IM NOT A KID

“IM NOT A KID”

Dick x Reader | Y/n aka Robin just saved dicks ass |

tw: u got daddy issues don’t you squidward (iykyk) …. that’s why u reading this 🤣,

• smut, age gap, reader is nineteen and consenting

UNEDITED CUS ITS 4am 😘

⚠️STOP DON’T READ IF SENSITIVE⚠️

“You must be Dick, I’m Y/n the new new robin” you helped him up and smiled as he gave you a confused look . you stuck your hand out so he could shake it

“How did you know I was here?” he wiped off the dust off his suit and fixed his mask. “Batsy sent me and you’re welcome by the way” you rolled your eyes and pulled down the skirt to your robin outfit

“Buy me a drink will ya? meet back here in five i gotta change” you smiled and went to go change.

*

“So you’re the new Robin… but you’re a-“ you cut him off because you already knew what he was going to say. “A girl? yeah so? I just saved your ass” the man chuckled “Yea that’s fair”.

the bar tender approaches the two of you from behind the counter “what can i get for you”. “I’ll take a beer and uh strawberry lemonade for her” he looked at you scanning your features like he was trying to see if you were underage. the bartender nods and walks away to make them. “What are you like sixteen?” he says laughing. “Funny but I’m almost nineteen so technically old enough to drink… grandpa ” you whispered in his ear and rolled ur eyes.

he felt flustered by your sudden move of going close to his ear. “How’d you end up with Bruce?”. the bartender hands you two your drinks and leaves the little area you two are occupying. “it was a year after Bruce lost Jason , i was almost taken advantage of but I fought them hard and he was impressed and took me in” she took a sip of her drink and awkwardly smiled.

“And your family?” he asked taking a generous sip of his beer. “My mom was murdered when I was 15 so I’ve been alone for a while, and I never knew my dad.” he gave you a sympathetic look it almost made you want to cry and embrace him. “I’m sorry y/n” he rubbed your hand with his thumb.

“Is Jason still around or should I say the red hood?” he grinned at you. “Yes he came back to live with Bruce at the manor, sometimes they don’t agree but Bruce really loves him and JJ is sweet to me” you stirred your lemonade and chuckled

the tension between you to was thick you could literally cut it with a knife. dick starred at you like you were the only girl in the world, you wanted to believe in love at first sight but you were way to realistic for that kinda mindset. maybe you were attracted to him because you never had a father figure in your life besides Bruce but hey i don’t judge .

“Why robin you couldn’t be a batgirl? i could see you in babs old suit” he smirk at you. “He told me I could be batgirl once he found another respectable robin” you laughed . “Well looks like you’re gonna be stuck as robin forever, I mean how can u even fight in that skirt ? what if it’s cold or raining?” he asked looking deep into your e/c eyes with his hazel ones.

“I manage! That’s what makes me the best Robin this far cus I can fight in a tight ass skirt and in those ugly ass pants from my winter suit”

*

you two have been talking and laughing for hours after a while you asked him if he’d like to come over to your apartment ( bruce gifted it to u for ur eighteenth birthday) he said yes without hesitation. Dick bought beer and you called a taxi to take you two to your apartment complex it was NICE like as nice as gotham penthouse apartments get .

*

It’s been an hour and you two sat down in your living room downing more beers. “how old are you?” you drunkly said while drinking more of your beer. “I’m turning 28 next month” you grinned and took off your big sweater . “I like how it feels to be around you , we basically spent all day together just talking about my problems and the way u validate me-“

he took you by surprise when he kissed your forehead and rustled your hair like you were a little girl. “I get what you mean kid.” you rolled your eyes and smacked his arm annoyed. “I’m not a kid ok” it took him by surprise when you jumped on his lap and started to kiss him like his kiss was the cure to your issues… maybe it was or maybe you just wanted to kiss him. he kissed back passionately but then pulled away. “We can’t, I should go”

“I know you want me i can feel it poking , nobody has to know ok! It’s not like I’m in love with you” you started kissing his neck and he groaned when you began grinding on his clothed manhood. “Yes keep doing that” his voice started to crack he moaned and groaned as you grinded harder it felt so good.

He pulled off your shirt and unclamped your bra and you took off his button up and started kissing up and down his chest he threw his head back. “Let’s go into my room” you got up from his lap and lead him upstairs to where your room was.

when you got to your room he grinned and threw you on the bed and began sucking your breast and using his other hand to play with the other one. “D-Dick please” your sounds were like music to his ears

*

you sank into his manhood bouncing up and down your noises made him even harder and his praises made you leak with pleasure “Good girl keep going” he grabbed your neck and you moaned as he kept squeezing harder with each thrust.

in the morning you smiled when you saw dick bring you breakfast in bed. maybe this was going to be a whole thing, good forbid if Jason found out 😏

EEK that was my attempt at smut forgive me if it’s bad or to weird 😭 i wanna be an romance author so this was practice :) I’ll get better with time 👌

“SAY YES, SAY YOU WILL BE MY VISCOUNTESS”

songs i listened to: 200% akmu, sofia clairo

this is super short but i just wanted to get something out and i thought this was a cute scenario.

Viscount Tewksbury x Fem Reader 🫶🏻

“Have you ever thought of marriage” Tewksbury asked you as he watched you twirl around his garden.

“Every lady has my lord” you smiled at him , he followed you around his garden as you smelled each and every flower.

“As you know I’m looking for a lady to uh” he cleared his throat “to uh help me extend my family name”.

“So your looking for a bride so she can have your babies? ” you laughed at the thought of mini Tewksburys running around.

Tewksbury turned red “and to love of course, would you like to have children?” he asked waiting on a answer.

“yes but I’m far to young. I’m only eighteen and besides I don’t have any offers yet” you looked at Tewksbury with a fake frown , he rolled his eyes

“You have one” he smiled softly at you

“From who?” you looked confused.

“Me?” he got down in front of you on his knee

“What are you doing my lord , get up” you gave him a shocked expression.

“I want to spend everyday with you, I want to wake up next to you. Will you marry me? Will you be my Viscountess” he took out a box from his jacket and opened it revealing a gorgeous emerald ring. “I can offer you everything you’d ever want”

“Tewksbury- I don’t know what to say” your eyes widened when you saw the big gem, no it was because you never thought a viscount would propose to you

“Say yes , say you will be my Viscountess” he smiled up at you with his golden brown eyes.

“Yes! I will be your Viscountess” you felt tears in your eyes as Tewksbury put the ring on your finger. He picked you up and spun you in the air then kissing you passionately when he softly put you down.

sorry for barely updating i had summer classes 💀

THIS ATE- I literally screamed 😩

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 • dark!bruce wayne x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 • you know your best friend well enough to know that he's keeping a secret from you, you just can't figure out what— or why. but you're about to learn a lot of new things about him that you never could've imagined.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 • 4.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 • this is a DARK fic!! (noncon, slightly yandere, slightly soft!dark), smut (unwanted creampie and very slight breeding kink?), NO spoilers for the batman 2022 in this plot!!, some angst, a knife but nobody gets hurt, unrequited love (or IS IT?!), emo bruce is emo

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬, 𝐢𝐬 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲

𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐛𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦

𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝

Your best friend had been acting strangely for some time now.

Though it was nothing new to see Bruce being sort of skulky and mopey— that was typical of the last twenty years without his parents— he usually wasn’t so avoidant, or hard to reach. You’d been so close your whole lives, ‘peas in a pod’ as Martha Wayne used to say, and up until somewhat recently, you saw him almost every day.

At first it was subtle, he told you he was just a little bit busier and you didn’t think much of it, you saw him less and less— and you figured it was a phase. It was May when you noticed, suddenly, that you hadn’t seen him in a week, and you couldn’t remember if that had ever happened before. By August, you realized this ‘phase’ had been much closer to indefinite than you originally expected; in September, he stood you up after agreeing to be your (platonic, obviously) date to a charity gala.

So, you were pretty done with his shit by October, when he left you on read after you inquired about holiday plans— because you always spent Thanksgiving and Christmas together, and you needed to start figuring out if you should host something at your place or if he was going to want you two to do something by yourselves.

Only a week later, you spotted him at an auction, not that you were too surprised to see him: you specifically attended because you knew he’d be there, considering a painting by Degas— which up until a few days ago hung in the parlor at Wayne tower— was on sale. For quite some time, Bruce had basically left the entire tower untouched, its gothic interior more and more like a mausoleum each day as he kept everything exactly how his parents had left it. It was a recent development that he had begun to donate old belongings and heirlooms, though you could tell from what you’d seen that he was getting rid of the stuff he’d never cared for much in the first place; he hated that Degas, he thought it was a blurry orange mess that your average kindergarten finger-painter could outclass. Honestly, you were happy he was taking control of the space, allowing himself to decide what he wanted to see in his own home every day— and the money bid on the painting would go to a fabulous cause, you just wished you didn’t have to keep tabs on him like this for only a stolen moment alone.

Quite literally stolen, actually, since he started avoiding you as soon as he spotted you at the event: you kept trying to find a good way to get to him, but then as the bidding began, he got up from his seat and started to leave. You got up to follow, and he moved faster. The bastard was literally just going to outrun you! Not about to let him get away that easy, you went backwards— around the auction room into the hallway he’d have to cross to leave. Apparently when Bruce Wayne was dodging your calls, you literally had to ambush him: you hid behind a pillar and waited for him to jog by to grab him by the sleeve and drag him into the shadows.

He yelped slightly, jerking his arm out of your grasp but trapped again by your fist snatching his lapel.

“What gives?” you hissed.

“I— I have to go,” he insisted.

“No,” you snapped. “You need to talk to me. If I’ve done something wrong, just tell me— but I’m worried about you and I need to know that you’re okay.”

“Why?” he dodged.

“I’m not letting you leave until you tell me that you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled unconvincingly, and you deflated, anger sizzling out into sadness. You dropped his lapel and he relaxed slightly.

“Stop pushing me away, Bruce, please,” you breathed. “I miss you.”

He stayed stoic— of course he did— and just glanced down.

“Whatever’s going on,” you assured, “you can tell me. And if you can’t yet, that’s okay— you can tell me that, and I’ll wait. Just let me in, just a little bit? Please?”

His gaze darted around, and you reached up to rest your fingers on his jaw; that seemed to startle him slightly, but it got his attention, and you held his face to keep him looking at yours.

“Look at me,” you whispered. “It’s me, okay? Whatever it is, you’re not gonna scare me away— I’m just scared that you’re shutting me out.”

He blinked, sinking his shoulders down a bit, and exhaling sharply through his nose. “Okay,” he said softly. “You’re right, I’m sorry… we’ll talk tomorrow— come over for dinner.”

“Great,” you smiled.

“I may not be able to tell you everything, right now,” he warned.

“That’s okay,” you assured, “we can just start with ironing out Thanksgiving plans.”

He smiled, barely— for a normal person, it wouldn’t mean much, but for him it was a pretty massive expression of emotion and it soothed you greatly. It wasn’t like you’d never seen him laugh until he snorted and had tears in his eyes, it’s just that you hadn’t seen him like that in probably years now. You missed those glimpses of his joy so much; you hoped this was the beginning of a return to normalcy for the two of you, and you’d have a chance to make him happy like that again.

“Now go,” you offered, stepping back a bit, “do whatever mysterious thing you need to go do.”

He gave you a quick kiss on your temple before he departed, hands stuffed into his pockets and hair already starting to fall out of the style he’d gelled it into. You watched him leave, soothed at the idea you would get your best friend back soon.

~

You glanced at the clock, again, wondering if time was standing still somehow. It was almost 9 last time you checked, and now it was still only 8:59.

Either way, it was pretty late to still be alone at the dining table when Bruce had told you to come for dinner at 7. You toyed with the bracelet around your wrist; you’d dressed pretty nice, maybe a little too nice, because it felt like you were celebrating something. Now it just made you feel even more foolish for being here by yourself.

Alfred had checked in on you a few times, each visit less optimistic than the last, and he appeared once more with a sympathetic smile on his face. “I’m sorry, dear,” he sighed, “but Mr. Wayne will likely not return in time for dinner tonight.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” you shrugged, “sorta saw it coming.”

“I can bring a car around for you?”

“Oh— no, I’ll wait,” you smiled. Alfred wrinkled his eyebrows together. “He’ll be back sometime tonight, won’t he? I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

His eyes darted around— you knew him well, he was looking for an excuse to get you to leave. Why didn’t he want you here? You were more sure than ever that Bruce had been hiding something from you by being absent for these months.

“I’m sure you have plenty to do,” you waved your hand, “I won’t keep you— you certainly don’t need to entertain me. I’ll make a visit to the library, explore a bit, and you can find me when Bruce is back, hm?”

Alfred cleared his throat. “Alright,” he decided.

When he was finally gone, you slipped out of the kitchen— but instead of going to the library, you wandered the halls much more aimlessly. Maybe you just hoped you’d find something to explain Bruce’s bizarre demeanor of late, maybe you were just killing time. He had replaced the Degas he sold at the auction with a new painting, a much more modern one you didn’t recognize; darker, abstract, a little creepy. Much more his style, certainly.

You tinkered on the piano in the parlor, admiring the view of Gotham from the window— yes, this city was filthy in a literal and metaphysical sense, but it was home, and you thought it was beautiful. There was a light mist in the air, not the heavy rain you got so often out here, and it made all the lights sparkle that much more in the deep blue night.

The distant sound of music, coming from one of the floors below, made you stop playing. It took a few moments for you to recognize the tune when it was so muffled, but the echo of the bass was familiar; Nirvana. Bruce must be home. You smirked to yourself… he was rather predictable.

You heard a door slam down the hallway, and you figured it had to be Bruce, because none of the staff would be so careless. Heavy steps started to move down across the creaky floorboards, and you silently leaned back on the bench— yes, just a few moments later, Bruce skulked by. He was wearing jeans and a baggy black t-shirt, but that didn’t give you much clue what he’d been doing since that was what he changed into the second he got home from any event that required anything nicer to be worn.

He didn’t seem to notice you, having forgotten you would be here tonight (you assumed) and not noticing you in the shadows. You thought you might just watch him until he noticed, but then you caught a glimpse of his face.

“Woah,” you chuckled, and he jumped, turning to look at you with wide eyes. “Did you just get back from a rager or something?”

“Huh?” he mumbled.

“The makeup,” you pointed to his face, and his hand shot up to wipe around his eyes. “Kinda lost control of the smoky eye, eh?”

You cringed when he started to rub his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Woah woah, hey, that’s not how you get that off,” you corrected, standing up and coming closer to grab his arm and guide it away from his face. Of course, you felt a lot more muscle under your touch than you expected; you cleared your throat as he looked down at you, eyes red from the irritation. “Let me help you, man, I’ve got micellar water in my purse.”

So yeah, that was how you ended up with cotton balls pinched between your fingers and thumb, carefully wiping the black off from around his eyes. The cleanser got the job done, but the application was so heavy that you had to go in a few times just to get it all— plus the grey-ish watery residue left behind each time you smeared a used cotton ball around.

“And then just a damp washcloth to get off the extra,” you explained under your breath as you wiped his face gently.

He looked up at you between strokes of the fabric over his face, his blue eyes especially striking when they were examining you so closely. “Why are you good to me?” he asked quietly, suddenly.

The question took you aback; it seemed so obvious that you weren’t even sure how to answer it, and at the same time it made you feel all vulnerable and warm. “I— I love you,” you insisted, “of course. Bruce, we’ve been friends longer than I can remember.”

Of course, this was not the first time you had told him that you loved him. It was also not the first time you said it somewhat strategically, so he wouldn’t realize your love for him was far greater than it was supposed to be; that being ‘friends forever’ was a compromise for you, the thing that made you happiest and broke your heart all at once.

“Gotta be careful going out to seedy parties at this hour,” you smirked awkwardly, “that’s when the bat-freak goes out and beats up random citizens. Watch your step.”

You slipped down off the bathroom counter, grabbing the used cotton balls from the edge and chucking them into a wastebin. You could feel his stare on the back of your neck; you even saw him looking at you when you checked the mirror in your peripheral vision.

“I mean, you’re not as poor and desperate as his usual fare,” you joked, “but still— watch out.”

“I’ll try,” he offered plainly after clearing his throat. “I’m sorry I missed dinner.”

You turned around and looked at him again, offering your best shrug and smile. “It’s okay. I just miss you, Bruce— I don’t understand what you’re going through.”

He looked down. “I know you don’t.”

You sighed and stepped closer, so he’d have to look down at you. “Give me a chance to try,” you pleaded. “Whatever it is— you don’t need to hide anything from me, okay? You can’t scare me away.”

He started to chew the inside of his cheek— he was thinking. And that was a good thing, it meant he was thinking about whether or not he could be honest with you. You just needed to convince him that he could be.

“C’mon, Bruce, it’s me!” you smiled. “It’s us— it’s always been us, nothing could change that.”

“You’d be surprised,” he challenged.

“I just want you back,” you sighed, “all of you.”

When he looked in your eyes, it was like he saw right through you; before he even said anything, you knew that he knew. “When you say that you love me,” he interrogated softly, “what do you mean?”

You tried to step back, but he grabbed your arm— not too hard, but… hard, still. “I…” you breathed.

“What way do you love me?” he demanded.

“The— the way that’s forever,” you offered.

“Don’t avoid the question,” he instructed. “Just tell me what you really mean when you say that.”

“I mean,” you began, looking off to the side because looking straight up at him would be too difficult, “that— that you’re my best friend. And I want you to be happy more than anything, and I… think about you, when we’re not together. And I don’t want you to be alone. Unless you want to be, but— but if you don’t, I just want to love you however you want me to.”

After he said nothing for a moment, you looked up at him again, and found his expression infuriatingly unreadable. “Come back tomorrow night,” he decided. “Late. Alfred will call and tell you when to come— and I’ll tell you everything.”

“Really?” you smiled.

“Of course,” he nodded, “because I love you, too.”

He didn’t say what way he meant it— but you felt it in his stare, in his hand on your shoulders, in the weight of his words. And you not only hoped, but really believed, that he might love you the way you meant it.

~

You threw on a dress and rushed to the tower when you got Alfred’s call, even though it was almost midnight… you weren’t going to be able to sleep tonight regardless. There was something difficult to describe in his expression when you saw him inside the tower. “Good evening,” you greeted, waiting for the resolution to the strange energy in the air.

“Mr. Wayne has asked me to take you to another part of the tower,” he explained, “where you can wait for him to return.”

“O…kay…” you agreed, confused but sort of indifferent. He took you to the lowest floor of the tower— the garage, which seemed like an incredibly strange place for you to wait for Bruce. It was stranger, even, when the elevator doors opened and you realized this was not at all the place you thought it was. “Wh—?” you started to ask as you stepped into the dimly-lit room, filled with things you didn’t recognize. There was a computer, itself surrounded by devices you’d never seen before, and clippings from newspapers— and journals, writing scrawled here and there all over everything. You knew Bruce’s handwriting, but none of these words made any sense coming from him. Among the menagerie of random, yet disconcerting, items was a knife: not like a kitchen knife or switchblade, it had a mechanical piece like it was meant to be attached to something. What was something like this doing in what used to be the Wayne Tower garage?

You heard the elevator door close, and you spun around to see the lift start to move— Alfred had left you rather unceremoniously. And you felt, in that moment, the only thing worse than feeling alone…

Not feeling alone.

You looked over your shoulder, turning slowly; your heart started to race as you looked into the shadows. Even though you prayed not to see anything, you still couldn’t look away. Embarrassingly, your knees almost buckled and you nearly crumpled onto the floor when a towering figure stepped out of the shadows. The points at the top of his head gave him away: the Batman. The caped crusader; the most prolific dealer of assault & battery to never see a day behind bars.

So, not really somebody you wanted to run into tonight.

At first, your instinct was that he was here to attack Bruce, though you couldn’t imagine why; but the way he was looking at you made you wonder how far he was willing to go to silence you— or if, somehow, he was here for you.

You grabbed for the knife beside you on the desk, but he was on you before you could even lift it in the air completely— he shoved you back into the wall as you whined, holding your wrist so tight you were forced to drop the blade. It clattered to the floor as you choked out a sob.

You waited for him to do whatever it was he wanted to do to you— because you knew you couldn’t stop him. Nothing happened; you waited for him to say something, then, but he said nothing. You were forced to soften your face from the perpetual wince of terror, so you could turn to look up at him and hopefully see why he hadn’t done anything.

Afraid to look at his masked face right away, your eyes lingered on his armored chest first, and the metallic symbol embedded in the center of it. Carefully, you moved your gaze higher and higher, finally finding the strength to meet his stare. It took you longer than it should have for you to realize, when you looked into his eyes. Well, that’s not entirely true: you realized instantly, you would know those eyes anywhere. It’s just that it took you a little too long to let yourself believe it.

He must’ve realized he would need to force you to accept the truth literally staring you in the face. He reached up— and no, you didn’t use the opportunity to try to run because it would’ve been useless anyways, and you were petrified in fear and morbid curiosity— and removed the mask from his head.

“No,” you said under your breath, because you couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Yes,” he insisted.

“I— this— you—” you started over and over again. “Oh, Bruce, what have you done!”

“What I had to,” he answered.

“What you do— it isn’t right,” you implored, “those people—”

“They’re not good people.”

“They have rights!”

“You love me,” he reminded you.

“I don’t even know you,” you denied, finally finding the willpower to walk away— but he grabbed your shoulders and pushed you back again, keeping you still as your eyes watered.

“You said you wanted me,” he sneered. “All of me. This is who I am.”

“N-no it’s not,” you denied, “you would never hurt anyone, Bruce.”

“I hurt a lot of people.”

“But you’d never hurt me,” you whispered shakily. “You’d never hurt me…” you repeated, not sure who you were trying to convince by saying it.

“Not if I didn’t have to,” he responded eventually. You turned your head and he instantly grabbed your jaw, much too hard, with a gloved hand; you gasped and whimpered as he forced you to turn your face back towards him, wrenching your chin up. “Look at me,” he growled.

You bit your lip to stop it from shaking, staring straight into his eyes— they were so much darker now, and not just because of the black smears around them. “Bruce, you’re scaring me,” you mumbled nervously.

“Fear,” he replied flatly, “is a tool.”

In one swift motion, he swept aside most of the scattered papers and items from the desk and pushed you to bend down over it; you sobbed as you felt his grip tighten on the back of your neck and his other, gloved hand run over your back slowly.

“I knew you’d be afraid of me,” he admitted, “but you begged me to tell you. And now you know.”

His hand departed from your body for only a moment, and with your face turned to the side and your cheek pressed to the cool surface beneath you, you could just barely make out on the edges of your vision Bruce bringing his hand to his mouth to pull off his glove with his teeth.

You gasped at the feeling of his bare touch, reaching down to brush over your thigh just below the hem of your dress and slowly moving up.

“Bruce, stop,” you whispered.

“This is what you wanted,” he replied quietly. “This is what I wanted, too, but I knew you couldn’t understand. Now I realize that doesn’t really matter.”

You shivered when he lifted the skirt of your dress up over your back, revealing your panties; your face burned so hot it heated up the metal desk beneath you. You'd worn nice ones just in case tonight went well… this wasn't what you had in mind.

He made a low noise, like a deep, sustained hum, as he reached up and carefully pulled down the waistband of your underwear. You whimpered as the fabric dragged along your skin, feeling yourself become more and more exposed.

"Don't— don't do this," you began to bargain. "I'll just… I'll just go and I won't tell anyone and—"

"Is that what you think I want?" he sighed. "For you to leave? I'm so tired of being alone… you can't leave. I'm never letting you leave."

You panted anxiously, hardly believing this was Bruce, your Bruce, rubbing your bare hips and kicking your legs apart.

“Please, please,” you sobbed weakly.

“Shh, hey,” he soothed, “I won’t hurt you, it’s not going to hurt. It’ll feel good, you know why?”

He leaned in closer, so close that his lips brushed against your ear when he spoke. You felt the head of his cock poke at your opening and you whined.

“Because we’re made for each other.”

In one strong, quick stroke he filled you; you bit down hard on your lip and held back the cry that threatened to break from your throat. He let out a low moan, so deep that the bass of it made a chill run up your spine, and carefully began to move.

You were wet, way more than you should’ve been in a time like this, and you knew it was because of the fear rather than in spite of it. Fear is a tool. He was right after all. At least your arousal eased the pain a little… just not the pain in your heart, unfortunately.

He held your hips tightly for leverage, but the desk beneath you still scraped against the concrete floor cacophonously with every thrust. Yes, you'd wanted Bruce this way for some time— but not like this, of course. You wanted him to make love to you; he was treating you like a means to an end now, he was forcing you to accept every part of him in a much more literal sense than you wanted to believe.

This was clearly, to him, about making you understand that Bruce Wayne is the Batman, an alter ego of sorts. But to you it was about realizing that neither of them were who you thought they were.

When he held your arms tighter, guiding them under your chest and wrapping you up in his embrace, you realized you’d never felt so trapped before. He kissed your neck, and you hated that your back arched at the feeling even though you longed for the strength to squirm away.

“You love me,” he whispered again. “Don’t you? Tell me you love me.”

“Stop,” you choked, whining as his grip on your wrists tightened painfully.

“Don’t make me ask you twice,” he warned.

“I love you,” you whimpered. “I— I love you, Bruce. You… you’re hurting me.”

“Sometimes love hurts,” he explained nonchalantly. “All the most important love hurts.”

Unfortunately, you knew he was right about that; loving him all this time had hurt, in its own way, but never like this. Maybe this was just the cost of him loving you back.

“You said you’d love me however I wanted you to,” he remembered. “This is how I want you to love me. Bent over.”

Crying harder, your breathing got shakier and less useful— his weight sinking into you didn’t help with that, either. He wouldn’t suffocate you right here in this basement, right?

“Can you do that?”

You nodded, and sputtered when he started to fuck you faster. His breathing was hot and heavy against your skin, his hair was falling down around his face and tickling your cheek.

“This is what I need from you,” he explained. “I think you need this, too. I’m gonna give you what you need okay, just… hold still…”

You didn’t realize what he meant until a string of low groans filled your ears and you felt a throbbing inside you that wasn’t your own.

“No, n-not inside,” you gasped, “Bruce, wait—”

“You can’t leave,” he simply repeated, “I can’t let you leave…”

“Please,” you sobbed, “please—!”

It was too late to beg, or to struggle against his tight hold on you, or to cry when he bit down on your neck— but you did all three, just because you couldn’t do much of anything else.

He sighed as a dull warmth radiated from your core; you could feel his come starting to leak out and run down your thighs and you thought you might be sick. His weight was already crushing you, but when he relaxed and sunk down further, you honestly got the wind knocked out of you. “Bruce,” you croaked out, and he seemed to get the message because he pulled you back with him as he slowly lowered to the floor— and so you were held tightly to his chest and stuck in his lap while he leaned back against the wall.

You tried to move so he wouldn’t be inside you anymore, but he quickly grabbed your hips to keep them still. “Shh,” he soothed, “just keep me warm for a while, okay?”

You didn’t answer: agreement was moot, denial was futile.

“I love you too,” he breathed, eyes falling shut as he caught his breath, “by the way.”

ok so this is a tmi and i will probably delete this later but safari fucking deleted all my private tabs and i lost this hood ass fanfic from a03 it’s like the reader babysits leia and Luke for ani and then she goes on their family trip to the aquarium

unfinished but cured my daddy issues, Ben affleck >>

You Can Call Me Bruce...(Part V)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x reader

Warnings: Age gap, mild swearing (? I think?)

Previous Parts: I, II, III, IV

Dedicated to: everyone who stuck by this story. I apologize for this much delayed update, things had been hectic up until a few days ago, but I’m back now. 

I haven’t tagged anyone in particular because I’ve gone too long to even remember those who requested (please don’t throw rocks), but feel free to inbox and remind me for the next installment–which, most likely, will be the last.

                                                  ~*~*~*~

“You wanted to see me?” Bruce asks.

He’s standing in the kitchen doorway, using his best Batman impression to try and ward off all thoughts that he’s scared. He isn’t scared. He could never be scared. By even harboring such feelings from the start, Bruce knew that it would come to this, and he’s not scared at all because he’s prepared.

He’s prepared to hear Alfred’s disdain.

He’s prepared for judgmental stares and disguised accusations; for wrathful scolding, for raised voices. He’s even ready for things to get physical, worst comes to worst, and Bruce promises he’ll let Alfred win, for he truly deserves all of it what shall be thrown at him.

“Take a seat.” The older man finally speaks, back to the door as he stands at the sink. Water drips from the faucet, drop after drop. It echoes into the otherwise silent room. Bruce moves.

He seats himself at the counter, steepling his hands on top, and with a deep breath, the butler finally turns. Their gazes meet.

“Master Wayne.” He says; to Bruce, it always sounds like a hello or a good morning . Familiar. Routine. Hearing it uttered now with such venom is almost painful.

“You’re quite punctual for things like these.”He says

“Things like what, Alfred?”

“As if you don’t know.”

A silence.

The two friends stare at each other. Neither speaks. Wind whistles through the room, and they sit, reading the lines and wrinkles and creases carved in their faces from all the battles they’ve faced together.

So many.  And saying Bruce doesn’t feel his heart wrench even a little would be a lie.

Alfred is his best-friend. Alfred has always been his best friend. More than anything, he’s almost been like a father to him, and facing him in such a rancorous environment is sickening.

He wants to get up and run away, he now realizes. He wants to elude this conflict. Avoid it. Bury it. If you asked him a second ago if he was afraid, Bruce would have said no, would’ve scoffed at the mere preposition. If you asked him now, he’d say the same thing…

Because he wasn’t afraid.

He was mournful.

Mournful that it had come to this; mournful that he was sitting here, in this kitchen, about to be forced to pick a fight with his best-friend.

“You say you don’t know,” Alfred begins. “…and yet here you sit, wearing that very same scowl of intimidation you give the joker.”

“Is that supposed to make me mad.” Bruce retorts. His voice is harsh,stoic.

He watches the older man’s eyes. And then they soften.

And then Bruce feels a vein in his neck twitch, but he can’t do anything about that, not now. Instead he focuses on Alfred, who just as much is trying to shutter his emotions. This is hard for him too. How can it not be? The two of them are family. To Bruce, Alfred is his only family, and knowing that only makes it harder to pull through.

“Master Wayne…”Alfred says, raising himself to his feet as he saunters over to the sink. The faucet drips and drips in the hanging silence, taunting Bruce.  “I’ve known you all your life. I’ve known you since you were just a boy and I’ve seen you grow. Seen you through all your trials and tribulations, your successes, your failures. I’ve watched become batman and save Gotham and in all that time, I’ve never asked for much.” He pauses, eyes searching, searching desperately for any form of surrender in Bruce’s feature’s.

But he won’t let him have it.

Bruce clenches his jaw. It feels like his teeth just might shatter from the pressure.

“But I ask you now.” He continues.  “Please. Let this one go.”

“Don’t beat around the bush, Alfred.”

“I don’t want to see you going Y/N again, you hear me? I don’t want to even see the two of you in the same room.” He’s straight to the point, not sparing Bruce of the bluntness, and it cuts him like a knife. He tries not show it, clenching his jaw further.

“She’ll be leaving soon.” Alfred continues. “A week. A week and she’ll be gone, and until then I want you to put an end to whatever is going on.”

“Nothing is going on.” Bruce’s voice is leveled and yet firm. Authoritative, like he is a captain ordering his cadet. He can see the scorn, evident and dripping from his features, in Alfred’s face as he scowls.

“Don’t be daft, boy..” he grits. “I saw you, I saw the two of you in your room—“

“We weren’t doing anything!”

“So you mean you were just talking as you said?”

“Yes, Alfred.”

“You mean she was just telling you about her work?”

“Yes!”

“You mean you didn’t try to kiss her?” He bellows, angry, exasperated.

All the blood drains from Bruce’s face.

His skin goes white, as white as snow, as white as the age painting Alfred’s hair. He can feel it: the embarrassment, as now the unspoken is vocalized, the other shoe has dropped. Bruce gulps thickly, and then averts his gaze, breaking his poker face.

“You mean I’m making this up?” Alfred continues. “You mean I didn’t walk in on you ready to soil her innocence.”

“Stop talking like she’s a child.” A vein in Bruce’s neck pops angrily as his fists clench. He knew this was coming right from the start, but hearing it out loud makes him freeze, makes his stomach feel like molten tar. God, how embarrassing. How incriminating.

“Compared to you she is. Compared to you she might as well be in diapers. Age regardless, sir, you’re older. You’re older in soul and you’re older in mind. You’ve seen things….terrible things. That in itself would mark you as ancient, even if you were clocking thirty.”

“You think I don’t know this, Alfred? I do. Goddamn it, I do.” He does. This is why Bruce never wanted this—this is why he kept it hidden away, locked up like a vile and sinful thing that it was; but now it’s out in the open and he feels exposed, vulnerable. They’re telling him things he already knows.

They’re telling him things he doesn’t want to know because knowing them makes him feel even worse. He doesn’t want that and God, he doesn’t want this to be happening but it is and…

“Act like it. You’re not a child.”

Bruce lifts his gaze. “What do you think I plan on doing Alfred? Hmm? Do you think I want to get in her pants?”

“What other motive do—“

“What do you mean what other motive—“

“What is going on?” A voice cuts through their bickering, confused and harried.

Both of them freeze. Bruce feels his heart, formerly rampant and rapidly beating in his chest, still, and he doesn’t want to look, but at the same time it’s tempting because it’s her.

Y/N.

Y/N, standing in the doorway.

Y/N, estranged and weary.

Finally, he gives in and Bruce’s eyes dart to her, raking over her face.  She looks to him. “What’re you two doing?” The young girl asks. “Why are you arguing like this?”

Aflred, standing by the sink, lets his hands slowly lower and unclenches his fist. He swallows. “Y/N….” He admonishes. “Stay out of this.”

“Like I hell I will, Uncle Fred. I just walked in on the two of you nearly tearing each other’s fucking throats out and you think I’m going to let this go?”

He clenches his jaw. “It’s none of your business.”

“Except it is.”

“Y/N.” Bruce cuts through the growing argument, earning the pair’s attention. Y/N’s eyes flare with irritation and the next thing he knows she’s up in his face, but a few inches away.

“You…”The young girl sneers. “What the hell are you doing arguing with him? He’s your family—you’re both each other’s family! You’re not supposed to be spewing hate at each other like this, for Christ sake.”

“You have no right to interrupt like this.” Says Alfred.

Y/N scoffs and rolls her eyes, about to speak, but she’s cut off.

“Go to your room!” He commands, voice dressed in sternness, authoritativeness that Bruce hasn’t heard in so long. He used to use that tone with Bruce when he was just a child, when they’d get into an argument about him disrespecting Alfred or when there needed to be some disciplinary ground rules. It had once been frightening. Hearing it now, however, Bruce feels nothing but scorn well up within him.

His fists clench at his sides as a protectiveness takes over him, and the next thing he knows, he’s standing in front of Y/N, shielding her from her livid uncle. Just to keep from things getting ugly, but he hears something sift behind him. When he turns around, Y/N is glaring at him bitterly, stepping out from behind his burly form with an offended expression marring her features.

“I don’t need you protecting me.” She says, like she’s angry, like him trying to help her is almost as bad as Alfred’s rage. “I’m not a baby anymore. I don’t need you trying to treat me one, Uncle Fred—and I don’t need you trying to stick up for me when I can do it perfectly fine on my own.”

“I didn’t say that you couldn’t.”

“This is outrageous! Both of you,” Alfred cuts in, and then all hell breaks loose, because Y/N starts to argue with him.

Bruce watches from the sidelines, amazed and frightened. It’s a vicious battle. Words fly from person to person, pure venom, bitter, angry. Y/N brings up their family and how everybody still sees her as a baby, and Alfred retaliates by reminding her off all the bad decisions she’s made that have caused that. He’s yelling, going red in the face. It isn’t until he hears a small sniffle that Bruce realizes Y/N is crying.

“Huh, see that—grown girls don’t cry when you tell them the truth!” Alfred yells.

“Shut up! J-just…just shut up.” Y/N drags her hand across her face, trying to dry her eyes but instead smearing her makeup. The entire image is terribly morbid. Her face is red and blotchy, and there are dark trails of mascara running down her cheeks. She’s crying, sobbing, hiccupping and grappling for air to feel her lungs.

Bruce can’t take it.

“Enough, Alfred!” He cuts in, stepping in front of the young girl. This time Y/N doesn’t shove him out of the way; instead, she cowers behind him, accepts his protection, like a weak dog.

He’s shielding her like a large building, sturdy and strong and trying his ebst not to throw a fist into the elder-man’s jaw. “Jesus, Alfred, you didn’t have to be so harsh. What’s wrong with you?”

“I can’t do this master Wayne!” Alfred’s voice is leveled, dangerously low. He has calmed. The vein in his neck has gone back into hiding, but even then, his face is still the color of blood.

“I’m going to make it easy for all of us; either I go, or she does.”

“What?” Both Bruce and Y/N say in unison, before he cans art to feel it. It takes moment. A second. Then it sets in, the realization of what he’s saying.

A pang of pain shooting through him like an arrow, Bruce feels his body go cold.

Alfred’s eyes hold a pain similar to his that say that this isn’t easy for him either. This isn’t what he wants. But what other choice does he have?

“You heard, master Wayne.” The elder man tries to coat his voice with a strength that betrays him when it almost cracks. “It’s either I stay, or she does.”

“Alfred…”

“This entire situation has gone too out of hand. For Christ-sake, Bruce—“ Bruce. Alfred rarely—never—calls him Bruce. He has always been Master, to him. Master Wayne. Sir. Variants of a formality that have never hurt him as much as hearing his own name has now.

Memories of his boyhood flood Bruce, a time when Alfred called him that, the only time. It was so brief. He became Sir at the tender age of thirteen. Years later, and the title has been revoked.

Bruce.

“—I can’t let this happen. Do you realize how much is at stake here? Do you realize how badly the two of you would be together? Y/N, you still have your studies to tend to.”

“I know.”

“Then bloody act like it.”

“Alfred…” Bruce cuts in, and all eyes turn to him.

The room quiets momentarily.

Alfred’s eyes glaze over as he looks at him. Their gazes lock—both pained, both not wanting this to fall through. Why is he letting it, then? Why won’t Bruce just do something, he wonders, until he realizes there’s little to do.

“You have until tomorrow to choose. If you don’t have answer by dawn—” Alfred’s eyes go to Y/N. There are tears staining the apples of her cheeks. “—then I make the final decision. Y/N leaves. You own up to your mistake, and clean up this bloody mess you’ve made.” He says and then, before Bruce, or Y/n or the wind that howls through the hallway, can get anything in, he turns and leaves.

Hiss jaw clenches, and he gulps thickly. The room is silent. Footsteps are heard padding away, further and further, until the only sound left is that of Bruce’s heart wrenching in his chest. 

                                                    ~*~*~*~

Her heart hammers in her chest.

Her breath feels hot and shallow and not enough, and her skin is drained of all its blood and colorless. She’s standing outside his bedroom door. Outside she can hear the hoot of an owl and the whisper of the wind. It’s two in the morning. It’s cold and she’s scared and Y/N immediately regrets having gotten out of bed to come and do this, because nothing good can come of it.

Turn back now, her mind says. Go back to bed. Go back to silence. Don’t tell him how you feel.

But she doesn’t listen.

She knocks gingerly, but it’s feint and barely audible, so she tries once more, curling her fist tighter this time. She watches Bruce, laying in bed with his back to her, stir and then slowly sit up.

“Yeah..?” He groggily asks, rubbing his eyes.

The young girl bites her lip and wrings her hands harder together, her stomach knotting further.

She’s standing in the doorway, one hand up on the wooden frame and the other rested tenderly on the crook of her neck. Her eyes, wet and red, search the darkness for Bruce’s silhouette. He’s sitting at the edge of his bed, sleepy-eyed and dazed as he looks at her.

And y/n feels a chill run down her spine when her gaze locks onto his.

He knows.

Uncle Fred told him. Uncle Fred told him everything. Now, even just standing before him feels so shameful and embarrassing,  like she’s clad in nothing but her skin suit, like she’s exposed. Because she is. Because Bruce knows. Because….

“I thought you were asleep.” He says, pulling her from her reverie.

Y/N gulps as sweat beads at the nape of her neck. He’s awake. At least, she thinks, that spares her the task of waking him up.

“Not yet. I’m…” she stumbles. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

“Nightmares?”

“I wish.” A sardonic laugh escapes the elder man. Y/N clinches her hands tighter together. The room is dark and hot and she can feel her clothes clinging to her body like flesh to her bones.

Bruce cards a hand through his hair, tired, worn out. Even if she wanted to, Y/N wouldn’t be able to dismiss his claims of insomnia—he looks exhausted. Rings of grey brim his eyes and the light once glinting fiercely and vivacious in them has dulled down.

Bruce looks tired. Bruce is tired.

Bruce knows.

“Let’s just say I have a lot to think about.” He explains after a silence.  “That kind of things keeps you up at night, you know?”

“ I know.” She nods curtly, biting her lip. She wants to say something in response—anything—but all coherence escapes her. She’s at loss for words, because what can she say?

The bomb dropped a few hours ago still lingers in the air of the house. It’s been two hours since Uncle Fred left the house; he was emotional and angry when she went to talk to him and he ended up storming out and driving off for a drink (or twenty). Y/N doesn’t mention this to Bruce.

Instead, she tries to gather her thoughts and courage and say something, because who will if not her.

“I….” She starts. His head lifts, attention befalling the young girl.

His brow then furrows softly. “Are…you feeling okay?”

“Uh—yeah…I…I am.”

“You don’t seem like it.”

“Well, not getting any sleep will do that to you.” She quips.

He nods slowly. “Right….”

A silence hangs between them. Neither party says anything for a while, and it’s painful because she came here to speak, to tell him how she felt, to vocalize all this rampant emotion that won’t cease within her, and so Y/N forces the words out of her mouth.

“I have something to tell you.” She says.  She swallows, trying to mollify her nerves. You can do this, Y/N tells herself. You will do this.

“I…Uncle Fred told you already, didn’t he?”

Bruce is quiet.

She waits for a response, one that doesn’t come, until she has top force herself to speak up once more.

“I said Uncl—“

“I heard what you said.” He says curtly, cutting her off.

Y/N closes her mouth, and then mutters a quiet oh. Her heart is racing—God, is it racing—and her lungs constrict and the blood drains from her fingertips and from her face and from her, and Bruce is looking at her with inquisitive eyes that egg her on.

“I know that he told you—obviously. It’s uhm….it’s okay, if you know” Y/N explains, trying (and failing) to not let the desperation seep into her voice. “I wanted to tell you myself, of course, but, having somebody else do it is okay, because the outcome is still the same. You still know.”

“You don’t have to say it.”

“And if I want to?”

“Then you have to stop. Just,…” Bruce sighs, eyes sliding over her face from a few inches away. The room is dim and quiet and her heart is in her throat, but it doesn’t matter, because Bruce is so close, and he knows.

“Just…”.” His voice is different, baring an edge and uncertainty that she has never witnessed before that makes things seem even more eerie. His eyes, a rich grey, bore into hers.

“Stop this, Y/N. Please. Don’t make it harder than it already is.”

“I’m not trying to.” Her eyes water and she shakes her head softly. “Bruce, I…”

“Y/N..”

They’re less than inches apart. Neither of them dare to break eye contact, only leaning closer in, and closer in, and Y/N’s eyes begin to flutter shut, and Bruce doesn’t pull away, and it feels as though the world is fragmented on a cosmic level when their lips meet.

Their mouths are pressed together, and they kiss.

They kiss.

His tongue is warm and wet as runs along her lips. Y/N gladly lets it, lifting her hand to his head to real him closer in. She presses herself flush to his form. Bruce reciprocates, cupping her face in both his hands and maneuvering his lips against hers, and—

“Bruce—“ Y/N tries to speak.

“Just stop.” His breath fans against her skin, against her nose. She lets out a breathy moan as he captures her lips once more, feeling her heart flutter like a cage of untamed birds.

Her hands slide through Bruce’s hair like water when she feels his hands leave her face and go to her waist. He hoists her up, and she jumps, wrapping her legs around him, not caring what they’re doing or what they’re about to do because, god, this feels too good.

They make their way to his bed. Fall onto it. Kiss, touch. Y/N swears that she can feel her soul floating higher and higher until it’s of her body and into the astral plane, watching their two bodies mould together upon the covers. Bruce’s hand slides beneath the fabric of her shirt and she feels a jolt of pleasure at the contact.

“Bruce…” She pants, chest rising and falling rapidly.

He dips his head and slides his lips down to her jaw, to her neck until they’re peppering desperate, wet kisses along her collarbone.  The young girl moans at the contact; her mind is fogging up like a car window on a misty evening. Fear clutches her heart in its icy talons and gives it a firm squeeze. This is wrong—God, this is all so wrong, that she’s certain of as much as she is that the sky is blue…

But Y/N doesn’t want it to stop.

                                               ~*~*~*~*~ Hopefully the wait was worthwhile lol

If you guys enjoyed this then go ahead and like, reblog or just follow to catch any more imagines I post. With my new computer finally in my possession, expect more updates and oneshots coming in.

As always, have a nice day!

I WANT THE MIRROR SCENE 😣🫶🏻

I'm saying this right now for all who will listen -

they fucking BETTER have just as many romance scenes for Penelope and Colin as they did for the other two.

I don't want cutesy little kisses (I mean I do, but...).

I want passionate, hot, steamy scenes because it's what they fucking deserve.

I swear if they pull ANY punches because Penelope isn't as "traditional" as the other girls I will fucking start such a riot, it'll make everyone's heads spin.

thank you and have a good rest of the day