008

Clark’s always teasing you. 

He’s always making jokes at your expense, smiling coyly and commenting on whatever comic you’re reading now, leaning over your shoulder to read and laughing when you get flustered. It’s a routine for him, something he’s grown used to during your shifts together.

More than that. It’s comforting. It helps him get through the day even when he’s late from Superboy-ing around, helps him keep even after he’s gotten lectured by the boss for the umpteenth time. 

Except you’re not here today. 

He noticed your absence immediately, and had already asked around about you only for your boss to shrug his shoulders and say you weren’t coming in today. Clark had tried to ask more questions but the boss just brushed him off, sending him to the back to bag and board more comics.

Still, even as he dives into what was usually his favorite task, Clark can’t stop thinking about you. He misses you, really. Misses your laughter when you tease him, the way you huff and cross your arms over your chest and mutter a quick, ‘that’s not funny’.

His shift drags on, the little texts he sends to you throughout the day going unanswered. It only makes him worry more—what could possibly be going on that you don’t have your phone?

He doesn’t even bother to go home after work, instead, he’s on his way to your place. He’s nervous, flying instead of walking because he can’t shake the feeling that something is horribly wrong with you. That you need him.

It’s a small victory that your living room window is unlocked, though Clark finds no comfort in that. Isn’t he always telling you to lock up tight?

He swallows it back, persisting into the warmth of your living room and locking the window behind him. He calls your name, noticing the distinct emptiness to your house.

You don’t answer.

He calls out for you again, footsteps light as he makes his way into the hallway. Still, there’s no answer. Clark’s frown only deepens.

He knocks gently at your bedroom door. “Hey, you in here?”

No answer.

He pushes it open, slow and careful so as not to walk in on anything he shouldn’t, only to find you laid out in your bed. You’re curled up in a ball, buried under so many blankets that Clark can barely make out your form.

He calls your name again, voice softer this time. You stir slightly, arms curling in to rub at your eyes. 

You blink into the darkness. “CK?”

He cringes at the sound of your voice—all scratchy and dry, sounding like every syllable hurts you. He catches a glimpse of you with his xray vision, frowning when he notices the spike in your temperature.

Sick, he realizes. You’re sick.

“What’re you—” You cough, clearing your achy throat, “what’re you doing here?”

“Was in the neighborhood, just thought I’d check in and all.”

You squint, trying to decipher the expression on his face through your bleary eyes. “Neighborhood? You live seven blocks in the opposite direction.”

“Nevermind that.”

You prop yourself up, body aching in protest, and kick away some of the blankets. You’ve been like this all day, completely laid out in your bed, in pain and hoping for a respite.

“You didn’t come into work today,” he leans against the doorframe. 

A pained smile comes to your dry lips. “You were worried.”

“I was not.” 

“Worry not, Clark.” You shiver slightly, the cold seeping in from the cracks in your blanket. “It’s just a cold.”

“You’re shivering.” 

“I’m aware.”

“Do you need anything? Have you even eaten today?”

You shake your head, a sheepish look on your face. “Didn’t want to get up,” you admit, defeated. “Body hurts so bad.”

He pauses, thinking back to what he needed when he was sick as a kid. Gingerale, plain crackers, cough syrup. A cold cloth on his forehead and someone to tell him he’d be okay. His heart sinks at the thought of you sitting here alone all day.

“What about water? Medicine?”

Again, you shake your head. Clark bites back the urge to tease you, to ask if you were just planning on dying alone in here.

“Hang tight, alright? I’ll be right back.”

It’s a half hour before Clark returns, a plastic bag hanging from his arm. You’re already half-asleep again, curled under your pile of blankets and somehow still shivering.

Your eyes open at the familiar click of your lamp flickering to life. “Clark?”

“Mhm, just me,” he says, rifling through the bag and unpacking its contents onto your nightstand. “Brought you some stuff.”

Pressing a gentle hand to the small of your back, Clark helps you sit up in bed, propping you up against your headboard. His hand lingers on the warm fabric of your shirt.

“First things first: drugs. And sorry, not the fun kind.”

You laugh a little, ribs aching horribly. Clark grabs the water he brought you off your nightstand and brings it to your lips. You swallow a big gulp before he replaces it with his palm, two blue pills resting against the skin.

You tip your head back, swallowing the pills despite the searing pain they bring to your throat. You wince, and Clark’s lips purse into a frown.

“I brought you some ginger ale too,” he gestures to the shiny green bottle on your bedside table. “And there’s lots more medicine.”

“Thanks, Clark.”

He pulls away, the sudden lack of his warmth leaving you cold. A shiver rolls through your body, limbs shaking as you desperately draw them inwards in an attempt to conceal your warmth.

He gets one step away from the bed before turning back to you. “Are you sure you’re not gonna die without me?”

“Y-yeah,” you say, but you’re shivering so badly it comes out as a stutter.

“Do you always have to be so stubborn?”

You’re too tired, too cold and too sick to think of a retort, though Clark yearns for your usual snarkiness. He sighs, kicking off his shoes.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Staying.”

You look at him with glassy eyes. “You’re gonna get sick.”

He flexes a bicep, flashing you that playful grin. “Kryptonian physiology, do your worst.”

You sigh, relaxing back into your pillows and watching as Clark shuffles over to the other side of your bed, lifting a corner of your comforter—buried under half a dozen throw blankets—and sliding under. He reaches an arm out to you, the warmth of his skin already radiating through your bed.

“C’mere.”

“You don’t—don’t have to.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna sit here and let you freeze to death, work would be so boring without you.” 

Among other things, he thinks, though he doesn’t dare say it out loud.

You roll into him, letting his strong arms draw you into his chest. The scent of his deodorant and body wash is just strong enough to seep through your congested nose, the scent a comfort to you. You rest your head against his shoulder, the shivering that’s plagued you slowly fading away.

Clark holds you tightly, resting his own chin above your head, trying to cover as much of your body as he can with his. Slowly, he feels your breathing even out, feels the tenseness of your muscles fade, feels you fall asleep in his arms.

He waits, holding his breath for minutes until finally, he can’t take it anymore. “Sleep well, angel,” he mumbles, brushing his lips over your scorching hot forehead.

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"Mhm," another vibration of his chest that rumbles through your back, and another squeeze to your waist, more firm and aware than the previous one. "I am, darling."

You give a light nod, and before you can say anything else he's burying his face into the side of your neck. A small smile starts pulling at your lips as you feel the tickle of his scruff, one of your hands leaving the spot it was occupying on your pillow to instead cover his. Your fingers tangling together almost immediately.

"That all you wanted to know?" A soft peck to the base of your neck and another light nuzzle.

For a moment you shake your head, but the doubts of him being able to see the gesture in the darkness of the blackout curtains take over soon after. "No, was just making sure."

A comfortable silence settled in, the only little sound making it through the still air of the night a light ruffling of fabric caused by the rhythmic rubbing of Bruce's thumb over your wedding band.

"Which one would you rather be…" you have to pause for a second, lightly biting the inside of your cheek to avoid laughing preemptively. Perhaps this kind of questions were part of Bruce's reasoning for only leaving his responsibilities as the Bat once you were deep in sleep. "A cowboy or a pirate?"

A sigh leaves him, one that only makes it harder for you to hold the laugh in. Quietness settles for a minute again, only interrupted by the surprised squeal that leaves you when Bruce easily turns you around so you're facing him.

"Hi," it should be embarrassing, how lovesick the little coo that leaves you sounds, specially given that it's prompted by a barely-perceptible contour of his face.

"Hi," perhaps not as embarrassing when his murmur comes just as soft. Your eyes fluttering closed when the pressure of his forehead settles against yours. "Mind repeating that question for me, sweetheart?"

"Mhm," there's a light nod to go along with it, although it mostly achieves having your forehead a bit more squished up to his. "My question, my dear, was weather you'd be a cowboy or a pirate if you could choose."

He hums for a moment, as if deep in thought, truly contemplating the type of lifestyle he'd pick. Instead, "and where does that question come from?"

You let out a dramatic little groan, readjusting so you can bury your face into his neck as a sign of your discontent at his lack of straight answer. Despite your pretended indignation, any tension in your muscles melt the moment the familiar smell of his cologne fills your nostrils. "Curiosity. Not everyone has ulterior motives."

"Are you sure?" Right, you can't see him, but you can hear the smile in Bruce's tone, the way he's just being complicated for his own amusement now. "How can i know this is not a set up?"

"A set up for what?" your head lifts so you can look at the spot in the void where you presume his eyes are. "So i can ship you off into a life of pirate adventure? Even if it were the case, how would that be a bad thing? It sounds awesome."

A satisfied smile settles on your lips when a soft yet unrestrained laugh leaves him, one of his hands finding the spot between your shoulder blades so he can pull you in and onto his chest. You're more than happy to melt against it, ear perfectly placed to hear the constant thump of his heart.

"So you did plan to sail me off?" You're the one laughing this time, snaking your arms around his waist to give a light squeeze.

"You wish," you murmur with a lighthearted scoff, pressing a soft kiss to his shirtless pec before resting your head there again. "You're stuck with me, love."

A soft scoff leaves Bruce at the same time his arms tighten around you, making it so every part of your body is pressed up against his. "Nowhere else i'd rather be."

Comfortable silence blankets the room once more, the mix of his even heartbeat under your ear and the light drag of his fingers against your arms and shoulders proving to be effective to lull you to sleep.

"Pirate then?" you mumble, words slurred in that way that only happens while being in the brink of sleep.

"Definitely not," he murmurs in return, his head ducking for a moment so he can press a kiss to your forehead. "Cowboy all the way. Would manage cattle all day and then get home to you as soon as the sun goes down."

⋆. 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𐙚˚ || 𓄹 ⊹ . 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 . 𐐒𐐚₊⋆｡˚

You run your hands through his hair, messing it up a little as you lean it to kiss his forehead, eyes and cheeks. He gets all red until the ears because of that and giggles, waiting for your explanation. 

“I’m asking you if you’d let me eat you out,” you tell him without stuttering. 

Tim freezes for a second, he glances away biting his lip, trying to figure out if he heard you right. He lets out a little nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You… you don’t have to,” he says, clearly nervous. “I mean, if you’re just being nice or whatever.”

You shake your head, resting your arms on his shoulders. “Tim, I’m not just saying it. I really want to.” You reach up and cup his face gently, turning him back toward you so he can see how serious you are. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot more than you think.”

He still looks a little unsure, shy awkwardness making him even cuter. His hands fidget with the hem of his shirt. “You don’t have to force yourself or anything. I’m fine if we do other stuff.”

You smile wider and lean in to kiss the corner of his mouth, then trail your lips down to his jaw. “I’m not forcing anything. I love making you feel good. Please? Let me show you how much I want it.”

Tim swallows hard, his breath catching. You can see the exact moment he believes you, because his shoulders relax a little and his eyes get his soft and needy look. “Okay,” he whispers, voice shaky. “Yeah... if you really want to.”

You don’t waste time, you guide him back against the pillows, kissing him slow and deep while your hands slide under his waistband. He lifts his hips to help you pull his pants and underwear down, and you settle between his legs, pressing soft kisses along his inner thighs. He’s already wet, and the sight makes heat pool low in your stomach.

“You’re so handsome like this,” you whisper against his skin, looking up at him. His face is flushed, one arm thrown over his eyes like he’s still a little embarrassed. You gently move his arm away. “Look at me,” you say softly, glancing up. “I want you watching while I do this.”

He meets your eyes, flushed and breathing fast. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” you murmur, pressing a kiss right above his clit. “I can’t wait anymore. You smell so good already.”

Then you lean in and drag your tongue flat up his folds in one long stroke. Tim gasps sharply, hips twitching. “Oh shit! That feels…”

You hum happily against him, the taste warm and sweet and so him. “Mmm, you taste even better than I imagined. So fucking sweet.” You lick again, slower this time, circling his clit with the tip of your tongue. “Tell me how it feels, baby. I want to hear you.”

He moans low, fingers threading into your hair. “I-It’s... intense. Your tongue is so hah warm. Don’t stop, please.”

“I won’t,” you say between licks, sucking gently on his clit before pulling back just enough to talk. “I could stay here for hours.” You press your tongue inside him, fucking him with it slow and deep and he arches with a broken sound.

“F-Fuck, yes! There r-right there, baby!” he pants, thighs starting to tremble around your head.

You dive back in, licking and sucking with more pressure, moaning against him so he feels the vibrations. You’re getting wetter and wetter every time, you really want to get up and press your pussies together so you could fuck him crazy, but you stop yourself because baby steps. You keep going, faster, hungrier, telling him between breaths how much you love it, how you could do this forever. His fingers tighten in your hair, body tensing as he gets close.

“I'm... I’m gonna…” he gasps, voice cracking.

“Come for me,” you urge, sucking his clit hard while your tongue flicks fast. “Let me taste it all.”

He cries out your name as he comes, thighs clamping around your head, hips jerking while you keep licking him through every wave. You don’t stop until he’s shaking and whimpering softly, oversensitive but still grinding weakly against you.

Finally you crawl up his body, kissing his stomach, his chest, his scars and his lips so he can taste himself on you. Tim pulls you tight against him, breathing hard, face buried in your neck. “You’re too good at this shit.”

You laugh, the sound vibrating between your bodies. “Did it feel good?”

Tim breathes out, huffing a laugh and nods. “Yeah, really fucking good. We can definitely repeat this.”

You kiss his cheek with a giggle and lift your head so you can look him in the eyes. “Want to have a bath together?”

“Ohhh, yes please! I’m so sweaty right now and it’s your fault.”

a/n: it's been a long time since i don't write for tim omg!!

“Don’t start.” You huffed, burying your face in the pillow briefly as you grumbled. “It’s been a week and nine days. You know how much I hate sleeping without you.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Oracle slipped away and it was just Babs, warm and velvety like home. “I keep reaching over for you at night,” she whispered. “Keep thinking about you. The way you kiss me… how your eyes get so teary when you need me.”

You bit your lip as it trembled. “Barbie… I’m aching for you.”

“Tell me where it hurts, sweetheart.”

You shivered. “Between my legs. I’ve been wet since I heard your voice.”

“Mmm. My poor girl. All worked up and no one there to take care of you.” Her tone shifted into that perfect commanding lilt she used when she was running point. “Tell me what you’d do if I were there right now.”

You shifted on the bed, already feeling warm under her imagined gaze. The ache in your abdomen grew hotter by the second, and you squeezed your eyes shut, recalling every curve and contour of her body as if she was right next to you.

“You’re so beautiful,” You breathed, a hand sliding down your stomach and under the waistband of your sleepwear. “I’d pull you on my lap… push those pretty panties down your thighs, and feel how wet you already are for me.” A palm hovered over your clothed cunt. “Are you wet, baby?

“I’m fucking soaked.” She exhaled slowly. “Been like this since you said you missed me the first time.”

“What are you wearing?”

Barbara stifled a giggle at the cliche, but it broke through and you scoffed in her ear. “Oh, fuck you, I’m working with what I have,” you complained. “Tell me, I wanna know.”

The smile remained in her voice, light and teasing. “That Gotham U hoodie you left here a while back.”

“Is your hair down?”

“Perv,” she huffed. “Yes. And no, I’m not wearing panties, I took them off. The glasses too.”

You let out a shaky breath, fingers finally pressing down over your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. The relief was immediate but nowhere near enough. “Fuck, Babs… you’re killing me.”

Barbara hummed approvingly. “Good girl. Spread your legs wider for me. I want you to talk to me, okay?”

You obeyed, thighs falling apart. The cool air hit your soaked cunt and you whimpered, you folds weeping as you rucked your panties down to your ankles.

“Touch your clit, baby. Slow circles. Just like I do with my tongue when I’m teasing you.”

Your fingers slid down, slick and eager. The first gentle rub made you moan her name. “Shit— Barbie…”

“I know, baby. I can hear how wet you are.” Her voice dropped lower. “I’m touching myself too. Grinding my clit into my hand thinking about that pretty pussy. You always get so desperate when you’re away from me.”

One finger on your clit turned into your index and middle, rolling the sensitive bud in figure-eights then pinching it softly between the knuckles. “So good, baby, missing your cute little tits right now… so fucking soft…”

You trembled from the memories of your time together. Barbara beneath you, her pretty tits bouncing as you suckled a sensitive nipple into your mouth.

“I miss you so much,” she rasped, the faint wet sounds of her touching herself came from the other end of the line. “I’m so fucking wet thinking about you. My good girl, touching herself for me miles away. Such a needy slut for Oracle’s voice, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, rubbing tighter circles as your other hand slid up to squeeze one of your breasts as if it was hers. Your hips bucked forward to chase the stimulation.

Barbara’s breathing was getting heavier. “Let me fuck you, puppy. Come on, two fingers inside — stretch that little pussy like I trained you.”

You obeyed instantly, sliding two fingers into your dripping cunt with a wet sound that made Barbara groan softly in approval.

“That’s it… juuust like that,” she praised, her voice husky. “Curl them up, baby. Feel that spot? Right where you need me?”

A broken moan tore from your throat, tears leaking from your eyes as you followed her instructions, pumping slowly at first, then faster, the heel of your palm grinding against your swollen clit. “Babs—fuck, it feels so good… but it’s not enough. I need you.”

“I know, puppy.” Her breathing was ragged now, the faint rhythmic sounds of her fingers moving between her own legs filtering through the comm. “I wish I could be there to see you... Fuck yourself harder for me. I want to hear it. Let me hear how sloppy that pretty pussy gets from my voice.”

You cried, pumping your fingers faster, the obscene wet sounds filling the quiet safehouse as your other hand left your breast to grip the sheets, knuckles turning white. “Barbie… fuck, baby… wanna fuck you so bad— tell me you want it, tell me you want me inside you. Please, please…”

A low, pleased growl came through the comm. “I miss the way you fill me up— hah—! fuck, when you make me ride you til my thighs shake… wish I could bounce my pussy all over yours baby… need you to fuck me like that again.”

That needy, desperate switch in her tone that was almost begging, sent a fresh rush of heat through you. “There’s my girl,” you sighed in ecstasy. “Just needed to turn your fucking brain off for me…”

“Yes—fuck, yes,” she gasped. Her voice cracked beautifully, the wet sounds from her end growing louder and faster. “I need you, I need you so fucking bad, baby.”

You curled your fingers harder, thrusting deep as you took control. “Yeah? You want my cock stretching you open? Fucking up into that cute little cunt?”

“I’d be so good for you… riding you just how you like. Fuck, I miss you using me. Please, baby—fuck me...”

“Atta girl, Barbie….” You added a third finger with a moan, the stretch burning so perfectly. “Fuckin brat, you had your fun.”

Barbara whimpered at your tone.

“I know what you need.” You moaned. “Do it harder. Play with your clit for me.... Rub it fast while you finger that pretty cunt. I want you to imagine my cock buried inside you, pounding you deep while I hold your hips down.”

A high, broken sound escaped her lips, echoing in the tower’s halls that made your own pussy clench around your fingers.

“I’m—hah—I’m doing it. Feels so good… I’m so close already. You always make me lose it when you get like this.”

You fucked yourself harder, hips bucking off the bed as you withdrew your fingers and focused on your clit, chasing that edge right alongside her.

A sharp cry cut through the comm, followed by a string of breathy curses. “Baby—! I’m gonna cum—fuck, I’m gonna cum so hard—”

“Not yet,” you whined, even as your own breathing grew ragged. Then, softer, almost pleading, the plea in your tone clear. “Wait for me, baby. I wanna cum with you— I’m almost there, just hold on—”

The sloppy wet sounds of your arousal splashing and making mess from how rough you were made Barbara’s his shake with need. “You’re so good— so fucking good. Fuck yourself like that. Harder, baby— cum for me, cum all over my pussy.”

You shrieked, grinding faster, your poor clit throbbing from the overstimulation. “Babs—Barbie— fuck, I need you—”

“I’m yours,” she gasped, fingers pumping faster, each squelching sound making your eyes roll. “I’m yours— only yours—”

That raw, possessive edge in her voice mixed with total surrender sent you spiraling as you ground your palm against your swollen clit, thighs shaking violently as your climax began to crash through you. “Fuck—! Oh god, I’m gonna cum— cum for me, Barbie—”

Her orgasm hit her hard as you cried out her name, thighs shaking while she clenched around her fingers, hips jerking and voice hoarse with a low, throaty moan. Her head tipped back as she rode her own hand through it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” You moaned her name like a prayer, your pussy pulsing hard around your fingers as slick heat spilled down your thighs and onto the sheets, making a mess. “Jesus Christ— I’m shaking—”

“Ride it out, baby,” Barbara cooed, lightheaded and glowing.

For a long minute afterwards, the only sounds were your shared, ragged breathing and the faint city traffic outside.

Finally, she let out a soft, wrecked little laugh in your ear, the soft thump of her forehead hitting the keyboard making you smile. “Holy shit… I think I saw stars.”

You smiled, slowly pulling your hand away with a shiver, your body still tingling. “Mmm. Same. You sound so fucking pretty when you cum for me.”

“And you sound even prettier when you’re bossing me around,” she teased, voice warm and sated, full of affection. “Since when are you so mean to me?”

You chuckled, chest heaving. “Gotta keep you on your toes, Oracle. Can’t let you stay in control all the time.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She hummed happily, a faint wet pop sound on the other end. “I like it when you take care of me.”

The silence between you two settled with the warmth of the afterglow.

“You okay over there?” You eventually murmured, and she murmured an ‘mhm’ back to you.

“You should go clean up and get some actual sleep.” Barbara said, soft but firm. “You’ve got watch later.”

“Back to business even after you just came your brains out,” you murmured fondly. “How romantic”

“You love it.”

“I do. I really do.” You paused, heart full. You paused for a moment, then sighed. “I love you, Barbie. Miss you like crazy.”

“I love you more,” she whispered, soft and sincere. “Just hurry home to me, okay? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“...Right,” you laughed. “I’ll behave.”

The silence settled again, and neither of you spoke between the sounds of heavy breathing.

As the line remained open and the minutes passed, Barbara’s breath soon turned even and slow, her comforting presence in your ear taking you under as exhaustion finally settled over you like a warm blanket.

“...I’ll come home to you,” you whispered.

Bruce noticed. Of course he did.

He raised an eyebrow, drying his hair with the towel. “What?”

You set the coffee down carefully. “You… have hair.”

He glanced down at himself, almost self-conscious for the first time in years. “It grows back when I stop shaving. The suit chafes otherwise.” He rubbed a hand over his chest, looking vaguely embarrassed. “It’s been a while since I let it. I can shave it if—”

“No,” you said quickly. Too quickly. “Don’t. It’s… nice.”

Bruce paused, then a slow, amused smirk tugged at his lips. “Nice?”

You crossed the kitchen, unable to stop yourself. Your hands slid up his chest, fingers threading through the soft hair there. It was thicker than you expected, warm from the shower, and felt ridiculously good under your palms.

“Really nice,” you murmured, voice a little breathless. You leaned in and pressed a kiss right over his sternum, then another, then another, working your way across his chest like you were discovering new territory.

Bruce’s breath hitched. His hands settled on your waist, thumbs stroking your sides through your robe. “You’re… very enthusiastic about this.”

“I’ve never seen you like this,” you admitted, kissing lower, right over his heart. “It’s… hot. You look like a real person. My husband. Not the polished billionaire or the statue in a suit.”

He let out a low, surprised laugh, but it turned into a soft groan when your lips brushed one of his nipples. His fingers tightened on your waist.

“Careful,” he warned, voice rougher now. “You keep doing that and I’m going to forget I’m supposed to be resting.”

You looked up at him, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Maybe I don’t want you to rest.”

Bruce’s eyes darkened. He cupped your face with one hand, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “You’re going to be the death of me, Mrs. Wayne.”

“Good death,” you whispered, rising onto your toes to kiss him properly.

The kiss started sweet but quickly turned heated. Bruce pulled you closer, one hand sliding into your hair, the other slipping under your robe to rest warm against your bare back. He kissed you like he’d been starving for it — deep, slow, full of all the love and want he usually kept so carefully controlled.

When you broke apart, both breathing harder, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he said softly. “Even when you’re ogling me like I’m a science experiment.”

You laughed, pressing another kiss to his chest, right over the soft hair there. “I love you too. Especially when you’re all… natural like this.”

He groaned, half-embarrassed, half-pleased. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But I’m your ridiculous,” you corrected, kissing lower, lips brushing over his abs. “And I’m keeping you exactly like this for as long as you’re benched.”

Bruce’s hands tightened on your waist. “You’re going to kill me before I’m cleared for duty.”

You looked up at him with a wicked little smile. “Worth it.”

He pulled you back up for another deep kiss, hands roaming your body with that perfect mix of reverence and hunger. The robe slipped off one shoulder. His fingers traced the curve of your waist, then higher, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts.

You shivered, pressing closer, feeling the warmth of his chest hair against your skin. It was softer than you expected, and the way it brushed your nipples when you moved made you gasp softly.

Bruce noticed. Of course he did.

He smiled against your lips. “You really like this, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, kissing him again to hide your blush.

He chuckled, low and warm, and lifted you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter. His mouth moved to your neck, then lower, kissing and nipping gently across your collarbone. One hand slipped inside your robe, palming your breast, thumb circling your nipple until you arched into him with a soft moan.

“Beautiful,” he whispered against your skin. “My beautiful wife.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him close as he worshipped you with slow, deliberate kisses. The world outside the penthouse didn’t exist. There were no missions, no galas, no Batsuit waiting in the cave.

Just Bruce. Just you.

Just the two of you, tangled together in the morning light, rediscovering each other in the quiet weeks of his recovery.

When he finally pulled back, lips swollen and eyes dark with want, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he said again, voice rough but sincere. “More than the suit. More than the money. More than anything.”

You smiled, cupping his face. “I love you too. Hairy chest and all.”

He laughed — bright, genuine, the kind of laugh that made your heart feel too big for your chest.

“Brat,” he murmured fondly, kissing you once more.

The coffee went cold on the counter. The city kept moving far below.

But in the warm glow of your kitchen, Bruce Wayne held you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

And for once, the detective didn’t need to solve anything, and he already had everything he needed.

a/n : this is unbearably self indulgent because I like body hair. Just wait till I start writing about biceps 😊

Talia loves giving gifts. She doesn’t need a reason for that. Valentines Day? Already got a gift. Anniversaries? Done. A very normal morning where you wake up next to her? You are woken up with a gift.

And she is so clever and creative with them, too. It’s like she knows you so well. She never runs out of ideas for presents.

Another way she shows her love for you— her beloved is her hugs.

In my opinion, Talia likes giving hugs and receiving them, too.

She finds hugs as comforting. She loves holding the body of her loved ones close to herself. She feels like she can keep them safe forever. It applies to you, also.

Every morning, expect a huge hug from her.

Also, I believe her embraces would be warm.

Since she is such a fashion icon and loves dressing in pretty clothes and dresses, another way of showing love would be shopping together.

She loves taking you out to shopping. She loves seeing you try new dresses and make her comment on each one.

And trust her comments because she won’t just say “pretty” and leave it— she will make actual criticism.

About the dress, about how it fits you, the color, the style… Everything possible. You can trust her judgement.

And of course, she doesn’t let you pay. It’s not because she thinks you are poor or cannot buy anything— it’s because she wants to. It’s just a small jest of hers.

She loves decorating her room to her liking, but when she has a lover, she wants her room to be to their liking, too.

So, she loves decorating together. Beautiful flowers, ivies, various teapots and candles…

Since I mentioned candles, I think she would think candles are such romantic accessories and would have them lit every night.

And they would be scented candles!

Also, I think she would love to play games together, such as chess.

Sometimes she would let you win to make you happy.

And another thing is bubble baths. She would love being in a bubble bath together. Kissing and drinking wine together while sitting in a bathtub full of bubbles and hot water…

And lastly!!! I think she would love braiding your hair. Or combing your hair. Or just playing with your hair… Anything that makes you relax into her arms.

you had been at wally’s for nearly three hours, and in that entire time he had spoken maybe five words to you in total. it was honestly impressive. especially considering he was the one who called you over in the first place. 

his voice had been low and rough through the phone, breathless beneath the sound of rushing wind as he said, “hey, you busy? come over. wanna see you.”

and naturally, like an idiot, you assumed that meant he wanted to let off some steam. maybe he wanted attention, maybe he wanted to kiss you stupid for an hour, maybe he wanted to fuck you and forget about his problems.

instead, wally sits hunched over his desk in grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips and a faded flash t-shirt that clings to his shoulders. his headset sits crooked over messy red hair while the glow of his monitor lit up half his face. 

you try being patient, you really do, but irritation won out. you slide yourself directly into his lap, causing wally to grunt softly from the sudden weight. one of his arms automatically wraps around your waist on instinct to steady you, but instead of finally looking at you, wally simply leans to the side so he could see around your shoulder, eyes still glued to the monitor.

“babe,” he mumbles distractedly, voice low and absent. “move your head a little. can’t see.”

a huff escapes your lips and you fight back the urge to roll your eyes. shaking your head, you place your hands on his shoulders and slowly rock your hips against his. that seems to get a reaction out of him.

wally grunts low in his throat, his hand on your waist tightening, his long fingers pressing into your skin of your hip. his eyes flick down at you for a moment, taking in how you were only wearing one of his old t-shirts and some underwear.

then, he was back to his game, fingers flying across his mouse and keyboard, eyes glued to the screen, and ignoring you completely again. frowning, you move your hips again, watching the way his jaw twitched ever so slightly. 

“come on, baby,” you whine into his ear. “pay attention to me.”

finally, finally, wally looks at you properly—his eyes slide over you, taking in your pouty lips and the frustrated set of your jaw. he sighs—a soft, tired sound—and lifts one hand to cup your jaw. his thumb grazes your cheekbone gently before he leans in… only to press a quick kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“just give me a minute,” he murmurs. “the game is almost finished—”

“you said that an hour ago,” you mumble, slowly grinding your hips down onto his.

wally tries to ignore the way your body rocks against his lap, but it’s difficult to keep his focus. despite his insistence in ignoring you, you could feel his cock twitch beneath you, growing harder with every movement.

it doesn’t take wally long until he's rock hard, pressing right against your thigh, the heat of him seeping through his sweatpants and the thin fabric of your underwear. 

his calloused thumb brushes over your bottom lip before pushing inside your mouth. you hum around the digit, feeling him press down on your tongue. he groans, low and deep, as you suck and swallow around it—the action making his hips stutter and buck up against yours.

you’re soaked—the fabric of your panties clinging to your skin as you roll your hips against hin, the thick head of his cock dragging through your folds. 

glancing down, your eyes catch sight of the damp little patch over his bulge—his cock leaking precum and mixing with your slick that seeped past the fabric of your panties and dripped down onto him.

wally slips his thumb out of your mouth—a string of saliva connecting your lips to him. his hand drops from your jaw and slowly sides up your back, beneath your shirt—fingers warm as they drag lightly against your skin. 

“fuck, baby,” he groans, guiding your hips with firm hands.

his breathing grows heavier as his lips find yours—messy and wanting, teeth grazing your bottom lip. a soft moan escapes him when you shift again in just the right way. you felt his cock twitch and before you could even think, wally’s lips were all over you—the soft curve of your shoulder, down your neck, across your chest, under your jaw, the skin behind your ear, everywhere they can reach.

both your movements became desperate—each roll of his hips was deliberate, grinding up against you with a slow, tortuous rhythm that made the tension coil tighter in both of you. wally’s breath turns uneven—sharp little inhales through his nose as the friction builds. 

every grind sends a pulse of pleasure straight to his core, and fuck, it feels amazing. wally buries his face in your neck, biting down gently to try and stop the quiet moan escaping his lips when you rolled your hips once again.

he rocked up against you again slowly—a deep grind that made him shudder. there was a subtle edge to his breathing now. a hint of tension that hadn’t been there before. like he was on the edge of unraveling and just needed one more push—one more thing to break that last thread of control.

wally’s breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. his body tenses—every muscle coiling tight. then it happened. with one final slow, deliberate roll of your hips against his—he shudders, whole body going rigid for a split second before melting into your arms. 

his hips continue to rock against you weakly, his cock throbbing as he releases into his boxers. wally can barely think—his body a mess, thighs burning, skin sticky, but he doesn’t give a fuck. 

“not interested in your game anymore?” you tease, gently scratching the nape of his neck.

“fuck the game,” wally huffs, standing up with you in his arms and walking over to his bed. “this is much, much better.”

It's a random Tuesday as Bruce, and you stand in the middle of your grandfather's beloved attic. The wooden floors creak under your weight, dust particles moving in spirals as the early rays of sunshine flit through the glass panes of the dormer window. Your mother had asked for your help in cleaning your grandparents' place, and so you pulled in Bruce - offering him a break from his corporate duties, which he gladly agreed to.

"Wow, I did not realise my grandad hoarded so many things", you say, looking at the vast number of trinkets and boxes stacked along the walls on both sides of the attic. Each was well organised, with a label pasted on the top.

"Your grandad was a man of culture", Bruce chuckles, looking at the various band posters from the 40s and 50s. There were even autographs from some of them, neatly preserved.

Both of you got to work immediately, knowing it would be hours before everything was cleaned out. You had decided to split the work by concentrating on different ends of the triangular room.

Bruce had struck gold by ending up in the corner where your granddad had seemed to store much of the photo albums and cassettes, stacked on top of each other, labeled in detail about what the insides contained. It gave Bruce an insight to your family, a family from looking at the albums that had photos from back since your grandparents got married, having their daughter — your mother, to her getting married, and having you.

He had seen a lot of your photos since the early days of dating, but these were different. Your grandfather was an avid photographer, and Bruce could sense it through the varied angles and poses that he made everyone do.

"Having fun, huh?" you mumble, looking at Bruce as he suppresses a chuckle while looking at the pictures of you — a two-year-old, wearing a princess gown and a wand gripped tightly within your grubby fingers.

"You get stuck with the more fun part, while I have to dust some old documents", you grumble, looking at files and files of documents.

"Do you wanna exchange, sweetheart?"

"Nope," you say, emphasizing the 'p' as you shift to the next box, "Besides, I like hearing you laugh, even if it comes at the cost of my pictures"

An hour passes by.

You had finished four out of the twelve boxes. Heaving a sigh, you decide it's time for a well-deserved break. And what better to do than annoy your beautiful husband?

"Bruce, Brucie Wayne," you turn to look at him at the lack of any response "Bruce?"

Bruce doesn't answer, his broad back turned towards you. There is something different in the air from a few minutes ago, almost tinged with melancholic fragrance. You move towards, hoping to see what made him go so still, only to let out a gasp when you see it.

There you were, maybe five or six years old, wearing a large doctor's coat that reached well beyond your limbs, dragging onto the marble floor and a cute pink stethoscope around your neck. But that was not what made you gasp; it was the couple you were standing with in the photo.

Thomas and Martha Wayne.

Both of them were crouched next to you on either side. Thomas Wayne in his fitting black suit paired with a dark blue silk necktie embellished with motifs, while Martha Wayne wore a simple black silk dress paired with a blue plaid jacket.

There was a tiny piece of description below the photograph, a little shabby, like your grandpa wasn't sure what to write.

' Y/N & famous couple from Gotham (VHS #155)'

Bruce let out a laugh— loud but bittersweet. It made sense for your grandad to not know them, considering the only people he thought to be rich were the Queens.

You looked at Bruce, his eyes a little glazed as you cupped his face, fingers rubbing against the expanse of his cheek. Pressing a small kiss on his forehead, you whisper, "Shall we watch the VHS tape?"

He hums as you both try finding the exact tape among two hundred of them. Once retrieved, you dust the Toshiba VCR at the corner, pulling it slightly towards the center. You and Bruce try to get it to start since it probably hasn't been used in a while.

After a few minutes, the VCR lights up. Inserting the tape, you press play, and both of you stand back, Bruce's arm over your shoulder as you lay your head on his chest, arms wrapped around his waist.

The VCR displays a blue gradient before buzzing to a grainy film of you in a purple and pink frock , smiling widely at the camera. There's a lot of noise around you — people clapping , speeches being read as your grandad records the stage when Thomas Wayne was giving his speech. Bruce shifted a little, hand holding yours a little tighter, from hearing his father's voice after so many years.

The video then shifts to you, standing in front of the couple, wearing a pink stethoscope and a white coat a little too large for your frame. Martha Wayne smiles , a smile so radiant, before crouching down to her knees as she shakes your hand.

"Hi, there. What's your name?"

You say your name before letting out a giggle at her calling you beautiful.

"You want to be a doctor when you grow up?" She asks, hands pointing at the instrument hanging around your neck.

"Yes, ma'am. I want to be a heart doctor," you say, peering at the woman beside you. Thomas Wayne smiles before exchanging pleasantries with your grandfather.

"Oh, that's wonderful! You will be a great doctor one day, my dear."

And with that, the VHS comes to an end.

Bruce sniffles a little , his hands holding your waist, chin placed on top of your head. Silence fills the space along with the sounds of your nieces playing around the house. You don't know how long the both of you stayed like that, but it could have been forever, and you didn't mind at all.

Bruce is beyond happy. While it may not be visible to the naked eye, you could feel the joy emanating from the open crevices of grief and gaps of affection. He was happy that you —his wife, the love of his life — had met his parents. And they had gotten the chance to meet you.

Perhaps both of you really were soulmates.

A/N: Comments and Reblogs appreciated! Writing something for bruce after a long time.