summary: Bruce has a tendency to stay up too late working, making his pregnant wife come all the way downstairs to convince him to join her in bed
warnings: sexual innuendos obvi, mentions of scars from whipping, pregnancy symptoms, self-deprecatory thoughts and beliefs, not proofread 😁
Bruce knew he should be in bed.
As soon as he was finished writing up the report from patrol, he should have removed his cowl and costume, turned off his monitors, climbed up the bat-cave steps, and curled up beside you in your Egyptian silk sheets. He could only imagine the heat of your skin against his; the way your body throws itself over his subconsciously.
Yes. He should really be in bed.
But he couldn't drag himself away from work. Not when he had a lead on Dagget's newest offense. If he was lucky, he could trace the fingerprints he'd found left behind on a window-pane, and be one step closer to revealing the truth behind this investigation. Just one more hour...
The elevator shaft behind him began reeling; signaling the arrival of a guest.
You.
Bruce's eyes shifted to the time and he mentally kicked himself. It was past midnight. He mentally kicked himself for the being the cause of another sleepless night for you.
The elevator doors slid open nearly silently and he listened to the soft padding of feet on the cave's floor. Your feet were most likely swelling, again.
"Head back to bed, sweet girl, and I'll join you soon." He murmured, eyes fixed on the analyzing data in front of him.
A hand slid up his bicep to his broad shoulder, thumb massaging the tense muscle there. Bruce groaned.
"Can't sleep without you, Brucey."
It didn't take any effort to peel his gaze from the computer to you.
Bruce hadn't believed in angels until he met you. From the first moment he saw you in that coffee shop, he hadn't been able to think of anything else. And now, with his ring on your finger and the swell of your silk encased stomach from his child, Bruce knew heaven existed. And it was wherever his wife was.
Bruce reached out for you. "Keep me company a while?"
Without further encouragement, you straddled his lap--with some awkwardness thanks to your growing midsection--and laced your fingers behind his neck. You smelled like lavender and vanilla and felt like home.
You pressed your lips to his in reunion. "Missed you."
His fingers dug into the softness of your hips, tongue tracing the seam of your lips. "What did my sweet girl do today?"
"I went to Jason's place with Tim to drop off the rest of his books and then to lunch. Afterwards I took a nap and Alfred was kind enough to wake me up with cookies--and, no, the baby didn't save you any."
"The baby?" he withdrew slightly to take in the tired, mischievous gleam in your eyes. "It would seem the baby has been slighting their father for quite some time now. First with stealing all the blankets and pillows and now with cookies?"
"They're sneaky, like you."
"Apparently, everything's my fault."
"Well," your finger spun the hair at the nape of his neck idly, "when you cheat on your wife with work in the middle of the night, you're automatically blamed."
Bruce trailed kisses along your neck, an apology for keeping you waiting. "You know how I am-"
"Work obsessed and tireless." You shouldered a lock of hair back to give Bruce more skin to work with as you scolded him. He hummed against your pulse, the noise repentant. "I only wish I had as much energy as you. These days, it feels like I wake up and am instantly exhausted."
Before finding out you were pregnant, you had been a dynamo; flitting from one project to another. It wasn't until your second trimester that you began switching luncheons for naps and family nights for early retirement. Bruce and the boys had been extra careful to attend and provide for your wants and needs, from stocking up the ingredients for your cravings to keeping an anti-acid in all of their wallets for your chronic heartburn.
Bruce knew you missed your previous lifestyle, something he had come to guilt himself for cutting short, but you knew him better than anyone else and that meant you were able to smother his fears and regret with reassurances. There was nothing more important you could be doing than growing a piece of him and you, you took as your newest mantra whenever you found him stuck in his own head.
You had been his savior in many ways but he always found himself in awe at the thought that you wanted to build a future, a life, with him. You loved his Robins as your own, treated Alfred as an old friend, and--most importantly--showed up for Bruce in his darkest moments.
"Don't tell me you're still thinking about work."
Your soothing voice brought him back from his thoughts.
He looked up at you, mad at himself for bringing that melancholy frown to your lips. Before you, he might have brushed off your worry and ordered you back to bed to leave him be but you had taught him better.
His palms spanned across your abdomen, scarred fingers kneading the firm skin there. The nightgown you wore tonight fit you like a glove, showcasing every proud curve and giving Bruce the pleasure of seeing what was his.
"I was thinking," he pulled you to him until your fronts were flush as much as they could be, "that you're too good for me."
As he expected, your eyes rolled heavenward in exasperation. "Should I tattoo it over your heart, Bruce Thomas Wayne? I. Love. You."
"And I love you-"
Your finger pinned his lips closed as you glared at him. "I love you and I don't want you saying things like that anymore. If I hear another self-deprecating word from this mouth, I will revoke privileges."
His brow rose in curiosity.
"I will reinstate the pregnancy pillow." You decided.
That had Bruce's eyes widening. He spoke around your finger, "Don't be so hasty, baby!"
"Then stop it." You snapped.
Any other person would have seen the wrath of the Dark Knight if they'd dared speak to him like that. Found themselves dangling from the cave ceiling or knocked on their ass. But he just looked at you with desire. The same thing that had Damian grumbling under his breath at dinner or Dick teasing about a houseful of little Wayne's.
He couldn't stop himself as he kissed you, easily man-handling your body to meld to his preferences.
As he suspected, your limbs went lax as you returned his affection, a moan building in your throat when his hand cupped your throat, moving your head this way and that in guidance.
You might be able to yell at and scold him but Bruce always took back control.
Your fingertips glided over his naked back, feeling the raised scars there from his time as an apprentice of Ra's Al Ghul. Every scar he had, you had kissed dozens of times. He never felt ashamed to bare himself in front of you the way he did when he laid with his past dates. You made him feel whole despite all of his loss and grief.
"You're not bringing that damned pillow back." He growled against your mouth, hips shifting beneath you to support his decision.
You gasped, sensitive from pregnancy.
"Tell me you won't bring it back." He ordered, hips raising again.
"I-I won't!"
He smiled darkly, fingers playing with the hem of your nightgown to push it further up your smooth thighs. You had made him shave your legs this morning as you couldn't reach them without a struggle.
"You wouldn't even be able to find it. I burned it to embers the first night you insulted me with it."
You chuckled breathily. "Good thing I have my billionaire husband's credit card at my disposal. I can buy the entire company and then some."
Bruce nipped at your collarbone. "I hope you weren't planning on getting any rest tonight. Our bed won't be used for sleeping after your impertinence."
"I didn't tell you why I wanted you to come to bed."
author's note: i can feel the words flowing from me 🌊 call me aquaman
I'm getting so sick of major female characters in historical media being incredibly feisty, outspoken and public defenders of women's rights with little to no realistic repercussions. Yes it feels like pandering, yes it's unrealistic and takes me out of the story, yes the dialogue almost always rings false - but beyond all that I think it does such a disservice to the women who lived during those periods. I'm not embarrassed of the women in history who didn't use every chance they had to Stick It To The Man. I'm not ashamed of women who were resigned to or enjoyed their lot in life. They weren't letting the side down by not having and representing modern gender ideals. It says a lot about how you view average ordinary women if the idea of one of your main characters behaving like one makes them seem lame and uninteresting to you.
Made this post the other day and now all I can think about is The Party treating Steve like their iPad kid.
Steve is the only person they can annoy into taking them to local conventions and events.
He drove. They gave him gas money. It worked out pretty well except that Steve was never interested in why they were there, would get bored after a while, and then try to rush them into leaving.
Steve finally entering the twenty-first century and getting an iPad really helped.
He just finds somewhere to sit and plays games while they do their nerd stuff.
Now the only issues they run into is when Steve comes up to Dustin in line at a meet and greet like, “This isn’t working.”
“Did you turn on the hotspot?” Dustin asks. “You have to turn on the hotspot. Do you have to be told everything?”
“How do you do that?”
“The way I showed you last time. I can’t do everything for you, Steve,” Dustin lectures as he actively does everything for him.
He hands him back the iPad and then yells after Steve when he goes to sit back down, “Keep the volume turned down.”
Dustin then turns to people (older than him and Steve) in line in front of him with a gesture like ‘kids these days, am I right?’
mumbo is SO MEAN when he's taking over other peoples' bodies, it's like the second he's inhabiting another skin he knows every consequence will land on the body he's snatched so he just goes pedal to the metal spiteful and vindictive. i hope he does it even more often. i hope he subs in for yet another lifer in two episodes' time and does his very best to be mean and rude and then dies at the end for good measure
