveled into petals.

In another motion, a small drone formed.

You twisted your wrist and it shrank, softening into a floating balloon.

Another one, a droplet of crimson blood hung suspended in the air.

Your eyes flicked to Thragg, and a curl of your fingers turned it into water.

"I can turn their weapons into nothing," you said. "Machines into toys. Their bodies into whatever I want. Your biggest problems would cease to exist."

Thragg watched you carefully.

"If you possess such power why not execute this plan yourself?" he asked, voice still even.

You huffed lightly, a humorless sound.

"Because I'm only one woman, and there are eight billion people on that planet," you replied. "No matter how strong I am, I'd likely lose that uphill battle."

You let your hands fall to your sides.

"And even if I did take over Earth," you added, almost as an afterthought. "I'd have to defend it from Viltrum next."

You gaze hardened just a fraction.

"And I honestly don't care enough about the rest of them to bother."

Silence rang for longer this time.

Thragg said nothing, but you could see it.

The way his mind moved behind his eyes.

You were strong—that was undeniable—you had subdued Kregg, one of Viltrum's most seasoned warriors, in seconds.

And with Nolan gone, Viltrum had lost its only agent with true, lived knowledge of Earth.

You spoke plainly—no hesitation, no embellishment.

And your eyes—they didn't waver, didn't plead, didn't lie.

It would have been easy to dismiss you.

Too easy.

But Thragg didn't deal in easy.

He dealt in truth.

And what stood in front of him now felt like one.

A solution dropped right at his feet.

Unceremoniously, he rose.

The movement alone shifted the room, his height... immense.

His presence magnified tenfold as he stepped down from the throne, his gaze cutting through you like a blade.

"You have given me much to consider, Earth witch," he started.

Your heart kicked once, lodging itself somewhere high in your throat.

But you held his gaze anyway.

"I accept your proposition."

The words landed like a hammer.

"Your terms will be honored," he continued. "Provided your claims prove as valuable as you suggest."

A breath you didn't realize you were holding finally left you.

But he wasn't finished.

"More information will be required," Thragg added, "before any action is taken."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Until then, you will remain here under close observation."

And just like that, it was done.

The weight that had been pressing against your chest since you stepped onto this planet... lifted.

Not gone, but lighter, more manageable.

Your people were one step closer to something they never truly had.

Safety.

Freedom.

You dipped your head.

"Thank you..." you began, then faltered.

You didn't know what to call him.

Your Majesty? Your Highness? Emperor?

The pause lingered long enough to be noticeable.

"Grand Regent," Thragg supplied, tone flat, as if it should have been obvious.

You lifted your head again, and for a brief, unguarded second, something flickered in your chest as your eyes met.

God, he was—

You cut the thought off immediately, lowering your head with a small nod.

"Thank you, Grand Regent."

Near him, Kregg straightened.

Thragg's gaze shifted to him, "See that she is given quarters."

Kregg bowed his head sharply, "As you command."

His eyes snapped back to you, hard and assessing.

"You will be retrieved at first light," he said, voice clipped. "You will provide everything you know about Earth, its defenses, and how it can be utilized."

A beat.

"And then we will determine your usefulness."

You nodded.

Your feet lifted slowly from the ground again, your body rising into a smooth hover as you turned to follow Kregg.

You passed through the massive doors once more, gliding into the dim corridor beyond.

And behind you, unseen, Thragg watched.

His gaze followed your form as it disappeared into shadow.

There was something about you.

Something quiet... but not empty.

He felt it.

Beneath your control, beneath your calm... anger.

Rage.

Something sharpened over time into something far more dangerous than impulse.

He did not yet understand it.

But he recognized its weight—it intrigued him deeply.

And Thragg did not ignore things that intrigued him.

He studied them.

Dissected them.

Learned from them.

And you... would be no different.

.

.

.

[coligraven]

𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

invincible x reader | grand regent thragg x black! fem! reader

prologue: earth had never done anything worthwhile for your people. over hundreds of years they'd been oppressed, hunted, murdered, all for the sake of progress, for the better of tomorrow. but tomorrow is here, and with world-ending events happening every other weekend, things certainly aren't getting better. when the invincible war hits, you finally have enough, and decide to go straight to the straight to the strongest force in the galaxy for a solution. viltrum.

cw - wc: 800, intro, thragg comes in next part, reader has magic based superpowers, reader is very strong (contends with viltrumites) but still human, the plot WILL NOT make sense if you are a non-poc reader soooo... do with that what you will, all my works are black! fem! readers anyway

Your grandmother instilled an innate distrust in all forms of authority in you at a very early age.

Children born with superpowers often dreamed of one day becoming a superhero themselves, of joining groups like the Guardians of the Globe and defending against evil.

She ensured that you never had that dream, by reminding you every chance she got that no force in this world or the next would ever step up to defend you other than your own.

Earth had a long, long, long history of oppression when it came to your community, contrary to the image of utopia it tried to purvey to everyone else. 

Even now, there were certain systems put in place that kept your people either silent, drugged, or dead—or all three in one.

So why should you put you put your life on the line?

Why save a planet that had never found a reason to unite for anything more than a tragedy?

What would you get out of that endeavor other than a meaningless death?

This was why you never trusted Omni Man, or any of his benevolent Viltrumite bullshit—no matter how many lives he saved.

Generations of revolutionaries, generations of freedom fighters, generations of witches told you that nothing in this vast universe came for free.

Not security. Not protection. Not anything. 

None of his extensive deeds and sacrifices would come without a hefty bill to follow.

And, sure enough, it was paid when he snapped.

2,341 souls—gone.

An entire city, decimated.

A son—a family—severely traumatized.

 You weren't surprised.

In fact, you were even less so when Invincible attempted to take his place and pick up the pieces.

Like his father, you didn't trust him as far as you could throw him.

And your apprehension would once again be proven right when a gang of Invincibles from another dimension arrived to destroy the planet.

Against your better judgement—and what you knew would've been your grandmother's sharp, disapproving protest—you stepped in.

Not for the world.

Not for the government.

Not for the GDA.

For your home.

Your people.

The East Coast became a war zone—glass shattering in Camden, a sonic boom tearing through Philly, bodies dragged through asphalt in Brooklyn. 

By the time anyone realized what was happening, there were eight of them—eight versions of the same hero, each one stronger than the last, each one utterly disgusted with human life.

You remember the first one you dropped.

You didn't even touch him.

Just a flick of your wrist, a swirl of orange magic, and his body slammed sideways into a building, bones cracking under a supernatural amount of pressure.

The second one learned faster. Closed the distance. Broke your arm before you could make another gesture.

After that, you let loose.

Your illusions layered over reality—your silhouette splitting into five, ten, twenty versions of yourself, all attacking with the weapons you conjured, redirecting momentum, turning fists into flowers.

But magic doesn't come without cost.

By the fourth one, your nose was bleeding.

By the sixth, your vision started to blur.

By the eighth—

You nearly lost consciousness, your hand violently trembling mid-cast.

And had this Invincible been smarter... had he waited...

He could've had you right there.

But he didn't.

So you survived.

Barely.

When it was over, the coast looked like something chewed through it and spat it back out.

Buildings gutted. Streets torn open. Blood—yours, theirs—staining everything the same color.

You went into hiding after that.

Back into the range of your concealment spell—carefully chosen woods with no name, and not a soul for miles.

The GDA?

They noticed.

Satellites caught fragments of your magic—distortions, energy signatures that didn't match anything in their database.

Cecil never approached you directly, not yet.

He was smarter than that.

But you felt it.

And you realized something that settled deep in your chest like iron:

You were never doing that again.

Not for executives who bled the poor dry.

Not for governments that built systems to choke your people quiet.

Not for suits behind desks who would weaponized you the second you stepped through their doors.

No.

If you were going to end this, you would need help.

You would need strength.

You would need Viltrum.

The name sat heavy on your tongue the first time you said it out loud.

Violent. 

Absolute.

Somewhere on that distant, merciless planet sat the solution to all your problems.

You didn't know who.

Not personally.

Which is why you didn't plan to negotiate.

Now, the portal you conjured shimmered a bright sunset—thin at first, then widening with a slow, deliberate pull of your hands.

Space peeled back reluctantly, edges flickering as your concentration tightened.

You felt it immediately—the strain, the sharp pressure behind your eyes.

Distance mattered with interplanetary travel.

Viltrum was far.

Your fingers twitched, correcting instability as the opening settled—just enough to step through.

You exhaled once, steady.

"In and out," you muttered under your breath. voice dry, humorless. "Handle business."

Your grandmother would've called you a damn fool.

But you stepped anyway.

Completely unaware of what lay in wait on the other side.

.

.

.

[mrsmanofthemonth]

۫ ⊹꣑ৎ ݁₊ . 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞!

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢs - ᴀʟᴛ(?)ᴀᴅʀɪᴀɴ ᴄʜᴀsᴇ x ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ!ғᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ - ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪғ ᴇᴀʀᴛʜ x ᴀᴅʀɪᴀɴ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʜɪs ᴡᴀʏ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ? ᴀ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴘᴀᴍᴘᴇʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴀ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪғᴜʟ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ ᴡʜᴏ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴇᴅ ᴀʟʟ ʜɪs ᴏᴅᴅɪᴛɪᴇs.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs - ᴍɪʟᴅ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, sᴇɴsᴜᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄ ᴛᴇɴsɪᴏɴ, ʙɪᴍʙᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ???

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ - 𝟷,𝟷𝟿𝟼+

ᴍᴀʏᴏʀ ᴍᴀɴᴅʏ’s ɴᴇᴡs ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ 📮- ᴀ sᴍᴀʟʟ ʙʟᴜʀʙ ᴏғ ᴀɴ ɪᴅᴇᴀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ʜᴀᴅ. ᴡɪʟʟ ɪ ᴇxᴘᴀɴᴅ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ɪᴛ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ? ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ.

sᴜɴɴʏʙʀᴏᴏᴋ ʟɪʙʀᴀʀʏ ⛅️ | sᴜɴɴʏʙʀᴏᴏᴋ ᴍᴀɪʟʙᴏx 📬

ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇɴ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏɴᴛʜ 💋

The portal just suddenly appeared. He entered the old closet of some warehouse next to Fennel Fields, where he was trying to hide the body he had caught in the back alley when following an assailant, and this was the quickest place to bring him. But the next thing he knew, the room was not the same one he scoped out that one time months ago. The next thing he knew, a random door ended up leading to an elevator.

There was no time for him to react, nor a chance for him to resist when the box started moving upward. The elevator was a clean one. It had chrome walls, a soft scent of lemon citrus and something a bit floral, and the floor beneath him gleamed it’s marble shin.

Adrian then looked down at himself. His was armor scuffed and he was still gripping his sword, that had traces of blood on it. He looked up at up at the mirror in front of him, where his reflection looked just as confused as he felt.

The elevator then dinged, a soft chime that was oddly calming. And before he could figure out how to work the fancy panel on the far wall, the doors slid open.

He stepped out into a penthouse apartment, one that looked like it could have belonged to a celebrity, or maybe a sexy Bond villain by the looks of some things. The ceilings stretched high, soft white light spilling across plush toned leather furniture and soft cream carpets. But what caught his eye were the details.

A pair of crow Beanie Babies perched on the mantel near the door, lags handing off the shelf and flaps next to each other like they were holding hands. Little glass cat figurines lined the window ledge. There was also a massive aquarium that glowed by the entrance, filled with colorful fish weaving through coral and bubbles. There were also large pictures of a sexy woman in lingerie hanging from some of the walls.

The whole place was…glitzy, but strangely comforting.

He barely had time to process before he heard the soft scrape of a knife on a cutting board.

Walking further into the home, Adrian turned toward the sound and saw you.

You stood in the kitchen, the sunlight spilling over your skin like honey from the large windows of the open floor plan. Everything about you looked expensive, especially as part of the home. From the delicate gold bracelets stacked on your wrists to the diamond studs glittering in your ears. Your hair was a perfect sculpture of curls that framed your face, and your skin was a rich and radiant brown that seemed to glow.

You were slicing fruit, which looked to be kiwi, which he watched you pop into your mouth. Your outfit was as pristine as the apartment, a fitted cream blouse tucked into a pastel skirt, and cream red-bottom stilettos clicking against the tile floor.

For a moment, Adrian forgot to breathe as he stared at you.

And then you looked up.

And your entire face lit up.

“Adrian!”

The sound of your voice hit him like a shot to the chest. Before he could react, you were rushing toward him, those expensive heels clicking against the floor like rapid-fire gunshots. You threw yourself into his arms, your perfume wrapping around him—that same lemon citrus mix from the elevator, but more intoxicating on your skin. Your arms went around his neck, and your lips pressed against his cheek, his jaw, his forehead, his mouth. “Oh my gosh, you’re here! You’re here!” You got out between pecks.

Adrian stiffened at the sudden impact, and his arms came up instinctively, hands resting awkwardly at your waist. You were warm to the touch, skin soft and like putty in his hands.

He blinked, eyes wide and unblinking, as you pulled back enough to look at him.

Your manicured nails slid up into his hair, careful not to caress his skin, as if you were used to his sensory issue as you scratched at his scalp. “I’m so glad you could make it, baby.” Your voice softened, affectionate and playful all at once. “I was so bummed thinking we wouldn’t get to spend our anniversary together.”You pouted then, genuinely disappointed, before you leaned in to kiss him again, a soft press of lips that tasted faintly like fruit.

Adrian still hadn’t spoken. His brain blank, which was highly unlike him.

“Adrian?” You asked, tilting your head.

He blinked them. “Huh?”

“What’s wrong?” You asked, eyes narrowing in concern. “You look dazed. Are you sick? Did work give you another concussion? And when did you change your frames? The good looks nice, though.”

“Oh, no, I’m okay.” He said quickly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m just… so excited to see you.”

Your smile softened at that, but your eyes were full of love as the sun reflected on you, shining in the light. “It’s been a while.” You said softly.

“It has.” He said, trying to match your warmth.

But then your voice dropped, husky and intimate, your words brushing the air between you. “I’ve missed the smell of you on the sheets.”

Adrian froze again at that, eyes locked on yours.

“And on your clothes.” You murmured, brushing your nose against his, rubbing against his cold skin. “It didn’t last long in your laundry, either. I had to clean them after a while—or else the blood would stain.”

He just keeping getting more and more confused, one that now mixed with hot and bothersome as you kept speaking. That information hit him like a jolt. His pulse jumped, the soldier in him snapping to attention. But your tone wasn’t fearful. If anything, it was fond. And that turned him on, that you weren’t phased by his way of life.

“And I missed your touch.” You whispered, leaning close enough for your breath to ghost his ear. You nipped at his earlobe, then let your tongue trace the skin lightly, teasingly. Adrian’s breath hitched, his hands twitching against your waist.

Before he could close his eyes or respond to your sensual affection, you pulled back, playful and chipper again, your expression snapping back to that look of sunshine.

“But we don’t have time for that!” You chirped.

You grabbed his face, squishing his cheeks together so his lips puckered into an exaggerated pout. “You’re here, it’s our anniversary, and we should have plans!”you then leaned in and planted a loud, dramatic kiss on his lips. “Muah!”The sound echoing in the quiet apartment.

“Now go get dressed.” You said, tapping his nose with a manicured finger. “And don’t go rummaging through my dirty laundry.” You added, sending him a cheeky wink before you turned back toward your breakfast, hips swaying.

Adrian stood there, dazed, watching you walk away. His gaze dipped briefly, almost helplessly, to the curve of your hips in that tight skirt, and just as he realized what he was doing, you glanced over your shoulder and caught him. You smiled, a slow and knowing grin that made something in his chest twist, before going back to slicing your fruit.

[ghxstrobins]

She’s so out of your league

Summary - Dick and you have been dating for a couple months so he decides to start telling his family, with your permission, while you are off world. Only no one believes him. Thus begins a month of Dick trying and failing to convince a family of detectives that he has a girlfriend.

Event Masterlist

"Do you have to go?" Dick whines and flops back onto your bed dramatically next to you.

"Sadly I can't blow off an incoming space war for you." You laugh and push at his shoulder. "I will hopefully be back in about a month."

He sighs, letting his head lean back against the pillow so he can stare up at your ceiling, "I wish you didn't have to be so absent lately."

The humor on your face melts away into something softer as you fix some of his curls that have fallen into his face. He looks over at you with a longing that has sat in his chest for years.

"I asked for more time off so hopefully I will start working closer to home. After that I will be around more and I can finally meet your family properly."

The prospect of you being around more often makes him giddy but you meeting his family makes him a little nervous. 

They are going to love you, he knows because Dick loves you. The problem was that he would most likely never have alone time with you ever again. 

"I will let them know about us while you are gone so they can be eased into it." Dick decides aloud. 

You give him a smile that makes him feel like he just won the lottery, "I am excited to meet them and the other Lanterns probably want to give you a shovel talk, especially Guy and Hal."

Dick can't help but roll his eyes at that, "They can't scare me, I'm not even scared of Batman."

"Maybe but they feel the need to so don't laugh at them too hard." You laugh and kiss his cheek.

Once you have left with the rest of the lanterns, and Hal and Guy have threatened him sufficiently, he decides to begin the process of telling his family. 

Dick tells Bruce first, knowing his mentor would appreciate not being kept in the dark. He stays behind one night after patrol when everyone else is gone. Bruce calls him out on his constant fidgiting and Dick tells him the truth.

He gets a hum in response. Usually it would be a grunt of acknowledgement or something like that but instead he gets a hum that sounds extremely skeptical. 

Dick narrows his eyes at him and doesn't call him out on it, just files it away for later.

One by one he pulls his family aside to tell them about you and each time he is either looked at with confusion or, in Jason's case, laughed at hysterically for ten minutes. 

He doesn't know what is going on. Are they collectively pranking him? Have they all gone insane? Has he gone insane? 

You are still off world so he feels particularly down as he stands on a rooftop over looking Gotham. He feels terribly like Bruce as he broods while the city moves below him. 

"Nightwing." Bruce greets as he lands on the rooftop, followed by Jason and Damian.

Jason gives him a two fingered salute while Damian nods in his direction. 

"Batman, Red Hood, Robin." Dick greets. "What do you need from me?"

"We need your help on a case-" Bruce starts and Dick immediately crosses over to their side of the roof, ready to help.

Bruce goes to continue talking but a bright streak of pink light illuminates the night sky. 

Dick is almost knocked over by how fast you hug him, it knocks some of the air out of his lungs. As soon as he registers what is happening he hugs you back.

"Baby!" You float a little off the ground as you hold him. "I missed you so much!"

"I missed you to." Dick says with a soft smile.

You release him and he remembers that Bruce, Damian and Jason are still there. 

Dick's smile turns to a self satisfied smirk. 

"This is my partner." He looks smug as they all are in various states of shock.

"Hi!" You wave cheerfully at them, unaware of his uphill battle of getting his family to believe him.

"I thought you made it up Richard," Damian regains his ability to speak first. "She is very out of your league."

Dick groans in frustration while you hold back laughter. 

He wishes he never told his family about you.

Blue’s notes - Star Sapphire reader how I love you 💕 also this idea is hilarious to me.

[darkseidex]

ೃI SAW HEAVEN ᝰ In which we spend the morning with Venus and her husband warnings : grown folk shit w/c : 2588 words

Venus let out a breathless exhale, soft and broken at the edges, as the low thrum of synths and bass from whatever playlist Jaafar had decided to put on rolled through the room like heat beneath the floorboards. Which artist it was, she could not have told you. Not right then. Not while her limbs felt syrupy and useless, not while her thoughts had gone soft and fogged-over, turning to static beneath the weight of him, beneath the scent of his skin, his cologne, his sweat, all of it filling her lungs until the rest of the world felt far away and unreal. Her ring — that pretty, damning little symbol of a life she had been moments from choosing — had somehow tangled in his dark curls, catching faintly in the low light, and the sight of it there, caught in him instead of sitting obediently on her finger, made something deep in her chest twist with a guilt so sharp it almost felt like desire.

The tattooed J on her hand disappeared and reappeared beneath the fall of his dark curls, the ink half-hidden against him as though even her skin had been telling the truth long before her mouth was brave enough to. Venus let out one more shuddering sigh, her fingers flexing almost helplessly, the curl of her ring catching briefly in his hair while her eyes fluttered shut. For a moment, all she could feel was him — the warmth of him, the weight of him, the terrible intimacy of knowing that even the smallest mark on her body had always seemed to point back to Jaafar.

“Baby, baby mmm,” she whined as she felt the familiar coil in her belly tighten, the sheet beneath her skin wet from their previous escapades… how long had it been, one hour…two? Maybe three, she didn’t know anymore, and she couldn’t find it in her to care any longer, not while his tongue flattened against her, sucking her clit into his mouth and his fingers curled just right; right into that spot he knew all too well. 

Before, she would’ve put a hand over her mouth in an attempt to muffle her moans, to maintain some sense of the dignity she knew he was sucking out of her; she would’ve tried harder to be Venus Taraji Hamilton, to keep the façade up just to say he hadn’t completely taken over all of her being, even though they both knew otherwise. 

Jaafar lifted his eyes slowly, his mouth still close enough to her skin that every word felt less spoken than breathed into her. The synths hummed low around them, bass rolling through the suite like a second heartbeat, and Venus could still feel the faint pull of her ring caught somewhere in his curls, her tattooed J brushing against him as though her body had been betraying her in ink long before she ever learned how to say his name without lying.

Venus let out a shaky laugh, but there was no strength in it. Her hand moved to his face, thumb smoothing over his eyebrow, then down the warm line of his cheek, touching him with a tenderness that made the room feel suddenly too quiet, too honest, too full of all the things they had spent years dressing up as timing, age, friendship, and common sense.

“You love me, baby?” he asked, and there it was again — that confidence, that impossible, arrogant softness, like he already knew the answer but wanted the pleasure of hearing her surrender it.

Venus swallowed, her eyes glossy as she looked down at him.

“Jaafar…”

“No.” His hand slid over her hip, firm and slow, holding her there like he had no intention of letting her run from the question. “Don’t ‘Jaafar’ me. Not tonight.”

Her lips parted.

He smiled faintly, dark curls brushing against her fingers. “Dilo.” Say it.

Venus’s breath hitched.

“Te amo,” she whispered. I love you.

Jaafar went still beneath her hand.

For all his ego, for all his mouth, for all that golden, god-touched confidence he carried like Apollo dragging daylight behind him, those two words did something to him. They stripped him down to the boy who had loved her too young and the man who had waited too long, left him staring up at her like he had finally heard the prophecy in full.

Venus touched his face again, softer this time.

“Te amo, Jaafar.” I love you, Jaafar.

His eyes darkened, not with triumph alone, but with something deeper, something almost wounded by the sweetness of being right after years of starving for it.

“Again,” he murmured.

Venus gave him a breathless, disbelieving smile. “You’re so greedy.”

“For you?” His mouth curved. “Always.”

Her smile trembled.

“I love you,” she said, switching back to English like the truth had become too large for one language. “I love you, Jaafar.”

He exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening against her hip, and for once, Venus saw the confidence falter just enough to reveal the devotion beneath it.

He had been at it all morning.

All morning, Jaafar had woken with the kind of insatiable need that felt less like desire and more like devotion, the kind that pulled him from sleep with one thought already burning clean through him: Venus. His wife. His woman. His altar and his ruin. Everything else had fallen secondary before he could even pretend to care — the calls, the schedule, the world waiting beyond the walls of their room — all of it reduced to distant noise beneath the singular, consuming purpose of pleasing her.

There was something almost religious in it, something ancient and Roman, as if he were no longer merely a man but a soldier kneeling at the temple of Venus herself, offering his mouth, his hands, his patience, his breath, anything she would take from him. He wanted her undone and cherished, breathless and safe, spoiled beyond reason until the only thing she could remember was that she was loved by a man who had made her pleasure his empire and crowned her its goddess.

Because that was what she was to him now.

Not almost. Not someday. Not the woman he had chased through years of bad timing and pride and other people’s names.

His wife.

And Jaafar, arrogant as he had always been, loved that word with a dangerous sort of satisfaction. Wife. It sat in his chest like victory, like conquest, like a laurel wreath pressed into his hands by the gods themselves. It made him greedier. Softer. Worse. It made him want to spend entire mornings proving that the ring on her finger had not simply changed her name, but had given him permission to worship her out loud, without restraint, without shame, without the old ache of wondering whether she would run before he finished loving her properly.

Slowly, he descended back to his altar, pressing kisses down the soft plane of her stomach as if every inch of her deserved reverence before he dared return to the place where he had chosen to worship. His eyes flickered briefly toward the mirror across the room, catching the reflection of them there — Venus laid out beneath him, breathless and adored, and Jaafar bowed between her thighs with all the devotion of a man offering himself at the feet of his goddess. He wanted her to see it. Wanted her to witness the ruin and reverence on his face, the hunger, the patience, the absolute surrender he laid bare before her, because loving Venus had always felt like prayer, but being allowed to love his wife like this felt like religion.

He sucked on her clit, pulling it back before releasing; then he moved down to her pussy, running the tip of his tongue through the edges of her lower lips. Her back arched off the bed as she shut her eyes, and the sounds of her ecstasy resonated through the room, the finest harmony Jaafar’s ever heard in his life. 

“Such a pretty pussy,” he whispers to himself as he adds two fingers and eats at her at the same time. As she shut her eyes, with every deep moan her chest rose, gasps resonating through the space, and yet it still wasn’t enough air in her lungs as the coil wound tighter and tighter, her belly clenching as she finally released for the umpteenth time that day. She let out a squeal as she felt him go in for more, shuffling away on the bed, managing to make it a few inches away before he pulled her back in by her hips, tossing her thighs over his shoulder as he dropped his briefs, revealing the thick throbbing girth Venus had taken time and time again. 

“I think you can do better, my love, matter of a fact, I know you can do better than that… show me.”

Venus shuddered as she felt the blunt head of him push into her, the gold of their rings clinking together as he intertwined their fingers. Venus’ eyes flickered to the mirror, watching as he pulled back slightly and pushed in further. She watched the bead of sweat drip down his hairline, the way his gaze never left her face as he watched her watch him. 

His other hand reached up to caress her cheek, bringing her gaze back to his as he brought their lips together, his tongue intertwining with hers as he began his slow, deep strokes into her, ensuring she felt how much he loved her. He watched the way his dick disappeared and reappeared into her, covered in her release, everytime he pulled out he was coated with more and more of her, creating a sticky mess between them as the wet sounds of flesh meeting flesh was heard through the room.

“You hear that?” Venus whispered

“You making her so happy baby, can you hear her?”

“Yeah? What’s she sayin’?”

“She wants you to feed her baby.”

Jaafar chuckled low against her skin as he nuzzled into the curve of her neck, his breath warm, his mouth lazy with satisfaction as he pressed a kiss to the bruise he had left there late the night before. The mark bloomed faintly beneath his lips, tender and possessive, a little secret written into her skin while the morning rays spilled gently through the curtains, bleeding gold across the sheets and cocooning them both in a warmth that made the rest of the world feel distant, unnecessary, and far too loud for the quiet devotion of their room.

“Yeah? You not gon’ run from it this time, my love? You gon’ take it?”

Venus nodded, nothing but whines and moans leaving her lips, and Jaafar gently wrapped his hand around her throat, pressing down firmly but gently. 

“Usa tus palabras, Venus.” “Use your words, Venus.”

“Yes, Jaafar, ‘m gon’ take it I swear,” Venus whined as she felt the familiar coil grow tighter and tighter in her lower belly before it finally snapped; she let out a loud whine of Jaafar’s name, one that would’ve had their neighbours banging the wall if they hadn’t moved last month. Without warning, Venus wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, pulling him down to her with a need that felt almost clumsy in its urgency. Jaafar caught her at once, chuckling softly against her mouth before the kiss deepened, their tongues meeting in that familiar rhythm they had always found too easily, that old, dangerous dance her body remembered even when her mind was too fogged and overwhelmed to keep up. She tried to match him, tried to give back the same slow confidence he poured into her, but all she managed was a soft, helpless whine against his lips, her fingers tightening at the nape of his neck as if he were the only thing keeping her anchored.

“You love this pussy baby?” Venus whispered against his lips, the question barely more than breath, soft and trembling where their mouths still touched.

Jaafar let out a low sound, somewhere between a hum and a groan, his hand tightening at her waist as his forehead rested against hers. “Mhm.”

Venus’s fingers slid into the curls at the nape of his neck, holding him there, keeping him close enough that there was nowhere for either of them to hide.

“Then show me,” Venus whispered.

And Jaafar did.

Not with haste, not with the careless hunger of a man trying only to take, but with the trembling devotion of someone who had spent years turning want into patience and patience into prayer. He held her like Rome itself could fall beyond the bedroom walls and he would not turn his head, like empires could burn, senators could weep, marble temples could split beneath thunder, and still the only kingdom worth saving would be the woman beneath him, breathing his name like it belonged in her mouth by divine right.

For a while, there was no room for anything else.

No ringing phones. No forgotten obligations. No world outside the curtains. Only the warmth of morning wrapped around them, the low music spilling through the room, the soft gold of daylight touching her skin, and Jaafar above her with his forehead pressed to hers, undone in that beautiful, dangerous way only Venus could make him. He looked less like a man then and more like Mars at the end of battle, not conquered, never conquered, but willingly disarmed at the altar of the goddess he loved most.

“Venus,” he breathed, and her name sounded like both warning and worship.

Her hands tightened at his back, her body arching into the vow of him, into the weight of everything they had survived to get here — the years, the running, the other people, the almosts, the ring she had once worn for another man, the red thread that had stretched and tangled and still refused to break.

Jaafar’s breath fractured.

His eyes found hers, dark and glossy with devotion, and for one suspended second he looked almost startled by the force of his own love, as if even he, arrogant as he was, had not expected to be brought this close to ruin by his wife.

Then he surrendered.

It was not loud. It was not crude. It was not something that could be reduced to the body alone. It moved through him like the Tiber swelling past its banks, like a temple flame catching wind, like every vow he had ever made in silence finally finding somewhere sacred to land. His mouth parted against hers, his grip tightening as though he needed to anchor himself to the earth, and Venus felt him give himself over completely — not as conquest, but as offering.

As promise.

As husband.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

They simply stayed there, breath tangled, foreheads touching, the room cocooned in gold around them. Venus opened her eyes slowly and found him already watching her, his face softened by something deeper than satisfaction, deeper than pride, deeper even than desire.

There was reverence there.

Awe.

The kind of love that looked almost painful to carry.

Jaafar brushed his thumb across her cheek, his voice rough when he finally spoke.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “That’s me loving you.”

Venus’s lips trembled.

And because there was nothing left to run from, she pulled him closer, kissed the breath from his mouth, and let the morning close over them like a blessing from the gods.

tags <3 : @lov3lylxvender @melaninjoys @cinnamoncunt @healthenature @kryptonianheart @sagittalust @tenacioustestamentambush @tatumcelts @jakardyz @freaky1nterlude @daliscrim @michealsapplehead @asiatarg @imgenuinelyinsane @mrs-dylanobrien265 @plan3tch1ld @mamasturn ( lmk if you want to be added or removed)

[reidbucky]

—𝐀 𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬—

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: damian wayne x batmom!reader (feat. bruce wayne and tim drake)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: damian is sick and needs someone to pick him up from school, but the vice principal doesn't make it easy for you as damian's stepmother.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: a bit angst (idk if it's considered as angst but just to be sure), mention of having to bury a child (jason), fluff, 3.1k words, not proofread, let me know if I forgot something :p

𝐚/𝐧: wanted to post this fic like 2 weeks ago, but I was distracted by other ideas.

Also thanks for 100 followers 😍

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 . .𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 . .𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 . .𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .

"Here we are," you say, turning around to face your youngest boys in the backseat.

"Great, thanks mom," Tim smiles at you, unbucklling his seatbelt so he is able to lean forward to give you a quick kiss on the cheek before he opens the car door to step out, frowning at Damian when he realises that the younger boy hasn't moved a muscle yet, although he was always the first one in and out of the car.

You give him a nod when he looks to you, signaling him that it is okay to go. "Have a nice day with your friends, Timmy. Love you."

"Love you too, bye," he says with a smile, closing the door when he spots some of his friends.

When Tim is far enough away, you turn your head towards Damian who's slightly leaning against the window. He looks a lot sicker than when you all left the house, but when you tried to convince him to stay home he said something along the lines like '𝘐'𝘮 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦' and '𝘉𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘴' or something like that.

Damian lives with you for a while now, but sometimes he still finds it difficult to accept help (especially because he still has the feeling that you want to test him and not that you actually just want to care for him). You don’t want to think about all the cruel things Ra's al Ghul probably did to him when he was sick and couldn't concentrate on his training.

With a shake of your head to get the image out of your mind, you look at Damian again. "Are you sure you want to go to school?" you ask with a soft voice because you're sure the boy has a headache, "your father has a lot of meetings today, and with Tim going to a friend's house after school, it would be just you and me at home, and well Alfred of course."

"I'm fine," he mumbles back while finally unbucklling his seatbelt.

You let out a quiet huff, of course 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 his answer. "We could watch some movies, read a bit or play some games," you suggest, "we can do whatever you want."

"I want to go to school." 𝘚𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦, you give him that.

"Okay," you relent, watching him rub his slightly glassy red eyes before he opened the car door to step out. "I'm home today, please call me when you feel worse," you say, thinking about what you could say to convince him to come back home with you, "you're not weak if you call me, Dickie still calls me when he's not feeling well."

Damian rolls his eyes with a scoff, "Grayson just wants the attention you give him."

"And I gladly give it to him," you defense your eldest son, "I give it to all my kids. That includes you too," you smile softly before you continue with a teasing voice, "besides, if you really think Dick wants attention when he's sick, you should really see how your father acts when he's sick."

Damian's lips twitch at your tease.

"Have a nice day, love you."

Damian gives a small nod, working his jaw before he lets out a quiet, "bye, mom," and closes the door to make his way to the entrance of the school.

You start your car, smiling to yourself despite the slight guilt you felt because you couldn't convince him to stay home with you. Damian started to call you '𝘮𝘰𝘮' a month ago, and it still made you smile every time you heard it. You two had a bad start—like everyone had with him—but when he started to realize he couldn't get rid of you, he started to see that you actually didn't want to get also rid of him—like he thought—but that you just want to get to know him, and if he wants to take care of him.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mrs. Wayne, it's Zuri. I'm really sorry to bother you," she begins, and you straight up at the voice of Bruce's assistant, not because you didn't like her, you absolutely adore Zuri. She's a really sweet woman in her mid fifties, who helped you a lot back then when you were new parents to Dick, and you bought him along when Bruce had time to eat lunch together. It was rather her tone that let you knew something was wrong.

"What did Bruce do?"

"It's about Damian—"

"Damian?" you interrup her, feeling guilty for not convincing him to stay home.

"Yeah," Zuri winces, "the school called a few times, saying that he doesn't feel well, and that Mr. Wayne should pick him up, but he's in a very important meeting right now."

All you could think about was why the school tried to call your husband first, and why they didn't called you immediately after they found out Bruce was busy? On all three information sheets of your boys (Jason went to a public school), you filled out that in case of any emergency you'll be the 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 person to be reached out for, and 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 if they couldn't reach you, they would have to reach for your husband. 𝘚𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭?

"I asked them if they couldn't reach you," she continues, when you didn't say something back, "they said that it was against the school rules or something like that, and that Mr. Wayne should pick Damian up."

"Against the rules?" you ask, but it was more a question to yourself. "That's weird, but thanks for calling me."

"I'm sorry for not asking more questions, but they pretty much ended the call quickly after that."

"No need to apologize," standing up from your bed, you grab a jacket before you make your way downstairs to get your shoes, "you absolutely did the right thing to call me first, before interruping an important meeting."

"It's probably just a misunderstanding."

"I hope you," you say, putting on your shoes, "please let Bruce know, after the meeting is over, that I picked Damian up, and he doesn't need to worry, we just make a cosy movie day together."

"Will do Mrs. Wayne."

"Thanks again Zuri, have a nice day, bye."

"You too. I hope Damian gets well soon, bye." With that the call ended, and you had all your things to go get your son, and make a cosy movie day, hoping that he doesn't want to watch animal documentaries again.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .

You walk through the door, seeing Damian sit on one of the chairs near the secretary's desk, well he's more slumped into it which directly alert you on how worse he must feel because that boy has a straight posture 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, even when he was 'relaxing'.

You go straight to him, ignoring any other people in the room completely, your boy comes first.

You kneel before him to better cup his face, frowning when your hands make contact with his skin that feels hot and sweaty. He probably has a fever. 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭?

"Ummi?" Damian questions, when he felt your hands cup his face, trying to blink his dizziness away, "I'm...fine."

You smile at him softly, knowing he must feel vulnerable (even though he would never admit that). He called you that the first and last time after he was seriously injured on a mission. Back then, just like today, he didn't want to admit that he didn't want to be alone, and you didn't left his side for his entire recovery time. Some time after that he started to call you 'mom'.

"I know, baby," you let out a quick disbelieving laugh, of course he still tries to argue with you, "but I take you home anyway. You can feel fine at there too."

He doesn't argue with you any further which is another signal for you that he was anything but fine. You just hoped you didn't need to take him to a hospital or call a doctor, you just want to get home, give him some medicine, Alfred's famous 'get well' soup, and than cuddle in bed, but for now you had another problem to solve first.

Standing up, you turn around and look at the other two people in the room. You first look to the secretary, the one who should have called you, but she wouldn't look directly into your eyes which is really weird to you because she was always friendly, shrugging it off in your head, you turn your gaze to the man you never saw before.

"Hello," the man greets with a sigh and a look that tells you he is not happy that you ignored him before, stretching his hand out anyway, "I'm Mr. Banks, the vice principal."

"Mrs. Wayne," you say, shaking his hand, "where's Mr. Santos?" you had a really weird feeling about this 'vice principal', starting with the fact that you never saw this man before and that he had grabbed your hand to hard to which you let go as soon as possible.

"Oh, Mr. Santos isn't here today, he called in sick."

You give him a soft nod in acknowledge, looking over you shoulder to make sure Damian was still fine, you really should make this conversation short, the sooner you'll be home the better.

"Will Mr. Wayne be here soon?" Mr. Banks asks before you could ask anything, looking at the door to see if Bruce just parked the car, and will soon coming in as well.

"No, he's in an important meeting," you answer, "which is why I'm actually a little confused as to why nobody called me. The information papers clearly states that in case of an emergency, I am the first person to be informed."

Mr. Banks frowns slightly, seemingly not happy about the fact that your husband wouldn't come to the school. "We simply followed the school rules."

"Which are?"

"In case of an emergency the parents are to be informed."

"But I wasn't informed," your brows knit together, looking back to the secretary, but she still avoided eye contact. "The assistant of my husband informed me. I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding, but I'm the first person to be informed because—"

"In case of an emergency the parents are to be informed," Mr. Banks interrupts.

"Right," you agree, nodding your head once, "that's why I'm confused to why you didn't call me first, or even after my husband didn't answer his phone."

"In case of an emergency the parents—"

"Which I am," you interrupt him this time, getting very irritated with him, your child was sick, and you wanted to know why nobody called you. "I'm his mom, so I—"

"𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘮𝘰𝘮."

"Excuse me?" you say with a clam voice, but you were everything but calm. Yes, you're his stepmother, but you absolutely didn't like the tone he used when he said the word.

"You're his Stepmom, and the school rules say that 'the parents are to be informed', and that doesn't apply to you here," he says with a smile on his face that you really want to slap off of his face.

Damian straights in the chair, glaring at the vice principal. How dare he to speak to you like that? Your his mother, and nobody but him and you could decide on that matter. Reaching to his dagger, that he actually wasn't allowed to bring to school, he stops when you step aside, blocking his way to Mr. Banks. Damian scoffs, knowing it's a warning that you have everything under control. He slumps back in his seat, but being still on high alert to fight for your honor.

You relax slightly when you hear Damian scoff, knowing he wouldn't do anything, well at least for now. You've been long enough together with Bruce, therefore you have unfortunately a lot of experience with these kind of people. People who saw you 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 as his wife, as a 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭 who can't do nothing but spend the money of her hard working man.

"You can of course wait here with Damian until your husband arrives."

You're normally a very patient and calm person, you had to be with four sons, but you were fed up with this man, so you couldn't help yourself but laugh at him.

Mr. Banks looks confused, clearly not understanding what's so funny all of the sudden. "That's not funny, Madam."

"Yeah it is," you say, still laughing, "it's very funny that you think you can stop me from taking 𝘮𝘺 sick child home."

"It's against the school politics to allow a stranger to pick up the kids."

"Well, lucky for you that I'm not a fucking stranger. I'm his 𝘮𝘰𝘮, I have authority 𝘢𝘯𝘥 permission to take him home."

"Like I said," Mr. Banks continues, completely ignoring what you just said, "you can wait here with Damian, but only Mr. Wayne and Damian's mother are allowed to take him home."

You scoff, turning around to go to Damian. You were absolutely tired and fed up with this stupid conversation. "Sweetheart, grab your bag, we're going home."

"You can go, but Damian stays here. I don't want to call security, so why don't you calm down and go a bit shopping or whatever else you do with your husband's money."

Normally Damian would jump off of his chair, and protect your honor from his vice principal, but he felt really dizzy. But then he saw the look in your eyes, and could slump back in his seat with ease, knowing this look all too well, he knew to better not stand in your way.

"I adopted three children."

"What—"

"I adopted three children," you say again, raising your voice slightly, "I'm their mother, and also Damian's. I didn't adopt him because his biological mother is still alive, and I'm very grateful for that because the parents of my other children are 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥."

"Mrs. Wayne please listen—"

"No, you listen!" you take a step forward. "I had to fucking bury on of my kids, so if you think security can stop me, please be my guest and call them, but I'm calling the police because you hold us hostage. I have permission to take Damian home, so next time do your fucking job, and look in the files of the children to see who is allowed to pick them up and who isn't."

Mr. Banks looks shocked, not knowing what to say or what to do, but before a sound could come out of his mouth you continue, "oh and I'm not a stupid little doll who spends the money of her husband all day. Am I a staying home mom? Yes! Absolutely nothing wrong with that. You think you can do my job?" you laugh again, taking another step forward, "fine, let's switch places for a day, but we all know you wouldn't survive an hour in my shoes."

With that you turn on your heels and go to kneel before Damian again. "C'mere, baby," you say in a much softer tone, taking him in your arms to stand up, its also another sign on how bad he must feel. Damian wouldn't let people carry him, he must be really 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 tired.

"Ma'am, please let us talk this through," Mr. Banks tries to stop you, seemingly sensing that he made a huge mistake, but before his hand, with wich he tried to stop you, could touch your shoulder, Damian stopped him.

Damian grabs Mr. Banks' wrist, looking him with his last bit of strength sharp in the eyes, "don't touch her!"

I-I wasn't I o-only—" the man stutters, shocked by the brutal strength of the young boy.

You turn around, forcing Damian to let go of his vice principal. "You wanted to meet my husband so desperately? Congratulations, you will meet him, but I can guarantee you that it won't be a pleasant meeting," you say with a wicked smile that mirrors the same one that your son has on his face, when you finally leave the school office.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .

Back home you send Damian into his room to change into something cosy, asking Alfred to make soup while you prepare tea and look for medicine to hopefully reduce Damian's fever.

You thank Alfred before heading to Damian's room with a tray of everything you need to take care of your boy, frowning when you see his door is open, but he's not in the room, you smile to yourself because you know exactly where he is, where all your children end up sooner or later: 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮.

And indeed, Damian lies in your bed on his father's side as if it had always been his.

"There you are," you smile, placing the tray on your nightstand.

"I thought it made more sense to be here so you wouldn't have to get up every ten minutes to check on me," he mumbles between coughs. Damian would never admit out loud that he just doesn't want to be alone right now so. "And your TV is a lot bigger than mine."

You both knew that was a lie; all televisions were the same size, thanks to 12-year-old Dick and his jealousy of Jason at the time. But you just hum in agreement, happy that you can take care of him without arguing about it.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .

A small smile spread across your face when you hear hurrying footsteps. After Damian ate his soup and drank half of the tea, he quickly fell asleep once his head made contact with your shoulder, thanks to the medicine.

Bruce opens the door as quietly as possible, smiling when he sees you and Damian cuddle up together with you stroking your hand through his hair. When Zuri told him everything after his meeting, he immediately cancelled all other meetings, and made his way home.

"Hey," he whispers, leaning over you to give you a kiss before he brushes some hair from Damian's forehead, the boy lets out a displeased sound, tucking his face into your neck. "Looks like we got another mama's boy."

You laugh softly, cupping Bruce's face with your free hand, "aren't they all at some point?"

"Can't blame them," he smiles, leaning down to give you another kiss before he frowns slightly, "want to tell me what happened with the school?"

"Later," you answer to which Bruce nods. You don't want to talk about what happened now, knowing that Bruce will get angry when you tell him what the vice principal said. "I just want to cuddle with my boys."

Bruce smirks, standing back up to his full height to take off his jacket and tie before he cuddles up to your other side.

"What?" he asks at your raised brow, "he's completely on my side, and they always kick me when their sick."

"Expect Dick."

"That's because he kicks every other time."

"Can you be quiet? I'm trying to sleep."

You and Bruce chuckle, giving Damian a kiss on the head and cuddle closer together. You feel the stress from today leaving your body when you melt against your husband, knowing that Bruce will probably ensure that Mr. Banks won't find a job as vice principal ever again, after having a 'talk' with him of course.

[browniesforsale]

The Wayne Family Does A WIRED Autocomplete Interview

pairing: batfam x batmom; Bruce Wayne x fem!reader warning: Usage of Y/N (it's unavoidable here), Bat siblings, Bruce Wayne has a sense of humor (who knew), talks of pregnancy, Tim Drake missing spleen, light cursing (there might be grammatical error sorry) wordcount: 3, 184 author notes: my YouTube watch history is going to be fucked with this series. Anyways I hope you guys like it.

[Batfamily Interviews Masterlist] | next interview ->

The video opens with with a short in the moment intro. It the Wayne Family, they don't know that the camera started to roll. In the first row from left to right sit you, Damian, Cass, and Duke. Behind in the second row sits Bruce, Jason, Dick, Tim, and Stephanie. Jason is messing with Damian by barely touching his earlobe. Damian flinches at the feel of a ghostly touch.

"Todd!" Damian yells. Which cause Damian and Dick to both laugh.

You turn in your seat to swat Jason's hand away, "Can we behave for once?"

The camera cuts before showing the Wayne again, but this time all facing the camera sitting nicely as this time they were informed that the video had started.

"Hello, we are the Waynes and this is the WIRED Autocomplete Interview." Bruce introduces.

Autocomplete suggests the most common searches on the internet

"I still don't quite understand the rules of this…" Bruce admits to his children.

Stephanie groans, "B, we went over this."

So WIRED asked the Wayne family some of the Internet's burning questions

Jason holds the board and angles it in a way that it faces the camera. The board display that of a Google search with Bruce Wayne typed into the search bar and four questions coming up in the search. Part of the sentence was hidden under a white tab.

"So these are like the most searched questions from Google and you have to answer them." Tim explains.

"Is there a right and wrong answer?" Bruce asked.

Tim and Steph both shake their heads, "No."

"Just answer the question however you want." Stephanie said.

Jason pulls the first tab off to reveal the hidden part of the question. "Is Bruce Wayne…richer than Lex Luthor?"

"Um…I think I'm generally considered richer than him in wealth, I mean I'm certainly richer than him in other aspects…like having hair…"

The crew begins to laughs. Jason makes a 'boom' sound as he pretends to drop a bomb.

"Shots fired." Dick said.

You were sitting there pinching the bridge of your nose trying your best not to laugh.

"You know lots of things" Bruce said smugly.

"Why is Bruce Wayne…afraid of bats?" Jason read off the next questions.

"Are you really afraid of bats?" Duke asked turning in his chair to look at Bruce.

"Okay…I wouldn't really say afraid…." Bruce started before you interrupted.

"No, you still have some fear for them." you corrected.

"When I was seven, maybe eight, I fell down an old well that was part of the property that I wasn't suppose to be at. Ended up being part of a cave system and there was a flock of bats that swarmed and attack me." Bruce stated.

"Wait are you serious?" Stephanie double checked.

"When aren't I?" Bruce said sarcastically.

Jason reveals the next question, "Does Bruce Wayne…have living family?"

Stephanie gasps, "Kate. We love Kate." The other nod in agreement.

Bruce throws a hand up, "My cousin, Kate from my mother's side. Who was actually with me when I fell down that hole and may or may not be the reason." Bruce gives a dead stare to the camera.

"Clip that." Steph said towards the crew.

Bruce gave a confuse look, "What?"

"B, again we talked about this!"

You were still hung up on what Bruce said, "Wait no she wasn't. Kate was living in Europe at the time."

Bruce put a finger to his lips in a 'shushing' motion.

"Alright last question," Jason annouced, "Is Bruce Wayne…batman. That's the age old question right there."

"Bruce is never beating the batman allegations." Dick said.

"Not I am not Batman. I hate that guy." Bruce states.

Jason throws the board somewhere off camera.

The next broad gets passed and it had Dick's name on it. Damien holds it, while you peel off the tabs and read the questions.

"Alright is Dick Grayson's name Dick." you read off.

"Yes actually his full name is Dick-wad." Jason answer for his older brother.

Dick slaps the back of his brother's head. "It's Richard." There was a pause before Dick speaks up again, "Why is Dick short for Richard? Who came up with that?" Dick asked, genuinely curious.

"In the Middle Ages, it was a trend to rhyme things. Rich or Rick was actually the shorten name for Richard, but then Rick evolved into Dick." Alfred answer somewhere off camera.

"That was the infamous Alfred Pennyworth everybody." Jason said.

You read the next question, "Where is Dick Grayson…from?"

A unison of 'o's' sounded from Dick's left (camera right).

"Aren't you like…technically not from anywhere?" Tim asked.

"Kind of, I was born into a traveling circus, so there was like actual city to like call home because the circus was home." Dick explained.

"So nowhere?" Stephanie clarified.

"Your birth certificate actually says Star City because that's where the circus was heading next." Bruce mentioned.

Dick pauses and leans forward to look at Bruce, "They told me that they lost it."

"I have my ways." Bruce said.

"Okay, two more question." you say. "What happened to Dick Grayson?"

Dick looked towards the camera confuse, "Did something happen to me that I'm not aware of?" This makes Stephanie and Jason laugh.

"I think they are talking about the circus accident, honey." you say.

"Oh like what to me after the…oh well to make a long story short, I got adopted by a grumpy rich guy that had no idea what he was getting himself into by taken in a kid that lived in a circus his entire life."

"Never in the history of ever did someone had to child proof chandeliers." Bruce said.

"Is that why the chandeliers are all bolted like that?" Duke asked.

"Yes, because Dick kept swinging on them."

"You know everyone thinks that Jay was the trouble, rowdy kid, but it was actually Dick." you pointed out. "Alright last question…you wanna read it Dami?"

"Dick Grayson…butt contest?" Damian read out.

Dick hides his face while his siblings laugh at him.

"So…" Dick began to say, face still hidden behind his hand. "So Teen Vogue put me in a contest for who had the greatest ass or something like that." Dick removes his hand from his face. "They had Nightwing also in that contest and it was down between me and him and I lost…which is utter…crap. I definitely have the better ass, but yeah that's that." Dick explained.

Damian tosses the board lightly off camera and another board was handed to Duke.

"Damian this one is yours." Duke said. "Is Damian Wayne…vegan?"

"Vegetarian. They are entirely different despite what people might think." Damian informs with a matter-of-fact voice.

"Is Damian Wayne…" Duke begins the next question before Damian can go into detail about the difference between vegans and vegetarians. Duke pulls back the tabs and slightly laughs at it before speaking. "Is Damian Wayne a test tube baby?"

Jason fell towards Dick in a belly laugh. Stephanie was also laughing and clutching onto Tim for support. Damian crossed his arms in a pout and you pulled him in and gave him a little frown.

"Oh wow, how did you guys get Tim's search history?" Jason joked. Tim threw his hands up in defense.

"I think they are confusing me with the clon-" you covered Damian's mouth before he could say too much.

"Is this really what people are searching?" Bruce asked.

Jason straighten up and wiped tears from his eyes, "I think that's the best question we are going to get this entire video."

"No Damian is not a test tube baby." you answer as you removed your hand from Damian's mouth.

"Well…" Tim began and that seem to set off a vocal stim amongst the siblings.

Damian glared daggers at his brothers.

"Stop it." Bruce warned.

"What is Damian Wayne's…favorite animal?" Duke read.

"All of them, it's hard to chose a favorite." Damian states.

Cassandra leans over and whispers something into his ear. It was the first time she had say anything the entire video. Though she is know to be the quite one and not one for speaking.

"Cassandra said that I should mention all of my pets that I have." Damian repeats what Cass said to him.

"You have have like 20 animals." Tim said.

"This is gonna be a minute." Dick stated.

"There's Alfred The Cat, he a tuxedo cat so it makes him look like a butler. So I named him after our butler. Ace and Titus are mostly father's pet Doberman, but they like me more. Then there is Bat-Cow, she has marking on her face that make it look like she is wearing a mask like the bats and then I'm gonna count Grayson's dog Haley because I watch her a lot and then…" Damian turns to look at Bruce. No words where exchanged between the two, but you knew what Damian was asking. "And then there is Goliath, he's a dragon bat."

"You just unintentionally answered the next question." someone says off camera.

Everyone looked towards Duke as he pulled off the tab to the last question.

"How many pets does Damian Wayne have?"

"Are you fucking psychic or something, Cass? Jason asked looking at her.

Cass gives a knowing smile.

The next board was pass and Stephanie grabbed it.

"Oh this should be good." she said and looked at Tim, who was beside her. "Is Tim Drake…" she pulls the tab, "Gay?"

"I lied I think Tim's questions are going to be the best." Jason said.

Tim sighs, already over it, "Yes, bisexual. Next question."

"Does Tim Drake…" Stephanie reveals the rest of the question and instantly falls out of the chair in laughter. Everyone was confuse.

"Wait what did it say?" Dick asked leaning back to look at Steph who was on the floor.

Tim snatched up the board from her and read it. "Does Tim Drake have a spleen..okay you know what, we're done."

Tim tosses the board and walks off screen. Stephanie was now in tears on the ground. Dick and Jason were now also laughing. Cass was smiling, laughing silently.

"Drake is very sensitive about his spleen." Damian said.

"Tim, baby, come back." you say.

Bruce looks back at Stephanie, "Stephanie…" there was a bit of amusement in his voice.

"Steph, honey." you said.

The was a cut in the video, everyone was in recovery form laugh, Stephanie was wiping the tears from her eyes and every once in a while she would threaten to start laughing again, but would compose herself.

"Okay look the whole spleen thing." Tim began and this time Jason was the one to break, "Jason!"

"I'm sorry, the situation was funny." Jason said.

"Okay so I got stabbed. When you live in Gotham there is a fifty percent chance you are going to get caught in something." There was some gasps from the crew. "Hold on, don't gasps yet. I kept it a secret. Bruce and mom where out of town along with Alfred," Bruce could feel his blood pressure rise the more Tim tells the story, "So I tried to take care of it myself. Ended up getting an infection from it, got really sick. Dumb and dumber had to take me to the hospital, where I had to get my spleen taken out."

You and Bruce were shaking your heads.

"This is where we also learned that Tim is like a freaking Victorian child. A common cold could actually kill him." Dick said.

"Should also mention that Bruce had to demand to get your spleen back and now we have it in a jar." Stephanie said.

"Yeah, so that is the spleen story, so now everyone stop talking about my spleen." Tim said to the camera.

"Tim Drake coffee order." Stephanie says.

"Black coffee with half a pound of sugar." you say.

"It is not that much sugar." Tim corrected.

"Timothy." you said with a stern voice.

"It's a lot of sugar." Tim said, defeated.

Stephanie reveal the last question, "Tim Drake's age."

Tim went to answer, but Jason stopped. "Hold up, hold up. I think we should have the old man answer this."

"I know how old all of you are." Bruce stated.

"Do you though?" you looked back at your husband. He looked at you offended.

"Dick's 25, Damian is 11, Duke is 16, Jay you're 19…"

"That sounds like a question." Jason stated.

"It wasn't. Cassie is also 19, older by two weeks. Tim and Steph are 18."

You looked surprised, "Wow, I'm surprised, you normally get them mixed up."

"Jason's turn." Dick says holding the board. "Is Jason Todd…Bruce Wayne's biological son?"

Jason rolled his eyes, "Really."

It should be noted that Bruce and Jason were sitting the exact same way with their arms crossed and a scowl on their face.

"Multiple blood test have been done and we can confirm, for now at least, that Jason and Bruce have no biological relations." you state.

"I think it's the fact that DNA test have to even be done." Tim said.

"You guys do scarily look alike though, even Dick, Tim, and even Cass have some resembles." Duke said.

Cass got your attention and started to sign to you.

"Do you remember when we found that one picture and we all thought it was Jason, but turns out it was actually just a young Bruce." you translate Cass' signing.

"I don't see it." Bruce says looking at his children, which makes the crew laugh.

"Is Jason Todd…dead?"

"Only on the inside." Jason says and he moves before you could wack him because he just knows. "Um…I was. Well I was presume dead anyways."

"Dude has a whole grave and everything." Stephanie said.

Dick pulls the tab back to the third question, "What happened to Jason Todd?"

"That's a loaded question." Tim says.

"A lot." Jason states.

"And final question," Dick says, "Why did Jason Todd go missing?"

"Oh my gosh," Jason blurts out, which makes some laugh. "I ran away, I was a kid. Stop Googling me, please." Dick throws the board behind him.

"Oh goodness is it my turn?" you say looking at the board Bruce was holding.

"How did Y/N Wayne and Bruce Wayne meet?" Bruce askes.

"The most rom-com way ever." Dick said.

Bruce made a face, "I wouldn't say that."

"Bruce didn't like me when we met." you say. The news of this makes the children gasps. You nod, "Yeah He tried to find ways to get rid of me actually because he didn't think I was needed. I was hired on as Bruce's assistant though really I was working for Alfred cause someone didn't want to run their own company." you dissed.

Bruce lean down to kiss the top of your head, "I'm glad my attempts weren't successful, my love." he said.

Jason reads the next question, "How did Bruce Wayne propose to Y/N Wayne?"

"Well it was suppose to be a surprise, but someone couldn't keep their mouth shut and crash the proposal site." Bruce grumbles.

Dick had a guilty look on his face, "Listen I was excited, I didn't know it was suppose to be a surprise."

"I quite literally told you that it was when I tucked you into bed that night."

"To answer the question though, we went to the Gotham Botanical Garden because there was a new statue exhibit that were like copy of famous renaissance sculpture, but I had to pretend like I didn't know what was happening because Dick told me that night before leaving for dinner." you said.

Bruce has the board back in his hands now, "Y/N Wayne's birthday."

"Yeah Bruce, when's ma's birthday?" Jason asked.

"It was one time…" Bruce address.

"One time too many." you said giving him a look.

"It's May twenty-second." Bruce said.

"Is Y/N Wayne…" Bruce lifts the tab, but puts it back when he read what underneath it.

You furrow you eyebrows at him, "What?"

Jason leans over Bruce to pull the tab away, "Pregnant." An uproar started which causes you to laugh.

"There is already enough of us!" Steph exclaim.

"There's no way this is how you tell us." Tim adds.

Duke and Cass where beaming compare to Dick, Jason, Tim, and Stephanie. Damian's expression was unreadable.

"No I am not pregnant." you say.

"You're smiling!" Jason points out.

"I was just laughing."

"I'm not convinced."

"Last board." Duke announces.

"Last board!" the rest children said (minus Damian and Cass) in various different ways.

"Alright. How to get adopted by the Wayne family?" Tim reads off.

"Be an orphan or semi-orphan." Dick said.

"Have a lot of trauma." Tim adds.

"And you too just might be picked up off the streets by Bruce Wayne." Jason finishes.

"Or you can be like me and just stick around long enough that you eventually get you own room and become a dependent on taxes." Steph says.

You laugh at your children's antics while Bruce just shakes his head. Something that he seems to do a lot through the video.

"How many kids are in the Wayne Family?" Duke reads the next question.

"Legally or…" Bruce asked, which makes the crew laugh. "Legally everyone here minus Stephanie who, beyond contrary belief, won't let us adopt her. So don't let what she says fool you."

Stephanie beams.

"Does the Wayne Family own Gotham?" Dick reads.

"No." Bruce answers, "We are one of the founding families, but none of us really own anything. Gotham is run by the people…I just help fund it."

"The Wayne family corrupt." Jason reads.

"Again no." Bruce restates, "My father made questionable choices, but it was all driven by the love he had for my mother."

"And it seems the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Jason said as he grabs Bruce's shoulder.

The last broad gets flung somewhere off screen.

"Well that's it, I hope everyone was satisfied with our answers." you say.

"Thank WIRED for having us and apologizes to the crew members that were almost taken out by flying boards." Bruce said.

The children all wave to the camera and the video ends.

922 Comments

@ rollinghills

Bruce's face the entire time during the pregnancy question, oh she is definitely pregnant.

@ tessabp17

Not them throwing Bruce under the bus the entire time.

@ clairebear646

Why didn't Stephanie, Duke, or Cassandra have a board??

→ @ tjt5841

Cass is really private, Duke is also private and still new to the family, he's just being foster by the Waynes, and Stephanie is just there.

@ nicodegallo

Stephanie is essentially a squatter in the family. She has squatter rights lol.

@ bee2free

No because Damian looks the least like Bruce and he is the only one actually related to him.

→ @ justiceforjay007

They all look so alike, I forget that none of them are related to one another

→ @ snaillover365

Tim and Cass could literally be twins

add. notes: Lore is ovbiously changed because the internet/people can't know that the Wayne are in fact the Batfamily.

taglist: @sleepyyluciel - @lettucel0ver - @dontmindmeboo - @ginathewolf53106 - @lunarlighxt - @hilaryinumaki1 - @pinklyred - @fantasydreamer420 - @chxyz-ctrl - @lil-riddle-kiddle - @lilacmage-blog - @andrigynousstrangerbouquet - @xirquen - @kayleighisreallycool - @inherdiary77 - @cresent-moon-gallery88 - @ndelkh6 - @astralpandamoniumfox - @skeletaldynamolegion - @moonlit-obsidian - @bearchermer - @boomgshakalaka - @deerest-darling - @jessk23 - @some-lovely-day - @peachydoki - @iheartshota - @dauntlessfissurecloud - @lililiyayy - @tmrs-basilisk - @hdjsiosjnx

[barnesafterglow]

everything to me

summary: being bruce wayne's best friend comes with some unexpected surprises

pairing: pattinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

word count: 1.2k (blurb who??)

warnings: bruce is broody (ofc), implied sexual harassment (not from bruce), implied smut, best friends to lovers <3, reader is a smartass

a/n: day 2 of my sweet summer writing challenge with the prompt "you're cleaning this up, right? since this was your idea." !! dedicated to sweet @foreverindreamlandd because i know this man is everything to her 😭 this is my first time writing for bruce wayne so please be kind! i hope y'all enjoy &lt;3

main masterlist ─ challenge masterlist i no longer have a taglist, but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary and turn on post notifications to get fic updates! 🤍

When he first told you his secret, you all but laughed in his face. No, you did laugh in his face. The Bruce Wayne, billionaire recluse, was a bona fide superhero? That was like saying you were in the running to be the next mayor of Gotham. So you laughed and laughed, then looked at him - that cute little twitch of his mouth that either meant he wanted to laugh with you or throw you across the room - and then you laughed some more.

Until he led you down the long winding hallways to the basement - a cave, Bruce, you built a full fledged Batcave, you had said - and something deep in your gut told you the technology wasn’t just a rich man’s playthings.

So, cool, your best friend was the masked vigilante that no one in the city could decide if they loved or hated, and you had to be fine with that.

Which also meant, after Alfred, you were the only person he really had in his corner. So on the nights Bruce came home more than a little battered and bruised, you sent Alfred to his room and patched Bruce up yourself. Which afforded you the opportunity to get to know him better than you had before.

Even as his best - and only, you liked to tease him - friend, there was an unsurprising barrier around his vulnerability that few people ever stepped into. But there was something about you stitching up the holes in his body that caused him to open up more to you. About his fears of never doing enough, the hurt of the loss of his parents, the thought that he was disappointing them rather than making them proud with his nightly activities. 

And as those walls came crashing down around you, so did your feelings.

You wanted to laugh it off at first, the thought of having something as silly as a crush on Bruce Wayne. Until you caught the scantily clad waitress from the bar down the block sneaking out the front door one morning, you weren’t even sure Bruce was capable of sexual or romantic feelings. But the closer you got, the more you realized that you desperately wanted him to have them, for you.

The lingering touches and covert stares from the both of you were enough to balloon your hopes until it all came to a head one winter night.

Bruce had gone out on a patrol, a typical weekday night that you hoped would be quiet and he could get back home quickly and out of the below freezing temperatures. You set up your usual first aid supplies on the dining room table and very sweetly asked Alfred for help lighting the fire before he headed up to bed.

You sat in the plush armchair reading a book until you heard the tell-tale rumble of the Batmobile - don’t call it the Batmobile, Y/N, he said every time - entering the space below you.

Thinking back, maybe you should have known something was wrong. Usually it was about 20 minutes from the time you heard him arrive to the time the fortress level door just off the study opened up. Enough time for him to download any pertinent footage from the night, take his suit off, and wash away any blood that wasn’t his own.

That night though, it was less than five before you heard heavy, booted steps and the whoosh of the door. You stood abruptly, your book falling to your feet, and rounded the corner to see Bruce standing there in his full armor, save for the helmet.

He looked disheveled, more than usual, and you could only begin to imagine what horrors of the night had The Batman so rattled.

Despite the near impenetrable material that was his suit, you knew from his slight limp that it was not a calm night, and when you stepped into his personal space to try and assess the damage, he grasped your hip so hard you winced a little. His grip loosened considerably, but he still crowded you, so in your own space that you were backed up until thick wood of the dining room table dug into your spine.

“Heard them talking about you,” he said, voice low and breathy. “Scum, all of them. Talking about you like you were a piece of meat.”

You shook your head, terribly confused. Who would be talking about you to Batman? Then you remembered your coworkers - ex-coworkers, you should say - and the whole ordeal you had sworn to keep from Bruce.

Which was, men were often entitled and sometimes handsy and you were one of several women in your office to go to HR with complaints of management trying to feel up special offers, if your meaning was clear.

You hadn’t wanted to tell Bruce, knew he would do his broody and protective bit, and it was all more trouble than it was worth, in your opinion. But of course you couldn’t keep anything from him, though you had hoped you had actually gotten away within it since it had been several weeks. No such luck.

You didn’t know if he was more angry at them, or at the fact that you had kept it from him.

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” you started, wanting to stop the conversation before it really began. “I should have told you, but it’s not a big d -”

“Not a big deal?” he hissed, crowding you even more. “You’re a big deal to me. You’re- you’re everything to me.”

Well, that certainly didn’t sound like best friend talk. No, that sounded like school boy crush, draw-your-name-in-hearts talk. Coming from Bruce? To say you were baffled was an understatement.

“What?” You wanted to back up, get away for a moment, because you couldn’t think clearly with him so close, but he didn’t get you the opportunity. Instead, he swiped a hand behind you, scattering the various supplies that laid on the table onto the floor, and lifted you up so you were sitting and he was slotted between your legs.

One hand still rested on your hip, the other coming to the nape of your neck, angling your head so your foreheads pressed together.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispered again, this time with more conviction. “Tell me you want this too.”

You were too stunned to speak, so you just nodded, and that was enough for him. Lips on yours, hands everywhere, clothes scattered one by one. You were overcome with passion for him, feeling every emotion all at once, and finally, finally, as you lay sweating and dazed on the mahogany table, Bruce’s weight pressed on top of you, did you find the words to speak.

"You're cleaning this up, right?” You motioned with the hand that wasn’t laced with his to the perfectly good medical supplies that now decorated the dining room floor. “Since this was your idea."

That managed to elicit a rare Bruce Wayne smile and instead of answering, he peppered your face with kisses, moving lower down your abdomen. And, well, you weren’t inclined to stop him.

if you liked this please consider donating to my ko-fi! 🤍

[atlaese]

into the abyss - b.w.

summary: Bruce should've known that nothing in Gotham City ever is smooth sailing. But when the one person in his life who means most to him gets kidnapped, he feels the darkness descending on him. pairing: fem!reader x bruce wayne (pattinson) tw: kidnapping, canon violence, injuries, blood, established relationship, kinda grumpy x sunshine, mentions of guns, fluff, happy ending (let me know if i missed anything!) words: 4.8K a/n: hi hello! of course i had to write about another emotionally damaged man, what did you think?! i hope i got the characterization right, i've only seen the movie once so let me know! hope you enjoy this piece, because i loved writing it! smalltown boy by bronski beat was on repeat when I wrote this. make of this what you want xo.

p.s. i now have a library blog! follow @aeristhotle to get notified when i update!

reblogs and feedback are appreciated ✨💗

bruce wayne masterlist | all masterlists

Gotham city had always been a dark place. During winters, it was cold and icy. Snow would heap in the streets and the sounds of the city would be muffled, though there was always an eerie quietness that left any tourist just a little unsettled. Even some of the natives of Gotham weren’t quite used yet to how the city always felt on edge, ready for a violent event to happen.

Even during spring, when the world would come out of its hibernation, Gotham remained engulfed in the darkness. It was a combination of the stormy clouds, the relentless rain and the cold gusts of air that made many scarfs disappear in the sky.

That day was no different.

However, when Bruce’s arms snuck around your waist under the warm weight of the comforter, Gotham city couldn’t feel more like paradise.

The clock read 5:13 A.M., and Bruce was a little bit earlier than you were used to. You didn’t mind the extra hour of warm body-heat that wrapped around you as he pressed his face against the back of your neck and breathed in your scent. It was a reminder to him that, even when the city was at its worst, you’d still be there in all your glory and softness - a perfect contradiction.

Bruce pressed a soft kiss against the supple skin of your neck and tightened his hold on your waist as the slumber pulled him into another world filled with darkness.

The hour of silent comfort you had with Bruce quickly passed.

At 6:15 A.M., you softly turned in his embrace and pressed a kiss against his temple. There was still a bit of dark eyeshadow left-over, forgotten in the hurry to pull off the suit and join you in his bed.

You softly rubbed the black away under his eyes, your thumb ever so gently passing over the delicate skin as Bruce inhaled deeply.

“You forgot a bit, mister,” you softly whispered as his eyes remained closed. His thumb rubbing circles over the exposed flesh of your hip revealed that he was awake.

“I’m gonna get some coffee from Roberto’s,” you whispered again, trying to peel away from his embrace that had you locked in place. Morning always came too soon for Bruce, no matter how he tried to shy away from the light.

“Why do you insist on getting coffee from Roberto’s when Alfred makes a perfectly fine cup?” He muttered, his voice still a bit hoarse from running through the cold all night long.

“Because,” you grinned, pressing a kiss against his bicep and finally untangling yourself. “It’s only a block away and I’ve been going there since I was 15.”

“Hnng,” he groaned, burying his face in the pillows. His eyes were so well-adjusted to the dark that the first rays of the sun, however faint they were, felt like stings and made his head throb. “Come back soon, I’ve barely seen you this week.”

You pulled on a dark jumper of his and laced your boots, ready to defy the rain that was pounding down on Gotham city.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” you bent down to press another kiss to his temple. You would never stop showering the man in physical affection, for as long as your heart beat in your chest.

You pulled on a long trench-coat over your jumper and closed the door to the bedroom behind you.

Bruce was back to snoring again, already lost in a slumber and blissfully unaware of the upcoming events.

When Bruce awoke again, it was a little past 8 A.M. For some reason, his dreams had been filled with scenarios of your death. He often had nightmares where he relived the night his parents got murdered or scenarios where he himself was the target of some sort of violent crime. But those all paled next to the horrors of your passing, an event he wished to never experience.

Bruce had grown immensely attached to you over the past 15 years.

You were like a warm blanket that wrapped around him when he needed it most. A warm blanket that drove away the cold that had settled in his bones ever since his parents passed. The moment that made him the sole survivor of a horrible crime gone wrong.

The warmness of your personality made him feel again. It made him susceptible again to caring what happened. You might be the only reason why he returned to being Bruce again, when being his dark alter ego seemed like the only solution to battle his demons.

So why didn’t he feel your warm presence in his embrace again? Where was your scent that usually calmed him down after another nightmare? Where were you?

Bruce shot up from his bed.

His heart was battering in his chest. You could’ve been held up in Roberto’s. People are so drawn to you, it often happens that you are stopped in the street and asked for something.

It’s because you’re a household name in the city, known for your father’s media-empire and for the philanthropy department you ran. People seemed to know where you were at any given moment, so much so that they bothered you all the time. Well, it bothered Bruce. He knew you liked looking over all the proposals and helping out people wherever you could. It was yet again a testament to how different you two were.

Bruce pushed his sunglasses on his nose and sauntered over to the living room where Alfred was doing some paperwork. He knew he shouldn’t have been worried, yet he couldn’t think of anything else, especially after that horrific nightmare.

“Where’s the miss?” Alfred asked, taking a sip of his coffee as he looked down at the paperwork again. Apparently he wasn’t worried either.

“She went out to Roberto’s a few hours ago,” Bruce muttered, still an edge of unease in his tone. “Did she leave a note or say something to the maid?”

Alfred shook his head, “can’t blame the woman for not leaving a note, she’s been going for years.”

“She’ll turn up, don’t worry, sir,” Alfred added as he spotted the pained look on Bruce’s face. He slid a cup of coffee Bruce’s way and continued his reading.

After a few minutes of enduring the silence, the doorbell rang in the distance.

“There she is,” Alfred said, a hint of a smile hidden in his voice as he turned the page. Alfred was happy there was another person in his life that cared as much about Bruce as he did. Bruce needed all the love in the world he could get, and he was glad you were able to provide that. The fact that Bruce was so anxious to see you again, was like music to Alfred’s ears.

But then the maid entered the living room, her eyes wide-open and her hands wringing in one another.

A second pair of steps quickly followed the maid’s and that’s when Bruce realized it weren’t your boots that were stomping down on the floor, but a standard issue of the Gotham city police department.

Bruce had been watching the news all morning.

His adrenaline was peaking, just like when he was out at night trying to stop criminals.

But he couldn’t go out just yet.

His dark alter ego only left when the night was at its peak darkness, when the last rays of sun had left the city and were replaced by the cold glare of the moon.

“Breaking news: the heiress to the Quantico-media empire was kidnapped in broad daylight this morning. Bruce Wayne’s partner was last seen this morning as she left Roberto’s. Our sources confirm that the heiress has been frequenting the coffee shop weekly since her teenage years. Afterwards, she was captured around 7:05 A.M. and pulled into a blacked-out van. Right now, police are doing everything they can do bring the woman back to safety. Police asks witnesses to come forward with any information they might have -“

He couldn’t listen to the woman anymore. Bruce didn’t feel like himself anymore. The only thing he felt was this inner rage. The same rage he felt when his parents were murdered.

Bruce tried to storm off, but Alfred quickly stopped him. Alfred eyed the liaison that the police had sent over to keep Bruce up to date. He couldn’t say anything to reveal the nature of Bruce’s… after hours job, but he could try to imply that his alter ego had to wait until the night fell over the city.

“Bruce, you can’t do anything.”

His nostrils flared, but aside from that, he couldn’t do anything.

Bruce couldn’t do anything and he never despised himself more.

So he did the only thing he could do, as a rich heir to Wayne Enterprises. Bruce paced around his apartment, his eyes glued to the screen and his hearing focused on the police liaison that got updates every half hour.

The little bit of light was just disappearing when the liaison got the call that the abductors had reached out with a message.

“Mr. Wayne?” The woman asked, a bit hesitant as she saw his fearful face. “They’re demanding a huge ransom.”

“How much, I’ll pay it. I’ll pay it all,” Bruce cut her off. He’d gladly give all his money if it meant that you’d be home by the end of the day.

“That’s not the only thing they want.”

The woman’s brown eyes were pulled a bit downwards, as if she was perpetually sad. Who wouldn’t be in this godforsaken city?

“They want 15 million dollars from you, 15 million from her father and…” the woman trailed off. Goddamnit, couldn’t she get to the point instead of dancing around the truth? Whatever news she would tell could not be worse than you not being safe in his arms right this moment.

Alfred noticed the distress on Bruce’s face. He noticed how his brows were pulled together, how his jaw was just a bit sharper than usual. He saw the darkness that was swirling in his eyes.

“What else do they want?” He asked, standing in between Bruce and the liaison.

“They want Quantico-media to shut down. They want to get rid of the independent news and install a media-outlet that is biased and, well-“

The liaison trailed off once more, but this time Bruce couldn’t think straight anymore. “What? Just spit it out for once!”

“Her father was fine with paying the money, but shutting down Quantico-media is off the table. There’s no deal. We have 24 hours to come up with something new or they kill her.”

It was as if something exploded in his mind. But it wasn’t like the type of fireworks that went off in his mind as when he kissed you, or when you laced your fingers through his when the media was once again hounding him.

It was more like a time-bomb that finally ticked to zero. A bomb that caused a chain reaction which made his critical thinking fly out the window.

Bruce looked outside. The sun had set and was replaced by the eerie darkness that engulfed Gotham City. It was time.

He turned to Alfred. “I’m going out. I can’t just sit here.”

Alfred nodded and turned towards the liaison, asking about what the next steps were.

To anyone else, it looked like the whole ordeal had become too much for Bruce, like he had to go outside to think, to not feel like a helpless creature that was stuck inside his high-rise apartment.

To two people however, it was clear what was going to happen.

It was clear that, whoever exited the underground garage next wouldn’t be a young heir, pained by the disappearance of his love. The one who exited the garage would be the kidnappers biggest nightmare.

It took Bruce the whole night and the first few hours of daylight to get some information about your whereabouts.

Gordon had also activated the signal, meaning that the police had just as much trouble in finding you as he had encountered through the night.

Bruce had gone through any kind of criminal that could be affiliated with a crime lord who wanted control of the media.

He was covered in grime and blood, remnants of the fights he had endured and would continue to endure until he knew where you were. He didn’t even know whose blood was on his hands anymore. It was a mixture of his and probably 20 other men’s blood. His knuckles were split open under his gloves. His chest hurt from all the punches he had endured and his head felt like it might split open any second from all the bullets that bounced off his helmet.

But he finally got a location. It was on the outskirts of the city. An abandoned building that once was a printing house. The irony wasn’t lost on Bruce.

Gordon had ordered him to wait for the police force to get there, so that there was back-up and some sort of official authority, but Bruce felt like he might jump out of his skin the longer he waited.

So he went in on his own. He’d deal with the ramifications later.

The building was dark and quiet. A musty scent clung to the air. A mix of gunpowder and cigarette smoke.

Bruce’s senses were dialed to the max and though exhaustion was settling in his bones, the idea that you were somewhere in this building reinvigorated him.

The thought that he’d sleep for a whole week in his own bed, your soft skin against his once again made him push through the one of the hardest nights of his life.

Bruce was no longer alone in the building though.

A man shot out from the shadows, a gun that was pointed at him.

Bruce heard the click of the safety switch being switched off, followed by the loud clatter of gunshots and bullets that were bouncing off his suit. Bruce quickly kicked the feet from under the man’s body, not caring how much he hurt the captors that kidnapped you.

A few other men reacted to the sounds of guns going off, and soon enough there was a group of men crowding around Bruce, hitting him everywhere.

He felt as if he was losing the fight. There were just too many men and guns attacking him all at once.

Bruce fell down on his knees. His whole body hurt and searching for you had exhausted him to no end.

The men continued pouncing on him and he felt the integrity of his suit wearing down with every bullet that hit it.

Bruce was so close. He was so close to finding you again. To getting you out of this hellhole and back into the safety of his home. His home that hadn’t felt like a home since his parents passed, but ever since you stayed over it was more a home than ever before.

He was now totally knocked on the ground, he was losing a fight for the very first time he started as the Batman. He was losing the one fight he wasn’t supposed to lose. The fight that would ensure your safe return.

So Bruce did what any sane person would do. He thought of you. He thought of the simpler times. The times were it was just you and him. The times where you went to sleep smiling at him and where you woke up a few hours later, a smile still present. He thought of how beautiful you looked when he first met you. He thought about the first time you dragged him to a gala he didn’t want to go to, yet you were the last to leave the party, just because you were both glued to the dance floor. He thought of you.

It was thinking of you, thinking of all those memories that made him realize how many more memories you could still make in the future. Of how many more stupid gala’s he’d go to just because you asked him. Or how many more times he’d see you smile. It was all those things combined that seemed to give him an extra shot of adrenaline. A boost that made him stand up again.

The group of men didn’t know what he had in store for them.

After fighting them off for another 45 minutes, he was finally able to knock them all out.

Bodies were spread over the whole first floor and he didn’t hear anyone else approaching.

His whole body ached, but he ignored the burning in every limb and ran to the stairs.

Apparently they had hidden you in the basement.

The basement was possibly even darker than the upper floor of the building. It was quiet too, aside from the squeaking of a few rats in the distance.

Was luck finally on his side? Were there no more guys that he needed to defeat to get to you?

It really felt like luck as the next thing he heard was a soft muffled whimper, a few feet in front of him.

“I’m here, I got you, I’m here,” he repeated as he saw your frame hunched over in the corner. Your mouth was taped shut and a tight rope shackled you to a pillar in the musty basement. There was some blood on your hands, but aside from that, you looked physically as okay as you could. Bruce couldn’t spot any other injuries, so he deducted that you’d probably tried to fight your way out.

It still caused Bruce to want to let loose all the rage that was coursing through his veins.

But when he saw the look in your eyes. That glassy look where your eyes are filling with tears, all that rage was packed up and stored somewhere in the back of his mind.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he softly pulled the tape from your mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, it’s okay,” you whispered back hoarsely, your voice still hurting from screaming your lungs out. “They’re after my father, not you B.”

“I-I still should’ve protected you,” he breathed out, eyes focussed on untying the rope. Bruce was struggling, his fingers wouldn’t cooperate and seeing the loving look in your eyes made everything hurt even more. “I protect the city but can’t protect the one thing that’s worth more to me than anything I’ve ever loved.”

At this point, Bruce didn’t even care anymore who heard him confessing his love for you. He’d gladly give up the anonymity to save you.

“Oh, my love,” you said, your hands finally free. You placed your palms against his face, the cool leather of his mask in stark contrast to his skin that felt feverish. “You couldn’t have done anything more, but yet, you found me.”

Bruce felt like he was stuck. He had knocked out all the kidnappers, anyone who was involved with hurting and abducting you. The only thing he could do now, as the Batman, was to get you to the safety of the police. How he wished he could just drive off and take care of you himself in the safety of his apartment. Of his home that was a now again a home.

His conflicted nature quickly was overtaken by the need to make sure you would be physically and mentally okay.

“I’m going to lift you up,” he said. His voice still had a pained edge. He was afraid of hurting you, even though his body was on the edge of breaking down. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

You could only nod.

The shock finally started to register. It started somewhere deep in your bones, an ache that could only be explained by the horrible way you had been treated the last 36 hours. The ache travelled from your bones into your veins. It was transported through your veins, just like the blood platelets and nutrients and entered your heart in less than a minute.

You couldn’t stop the sobs that left your throat. Somewhere deep down you knew you were safe, safe in the arms of the man you loved most, but the reptile part of your brain just now realized what horrors you had been through.

“I’m so sorry,” Bruce repeated again. It seemed like the only thing he could say. His vocabulary had been exhausted as was he after running himself ragged around the city in search of you.

Bruce had carefully lifted you in his arms. He could feel the shivers that were running through you, the sobs that made your whole body violently shake. He heard your lungs struggling to pull oxygen from the air, the air that was feeling thinner for him too, the effects of your distress taking a toll on him.

When he finally got you out of that wretched basement, the night had reached its darkest time in Gotham City. Instead of the white moonlight shining down on him, there was now the red-blue flickering of approaching police cars painting the walls.

Gordon stepped out of the first car, his face immediately contorting from a pained look to a more relieved one. “You got her out.”

Bruce held on to your body, refusing to let you go. You were safe in his arms, and he didn’t think he could ever let you go again.

The ambulance pulled up just a few seconds after, parking right in front of him. The doctor and paramedics tried to pry you out of his grasp, but he insisted on carefully placing you in the ambulance himself.

“Be careful,” he quietly said as he put you on the stretcher and the paramedics got to work.

You looked so small all of a sudden. Usually your confidence almost made you look like a giant goddess, but now you looked like a small little animal, hurt in a trap that some evil entity had placed.

Your eyes were still locked onto his, even when the paramedics shone a light in them to check for brain injuries.

“We’re gonna take you to the hospital for some extra testing, but physically you look okay,” one of the paramedics told you. You nodded and a sad smile overtook your face as you looked at Bruce.

The man who saved you looked a little broken. His black eye-make up had faded a bit due to the tears and the sweat, but you still recognized his vibrant eyes. The eyes that always looked at you with so much love. A love that burned brighter than the biggest star in the universe.

“Thank you,” you told him before the doors closed and the ambulance drove off. He still saw your tear-stricken face through the little windows. For the outside world, it seemed like just like you were grateful for your saviour, but Bruce knew it was so much more than that.

Gordon quickly asked for a debrief, but once the detective had all information he needed, Bruce speeded off towards his workshop.

The Batsuit was quickly stripped off and replaced by a pair of normal pants and a jumper. The only thing he wanted, was to see you again, surrounded by the best doctors of Gotham City.

Bruce remembered the day you found out he was the nut job running around Gotham city in a suit with a cape. You’d been pissed, unable to understand why he chose to put his life in danger to save others. But then after arguing for a bit, you also realized he tried to protect those the city wanted to harm. The same city that murdered his parents.

He needed to find a way to protect you from this city. He couldn’t let the same fate be bestowed on you, the fate that took his parents. He needed to do more. He couldn’t let the most important person in his life get hurt again.

Bruce was glad he had this dark alter ego. Because without him, you would never have been saved.

You were laying in between his sheets, not a trace of blood or a hint of distress to be spotted on your face. Bruce felt compelled to stay in your vicinity, even though you had been out of the hospital for a week already.

You were still fast asleep, soft snores leaving your lips as the sun finally revealed itself to the city again. The sunlight was filtering through his windows and straight onto your frame. Bruce couldn’t think of another word than ethereal.

The trauma of being taken had translated itself into exhaustion, meaning you slept almost 12 hours every night. Alfred and the maid were also at your beck and call, just like Bruce when he wasn’t out during the night. Your father had been remark fully absent.

Though he was tired from being out all night, the sight of you felt like a shot of pure adrenaline, reawakening him. Bruce couldn’t imagine spending his days any other way.

“Hi you,” you whispered, pulling him away from his daydreams. You hand came up to cup his cheek. You had loved Bruce for so long, you couldn’t imagine waking up without him present anymore.

“Hi,” he whispered back, a rare smile present on his face. His smiles were rare, but when he was in your presence, he couldn’t wipe them off. “How are you feeling?”

“In need of coffee,” you grinned. The few bruises you did have were fading. The one on your neck had almost completely disappeared. The more the bruises faded, the less Bruce was reminded of the horrific event.

“I’ll get the maid to bring some, you stay here,” he said, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead.

Bruce wanted to stand up, but you gripped his wrist, a silly smile plastered on your face. “Please stay just a bit B, let’s enjoy this morning together.”

And how could he resist you? How could he resist the love of his life? The one who made him feel more like himself, day after day?

Bruce crawled under the comforter and once again wrapped himself around you, his limbs tangling with yours. God, how he longed to touch you after a night out.

“You know,” he started, fixating on how your fingers perfectly fit between his. “Without you, I don’t think Bruce would still exist.”

And though most people would look at him as if he grew a second head, it all made sense to you.

You knew how much the murder of his parents changed him. How much Bruce retreated into a shell and how it fundamentally changed his core. So much so that he had this primal need to mask up and fight for this city to get safer.

“I’m glad you’re still in there somewhere,” you whispered back, caressing the side of his face and swiping away the dark hair that hid his beautiful eyes. “Because without Bruce, I wouldn’t be here either.”

Bruce shook his head lightly, disagreeing with your statement, but not wanting you to remove your warm hands from his face. “No, no, you’ve always been stronger, you have always been a guiding light for me.”

“Oh Bruce,” you said, looking at the man who had risked his own life just to save yours. “I’ve said it time and time again, but I love you.”

You tilted your head closer to his so your foreheads touched, a gesture that started when you were just teenagers, too anxious to try anything else.

“I’ll love you forever,” he whispered back, still unbelieving of how he had gotten you back after his nightmare turned reality. “I’m never letting you go again.”

You tilted your head a bit forward, just so your lips could touch his in a deliciously soft kiss.

The kiss was interrupted by a knock on the door, and the maid entered with two to-go cups on a silver platter. Talk about service.

“Got you some coffee from Roberto’s miss,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes as she was so happy to see you back again. “Roberto sends you his regards.”

Bruce took ahold of both of the cups as you thanked her. Both Alfred and her had been so careful and helpful, even more so since your return.

She left the room again and Bruce handed you your cup. Roberto had written a small welcome back message, missing your weekly visits but totally understanding that you needed some time.

“Happy?” Bruce asked.

“Couldn’t be happier,” you replied, biting your lip as you leaned in again for another kiss.