I posted 1,319 times in 2022
That's 1,319 more posts than 2021!
379 posts reblogged (29%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
I tagged 1,312 of my posts in 2022
Only 1% of my posts had no tags
#honeycombstrawberry - 478 posts
#adrian chase - 407 posts
#adrian chase x reader - 188 posts
#vigilante x reader - 186 posts
Longest Tag: 139 characters
#i have to be better at reblogging fics on here that i read and like because i always forget and reblogging is vital to the tumblr ecosystem
Anyways. Just thinkin bout. Stealing Adrian’s clothes. Small/short reader. Stealing all of his hoodies and his suit and stuff. How he would get super possessive and touchy and cuddley and stuff. Just. Please. 👉👈
pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns)
one-sentence synopsis: you notice that adrian seems to like it when you borrow his clothes, so you decide to try a little experiment of sorts.
author's note: okay so when i say this got away from me i very sincerely truly mean that it completely got away from me. it ended up being over 7k words. but also i'm incredibly small and so this prompt spoke to me and obviously i'm here because i want this giant man to scoop me up and freak on me so this prompt immediately took a special place in my heart.
You’ve never been very tall.
It’s never really bothered you. You know people make a lot of jokes about height, but being short is just the way you are. It’s not like you were taller and got shrunk; you’ve never known what it’s like to be tall, so. This is just life. You don’t mind it.
You’ve also never considered it to be anything special—
He’s got at least a foot of height on you, but more than that, he’s just— bigger. He’s tall, and he’s broad, and he’s strong, and when you’re with him, you feel like you’re none of those things. And, in all honesty, it seems like something that Adrian genuinely loves about you.
You start getting suspicious right away. When you first get together, you both have a bad habit of staying over each other’s places and just leaving shit everywhere. You can’t keep your hands off each other, so, when you’re tearing each other’s clothes off, things just happen to land all over the place. Neither of you is particularly organized in those moments, to be sure.
When you’ve only been dating for a few weeks, you wake up in the middle of the night at Adrian’s place and realize you’re fucking thirsty. You’re not surprised you’re dehydrated after what happened earlier, but you do know that you need water— like, now— and that Adrian is so deeply asleep that he doesn’t even move when you slip out from under his arm.
You shiver in the cool air of the room. Searching for something to cover your bare skin, you just grab the first article of clothing you can find in the dark. Feeling it out, then tugging it on, you realize from how large it is that it’s Adrian’s shirt, but it’ll have to do for now.
Besides, you like the idea of wearing his clothes. It’s like a mark of ownership, sort of; like he’s staking his claim without even being there. Even more than that, it gives you a sense of belonging, that the two of you are so close that his clothes can keep you warm and safe, too, just like he does.
It feels nice, is all. You feel nice. So, you pull the shirt on, you realize it’s Adrian’s, and you— leave it. It’s not hurting anybody. It’ll just be quick, and then you’ll be back, and it won’t even matter. He probably won’t even wake up to laugh at you.
You slip your arms through the sleeves and navigate through Adrian’s dark bedroom to find his bathroom. You slip the door closed, flip the light on, and get yourself a drink of water from the sink.
In your mirror’s reflection, you can see yourself wearing Adrian’s shirt— and literally nothing else. You watch your face heat up pink, flushing all over and spreading down your neck. You like the way it feels, you like the way it looks. You don’t want Adrian to think you’re, like— clingy, or obsessive, or whatever. But you like this.
You yawn unexpectedly, reminding you you should probably actually go back to sleep instead of standing here, drinking water, looking at yourself in your boyfriend’s shirt.
Flipping the bathroom light off, you make your careful way back to Adrian’s bedroom, only to find that he’s sitting up, his lamp flicked on and a bewildered expression on his face. He’s rubbing at one eye, glasses still on the side table.
When you come back, you say softly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“No, no worries,” Adrian says, yawning until his jaw cracks. “I was just thi—”
He stops short as he drops his hand to actually properly look at you and meet your eyes. He only does that for a moment before his eyes fall down to skim over your body instead. He clearly can’t see well, his vision unfocused before he scrambles for his glasses, cramming them onto his face. When he sees you in full clarity, he blushes red up to his ears, sprawling down his bare chest.
“Hey,” Adrian says. His voice is lower, more of a bass in it. It makes your heart skip, heat coiling low in your gut, an instinctive response. He climbs up on the covers, crawls towards the end of the bed. He sits up at the foot of it, observing you from closer. “You look really nice. Like, stupid nice.”
You look down at yourself. You know you must look pretty much like you do every time you wake up, except you’re wearing his clothes.
Adrian shifts where he’s sitting, and you look up to see him readjusting his position. Like you, he fell asleep without clothes on, and you can tell he’s already most of the way hard just from looking at you, which makes you feel like your blood is boiling just beneath your skin.
“Wanna come back to bed?” he asks you, and you don’t hesitate to come and climb right up on his lap, his hands gliding up under your shirt— his shirt, on you— as he tilts his head up for a kiss, searching, skin hot under your hands.
951 notes - Posted March 1, 2022
pairing: bruce wayne x reader (gn pronouns)
rating: m (vague references to torture, possessive behavior)
one-sentence synopsis: you didn't think bruce was coming, but he wasn't going to stop until he found you again.
author's note: ohhhhh man. oh shit i love the requests you guys sent me i combined a BUNCH for this one i hope you love this!!!!!
You really— You really thought he was going to come.
At first, you fully believed he was coming. You knew it, you knew, he just— He had to be coming. There was no other option. For somebody like Bruce, you really thought you were sure that he wouldn’t stop until he found you again. You thought you meant something to him. You thought that, even if he was only recovering your body, he would have found you.
You thought he might have loved you the way you loved him.
You’re realizing now that you thought wrong.
As each day passes— Or, as what you believe is each day passes, since you don’t have any windows to see the sunlight through— and Bruce doesn’t come, you start to get— worried. You don’t doubt Bruce, but you can’t help but doubt yourself.
What if he can’t find me? you think. What if he doesn’t want to? What if he hasn’t even realized I’m gone? What if he doesn’t care?
You know he cares about people. You know you do. It’s just that you aren’t always sure that you’re worth caring about in the first place. You put so, so much work in with Bruce to help him learn to love again, to open himself up to a friend, to make himself vulnerable to being hurt by being willing to have a connection with another person. He is loved— even if Bruce doesn’t necessarily know you’re in love with him— and you truly believed he loved you in return.
Maybe he does love you, a tiny part of your brain considers. Maybe he just can’t find you. Maybe he won’t find you in time and that won’t even matter. Maybe you should have said something and now you’ll never get the chance.
You’re not sure which option is worse.
With each maybe-day you spend confined in your cell, you grow more certain that Bruce isn’t going to come. You don’t know why, and you try to let go of reasons. It’s more important that you embrace the inevitable, find peace within yourself.
You only wish you’d confessed to Bruce.
Or— maybe you shouldn’t have. Maybe confessing your feelings to him, and having him reciprocate them, would only be hurting him now. You think you could have really had something, though. You think Bruce might have embraced you, and enjoyed his time with you, and seen you as a boon to him rather than a horror waiting to happen. It’s one of the only thoughts that gives you pleasure, and it’s double-edged with pain, laced through with poison. It hurts to think about what could have been when you’re growing increasingly certain you’ll never get it.
At least he’ll have Selina. It must be her that he keeps going to see, she must be the reason he’s not spending as much time with you, and he knows, he must know, but— You never had a chance to just— be honest. You could have ended it, or figured it out. You could have asked where he went all those nights he wasn’t with you in Gotham. You could have told Bruce you wanted him, that you were right there, that he didn’t have to be with someone else, that he could have you.
You want to live. You want to live. If for no other reason than— than positive reinforcement, you have to stay alive. You need to show Bruce that reaching out to others, that making a connection, that feeling love for another person, will not always be met with hurt. You need to show him your love for him is more than he ever knew about. You have to be honest, because you didn’t realize how strongly you’d regret not having been, in your last moments.
You have to live. For yourself, for him, for— for— anything that matters, you don’t care, you just have to live. With each day that you become more certain that Bruce isn’t coming, you become similarly determined to get out of this alive. It’s a sick back-and-forth, when you know you really can’t have one without the other. All the same, you’re dead set on getting out of here alive.
It really can’t be that long since you were initially captured. Not too much time could have passed between then and now, you’re sure of it. Maybe— a little over a week, or close to two? Not more than that.
That doesn’t mean, however, that nothing has happened to you. There has been plenty of time since the moment you were captured after leaving work in downtown Gotham to hurt you in a creative variety of ways. Because you’d been knocked unconscious to transport you, you don’t know where you are, or even how long you traveled for.
All you know is you felt a searing pain while you were walking down the sidewalk, and then you woke up in a dark cell, on a tile floor, against rough, scraping stone walls. A few times a day, someone comes in and—
—anything they can to try and get you to give up information about Batman, but—
975 notes - Posted April 2, 2022
since adrian is obsessed with friendship and the whole bff thing i was thinking what if his partner picks up one of those cute bff necklaces that are very obviously meant for children? they like “hey, you wanna wear bff necklaces?” i can imagine him lighting up and they’re CONSTANTLY wearing them. he even wears it under his vig stuff. how would the 11th street kids react as well? also would it be possible to get little situations involving the necklace? i need to get this out of my head but i’m picturing them grabbing his and pulling him down to kiss him. obvi you don’t have to do any of this i just thought it was cute 😭
pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns)
one-sentence synopsis: you're not expecting adrian to have this strong of a reaction to a simple gift, but the response he ends up having is nothing short of life-changing.
author's note: i wrote and uploaded this entirely on my phone before breakfast on this lovely saturday morning so please excuse any madnesses
You didn't think it was going to be a thing.
You at least thought it would be a thing— that Adrian would think you're thoughtful, and he'd wear it a couple of times because he's loving and silly, but he'd ultimately end up forgetting about it. You'd just seen the matching BFF necklaces up near the counter when checking out with your groceries, and you'd thought, I bet Adrian would like that, and so you'd gotten them.
The matching necklaces sparkle with rainbow glitter, each of the necklace half of a heart that says BFF through the center. Though the word is visible in its entirety when you put the halves together, it's easy enough to guess what they are when separated. They're not the prettiest; they're gaudy, and cheap, and tiny, and you didn't really expect it to be a Thing, but—
—But when you get home and say, "Hey, Adrian, I got you a present!" and he came bounding out to find the two necklaces in your hands, he'd frozen completely, which was— unexpected, to say the least.
It's an entirely unanticipated response, and you stop now, too, confused.
"You got me a present?" he asks, with a strange inflection, like you'd somehow mean the other Adrian sharing this apartment with you.
"Yeah," you tell him. You tear the tag holding the necklaces together, then turn the charms so he can see the heart they form together, BFF sparkling inside. "See? They're BFF necklaces. One of the best friends wears one half, and the other wears the other."
You offer him one of the halves, the chain dangling from your fingers. He takes it like it's going to detonate somehow, his eyes all wide and focused down on it, his face pink. You're impossibly endeared by his reaction.
"You're my best friend?" Adrian asks, holding his half of the heart in the center of his palm.
"I mean, I was hoping so," you tell him. "Unless you want to give the other half to Ch—"
"No!" he hurries to say. "No, I don't— I want—" His fingers curl up tight around the necklace. "No, I— Thank you."
He's not often at a loss for words, so you take it as a good sign that he liked his gift. It might be a little silly, and his reaction a little strange, but he does seem excited about it overall. He holds it out delightedly, asks, "Will you put it on for me?"
You grin and say, "Yeah, of course." He spins, and you reach to bring the necklace around his throat, clasping it together against the back knob of his spine. You adjust the necklace; he tugs it forward so he can look at it, held securely in his palm, locked around his neck, pressed over his heart.
He examines it for a beat longer, face pink, before he looks up and says, "Let me help you put yours on! Since we're best friends."
You laugh, and he smiles, but he does seem like he actually means it, that he's not joking. You hand him the necklace, and he turns you, bringing it up so he can fix yours on your own neck. When the charm settles in place over your sternum, you place your hand over it for a moment.
"You sure we can be best friends?" Adrian asks. It's like he's pushing you, testing your cracks, seeing if there's any way you might not mean this. You wonder how many times Adrian has thought he had a best friend that he didn't have before, his strong emotions unreciprocated by people who don't understand him.
You do, though. You tell him, "Of course we can."
"Even though we're together?" Adrian asks hopefully, skeptic.
"I think that's even part of it," you tell him. "We wouldn't want to be together if we didn't get along, right?"
Adrian considers this, then asks, "So… You're my partner, and my best friend?"
"Yeah," you tell him, a thrill running through you. "If that's okay."
"Okay?" Adrian repeats incredulously. "I— Fucking yeah! Oh, my God, fuck yeah, you're, like, the coolest friend I've ever had."
1,085 notes - Posted March 5, 2022
pairing: bruce wayne x reader (gn pronouns, gn sex descriptions)
one-sentence synopsis: you see something you wish you hadn't before you and bruce make confessions to each other you never thought you'd make to anyone.
author's note: i wanted to write more for bruce and got some sooooft requests that made my heart sing so i hope you enjoy this little fic!!
You know you don’t have any right to be upset, but you are anyway.
You’re upset, and you’re hurt, and you’re jealous, and you’re broken, just a little bit. You thought things were different, but— clearly they aren’t.
You and Bruce have been working together since he returned to Gotham just around two years ago. You help him with developing his technology, and repairing his equipment, and investigating his cases, and protecting Gotham. The two of you work together, as a unit. More often than not, you’re in the Batcave— either alone or with Alfred— watching Bruce’s night through his eyes, unable to tear yourself away from the constant streams of his contact cams.
You’re the voice in his ear, you’re his extra set of eyes, you’re his second opinion, you’re his partner-in-crime. Quite literally, you are his partner-in-crime, because the things you do with him and for him are often completely illegal. Not only that, but—
Over these last two years, the two of you have grown… close. Really close. Closer and closer all the time, really. Bruce doesn’t spend time with many people— or, any people, really— but he spends time with you. You’re always in the Batcave together, or in the Manor together, or in Gotham together, or just— together.
You really thought this was it. You and Bruce. That you were partners, friends— maybe even best friends.
Maybe even more than that. Or, you thought you would be more soon; you thought you could be more soon.
There have been a couple of almosts— where you thought the two of you might kiss, but then it just— didn’t happen. Bruce will get this stricken look, and he’ll withdraw, and you won’t be able to reach him again for a bit. He pulls into himself, away from you and everybody else for days every time that happens.
You should’ve known why. You thought that he was just struggling to be close with you, still hurting so badly inside, afraid to love you because he’s afraid to lose you. You thought you understood him, but—
You must not understand him at all. He must not want you. If he was trying to figure out his feelings for you, like you thought he was, he would probably not be kissing Selina right now.
And yet, here you are, watching through Bruce’s eyes as he kisses Selina. It’s a small blessing that you can’t see Bruce, but it almost makes it worse, that you know exactly what this looks like from his point of view.
Of course he wants her. Look at her.
You’re glad that Alfred isn’t here to see this. You know how obvious you must act around Bruce; he’d only be looking at you with pity right now. It’s better you see this alone.
You and Bruce have a strong connection. You know that. You thought it was also a romantic connection— that he might be falling in love with you like you are with him— but you must have thought wrong. When Selina’s there, why the fuck would Bruce want you?
It’s okay if you’re just friends with Bruce. You love him; you’re happy to be his friend. You just…
It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself, even as your eyes burn. Bruce and Selina separate, and he’s saying something to her, but the blood roaring in your ears drowns out the low buzz of his words. You look down at your clenched hands, your mouth dry.
Your heart is racing. You frown, sniffling when your nose prickles, trying to calm your hitching breathing where it catches in the back of your throat. You feel like such a— fucking idiot, you should have known better, you should have known—
“(Y/N),” Bruce says, voice low and sharp.
He cuts through the fog in your mind, and you blink, realizing he’s looking out at Gotham now. You don’t see Selina anywhere anymore, and you’re mortified, wondering how many times you missed him saying your name before he had to change his tone.
“Sorry,” you reply. “I’m here. What’s up?”
Bruce doesn’t speak, for a beat. Your brow furrows as you frown. You’re glad he can’t see you, either.
1,241 notes - Posted March 18, 2022
[comes to you like an old timey journalist]
Ay kid, I got something for ya..
Bruce Wayne intimacy, caring for him, washing the dirt and grime out his hair, helping alfred stitch his wounds and make him eat and sleep, reassuring Dick when things look bad, being there for him when he feels he has nobody…. ya know…. the good stuff
pairing: bruce wayne x reader (gn pronouns)
one-sentence synopsis: bruce returns from a night out as the batman in gotham, and you remind him what it is to just be bruce, and to let himself be taken care of, for just a little while.
author's note: oh god the intimacy........... a hot scoop if ever i had one buckaroo
You’re usually lucky if Bruce is home before dawn.
Tonight, you’re not so lucky.
The sun’s already started to spread back up into the sky, beams of dim grey light fighting through Gotham’s near-constant cloud cover. The curtains are drawn throughout Wayne Manor, however, keeping the palatial spread of Bruce’s home in darkness until he’s actually ready to start his day later.
Alfred joins you in the window, watching the trees outside the estate, waiting for the telltale flash of neon and the rumbling engine that promise the Batmobile’s back— that Bruce is back, that another night as Batman is over, that he’s survived long enough to come home to you once more.
When you see it, you visibly relax. The house is so silent that the distant purr of the engine seems like the loudest crash. When it skims underneath the property, vanishing into the bowels of Wayne Manor, Alfred sighs beside you. You glance over at him.
“Another night,” Alfred says. He doesn’t elaborate before he turns to make his way to the elevator that’ll take him down to the Batcave, and you follow after him. You don’t speak, either; there’s really nothing that needs to be said, right now. The two of you have long since fallen into a routine with Bruce. As the two (adult) people who live with him, who take care of him, who love him most, it’s difficult for you to see Bruce like this.
You hear pounding footsteps before the elevator doors close, and then a tiny hand is slamming in, stopping them from shutting. Dick stares up at you from the other side as the doors snap back open. He still looks half-asleep, pillow lines on his face, pajamas as rumpled as his hair, but he’s alert enough to glare at the both of you.
“Is he home?” Dick asks. His jaw cracks around a yawn in the next second, and you hold your hand out to him.
“He is,” you tell him as Dick comes to you, slipping his hand into yours. He leans into your leg sleepily, letting his eyes drift shut as he yawns again. “You, however, should be asleep.”
“I want to make sure he’s okay,” Dick informs you. It’s just an explanation, not an argument.
Alfred crouches, and Dick steps into the circle of his arms, letting him lift him up onto his hip. Dick refuses to release your hand, clinging tightly as Alfred keeps him close.
The elevator dings into place in the dark subterranean Batcave, the doors clattering open. You can see the Batmobile at the far end of the space, the lights still glowing as the machine cools down enough to be turned off again, and the shadowy shape of Bruce moving through the aisles of worktables and equipment. His cowl, cape, and armor are all still in place, though you can see a fray in the material near his eye, a tear along the left edge of the cape, a chunk ripped out of the armor covering one thigh.
You’ll need to make repairs today and patch together other armor for him to take when he goes out tomorrow night; the last thing you’d ever do is let him go out with less than perfect protection from you.
Bruce finally lifts his eyes, when he’s drawn close enough. You can see the bright glint of them as they hit you first.
In that moment, there’s no filter, no screen, no divide; the wall that Bruce likes to hide behind most often isn’t there, and he’s just looking at you, connecting with you, raw and exhausted and worn. Your lips part slightly; you’re not sure if you need a breath, or if you’re going to say something.
“Bruce!” Dick exclaims, wriggling to get out of Alfred’s arms. The both of you release him, and he sprints to Bruce, colliding with his legs. You don’t miss the way Bruce staggers backwards, catching himself against the worktable behind them.
He still wraps an arm around Dick in response. He bows to hold him for a moment before he lifts him.
“You should be asleep,” Bruce informs him. It sounds like he’s trying to be stern, but he’s landing at slightly concerned instead.
“I just wanted to say hi,” Dick says. He pulls at Bruce’s cowl, and so Bruce reaches up to tug it off, dropping it aside. He looks absolutely fucking exhausted, his face drawn, hair crushed flat, skin wan and split here and there. You can’t see the bags under his eyes, smudged as the space around his eyes is with impossible amounts of reflective black paint, but you know there’s going to be tired bruises there when his face is clean again
1,853 notes - Posted March 10, 2022
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