yesterday, you and bruce had an argument. nothing major, just a slight one. and today he was apologizing to you— in his own way
“bruce! slow— fuuuuck, slow down!”
you’ll be damned if he slowed down. your mind was dizzy from bruce’s mouth practically leeched on your cunt, his tongue lapping your clit at a pace that made breathless gasps of his name leave your gaped lips, almost seeing stars in your vision.
his large arms were hooked under your legs and pulled you closer, making sure you didn’t move an inch and that your legs were still spread while he got to work
“im so sorry for the other day” bruce murmured, his tongue not stopping for a second and way too focused on how good you tasted. “wasn’t in my right mind, mm”
he moaned a low sound of pleasure from how good you tasted, burying his face in between your legs more and applying more pressure with both his tongue and the tip of his nose. that sent a buzz through your body, a moan immediately leaving your lips before you could control yourself
bruce’s blabbers didn’t stop and in fact, only grew with each second of suffocating his face in your pussy, apologizing while talking about how good you tasted at the same time.
and all your efforts of trying to at least be stubborn all went down the drain the moment your orgasm washed into his mouth, so intense it had you arching your back more to his mouth.
even as you soaked his chin and mouth, bruce didn't stop for a second and licked every drop of your mess with a victory smirk hiding between your legs
damn you, bruce wayne
—————————————————————————
and now back to your daily programmmm (ill admit my brain blanked when i was writing this)
SYNOPSIS: Damian pushes her head back down to his chest and smooths his hand through her hair gently. "Nothing of concern." He murmurs quietly, in a tone that the others have never heard before. "Go back to sleep, Habibti."
"Oh my God." Dick blinks in amazement.
"I don't think pinching is enough, I might have to ask Jason to shoot me in the foot." Tim wheezes when Dick elbows his chidingly.
MASTERLIST
"Someone pinch me." Tim whispers in disbelief, peering into the living room from the doorway leading to the hall.
The glare Damian fixes him with from his spot on the couch is withering, and if Tim wasn't a bat that was practically immune to his little brother's moods he would've ran for the hills.
Instead, he grins, slow and shit-eating. "Dick!" He calls over his shoulder. "Dick, come here!"
"Quiet!" Damian hisses, voice pitched low. The scowl on his face is fierce, and completely at odds with the entire scene.
He's laying on the couch, his girlfriend nestles onto his chest, fast asleep. There's a movie nobody's paying attention to anymore droning on in the background, his arms around her securely making sure she stays put and comfortable. She is warm against him, soft and soothing. The weight of her makes the thing that's always coiled tense and tight in his chest unwind, the scent of her coaxes his muscles to relax.
Nights like this are his favourite, back at their abode. Soft music playing in the background, the lights dimmed low and those candles she loves lit on the coffee table. It's moments like those where everything slows down and Damian feels, if but for a while, that he can be still and not suffer the consequences.
His first mistake was agreeing to stay over at the manor. It's the middle of the night, and it was a mistake on his part to oversee the fact that half of his idiotic family is practically nocturnal.
It was just so easy to fall back into habits, he'd been cocooned with the familiarity of her body against his before Damian had realised that perhaps this was not the best place to settle down without the intention of being seen.
It's not that he wishes to avoid being seen with her; that would be a lie severe enough to warrant cutting his tongue out in punishment. No, if Damian had his way, they'd never be apart. He'd have her with him always. It's more that...he's naturally a private person. It had taken an entire year for him to bring her over to the manor itself. These little things, the little pockets of contentedness, Damian finds himself protective over them. He wants every shred of her kindness, wants to keep it close to his chest where it'll be safe.
By the time his oldest brother enters the room curiously, Damian's ears are a little red, but he refuses to let anything but disdain show on his face.
He does not understand why they are treating this like such a monumental sight. He loves her. They live together. They have been each other's for two years now and yet the sight of them together like this is still enough for Dick to laugh in glee and pull his phone out.
"Grayson, I will eviscerate you." He threatens as the flash goes off. "Put that away, this is childish." Automatically, his hand covers her eyes to shield it from the burst of light, and Grayson at least has the decency to look apologetic.
"You're gonna have to move out from under there first, Dami." Dick snickers, looking through the photos, barely holding back a coo. "This is adorable." He grins. "I'm getting this printed; it's going up on a wall here somewhere."
"You will do no such thing!" His face prickles with heat. "As if I-"
He cuts himself off when she stirs against his chest with a soft sound, eyes fluttering open, half lidded. "Hmm?"
Tim and Dick watch in amazement as their brother, regal and cut from stone, softens into something quieter. The hard lines smooth over, the determined glint in his eye ebbs away.
Damian pushes her head back down to his chest and smooths his hand through her hair gently. "Nothing of concern." He murmurs quietly, in a tone that the others have never heard before. "Go back to sleep, Habibti."
The trust between them is obvious, because all she does is answer with a sleepy hum, and push herself a little higher on his body so she can tip her face into the crook of his neck. Damian's arms tighten around her, and he adjusts to make them more comfortable.
"Oh my God." Dick blinks in amazement.
"I don't think pinching is enough, I might have to ask Jason to shoot me in the foot." Tim wheezes when Dick elbows his chidingly.
"We can go to our room." Damian is not startled when she whispers against his neck. Perhaps if he was younger, more brash and easily riled up he would have agreed. Maybe he would have even pushed her off, or been vigilant enough to never let himself be caught in this position to begin with.
But he's grown older, and being here with his family has chiselled down his sharper edges into ones that are still rough, but don't cut as easily. He wouldn't call it 'going soft', because at the end of the day Damian is still inherently the same person. But he understands more now, he knows that beneath their teasing, their intentions are innocent. Their eyes are warm with something like pride and happiness for him. Grayson exudes it as the telltale ping on his phone on the coffee table tells him those pictures have just been sent to him.
"We have no obligation to move." He answers, taking her nuzzling into him as agreement. He's tuned his brother's out, but eventually Tim steps out when his phone rings, and Grayson takes his leave shortly after with a wink and a grin.
And it's peaceful.
They lay there for a moment until he notices fondly that their breathing is in sync.
Carefully, he feels around the back of the couch with one hand and grabs the decorative throw Alfred introduced to the rotation last month. Damian shakes it out and adjusts it to cover them, knowing by the soft exhale against his skin that it was the right choice.
"Wake me up if we do need to move." She says sleepily, lips brushing against his jaw chastely. "Love you, Dami."
Fondness seeps through him, cements itself in the cracks of something he had always felt was missing before she came into his life. A balm, cool to the touch, healing to his soul.
"Ya Rouhi." is lips press against her forehead, sweet and intense as he always is. "Rest."
He watches her muscles relax, watches the way she trusts him so openly, notes exactly when she falls back asleep with the way her breathing deepens. Damian always sleeps better with her there, holding onto her like this, keeping her against him reassures that part of him that is used to his joy being torn away for a lesson that might have been beat into him regardless.
He feels better knowing she's safe, protected, even if he knows she's the last person that would need it.
Eventually sleep calls to him too, the crackling fireplace ambient noise enough for Damian to let his eyes shut as well. He'd probably resolve to get up after a while, to carry her to the room they're staying in because although it's cozy here, he would much prefer to rest on an actual mattress.
But for now, the moment is his. Theirs.
"What the fuck am I seeing?"
Nevermind.
Annoyance flaring, he holds back a sigh and takes the blanket off of them, manoeuvring to slide an arm under her knees and pick her up.
Jason looks stunned as Damian pushes past him towards the stairs wordlessly.
"Told you so." She smiles against his chest when he grumbles.
One funny thing about the new Batman run is Batman being like “hey hallucination Alfred? Why didn’t you tell me about your great niece?” And the Alfred that I cannot stress enough is a figment of his imagination is like “well master Bruce, it was written in my will, which you have not read” and Bruce is then like “what’s this mysterious society she’s a part of?” And the Alfred, that is not real and does not know what real Alfred did, is like “that’s in the will as well” and Bruce. Still does not check that will
In Loeb's run, with Bruce always blaming himself for Martha's death and by extension Thomas's because he suggested she wear her pearls to the theatre that night, got me wondering whether Bruce really dresses as ostentatious as he could. Like, the man is a billionaire, he should be walking around with a few G's of that shit on but in reality? Bruce consistently wears more affordable options when he can on a day to day basis. His watch? It's a hand-me-down from Alfred, not cheap but hardly worth more than a hundred dollars. His suits? Well-made, classy, but hardly anything worth as much as you imagine. He breaks out when he's going to a gala, he's got that Armani, that Gucci, that Chanel and Dior thing going but heading to the office or into the city? He's dressing more economically. Even the kids, Bruce could kit them out in custom designer shit, but no, his kids are sensibly dressed but they don't leave the house with anything overly expensive. People constantly praise him for being modest or even frugal, some people even make fun of it in the media especially with the kids but in truth? Bruce equates his wealth with danger and death. His money funds Batman, Batman protects him, his kids and family and his city, his money feeds his kids, keeps them warm but it is also the reason they are in danger, they are targets, they are.... marked.
hiii!, if you don’t mind me asking could you do platonic!batfam x civilian!batsib reader who ends up getting taken by the joker and if feels weirdly familiar to what happened to jason. ty for reading my req :3
Too Late.
Chapter 1: Smile.
platonic!batfam x civilian!Reader.
omg guys, is my first ask!!!!! I’m so happy and I work hard for it. Since the asker didn’t specify the gender, I did it as GN. I hope you guys like it, part two is coming soon!
Value.
Such a simple word, yet one that has sparked countless debates. To some, value is measured in wealth, in possessions, status, and things that can be bought. To others, it lies in something far less tangible. It isn't purchased, but earned through love, trust, sacrifice, and time.
For Y/N Wayne, however, the word had long since lost its meaning. After all, they had never been considered worthy of anything. Not worthy of love. Not worthy of attention. Not even worthy of hatred. Because to hate someone, you first have to acknowledge that they exist, and no one has spared Y/N more than a passing glance.
Being a Wayne is no easy task. Being a normal Wayne is even worse. And that's where you, Y/N Wayne, fits. Not a genius, like Tim. No overwhelming charism, like Dick. Too normal. Too boring. Forgettable. Y/N weren't unloved because anyone chose to be cruel towards them, but because everyone assumed someone else was looking after them. And that… That was the mistake that led the Batfamily towards regret and pain.
Day 1
The Wayne manor was never truly quiet. Someone was always laughing, arguing, training or running late to patrol. The grandfather clock chimed somewhere in the foyer while Alfred ran the kitchen. Dicks laugh echoed from the drawing room, followed by Jason's complaint about something Damian had, undoubtedly, said on purpose. Tim, who had been awake for an unhealthy amount of hours, counting solely on caffeine and stubbornness. It was warm. Lively. And somehow, no room for you in it.
Descending the staircase unnoticed, you heard the oldest talking about one of his old circus stories. There was a time you would want to engage, ask questions about it and be the great listener you always were. But not today. Today you decided to take advantage of the almost nonexistent attention you received from the family, to just grab something easy to eat and go walk to school.
School had taught you something important : people rarely asked questions if you looked like you knew where you were going. So you wandered. To libraries. To cafes. To rooftops, overlooking how the city swallows their inhabitants. You caught yourself here more times you can count, gaze weighing on Gotham's streets, which always seemed so alive. Anywhere but home, not because you hated the manor, but because it made no difference being there.
You finally felt the raindrops coldly touching your skin, making you retreat to shelter yourself. Eyes scanning as the people start to disperse. The sky slowly turned into a ugly and lifeless shade of grey. A pair of eyes looked at your back, an amused and predatory smile creeping into the stranger's mouth.
It is time to go home…
The streets emptied. Neon signs reflected in the puddles. You walked slowly, hood pulled low against the weather. A shiver ran down your spine, the city was different. Quieter and yet awake. It whispered. Warned. Watched.
From behind, a faint squeak of rubber against wet asphalt could be heard. Your hands closed tightly around your backpack strap as you slowly turned behind. A smile, painted in crimson, stretched across the man's face. A smile that every gothamite knew.
“No…”- You muttered quietly, almost in disbelief.
Laughter echoed into the empty space. High pitched, creepy and dangerously unmistakable.
“Oh.”- The man stepped closer, amusement dancing in his eyes.- “There you are.”
Your fingertips felt slightly numb from your tightening grip. For all the times you wished you had been noticed, not once you imagined it would be by such terrifying eyes.
Day 2
Y/N's absence, unlike Jason's one, came quiet. No people looking. No worry from a parent whose child is missing. Quiet as if someone who had already prepared to leave.
The manor was unusually quiet. Not peaceful. Heavy.
Dick noticed it first, his eyes wandered through his siblings, everyone was there. Everyone. The silence between conversations had grown longer over the past few days, each member of the family retreating into their own routines. Patrols ended with little more than a nod before everyone disappeared behind closed doors.
The only person who wasn't there anymore was the one no one had realized had stopped trying.
"...Has anyone seen Y/N?"-Tim asked the question absentmindedly while scrolling through reports in the Batcave. Dick frowned.
"They weren't at breakfast."-Damian looked up from sharpening his sword.-"They have not joined dinner in four nights."
Bruce's fingers paused above the Batcomputer keyboard.
"Vacation?" Jason suggested, though he didn't sound convinced.
"For gods sake Jason, they're thirteen."- Dick shook his head.
Silence settled over the cave. Bruce typed the reader's communicator ID into the system.
No signal. No recent transmissions. No GPS. Nothing.
"That's... odd."-Tim frowned harder.
"I've been trying to reach them since yesterday."- Barbara's voice crackled through the speakers.
"You didn't tell me."- Bruce looked up.
"I assumed someone here knew where they were."
No one answered. Dick's stomach tightened. When was the last time he'd actually spoken to them? Not a passing "Good patrol." Not asking them to grab equipment. An actual conversation.
He doesn't know.
Day 3
The room smelled of rust, mildew and old concrete. Somewhere above, water dripped with a maddening ‘plop’ sound, each echo stretching through the darkness like a countdown. A single bare bulb swung from the ceiling, throwing jagged shadows that never seemed to stay still.
Your wrist burned against the rope binding them to the chair. Every attempt to move only made the coarse fibers bite back deeper into your skin. The cut in your face pulsating, blood and spit as you couldn't keep your mouth closed. Tears had been long gone, leaving you only with that numbness.
A burst of laughter shattered the silence. Slow, deliberate footsteps approached from the darkness until polished purple shoes appeared beneath the edge of the light.
“The babybat seems quite tired.”- Joker sang. His grin impossibly wide.- “At this point I shouldn't be calling you a bat, right? It is not like he claimed you as one too.”
The cruel words danced out of his tongue. His mocking tone does little to hide his amusement.
“Child, y'know what the Bat hates the most?”- He mused.- “Not losing, that's nothing for him.”- He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper.- “He hates being too late.”
Your mind wandered, hanging by a thread. Truth be told, if Bruce really hates being too late, you would never know, after all he never shows up for you. The man circled you lazily, humming to himself and watching you every reaction. Then he glanced towards an old television in the corner, its static filling the room with a faint hiss.
“Should we send them something? I do love an audience.”
Every sound outside the room became a source of hope. A distant creak. A muffled crash. footsteps that never came close. Joker every trace of your face looking for optimism.
“oh, still waiting for them, aren't you?”- He chuckled, almost sympathetically.- “Hope is a fragile thing and is also a privilege, child. It seems there is no spare left for you.”
He tapped the side of your chair with theatrical impatience before wandering away again, leaving only the swinging light and the deafening silence behind.
Day 4.
Four days. Seventy two hours of your disappearance. First the family thought you were just going with your routine and soon would be home. But then one day passed. And then two… Three… And here they are.
“Bruce.”- Barbara called, her voice changed. Heavier. Concerned.- “I… I found something.”
Every eye turned to the monitor. Several traffic cameras flickered onto the screen, the footage was grainy and rain distorted the image. The timestamp read four days earlier. There, Y/N stepped out of an alley, hands holding tight to their backpack as they turned around. For anyone else it seemed normal, for detectives it looked haunting. Then hands grabbed the child, pulling them back to the alley and then… Nothing.
“Every nearby camera either malfunctioned or was disabled.”- Barbara said while clicking another file.
Bruce's expression hardened. Tim was already typing.
“No ransom demands. No financial activity. No digital footprint.”- His fingers wandered fastly around the keyboard.- “Someone wanted them to disappear.”
As if the circumstances were not gloomy enough, a notification appeared. An encrypted video file. No sender. No metadata. Only a single line of text.
For the Bat.
No one moved
“Dont.”- Dick asked, but Bruce opened it anyway.
Static. Then darkness and with it a lone hanging light. A familiar chair. The image was blurry, as if the camera had been intentionally damaged. Y/N was in the center of it.
Alive.
Barely, but alive. Exhausted, bound and hurt. Before anyone could speak, laughter echoed through the speakers. Slow, cheerful and completely unhinged.
“oh, Bats!”- The clown stepped into view.- “I was wondering when you'd notice something was missing.”- His wide smile filled the screen.- “I have to admit…”- joker tilted his head, eyes fixed directly on the camera.- “I expected it to take two days… It took four. You are quite something, ain't you?”
No one in the cave dared to speak. Joker crouched beside the chair, flashing the camera an exaggerated pout.
“Poor thing, kept waiting for you.”- He laughed.- “But… This one isn't as important as the first one, right? Will you let me keep it?! They don't even call for you anymore!”
Dicks fist clenched until his knuckles turned white. Jason, beside the pale complexion, looked ready to smash the monitor. Bruce didn't move, his face remained unreadable. Only Alfred, standing silently near the cave entrance, notices his master's hands trembling.
“You see Bat, this one is quite different from him… They are sadder. Quieter.”- The screen flickered, its image going blank for a few seconds and then flickered back to life. Bruce almost wished it hadn't.
The room appeared again. For several seconds, nothing happened. Then Joker stepped into the frame, smiling. That alone was enough to make Jason's stomach turn. The clown paced around Y/N, humming beneath his breath.
“Sadness. I hate it.”- Stopping beside the chair, he leaned down.- “So… I've decided to help your bird.”- He laughed openly.- “Show them, Child. You've been so unhappy, I'm sure they have never seen you like this!”
“No.”- Jason muttered, chest rising and falling in despair.
The camera shifted and Joker moved out of the way. Bruce's breath stopped. A red line curved across Y/N's face. The grotesque imitation of a smile. Deep. Crooked. A mess of dried blood and spit. Y/N eyes remained opened, yet empty.
The room went silent. Dick hand covered his mouth. Tim stopped breathing. Damian stared at the screen with an expression no one has ever seen on him. Horror.
Jason didnt move. He couldnt. For a horrible second, he wasnt in the batcave, he was back there. Years ago. Bound. The same laughter. The same feeling of helplessness. the same sick realization that Joker wasnt merely trying to hurt them. He was trying to make their suffering into a joke.
“There!”- Joker spread his arms.- “Much better! Now you're happy.”- He laughed hard, arms curling into his stomach. When he stopped, his grin stretched wider than ever.- “The time is running, Bat. Tic-Tac. How much do they have to lose before you decide they're worth saving? Well…Until there, we'll be having some fun.”
The video ended. Silence. No one spoke. No one knew how to. Bruce stared at the blank screen. For the first time in years…Batman had no plan. Only guilt. And somewhere beneath Gotham, someone they had unknowingly left alone was still waiting for a rescue they had never realized needed to happen.
