meii !!

meow meow | 19 🪽

[puckingdiva]

boyfriend! will smith texts 

will smith x reader

ft. a few gp94 cameos and mack

🥤 notes: idk how i did on his characterization but if i don't post it now i will never post it

[kentluv3r]

having soft morning sex with HUSBAND! DICK GRAYSON instead of going to work!

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 CONTENT WARNINGS: husband! dick grayson, mommy kink, choking (dick receiving), MINORS DNI ノ fashion magazine editor in chief! fem! reader, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, size kink, morning + soft sex, sloppy kissing, a hint of masochist! dick!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: mhmmmm, the idea of fashion editor in chief! reader x husband! dick in this dynamic ate me up so good, im a sucker for strong women being treated well by their love interests, plus… dick calling you mommy was always in the works— might make this it’s own separate au, idk yet, but i have other ideas in my mind so…

the morning light comes through the curtains without issue.

normally, at this hour, you’d be in your office, talking to whatever new employee one of your assistants brought in or talk to an executive about a new fashion brand collaboration you had lined up for the runway section of the upcoming issue… and that’s the thing; you should be in your office right now.

it’s ten am after all, your shift as editor in chief at one of the most popular fashion magazines in the world starts at ten… but the thing that also starts at ten? your husband’s sex drive.

which is why; instead of being in your cushy office chair, you were sitting in the lap of dick grayson…

well… kind of? because you weren’t exactly sitting in his lap but rather, bouncing on his dick… and he was helping you.

the thing about dick? he knows he ain’t the power in this relationship; you’re the breadwinner, the fashion editor-in-chief, the one with magazines with your name on them, awards lining the shelves of your shared penthouse… he ain’t the important one in the relationship (besides being nightwing but still; dick grayson? ain’t the popular one) so obviously, he fixes that with being remarkably charming and incredible in bed!

“f-fuck! dick!” you cry out, your nightie pushed up on your body as his big hands push up on your hips, fingers pressing in to your pretty skin. “so- so good.”

dick smiled, sleepiness still lingering in his system— you could see it in his blue eyes, but the sight of you on his morning wood woke him up faster than anything— and just the sound of your moans ruin him further. “yeah baby, keep moaning for me… ain’t gotta do anything, hun, i know that brain gets worked like crazy by those damn employees of yours… let your husband ruin you…”

and typically? he’d be earning a slap on the chest for such words… but his cock was just pushing in and out of you too good that you couldn’t respond with words.

only nodding your head, your fingers dug deep into dick’s broad chest, feeling his hands stroke up and down your back, fingers tingling and making you shiver.

he smiled at your inability to talk back, his left hand going down to your thigh, touching the bare skin as his right hand sneaks up your nightie and touching your bare back. "good girl... let me take care of you." he whispers, feeling your hands drag up his chest. "take all you can get, mama, i'll be right down here."

his cock drags up and down your walls as you ride him, head retracted back as pleasure seeps into every vein in your body, feeling your mind scramble at his touch not only on the outside but the inside as well.

and before you could stop your hands; they wrap around his throat, not hard— you know he can take you choking him like a champ— but you don't wrap 'em around his throat hard simply because you're in too deep of pleasure to care to squeeze.

both of your thumbs on his adam's apple as your fingers wrap around 'till they hit the back of his neck.

he laughs as you wrap your fingers around his neck, feeling the cold metal of your wedding band on his neck in the same way you felt the cold metal of his wedding band on your back as his hand trailed upwards. "oh fuck yeah, mommy, fuckin' wrap those pretty hands around me... i can take it."

"oh-oh i know you can t-take it." you bite back, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes.

the son of a bitch has a smirk on his face, strands of his black hair falling in front of his face. "clearly you can't take me all too well." he jokes, looking down to see his cock disappear in and out with each bounce mixed with a rock of your hips.

you grunt, digging your nails into the back of his neck on purpose— he doesn't even mention it, but by that moan after you do it? the fucker is turned on. "oh don't tell me that tur-turned you on, dick?"

he nodded. "of course it did, hun, anything you do is sexy to me."

"oh really?"

"anything, mama."

he just has a way with words that melt you from the inside out. no wonder you've been married to him for five years up to this point; good looks and great personality only goes so far for a man who fucks like this.

dick feels his cock twitch right as you feel yourself get closer and closer to your orgasm— he knows this because of the furrow in your brows and the fact that you're bouncing faster, almost to catch up with the feeling as it runs faster and faster.

"you close, hun?" he questions, squeezing your thigh with his left hand. "you're close, aren't you... we can cum together, how does that sound? fill you up real good?"

and you nod your head, not being able to resist him. "y'yes... cum with me dick, cum for me and i'll cum for you..." and with that encouragement, it's no shock that you two finish at the same time.

with one last plunge on his dick and feeling his happy trail tickle your clit at the perfect angle, dick falls over his edge right as you fall over your own edge.

your vision blurs; eye roll back as you press so hard on dick’s throat that you practically white-knuckle it, grinding down hard on his cock as the orgasm flows through you without trouble.

you can feel his hands softly rush up and down your body, soothing you as his own orgasm comes to him, balls squeezing and cock twitching as he unloads inside of you, his hot cum spurting into your pussy, covering your walls as the heat and the sensation of it only drives you further into your pleasure.

“dick… dick… dick… fuck, baby.” you breathlessly moan, closing your eyes to feel the extent in which your body was pushed— not aggressively though, it felt soft despite the filth.

dick smiled up at you, moaning his own way as he unloads his cum. “there you go, mama, take all my cum… takin’ it so good, making you full of me…” he praises under his breath, lifting his body up into a sitting position, both arms wrapping around your waist.

you open your eyes once you feel the tides of your orgasm slowly vanish, slow but your vision is back, seeing dick’s soft gaze in front of you. moving your hands, you cup his face. 

“hey honey… there you go… come back to dick.” he encourages, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, feeling your body against his, boobs pressing against his chest. “you’re so pretty…” 

he’s lost in your beauty, even when your hair is sticking to your head, your eyes half-lidded and taking deep breaths, trying to catch up with your body. his hands touch you gently, helping in bringing you back down to earth. 

you look at him, smiling. “hey, handsome…”

he presses another kiss, this time on your cheek. “hi, wifey… feeling good?”

“what do you think?” you challenge, cocking an eyebrow.

he shrugs. “i think you aren’t going into work today?”

you chuckle, shaking your head and whimpering when you feel him squeeze your hips gently. “you got that right, pretty boy.”

masterlist is here! click here for more!

ⓘ KENTLUV3R’S WORK. all my fanfics (not the characters) is my very own, coming from my own efforts and my time. do not copy my work, rewrite it, shove it through an ai machine and shit out slop, and don’t repost to wattpad/ao3/c.ai!

[brbie666]

Gratitude - Nightwing

+18. Minors dni.

Dark!Nightwing x Reader

Nightwing finds a way for you thank him properly after he saves your life.

Tw: filthy smut, dubious consent, no penetration, violence, Dick Grayson is very mean, mocking, male masturbation, etc.

Wc: 2.266.

You start to walk faster as you wrap your arms around yourself tightly, trying to shield your body from the cold air of Blüdhaven. The cheap sweater you managed to buy was not enough to stop you from trembling with the coldness of the unforgiving weather. And also, the ability to buy a car is a distant reality, so you are forced to walk home alone from work, trying to be as fast as possible to avoid any undesirable encounters.

You knew you couldn't be so lucky.

Your time has finally come. That´s what comes to your head when two male figures appear out of nowhere, getting out of a dark corner you were just about to pass through to reach your house, looking you up and down and smiling with their rotting teeth. “Fuck.” You mutter, before you stop walking. You swallow heavily, look at both of them with frowned eyebrows and try to walk around them “Excuse me…”.

“Oh, no no no…” The smaller one says, the taller one blocking your way. “Stay here for a second…Let's talk!” He failed to speak with a friendly voice.

“Get the fuck away from me.” You try to shove him, before being thrown to the ground by the tallest one. You fall down with a pained cry, staring with horror and failing to get up when the one you pushed grabs a knife. “Fucking bitch!” He yells.

He would be able to beat your ass up if it wasn't for the voice that stopped him.

“Wow, wow, wow! What´s goin´ on here?” A male voice appears. The unhurried, relaxed, conversational tone makes the three of you freeze on the spot.

The short man grabs your hair and tugs it hard, taking another loud cry from your mouth. “Hey, man! This one is ours! Now get the fuck out of here befo-”. He gets interrupted by a hard knock on the back of his head. He falls down on the ground and you are able to see the wreck made out of his skull. You stay trembling on the ground, eyes wide and shaking

The other criminal tries to run, but there´s no comparison between him and that stranger that just saved your life. He didn't stand a chance.

Both bodies are left in front of you, like a gift, and you feel like you could vomit your stomach out.

You are crying and shaking and sitting on the ground by the time the previously mysterious man decides to show himself to you. You know who he is. Nightwing. Heard of him countless times, but never imagined he would look like… that. He might scare you even more than those two men.

He looks at you and crouches down.

“You okay sweetheart?” He speaks. The softest voice he could use at that moment. His eyes move through all of you, searching for some kind of damage he was happy not to find.

“Y-yes… Thank you so, s-so much.” You say, voice trembling. “I- I- I don’t even know how to make it up to you.” His masked eyes stare down at your pathetic form, even from his crouched position. The corner of his mouth twitched, as if trying to contain a smile from hearing your excessive stuttering.

“It’s okay, baby. We'll figure something out.” He suddenly grabs you and holds you bridal style before you even are able to process what is happening. His strong, warm body finally protecting you from the cold. He asks where your house is, and you tell him, thinking you are going to be able to cry in your hard bed until tomorrow morning, when you are going to be forced to go to work again.

He enters inside your tiny room, looks around briefly before putting you on top of your bed. He doesn't leave immediately after that, and you get reminded of the reason.

“You said you wanted to properly thank me. Didn't you?” He says after staring at your cute, confused face. “Yes, but-”.

“But? You want me to get you back on the street so other guys can finish what the other two were doing?” He asks you, managing to keep his soft, threatening voice.

“No! Nonono-” You say desperately, still traumatized from the previous experience. You crawl to the end of the bed so you can get closer to him and beg properly. Nightwing just stands still in front of the bed, looking down at you.

“It’s alright, baby. Shhh… Calm yourself.” He uses one gloved hand to caress your lips gently, the other puts your hair behind your ear slowly.

“Lay down. Come on.” He uses his supportive voice, pushing your chest gently and you obey him. You push yourself up the bed, your back resting against the bed frame. As away from him as possible.

You close your eyes, trying to do what he said and calm yourself, thinking he finally is going to let you sleep.

You couldn´t be so lucky.

He makes your room feel way smaller than it is.

You watch as he slowly beckons you over with his pointer finger and then points at the end of the bed. A small smile on his face, his eyes guarded by his mask. You wait a long second before shifting your way back to him carefully.

“Get your skirt up.” He orders, tone low, relaxed, savoring your small, still trembling frame doing the best you can to obey him.

He doesn’t get on the bed and doesn’t take his clothes off. He doesn’t touch you, simply tells you to take off your panties next.

You hesitate, but you look at him and his smile is gone, his head tilted a little. You take them off immediately. He sticks his hand out to you, and you are smart enough to silently hand the panties to him.

“Open your legs.” He orders in a way you couldn’t even imagine disobeying. You close your eyes, grimace and look to the side, face heating up.

“Open your legs slowly. More.” You open them just a little bit more. He grabs your knees and open your legs all the way up to his satisfaction.

“Ahn!” You gasp and hold your upper body with the help of your elbows. Legs open the maximum you can handle. Your bare pussy exposed to him.

He openly stares at it and you almost wish those guys have killed you considering the way you feel your soul trying to leave your body out of shame. You try to close them slightly. He simply glares at you and that is all he needs to do to make you open them again.

“Open up your cunt.” He commands next, still ever so relaxed and comfortable as he orchestrates your degradation.

“What?!” Mortification is noticeable in your voice.

He doesn’t repeat himself. He knows you heard him. Instead, he goes to show you how it’s done.

You flinch and get away from him, closer to the frame. He just gives you a look, snaps his fingers and points at the end of the bed.

No way out of this, you think is what his eyes communicate.

Going back slowly, your legs open again.

“Like this, baby.” He speaks like he thinks you´re stupid, but you are too scared to protest. Your tremble gets worse as the distance between his fingers and your pussy gets shorter. Putting each thumb on each pussy lip, he spreads your cunt open. The abruptness of it makes you whimper, frown your eyebrows and try to close your legs in surprise, but he is merciful enough to forgive you for that when you open yourself for him again.

“There we go, sweetheart. Like this. See how open you are for me? You feel that?” You feel the cold air. Completely exposed from waist down. Tears of embarrassment run down your face and he is able to see it clenching around nothing.

“Hold it like this.” He instructs before going to retrieve something from the bed. He ends up being kind enough to give you two pillows to rest your head and be able to see what he is going to do to you.

Nightwing stands in front of you again, getting even more intimidating now that you can look at him so close to you.

The man starts to get his cock out of his pants before pausing briefly when he notices you twitching to close your legs. To get away from him.

“Quiet.” He warns you. “Don’t want me to get mean, do you?”

“No! No.” You shake your head in fast, short moves.

He acknowledges your answer with a nod, takes his cock out and you open your mouth in surprise. Oh, fuck no… It’s so big and it’s so hard it scares you. The tip is purple and leaking already. His huge, swollen balls promise to give you so much of what's inside of them. He is so big and thick you are sure you would tear if if he decided to put it inside of you.

“Yeah, baby? You want it?” You’re sure he’s making fun of you with his smile. His hands go up and down slowly. He grabs a little pre cum with the fingers of his right hand, using the left one to continue the strokes.

He brings his fingers to your face. “Open up.” You close your eyes and your mouth hard. Slap! “Open. It.” You open your mouth a little and he shoves his fingers down your throat. “Thaaat’s right.” The action doesn't last long. He takes his fingers out and they are soaked in your saliva, leaving your tongue with the taste of him.

He goes back to masturbating with his right hand and you watch the motion with jealousy, your pussy hurting so, so much. The fingers you use to keep it open start rubbing. Your hips move in small circles, but he stops you too fast for it to start being enjoyable.

“Oh, you naughty little slut. Stop that.“ He orders and you whine. More tears rolling out and he laughs at you.

He starts rubbing faster, and groaning louder. “F-fuck, you little fucking slut.” You moan helplessly in response, unable to satisfy yourself. “Yeah? You wanna cum? Y-you want my big cock inside of you?” You whine as an answer, and he is not having it.

“Answer me, you pathetic little slut.” His hands make squelching noises as he rubs his wet cock harder.

“N-no, no no.” You shake your head and cry. Your desperately moving hips contradicting your words. You struggle to keep your pussy open with your slipping fingers.

He moans louder and laughs again, his hand getting faster. “Fucking lying whore.” He groans loudly before exploding his cum all over your pussy.

It’s so thick and so white and so, so much of it. Your pussy is completely covered in white and you can feel it right on top of your clenching hole, trying to suck some of it inside against your will.

You moan helplessly and close your eyes tightly, head turned to the side. His grands grab your face. “Hey, open your eyes.” He taps your cheek before grabbing your hair and forcing your head down.

“See that?” He says so softly, but you can still hear his cruel smile.

You can’t nod your head. You can't do anything other than feel like a pathetic mess, so you just “y-yes” with a sniffle.

“Tell me, then.” He´s not satisfied.

“It’s- it´s your-“ you whimper. Your head hurts from the pulling of your hair. “It’s your…c-cum.”

“Aww… You’re so smart, baby.” He laughs softly. “And where is it?” More tears fall off your eyes.

“It’s all over m-my p-pussy.” Sob.

“Your p-p-p-pussy?” He mocks. Your face reddens more and you whine. “Yes.” You reply anyway.

He doesn’t touch your aching cunt even once and you feel like you are going to explode.

The brunette is still grabbing your hair when he continues to ruin you. “Put it in.”

“W-what??” You panic.

“Are you stupid?” He pulls harder. “Put my fucking cum inside you. Now.”

“B-but, I’m not on birth control!” You try to reason with him.

“Oh, yeah? You want me to shove it in your fuckin asshole instead, huh? I’m not gonna use my fingers, though.” He threatened you with his stupid smiling voice.

“Okay! Okay…” You swallow hard. Your right fingers tremble when you stop holding your right lip. You flinch when they touch your aching pussy. Your tormentor groans at the sight, already feeling his dick harden again.

You scoop some of his cum and shoves inside you with a hiss. “Fuck…” He moans again. “Keep going, baby. You’re such a good girl.” The hand previously grabbing your hair starts to caress it instead.

He’s only satisfied when most of it is inside your neglected pussy.

Taking his hands off of you, he puts his dick back inside his suit. He’s all tidy up now, and you look like a complete mess. The asshole sighs and laughs. “Poor girl…” He touches your pussy slightly and you shake all over, moaning loudly. “You want to cum so badly…” He barely caresses it. “And I’m not gonna give it to you…” He mocks you again, shaking his head slowly. You only look at him, tears falling, you refuse to beg.

He touches your cheek with his thumb, catching your tears of frustration and licking them right after. “Hmm…” He grabs some money out of his pocket and tosses it at you. You let it fall and don’t look at it.

“See ya.” The door is closed softly as he leaves you laying there. Your panties gone. His come leaking out of your pussy.

You don’t even bother trying to masturbate the pain away.

You know you won't be satisfied.

[harrywing]

well, Argentina lost :( it was good while it lasted TE AMO POR SIEMPRE MESSI gracias por todo 🤍 guys I'm so sad I'll go write a smau to feel better and please everyone be extremely nice to me or otherwise I'm gonna kms

[strawberryscribblesandwrites]

THINK FAST!!!

The batboys find an odd choice of self defense in your bag.. (Jason todd, bruce wayne, dick grayson and tim drake)

Look at me double posting lol <3

[prodigalsonz]

MISSING IN ACTION ;

SYNOPSIS: DICK GRAYSON X VIGILANT GN!READER. Nightwing's priorities doesn't seem to fall into place lately. Most, if not all of them, get buried under the case files.

( PART 02 ⊹ PREVIOUS )

⊹ warning: insp by the recent nightwing arc, but no spoilers. ⊹ includes: angst (they are both very frustrated here), patrol partners to lovers.

⊹ taglist: @jnnifrsbdy @southernfrogprincesd @emoidtee @wichu127

this is a short series, so it should be done this week reply to this post if you want to be added.

[lunarayletters]

Another day another brain dump

Thinking of a rich and fancy reader who bought herself a tennis club. She knows nothing about tennis

She sits by the court with a glass of champagne in her hand watching the players. A man sits next to her, desperate to speak with her

“Do you play?” He asks

“God no, I know nothing about tennis.”

He wonders what’s someone as beautiful as you doing here then. It must be for a guy.

“I’m Jack” he extends his hand.

“Nice to meet you Jack. Are you a regular here?”

“I am, not sure if will be for long though.”

“Why not?” You’re already grieving not seeing him here again.

“I heard the club’s been bought by a rich lady. There’s talk that the club will change. The name’s already been changed.” A bitter laugh escapes his beautiful lips.

Ouch. “I’m sure that won’t happen.”

“I hope not” Jack murmurs, not taking his eyes off you for one moment.

One of the staff approach you, handing you an envelope. “Ma’am they’re ready for you.”

On the envelope was your initial and last name.

The same last name the club’s name been changed to.

“Thank you Martin. Good to see you, Jack. I hope to see you around someday.”

I’ll be writing this as a full fic - I think.

[totallynotashieldagent]

Batboys Reacting To Their Kid Disrespecting Their Wife

Bruce Wayne:

It had been a long day. Bruce was exhausted and dragging his feet up the stairs when he heard it.

"Leave it alone mother!" Damian yelled.

"Dami, honey-" You tried to reach out to him but his swatted your hand away. You gasped in pain- He was usually good with controlling his strength or holding back so the sharp pain shocked you.

His hand hoovered in the air, mouth open, eyes wide- He couldn't even find the words to apologise when Bruce appeared in the doorway. You immediately hid your hand behind your back.

"Babe!" You smiled, blinking away the tears that had gathered due to the pain. "I didn't expect you home until-"

"Damian." His voice was low and gravelly. "Did I see what I saw or was I hallucinating due to exhaustion?" The tone Bruce used, Damian had never heard that from him. Ever.

"Father- I-" He swallowed, looking up at him.

The way Bruce's shoulders loomed over him. He wasn't Bruce Wayne, or Batman. He was worse. He was Batman without the mask.

"Apologize. Now." There was no room for argument.

"I'm- I'm sorry Ummi." Damian turned to you. "I didn't-" Bruce cleared his throat and you swore you saw the boy shiver. "I should have controlled my anger better- I'm sorry."

"Now, go to your room. I'll be there in a while." Bruce stated and Damian all but ran out of the study. Once he was gone, Bruce's shoulders dropped and he sighed. "What was the reason?"

"He was annoyed that I was babying him by rechecking his injuries from yesterday's patrol." You explained as Bruce wrapped himself in a hug with you.

He hummed against your neck. "Did he hit hard?"

"It was an accident." You downplayed it.

"Yes but still. He should have had better control. He's growing up- Getting stronger. He needs to be careful and I'm not raising a boy that thinks this behaviour is okay- No matter the circumstances." He explained and you nodded.

"I know. Just... Just be gentle. He's never done anything like this before." You pulled back a little, touching Bruce's face.

He smiled against your palm. "I'll try."

Damian was sitting on his bed, head cradled in his hands when he heard the door open then close. He watched Bruce pull up a chair and sit infront of him.

"Father I-" He began but Bruce put his hand up to stop him.

"Damian, I'm disappointed to begin with." Bruce stated simply, tiredness obvious in his voice. "I did not raise you to disrespect my wife."

Damian's eyes widened. You were his mama. Not just- Not just Bruce's wife. Right?

"No patrol for two weeks. And you will tend to your mother until her hand heals." Bruce explained, "If anything like this happens again-"

"It won't." Damian interjected. "It won't. I swear."

Dick Grayson:

"Honey-" You sighed, "You know last night was important for your dad. He got the key to the city. We were there to show support and-"

"Dad's gotten keys before too!" Your son whined, "I missed out on a once in a lifetime kind of party last night. I was the only one who didn't go- I'm going to become a social outcast!"

"John-" You tried again.

"Jesus fuck mom! You don't understand!" He yelled and you blinked in shock.

He'd never spoken to you that way, let alone with that language.

"John. Room. Now." Dick's voice carried through the house.

John's spine straightened rigidly. Dick was the fun parent. Jokes, adventures, always the the person to lighten the mood. So, for him to use a tone he's never experienced before, John shrank away from the voice alone.

He tried to shuffle behind you, his hand reached to grab your wrist to safety- for protection when Dick walked into the kitchen.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" He asked and John shook his head. "Good. Go. Now."

"Yes, sir." John swallowed and quickly left.

"What the hell was that?" Dick whispered to you. "How can- What?"

"I don't know." You looked down, your eyes full of absolute sadness.

"Are you okay, baby?" He cupped your face and made you look at him. You nodded, a deep frown on your face. "My girl." He sighed, pulling you into a hug and rubbing your back. "I'll talk to him. This can't happen again." He whispered into your hair. "Either he gets his act together or he's spending summer with Bruce instead of his little trek through East Asia."

John was nervously pacing his room when Dick entered. His eyes skitted to the door that closed behind his father. He'd never seen Dick upset- Even remotely so. So this was jarring for him.

"Dad-" He began but Dick wagged a finger at him, earning complete silence.

"Do you have any idea how much my wife does for you?" Dick asked slowly. "One party, John. It was one party. You have privlidge beyond words- You get to experience life that most people don't even get to dream of and you yell and curse because you missed one party?"

"I'm sorry- I am! But-" John tried, earning a chuckle from Dick. Uh oh.

"But?" He raised a brow, an eerie smile on his face. "You're defending your behaviour?"

"No!" A deep unsettling feeling gathered in John's stomach.

Dick's gaze narrowed. He hated that he had to use his body language reading skills on his own child but he had to. "Apologize to your mother and mean it. If I have even an inkling that you're not in it 100%, you're spending the summer with grandpa Bruce."

"Yes, sir." John nodded numbly, watching his father leave his room.

Jason Todd:

Jason took off his boots by the door when he heard the commotion. He could hear you and your daughter arguing. She was a teenager now- So, naturally, the world was against her and she was against her mom for everything.

"Woah- Where's the fire?" He joked, entering the lounge, kissing your cheek.

"I found this in her room." You sighed, showing Jason the domino mask, along with some gear. "She's the new vigilante."

"Why were you in my room in the first place?!" She yelled. "It's an invasion of privacy!"

"Okay- First- Let's not yell." Jason tried to mitigate.

"I was there to pick your laundry. Not snoop." You said again. "And we've already had this discussion multiple times. I have told you- I don't want you in this life."

"Dad!" She looked to Jason, "Can you tell mom to not be such an uptight bitch?! I'm doing good in this city!"

You sucked in a sharp breath. "Calliope-"

Whereas, Jason had gone dangerously still. "What did you just say?" He looked at her, his green eyes pulsing a glow.

"I didn't mean-" She backtracked, colour draining from her face.

"Not the question. What did you just call my wife?" He repeated.

Maybe the scary part was that Jason never raised his voice. But his scars and eyes glowing did the fear for him.

"A bitch." She swallowed, looking down.

"Right." Jason folded his arms. "For worrying about you- For picking up after you- For having reasonable concerns. For loving you enough to not want you to get hurt. And this is how you behave?"

"I'm doing real good." She argued back.

"Let me say this once because if I have to repeat it, there will be cosmic consequences. Do you understand?" Jason said softly and she nodded once, "Good. Now, you will never be a vigilante in this or any city. If you want to do good, use your trust fund to give back to the community. Secondly, if you ever speak to your mother- and most importantly, to my wife that way again, you will go to your Uncle Damian's at Nanda Parbat for every vacation and holiday. You know. Since you want to be a vigilante so bad. You should have the proper training."

"Yes, dad." She nodded, horrified.

"Good. I'm gonna go shower." He kissed your temple again then turned to his daughter. "Apologize to your mother and when I come down for dinner and there's even the tiniest bit evidence that she's still upset or hurt- Like I said. Cosmic consequences."

Tim Drake:

"Babe?" Tim called out, dragging his feet to your shared bedroom. "I can't even start to explain how bad today was-" He entered the room, loosening his tie. "Tell me why the board is so-" He paused, you were sitting on the bed, wringing your fingers togther, eyes full of tears. "Uhh- What happened? Someone die in one of your books again?" He teased.

You sniffed, wiping your tears. "No- It's nothing." You gave him a weepy smile. "Sorry I-"

"Don't. Don't do that. Tell me what happened?" He caressed your cheek gently.

"Something Teddy said. It's really nothing- Just my insecurities." You brushed it off but alarm bells were already ringing in his head.

"What did he say?" He asked softly, already knowing that right after this conversation, he'd be going to his son's room.

"It's stupid. Kids say stupid things." You tried again.

"He's 22. So... no. What did he say?" He asked again.

You sighed deeply. "He's been stuck on this Tort Law assignment and I guess he was just frustrated- I said I could help and he-" You bit the inside of your cheek, "He said that if he wanted to ask help from a dropout, he'd ask."

"Right." Tim rubbed at his temple. "Okay. Um- Yeah-" He stood up and left the room.

Teddy was in his room, still hunched over his desk, trying to work out the assignment. He heard the door open then close, he didn't pay much mind to it until Tim cleared his throat.

"Oh, hey dad. What's-" He looked over his shoulder and paused. Tim looked... off. "Is everything okay?"

"I don't know. You tell me." He smiled and sat on his son's bed. "Anything interesting happen today?"

"Uh- No? Why?" Teddy's brows furrowed.

"No? Really? Then you didn't behave rudely to your mother?" He asked, the smile still there.

Teddy groaned and rolled his eyes, swivelling his chair to face Tim. "I didn't say anything wrong. She doesn't understand what I'm studying-" He doubled down.

"Funny. Because she was my tutor in college. That's how we met." Tim shrugged. "And if my wife hadn't gotten pregnant, she would've had a degree right now instead of a rude and ungrateful son."

Teddy suddenly felt very sick. "What?"

"Yup. She was your age. Whole life planned. And you know what she did? She picked you. And she's picked you ever since that day. And you?" He let out an exhaled laugh, "Today, I come home to find out that you took one of her biggest sacrifices and threw it back at her because you were frustrated."

"I didn't know." Teddy said shamefully.

"It's not about knowing. You shouldn't have something so cruel to begin with." Tim corrected. "You made her cry."

Teddy blinked and looked at Tim. "Mom cried?" His voice was tiny. "I- I didn't- Fuck-" He shot out of his chair, stumbling, almost falling, running to the door. "I'm sorry- I'm sorry-" He ran out of the room to find you. "Mama! I'm so sorry!"

Damian Wayne:

"Absolutely not. Your father will flay you alive." You shook your head, going back to your book.

"Mom, please. It'll be fun!" Alfred begged, "Come on."

"Honey- It'll be your funeral." You laughed and turned the page.

"Please!" He whined again, "It'll be fun. I've never seen Baba flip out."

"And for good reason." You rolled your eyes and looked up from your book. Damn, those puppy eyes. "Ugh- Fine. But I'm not saving you when he goes all Demon's Head on you."

"Ah! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!" He said gleefully, giving you a hug and running off.

You sighed. This was going to be a disaster but a part of you wanted to see how it would play out. So, here you were, sitting in the study, Alfred setting a camera on the shelf.

"Okay, ready?" He whispered with giggles.

"I still don't approve." You said, "But I won't lie- I am curious..."

Alfred smiled brightly then straightened up. He took a big breath in and then yelled. "Shut up, mama!!"

Before he could even react, a ninja's star wizzed past his ear, lodging itself in the wall.

"Baba!" He squeaked, "You-"

"You dare speak to my wife like that?" Damian growled, "You dare to disrespect the woman that gave you life?"

"Baba! Wait! I can expla- ah!" He dodged the next ninja star. "Wait! Mama!"

"You will not intervene me disciplining him-" Damian whipped his head at you.

"I'm not, my love. Carry on-" You said lazily, watching with amusement.

"Mama!" Alfred yelped, dodging another attack from Damian. "It was just a prank! Just to get a reaction from you!" He scrambled away on the floor.

Damian went still, his gaze narrowing. "You wished for my wrath for a video?" He took one look around and caught the phone propped between books. He threw a ninja star at it, breaking the phone into pieces.

"Mama! Please!" Alfred begged.

"Nope. I told you it was a bad idea." You laughed, then turned a page.

"You chose to not listen to your mother?" Damian hissed.

"Okay, my bad! My very bad! This is escalating too fast!" Alfred ran between the shelves.

"Apologize. Now." Damian's voice carried in the shadows.

"I'm sorry- I'm so sorry- Mama!! Help me!" He cried out.

You sighed softly and put your book aside. "My love?" You said sweetly and Damian hummed. "I think he learned his lesson."

"He did not." He huffed. "Come out. Now. I won't attack you anymore." Alfred shuffled out in full view. "So, you decided to not listen to your mother and then disrespect her for a prank to get a reaction out of me?" He nodded weakly. "You do know that if it had been anyone but you, the first start would have lodged itself in your heart. Yes?"

Alfred gulped. "Yes, Baba."

"Good." Damian nodded. "Now- You will write a 3000-word essay explaining that you understand what you did was wrong. And then you were clean the training room of the assassins."

Alfred's eyes bugged out of his head. "The assassins' training room?" He whispered. "But that's-"

"Quite big. I'm aware." Damian smiled. "Should take just enough days as your spring break?"

"Should've listened to me." You said softly as he groaned and left the study.

.

.

.

DC Drabble Masterlist

[ilianasbruce]

“All night in tongues.”

word count: 2,700

summary: your husband has a few things to say but what about if he is blinded by you being his God?

warnings: full +18 content with religious themes. if you’re against the religious undertones, please do not engage with my work. Minors do not interact, please.

notes: hello, hello!!!! ♡ i hope this would be a great beginning of trying to come back to writing after long hiatus and i hope all of you would enjoy this!!! Mr. Wayne’s yearning basically can be explained by this picture but feel free to imagine whatever you want, dearsssss!!! And YES, Bruce Wayne yearns for his wife! if you have any idea to give, feel free to hit me up! Mwah!! ♡

His fingertips grazed your bare thighs under the hem of your skirt, sighing in contentment as you were close to him. His skin was warm just like yours, especially when he brushed his fingers higher under the jean. Your hands were on either side of his shoulders while he was sitting on a chair, you looking down at him prettily while being between his legs. As he pressed his forehead against your stomach, your fingers went into his dark, inky hair as well, holding onto him.

Bruce hummed after he stayed pressed against you for a while as your fingers started to play with his locks. He was softly brushing his thumb on your skin, loving the familiar feeling of being this close to you, like bathing in the Sun after being so long in the dark. The way you were radiating warmth to him, even just normally existing in his arms was something that he kept so precious in his darkness-covered Manor.

His loveliest valentine. His one and only Sun.

He started to press a few kisses lazily on your shirt. Then, one of his hands came to pull up your garment for his lips to meet your soft skin before it disappeared under your skirt to find its place on your thigh. His mouth found a few places there and here, taking his time to cherish you.

“How was your day, baby?” he mumbled as his voice was muffled by your skin.

“It was alright,” you said, tilting your head slightly to the side from the loving sensation. “I was busy with Dick after his school… How was yours?”

“I happened to stop by a church today.”

His words astonished you. Your husband was never the one to believe in God, yet in religion itself. He had no time to be on his knees to pray anymore or maybe he was simply hopeless ever since his beloved parents had bled on the coarse Gotham concrete. Thus, it was bewildering for you to hear his utterances.

As you were silent on the tongue, he went on as well as his kisses on your stomach. “I was looking for something..” he muttered, resting the left side of his face on you, closing his eyes to the dim light of your room. His hands under your skirt went higher, already reaching your delicate panties to slip his callous fingers through the waistband of it. “Then I came across it.”

You frankly listened to his conversation as your fingers had halted to play with his locks since you had heard his words. There was a soft rain outside, its drops tapping against the windows of your grand bedroom as they filled the room with your undisturbed breathing. He remained speechless for a few minutes, basking in you. You tightened your hands around his neck, keeping him buried to you as much as you wanted. He sighed before trailing his face, nuzzling into the bare skin of your stomach, kissing it once again. Then he opened his eyes, turning his gaze solely to you through his thick, dark lashes.

For some reason, he looked perfect in your vision that made your chest tighten from the intensity of his gaze on you. His blue eyes that you adored seemed to be in a deeper shade of blue from the dullness of your night lamp. Your hand around his neck came to his handsome face to touch him. You tried to caress his cheek but angled his face to press another kiss onto your palm, then nuzzled there.

You wanted to get down his level, slip into his arms, and bury him in kisses at his feverish moves, but he did not let you as he withdrew his face from your palm. His face had a few faint scars since the last week, the ones you had carefully bandaged to heal for the nights. They were fine now but back in the days, you used to kiss one or more of them when he was sleeping next to you, saddened by the scene of his cuts had bled through the night to leave a few blood marks on his pillow.

In the next seconds, his deft fingers which were hooked with the elastic band of your panties, started to pull them while his stare bored into your skirt.

“I sat there for a while,” he said casually, skillfully dragging your delicate piece from your bare legs until they were off you, placed on the floor. Your breath was slightly hitched when he gently but suddenly pulled you to himself to be in the same closeness as a few seconds before. Then, he hiked your skirt up with one hand to gain access to his intimate and sole heaven.

You sighed when his lips found your folds. His other hand on your thigh gently parted them to his liking. He kept his hot mouth there, barely humming before bitting them to cause you to softly moan. “The pastor was,” his lips were brushing as he commenced to speak his mind off before kissing another kiss there, “preaching about something that I couldn't pay attention to.”

Your lips parted when he dived his tongue amid your folds while your brows knitted beautifully at his unholy action. Your hands around his neck found his sturdy upper back now to keep yourself steady in his arms. His tongue slipped between your folds into you, deliciously filling you in as your fingers tightened on his shirt. He consistently moved it in and out from you, then your pussy into his liking, eating out his sweet girl.

His girl that was already scorching from his mouth, looking down at him with needy eyes and warm cheeks in his arms as his hungry stare bore into her from below. His mouth was latched into your pussy, leaving his eyes visible through your disheveled skirt. He could have stayed there if he could, buried in you as you were looking at him with nothing but love.

He always adored when you were looking into his eyes, your beautiful eyes having a glint in them from your immense love for him. You would be bashfully or happily smiling at him, or leaning on him to earn how many kisses you wished in his Batcave while he was occupied by the thoughts of managing to pull himself to your magnetic self. He would give you anything you wished, anything that made you look at him just as you were doing at the moment. If it was meant to be like this, you would be his forevermore with the vision of love in your arms and his name through your lips he loved to kiss, so then it be.

So, then it be as you fluttered your lovely lashes down at his stare, gripped your fingers on his white shirt from his tongue inside you while the soft, heavy breaths slipped from your lips.

He closed his eyes and sucked your folds, then nipped them to hear your voice, to make your head tilt to the side in pleasure. His palms in the back of your thighs kept you pressed to him to hinder miss any inch of your cunt. When you swallowed and softly mewled, he continued with the conversation that he had paused.

“I never understand it,” he said before gathering your arousal into his mouth, sucking it in fulfillment. “I sat there for a while, shit, to listen to the choir.”

When he nipped the inside of your soft thighs, your fingers went to his hair from his taunting. He then kissed the places he bit one by one, an apologize to his rigged play on you. How could he not when you were so adorable, so sweet to his deliberate, needy mouth to devour you?

“..What’s wrong, baby?” he muttered into your skin, pressing the words to it, “Is this too much?”

You knew from the tone of his voice how conceited he was since he loved to have any way with you to make you burst with bliss. But you also knew how arrogant he was, that it was only him to make you feel that good. From his manner, it was hard not to give in.

He once again slipped his tongue into your pussy, making you moan. It was burning you in your less clothes as he was fucking you solely with his tongue, not even bothering to use his fingers.

“B-Bruce,”

“Mhm?”

You couldn't finish your words since he pulled his face from where it belonged, leaving you bare from the absence of his presence. Your soft sigh of disappointment and flutter of your loveliest doe-like gaze at him were so adorable at him at that moment; the corner of his mouth twitching from the amusement. When you saw it, you were about to leave his arms before he pulled you by your thighs to bury his mouth on you along with his smile on his lips. He had pulled himself back for an air but the need in your bewitching eyes was far more necessary for him to worship you.

“You’re so sweet.” he said, flipping his tongue between your folds that were covered with his saliva and your arousal. “My sweet girl,” he resumed as he preached his words while eating you out heavily. Your fingers made his thick hair messy as if he ever minded. In the next few seconds, his hand supported your thigh carefully placed it on his shoulder as he was busy with your pussy, to open you more for him.

“..Fuck, come here..”

As if you weren't his already.

In the next few seconds, you were a mess. You did not need to grind on his face or tongue as he was eating you so fucking good, mewling out for him with your head low, eyes hazy. He was holding you dear to him, his crooked nose pressuring your clit so utterly to be pliant in his hands. A few flickers of his tongue in you, then he was slowing down for a moment to relish you.

“How does it feel to be a heaven, huh?” he asked you, turning his sharp gaze up at you. He angled his face to the left, kissing your slip before looking at you avidly. You were both speechless and perplexed by his words, staring at him tongue-tied in the loveliest way with your soft breaths that were slipping through your lips that Bruce loved to steal them. He sighed in contentment at your scene in front of him; your vision of ache for him, your burning skin, and amorous eyes in this “impure” activity. The way you two were addicted to each other, the way you two were all over each other, was the contrast to the theme of conversation or vision he was having in his mind.

He would lick and suck your wetness for hours, nip or bite the flesh of your soft thighs, spit in your cunt to tease you then clean it heartily, and all you needed to do was scratch his neck or bury his face in your sensitive pussy by his hair with your feeble moans, which were the things he named as divine. Or all the dirty words he would mutter while grazing his mouth on your skin were enough for you to warm your cheeks or clench your pussy around him, yet he would call you a heaven in his ‘divine’ definition.

Your fingers went to his neck since you were silent, your eyes were focused on his blues.

“What?”

“Are you doing this on purpose?” he murmured, the corner of his lips creating a crease of a smile at your loveliness. “Are you driving me mad on purpose?” he continued, his baritone voice hushed now, yet filled with something you had only heard when he was in bed. “To want me on my knees for you? Is that why you look at me like that?”

You were all flushed already from his deft tongue and now he was working his mouth on you with words as well. Without letting you adjust his words, he gently guided your knee off his shoulder, so you could stand comfortably on your feet, and pressed his lips against your lower abdomen as his eyes were now half-lidded, looking up at you once again just like the first time in the night.

Your hand came to his locks that were in disarray on his forehead, placing them aside to clear his vision as you gazed at his lovesick eyes. A sweet, bashful smile appeared on your lovely face, blushing in the prettiest way.

“Where did that come from?”

Now, it was time for him to be silent, breathing calmly against you. His favorite sight was right there in front of you, bestowing him.

“..Hm?”

The light rain outside had already turned violent as you two were busy in love and now its drops were easily heard when you two were tranquil. As you heard no word from him, you gently caressed his cheek then, brushed his under-eyes adoringly. He was all peaceful and wordless while his eyes were flickering on your features, somehow pondering in his mind while you were loving him.

You managed to pull him slightly away from you to sit on his thigh, him gladly welcoming you. Now, you were face to face with him how you wanted earlier, to kiss his face as much as you wanted. He smiled at you when he saw your heart-shaped eyes at him, angling his face to catch your lips in a soft kiss. You happily took it, tasting yourself in his mouth before the kiss ever got the chance to be heated. A few more kisses followed after it, soft but more and more until you pressed your forehead against his.

“I love you.”

“You are the only thing I know as divine.” he mumbled against your lips, clearly confessing something.

“Oh, Bruce..”

“Does loving you this much make me a saint, too?” he went on, his mouth seeking yours eagerly. “Coming to you every night can be considered as exalting you?”

His hand on your waist went through your locks to pull you away slightly to stare at you wholly, noticing how the way light illuminated your features fascinatingly. You were adorably fluttering your lashes at his lovestruck gaze, dazed from his admissions. He was infrequent about speaking his mind off like this in the two years of your marriage, yet never were his actions unfamiliar to you.

You loved him, adored him insanely, especially how he was earnest and honest with you in anything you could count but this was something that was beguiling for you. His gorgeous blue eyes that you dote on were flickering on your face once again as if he had not drunk your whole expression just before; as if he was seeing you for the first time in his miserable day.

“I didn’t realize you.. you wanted me this much.” you said to him, giving him a small peck as the self-consciousness washed over you. The scarce feeling bloomed in your chest at his words that made you bashful even.

“Did you not?”

He asked in genuine confusion, his hushed tone against your kiss-bruised lips. When your eyes caught his blues, they were focused on you in this closeness under his knitted eyebrows.

“I—” you said, clearly lost for thoughts at the moment. Had he not been straightforward about his feelings with you? Had he not made it unmistakable when he had proposed to you two years ago, at the age of twenty-six as young to know about the eminence of love, that he wanted you evermore? Had he not said the words of how much he loved you in heavy feelings or utterances that were obscuring you to doubt yourself?

“Lay me down, handsome.” you whispered to him, pressing your forehead against his to bask in him with your shyness. “Come inside.”

He did not need to be told twice as he carried you to your bed, laying you down on your sheets to show his devotion through the night.

♡

thank you so much for reading! ♡

here is the “masterlist” and “pieces on the way” if you would like to see! ♡

[stcrgazerlily]

━━━━━━━ VOGUE BEAUTY SECRETS WITH MRS. WAYNE

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bruce wayne x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: fresh off a gala in metropolis, mrs. wayne shares the simple skincare routine behind her signature glow. with a little help from her husband bruce wayne, of course!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none, 1.5k words, dick + damian cameo, super super brief selina cameo? its a comment so idk if it counts?, reader (you) is the ultimate baddie, not edited just proofread

<𝟑: tags at the end :) please tell me if im missing anyone! (some weren't working so please lmk if they still dont so i can fix it). part of the mrs wayne in media series

Your make up is strewn across the bathroom counter, but this is out of shot. Instead, the skin care products are all neatly lined up on Bruce’s side.

You’re dressed in a fluffy white robe with your initials embroidered, hair clipped away from your face. Your make up from the gala is still on and you’re beautiful diamond studs— a present from Bruce, glitter under the bathroom’s lights. 

“Hello!” You smile at the camera. “And welcome to Vogue Beauty Secrets. Today, I’ll be showing you my skincare routine for after galas. We literally got back from the gala..." 

You glance over at Bruce, who is getting rid of his tie in the main bedroom. Luckily, the camera can’t see him. "What, twenty minutes ago?"

"Twenty-three," he corrects.

You laugh. "Twenty-three minutes ago. I wanted to film this while everything was still on because I feel like that's the only way to really show what works for me."

You carefully unclip the earrings, gently setting them down on a tiny golden plate. The camera picks the small metallic sound of the diamonds clicking against the metal. “These are usually the first thing to go because I'm terrified of dropping one down the sink. Bruce says that's what insurance is for, but I think he'd still judge me."

Somewhere off-camera, “I absolutely would.”

You laugh. “He's lurking somewhere off camera, don’t mind him.”

Slow and sure steps approach, Bruce’s is wearing a matching robe to yours and fluffy slippers the hotel provided. He looks absolutely adorable, but not like the camera sees it– the angle is too far off.

You pick up the cleansing balm, a yellow thing with a metallic lid. “This is the Elemis Cleansing Balm and an absolute jewel.” You rub the balm with circular motions all over your face. “And no, this isn’t sponsored.”

“When people always ask what my biggest beauty secret is.." You slightly turn your body in Bruce's direction. He grabs a cotton cloth, previously soaked in warm water. “It's probably hydration. Which is the most boring answer imaginable, but unfortunately it's true.”

Bruce begins removing the make up, with soft and soothing motions. His eyes are soft and focused on the task. Your heart swells, how is it you have such an amazing husband?

"People always think the gala is the exhausting part." Your eyes are still closed as Bruce keeps wiping a stubborn streak of mascara. "It's actually this. You're tired, your feet hurt, and the last thing you want to do is spend another ten minutes in front of the mirror." You smile. "It helps that Bruce loves to help with my skincare.”

He smiles, small and just for you. “If I didn’t you’d probably forget.”

You laugh. “That's not true!” You turn to the camera again. “Show them the cloth.”

Bruce’s massive hand appears in frame, veins noticeable and his golden wedding band shining. The cloth is now dirtied with varying shades of brown and a speck of maroon. 

“As you can see I was wearing loads of make up, and for that reason– where is i–”

Bruce hands you the next product. 

You barely look at him. “I use a second cleanser.” 

You quickly apply it. “Okay, boom! Makeup is off.” You move your head, showing the different angles. “Now comes the fun part.” A small pause. "When I was younger I used to think skincare was something you only did when your skin looked bad."

Bruce hums. "It showed."

You gasp, pretending to be offended. "You're unbelievable."

“You still married me.”

You hum, smirking at the camera. “It’s never too late to get a divorce.”

“Hydration,” Bruce clears his throat, and hands you the SK-II bottle.

“I was actually terrible with skincare,” you say as you press your product-soaked hands onto your cheeks. “As Bruce here snitched.”

“She used a barsoap.” Bruce dryly says. 

You laugh, glancing at him. “You’re getting kicked out of my video.”

“But then who would hand you everything?”

Just as you’re about to reply your phone rings. You quickly rinse your hands in the sink before picking it up. You click the speakerphone and set it on the counter.

“Dick, baby. What's wrong?”

“Can’t I just call to ask how my wonderful mother is doing?”

You suppress a smile. “So nothing is on fire?”

“Not on fire, no. Hypothetically... are all the cars insured?”

Beside you, Bruce pales. “Is someone hurt?”

Dick groans. “Please don’t tell me Bruce is there.”

“Sorry, baby,” You pause, shooting the camera a look. “And yes, all of the cars are insured. After you and Jason crashed the last one we weren’t taking risks.”

“Oh, okay! Thank you mom, love you. Bye!” He hangs up.

You look back at the camera with a fond smile. "Everyone says parenting gets easier when they're older."

Bruce slowly shakes his head. "It just gets louder."

You nod. "He's right. When they’re older they have their own opinions and personalities, and they have the confidence to argue back.” You scrunch your nose. “Eventually they realize I can out-stubborn every single one of them.”

You sigh affectionately. “This is part of the routine as much as the other steps. There’s always some emergency– so even if my phone is off there are certain calls from certain numbers that come through.”

“That being the kids and me.”

You grab the next product before Bruce can beat you to it. He grumbles something, but it lacks any heat.

You show it to the camera. It’s a tiny dark purple bottle, with a black pipette as lid. You squint your eyes, trying to read the description. “This is the Skin Ceuticals Hya–Hyaluronic… Acid Intensifier... Multi-Glyyycan. Wow, what a mouthful. Who even came up with the name?”

"Scientists."

You shake your head. "It’s all marketing." You slowly apply it. “I forgot to mention the names of the other products– wait, can I mention them? Since I’m not doing publicity or anything. Wait, am I going to get sued?"

Bruce shakes his head. “I’ll ask the lawyers tomorrow.”

"See?" You grin at the camera. "I don't even have to think about things like that anymore."

Bruce shrugs. "Occupational hazard."

You shift the camera slightly, so it doesn’t catch you giving Bruce a sweet peck on the cheek. His shoulders slump and you give him another.

A second after you’re back to the camera. “Sorry guys, I can’t resist my husband.”

Your phone rings yet again, the noise interrupting you mid-speech. You immediately pick it up, setting it on speaker again.

“Mother.” Damian’s voice can be heard. “I understood Richard called you?”

You raise a conspiratorial brow at the camera. “Yes, darling.”

“Richard has made yet another poor decision.”

“Ahuh.”

“I simply wished to clarify that I advised against it.” 

“Thanks sweetheart— please go to sleep now, it’s getting late.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Fine,” he grumbles. “Good night, mother.”

“Good night Damian, I love you.”

He hangs up after a second.

You laugh, bright and amused. “I think we’ve gotten a bit sidetracked. But there’s only two more steps to go!”

Bruce’s hand appears on screen again, showing the eye cream. You offer your face, your side profile is the only visible thing aside from Bruce’s gentle fingers applying the cream on your under eyes.

“You know, you’re really good at this.”

He barely smirks. “I’ve had practice.”

"Bruce always does the eye cream." You whisper to the invisible audience.

"You poke yourself."

You roll your eyes. "Once."

He looks at you, stopping his ministrations for a second. 

You sigh. "Twice."

Then the lipbalm, this time it's you who shows it to the camera. “And now my favourite part. The lip balm!” You apply it on your lips. “This one is honestly so good…” you finish rubbing it, “I keep one in each bag. A bit pricey though.”

“I think everyone expects some elaborate forty step routine. There isn’t one, just make sure your skin is clean and healthy. Oh, and really, really important. Don’t forget to drink water. The key for the whole glowy look is to be hydrated.”

“And marry someone who reminds you.” Bruce chimes in.

You smile. “That one definitely helps.” You unclipp your hair away, your hair gently framing your face. “Be kind to your skin. Don’t pick it, it’ll just get red and you’ll get more pimples.” 

“Don’t compare yourself to people on the internet either— I’m literally standing under a studio light.”

Bruce leans into frame just enough to kiss the top of your head. You look up at him, then at the camera again. “Thanks for watching!”

Comment Section:

@snoopycftheday the fact that she looks BETTER after taking her makeup off ?????????

@vogue Thank you for joining us 🤍

@slutforthestarks Bruce's entire personality is 'yes dear'

@metropolismetrosfan she genuinely has the most insane face card i've ever seen

@parasocialalert she has the personality of a wallpaper

@sukunt its sending me that 80% of the video is her flirting with her husband and talking to her kids and the other 20% is actual skincare

@selinakyle Can your husband fight?

@selinakyle Bruce CANNOT handle all that

@officialgothamgazette "there are certain calls from certain numbers that come through" being a mom never clocks out 

@slutforgreenlantern they're both so hot idk if i want to be them or be with them #pleasepleasepleaseletmethird

@boostergoldslefttoe just added everything to my cart... why is the total $672 😭😭😭

@daschundmom "Bruce is lurking somewhere off camera" Bruce proceeds to become half the video.

@user7696the way she instinctively tilted her face up so bruce could put on her eye cream... they've done this a thousand times IM SICK

@truthhurts she's only famous because she married bruce lmao she's not even that pretty

@mrswayneisamilf everyone talks about his green flags but can we discuss HER ?? she's so patient and kind every time one of the kids called she's my role model

@hdjsiosjnx, @cassini-among-the-stars, @zhonglibestie, @jdksjsalaka, @godwishiwasreal @sogayitsalmostscary, @bat2nsignia, @mruizsworld, @just-a-random-girl1, @boundlessgladiatorrook, @nalah-whimsy, @xaxamd, @thestupidgirlakira, @queengirl2345, @whitemelanin, @deerest-darling, @outpostsworld, @gglouise23, @marliyndreams, @siennatk an extra big smooch for @llovelygood she was an absolute lifesaver i cannot stress enough how grateful i am for her!! THANKYEW LOML

[certaimromance]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Positive in Love & Wine ─ Spencer Reid.

Hiding your pregnancy is getting harder and harder, especially when you agree to go to a dinner party and Spencer has to drink every glass of your wine to keep the secret.

୨ৎ ──── fluff. 5,4k. fem!reader. drunk reid. english isn't my first language. main masterlist.

David Rossi loved hosting dinners.

Not because he particularly enjoyed cooking—though he’d spend the entire evening pretending he did, shooing away anyone who wandered too close to the stove with the indignation of a Michelin-star chef—but because dinner was one of the rare occasions when the people he cared about gathered for reasons that had nothing to do with bloodstained crime scenes or the worst humanity had to offer. Around his dining table, they weren’t profilers or agents or supervisors carrying the weight of impossible decisions. They were simply friends. They laughed a little louder, lingered a little longer over dessert, argued about books instead of behavioral patterns, and, for a few precious hours, remembered what life looked like outside the Bureau.

At least for the first twenty minutes.

After that, someone inevitably mentioned a case.

“You realize,” Morgan announced as he reached across the kitchen island and shamelessly stole a piece of warm bread straight from the basket, “this is exactly how horror movies start.”

Rossi didn’t even bother looking over his shoulder. He merely stirred the sauce with practiced ease, entirely unfazed by the theft.

“The difference,” he replied smoothly, “is that my guests survive dessert.”

Morgan laughed, surrendering with an exaggerated nod before tearing into the bread anyway.

The house was already alive with familiar voices.

Soft jazz drifted through hidden speakers, blending with the rhythmic clatter of pots and the comforting aroma of garlic, rosemary, simmering tomatoes, and freshly baked bread. Warm light spilled from antique lamps, reflecting against framed photographs and shelves lined with decades of books and souvenirs collected from places Rossi rarely spoke about. Every room carried that unmistakable feeling of having been lived in, a home that had witnessed countless celebrations, quiet conversations over late-night whiskey, and the occasional impromptu team meeting when cases refused to stay at Quantico.

Emily wandered into the kitchen, accepting a glass of wine from Rossi before immediately rolling her eyes at something Morgan said.

Garcia was already circling the living room in complete admiration, pausing every few steps to gush over a painting, a sculpture, or an antique clock.

“Oh my God, Rossi,” she gasped dramatically, “this lamp is gorgeous. It’s giving wealthy Italian novelist who solves crimes in his free time.”

“It was just a lamp until you said that.”

JJ slipped toward the patio with Henry balanced comfortably on her hip, the little boy already fascinated by the garden lights beginning to glow outside. Will followed behind carrying an impressive collection of toys that looked capable of entertaining an entire daycare, smiling patiently as Henry reached for everything except the toys he’d brought.

Hotch, unsurprisingly, had arrived exactly on time.

Not a minute early. Not a minute late.

His jacket was already neatly folded over the back of a chair, a glass of sparkling water in one hand as he quietly observed the controlled chaos with the smallest hint of amusement softening his usually unreadable expression.

And, of course, Spencer’s attention had been on you from the moment the two of you stepped through Rossi’s front door.

Before anyone could greet you, Spencer was already helping you out of your coat with the quiet attentiveness that had become second nature over the past several weeks. His hands were careful as he eased the fabric from your shoulders, lingering for just a heartbeat as if making sure you were steady before draping both your coat and his neatly over the rack by the entrance. It was such a small gesture that no one else would have noticed it.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, leaning close enough that only you could hear him beneath the lively chatter filling the room.

You offered him a reassuring smile, hoping it looked more convincing than it felt.

“Perfect.”

The word came automatically, polished by repetition until it sounded almost believable. You’d said it to your mother over the phone earlier that week. To your coworkers when they’d commented on how pale you’d been looking lately. To the cashier who had apologized after you’d abruptly abandoned a shopping cart halfway through the supermarket because someone nearby had opened a container of tuna. You were becoming remarkably good at pretending everything was normal.

Spencer, however, had never been particularly easy to fool.

His honey-colored eyes lingered on your face for another moment, quietly studying you with the same careful concentration he reserved for unsolved cases and impossible puzzles. He noticed everything: the faint shadows beneath your eyes despite the makeup you’d carefully applied that afternoon, the way your smile didn’t quite reach them, the almost invisible hesitation before you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. For a second, you watched concern flicker across his expression, followed by the unmistakable impulse to suggest going home instead. You knew him well enough to see the thought forming before he gently pushed it aside. You had insisted you wanted to come. You’d been looking forward to seeing everyone. If he asked again, you’d only reassure him again.

So instead, he simply intertwined his fingers with yours for the briefest moment and gave your hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it, silently reminding you that if you needed to leave, even five minutes after arriving, you only had to say the word.

Because the truth was…you hadn’t exactly been perfect lately.

For nearly eleven weeks, your body had seemed determined to reinvent itself overnight, transforming familiar routines into unpredictable obstacles and ordinary sensations into impossible challenges. Pregnancy wasn’t anything like the books had described. It wasn’t the glowing skin and sentimental smiles people loved talking about. At least, not yet. Right now, it was exhaustion so profound it settled into your bones no matter how much you slept. It was waking up starving only to burst into tears because the toast you’d been craving suddenly smelled unbearable. It was dizziness when you stood too quickly, headaches that appeared without warning, and emotions that shifted so rapidly they often left you laughing one moment and crying the next.

And the smells were by far the worst.

It was as though someone had turned every scent in the world up to an impossible volume.

Coffee, the rich aroma you’d once relied on every morning, now seemed so overwhelmingly bitter it made your stomach twist before you even entered the kitchen.

Garlic lingered in the air like smoke.

Perfume clung to strangers in grocery stores so intensely that you found yourself instinctively holding your breath as they walked past.

Gasoline from passing cars seeped through open windows with startling force.

Fresh paint, cleaning products, scented candles, everything had become an enemy.

Even the earthy fragrance of Spencer’s favorite loose-leaf tea, a scent that had always reminded you of rainy afternoons spent reading together on the couch, had betrayed you. One quiet Saturday morning, he’d barely begun pouring the boiling water over the tea leaves before your stomach lurched violently. You hadn’t even managed to explain what was wrong. You’d simply clamped a hand over your mouth and hurried toward the bathroom, leaving Spencer frozen in confusion beside the kettle.

When he’d found you a few minutes later, you were sitting on the cool tile floor with your knees pulled to your chest, wrapped in one of his oversized cardigans because you hadn’t had the energy to put on your own sweater after climbing out of bed. Your eyes were watery, your face pale with exhaustion, and the half-steeped tea sat forgotten in the kitchen.

He’d knelt beside you immediately, rubbing slow circles against your back until your breathing steadied.

“I think,” he’d said carefully, as though presenting a well-researched hypothesis, “we should buy different tea.”

The absurd sincerity of the suggestion had broken something inside you.

You’d laughed, the kind that left tears streaming down your face and your stomach aching until Spencer began smiling too, still entirely unsure what had been so funny.

An hour later, you’d taken the pregnancy test.

You remembered sitting together on the edge of the bathtub, your shoulders pressed together so tightly they might as well have been one person, both pretending not to stare at the little plastic stick resting on the counter. Spencer’s knee bounced nervously the entire time, though he’d deny it if anyone ever asked. When the result finally appeared, neither of you moved.

Positive.

You’d looked at him, and he’d looked at you.

For a long moment, there had simply been silence, stunned, breathless silence, as though neither of you trusted your own eyes enough to speak first.

Then Spencer had whispered, almost reverently,

“We’re having a baby.”

The memory still settled warmly inside your chest every time you thought about it.

Only the two of you knew.

No one else.

Not the team, your parents, or his mother.

No one.

It wasn’t because you weren’t excited.

God, you had never loved someone you’d never met quite so fiercely. And you had never been so afraid.

At night, when the apartment had gone quiet and Quantico seemed impossibly far away, the two of you often found yourselves lying awake long after the lights were off, talking in hushed voices about a future that suddenly felt both unimaginably distant and frighteningly close. Spencer wondered aloud whether babies recognized music before they were born and whether reading aloud during pregnancy had any measurable effect on language development. You debated names neither of you was ready to admit you genuinely liked. You imagined tiny knitted sweaters, impossibly small socks, sleepy mornings, first birthdays, scraped knees, school concerts, and the possibility—one that made you laugh every single time—that Spencer might accidentally teach your future toddler quantum mechanics before the alphabet.

Other nights, words simply weren’t necessary.

You would lie tangled together beneath the blankets, your head resting against his shoulder while he absentmindedly traced slow circles over your arm. Eventually, almost without thinking, his hand would drift lower, settling with extraordinary care against your abdomen. There was hardly anything to feel yet. At eleven weeks, your stomach remained almost perfectly flat, your dresses fitting exactly as they always had. If someone didn’t know, they would never have guessed. But Spencer touched you as though the slightest movement might disturb the tiny life growing there, his palm resting so gently against you that it sometimes made your chest ache. He would smile into the darkness with an expression so impossibly soft it stole your breath every single time, as though he could already sense the little heartbeat hidden beneath his fingertips. Sometimes he whispered things you weren’t sure he realized he was saying: little observations about fetal development he’d memorized from medical journals, promises about museums he’d one day visit with your child, absentminded thoughts about buying children’s editions of classic literature. Other times, he simply stayed there, smiling quietly, overwhelmed by the astonishing reality that someone already existed. Someone who belonged entirely to the two of you.

Every ultrasound photograph had become a treasure.

The first one lived inside an ivory envelope that had already begun to soften at the edges because neither of you could stop taking it out to look at it. Realistically, there wasn’t very much to see. To anyone else, it was little more than a grainy black-and-white blur surrounded by indecipherable shadows and medical measurements. Yet the two of you had spent embarrassing amounts of time staring at it as though it were the most extraordinary piece of art ever created. Spencer, naturally, had analyzed it with the same enthusiasm he brought to everything else.

Of course, once the initial excitement had settled, he had immediately begun worrying about where to keep the photographs.

Not because he thought someone was going to steal them.

Because he wanted them safe.

You still remembered finding him standing in front of his bookshelf one afternoon, head tilted thoughtfully as though he were solving one of the Bureau’s most complicated cases. He had scanned hundreds of titles before finally pulling out one of the thickest mathematics textbooks you had ever seen.

“They’re going inside my copy of Differential Geometry,” he’d declared with complete confidence while carefully sliding the envelope between two chapters.

You had stared at him, blinking in complete confusion.

“…Why that one?”

Without so much as lifting his eyes from the pages, he’d answered with absolute certainty.

“Statistically speaking, no one voluntarily opens my copy of Differential Geometry.”

You had laughed so hard your stomach hurt.

Weeks later, the ultrasound photographs remained exactly where he’d hidden them, tucked safely between chapters discussing curved manifolds and tensor fields, untouched by anyone except the two of you. Every now and then, usually late at night, Spencer would quietly retrieve the envelope before climbing into bed beside you, and together you’d study the tiny image all over again, smiling as though seeing it for the very first time.

You weren’t keeping the pregnancy a secret because you were ashamed.

If anything, the secret had become almost impossible to contain.

You loved this baby already with a depth that surprised you daily. Sometimes you caught yourself resting your hand absentmindedly against your stomach while reading on the couch or waiting in line for coffee you could no longer stomach. Sometimes Spencer would catch your eye from across the apartment, and without either of you saying a single word, you’d both smile, remembering the extraordinary little secret that existed only between you. It felt like carrying a universe inside your chest, one that threatened to spill into every conversation, every laugh, every quiet glance exchanged across a room.

But eleven weeks still felt fragile.

Delicate.

As though happiness itself had become something you were afraid to hold too tightly.

You knew the statistics.

So did Spencer...perhaps better than anyone.

The first trimester carried uncertainties neither of you could ignore, no matter how desperately you wanted to celebrate. So you had made a quiet promise together. Just a little longer. One more week. Maybe two. Long enough for the fear to loosen its grip. Long enough for the joy to feel louder than the anxiety. Then you’d tell everyone. Properly. Surrounded by the people who loved you most.

Which was exactly why tonight needed to remain wonderfully, blissfully ordinary.

Smile.

Compliment Rossi’s cooking.

Laugh at Morgan’s increasingly terrible jokes.

Listen to Garcia declare herself emotionally attached to another one of Rossi’s antique decorations.

Eat dinner.

Go home.

And above all else, pretend that beneath the soft fabric of your dress, your entire world wasn’t quietly growing one tiny heartbeat at a time.

***

For the first few minutes, everything went exactly according to plan.

The conversation flowed effortlessly around the table, moving from travel stories to teasing remarks about Rossi’s inability to let anyone else near his kitchen. The warm glow of candlelight reflected against crystal glasses, silverware clinked softly against porcelain plates, and the rich aroma of roasted vegetables, fresh herbs, garlic, and homemade pasta drifted through the dining room. It was warm. Comfortable. Familiar. Exactly the kind of evening you’d hoped for.

Then Rossi appeared beside the table carrying a bottle of red wine.

With practiced ease, he moved from place to place, pouring generous servings into each waiting glass until he eventually reached yours. Deep ruby liquid swirled elegantly into the crystal, catching the candlelight before he continued around the table without another thought.

Your smile froze.

Your stomach dropped so suddenly it almost felt like missing the last step on a staircase.

Of course. Wine.

You hadn’t thought about the wine.

For one long second, you simply stared at the glass sitting innocently beside your plate, your thoughts racing far faster than they should have. Refusing it outright would be strange. Claiming you weren’t in the mood might invite questions. Pretending to sip it was risky, especially with Rossi proudly watching everyone’s reactions to the bottle he’d undoubtedly spent far too much money on.

Across the table, Spencer had arrived at the exact same realization.

His eyes drifted from his own glass to yours.

Then to you.

You watched the understanding settle across his face almost instantly.

Without either of you exchanging so much as a glance, he quietly reached across the table toward your place setting, his movements so natural they might have gone completely unnoticed.

“I’ll take yours,” he said casually, lifting the untouched glass before anyone could question it.

Morgan blinked. “You stealing her wine already?”

The question earned a few amused smiles around the table.

Spencer answered so quickly it almost sounded rehearsed.

“She’s driving.”

For a single heartbeat, the entire table fell into that peculiar silence that followed an answer no one had expected. You turned your head slowly to look at him, your expression carefully composed despite the disbelief bubbling beneath it.

Driving? You hated driving.

Everyone at the table knew you hated driving. Morgan had teased you about it for years after you’d once admitted that parallel parking made you feel like you were diffusing a bomb. Garcia had jokingly offered to create a color-coded GPS system “for emotionally distressed drivers.” Even Rossi had learned long ago that inviting the two of you over automatically meant Spencer would be behind the wheel on the way home. If given the choice between navigating rush-hour traffic yourself or spending an hour on public transportation with three transfers, you’d choose the train without a second thought. Spencer knew that better than anyone. Which was precisely why, judging by the fleeting look of horror that crossed his face, he realized what he’d said the exact moment the words left his mouth.

Your eyes met across the table for the briefest instant.

He knew. You knew.

Neither of you dared acknowledge it.

Fortunately, Morgan simply shrugged, entirely unbothered.

“Fair enough.”

The conversation drifted elsewhere almost immediately, someone making a comment about Rossi’s pasta sauce before Garcia launched into a dramatic story about accidentally adopting another stray cat she absolutely insisted she hadn’t meant to bring home. Around the table, laughter resumed, forks scraped softly against porcelain plates, and the comfortable rhythm of dinner settled back into place. You released a slow breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, allowing yourself to believe, if only for a moment, that perhaps the obstacle had been overcome more easily than you’d feared.

Or so you thought.

Barely ten minutes later, Rossi reappeared beside your chair carrying the bottle of red wine in one hand, his attention immediately falling to the untouched glass still sitting exactly where he’d left it. His thick brows drew together in mild confusion before his expression softened into concern.

“Oh, bambina,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he gestured toward the glass. “You haven’t touched your wine.”

Your heart lurched.

For a fraction of a second, your mind raced desperately through possible explanations. You weren’t feeling like drinking. You were waiting until dinner. You had a headache. None of them felt convincing enough, particularly not with Rossi watching you so expectantly.

Before you could utter a single word, Spencer calmly reached across the table, lifted your untouched glass as though it had belonged to him all along, and took a generous sip.

“I did.”

Rossi looked between both of you.

“You finished two glasses already?”

“I was thirsty,” Spencer replied with complete sincerity, sounding as though that single sentence explained everything.

Rossi stared at him.

“You were thirsty.”

“Yes.”

“For wine.”

“Correct.”

For another beat, Rossi simply looked at him, clearly debating whether there was any point continuing the conversation. Eventually, with the resigned expression of a man deciding that Spencer Reid’s brain operated on principles beyond ordinary comprehension, he shrugged lightly and reached for the bottle once more.

“There.”

Deep red wine flowed smoothly back into your crystal glass until it sat nearly full again.

“There we go.”

“Thank you,” you offered with what you hoped was a perfectly natural smile.

Rossi nodded once before wandering toward the other end of the table to refill Morgan’s glass, already distracted by an entirely new discussion about baseball statistics.

The instant his back was turned, Spencer moved.

Without saying a word, without drawing attention to himself, he rested one hand casually beneath the edge of the tablecloth and, in one fluid movement, exchanged your freshly filled glass with his own half-empty one. The motion was so smooth it could have passed for absentmindedness, his fingers never fumbling despite the growing amount of alcohol already in his system. By the time Rossi looked back toward the two of you, Spencer was quietly lifting the newly acquired glass toward his lips while your place setting once again held one that appeared partially consumed.

No one noticed.

Well…almost no one.

Across the table, Emily’s conversation with JJ faltered for just a fraction of a second.

She didn’t say anything.

She simply took another sip of wine while her gaze lingered thoughtfully between the two of you before returning to her plate.

Another half hour slipped by beneath easy conversation and frequent bursts of laughter. Stories gave way to teasing, teasing turned into old Bureau memories, and before long the first bottle stood empty in the center of the table. Rossi noticed almost immediately.

“Well,” he announced proudly as he disappeared toward the kitchen, “that means it’s time for the good one.”

He returned carrying another bottle with the reverence of someone transporting a priceless family heirloom.

“This one’s from Tuscany,” he declared, carefully peeling away the foil. “I bought it during my last trip. You have to try it.”

The cork eased free with a satisfying pop.

You felt your stomach sink all over again.

One by one, Rossi circled the table, refilling each glass with generous enthusiasm.

Including yours.

Again.

You forced another smile.

“Thank you.”

Your glass remained untouched.

Again.

Spencer noticed before anyone else did.

Again.

Without hesitation, he reached over sometime during the next conversation, lifted your glass as naturally as though the two of you shared everything—which, technically, you did—and quietly added yet another serving to the growing collection he’d already consumed.

By now he’d finished one glass.

Then two.

Then three.

Now…four.

Under ordinary circumstances, four glasses of wine spread across an entire dinner might not have seemed particularly remarkable.

For Spencer Reid, it was becoming increasingly obvious.

A warm flush had spread across his cheeks, dusting the bridge of his nose with soft pink that somehow made him look several years younger. His posture remained perfectly straight, and his words retained the precise articulation that years of lecturing and endless reading had ingrained into him. If anything, he enunciated even more carefully than usual, each syllable pronounced with meticulous clarity. Spencer Reid, it seemed, was physically incapable of slurring his words.

Instead, he simply became significantly more talkative.

“Do you know,” he announced to absolutely no one in particular while thoughtfully examining his wineglass as though it were a fascinating scientific specimen, “that the average adult liver metabolizes approximately one standard alcoholic beverage per hour? Assuming average enzymatic activity and normal hepatic function, I’m currently operating at a significant biochemical disadvantage.”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, grinning so broadly it bordered on smug satisfaction.

“You drunk, pretty boy?”

Spencer looked genuinely offended by the suggestion.

“No.”

He paused.

Thought about it.

Then nodded once with complete seriousness.

“Probably.”

The table erupted into laughter.

Even Hotch lowered his gaze toward his plate to disguise the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You couldn’t help laughing too, though yours carried a distinct note of affection.

Spencer looked utterly adorable.

Hopelessly, undeniably adorable.

Across the table, however, Emily wasn’t laughing nearly as much.

She watched Spencer lift your glass instead of his own.

Again.

She watched you politely thank Rossi for every refill without drinking a single sip.

Again.

She watched Spencer volunteer to finish both glasses with increasingly enthusiastic determination.

Again.

Something about the evening refused to fit together.

Emily wasn’t quite sure what the answer was yet.

But she knew, with absolute certainty, that something wasn’t adding up.

***

By the time coffee replaced the wine, the evening had settled into that wonderfully unhurried stage that always followed one of Rossi’s dinners. Dessert plates had been pushed aside, empty bottles stood abandoned along the center of the table like evidence of a celebration well enjoyed, and the rich scent of freshly brewed espresso drifted through the dining room, mercifully replacing the overwhelming aroma of alcohol. Conversations had fractured into smaller ones, overlapping comfortably without anyone needing to follow every thread. Garcia and JJ were animatedly debating vacation destinations, Garcia insisting that every itinerary should be based entirely around bookstores and bakeries while JJ attempted, unsuccessfully, to convince her that beaches had their own merits. At the other end of the table, Morgan and Rossi had somehow wandered into a passionate disagreement over baseball statistics, each one accusing the other of remembering history incorrectly despite both sounding equally confident. Hotch sat quietly between them, one hand wrapped around his coffee cup, saying very little but wearing the faintest trace of amusement at the corners of his mouth as he watched the familiar chaos unfold around him.

Beside you, however, sat the true consequence of the evening.

Spencer Reid was undeniably drunk.

Not the loud, reckless kind of drunk that knocked over glasses or forgot people’s names. Spencer remained perfectly articulate. Every sentence emerged with the same impeccable diction he used while lecturing, every word carefully pronounced as though he were still delivering an academic presentation. If anything, the alcohol had only made him even more determined to enunciate correctly. His tie had been loosened somewhere between the second and third bottle, though neither of you remembered who had done it. His curls had escaped in every direction until they framed his flushed face in complete disarray. A warm blush stretched across his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose, his eyes had taken on a dreamy softness you rarely saw, and he had developed the oddly adorable habit of pausing before every answer, nodding solemnly to himself as though consulting an invisible committee inside his own mind before reaching a unanimous decision.

Watching him was almost painfully endearing.

You couldn’t help smiling as your fingers found the middle of his back, rubbing slow, comforting circles through the fabric of his shirt.

“You okay?”

He turned toward you immediately, his entire face lighting up with such overwhelming affection that your heart threatened to melt on the spot.

“I love you.”

The words came so easily, so honestly, that several people around the table instinctively smiled.

You laughed quietly.

“I love you too.”

“No…” He shook his head with exaggerated seriousness, lifting one finger as though correcting an important scientific misconception. “I don’t think you understand the statistical magnitude of how much I love you.”

Morgan snorted into his coffee.

“Oh, this is priceless.”

Spencer didn’t even acknowledge him.

His complete attention remained fixed on you, his expression one of absolute sincerity as he searched painstakingly for the perfect description.

“You are…” He frowned thoughtfully, eyes drifting toward the ceiling for several long seconds before returning to you with visible satisfaction. “…my favorite person.”

Warmth spread through your chest so quickly it almost hurt.

God, he was going to destroy you.

“You’ve had enough wine,” you said gently, brushing one of his unruly curls away from his forehead.

“I have had…” He stopped speaking to count carefully on his fingers, restarting twice after apparently losing track somewhere around three. “…more wine than you.”

“Yes.”

He nodded proudly, pleased that you’d confirmed his calculation.

“Because you couldn’t.”

Every muscle in your body went rigid.

The smile disappeared from your face almost instantly.

“Spencer.”

He looked delighted with himself.

“I helped.”

Across the table, Emily glanced up from her coffee.

“So noble.”

“It was.” Spencer nodded once, completely accepting the compliment. “Because it’s a secret.”

Your stomach dropped so violently you were certain everyone could hear it.

Without thinking, you reached for his hand beneath the table, gently squeezing his fingers.

“Sweetheart—”

He leaned closer immediately, lowering his voice in what he clearly believed was an incredibly discreet whisper.

It wasn’t.

“We’re very good at secrets,” he confided with unmistakable pride.

The entire table continued talking.

No one seemed to notice.

Relief washed over you so suddenly you nearly laughed.

Then Spencer smiled thoughtfully, as though another important realization had just occurred to him.

“Although…”

Every instinct in your body screamed.

“Oh no.”

He looked around the entire table before announcing, in a voice loud enough for everyone in the dining room to hear with perfect clarity, “keeping a baby secret is significantly harder than I expected.”

Silence.

Morgan blinked once.

“A what?”

Garcia’s mouth slowly fell open.

JJ lowered her coffee cup so carefully it barely made a sound against the saucer.

At the far end of the table, Hotch’s eyes shifted from Spencer to you with the calm expression of a profiler mentally reorganizing every unusual observation he’d made over the previous several weeks: your sudden avoidance of coffee during morning meetings, Spencer’s increasingly protective behavior, the mysterious disappearances during cases to “find crackers,” the exhaustion, the nausea, the untouched wine.

Pieces quietly clicked into place.

Rossi simply stared.

His mouth opened slightly before closing again.

For perhaps the first time in anyone’s memory, David Rossi seemed completely incapable of finding words.

Emily, meanwhile, merely closed her eyes and a slow smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“Oh,” she sighed, sounding more relieved than surprised. “I knew it.”

You buried your face in both hands.

“Spencer…”

He looked around the table with complete confusion, blinking at everyone’s expressions as though he genuinely couldn’t understand why the conversation had stopped.

“What?”

“You…” you whispered through your hands, shaking your head helplessly. “You just told them about our baby.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“I did?”

“Yes.”

A long pause.

He frowned thoughtfully.

“I wasn’t supposed to.”

“No.”

“Oh.”

He considered that information with remarkable seriousness, nodding slowly as though accepting constructive criticism.

For one suspended heartbeat, nobody moved.

Then Garcia exploded.

The delighted shriek that escaped her was so loud it probably startled every bird within a three-block radius. She launched herself out of her chair before anyone else had even processed what was happening, one hand already covering her mouth as tears filled her eyes.

“I can't believe it!” she squealed. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!”

JJ was crying before she’d even reached you.

She wrapped her arms tightly around your shoulders, laughing and wiping away tears simultaneously.

“I am so happy for you,” she whispered.

Morgan shot to his feet with a bark of laughter, pointing triumphantly between the two of you.

“I knew something was going on!”

Emily looked at him flatly.

“You absolutely did not.”

“I suspected!”

She folded her arms.

“You spent the entire evening convinced Spencer had developed a drinking problem.”

Morgan hesitated.

“I was…close.”

Rossi finally recovered enough to laugh, a deep, warm laugh that echoed through the dining room as he crossed the room and pulled both you and Spencer into one of his characteristically overwhelming hugs.

“I’ve spent years trying to get this kid drunk,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief as he stepped back to look at Spencer with unmistakable affection. “Years.”

His eyes flickered toward you before returning to Spencer.

“I have to admit…”

He smiled.

“I didn’t expect this to be what finally loosened his tongue.”

Even Hotch stood.

He wasn’t particularly demonstrative, never had been, but the smile he offered the two of you was genuine enough to soften every sharp line in his face.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion as you leaned instinctively against Spencer’s shoulder, still half laughing and half hiding your burning face from everyone’s delighted attention.

Spencer looked down at you with sleepy affection, completely oblivious to the fact that he had single-handedly dismantled weeks of carefully orchestrated secrecy. He leaned over and pressed the gentlest kiss against the top of your head before sighing softly.

“I ruined the surprise.”

“You did.”

“I’m sorry.”

You looked up at him.

His expression was so genuinely remorseful, so heartbreakingly sincere despite the unmistakable haze of alcohol clouding his thoughts, that you couldn’t possibly stay embarrassed.

A smile spread across your face.

“I’ll forgive you.”

His eyes brightened immediately.

“You will?”

“Eventually.”

The relieved smile that followed was almost childlike.

“Good.”

He sat quietly for another few seconds, apparently satisfied that the crisis had been resolved.

Then he turned toward Rossi with complete seriousness.

“Can I have some water now?”

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

BRUCE WAYNE doesn't hesitate to get into his wife's pants, no matter where he is.

The center of his desk stays mostly clear, the majority of his paperwork staying off to the side. If he's lucky, you'll stop by and visit him during lunch.

Bruce isn't one to push, but if you let him?

He's locking the doors to his office and cancelling any meetings he may have within the next two hours or so.

Your husband drops to his knees without hesitation, rough fingers dragging softly across the inner and outer skin of your thighs. It isn't long before his hands are hastily removing your bottoms, his tongue making its way to lick a long stripe up the center of your panties.

Bruce acts like a man starved, lapping and sucking at your sensitive skin before your undergarments are even removed. He's fond, you think, of knowing that he can bring you pleasure without having any dirt contact with your heated flesh.

Your husband keeps the center of his desk cleared for you, though he'd never admit it out loud. He can't help it, you just look so pretty with your legs spread out over the mahogany!

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[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡Bad Words and Wrong Names｡⋆.

Dick Grayson x plus size reader

You’re a single mom who’s just moved into a new house with your boyfriend, and your 6 year old has decided that now is the time to give him a new name

Warnings: mom!reader, f!reader, fluff, bit of crack humour, plus size reader, established relationship WC: 1.4k Minors DNI Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Dating a single parent had its challenges, sure, but Dick had been ready for them the moment you laughed so hard you snorted in the fancy restaurant where you had your first date. It had been a blind date courtesy of Alfred who frequented your tea shop cafe. There was something about you that had his heart pounding and his mind buzzing with ideas of a future he never thought he could have. And the news that you had a little boy waiting for you at home did little to shake him from the haze of infatuation that settled over his soul.

He took it slow, a hell of a lot slower than he was used to, but it was worth it. After two years of Friday night date nights at the arcade or your apartment, emergency pickups from kindergarten when your tyrant of a boss kept you late, and family cuddle piles on your bed, you were finally moving in together.

“Dink!” Dick looked back over his shoulder as he placed the last box into the kitchen. Sean stood in the empty dining room across from him, dinosaur shirt pulled tight across his chubby belly with the way his arms were crossed. Dick fought the urge to coo at how adorable he was, that had earned him a solid 10 minutes of being ignored the last time.

“Yeah chum, what’s up?” His frown deepened at that.

“I’m not chum.” Dick raised a dark eyebrow at him. Outside, he could hear the moving van start up before puttering down the quiet street, you should be back inside soon. 

“And I’m not Dink.” He retorted as he stepped around the kitchen island to face this 6 year old head on. Sean was scowling, whatever it was, his original request now forgotten. It was almost funny how much he looked like you when he was mad; bottom lip jutting out, nose scrunched up and eyes narrowed. His heart flipped at the sight and Dick so desperately wanted to scoop him up and kiss away his frown almost the same way he did with you. 

“You’re Dink.” Sean stomped his chunky leg, making his whole body shake with the force. He had been a lot more opinionated in the last couple of weeks as he started kindergarten and realised that he was not the only adorably tiny person in the world. 

Dick just smiled at him. “No I’m not, sweetheart, you know that.” Two thuds against the front door, you had kicked off your shoes like you did every time you walked into your home. Sean looked over his shoulder, waiting for you to appear and defend him.

You creeped around the corner, your shoulders rolling back as you put yourself back together for your son. Your tired smile widened at the sight of the pair.

“We’re moved in!” You cheered, perhaps overly happy but Sean’s glare didn’t waver. You raised an eyebrow at Dick. “Why are we so grumpy?”

Dick slid around the kitchen island and to your side, winding his arms around your plush waist. Your body relaxed into him just like he wanted, your smile now dulling to something so soft he wanted to bottle it up and keep it as close as he could to his heart. Dried sweat lined your hairline, your skin burned with being out in the sun all day, and your eyes had that haze of exhaustion over them that meant as soon as your boy finally went down to sleep, you were not going to leave bed for at least 18 hours. And as Dick’s gaze flicked down to your chapped lips, he could only think that you were the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on.

“Dink!” Sean screeched and launched himself at your legs. Ever the mummy’s boy, he refused to be out of your attention for even a nanosecond. You grunted in pain, but caught him all the same, scooping him into your arms like he wasn’t a bowling ball with jabby limbs.

“Dink? Baby, that’s Dick.” You cooed, brushing your thumb over the apple of his perfectly chubby cheek. Sean melted into your soft arms, a smile finally making an appearance for the first time that day. 

Dick’s heart leapt to his throat at the sight. This was everything he didn’t know he wanted, needed, right there in his arms. Unable to help himself, he pressed his lips to the crown of your head, inhaling the addicting smell of you.

Apparently that was Sean’s final straw.

“No! He Dink! Dick bad word! Dink! Dink! Dink!” He thrashed in your hold as he tried to push Dick away from you for the sole reason his name happened to also be a ’no-no’ word.

You noblely bit back a laugh but your chest heaved with the effort, further jostling your little boy who very certainly did not appreciate the mockery.

“My name isn’t a bad word.” He grumbled.

“Yes it is! My teacher said so!” Sean whipped his head around to glare at Dick with all the might he could muster. And despite his man-ovaries trembling with the cuteness of it, Dick refused to relent. If this little creature started permanently calling him ‘Dink’ he would never live it down. It would be the end of any reputation he had with you and the rest of his family.

“Well sometimes it is but-“ You snorted and their collective glares turned to you.

“Sorry, continue.” You squeaked out.

“It can be a bad word but not when it’s someone’s name.” Sean’s eyebrows pinched together.

“Dats dumb. You’re dumb.” 

“Hey.” You took a step back from Dick to make eye contact with your boy. “That’s not a nice thing to say baby. We don’t call people or their names dumb because we don’t understand. Can you say sorry to Dick? You’ve been really hurting his feelings today.” Your hand cupped the back of his head, your thumb smoothing down the length of his small neck as Sean took a deep, shaky breath.

He went still in your arms and let his head fall to the crook of your neck. You continued to hold him close, patiently waiting for him to go through all those big feelings.

Dick just stood there, in awe of the woman you were (and perhaps wishing a little bit that it was him in your arms).

Sean’s eyes, an exact copy of your own, met his through his thick lashes. Dick could now plainly see the exhaustion all over his little face and nearly punched himself for being so blind to the fact that this little boy probably just needed a big cuddle and a long nap before he would be back to his usual cheery self. 

“But my teacher said it was a bad word. That-that the right word was something else.” He heaved.

“I know baby but that doesn’t mean that we yell and call people other bad names.” Sean hiccuped but didn’t protest any further.

“‘M sorry.” He wiggled closer to the warmth of your body, his voice now having lost all its fire. “You’re not dumb.” He reached out for Dick, giving him a small grin when the man stepped close enough for him to reach. His dimbled fist curled into the material of his t-shirt as he let out a pleased grumble.

“It’s ok chum. I know you didn’t mean it, you’re just a bit tired from helping us so much with the move aren’t you?”

Sean nodded but muttered quietly under his breath. “Not tired.”

“I know, baby.” You kissed his temple as your body began to sway, rocking him gently into the nap he needed.

“Love mom.” He grumbled, fist tightening to keep Dick close to you both. Sean wiped his nose along the length of your shoulder as he gristled. “G’night Penis.”

Dick startled back, your swaying stopped but Sean was out like a light, his little body completely slumped against you in a dead weight.

“Where the fudge did he get that from?” 

“At least he isn’t calling you Dink?” You giggled and pressed your lips to his.

“You are not helping.” He rolled his eyes but kissed you all the same, cradling you both in his arms as the sunset washed over you. Despite the gravely condescending nicknames his near-step-son was giving him and your apparent amusement with the whole situation, Dick refused to trade this moment for anything. Just maybe something less demeaning than ‘Penis’ would be nice.

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[brbie666]

You tell Dick Grayson exactly how you want him to dominate you in bed

Tw: Mean dom Dick Grayson, bulge worship, humiliation/degradation kink, blowjobs, shoe kissing/licking, cnc, other filthy stuff.

English is not my first language

Dick Grayson never perceived himself as the daddy authority dominating type while having sex. He would fuck his partners rough, sure. He would “get on all fours.” them, ok. But that was as far as he would go when it came to “dominating” his past lovers. His latest hook up had tried to get his inner dom out of him (her words), after he informed having experienced other people asking him to dom them before, and not really knowing how to. However, it didn’t work all that well.

“Ok, now grab my wrists like this- no, no, tighter. Yes, like this. Ok, now tell me what are you going to do to me.” she said with a naughty giggle while laying her head on the pillow.

“I’ll.. uh… destro- no…” he grimaces. “I will fuck you really, really hard…” Dick spoke unsurely. “Oh my god…” Murmured the woman as she got out of the bed and started putting her clothes on, her eyes almost reaching the back of her skull, and not in the way she desired.

“What do you want me to say? Show me a video or something.” Dick tried to reason with her, already aiming to ease his annoyance by rubbing in between his eyes. Couldn’t someone just tell him exactly what to do?

“No, honestly, I’m not in the mood of teaching anything to anyone right now. Good bye.” The door closed softly, while Dick was left confused, staring after it. Sighing and laying down, he finally picked up his phone. He knew how to fuck god dammit! He just didn’t want to do anything overly weird without knowing if he should.

Ok… uh… Rough sex. The results appeared on his phone. The videos showed him what he was already doing. So what was the problem here? Did she want something more? Something more extreme? Sh-she wanted him to step on her head like that? What the fuck…

Oh my god. So complicated for no reason…

————————-///———————///———————-

All of his doubts, problems and frustrations were clarified when he met you. You were the sweetest girl that he ever put his eyes on, whose voice enveloped his brain like a spell, always looking slightly up at him with the shyest yet mischievous smile, as if you knew some sort of secret he didn’t.

You met at a house party. Dick saw you drinking alone while leaning against the wall just beside the kitchen door, admiring people talking and playing games with a little smile on your face, ever so prettily below the low, colorful lights. He didn’t even say anything at first, just leaned his back beside you, also looking at the party rolling.

You noticed the man you were secretly staring at walking in your direction and held your breath, presenting your best pocker face.

Fuckfuck shitshitshitshi- jesusfuckingchrist there’s no fucking wa-. “Hey.” He smiled faintly at you. You couldn’t help yourself, you really just couldn’t. God… that tight fucking shirt just hugging his muscles… Huge ass arms (huge ass too), oh my god, fucking tall as fuck he is so fucking pretty, his eyes, his smile, jesus fucking christ.

Dick knew he was fucked when you looked at him with the prettiest eyes, just done eye fucking him in a way no one has ever done so shamelessly before. “Hi…” Your words came out slowly, not being able to stop yourself from seducing him, your mouth opening just a bit with the cutest smile. “Hey…” He repeated, mesmerized, his eyes completely gone in yours.

————————-///———————///———————-

When Dick first started pursuing you romantically, you noticed he got very nervous every time there was skin contact more than holding hands, even after multiple dates and the beginning of your relationship. The bulge that formed on his pants every time you touched his chest or arms was making you completely insane. There was no way that man was a virgin, so you asked him, feeling a little embarrassed. Was he afraid of you or something?

Already under the covers of your bed, you started typing your message, the phone being your savior from the absolute nervousness that consumed your body every time you stared at his beautiful eyes.

The speed at which Dick picked up the phone was admirable. The ping being a possible message from the girl he couldn’t stop thinking about since he first spoke to her.

‘hey Dick, I feel like we should talk about smth hehe’

FUCK, she’s going to break up with me. No-nonono, I won’t let that happen, no way.

‘Yes love, what’s the provlem?’

‘Problem**’

Your response was fast.

‘there’s no problem’

‘it’s just’

‘you kinda don’t really touch me other than holding my hands??? Sometimes you hug me lol’

‘but like, you know I’m not a virgin or whatever’

‘and I don’t know if you noticed but your dick is big and I can see it when you get hard’

‘and I know you are not a virgin there’s no way hahahah’

…

‘that was a compliment’

…

‘if you are there’s no problem’

Dick threw his phone to his side and sighed hard, hands rubbing his eyes while a chuckle escaped his mouth out of relief. Fuck… if she broke up with me i would go insane. Dick had a fond smile on his face as he reached for his phone and typed his answer.

‘I never wanted anyone or anything more than I want you.’

‘You make me fuckibg insane.’

‘I just need you to tell me what you want, love.’

FUCK. Yes. Okay. Fine. Heart racing more than anything, you shut your eyes tightly and yelled silently while biting your fist, legs hitting the air. Things are getting real now. Ok. Calm yourself girl, Jesus Christ. You got some air out of your chest and responded, turning off your phone immediately and trying to sleep, too excited for waking up.

‘we have to talk personally’

‘tomorrow’

‘good night ;b’

Dick groaned and squeezed his eyes. He was so so fucked.

————————-///———————///———————-

The cold air of winter that woke you up in the morning was lessened by the warm coffee you held tightly between your hands, Dick’s eyes following your every move, eyes wide as if anxious at what you were about to say. Other people’s conversations around you making your silence a little bit easier.

“Ok so…” You take a sip of your coffee. “D-Do you wanna talk about our… kinks?” The last word came out in a whisper. Dick’s smile after that not only made you more nervous, but also melted you immensely.

“Well… I think so, yes.” He leaned himself more towards you, his hands elbows on the table.

Dick looked at you with his smiling eyes. “Before we discuss anything, I know we’ve been dating for five months now and i understand that normal couples have sex but-“

“Dick, it’s okay. Look if you are not ready to fuck me we can-“

“NO-no no.” He grabs your hands. “Fucking hell. You have no idea what I want to do with you I just- I just don’t know how? I just need you to tell me what to do and I promise I’ll do it, baby. Just- let’s just clarify everything, ok?”

Your eyes scan his entire face. You hands feel the strength of his and you glance at them. Finally, you look back into his eyes, and you smile. Fuck, you fucking smile. “Ok.”

“Let’s go to your house and I’ll explain.”

————————-///———————///———————-

The leather sofa of Dick’s penthouse was definitely something you were going to miss sitting on when you got him acting the way you wanted. “Ok, well… At first, this is going to sound really bad, I know. But I also want you to know that I really enjoy all the stuff that I’m going to tell you to do, and if I don’t enjoy it, I’ll tell you, ok? You don’t have to worry.” Your attempt at reassurance preoccupies him a bit. Caressing your thighs that sitted across his lap, Dick paid careful attention to you.

“Basically, I just want you to dominate the fuck out of me.” You blurted out and looked at him.

“Ok… How?”

“Well, just… Order me around, tell me what to do. You don’t need to be gentle about it, I like when you are more crass and rough and… mean. It really turns me on, gosh you have no idea.” You laughed a little when you saw the puzzled look on his face. “I want to please you, Dickie… I just want to make you feel so good and I want you to tell me how exactly to do it. And I want to be afraid of disobeying you.” The last part, said in a shameful whisper, made concern flow through Dick’s body. “No no, wait. Don’t be scared, it’s not really fear fear. I just want you to, like, punish me if I don’t please you… Are you going to say anything?”

You watch as your boyfriend tries to formulate his thoughts. “That includes me… slapping your face, calling you uh- bad names?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“Among other things- ok. What things.”

You shrug and look at the floor. “Well, I like to feel really submissive. So… honestly I’m okay if you want to just- I don’t know- put me in humiliation positions or whatever”. Dick notices your embarrassment and smiles at your cuteness. The sweetest girl ever just barely begging him to do horrible shit to her. So cute.

“Ok, then. Just leave it to me, alright, love?” Finally someone just told him what the fuck to do.

————————-///———————///———————-

Sometimes you wonder if you chose to bite more than you knew you were able to chew.

Your scalp was already hurting from how hard he was using your hair as a rope, forcing your eyes to stay on the ground and wait for what he was about to do. “Come on.” He started dragging you by your hair to his sofa, your soft whimper and slightly frowned eyebrows putting a small smile on his face. You have been living in his penthouse ever since the relationship evolved to something more… demanding.

He let go of you and sat on the sofa, snapping his fingers and pointing at the ground.

Nothing goes through your head other than obeying him immediately. His silent domination of you is already bringing painful warmth to your pussy. You slowly kneeled in between his thick thighs, observing the tent forming on his pants with a mouthful of water. “Hey.” Your head is moved to the side with the force of his slap. “Look at me. I don’t want your eyes leaving my face, hear me?” You nod. Slap!

You can’t stop a smile forming on your face, already flushed by way more than the slaps. “You not’ gonna answer me? Huh?” Your cheeks get squeezed by his unforgiving hands. Dick shakes your head, also not being able to contain his smile. “Yeah? You’re a dumb little slut?” He shoves his free middle and pointer fingers inside your mouth, making you drool all over his lap. “Nuh thir…” Muffled words come out your full mouth. He laughs. “Yes, you are.. Wanna’ know what disobedient little mutts like you get?” You just gargle, unable to answer as his fingers hit deeper inside your mouth.

“Head down.” Dick grabs your hair and makes you look at the ground. He stands up, and you don’t dare to try and lift your head to see what he went to look for.

Completely naked, back straight, hands clasped behind your back and eyes glued to the ground, you hear Dick’s footsteps coming closer to you. He sits down in front of you again and snaps his fingers. His beautiful eyes stare down at you again, a cruel smirk making you flush all over, as he shows you the most beautiful collar you have ever seen. The dark brown leather contrasted just perfectly with the white gold accent hardware, Dick Grayson’s property engraved in golden words, right above the ring that was going to carry the leash.

“I think it's about time you knew how things are going to go from now on, huh?” He stated with a low voice, clipping the collar around your neck in a way it’s impossible to ignore it’s there, but not enough to make you uncomfortable. You almost don’t catch his words considering the pull that Dick has on you at that moment, feeling drunk in arousal.

“Go to our bedroom. I’ll be there in a moment.” Dick orders you and you start to get up from your kneeling position.

“No no- who told you to stand up? Crawl.”

————————-///———————///———————-

The door closes softly as Dick enters the room, and you look up at him with adoring eyes. Ever so tall, he stares down at you and smiles softly, just before snapping his fingers and pointing down with a stern look. You know what to do (doesn’t make it any less mortifying). You hesitate, still not completely used to what Dick demands of you. He narrows his eyes just a bit before you have any more time to fuck it up, finally lowering your head to the ground, face more red than ever.

Your lips connect with the expensive and shiny leather of his shoes and you hear his low chuckle just a little after, worsening your embarrassment. “Thaaat’s right, love. You know where your place is right?”

You try to raise your head so you can respond to him, but he snaps at you. “Head down. No no- stay there. Keep your fucking lips on the shoe and answer me properly.”

Your voice comes out matching the state of your body, trembling like a leaf. “U-uh- fuck- god, ma-my place is at your feet s-sir. Hmmf!” He pulls on the leash, startling a choked whimper from you, and you yet again is forced to face his beautiful eyes. “Yeah? What the fuck are you then?” He smushes your face with his other hand, holding it tightly against his bulge. Your lips rubbing hard on his dick print when you answer. “I’m- I’m y-your sla-“ Your whimper with shame. “P-please, Dickie, don’t make me say it.” You try to beg with your imploring eyes, losing hope quickly by watching the wide smile that took your boyfriend’s face at your pathetic attempt at denying what you obviously are.

“P-please, please.” He mocks with a whiny voice. “Oooh, it’s okay, baby. By the time I’m done with you, you will be fucking screaming the answer.” He wipes your tears before roughly pulling on the leash and leading you to his table. The chair he sat on stayed at the opposite side of the giant windows that decorated his room, offering him a beautiful vision of the city.

“Under the table you go, little bitch.” He chuckles once more before watching you crawl your way to kneel in front of his chair, offering you the beautiful vision of his printed cock.

He grabs the leash, rests his back against the soft cushion behind him and starts working on his computer. You feel the tap of his expensive leather shoe on your thigh one single time. “You know what to do.”

Worship. That’s what he wants. “You better fucking worship this cock properly, you hear me? Or else you’re not gonna like what’s gonna happen to you.” Is what you hear before he starts doing whatever the fuck he is doing on that stupid computer, sitting comfortably on his luxurious chair. “Yes, sir.” is all you are able to say before rubbing your face on his swelling, still clothed dick.

You press slow, hard kisses all over it. Rubs your wet tongue on his sweatpants, and Dick can’t barely hold himself from grabbing you by the hair and shoving his entire length down your throat, the way you’re supposed to take him anytime he demands it of you.

The month's break from his work being the time he was using to properly train you to be his pretty little sex slave, the way you begged him to do (maybe not with the same words), was proving to be the best vacation he ever had. Maybe he should make this break longer… The phone ringing interrupted his thoughts. What the fuck did Bruce wanted so desperately that he kept trying to interrupt his vacation?

“What?” Dick snapped at the phone. That made you stop paying attention to the tent on his pants as it startled you. And Dick, noticing the absence of your mouth on the place it belonged, gave you a sharp slap on the face as a reminder. You immediately got back to your duty, listening to a muffled voice though Dick’s phone.

“Tonight? No, I'm busy. I don’t care.” The phone hit the table as the conversation abruptly ended. “Jesus Christ…” He muttered.

He snaps his fingers.

Finally

You take off the first layer of clothing that surrounds your boyfriend’s cock. One more to go. Fuck. Despite everything, it was always difficult anticipating the inevitable future where you would have to take everything Dick decided he wanted to give to you.

His tight white boxers greeted you as you lowered his pants to slightly below his knees. His thick cock already visible by the pre that leaked from the tip, as well as your saliva. The notion of the time that you spent under that table is already lost in your brain. Your ignored cunt begging for some kind of attention that Dick definitely wasn’t planning on giving anytime soon, pushing you deeper into subspace.

You start pressing hard and long kisses all over the huge protuberance. “Lick.” He orders. “Slower.” You obey, closing your eyes and making the fabric of his boxers even more wet, and you hear the sound of satisfaction that Dick gives to you, making you even more desperate as you moan softly and start licking and kissing with more urgency than before. “Slower. Are you stupid?” Slap! “You better fucking savor it. Do it properly.” You try to nod, his right hand tight in your hair.

Your tongue and lips are hurting by the time he tells you to take his cock out. Now the hard part begins. The way Dick rolls the chair away from the table and snaps his fingers at you is enough proof.

You slowly crawl your way to stay between his thighs once again. You notice he had taken his shirt off while you were worshipping him under the table, tongue heavy inside your mouth begging to lick the hard muscles of his abdomen. “Take my clothes off.” He orders, leaning his back on the chair, arms relaxed on both armrests.

You start with his shoes, then his socks, putting them beside the desk. His pants and boxers came after, and you fold them neatly. You grab the shirt he had thrown to the ground and fold them too. You deposit the folded set inside the clothing basked at the corner near his bathroom. He’s now completely naked just as you are, still not any less intimidating, considering the way that man could easily pick you up, pin you down and do whatever the fuck he wanted to do with you.

Dick stays silent as he watches you crawl back to him. You sit down on your knees, trembling hands flat on your sweaty thighs. He stares at you and tilts his head a little. His cruel, amused smile and slightly narrowed eyes being a result from watching your worried face, finally taking a look at his hard dick. So thick, so big, and so so hard, touching the space just above his bellybutton. Poor baby.

“You seeing this, baby?” He shakes his thick cock at you, smile widening. Your wide eyes meeting his own, your head nodding as you answer so softly, so obedient. God, he could fucking die right now. He’s sure you’re trying to murder him. He turns the palm of his left hand, still hanging from the armrest, and produces a soft snap, pointing to the collar around your neck a half a second later. You grab the leash and offer it to him with both hands, the trembling now being impossible to hide.

Your boyfriend uses his tight hold on the leash to pull your face closer to the absolute weapon between his legs, making you yelp as you try to balance yourself by holding his thighs. “Kiss the tip. Slowly.”

You close your eyes and give his tip the wettest, softest kiss possible, before distributing those kisses to the entire area of his cock. You kiss it all over passionately, using one of your hands to caress and keep it in the position that you need, while your other hand takes care of his large, swollen testicles. You lower your lips to them, kissing and worshiping the way you’re supposed to.

Dick’s hunger for your complete destruction grew bigger and bigger as you treated him like a god. He guided your tongue to trace each vein, each inch of skin, slapping your face and admonishing you when you failed to do so.

“Stop. Look at me. Now, you are going to wrap your lips around the tip, and you are going to swallow it all. I-“ You try to protest with a whine. “But sir-“.

SLAP!

“Quiet.” Dick says with a calm voice. “This isn’t a fucking conversation, you little bitch. This is me talking and you listening. Nod your head- there we go.”

“I want to feel this cute little nose pressed down on my skin, hear me? I don’t give a fuck if you can’t take it.” He grabs your cheeks and makes you pout, bringing his face closer to yours and staring down at you. “You are going to take my whole fucking dick down your throat, and you better fucking thank me when I’m finished with you. Understand?” Dick shoves your face away and gets comfortable on his chair.

“G-god- y-es, sir” The words come out with difficulty and you can’t help but leak your pussy juice all over his floor, whimpering softly as you wrap your mouth around him.

Since the night you told Dick about your desires, he tried to train you to take his cock down your throat without choking and gagging like a stupid little whore, which proved to be very difficult. You simply couldn’t take more than half his dick without panicking. Too bad you didn’t have much of a choice now.

“There we go- f-fuck.” He closes his eyes and leans his head back. “No no no- Keep it down.” You feel the pain in your scalp as Dick grabs your head to stop you from spitting out his Dick. He keeps half of it down your throat as you start panicking. “Swallow it. Swallow. That’s it, baby. You’re not getting out of this, uh uh.” He laughs at your whines and takes his hands out of your head. You don’t dare to lift it up. “Hmmpf!”

“Swallow.” He warns you. “I better be see you makin’ an effort, girl. Get your fucking head down. I don’t care if you choke, if you take it out of your mouth, we’re gonna have a problem.” You try to take more of his dick, but ends up choking and coughing. His dick almost gets off, but you’re smart enough to hold the head inside your head despite the difficulty, luckily dragging out some of his pity for you.

“Oh, baby. It’s okay.” Your head is caressed and it still feels like a mockery. “Calm down, now.” He stands up and grabs your hair. “Ah!” You exclaimed in surprise and crawled clumsily as he started dragging you to the king sized bed. You found yourself with your head laying on its surface and your boyfriend looking down at you with one hand grabbing your entire hair at the back of your skull, and the other pointing his big cock to the entrance of your mouth. Fuck.

“Hmmgh..-“ You protest weakly as his big dick begins filling your throat, putting your hands on his thighs. “Nuh uh, baby.” Dick stares at you and shakes his head. “This is happening, sweetheart.” Deeper. “You’re gonna throat my entire cock...” Deeper. “This fucking mouth belongs to me…” Deeper. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.” Deeper. You whimper softly, shiny eyes looking up at him. “Accept it.” Your nose touches his skin. “Oh fuck, there we fucking go baby, oh my god.”

He keeps it there until he notices your eyes fluttering shut. His cock comes out of your mouth with a wet noise and you breathe deeply. The glint in Dick’s eyes promises you a very sore throat by the time he’s done. “Open. Open.” You try to dislodge your face from his grip, a contrast to your thighs desperately rubbing on each other as you try to get some fucking friction on hurting pussy. He gets his dick inside you again and makes you swallow every single inch. “Cry more, baby. Maybe I’ll cum sooner if you do.” Is the last thing you hear and he begins fucking your face with slow, hard, controlled strokes.

“Look at me.” He reminds you, and you stare into his eyes, feeling so small as you take in his hard muscles and the way he looks down at you, your knees on the ground and his dick filling every inch of your throat. You don’t recall a time where you felt more subdued, more like a thing. His thing. His… slave. The thought makes you lead a desperate hand to your pussy so you can at least try to alleviate the pain, but the look on his face when he notices your intentions is enough to stop you.

Dick bottoms out in your throat with a loud groan, and you squeeze your eyes shut. He takes most of it out , leaving just the tip in. “Jerk it off”. He commands you while breathing hard. “Don’t take it out of your mouth.”

Eyes shining and brain empty, you start rubbing his dick desperately, your swirling tongue on the tip making him moan and grab your hair. “I don’t want to see a single drop out of your mouth.” Is the only warning you receive before your mouth is flooded with Dick’s thick cum. It’s so much and- “Don’t swallow.” You try to accommodate all of it without spitting out, but a few drops fall on your naked breasts and then the floor. Your eyes trying to communicate to him that didn’t mean to. He just smiles at you.

“Open your mouth. Show it to me.” You obey him. The sight of you cum coated tongue widening his smile. He looks into your eyes as he leans a little bit closer towards you… and spits. You close your eyes and flinch, not having time to think before his hand squeezing your mouth shut. You look at him with wide eyes, making him smile once again. So cute. “Now you can swallow.”

You take everything he gives you and your back hits the bed, your chest goes up and down and you feel like you just ran a marathon. Legs opening against your will, you whine desperately when you attempt to rub it till it burns, but Dick’s voice stops you. “What the fuck did I tell you, huh?” He pulls your hair and makes you look at the drops of his cum that you let out of your mouth.

“I’m sorr- Ah!” He shoves your head closer to the ground. “Lick it up. Hurry. I don’t have all fucking day.”

Crouching and holding your head to the ground, your boyfriend feels his cock hardening again at the sight of your complete submission. He pulls your hair and makes you look at him while he stands up again.

“What are you?”

“I-I’m uh-“

SLAP!

“Don’t fucking stutter.”

You swallow. “I’m your slave.”

“My what?” He asks loudly and tilts his head at you.

“YOUR SLAVE.” You almost scream and he smiles, caressing your face, making you close your eyes. He doesn’t say anything as he lowers down and grabs you, holding you to his chest, just before laying you down on the soft bed.

He kneels between your thighs and you moan loudly when you feel his dick barely touching your aching pussy. You try to grab it, but he holds your wrists to the bed and kisses your mouth deeply, both of you closing your eyes in pure bliss.

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

DICK GRAYSON is obsessed with bending you in half.

It's no secret that he grew up to be extremely flexible doing backbends and walkovers like nothing every patrol. But when he caught you stretching in tour bedroom, your body bent just the right way for him to get a glimpse of his favorite parts of you?

He lost it.

Your legs end up on his shoulders more often than not, feet crossing behind his neck and bouncing slightly with the force of his thrusts. The stretch burns a little and you're pretty sure your hip will cramp sooner or later, but it's worth it to see Dick so pleased.

"Look at you," he coos softly, reaching up to remove your legs from his shoulders and instead hold them above your head.

You genuinely did not know your legs and hips (or pussy) could handle doing that with his cock sliding in and out of you so sweetly.

Dick's face is so flushed that, in any other context, you might've mistaken it for a slight sunburn. "You can keep going, right, pretty baby?"

Muscles in your hips and thighs protest as he presses them just a little further, but how could you deny him when he asks so nicely?

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A/N: day 4!! Yippee!!

[froggibus]

— Eat Your Heart Out!

Includes: Dick Grayson, Wally West, Barry Allen and Hal Jordan

Summary: during a party game, he gets flustered from kissing you :p

Content/CW -> gn! reader, abt ~500 words a part, light teasing, being flustered, the boys being menaces, making out, slightly suggestive, lmk if i forgot anything

requested by the lovely amazing @gothamorphosis

froggi yaps -> did you miss me? cause i missed you :p im back and better than ever, i got soooo much motivation to write rn, i literally wrote this in less than 2 hours. i hope you guys like it cause i had a lot of fun writing it <3

Dick Grayson:

Jason Todd shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t want to be here. And yet, he had nothing better to do and the opportunity to get Dick back for what he did to him last week was just too good.

He almost feels bad when he finishes telling Dick what his dare is and sees the horrified look on your face. He clocks it immediately—the way your mouth presses into a line, the way you’re suddenly shaking your leg, the way you can’t even look at Dick.

“That’s a stupid dare.”

You nod in agreement but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel a little disappointed. Why wouldn’t he want to make out with you?

Jason simply shrugs. “You can always choose truth if you’re feeling shy.”

It’s the way Jason says it that has your ears perking up. You risk a glance at Dick only to see him staring right at you, offering a sheepish smile. You nod, ever so slightly, the quietest signal that what he’s about to do is okay.

Dick rises to his feet and your heart jumps into your throat. You set your cup on the coffee table and match his movements, standing up on shaky legs. Your pulse picks up with every step closer to Dick and you’re painfully aware of the distance between you growing shorter and shorter.

Eyes are on you, the rest of the people in the room—Dick’s friends, mostly—watching with bated breath.

As if the universe doesn’t hate you enough in this moment, you stumble over your own feet, Dick catching you in his arms and pulling you against his chest. 

“I gotcha.”

You’re at a loss for words, everything you could possibly say right now caught in your throat. You settle under his touch, forcing yourself to take deep breaths to keep yourself cool through the moment. 

It’s Dick that hesitates. Hands on your waist and lower back, lips only inches from yours, he freezes up. Lucky for him, you don’t.

You press yourself closer to him and tilt your head back, parting your lips to meet his. You catch his bottom lips between yours, eyes fluttering shut, and let yourself move against him. Something woody lingers on his mouth, floods your senses as you kiss him.

Dick tugs you closer, beckoning you in until the space between you is nonexistent. You forget how to breathe for a second, heat crawling up your spine until it suffocates you.

You pull away, Dick grinning goofily at you. His cheeks are slightly pink, his shoulders tensed.

You open your mouth to speak, only to be cut off.

“What’s wrong, Grayson?” Jason heckles. “At a loss for words?”

You’re too busy watching Dick’s own flustered face to realize you’re completely free of any shame, the heat that was rising up your spine having dissipated into nothingness. 

“You feeling alright?” You tilt your head at Dick, a knowing grin on your face.

He shakes his head. “I think I need you to kiss me better.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes and oblige.

Wally West:

Wally’s eyes are on you. Your eyes are on the floor. Knots form in your stomach, heat crawls up your spine and you cannot bring yourself to look at the man who just spun the bottle that landed on you.

Roy Harper’s elbow digs into your side. “Hey, we don’t have all night.”

“Asshole.” You mutter.

He snickers in return, clapping a hand on your back and pushing you forwards. You stumble to your feet, eyes still on the ground, and make your way across to you to where Wally’s sitting. More eyes are on you, the eyes of your fellow teammates who absolutely know about the torch you carry for the red haired speedster.

It only sends the heat racing further through your veins. 

Five more steps to Wally. Your heart pounds in your chest, smashing so hard against your ribcage you’re sure it’ll break.

Wally leans back where he’s sitting on the floor, crossing his arms behind his head. You wish you had something to throw at him.

It was his idea to play Spin the Bottle, him who grabbed the empty Pink Whitney bottle that Kory had left laying around and set it on the floor. Him who made you sit through several rounds of this while your nerves only grew more and more. 

You’d been pleading with the universe, to any higher power that would listen, for the bottle to not land on you. But then you’d considered the possibility of having to watch Wally kiss someone else and venom had risen to your throat and then you weren’t sure whether you wanted the bottle to land on you or not.

You swallow hard and force yourself forwards, straddling Wally’s waist and sitting down on the meat of his thighs. You can feel the thick muscle through his jeans, feel it rub against your own thighs as you sit down.

Wally grins at you, cocking his head to the side, red strands falling into his face. “Don’t worry,” he winks. “I’ll be gentle.”

The heat grows unbearable. Your hands shake slightly as you raise them to cup his face. Fuck, fuck, fuck. And without another thought, you’re leaning forwards and pressing your lips onto his, snaking your hands to the back of his neck to tangle them in his hair.

Wally gasps, tongue darting out to swipe the backs of your teeth. His lips move perfectly in sync with yours, hands grasping at your hips and tugging you in closer. 

A small sound of disappointment slips from his lips when you pull away. His hands don’t leave your hips. His lips are swollen and sticky with saliva, cheeks flushed almost as red as his hair. And somehow, someway, you’re completely fine.

You poke his red cheek. “You feeling okay, Walls?”

“Don’t—don’t even,” he grumbles, fingertips digging into your skin. 

Roy claps his hands, shaking his head in disbelief.

Barry Allen:

You’re not sure why you agreed to play this stupid game. You’re not even sure who came up with the idea to play this. Given almost everyone here is either pushing thirty or well beyond it, you have no idea where seven minutes of heaven even came from.

But now, put on the spot and told to get into the old janitors closet with Barry fucking Allen of all people, you wish you’d never agreed to play. More than that, judging by the stupid smirk on Hal Jordan’s face, you wish you’d never told the stupid Lantern about the torch you carry for Barry.

Hal whistles lowly, looking between you and the speedster. “Come on now, we don’t have all day.”

You flip him the bird and shoot him a glare, a weak distraction from the knots that your stomach has been tied in. Barry’s gaze burns into your face but you can’t bring yourself to look, leaving yourself to wonder if he feels as flustered as you do right now.

You glance at the closet, the door haunting you. The sound of Barry’s Converse sneakers scuffing against the floor has your head snapping up, eyes finally meeting his. Heat immediately blooms in the pit of your stomach, crawling it’s way through each and every one of your veins.

You swallow hard and force yourself to meet his strides and walk towards the closet.

Hal, not being able to help himself as usual, grins wickedly. “You kids have fun, okay?”

Barry scoffs and mutters something under his breath that you can’t hear. You silently put a curse on the pilot, hoping even more of his hair will go grey.

The door to the closet closes, darkness falls and you find yourself pressed chest to chest with Barry Allen.

“We don’t have to kiss if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable.”

You can barely make out the frown on his face. “I can feel your heart racing,” he mumbles, and it sends a shiver up your spine.

“That doesn’t mean I’m uncomfortable.”

“Then what are you?”

You’re not sure why you do it. Maybe it’s the growing tension in this tiny dark closet, or maybe it’s to save yourself from saying something that you’ll great, but suddenly you find your lips pressed against Barry’s.

You expect him to push you away, to want to talk more. You’re not ready for the hunger he responds with, for him to push you against the wall and cup a hand behind your thigh and to graze your lips with his teeth.

It’s not awkward like how you expected it to be. It’s hot and dizzying and has butterflies erupting in your stomach. You kiss him back just as ferociously, snaking your hands up his shoulders and into his hair and tugging on it.

You—a loud knock comes at the door, Barry flinching back from you. You have just enough time to wipe some of the wetness off your mouth before Hal rips the door open and light comes streaming in.

You blink, entirely shocked by the redness of Barry’s cheeks and the complete mess you made of his hair. Hal looks just as surprised as you feel, looking between the mess you made of Barry Allen and your own perfectly composed face.

“Shit,” he says, shaking his head. “You really went for it.”

Barry shoulders past him, grabbing your hand in his. “Shut up, Hal.”

Hal Jordan:

The music blaring from the old bar speakers is almost enough to drown out the sound of Hal Jordan making the last shot in pool. The cue ball clacks against the 8 and you watch with wide eyes as it sails across the table, bounces off the side and perfectly sinks into the pocket he called.

He turns to face you with a toothy grin, pool stick still clutched in his hand. “So?”

Heat rushes to your head as you remember your earlier bet with him. If I get this ball in, he’d said, you have to kiss me like you mean it. 

It was an eye rolling comment, something you’d snorted at despite having a very strong urge to actually kiss him. Not that you’d ever tell Hal that—it would go straight to his head.

But now, faced with the smiling pilot, all messy hair and warm eyes, you kind of wish you hadn’t made that bet.

Barry smiles at you from the other side of the table, his eyes knowing. Your partner at pool, albeit not much help with how clumsy he is, is the only one who knows just how you feel about Hal Jordan. You’re not entirely convinced he didn’t throw the game on purpose just so he can finally stop hearing about Hal Jordan.

You sigh and take a step towards Hal, slowly closing the gap between the two of you. You’re a few inches away when Hal suddenly rests a hand on the small of your back and tugs you flush against him, his lips hovering mere centimetres away from yours.

The breath catches in your throat. You close the gap between you, moving your lips against his. The taste of leftover whiskey and smoke on his lips fills your mouth, the flavour an odd comfort among your racing heart and frayed nerve ends.

Hal’s hand is warm on your back, his body radiating heat through yours. You pull away and swallow away your nerves, forcing a brave smile.

“That good enough for you, Jordan?” You say and you’re entirely surprised you managed to say it without stuttering.

His cheeks are flushed, mouth slightly open as he looks at you in surprise. “I don’t—”

You laugh and Dinah Lance, propped against the counter next to Oliver, wolf whistles. 

“Cat got your tongue?” You go to take a step back only for Hal to catch your wrist. “What, do you want round 2?”

And you should know to never, ever challenge Hal Jordan, especially not when his heart is racing and the adrenaline is hitting him so clearly. Hal tugs you back into him, cupping your chin and smashing his lips back onto yours.

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thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡

[suigenerisisadiva]

5 seconds of freedom... Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader, Batfam x Batsis!Reader

in which your poor attempt at sneaking out to go visit your arachnid bf peter doesn't go unnoticed by your dad

It's 11:37PM and you're sneaking out on a Friday night

Being told you can't patrol is one thing. Being told you can't leave the Manor at all? Unacceptable. Unfortunately, sneaking out of Wayne Manor while your father is Batman was never going to end well.

You'd almost made it.

That was the worst part.

Your bedroom window was open, your backpack was slung over one shoulder, and one leg was already balanced on the balcony railing. Peter had texted fifteen minutes ago that he was parked waiting at the end of the Manor's exorbitantly long driveaway, wayyy past the gate, with cookies, an abundance of snacks and a movie because, "if you can't leave the house for patrol, surely you can leave the house for popcorn."

You were just about to lower yourself onto the ivy climbing the side of the Manor, just enough so you could step onto a ledge, when a familiar voice drifted through the room.

"Having trouble with the door, sweetheart?"

You froze.

Slowly, painfully, you turned your head.

Bruce stood in the doorway with his arms folded, still in a grey Wayne Enterprises suit, looking far less angry than he looked... disappointed.

"...Hi, Daddy."

"Hi honey."

Silence stretched between you.

You glanced at the window.

Then back at him.

"...This isn't what it looks like."

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

"You're halfway out of a fourth-story window."

"I was... getting fresh air."

"With a backpack?"

"...Prepared fresh air."

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You have three fractured ribs, a concussion, and stitches that Alfred specifically told you not to pull."

"I wasn't going on patrol."

"I know."

"...Peter wanted to watch movies."

"I know."

Your eyes widened. "You knew?"

"He texted me."

You stared.

"He what?"

Bruce reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and calmly read aloud.

'Mr. Wayne, I promise I wasn't encouraging her to do anything dangerous. I actually tried talking her out of climbing the window.

Please don't be mad at her. Or me. Mostly me.'

You groaned loud enough to wake the ancestors.

"He snitched on me."

"He informed me."

"He snitched."

Bruce fought the smallest smile, "I appreciate his honesty."

You sighed dramatically before climbing back inside, wincing as your ribs reminded you exactly why you were on bed rest.

"Weren't you at the Gala? You weren't supposed to be home for another couple of hours."

Bruce waited until both your feet were firmly on the floor.

"You're grounded baby."

"What?"

"No patrol. No sneaking out. No leaving the Manor until Leslie clears you."

"You do a better job of keeping me in the house than you do the Joker in Arkham." You grumbled

Your father stared at you for a long moment.

"...Okay that was funny, but I'm not changing my mind."

"Worth a shot."

He walked over, gently adjusted the blanket that had slipped off your shoulders, and rested a hand on the top of your head.

"You scared me enough already."

The teasing vanished from your face.

"...I'm sorry."

"I know."

By breakfast the next morning, somehow, everyone knew.

Jason spotted you first, grinning.

"How'd prison treat you?"

"I hate you."

"Nah."

Dick slid into the chair beside you with entirely too much enthusiasm, "I heard you got caught trying to Rapunzel your way out of the Manor."

Tim didn't even look up from his cereal.

"You know Bruce installed motion sensors on your balcony after you were fourteen, right?"

"...He what?"

"You've been sneaking out through the monitored window for years."

Damian looked up from his tea with all the dignity of a judge delivering a sentence.

"A profoundly embarrassing performance, Sister."

You buried your face in your hands, "I don't want to talk about it."

Cass quietly reached over and patted your shoulder.

"...Peter brought cookies."

You looked up hopefully.

"He left them with Alfred." She added

Jason smirked. "Grounded with snacks."

Dick nodded solemnly. "Could be worse."

"It literally couldn't."

From the other end of the table, Bruce calmly took a sip of coffee.

"It could."

Everyone looked at him.

"You could have lost phone privileges." The table erupted into horrified gasps.

You pointed accusingly at him. "You're bluffing."

Bruce hid another smile behind his mug.

"...Am I?"

A/N: Based off that one time two of my older brothers once snuck out of the house. One of them landed safely after jumping off the roof and the other one miscalculated his jump and landed on a different roof (it was the roof of my dad's SUV) and broke his shin and hurt his arm. this is literally why women live longer than men prove me wrong.