Tumgir
#filled requests
abrilstevens · a year ago
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let’s talk about the way Sterling looks like she just won the lottery
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whumpers-inc · 6 months ago
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Painful mind reading used by a villain on a hero? 👀
Hero flexed desperately in their restraints. “I’m not going to tell you anything!”
Villain raised an eyebrow, before catching Hero’s chin with the tip of a finger. They leaned in close, their breath a whisper on Hero’s ears.
“Oh you don’t have to. I can mindread.”
They pulled back and chuckled at the horrified expression on Hero’s face. “A few minutes and I'll know all I need, but I will warn you,” mock concern masked their face, “ it will be excruciatingly painful.” They shrugged before raising their hands, their eyes narrowed. “No pain, no gain. Let’s get started.”
Hero’s face twisted in wordless agony at the searing pain pulsing through their head as Villain began to rifle through Hero’s mind. Hero tried to forget about the codes, to focus on non vital information but Villain kept stabbing into their mind’s darkest corners, an unavoidable enemy.
“Fascinating” Villain muttered, concentration lining their face, “I’ve never had anyone last as long as you.”
The pulse in Hero’s head felt like it was about to split their head in two. They desperately tried to keep their thoughts blank, to hide their secrets away in a secure part of their mind, but the pain increased with the pressure and they screamed out loud as Villain broke through their last defence, a final wave of pain crashing through their mind as their mental block wavered and fell.
Unrestrained now, the pulsing agony swarmed through their head as Villain freely probed all their deepest secrets, humming as they found and dredged the codes from Hero’s mind.
When Villain finally withdrew, they slumped, sweat dripping from their brow, their head still thumping, back against their restraints.
Villain smirked. “Poor hero. Utterly defenceless, and thanks to you, I’ve now got the information I need to destroy the city.” They smirked and patted Hero’s cheek. “Better luck next time.” Dimly hero registered them leaving before slumping back against their restraints. Perhaps they’d finally met their match.
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pebbleinalake · 11 months ago
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>>Eureka out of context
Requested by anon
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genshinbuilds · 21 days ago
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Hello!! I have a friend who just started playing, can I please get a barbara dps build so I can help them?
Posted ♡
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mekakushi-kinning · a year ago
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Sanrio and weirdcore Kuroha stimboard for @nenekenma!
🥴 🥴 🥴 / 🐍 🐍 / 👯 👯 👯
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nightshade-shot · a year ago
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Hello! I saw your requests were open for Haikyuu headcanons and since I absolutely love your writing, I was wondering if you’d be interested in doing hc’s for Hinata, Goshiki, and maybe Terushima with a famous national-level s/o! Can be fem!reader or gender neutral, whatever is easiest for you ☺️ have a good rest of your day!
Here’s your request in case you didn’t get the ping love! I hope you like it :3
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letgraysonsheart · 2 years ago
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(me: googles acrobatics, realising i know nothing, writes yogaposes instead. I’m not perfectly happy myself with how it turned out, and its probably not exactly what you had in mind buut i really wanted to finish and post this for you @sassydefendorflower​ since ive been very slow asfkjdl)
Jason stares up at the cave roof, consciously having to refrain from biting his nails. Digging them into the palm of his hands instead, where no one can see, he lowers his gaze to the rocky wall instead. Having yet to grow comfortable in the manors downstairs, even if he’s visited multiple times since coming back alive, the jitteriness that’s quickly spreading in his body doesn't come as a surprise.
It’s so very different from how he used to feel before. Before everything besides Robin. The cave had been the only place where he felt really alive. Now just the memory of it makes him feel a little sad, but that's an emotion he'd rather pack up in a quaint little box, stove away and never look at again.
He’d rather focus on how his nerves are on high alert, not that he has any choice, and how he’s going to deal with that without having a meltdown. All he wants is to book it right out of there. But he can't. He needs the intel the cave-computers offer, and to access it he has to wait while Tim updates... something. He isn’t sure. The replacement was already doing it when he arrived and Tim had insisted that he couldn't quit now that he had started.
For a few seconds, he watches Tim enter and leave windows, typing a little here and there, too fast for Jason to catch what he’s doing from where he's standing a few feet behind him. Not that he’s actually interested.
It’s forcing him to be in the cave longer than he planned, which is really fucking annoying. For every sound his ears pick up he fears that it’s Bruce descending down the stairs from the manor, and he really doesn't have the spare energy to deal with that.
“He knows you’re here,” a voice rings out, and he looks towards the gym-part of the cave. Dick’s standing there, looking at him, dressed in sweats and a tank top, his hair tied into a very small ponytail with a few wild strands stuck to his forehead with sweat. “Bruce won’t come down, you can stop glaring at the stairs.”
Jason shrugs, not confirming nor denying Dick’s suspicions.
“You’re so tense I can feel it from here,” Dick continues. Jason glares at his brother, which receives him a very immature eye-roll back.
“I’m just waiting for the brat to finish whatever he’s doing so I can get outta here,” Jason answers, a little protective, “The bastard refused to send it to me.”
“Sensitive information,” Tim comments, not even turning to look at them but apparently listening in to their conversation.
“Hey, less listening, more working,” Jason barks at the younger, and he sees the muscles in Tim’s back tighten, the rhythmic tapping on the keyboard coming to a halt.
“Stop yelling at Tim, Jay, get over here. I need help with something,” Dick butts in, probably to stop Tim and his conversation before it escalates.
Jason doesn’t particularly want to do anything. Then again, he’s also rather tired of standing right up and down being stressed. So a little reluctantly, he finds himself walking over to the gym mats. When he over, Dick’s sat down on the mat, hands pressed against the ground behind him as support.  
“What’d ya need?” Jason questions, looking Dick up and down. The older looks funny, placed so far down, and looking up at him with his big blue eyes. Way too trusting. It makes Jason feel a little uneasy.
There’s a new scar, Jason notes, just under Dick's hairline and barely healed. He can't remember hearing anything about Dick getting hurt, so it probably hadn't been serious. Then again, they rarely bother to tell Jason about what's going on if it doesn't directly affect him, so who knows.
“Could you help me stretch? I just need a little bit more of a.. force,” Dick says, grinning, bringing Jason out of his thoughts. “I can help you afterward, you seem to be in desperate need of it, with how pent up you’re looking.”
“Hah, no,” Jason replies with a dry laugh, even though he doesn’t turn to leave. Watching Dick jump up onto his feet, Jason figures the older is looking much too bright for someone working out in the cave.
“Come on, at least help me out. I’ll need it before patrol tonight,” Dick argues. Jason wasn't even aware Dick was there because of a patrol. He'd just figured the older was there to hang out or something, seemed like a Dick-thing to do.
Before he gets the chance to ask about any of it, Dick has already bent down and grabbed him by the middle. Jason almost gets hit in the face by the back of a stray foot, coming against his face much too fast. Only because of his trained reflexes does he manage to grab Dick’s leg, just above the ankle, but he still startles a little.
“Now, come on,” Dick says, and Jason can feel the back of the older's head pressing against his underarm, thankful Dick doesn't mention anything about his reaction. Keeping their peace, for now. “Drag my leg towards you.”
Jason does as told, careful not to pull too hard or too fast. He’s almost a little disgusted by how flexible Dick is, and how easy he makes it look.
“Is this another one of your yoga moves?” he finds himself asking, his thoughts drifting to a different time, years ago. He feels Dick’s muscle stiffen a little, his leg almost jerking out of Jason’s hold.
“Didn’t think you remembered that,” Dick says, making a move to wanting to be let up, and Jason lets go, watching Dick straighten. The first Robin is looking at Jason with something in his eyes Jason isn’t sure if he likes or not.
Shrugging as an answer, because he does remember, no point in lying, he lets Dick study him. It hadn’t been a regular occurrence, but sometimes when Dick showed up at the cave while Jason was Robin, they’d work out together. Dick had been happy to show him some moves, lecturing him on the importance of stretching and strengthening your agility with glee.
The two of them would always end up doing wacky, very unserious, poses. All of them were always surprisingly hard and had them laying on the mats laughing, toppled over in a pile of limbs, more often than not.
Sometimes Bruce would come over and study them from the side, and Jason could remember spotting what he had suspected was fondness on the older man's face.
It had been nice, even Jason could admit that, but it’s also something for the past. It won’t be like that again, ever. Not between him and Dick, and certainly not between him and Bruce. There's been one too many deaths for that. Now the memory just leaves him with a bitter aftertaste, and the thought of Bruce studying him as he trains.. just- no.  
Dick bends down again, and this time Jason is prepared for the leg coming up, helping Dick stretch his other side too.
“Come on,” Dick grins when they're done with the stretch, any weird look from before hidden behind a mask again. "Let’s do one, just like we used to.” He’s already grabbing Jason, pushing him down on the mat, leaving little room for argument. Jason, because why the hell not, he's already there just waiting around, kicks off his boots and drops his jacket on the floor by the side of the mat.
“What about the one where we both bow down, and one leans their feet against the other ones back? Like a double bridge. That’s fairly easy,” Dick suggests, then looks Jason up and down, as if he’s judging whether it will work or not.
“I am not leaning my whole weight on you,” Jason states deadpan, “you’ll break like a twig.” He can feel Tim’s eyes on his back and pushes down the urge to yell at him again.
Sighing, Dick rolls his eyes again and plants his hands on his hips, “honestly, does everyone think I’m all flexible goo and no muscle?”
Sending a glare in Dick’s direction, Jason is already starting to regret his decision. He won't dignify the golden boy with a response either. There is no doubting Dick is strong, Jason knows that, but he is still quite a few more pounds heavier than Dick. And bulkier. They’re of very different body types, see.
“I think it would have been great, defying gravity and all that, but I guess I can let you be the foundation,” Dick relents. “Do you remember how to stand?”
He tries to ignore the itch he gets from Dick watching him as he bends down, feeling a definite pull in some of his muscles.
“Remember to keep your back straight,” Dick says, but it’s not a reprimand, just encouragement. No ill tone.
Jason feels rather ridiculous, standing there, like a human triangle. The blood is rushing to his head, and his socks are threatening to slip against the mat. Should’ve ditched them too.
He hears Dick move, and soon enough there’s a pair of feet resting on his lower back, basically his hip. “I assume you remember the importance of breathing?” he hears Dick say, and it makes him take a deep breath, almost without thinking.
Dick’s feet move, the pressure disappearing from his back, and Jason sits down on his knees.
“Okay, let’s sit down in front of each other,” Dick commands, not even asking if Jason is interested in continuing, but he does as Dick says. Might as well humor him, now that he’s started, and the sound of Tim's fingers on the keyboard is still going strong.
It’s a little awkward, he finds, suddenly sitting so close to Dick and looking right at his face. He busies himself copying Dick’s pose, his knees drawn up against his chest, so he doesn’t have to look directly into the other's eyes.
“Now, reach out your arms like so,” Dick stretches his hands out, waiting for Jason to do the same. Biting his lip he hesitates for a second before lifting his arms.
“Mirror my hold,” the older continues, grabbing Jason around his wrists in a secure hold, watching as Jason copies it.
“Okay, now we’re going to press the bottom of our feet together, and then move them while keeping them together,” Dick says, already starting to move his feet toward Jason's.
“We’re gonna what?” Jason asks, already fearing for his legs and knees. There’s no room for them to stretch their feet straight forwards, which can only mean they’re going to go upwards.
He doesn’t even know if his body does that anymore.
“Let’s do one foot at a time,” Dick suggests, pressing the bare toes on his right foot against Jason’s sock-clad ones. Dick then starts pushing both their feet upwards, and Jason lets him. He finds himself grateful that he’s wearing agile pants because man, it pulls more than he wants to admit.
Their feet are about face-level when Dick starts moving his other feet, forcing Jason’s up with it too, their knees still slightly bent.
“Let’s just try to get them as straight as possible, the feet don’t have to be completely straight lines, it’s not supposed to hurt,” Dick says, voice calm and comfortable. To his own surprise, and perhaps Dick’s too, Jason lets the older press their feet further up, again much like a triangle made up of their feet and the floor.
Their hands are still clasped together, he can feel how Dick’s are slightly clammy from having worked out, but still, the older's hold is strong and not suggesting that he’s about to let go any time soon.
“Now, we’ll breath,” Dick says, and Jason watches Dick close his eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath. Jason himself tries to let go of the still nagging itch to bite his nails. His back is towards the stairs now. Bruce might come down and Jason may not hear it. The elevator is behind him too, out of eyesight, he might miss the sound of it arriving in the cave. Bruce might suddenly be standing right behind him without Jason having any time to prepare.
He has no idea what he would do if that were to happen. Probably punch something or more likely; someone. And then run.
Just as Jason is about to break his hold on Dick's arms, his fear almost becoming too much, Dick opens his eyes, bringing their feet down again and releasing their arms. He watches his older brother opens his mouth to speak -
“Now, for the n-”
“I’m done now,” Tim exclaims, interrupting Dick, whose face turns into a scowl directed over Jason’s shoulder.
Jason hears the sound of the wheels on Tim’s chair squeaking against the floor as the younger pushes away from the computer. When Jason turns to look Tim is already up from the chair, looking much like he’s planning to leave the cave.
“As I said for the next-” Dick tries again.
This time it’s Jason who interrupts, already pushing himself up off the mats.
“No way, Goldie, I just humored you because I was sick of standing around,” he huffs, brushing away imaginary lint from his pants. “I’m gonna go get my intel now, and then head out."
Suddenly hit with what the hell he is doing, where he is, almost forgotten in sappy nostalgia, makes him feel jittery to leave again. It’s like a sledgehammer to his heart, kick-starting his anxiety.
He ignores the look on Dick’s face, something he can’t properly decipher, as the older man also gets up on his feet again.
“Come on Jay - it’s almost like old-”
Once again, Jason stops him. “Don’t,” he states, feeling anger blossom in his chest, prickling like he swallowed a cactus. “Don’t say that. Don’t even try.”
“Jason,” Dick tries, voice too soft.
“No, I’m getting my intel, and then I’m leaving,” Jason tells him, already throwing on his shoes again, pulling his jacket up off the floor. “I thought I’d made my distaste of this place perfectly clear,” he continues as he turns towards the computers, refusing to meet Dick's eyes.
From the corner of his eyes, he can see Tim getting into the elevator, not sparing either of them a second glance.
Jason stomps over to the computer, falling heavily into the chair Tim had been using only seconds ago. With a huff, he turns it on, slightly irritated that Tim even turned it off in the first place. His fingers tap impatiently against the table as he waits for it to boot up.. Freaking replacement, always trying to be as annoying as possible.
There is the sound of someone moving behind him, maybe Dick continuing his workout. As he types in his login, that for some reason Jason would rather not dwell on Bruce never removed, he tells himself that he couldn’t care less. Sending it to himself, Jason finds he doesn't give a shit about what Tim or Bruce says about sensitive information and security risks. Fuck that.
He needs to get out of there, asap.
So he hits send, deletes all traces of what he's been doing, and shuts down the computer as soon as all that's done. For a second, he stares at the dark screen, contemplating leaving a surprise for the next person who tries to use the computer. Then the sounds of Dick moving around remind him that he’s not alone which sets him in motion again.
The walk over to his bike is barely controlled, he’d much rather prefer to run, but that would be a little embarrassing. Grabbing his helmet laid abandoned by the front wheel he presses it over his hair. Thankful for the security it gives him, he climbs onto his self-built Red Hood bike.
As he starts it up, the rumble of the motor fills all of the cave, hopefully so loud that they can hear it up in the manor. The u-turn he takes as he starts up is so fast and hard his tire screeches against the floor. It's bound to leave marks, and that is so worth burning the expensive tires for. He's sure it'll annoy Bruce to no end.  
Jason never glances at Dick through all of it. He can feel the older’s eyes on his back though, following him as he speeds out of the cave. Even as the weight on his shoulders lessens with every meter he puts between himself and the cave, there is a new weight in his heart that he can't quite pinpoint.
Figuring it’s best to ignore it until it disappears, he presses the bike to go a little faster. He hopes it’ll be a long time until he has to go back to the cave again. For now, getting the hell out of there has to be enough.
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tomurasprincess · a year ago
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quote 48 with hawks and abo perhaps?
So I went a bit crazy and this turned from a small prompt into a 3k fic. Oops. Hope you like it! Link is right here: Aerie.
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dailytypographyedits · a year ago
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Can you please make an edit of Louis Tomlinson's song "Copy Of A Copy Of A Copy" with the lines "Young man, hush your crying, dry your tears away/Nothing is original, there's nothing left to say/You won't be the first or be the last to bleed/Every broken heart as far as your eye can see/Is a copy of a copy of a copy"
sure xx
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phantom-thieves-official · 2 years ago
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A very kind anon wanted Ryuji headers with this lyric from The Phoenix.
I’ve never done anything like this with text - it was a unique challenge! Still, I’m pretty happy with how they turned out.
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strawbebbyysprites · 2 years ago
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Snorlax + Cresselia by request. I really like this one!
Had to repost bc there was a stray pixel floating around
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abrilstevens · a year ago
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whumpers-inc · 6 months ago
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For the writing scenario " A wants to go to the library to read maybe one or two books but Character B is talking to them . A is not very confident so they can't outright say that B is taking their library reading time ....what do you think A will do ? "
“Thank God that’s over,” A muttered, snatching her coat and bag from their locker. She glanced at the clock. 5:10. She’d run late at work again but the library didn’t shut till 6pm. 10 minutes to walk there, 5 minutes to-
“A, wait up!” B’s singsong voice jolted her out of her reverie. She bit their lip and dug white moons into the palm of her hand with her nails. This was not a good time. She didn’t have time to talk, not when the latest release in her favourite series was waiting for her at the library.
B had caught up to her by now. “Where are you off to in such a rush?” they asked, tucking a friendly hand into hers.
A bit back a sigh. “The library.”
B’s eyes lit up. “I haven’t been to a library in ages! Wait a minute, I’ll come with you.” They rushed to their locker and rifled through it, presumably looking for their purse.
Behind B’s back, A gaze flickered from the clock to the door, worry growing with every tick of the clock's hands. “Uh, B?” she ventured tentatively. “The library shuts at 6. Maybe we cou-”
“I’ve got it!” B brandished their purse triumphantly. Turning around to face A, they studied A’s face. “Are you ok? You look a little on edge.”
A’s lips tightened into a strained smile. “I’m fine. Tired, I guess.”
B still looked concerned. “Would you like me to make you a coffee? I can-”
“No!” Seeing the look on B’s face at her emphasis, she hurried to rectify her mistake. “ I mean, thank you but I’m good, really.” She practically pushed B out the door as the clock read 5.25.
But outside, the heavens had cracked and the rain now poured down in heavy sheets. Tears pricked at her eyes as she stared across the parking lot. There was no way she’d make it in this weather. She slumped down on a graffitied bench under the roof’s shelter and buried her head in her hands.
B gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s ok. I don’t mind. We can go to the library some other time.” They looked hopefully at her and she tried to smile back.
“Yeah we can, it’s just-” she trailed off and stared at the ground. “The latest book in my favourite series is out and I really wanted to read it.”
“What series is it?” B asked.
A told them.
“No way! They’re still writing more for that? I loved that series but I’d forgotten all about it until now.” B practically bounced with enthusiasm.
A smiled. “ I love it too. In fact, I have the whole collection at home.” She looked sideways at B. “I don't suppose you’d like to come and re-read them with me?”
B’s grin got wider. “ I’d love that!”
A laughed and took B’s hand. “In that case, let’s go.”
The rain had slowed to a drizzle as they stepped away from the roof’s shelter and walked towards A’s house. A smiled as B squeezed he hand in theirs. The library would still be there next week but in the meantime? She was going to have a lot of reading on her hands.
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vegankinfoods · 2 years ago
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Cheap, low-effort comfort foods for a vampire?
I can surely try! Have some of these!
Austrian Apricot Dumplings
Berry Iced Tea With Ginger & Mint
Sun-Dried Tomatoes
Mediterranean Pasta
I hope these are suited to your tastes!
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little-owly · 3 years ago
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buncha filled requests i did for discord,,,
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mekakushi-kinning · a year ago
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Scene Kano stimboard with furry and slime stims for anon!
🐱 🐱 🐱 . 🌈 🌈 . 🐶 🐶 🐶
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honeycombstrawberry · a month ago
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to have loved
pairing: bruce wayne x reader (gn pronouns, gn sex descriptions)
rating: e+
word count: 6,410
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!!
read on ao3!
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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…
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.
“Bruce?” you ask him.
“What’s wrong?” Bruce replies, and your heart jumps.
“What?” you ask, bewildered. “Nothing. I was— Sorry, I must have just— I zoned out while I was waiting for you to— be done.”
Bruce is quiet again.
“That’s all,” you add. You rub your hands together anxiously, then force yourself to stop, shoving them under your thighs. “What’s next?”
Bruce’s head turns, tilting downwards slightly. You watch on his cameras as he seems to observe nothing in particular. You recognize the motion; he’s thinking, considering something before he speaks again.
When he does speak, he keeps his voice low. “That’s it for tonight. I’m coming back.”
“But—”
“There’s nothing else I can do tonight,” Bruce insists. He turns away from the ledge, taking away the view of Gotham you’d had. You can only watch as he sends a bolt down the building and uses his suspension wire to scale down the side to the pavement below.
You start the wrap-up procedure for the night, half-paying attention to Bruce as he finds the Batmobile again and climbs in.
You don’t need to watch his journey; you’ve seen it a thousand times. Still, you watch, just to make sure everything goes smoothly as you prepare for his return. You try to ignore the cold sweat over your skin, the uncomfortable prickling under the surface of your flesh, the agonized twisting of your stomach. It’s easier said than done, but you still try.
By the time Bruce gets back, you’re about ready to go home. You spend most nights at the Manor— you even have your own room, once a guest room and now essentially yours— but you don’t think you could take it tonight. It doesn’t feel right when you’ve been so viscerally reminded of the place you don’t have.
The Batmobile smoothly pulls into place. You’re careful not to watch Bruce as he opens the doors up and hoists himself out. His boots are heavy, echoing in the tremendous space, rattling off the subterranean-slick walls to chill your bones.
Usually, Bruce makes you feel so much warmer than this. Tonight, you only feel cold.
“I’m heading out,” you tell Bruce, already moving to retrieve your jacket from the chair you’d thrown it over when you got here earlier. You’d actually arrived earlier in the afternoon, while the sun was still up. You spend so much time here, and you usually love it, but now the thought of it’s making you feel sick.
“Where are you going?” Bruce asks you. His voice is close. You don’t look up.
“Home,” you reply, even though it feels strange to say it. You don’t know when it happened, but you started thinking of Wayne Manor as home, which— you shouldn’t have. It’s not. Not your home, anyway.
Bruce is silent. You push your arms through the sleeves of your jacket, finally lifting your eyes to meet his so you can say goodbye and just get out of here. Once you’re in your car, you’re sure you’ll have some sort of meltdown, so you just need to get away from Bruce’s eyes first.
You stop, though, when your eyes actually meet. He actually looks hurt. For all Bruce tries to shove everything down, he’s never been able to suppress the emotions that fill his face when he fills them. To you, at least, Bruce has always been an open book. His blue eyes are smeared all around in black, making him seem all the brighter for the contrast. He’s already removed his cowl; it dangles from his fingertips as he studies you, trying to use that clever mind to puzzle you apart.
“Did something happen?” Bruce asks you. He’s so direct with you, as if he’s honest here to compensate for his layers of deception in every other aspect of his life.
“No,” you lie. It’s not technically a lie, you reason to yourself; nothing really did happen. Your friend kissed somebody. You’re not involved in this. You have to remove your feelings from the situation, because your feelings are your problem, not Bruce’s.
You make to brush past Bruce, the path by him the only route you can take to get to the elevator back up to the Manor.
He lets you pass him, at first, but then he’s turning and catching your wrist before you can get too far away. The way your name punches out of him when he catches you is rough, but not confused.
“(Y/N),” he says, his gloved hand wrapped hard around your elbow. He releases you, after a silent beat, and you let your eyes flick back up to meet his again. “She—”
He starts, then stops, and your whole chest hurts. You don’t know what he was planning to say, or what he wants to say, but you’re terrified that it’s something you’re not equipped to hear. With your hands shaking, you lower your eyes, telling him, “Bruce, I think I should go.”
“No,” he says automatically. His eyes flicker, eyelashes covering them for a moment before he forces himself to lift back up to meet you. “No, don’t— Don’t do that.”
“Why not?” you ask him. If he’s going to push the issue, there’s nothing you can do but let him. When Bruce gets something in his head, it’s impossible to get it out. So— If he’s going to expose these feelings now, if he’s going to have you confront them and accept his rejection now, while you’re right in front of him, he’s just going to have to deal with you making demands of him, too.
Bruce frowns slightly, his brow furrowing. “You’re upset.”
You huff a wet laugh, twisting away to look up at a far corner of the shadowy Batcave, trying to suppress the burning and prickling in your eyes, the back of your nose.
“Why are you upset?” Bruce asks next. He’s quiet again, his eyes intense. He’s thinking, going back over everything that’s happened; you wonder what he’s coming up with.
“I don’t want to—”
“Why not?” Bruce asks. You always talk about everything with him— Well. Everything but one thing, obviously, because your feelings for him aren’t something you ever thought you could express. And obviously not now— “(Y/N).”
Your heart is racing, rabbiting up into your throat.
Fine, you think.
“You want to know why I’m upset?” you ask him. You mean for it to come out sharper, harsher than it does, but all it does is come out broken, jagged, scraping up along the soft inside of your throat when the words drag up and out.
Bruce frowns slightly again, his eyes meeting yours. He tilts his head, and you’re already falling apart, unable to keep the words back anymore.
This is Bruce. You’re forever helpless in the face of— all of this, everything he is.
“B— I’m— Because— Fuck, Bruce,” you explode, and then you’re pressing the heels of your hands into your burning eyes, willing the wetness not to spill over. “Because I just had to watch you kiss the most beautiful woman in the entire fucking city and listen to her try to convince you to leave with her and I don’t want to hear that.”
It’s not exactly what you want to say, but it’s what comes out of your mouth. You drag your hands down, letting your fingers curl up into frustrated fists as you meet his eyes again.
He looks— confused, which you aren’t expecting. “I’m not leaving,” he says, cautious, like he’s not sure that’s the right answer.
It’s good to hear, but it’s not the real problem. You nod, dropping your eyes down again, the sudden gust of fight that just surged through you draining out in the face of Bruce’s bewildered indifference.
“Good,” you reply. “I’m glad.”
Bruce is silent before he says, “No, you aren’t.”
“What? Yes, I a—”
“You didn’t want her to kiss me?” he asks, hitting the nail so unerringly on the head that you stop short in your resumed quest for the elevator. Face flushing with embarrassment, you whirl back to look up at him. Your lungs squeeze tight, the air thin. “That’s why. You’re upset that she kissed me.”
You stare at him for a moment before you whisper, “I— can’t be upset about that.”
“What?” he asks. His frown deepens, and then vanishes. A realization dawns on his face, the click of connection nearly audible. You’ve seen this expression come onto him countless times before: he’s figured something out, or at least he thinks he has, and he’s satisfied that he finally got the puzzle pieces to all snap into place.
“Bruce—”
“Are you…” He starts to ask, then stops. He’s cautious when he starts over, stating instead of asking, just: “You’re jealous.”
You frown at him, feeling pure terror course through you. This is so close, too close to dismantling and ruining everything. You can’t take it. It feels like a dream, like you’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal and not so precariously about to shatter into change. Your skin prickles, mortified and horrified and ready to fall apart, letting you loose from the inside, a breaking dam.
“I’m going home,” you tell Bruce. “Don’t—”
Bruce catches your wrist again, pulling you back in to him when you move to make for the elevator once more. Your eyes snap up to his. He doesn’t let you go this time; instead, he tugs lightly, bringing you back to his side.
You’re so anxious you feel like your fingers are going numb, the anticipation building inside you to unsustainable levels. You swallow thickly as you look up at him, your head tilting slightly to accommodate him without breaking the eye contact you make. His gloved grip tightens, fabric rough over your skin.
“Why are you jealous?” Bruce asks, his detective’s mind already spinning several steps ahead. He’s probably trying to analyze things you haven’t even said yet. He’s clever, but he’s not always smart.
“Come on, Bruce,” you tell him, wet and rough. “Why do people get jealous?” He frowns, and you say, “I’m sure you can figure this one out,” your voice dropping low, cracking.
“I know why other people get jealous,” he tells you, the edges of frustration finally starting to bleed into his tone. “Why are you jealous?”
You stare up at him, baffled. He watches you in return, waiting for an answer that makes sense.
You didn’t— You didn’t realize. You thought he knew. Unless he’s forcing you to admit that you’re in love with him just so he can reject him, which seems too cruel for Bruce. It seems impossible that he wouldn’t know just how in love you are with him, that the World’s Greatest Detective wouldn’t have somehow realized that the person he spends most of his time with is completely gone for him.
You never thought you would actually have to tell him this, but you also thought he already knew and dismissed the feelings. You don’t want to feel hope only for it to be crushed. That hope is budding up in you anyway, though, heedless of your hesitation, your terror, your long-built, stalling uncertainty that threatens to choke you off, to silence you even now.
He’s supposed to know everything, but he doesn’t seem to know the one thing that consumes most of your waking life— and even most of your dreams.
“Bruce,” you start, then stop, voice catching. You’ve choked these words back so many times before that it’s counterintuitive now to try and bring them up. You have to take a breath, but you force yourself to keep eye contact, not leaving his eyes. “I’m— Bruce, I’m in love with you. So I can’t—” Your voice does break, now, and you take a shuddering breath in, tears spilling. “So I can’t watch you do this with her, I can’t, and I know I don’t have the right and I know that’s selfish and I know—”
Bruce steps up nearer to you, drawing the hand he’s caught in between both of his, gloved fingers pulling across the thin skin over your muscle and bone. Your voice stops, words cutting off as he moves, palm to hand to palm.
He doesn’t speak. You don’t know if he doesn’t know what to say, and you’re starting to tell him you have to go, but then his eyes are flickering down to your joined hands. He stares down at them for a long moment, his own breath starting to shift out of pattern as he gathers himself. His brow furrows in concentration; he’s thinking hard, you realize. When his eyes come back up to yours, he seems almost— stunned, which is not a familiar look on him. You have to turn away, heart throbbing painfully at the sight.
“When?” Bruce demands to know. You exhale shakily. “Look at me. When—”
“What, Bruce?” you ask of him. “When what? When did I fall in love with you? Is that what you want to know?” His eyes flick back and forth between yours. Your breath hitches again when you tell him, “I don’t know. I really— I don’t— Ever since I met you, I guess, I— I think I’ve been falling in love with you. And I’m sorry if that’s too much, but you’re the one who’s making me tell you, so that’s r—”
Bruce ducks in, one of his hands flying up to cup the back of your head. When he drops in close, his lips brush yours, only for a moment. He draws back in the next second, staring down at you, waiting for your response, cataloguing you.
Your body and mind take a second to catch up to what he’s just done. You’re frozen in shock, eyes snapping down to his mouth before flying up to meet his eyes again. Your heart jumps up into the back of your mouth, racing so fast you feel like it’s just one sustained beat, impossibly long, vibrating in your chest. It sends your blood coursing through your veins in hot waves.
“I didn’t know,” Bruce tells you, his voice nearly scratching. His face is flushed, hair crushed from the cowl, and he just keeps watching you, waiting to understand your response.
“You know everything,” you whisper back. Even though you’re warm, goosebumps are prickling up over your arms underneath the sleeves of your jacket.
The corners of Bruce’s lips twitch up in a brief, self-effacing smile, not so much humored as he is dry and rueful and frustrated. “Apparently not.” His attention skims over your features, the curves of your face before he meets your eye again. “It’s too dangero—”
“Do not start with me, Bruce,” you cut him off, already knowing exactly where he’s going with this. “I am here every goddamn day. You can’t tell me it’s too dangerous to be with you, or that you can’t love me, or any stupid shit like that. If you don’t love me back, just tell me. Don’t make up stupid fucking excuses—”
“It would be dangerous,” Bruce tells you firmly. “I never—”
“I am already here,” you snap at him. You throw your arms wide, heart racing, unable to stop the words as they flow out of you. “I am already in danger, Bruce.” You feel like you can understand what he’s not saying in between what he is saying, and you grab onto that seed of hope. If nothing else, this is your only shot, your last chance; you have to tell him, if you’re going to tell him. “I am in love with you, and I have been for a long time, and I am not going anywhere. And I know you have a hard time, I know that, believe me, but pretending you don’t love anybody doesn’t mean you don’t. And pretending you can’t get hurt doesn’t mean you won’t anyway.”
Bruce absorbs your words like he would a blow, taking them and processing them as fast as he can so they won’t hurt. When he actually understands them, though, he meets your eyes again. Your arms fall, and he reaches for your hand.
You let him take it, threading his fingers through yours. He seems to study them together for a moment, as if he’s trying to comprehend the sight of them together. When he does understand it, though, that smile comes back. You can’t help the flicker of a smile that comes to your own face in an automatic response.
Bruce wants to be happy, you think. He just doesn’t always know how to be.
Feeling still the burn of his kiss where his lips so briefly brushed yours, using it as a token of confidence as you reach up with your other hand for the back of his neck. His hair is still crushed from his cowl, but you thread your fingers through it, feeling them slip against your fingertips.
He doesn’t draw away from you, but he does take a shaky breath inward. When his eyes flick over you, you can see the glisten of his contact cams in his eyes. You remember, in a flash, what Selina had looked like kissing Bruce through these cameras earlier. The reminder has your fingers stilling, touch growing cold.
You start to draw away without even realizing, unthinking in your distress, but Bruce reaches up, not willing to let you go now that he has you.
“What?” he asks, looking from one eye to another, drawing your wrists to his chest.
You hesitate, then say, “When I saw Selina—”
“No,” Bruce cuts you off, before taking a breath. Starting over, he tries, “No, I— She kissed me,” he repeats, insistent on that point.
“It’s okay,” you tell him. “We’re not— There’s nothing to be— It’s not like we’re together.”
Bruce releases your wrists so he can reach up, taking your face between his gloved hands. In him, you see what you think all of Gotham might see— a protector, someone who takes and destroys and defends with ease— but you see so much more, too. You see a person you think only you have ever seen; you see past Batman, past Bruce, to the person he is at the center of himself, without name or creed or compass. Just him.
“We are,” Bruce tells you. Your heart jumps, and you reach up, your fingers winding around his wrists, just needing to hold onto him like he’s holding onto you. “I know, we— But we could be. I want—”
He seems agitated with himself, for a moment, before he drops in again, crushing his lips to yours this time. He lets his body do what he can’t manage to get his words in line to do. His grip impossibly tightens, gloved hand slipping up to cup the back of your head, the other skating down to take your hip in the curve of his palm.
He brings you to him again, and again, parting his lips when he slips into the next kiss, and you’re collapsing into him in seconds. You can hardly believe this is real, but it couldn’t be anything but.
You feel the scrunch of his nose as he furrows his brow, twisting up a bit as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. When his jaw loosens further, you dive up into the kiss with him.
He feels you respond; his body language all shifts at once as a result. There’s a rough noise in the back of his throat, a moan that breaks off sharp and high against the backs of his teeth, rattling into your mouth. His tongue meets yours, and then you’re threading up into his hair. You use that hold on him to kiss up hungrily, your hips pushing forward to meet his, surging in to touch everywhere you can.
Bruce’s answer is automatic, instinctive, atavistic as he crouches to lift and hoist you up onto the workbench behind you. He pushes between your knees, spreads your thighs to accommodate the breadth of him. The stretch echoes the burn he’s rocketing up your spine.
“Bruce,” you breathe. He’s tearing his gloves off, throwing them to the side as he dives back in to cup your face in his hand. Tilting your head, he drops down to tuck into your throat, lips meeting your skin in a soft kiss before he’s biting in. He’s working hard to suck a bite into your throat; you’re shaking when you say, “Are you sure? I need you to—”
He drags up to steal the rest of your words from you, vanishing into his mouth. His forehead presses into yours, his nose dragging against your cheek. You’re enveloped by him; when you open your eyes, you can see the sweep of his eyelashes, impossibly close, and smudged black paint that he has to be smearing along your skin, too.
“I’m sure,” Bruce mumbles against your lips when you separate. He huffs a dry laugh, apologizes, “I’m sorry I’m not better at this. I should’ve told you a long time ago.”
You can hardly breathe. You almost hate that you need him to say it, but you can’t— You can’t move forward without knowing, when you’ve made your confessions to him—
It’s like he can sense the pause in you, the moment of hesitant anxiety where you fight yourself, telling yourself not to ask him. You win against yourself, but he still notices, which is a net loss, ultimately.
“What?” he asks. He reaches down, his hands gliding down to take your hips in his hands. He pulls you to the edge of the workbench, your spread legs fitting easily around him. The force of it pulls you up into him, a quick, dirty grind that’s mostly involuntary.
“Nothing,” you say. Your nails glide along his scalp, trying to guide him into another kiss, but he stills you, eyes flickering over your face as he tries to decipher what you’re thinking.
After a moment, he makes another connection. He drops to press his forehead to yours, examining you from impossibly close up, reaching to press his bare fingers to the gallop of your pulse in your throat. His lips find the line of your jaw, gliding until he finds your ear. Your eyes slip shut again, and you cling to him, letting him hold you up.
“Do you want to hear it?” Bruce asks you. He pushes his forehead into your temple, says, “Do you want me to say that I love you? That I— I think about you constantly, that I can’t do any of this without you?” He kisses the space beside your eye slowly, pushing to the bone. His hand still cups your jaw, his thumb pressed to the center of your chin. His grip is so tight, you can’t help sighing shakily into him. “Because I do. I know I don’t— I don’t tell you things as often as I should. Or even just— tell you things that I should. I want to be better at that.”
You nod, not even entirely sure what you’re responding to. He kisses along your cheek, down to your jaw, along your throat again.
“I love you,” Bruce says, like the words are being dragged up from the deepest point inside of him, hooked at the base of his spine and drawn up out of him. “I should have told you. I should have stopped her. I should—”
“Bruce,” you interrupt him. He draws back just enough to meet your eyes again. “You should kiss me.”
A smile flickers across his face again, but it’s warmer now, shifting all his features. There are crinkles at the corners of his eyes, amusement in the lines of his handsome face. You kiss the corner of his mouth; he catches you, draws you into a proper kiss.
“You’re mine,” he says against your lips. He pushes in nearer, his bare hands taking the edges of your jacket and dragging them backwards until you have no choice but to bend your arms back with it. He pulls the jacket behind you, tugging it down your arms until it catches on your wrists.
He stops there, keeping your wrists caught up behind you on the workbench. His hands go to your shirt next, shoving it up until he has as much of your skin exposed as he can; your pants are next, separating the fastenings with hard jerks that send the button flying across the floor, pinging somewhere into the corner. He tugs the pants themselves down as he brings you to the very edge of the table.
“Say it,” Bruce instructs you, muffled by your throat. You can’t reach up to touch him, hands still constrained, so you do as he says.
Leaning into him, letting him take your weight, you say, “I’m yours,” your voice soft. “Bruce, I love you—”
Bruce comes up to kiss you again, his own hands flying down to tear apart his armor. When he manages to get his cock out, he practically whimpers into your mouth, oversensitive and aching. When you break the kiss to drop your head to his shoulder, finding his length between you, his hand wrapped around the base.
Your shoulders twitch, jerking as your arms try to move forwards and remain confined by your sleeves. Bruce’s next kiss is biting, desperate; he’s starting to flush, blood flooding him everywhere you can see.
The hand he doesn’t have wrapped around his cock comes to grip the back of your head, his thumb stroking along your scalp, through your hair. His hold tightens as he releases himself to bring his fingers to your lips instead. His fingertips part your lips, drag your jaw down so he can push into your mouth. He slips beneath your tongue, the pads slick when he draws them back out, dragging down along your lower lip as he does.
His fingers come down between your legs, his thumb gliding along the hot skin inside your thigh before he’s slipping into you. His glide is wet from your mouth, and he’s already eager for you, practically shaking.
Still, he can’t resist kissing the hinge of your jaw, down the line of it to your chin. He follows down the column of your through to your shoulder, your collar, your chest. His hand traces when his mouth can’t, continuing his slow, methodical worship of your body as he prepares you for him entering you.
“You have no idea,” Bruce bites off, his head bowed between you. You let your head fall forward to meet his, your forehead meeting the crown, your face buried in his hair. He doesn’t tell you what you have no idea about, but you think you know well enough. “No idea.”
You nod in sharp jerks, pressing a messy kiss to his hair, open-mouthed as your blood all surges towards him, rocketing inside your veins. You need more of him, want touch and friction now, but you have to wait for him, at his mercy.
He’s good to you, doesn’t make you wait long before he’s fucking his slick fingers in and out of you, watching them with open fascination as they disappear into your body.
Your head falls back, “Bruce,” punching up out of your lungs, and it hits you, then, what’s happening here. This is the man you’ve spent the last two years slowly getting closer to, becoming a unit alongside, falling in love with. Apparently, he’s spent that time doing the same with you. You can’t believe you can have this, but the evidence is right here, in the form of Bruce’s blue eyes meeting yours in a bright gleam, his cock finally coming to push inside you, your name falling from his lips in an impossible, ragged groan.
Bruce is twitching, his hips moving of their own accord before he actually gets a conscious grip on himself. His hands bruise you where he seizes you, desperate to touch as much of you as he can. Your thighs are bitten by the hard juts of his armor, but you love the sting of it, scratching up along the insides of your skin.
His determination is intense, his passion overwhelmingly focused. He comes up to kiss you again, as if he needs your air to breathe or he’ll die without it. His lips claim yours, kisses sharp when he dives in for them, dragging each sound out of your throat like it’s a personal victory.
“I love you,” Bruce tells you, and you grind up into him, desperate for more. A stuttered moan falls from your mouth, choked off with the gasp of breath from your lungs. Your body is moving itself, chasing its own release against Bruce’s armor.
You can’t coordinate yourself, letting Bruce take you over. He kisses everywhere he can reach you, holds up your body on the workbench as he claims you, fucking into you with a desperate, pounding rhythm that speeds more and more with each second. You want to reach for him, but he keeps you bound backwards, a broken sound melting from his mouth into your flesh. He’s falling apart over you, wanting more of you, as much of you as he can have.
You give him all of you, surrendering yourself to him in your entirety. You’ve been doing it bit by bit since the moment you met; now, you give him the last of you, until he has you completely. You think he might just be giving you the same in return.
Bruce can’t stop touching you, hands roaming everywhere he can reach, unable to stop. He drags his face along yours, smearing sweat and reflective paint; you twist to lure him into a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. His breaths are sharp and fast in your mouth. He’s getting closer, closer, pulsing inside you, wrapping around you.
All you know anymore is Bruce, and you tell him, “I love you, too, Bruce,” your voice breaking.
He makes a soft noise, shattering into your mouth. When he kisses you next, he’s hitting his climax, and he pushes forward so hopelessly into you, a cry wrenching up out of his throat. Your name is weak in his mouth, spilling out from between his lips.
The next sound he makes is almost your name, but then it’s just noise again, breaking into you as his hips move, just tiny shifts. His heat spreads through you, all melting warmth that you soak up from the inside. His hand comes between you, onto you, and then he’s bringing you with him. You cum around him, falling apart with him, finding his next kiss, tears burning over.
Bruce drags out of the kiss after minutes of sloppy kissing and deep breathing and occasional grinding, the last rattling aftershocks coursing through your system in waves you never want to stop engulfing you.
When he lifts his head, he tells you, “I want—” then stops.
You nuzzle your face into his. Remembering your bound wrists, he reaches back and tugs sharply at your jacket, finally tearing the fabric off and freeing your arms. You get to reach up, after all this time, throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him closer into you. You want so desperately to embrace him, and so you do, and he lets you, wrapping one arm around you to hug you in return.
His other hand glides to cup your hip, then slides up under your other arm so he can fold around you, pulling you into his hold. With his face tucking into your throat, he just— holds you, hugging you close, tight and tighter, until he’s squeezing, crushing. You want it, as hard as he’ll give it; you love to feel compressed like this, so held by him. You hug him back as well as you can in kind, as hard as you can, clinging to him, chest finally slowing its heaves, heart calming as well as it can.
Muffled by your warm skin, Bruce finally finishes speaking, admitting, “I want to take you inside. I want to— I want to bring you up to my room, and put you in my bed, and just— I just— I want to keep you.”
It’s such a rough confession, his voice scratching. You can’t help but absorb it, telling him, “You can.”
He smiles. You can feel it against your skin. Your own smile rises automatically in response, and you fold nearer into him, burying in him as he buries in you. He moves, then, shifting to lift you up off the workbench. On instinct, you wrap your legs around him. He’s strong, takes your weight easily; it’s nothing for him to take you to the elevator like this.
Bruce holds his promises. When he swears an oath, he keeps it. He spends the rest of the night dissolving you, dawn arriving long before he’s finished taking you to pieces. When he takes you to his bathroom, spends luxurious time sponging you clean in his bath, you can find the core self of Bruce inside him, the person he is without anyone to pretend for, anything to fight for. All there is is him, and you, falling apart into each other.
You promise him again, “I love you,” when the sun catches the side of his face, flushed with humidity and heat and adoration, warmth, joy. It’s a good look on him; it’s hard to give it to him often, but you’ll provide it as well as you can. A sunny morning in Gotham is already rare; there’s really nothing that can’t be done, you feel.
“I love you,” he tells you, pushing the words into the hollow beneath your throat so they fall right into you, spreading through your blood and marrow and your core, the person you are without anyone or anything else.
You reach up, winding your fingers into his hair again. His face slips along the center of your chest, then tilts, his cheek coming to rest over your heart, ear pressed close enough to listen to it beat. He shuts his eyes, just feeling it, for a moment. You stroke the back of his head, and he smiles.
-
requests used:
"i just saw batman and the “look at me” scene has me. 🧍i wanted to run LAAAAPS. so anyway if u ever wanna write some soft dom bruce haha id pass away <3 love ur writing sm" (anonymous)
"hi! i was thinking about making a request about Bruce? the reader knows about batman and likes to help him investigate, there's a strong tension and conection between them but when selina appears in the picture the reader loses a bit of confidence (and is also a bit jealous even though she feels guilty about it) and bruce can tell something is wrong right away. tell me if this isn't too specific or makes you uncomfortable. i adore the way you write, have a nice week!" (anonymous)
"heyyyy i really love your bruce fic and i was thinking about how sometimes bruce would make love to you and just worship you all night. maybe you could write a fic about that? just soft sex with bruce." (anonymous)
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dailytypographyedits · a year ago
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"I'm somewhere outside my life, babe//I keep scratching but somehow I can't get in" from sedated by hozier please?
I sure can! One of my favorite songs!! 
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phantom-thieves-official · 3 years ago
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Akechi wallpapers plz? >u
all done!! I hope you like them :)
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strawbebbyysprites · 2 years ago
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Tumblr media Tumblr media
Mismagius + Bulbasaur, per request
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