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warning/s: smut, kissing, mention of mugging/violence.
a/n: could be a part two to playing house , but can be read alone. also unedited cause we die like jason.
You could feel his eyes on you ever since the last stop.
It started off as a chill up your spine, then you turned to see the man, hunched over in his seat across the subway.
He was dressed in all black, except for his green jacket that you could tell used to be a lighter color than it was.
The lower half of his face was covered by a black handkerchief, making it easy to spot his beady eyes locked onto you.
You were used to creeps looking at you on the subway, but this one felt different. You could tell from the hand that stayed in his left pocket.
As usual, Bruce was right.
But still, for sure being mugged at 7am wasn't a thing. But then again this was Gotham.
When your stop came, you didn't get up too quickly. You moved subtly, averting your gaze from his, clutching the strap of your bag tightly.
It was only when you walked out of the automatic doors when you began to speed walk.
There was a big crowd right outside, and it was the first time you were grateful for them.
You took a couple zigzags through the crowd before you finally looked over your shoulder. And there he was a couple of feet away, turning his head in all odd directions.
Looking for you.
You didn't stay long enough for him to spot you, you did another round of zigzags and ran up the stairs onto the street.
From there you just kept running, only stopping once you reached the familiar door of your favorite diner.
When you stopped, you finally felt how fast your heart was beating. It felt like it was in your throat, and your stomach was twisting in angles you didn't even know existed.
You took a deep breath, a couple hundred it felt like. When your heart begins to calm down a little, it is when you feel tears stream down your cheeks.
And that's when your phone rang.
Brucie <3, an inside joke, your phone read as you pulled it out your pocket after a few more breaths.
You didn't want to talk to him right now, but in your panic you pressed accept.
His frantic call of your name almost made you think it wasn't him, or maybe it was the adrenaline surging through your veins, warping your hearing amid the diner's faint hum of sizzling bacon and clinking dishes.
"Bruce," you finally croaked, your throat raw after his fifth desperate call.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice thick with panic that eased slightly now that he'd heard yours, though the edge lingered.
"How'd youβ?" you started, but paused to gulp a shaky breath, shaking your head as your heart hammered against your ribs. It wasn't the time for that, you thought, the world still spinning from the subway scare.
"No, I'm not, Bruce," your voice croaked again, hoarse and brittle. You heard him shuffling on the other end.
"I'm on my way there," he said, his tone clipped, punctuated by the faint jingle of his car keys.
"But, Bruceβ"
"You're more important," he cut in firmly.Β
"Order some breakfast, and I'll be there in 10 minutes."
With that, the line went dead. Your panic twisted into confusion, a cold knot forming in your stomach.Β
How the fuck did he know where you were?
By the time Bruce arrived, the food was still cooking, its warm, syrupy aroma teasing the air. He materialized beside your table in a black hoodie pulled low, faded jeans, and a worn baseball cap shadowing his sharp features.
Pure incognito mode amid the morning rush of truckers and night-shift workers.
"What happened?" he asked softly, sliding into the seat across from you. His tone was gentle, and he reached for your hands, steadying the tremble you hadn't noticed, your fingers icy against his warm palms.
At first, you hesitated, lips pressed tight. But then he murmured your name in that tone, the rare, tender one you secretly hoped was reserved just for you.
"There was a man on the subway," you confessed, finally lifting your gaze to meet his darkening eyes, which widened in alarm.
"Did he hurt you?" Bruce demanded, his grip tightening protectively.
"He didn't have a chance," you replied, voice steadier now. "That's why I don't know why I'm acting like this."
"Hey, it's okay," he soothed, thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin.
"Yeah, I know, I kind of pieced that together already,β you said, a little bit too harshly.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, guilt twisting inside you.
"I just... I just can't think properly right now," you continued, words tumbling out.Β
"Maybe he wasn't even following me. What if I overreacted and nearly gave myself a heart attack for nothing?"
"Hey," Bruce said firmly, leaning closer, his cologne, a faint mix of cedar and leather, cutting through the diner's greasy haze.Β
"Nothing or not, you were afraid. And that's a good enough reason."
A dry chuckle escaped your throat, this one laced with a spark of humor amid the lingering fear.
"That sounds familiar," you said, managing a small smile.
Β "A wise woman once told me that. I think about it a lot on my bad nights,β he said, mirroring your smile.
"Well," you added self-deprecatingly, "that wise woman feels kinda stupid right now."
"She's still wise to me," Bruce replied, his gaze unwavering, melting the last of your defenses.
"Thank you for coming, Bruce," you murmured, sincerity warming your chest.
"Of course," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"By the way," you pressed, arching a brow despite the exhaustion, "how the fuck did you know where I was?"
"About that" he started, but a waitress interrupted.
"Order up!" she called cheerfully, sliding steaming plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon your way, the porcelain clattering softly.
"Thank you, Dot," you said automatically and she nodded with a smile before walking off to the next table.
"I didn't tell you to get me anything," Bruce protested lightly.
"Well, you don't tell me what to do," you said.
Β "And I know you haven't eaten yet, Bruce."
"Okay, okay," he conceded, as his attention snapped back to your voice.
Β "You still haven't let me answer, by the way. How did you know something was wrong?"
Bruce drew a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling, steeling himself.
"Your smartwatch," he explained evenly.
"What?" you blinked.
"The one I got you for your birthday. It tracks your vitals, right?"
"Yeah..."
"It also tracks your location."
"What?" Shock rippled through you, hot and prickling.
"I know," he admitted, regret shadowing his face. "It's an invasion of privacy, and I should have told you. But I needed to make sure thatβ"
"I was safe," you finished, piecing it together.
"Yes," he confirmed, voice low.
"I can't even be mad at you," you sighed, torn between irritation and understanding.Β
"I mean, I am, but... of course you'd do something like that. And of course you were right to. I'm just mad you didn't tell meβI would've understood."
"I'm sorry," Bruce said earnestly, eyes searching yours. "I didn't know how to tell you."
"I know you didn't," you relented, squeezing his hand.Β
"It's okay. At least I know now. Does this thing record other stuff? Like video or audio?"
"Only your vitals and location," he assured quickly. "No video, no audio."
"Okay, good," you exhaled in relief. "That, I would be mad about."
"I'd never do that to you," he vowed, intensity burning in his gaze.
"I know, Bruce. I know,β you said, before taking a deep breathe. As if bracing for impact. "Don't say it," you warned.
"Don't say what?" he almost teased, and your pulse quickened.
"You know."
"'I told you so'?" he ventured.
"That's the one," you confirmed.
"I'm sorry for being stubborn," you admitted softly.
"Hey, there's no need to be sorry," Bruce replied gently.Β
"But I hope now you can listen to me,β he followed, as he slid a sleek set of keys across the table, their metallic gleam catching the light.
"Bruceβ" You started to push them back, but he placed his hand atop yours, warm and unyielding.
"Please," he urged, his voice a mix of demand and plea, eyes pleading.
"It's a Mirage,dark blue. It won't draw any attention," he added, anticipating your protests.
"I'm going to need the right paperwork, a parking spot at work and my apartmentβit's just too much, Bruce," you argued, though your resolve wavered under his touch.
"All of that's already taken care of," he insisted, giving your hand a firm, reassuring squeeze. A soft glaze misted your eyes, emotion swelling like a tide.
"Bruce." Your voice cracked, fresh tears tracing warm paths down your cheeks, some splashing onto your pancakes and melting into the hot chocolate's frothy surface.
"Hey, it's okay," he murmured, drawing your hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to each knuckle, his breath warm against your skin, never breaking eye contact, those piercing blue eyes anchoring you.
"Breathe for me, sweetheart," he cooed, demonstrating with slow, deep inhales and exhales. You followed, chest rising and falling in sync, the panic ebbing like a receding wave.
"Sorry I'm such a mess," you tried to laugh, but it emerged as a wheezy hiccup, your free hand wiping at damp cheeks.
"It's okay," Bruce said, voice like a balm. "More than okay." He kissed the back of your hand again, lingering.
"Thank you, Bruce. Thank you so much," you whispered, throat tight, not daring to let it break again.
"Don't mention it." He smiled, that rare, genuine one that crinkled his eyes, and he squeezed your hand once more.
"But Bruce," you began, hand gripping the keys after he let go of you.
"I don't think I can drive right now," you admitted, a slight shake in your voice and in your hand which was followed by a slight jingle of the keys.
"I'll drive you, of course I will," Bruce said, gently taking the keys from you, and it was like a weight was taken off of you and you could breathe better.
"I also don't want to be alone," you admitted.
"I'll stay with you," he said.
"For as long as you want."
The ride to your house was quiet, there was nothing else to say, and you were grateful for it.
In truth the car was nice, maybe a little too nice. But it was discrete, and the trunk was sizable enough for your work needs.
You were also already thinking about how you would decorate the dashboard. You were thinking of anything really to calm you down.
And with that you finally reached your apartment building, settling into what you assumed to be the parking spot Bruce reserved for you.
You stayed seated in the car as he shut off the engine, staying there even as he got out. And you waited for him to come and open your door for you.
He always liked to do it, he would get whiney if you got out on your own, though he wouldn't admit it.
As you both walked up to your apartment he had taken your bag and slung it over his shoulder, guiding you forward by the small of your back.
He shut the door for you as you both walked it, and before he could even speak again you had turned and threw yourself on him.
You kissed him hard, and though a bit startled at first he kissed you back, dropping your bag so he could wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer.
It didn't take long for the two of you to pull away for air.
"Help me forget, Bruce," you whispered against him in between breaths, and he looked at you with wide eyes.
Usually those words left his lips.
Despite the shock, he answered.
"Okay."
You kissed him again, even harder this time as he pressed you against the wall.
A trail of clothes was left on the way to your bedroom, where the sheets were still a mess from your last tryst.
"Bruce," you moaned, after he laid you on the bed.
He responded by leaning down to suck on your pebbled nipples, swirling his tongue around them after a harsh bite, relishing in the sounds you made.
He moved upwards to kiss you once more, and you wrapped your legs around him to pull him closer.
As you kissed, his hand moved in between you to rub circles on your clit. Big and slow circles that left you breathless.
"Bruce," you said again in between kisses, and he responded by sticking a finger inside of you, making you throw your head back.
"Fuck, Bruce," you cursed, kissing him once more.
"I need you, please," you held his face gently as you begged as he gave you a nod, kissing the hand that held him as he slid inside you. Nice and slow.
"Fuck," he groaned with his dick fully inside you, your walls wrapped around him so nicely, practically begging him to move, and so he did.
"Thank you," you said as he began to move.
"Harder," you said, and he complied. Thrusting his hips faster as you thrusted upwards to meet him.
You locked eyes for just a second, and then held your cheek in his hand, pulling you in for another kiss.
Despite your movements, this kiss was softer than the others, slower, in a way that sent a surge of warmth to your chest.
As you kissed your movements began to slow down, till you both pulled away from each other.
"I'm close," you whispered against him. And he just kissed you again, moving with a new vigor at your declaration.
It didn't take much for you to finally let go, yelling out his name as you did. He followed soon after, collapsing on top of you.
He laid on top of you, breathing deeply, covered in sweat, yet you still wrapped your arms around him, burying your head into his shoulder, placing gentle kisses where you laid.
"Thank you," you whispered once more, and he responded with a kiss on your neck that turned into a bite, forcing yet another moan from your lips.
Once you both had settled and both your breathing became even, he still didn't leave his spot on top of you. Instead he cuddled closer into you.
The silence was comforting, more so than the one earlier, though it didn't last, as Bruce whispered against your neck.
warning/s: smut, kissing, mention of mugging/violence.
a/n: could be a part two to playing house , but can be read alone. also unedited cause we die like jason.
You could feel his eyes on you ever since the last stop.
It started off as a chill up your spine, then you turned to see the man, hunched over in his seat across the subway.
He was dressed in all black, except for his green jacket that you could tell used to be a lighter color than it was.
The lower half of his face was covered by a black handkerchief, making it easy to spot his beady eyes locked onto you.
You were used to creeps looking at you on the subway, but this one felt different. You could tell from the hand that stayed in his left pocket.
As usual, Bruce was right.
But still, for sure being mugged at 7am wasn't a thing. But then again this was Gotham.
When your stop came, you didn't get up too quickly. You moved subtly, averting your gaze from his, clutching the strap of your bag tightly.
It was only when you walked out of the automatic doors when you began to speed walk.
There was a big crowd right outside, and it was the first time you were grateful for them.
You took a couple zigzags through the crowd before you finally looked over your shoulder. And there he was a couple of feet away, turning his head in all odd directions.
Looking for you.
You didn't stay long enough for him to spot you, you did another round of zigzags and ran up the stairs onto the street.
From there you just kept running, only stopping once you reached the familiar door of your favorite diner.
When you stopped, you finally felt how fast your heart was beating. It felt like it was in your throat, and your stomach was twisting in angles you didn't even know existed.
You took a deep breath, a couple hundred it felt like. When your heart begins to calm down a little, it is when you feel tears stream down your cheeks.
And that's when your phone rang.
Brucie <3, an inside joke, your phone read as you pulled it out your pocket after a few more breaths.
You didn't want to talk to him right now, but in your panic you pressed accept.
His frantic call of your name almost made you think it wasn't him, or maybe it was the adrenaline surging through your veins, warping your hearing amid the diner's faint hum of sizzling bacon and clinking dishes.
"Bruce," you finally croaked, your throat raw after his fifth desperate call.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice thick with panic that eased slightly now that he'd heard yours, though the edge lingered.
"How'd youβ?" you started, but paused to gulp a shaky breath, shaking your head as your heart hammered against your ribs. It wasn't the time for that, you thought, the world still spinning from the subway scare.
"No, I'm not, Bruce," your voice croaked again, hoarse and brittle. You heard him shuffling on the other end.
"I'm on my way there," he said, his tone clipped, punctuated by the faint jingle of his car keys.
"But, Bruceβ"
"You're more important," he cut in firmly.Β
"Order some breakfast, and I'll be there in 10 minutes."
With that, the line went dead. Your panic twisted into confusion, a cold knot forming in your stomach.Β
How the fuck did he know where you were?
By the time Bruce arrived, the food was still cooking, its warm, syrupy aroma teasing the air. He materialized beside your table in a black hoodie pulled low, faded jeans, and a worn baseball cap shadowing his sharp features.
Pure incognito mode amid the morning rush of truckers and night-shift workers.
"What happened?" he asked softly, sliding into the seat across from you. His tone was gentle, and he reached for your hands, steadying the tremble you hadn't noticed, your fingers icy against his warm palms.
At first, you hesitated, lips pressed tight. But then he murmured your name in that tone, the rare, tender one you secretly hoped was reserved just for you.
"There was a man on the subway," you confessed, finally lifting your gaze to meet his darkening eyes, which widened in alarm.
"Did he hurt you?" Bruce demanded, his grip tightening protectively.
"He didn't have a chance," you replied, voice steadier now. "That's why I don't know why I'm acting like this."
"Hey, it's okay," he soothed, thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin.
"Yeah, I know, I kind of pieced that together already,β you said, a little bit too harshly.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, guilt twisting inside you.
"I just... I just can't think properly right now," you continued, words tumbling out.Β
"Maybe he wasn't even following me. What if I overreacted and nearly gave myself a heart attack for nothing?"
"Hey," Bruce said firmly, leaning closer, his cologne, a faint mix of cedar and leather, cutting through the diner's greasy haze.Β
"Nothing or not, you were afraid. And that's a good enough reason."
A dry chuckle escaped your throat, this one laced with a spark of humor amid the lingering fear.
"That sounds familiar," you said, managing a small smile.
Β "A wise woman once told me that. I think about it a lot on my bad nights,β he said, mirroring your smile.
"Well," you added self-deprecatingly, "that wise woman feels kinda stupid right now."
"She's still wise to me," Bruce replied, his gaze unwavering, melting the last of your defenses.
"Thank you for coming, Bruce," you murmured, sincerity warming your chest.
"Of course," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"By the way," you pressed, arching a brow despite the exhaustion, "how the fuck did you know where I was?"
"About that" he started, but a waitress interrupted.
"Order up!" she called cheerfully, sliding steaming plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon your way, the porcelain clattering softly.
"Thank you, Dot," you said automatically and she nodded with a smile before walking off to the next table.
"I didn't tell you to get me anything," Bruce protested lightly.
"Well, you don't tell me what to do," you said.
Β "And I know you haven't eaten yet, Bruce."
"Okay, okay," he conceded, as his attention snapped back to your voice.
Β "You still haven't let me answer, by the way. How did you know something was wrong?"
Bruce drew a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling, steeling himself.
"Your smartwatch," he explained evenly.
"What?" you blinked.
"The one I got you for your birthday. It tracks your vitals, right?"
"Yeah..."
"It also tracks your location."
"What?" Shock rippled through you, hot and prickling.
"I know," he admitted, regret shadowing his face. "It's an invasion of privacy, and I should have told you. But I needed to make sure thatβ"
"I was safe," you finished, piecing it together.
"Yes," he confirmed, voice low.
"I can't even be mad at you," you sighed, torn between irritation and understanding.Β
"I mean, I am, but... of course you'd do something like that. And of course you were right to. I'm just mad you didn't tell meβI would've understood."
"I'm sorry," Bruce said earnestly, eyes searching yours. "I didn't know how to tell you."
"I know you didn't," you relented, squeezing his hand.Β
"It's okay. At least I know now. Does this thing record other stuff? Like video or audio?"
"Only your vitals and location," he assured quickly. "No video, no audio."
"Okay, good," you exhaled in relief. "That, I would be mad about."
"I'd never do that to you," he vowed, intensity burning in his gaze.
"I know, Bruce. I know,β you said, before taking a deep breathe. As if bracing for impact. "Don't say it," you warned.
"Don't say what?" he almost teased, and your pulse quickened.
"You know."
"'I told you so'?" he ventured.
"That's the one," you confirmed.
"I'm sorry for being stubborn," you admitted softly.
"Hey, there's no need to be sorry," Bruce replied gently.Β
"But I hope now you can listen to me,β he followed, as he slid a sleek set of keys across the table, their metallic gleam catching the light.
"Bruceβ" You started to push them back, but he placed his hand atop yours, warm and unyielding.
"Please," he urged, his voice a mix of demand and plea, eyes pleading.
"It's a Mirage,dark blue. It won't draw any attention," he added, anticipating your protests.
"I'm going to need the right paperwork, a parking spot at work and my apartmentβit's just too much, Bruce," you argued, though your resolve wavered under his touch.
"All of that's already taken care of," he insisted, giving your hand a firm, reassuring squeeze. A soft glaze misted your eyes, emotion swelling like a tide.
"Bruce." Your voice cracked, fresh tears tracing warm paths down your cheeks, some splashing onto your pancakes and melting into the hot chocolate's frothy surface.
"Hey, it's okay," he murmured, drawing your hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to each knuckle, his breath warm against your skin, never breaking eye contact, those piercing blue eyes anchoring you.
"Breathe for me, sweetheart," he cooed, demonstrating with slow, deep inhales and exhales. You followed, chest rising and falling in sync, the panic ebbing like a receding wave.
"Sorry I'm such a mess," you tried to laugh, but it emerged as a wheezy hiccup, your free hand wiping at damp cheeks.
"It's okay," Bruce said, voice like a balm. "More than okay." He kissed the back of your hand again, lingering.
"Thank you, Bruce. Thank you so much," you whispered, throat tight, not daring to let it break again.
"Don't mention it." He smiled, that rare, genuine one that crinkled his eyes, and he squeezed your hand once more.
"But Bruce," you began, hand gripping the keys after he let go of you.
"I don't think I can drive right now," you admitted, a slight shake in your voice and in your hand which was followed by a slight jingle of the keys.
"I'll drive you, of course I will," Bruce said, gently taking the keys from you, and it was like a weight was taken off of you and you could breathe better.
"I also don't want to be alone," you admitted.
"I'll stay with you," he said.
"For as long as you want."
The ride to your house was quiet, there was nothing else to say, and you were grateful for it.
In truth the car was nice, maybe a little too nice. But it was discrete, and the trunk was sizable enough for your work needs.
You were also already thinking about how you would decorate the dashboard. You were thinking of anything really to calm you down.
And with that you finally reached your apartment building, settling into what you assumed to be the parking spot Bruce reserved for you.
You stayed seated in the car as he shut off the engine, staying there even as he got out. And you waited for him to come and open your door for you.
He always liked to do it, he would get whiney if you got out on your own, though he wouldn't admit it.
As you both walked up to your apartment he had taken your bag and slung it over his shoulder, guiding you forward by the small of your back.
He shut the door for you as you both walked it, and before he could even speak again you had turned and threw yourself on him.
You kissed him hard, and though a bit startled at first he kissed you back, dropping your bag so he could wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer.
It didn't take long for the two of you to pull away for air.
"Help me forget, Bruce," you whispered against him in between breaths, and he looked at you with wide eyes.
Usually those words left his lips.
Despite the shock, he answered.
"Okay."
You kissed him again, even harder this time as he pressed you against the wall.
A trail of clothes was left on the way to your bedroom, where the sheets were still a mess from your last tryst.
"Bruce," you moaned, after he laid you on the bed.
He responded by leaning down to suck on your pebbled nipples, swirling his tongue around them after a harsh bite, relishing in the sounds you made.
He moved upwards to kiss you once more, and you wrapped your legs around him to pull him closer.
As you kissed, his hand moved in between you to rub circles on your clit. Big and slow circles that left you breathless.
"Bruce," you said again in between kisses, and he responded by sticking a finger inside of you, making you throw your head back.
"Fuck, Bruce," you cursed, kissing him once more.
"I need you, please," you held his face gently as you begged as he gave you a nod, kissing the hand that held him as he slid inside you. Nice and slow.
"Fuck," he groaned with his dick fully inside you, your walls wrapped around him so nicely, practically begging him to move, and so he did.
"Thank you," you said as he began to move.
"Harder," you said, and he complied. Thrusting his hips faster as you thrusted upwards to meet him.
You locked eyes for just a second, and then held your cheek in his hand, pulling you in for another kiss.
Despite your movements, this kiss was softer than the others, slower, in a way that sent a surge of warmth to your chest.
As you kissed your movements began to slow down, till you both pulled away from each other.
"I'm close," you whispered against him. And he just kissed you again, moving with a new vigor at your declaration.
It didn't take much for you to finally let go, yelling out his name as you did. He followed soon after, collapsing on top of you.
He laid on top of you, breathing deeply, covered in sweat, yet you still wrapped your arms around him, burying your head into his shoulder, placing gentle kisses where you laid.
"Thank you," you whispered once more, and he responded with a kiss on your neck that turned into a bite, forcing yet another moan from your lips.
Once you both had settled and both your breathing became even, he still didn't leave his spot on top of you. Instead he cuddled closer into you.
The silence was comforting, more so than the one earlier, though it didn't last, as Bruce whispered against your neck.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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warning/s: smut, kissing, mention of mugging/violence.
a/n: could be a part two to playing house , but can be read alone. also unedited cause we die like jason.
You could feel his eyes on you ever since the last stop.
It started off as a chill up your spine, then you turned to see the man, hunched over in his seat across the subway.
He was dressed in all black, except for his green jacket that you could tell used to be a lighter color than it was.
The lower half of his face was covered by a black handkerchief, making it easy to spot his beady eyes locked onto you.
You were used to creeps looking at you on the subway, but this one felt different. You could tell from the hand that stayed in his left pocket.
As usual, Bruce was right.
But still, for sure being mugged at 7am wasn't a thing. But then again this was Gotham.
When your stop came, you didn't get up too quickly. You moved subtly, averting your gaze from his, clutching the strap of your bag tightly.
It was only when you walked out of the automatic doors when you began to speed walk.
There was a big crowd right outside, and it was the first time you were grateful for them.
You took a couple zigzags through the crowd before you finally looked over your shoulder. And there he was a couple of feet away, turning his head in all odd directions.
Looking for you.
You didn't stay long enough for him to spot you, you did another round of zigzags and ran up the stairs onto the street.
From there you just kept running, only stopping once you reached the familiar door of your favorite diner.
When you stopped, you finally felt how fast your heart was beating. It felt like it was in your throat, and your stomach was twisting in angles you didn't even know existed.
You took a deep breath, a couple hundred it felt like. When your heart begins to calm down a little, it is when you feel tears stream down your cheeks.
And that's when your phone rang.
Brucie <3, an inside joke, your phone read as you pulled it out your pocket after a few more breaths.
You didn't want to talk to him right now, but in your panic you pressed accept.
His frantic call of your name almost made you think it wasn't him, or maybe it was the adrenaline surging through your veins, warping your hearing amid the diner's faint hum of sizzling bacon and clinking dishes.
"Bruce," you finally croaked, your throat raw after his fifth desperate call.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice thick with panic that eased slightly now that he'd heard yours, though the edge lingered.
"How'd youβ?" you started, but paused to gulp a shaky breath, shaking your head as your heart hammered against your ribs. It wasn't the time for that, you thought, the world still spinning from the subway scare.
"No, I'm not, Bruce," your voice croaked again, hoarse and brittle. You heard him shuffling on the other end.
"I'm on my way there," he said, his tone clipped, punctuated by the faint jingle of his car keys.
"But, Bruceβ"
"You're more important," he cut in firmly.Β
"Order some breakfast, and I'll be there in 10 minutes."
With that, the line went dead. Your panic twisted into confusion, a cold knot forming in your stomach.Β
How the fuck did he know where you were?
By the time Bruce arrived, the food was still cooking, its warm, syrupy aroma teasing the air. He materialized beside your table in a black hoodie pulled low, faded jeans, and a worn baseball cap shadowing his sharp features.
Pure incognito mode amid the morning rush of truckers and night-shift workers.
"What happened?" he asked softly, sliding into the seat across from you. His tone was gentle, and he reached for your hands, steadying the tremble you hadn't noticed, your fingers icy against his warm palms.
At first, you hesitated, lips pressed tight. But then he murmured your name in that tone, the rare, tender one you secretly hoped was reserved just for you.
"There was a man on the subway," you confessed, finally lifting your gaze to meet his darkening eyes, which widened in alarm.
"Did he hurt you?" Bruce demanded, his grip tightening protectively.
"He didn't have a chance," you replied, voice steadier now. "That's why I don't know why I'm acting like this."
"Hey, it's okay," he soothed, thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin.
"Yeah, I know, I kind of pieced that together already,β you said, a little bit too harshly.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, guilt twisting inside you.
"I just... I just can't think properly right now," you continued, words tumbling out.Β
"Maybe he wasn't even following me. What if I overreacted and nearly gave myself a heart attack for nothing?"
"Hey," Bruce said firmly, leaning closer, his cologne, a faint mix of cedar and leather, cutting through the diner's greasy haze.Β
"Nothing or not, you were afraid. And that's a good enough reason."
A dry chuckle escaped your throat, this one laced with a spark of humor amid the lingering fear.
"That sounds familiar," you said, managing a small smile.
Β "A wise woman once told me that. I think about it a lot on my bad nights,β he said, mirroring your smile.
"Well," you added self-deprecatingly, "that wise woman feels kinda stupid right now."
"She's still wise to me," Bruce replied, his gaze unwavering, melting the last of your defenses.
"Thank you for coming, Bruce," you murmured, sincerity warming your chest.
"Of course," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"By the way," you pressed, arching a brow despite the exhaustion, "how the fuck did you know where I was?"
"About that" he started, but a waitress interrupted.
"Order up!" she called cheerfully, sliding steaming plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon your way, the porcelain clattering softly.
"Thank you, Dot," you said automatically and she nodded with a smile before walking off to the next table.
"I didn't tell you to get me anything," Bruce protested lightly.
"Well, you don't tell me what to do," you said.
Β "And I know you haven't eaten yet, Bruce."
"Okay, okay," he conceded, as his attention snapped back to your voice.
Β "You still haven't let me answer, by the way. How did you know something was wrong?"
Bruce drew a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling, steeling himself.
"Your smartwatch," he explained evenly.
"What?" you blinked.
"The one I got you for your birthday. It tracks your vitals, right?"
"Yeah..."
"It also tracks your location."
"What?" Shock rippled through you, hot and prickling.
"I know," he admitted, regret shadowing his face. "It's an invasion of privacy, and I should have told you. But I needed to make sure thatβ"
"I was safe," you finished, piecing it together.
"Yes," he confirmed, voice low.
"I can't even be mad at you," you sighed, torn between irritation and understanding.Β
"I mean, I am, but... of course you'd do something like that. And of course you were right to. I'm just mad you didn't tell meβI would've understood."
"I'm sorry," Bruce said earnestly, eyes searching yours. "I didn't know how to tell you."
"I know you didn't," you relented, squeezing his hand.Β
"It's okay. At least I know now. Does this thing record other stuff? Like video or audio?"
"Only your vitals and location," he assured quickly. "No video, no audio."
"Okay, good," you exhaled in relief. "That, I would be mad about."
"I'd never do that to you," he vowed, intensity burning in his gaze.
"I know, Bruce. I know,β you said, before taking a deep breathe. As if bracing for impact. "Don't say it," you warned.
"Don't say what?" he almost teased, and your pulse quickened.
"You know."
"'I told you so'?" he ventured.
"That's the one," you confirmed.
"I'm sorry for being stubborn," you admitted softly.
"Hey, there's no need to be sorry," Bruce replied gently.Β
"But I hope now you can listen to me,β he followed, as he slid a sleek set of keys across the table, their metallic gleam catching the light.
"Bruceβ" You started to push them back, but he placed his hand atop yours, warm and unyielding.
"Please," he urged, his voice a mix of demand and plea, eyes pleading.
"It's a Mirage,dark blue. It won't draw any attention," he added, anticipating your protests.
"I'm going to need the right paperwork, a parking spot at work and my apartmentβit's just too much, Bruce," you argued, though your resolve wavered under his touch.
"All of that's already taken care of," he insisted, giving your hand a firm, reassuring squeeze. A soft glaze misted your eyes, emotion swelling like a tide.
"Bruce." Your voice cracked, fresh tears tracing warm paths down your cheeks, some splashing onto your pancakes and melting into the hot chocolate's frothy surface.
"Hey, it's okay," he murmured, drawing your hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to each knuckle, his breath warm against your skin, never breaking eye contact, those piercing blue eyes anchoring you.
"Breathe for me, sweetheart," he cooed, demonstrating with slow, deep inhales and exhales. You followed, chest rising and falling in sync, the panic ebbing like a receding wave.
"Sorry I'm such a mess," you tried to laugh, but it emerged as a wheezy hiccup, your free hand wiping at damp cheeks.
"It's okay," Bruce said, voice like a balm. "More than okay." He kissed the back of your hand again, lingering.
"Thank you, Bruce. Thank you so much," you whispered, throat tight, not daring to let it break again.
"Don't mention it." He smiled, that rare, genuine one that crinkled his eyes, and he squeezed your hand once more.
"But Bruce," you began, hand gripping the keys after he let go of you.
"I don't think I can drive right now," you admitted, a slight shake in your voice and in your hand which was followed by a slight jingle of the keys.
"I'll drive you, of course I will," Bruce said, gently taking the keys from you, and it was like a weight was taken off of you and you could breathe better.
"I also don't want to be alone," you admitted.
"I'll stay with you," he said.
"For as long as you want."
The ride to your house was quiet, there was nothing else to say, and you were grateful for it.
In truth the car was nice, maybe a little too nice. But it was discrete, and the trunk was sizable enough for your work needs.
You were also already thinking about how you would decorate the dashboard. You were thinking of anything really to calm you down.
And with that you finally reached your apartment building, settling into what you assumed to be the parking spot Bruce reserved for you.
You stayed seated in the car as he shut off the engine, staying there even as he got out. And you waited for him to come and open your door for you.
He always liked to do it, he would get whiney if you got out on your own, though he wouldn't admit it.
As you both walked up to your apartment he had taken your bag and slung it over his shoulder, guiding you forward by the small of your back.
He shut the door for you as you both walked it, and before he could even speak again you had turned and threw yourself on him.
You kissed him hard, and though a bit startled at first he kissed you back, dropping your bag so he could wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer.
It didn't take long for the two of you to pull away for air.
"Help me forget, Bruce," you whispered against him in between breaths, and he looked at you with wide eyes.
Usually those words left his lips.
Despite the shock, he answered.
"Okay."
You kissed him again, even harder this time as he pressed you against the wall.
A trail of clothes was left on the way to your bedroom, where the sheets were still a mess from your last tryst.
"Bruce," you moaned, after he laid you on the bed.
He responded by leaning down to suck on your pebbled nipples, swirling his tongue around them after a harsh bite, relishing in the sounds you made.
He moved upwards to kiss you once more, and you wrapped your legs around him to pull him closer.
As you kissed, his hand moved in between you to rub circles on your clit. Big and slow circles that left you breathless.
"Bruce," you said again in between kisses, and he responded by sticking a finger inside of you, making you throw your head back.
"Fuck, Bruce," you cursed, kissing him once more.
"I need you, please," you held his face gently as you begged as he gave you a nod, kissing the hand that held him as he slid inside you. Nice and slow.
"Fuck," he groaned with his dick fully inside you, your walls wrapped around him so nicely, practically begging him to move, and so he did.
"Thank you," you said as he began to move.
"Harder," you said, and he complied. Thrusting his hips faster as you thrusted upwards to meet him.
You locked eyes for just a second, and then held your cheek in his hand, pulling you in for another kiss.
Despite your movements, this kiss was softer than the others, slower, in a way that sent a surge of warmth to your chest.
As you kissed your movements began to slow down, till you both pulled away from each other.
"I'm close," you whispered against him. And he just kissed you again, moving with a new vigor at your declaration.
It didn't take much for you to finally let go, yelling out his name as you did. He followed soon after, collapsing on top of you.
He laid on top of you, breathing deeply, covered in sweat, yet you still wrapped your arms around him, burying your head into his shoulder, placing gentle kisses where you laid.
"Thank you," you whispered once more, and he responded with a kiss on your neck that turned into a bite, forcing yet another moan from your lips.
Once you both had settled and both your breathing became even, he still didn't leave his spot on top of you. Instead he cuddled closer into you.
The silence was comforting, more so than the one earlier, though it didn't last, as Bruce whispered against your neck.
warning/s: smut, kissing, mention of mugging/violence.
a/n: could be a part two to playing house , but can be read alone. also unedited cause we die like jason.
You could feel his eyes on you ever since the last stop.
It started off as a chill up your spine, then you turned to see the man, hunched over in his seat across the subway.
He was dressed in all black, except for his green jacket that you could tell used to be a lighter color than it was.
The lower half of his face was covered by a black handkerchief, making it easy to spot his beady eyes locked onto you.
You were used to creeps looking at you on the subway, but this one felt different. You could tell from the hand that stayed in his left pocket.
As usual, Bruce was right.
But still, for sure being mugged at 7am wasn't a thing. But then again this was Gotham.
When your stop came, you didn't get up too quickly. You moved subtly, averting your gaze from his, clutching the strap of your bag tightly.
It was only when you walked out of the automatic doors when you began to speed walk.
There was a big crowd right outside, and it was the first time you were grateful for them.
You took a couple zigzags through the crowd before you finally looked over your shoulder. And there he was a couple of feet away, turning his head in all odd directions.
Looking for you.
You didn't stay long enough for him to spot you, you did another round of zigzags and ran up the stairs onto the street.
From there you just kept running, only stopping once you reached the familiar door of your favorite diner.
When you stopped, you finally felt how fast your heart was beating. It felt like it was in your throat, and your stomach was twisting in angles you didn't even know existed.
You took a deep breath, a couple hundred it felt like. When your heart begins to calm down a little, it is when you feel tears stream down your cheeks.
And that's when your phone rang.
Brucie <3, an inside joke, your phone read as you pulled it out your pocket after a few more breaths.
You didn't want to talk to him right now, but in your panic you pressed accept.
His frantic call of your name almost made you think it wasn't him, or maybe it was the adrenaline surging through your veins, warping your hearing amid the diner's faint hum of sizzling bacon and clinking dishes.
"Bruce," you finally croaked, your throat raw after his fifth desperate call.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice thick with panic that eased slightly now that he'd heard yours, though the edge lingered.
"How'd youβ?" you started, but paused to gulp a shaky breath, shaking your head as your heart hammered against your ribs. It wasn't the time for that, you thought, the world still spinning from the subway scare.
"No, I'm not, Bruce," your voice croaked again, hoarse and brittle. You heard him shuffling on the other end.
"I'm on my way there," he said, his tone clipped, punctuated by the faint jingle of his car keys.
"But, Bruceβ"
"You're more important," he cut in firmly.Β
"Order some breakfast, and I'll be there in 10 minutes."
With that, the line went dead. Your panic twisted into confusion, a cold knot forming in your stomach.Β
How the fuck did he know where you were?
By the time Bruce arrived, the food was still cooking, its warm, syrupy aroma teasing the air. He materialized beside your table in a black hoodie pulled low, faded jeans, and a worn baseball cap shadowing his sharp features.
Pure incognito mode amid the morning rush of truckers and night-shift workers.
"What happened?" he asked softly, sliding into the seat across from you. His tone was gentle, and he reached for your hands, steadying the tremble you hadn't noticed, your fingers icy against his warm palms.
At first, you hesitated, lips pressed tight. But then he murmured your name in that tone, the rare, tender one you secretly hoped was reserved just for you.
"There was a man on the subway," you confessed, finally lifting your gaze to meet his darkening eyes, which widened in alarm.
"Did he hurt you?" Bruce demanded, his grip tightening protectively.
"He didn't have a chance," you replied, voice steadier now. "That's why I don't know why I'm acting like this."
"Hey, it's okay," he soothed, thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin.
"Yeah, I know, I kind of pieced that together already,β you said, a little bit too harshly.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, guilt twisting inside you.
"I just... I just can't think properly right now," you continued, words tumbling out.Β
"Maybe he wasn't even following me. What if I overreacted and nearly gave myself a heart attack for nothing?"
"Hey," Bruce said firmly, leaning closer, his cologne, a faint mix of cedar and leather, cutting through the diner's greasy haze.Β
"Nothing or not, you were afraid. And that's a good enough reason."
A dry chuckle escaped your throat, this one laced with a spark of humor amid the lingering fear.
"That sounds familiar," you said, managing a small smile.
Β "A wise woman once told me that. I think about it a lot on my bad nights,β he said, mirroring your smile.
"Well," you added self-deprecatingly, "that wise woman feels kinda stupid right now."
"She's still wise to me," Bruce replied, his gaze unwavering, melting the last of your defenses.
"Thank you for coming, Bruce," you murmured, sincerity warming your chest.
"Of course," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"By the way," you pressed, arching a brow despite the exhaustion, "how the fuck did you know where I was?"
"About that" he started, but a waitress interrupted.
"Order up!" she called cheerfully, sliding steaming plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon your way, the porcelain clattering softly.
"Thank you, Dot," you said automatically and she nodded with a smile before walking off to the next table.
"I didn't tell you to get me anything," Bruce protested lightly.
"Well, you don't tell me what to do," you said.
Β "And I know you haven't eaten yet, Bruce."
"Okay, okay," he conceded, as his attention snapped back to your voice.
Β "You still haven't let me answer, by the way. How did you know something was wrong?"
Bruce drew a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling, steeling himself.
"Your smartwatch," he explained evenly.
"What?" you blinked.
"The one I got you for your birthday. It tracks your vitals, right?"
"Yeah..."
"It also tracks your location."
"What?" Shock rippled through you, hot and prickling.
"I know," he admitted, regret shadowing his face. "It's an invasion of privacy, and I should have told you. But I needed to make sure thatβ"
"I was safe," you finished, piecing it together.
"Yes," he confirmed, voice low.
"I can't even be mad at you," you sighed, torn between irritation and understanding.Β
"I mean, I am, but... of course you'd do something like that. And of course you were right to. I'm just mad you didn't tell meβI would've understood."
"I'm sorry," Bruce said earnestly, eyes searching yours. "I didn't know how to tell you."
"I know you didn't," you relented, squeezing his hand.Β
"It's okay. At least I know now. Does this thing record other stuff? Like video or audio?"
"Only your vitals and location," he assured quickly. "No video, no audio."
"Okay, good," you exhaled in relief. "That, I would be mad about."
"I'd never do that to you," he vowed, intensity burning in his gaze.
"I know, Bruce. I know,β you said, before taking a deep breathe. As if bracing for impact. "Don't say it," you warned.
"Don't say what?" he almost teased, and your pulse quickened.
"You know."
"'I told you so'?" he ventured.
"That's the one," you confirmed.
"I'm sorry for being stubborn," you admitted softly.
"Hey, there's no need to be sorry," Bruce replied gently.Β
"But I hope now you can listen to me,β he followed, as he slid a sleek set of keys across the table, their metallic gleam catching the light.
"Bruceβ" You started to push them back, but he placed his hand atop yours, warm and unyielding.
"Please," he urged, his voice a mix of demand and plea, eyes pleading.
"It's a Mirage,dark blue. It won't draw any attention," he added, anticipating your protests.
"I'm going to need the right paperwork, a parking spot at work and my apartmentβit's just too much, Bruce," you argued, though your resolve wavered under his touch.
"All of that's already taken care of," he insisted, giving your hand a firm, reassuring squeeze. A soft glaze misted your eyes, emotion swelling like a tide.
"Bruce." Your voice cracked, fresh tears tracing warm paths down your cheeks, some splashing onto your pancakes and melting into the hot chocolate's frothy surface.
"Hey, it's okay," he murmured, drawing your hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to each knuckle, his breath warm against your skin, never breaking eye contact, those piercing blue eyes anchoring you.
"Breathe for me, sweetheart," he cooed, demonstrating with slow, deep inhales and exhales. You followed, chest rising and falling in sync, the panic ebbing like a receding wave.
"Sorry I'm such a mess," you tried to laugh, but it emerged as a wheezy hiccup, your free hand wiping at damp cheeks.
"It's okay," Bruce said, voice like a balm. "More than okay." He kissed the back of your hand again, lingering.
"Thank you, Bruce. Thank you so much," you whispered, throat tight, not daring to let it break again.
"Don't mention it." He smiled, that rare, genuine one that crinkled his eyes, and he squeezed your hand once more.
"But Bruce," you began, hand gripping the keys after he let go of you.
"I don't think I can drive right now," you admitted, a slight shake in your voice and in your hand which was followed by a slight jingle of the keys.
"I'll drive you, of course I will," Bruce said, gently taking the keys from you, and it was like a weight was taken off of you and you could breathe better.
"I also don't want to be alone," you admitted.
"I'll stay with you," he said.
"For as long as you want."
The ride to your house was quiet, there was nothing else to say, and you were grateful for it.
In truth the car was nice, maybe a little too nice. But it was discrete, and the trunk was sizable enough for your work needs.
You were also already thinking about how you would decorate the dashboard. You were thinking of anything really to calm you down.
And with that you finally reached your apartment building, settling into what you assumed to be the parking spot Bruce reserved for you.
You stayed seated in the car as he shut off the engine, staying there even as he got out. And you waited for him to come and open your door for you.
He always liked to do it, he would get whiney if you got out on your own, though he wouldn't admit it.
As you both walked up to your apartment he had taken your bag and slung it over his shoulder, guiding you forward by the small of your back.
He shut the door for you as you both walked it, and before he could even speak again you had turned and threw yourself on him.
You kissed him hard, and though a bit startled at first he kissed you back, dropping your bag so he could wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer.
It didn't take long for the two of you to pull away for air.
"Help me forget, Bruce," you whispered against him in between breaths, and he looked at you with wide eyes.
Usually those words left his lips.
Despite the shock, he answered.
"Okay."
You kissed him again, even harder this time as he pressed you against the wall.
A trail of clothes was left on the way to your bedroom, where the sheets were still a mess from your last tryst.
"Bruce," you moaned, after he laid you on the bed.
He responded by leaning down to suck on your pebbled nipples, swirling his tongue around them after a harsh bite, relishing in the sounds you made.
He moved upwards to kiss you once more, and you wrapped your legs around him to pull him closer.
As you kissed, his hand moved in between you to rub circles on your clit. Big and slow circles that left you breathless.
"Bruce," you said again in between kisses, and he responded by sticking a finger inside of you, making you throw your head back.
"Fuck, Bruce," you cursed, kissing him once more.
"I need you, please," you held his face gently as you begged as he gave you a nod, kissing the hand that held him as he slid inside you. Nice and slow.
"Fuck," he groaned with his dick fully inside you, your walls wrapped around him so nicely, practically begging him to move, and so he did.
"Thank you," you said as he began to move.
"Harder," you said, and he complied. Thrusting his hips faster as you thrusted upwards to meet him.
You locked eyes for just a second, and then held your cheek in his hand, pulling you in for another kiss.
Despite your movements, this kiss was softer than the others, slower, in a way that sent a surge of warmth to your chest.
As you kissed your movements began to slow down, till you both pulled away from each other.
"I'm close," you whispered against him. And he just kissed you again, moving with a new vigor at your declaration.
It didn't take much for you to finally let go, yelling out his name as you did. He followed soon after, collapsing on top of you.
He laid on top of you, breathing deeply, covered in sweat, yet you still wrapped your arms around him, burying your head into his shoulder, placing gentle kisses where you laid.
"Thank you," you whispered once more, and he responded with a kiss on your neck that turned into a bite, forcing yet another moan from your lips.
Once you both had settled and both your breathing became even, he still didn't leave his spot on top of you. Instead he cuddled closer into you.
The silence was comforting, more so than the one earlier, though it didn't last, as Bruce whispered against your neck.
warning/s: making out, mentions of nudity, smoking.
a/n: unedited, I wrote this in like 30 minutes cause it just came to mind lol.
He was fluent in grief before he even knew his own needs.
It was pitiful, and you hated it. But then again, in a twisted way, you loved it.
If it weren't for all that grief, he wouldn't be here in your bed, asleep, looking almost peaceful except for the slight wrinkle between his brow.
With one last look at him, you got up, pulling the covers higher over him before opening the window.
The Gotham chill quickly crept in, and it didn't help that you were currently nude, but you knew what would warm you up.
A cigarette found its way between your fingers, and a lighter followed suit. One thing led to another, and soon you were puffing out smoke.
You leaned against the windowsill, probably giving the drunkard across the street quite the show. But what the hell.
The skies were tinted a light blue, telling you the sun was not far behind. The air was still, as still as it could be in Gotham, and it looked almost beautiful.
You took one last puff of your dying cigarette, glancing back at him for a second. He would be up any minute now.
He never really stayed that long.
Another cigarette was lit, and you were proven right.
"Those will kill you," his deep voice drawled.
"That's rich coming from you," you chuckled, turning to walk toward him, taking another puff just to annoy him.
You blew the smoke right in his face as you sat on the wrinkled sheets before him.
"How'd you sleep, Batboy?" you asked, chuckling again as his face crinkled in disgust.
"Good," he said, matter of factly, taking the cigarette from your fingers and killing it in your ashtray on the nightstand.
Like he always did.
"You?" he asked, taking the blanket youβd placed on him and wrapping it around your body.
You pulled it closer as he stood up.
"I didnβt," you answered in the same tone he used, and he let out an exasperated sigh that made you smile.
"I sleep more than you and thatβs saying something," he said, now in the spare sweatpants he had left in your closet for times like this.
"I'm proud of the achievement," you gave him a toothy grin, and he rolled his eyes, sitting down in front of you.
"You really are gonna kill yourself," he sighed, reaching out to place his hand on your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into his warmth.
"Not if Gotham kills me first," you answered, making him sigh again as he pulled his hand away.
You already missed his warmth.
"I'm going to get breakfast started," he said, getting up and walking to the door.
"Pancakes?" you pleaded, giving him a slight pout.
"Pancakes," he nodded, turning to walk out the door.
"What, no goodbye kiss?" you called from behind him, making him stop in his tracks.
He turned around with another sigh.
He always sighed around you.
Nevertheless, he bent down in front of you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.
"Youβll get a better one once you donβt taste like smoke," he said before finally walking out.
As the door shut, you let yourself fall back onto the bed.
This was a miserable situation.
The flirting and touches were fun, but not when you were alone and reminded that there was no meaning behind it.
The thought made your chest tighten.
You needed another cigarette.
Your hand quickly went to the nightstand, but when you couldnβt feel the familiar cardboard box, you turned your head.
All you saw was an empty space where your cigarettes should have been.
He had taken them again.
"Fucking hell."
***
The smell of pancakes greeted you as you made your way to the kitchen. The sight of Bruceβs bare back pushed you forward as you entered the doorway.
"Remind me to thank Alfred for your cooking skills one of these days," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist and standing on your tiptoes to peek at his masterpiece.
"How long till they're done?" you asked, pushing your cheek against his, well as much as you could with the towel wrapped around your head.
"Almost. Take a seat while the coffeeβs still hot," he said, turning his head to give your cheek a quick peck before flipping another pancake.
You obeyed, of course, giving him a kiss back and making your way to the table.
And there was your coffee; you quickly took a sip, not caring if your tongue burned. It was just as you liked it no sugar, no milk, just honey.
You quickly settled into your seat, taking occasional sips of coffee as you read the morning paper Bruce had placed beside it.
Not long after, he came up, placing two plates on the table. The one in front of you had a higher stack, and he took the liberty of pouring your syrup for you.
"Thank you," you smiled, immediately digging in, making him chuckle as he sat down.
"Bruce," you moaned, shoveling another piece of fluffy goodness into your mouth.
"These are fucking amazing."
"You always say that," he smiled, cutting into his pancakes more gracefully than you did.
"Well, they always are," you mumbled between bites.
"I'm glad then," he said, taking a sip of his own coffee that you had sneaked some honey into.
"So, what time is your shift today?" he asked, taking the paper you were now done with and flipping through the pages.
"Graveyard," you answered before taking another bite.
That single word made him freeze, and you rolled your eyes.
"I'm a nurse, Bruce. I'm going to have graveyard shifts itβs part of the job," you said before he could say a word.
"You know that better than anyone," you added, looking him directly in the eye, making him sigh.
"I know, I just get worried," he said, knowing anything else would earn him a mouthful from you.
"And that's sweet," you said.
"But your worry wonβt stop me from doing my job."
He nodded.
"What are you riding on the way there?"
"Subway," you answered.
He responded with a firm call of your name.
"I always take the subway, Bruce," you rolled your eyes again.
"But a cab would be safer," he countered.
"More expensive, you mean," you scoffed, pushing your now empty plate forward.
"Iβll cover it," he said, reaching over the table to take your hand.
"You know I wonβt let you do that, Bruce," you quickly pulled away.
"Fine," he said, gathering your plate and his, taking them to the sink.
He conceded earlier than you thought he would.
You followed his lead, taking your empty mugs and pushing past him so you could wash them.
But he wouldnβt budge. Instead, he took the mugs from you and began washing them under the running water.
"Hey, you cooked," you said, trying and failing to push him out of the way again.
"I should wash the dishes."
"You should get some rest," he said, leaving no room for argument as he put the few used dishes in the rack.
"Why didnβt you just sleep in anyway?" he asked, finally looking at you again as he wiped his hands dry.
"I wanted to play house," you answered honestly, without missing a beat.
It was true, and you knew he wanted the same if the missed calls on his phone, which he left in your room, were to be believed.
"I see," was all he said before moving toward you until you were only an inch apart.
The look in his eyes had your heart both jumping and breaking.
Without warning, he cupped your face in both hands, his touch gentle and tender despite the roughness on his skin. You melted into him, leaning in despite the anger that had simmered just moments before, your body, and perhaps your heart betraying your frustration.
His warm breath fanned against your lips, slightly rough, yet inviting, and before you could blink, his mouth met yours in a kiss.
You wrapped one hand around his cheek, your fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring yourself to him. His hands mirrored your embrace, one slipping to untangle the towel wrapped around your hair, the other drawing you closer by the waist, pulling you even closer, as if it were even possible.
He broke the kiss only briefly, lifting you slowly onto the kitchen counter, your body aligning with his. As the air left your lips, you claimed his neck with gentle, lingering kisses, his groans only urging you to keep going.
The sudden, firm squeeze of his hand against your thigh startled you enough to pull away, gasping for air. But he seized the moment, pressing his lips to yours once more with an intensity that left you wanting.
Wanting.
He always left you wanting.
And that was best and worst part of playing house with Bruce Wayne.
warning/s: making out, mentions of nudity, smoking.
a/n: unedited, I wrote this in like 30 minutes cause it just came to mind lol.
He was fluent in grief before he even knew his own needs.
It was pitiful, and you hated it. But then again, in a twisted way, you loved it.
If it weren't for all that grief, he wouldn't be here in your bed, asleep, looking almost peaceful except for the slight wrinkle between his brow.
With one last look at him, you got up, pulling the covers higher over him before opening the window.
The Gotham chill quickly crept in, and it didn't help that you were currently nude, but you knew what would warm you up.
A cigarette found its way between your fingers, and a lighter followed suit. One thing led to another, and soon you were puffing out smoke.
You leaned against the windowsill, probably giving the drunkard across the street quite the show. But what the hell.
The skies were tinted a light blue, telling you the sun was not far behind. The air was still, as still as it could be in Gotham, and it looked almost beautiful.
You took one last puff of your dying cigarette, glancing back at him for a second. He would be up any minute now.
He never really stayed that long.
Another cigarette was lit, and you were proven right.
"Those will kill you," his deep voice drawled.
"That's rich coming from you," you chuckled, turning to walk toward him, taking another puff just to annoy him.
You blew the smoke right in his face as you sat on the wrinkled sheets before him.
"How'd you sleep, Batboy?" you asked, chuckling again as his face crinkled in disgust.
"Good," he said, matter of factly, taking the cigarette from your fingers and killing it in your ashtray on the nightstand.
Like he always did.
"You?" he asked, taking the blanket youβd placed on him and wrapping it around your body.
You pulled it closer as he stood up.
"I didnβt," you answered in the same tone he used, and he let out an exasperated sigh that made you smile.
"I sleep more than you and thatβs saying something," he said, now in the spare sweatpants he had left in your closet for times like this.
"I'm proud of the achievement," you gave him a toothy grin, and he rolled his eyes, sitting down in front of you.
"You really are gonna kill yourself," he sighed, reaching out to place his hand on your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into his warmth.
"Not if Gotham kills me first," you answered, making him sigh again as he pulled his hand away.
You already missed his warmth.
"I'm going to get breakfast started," he said, getting up and walking to the door.
"Pancakes?" you pleaded, giving him a slight pout.
"Pancakes," he nodded, turning to walk out the door.
"What, no goodbye kiss?" you called from behind him, making him stop in his tracks.
He turned around with another sigh.
He always sighed around you.
Nevertheless, he bent down in front of you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.
"Youβll get a better one once you donβt taste like smoke," he said before finally walking out.
As the door shut, you let yourself fall back onto the bed.
This was a miserable situation.
The flirting and touches were fun, but not when you were alone and reminded that there was no meaning behind it.
The thought made your chest tighten.
You needed another cigarette.
Your hand quickly went to the nightstand, but when you couldnβt feel the familiar cardboard box, you turned your head.
All you saw was an empty space where your cigarettes should have been.
He had taken them again.
"Fucking hell."
***
The smell of pancakes greeted you as you made your way to the kitchen. The sight of Bruceβs bare back pushed you forward as you entered the doorway.
"Remind me to thank Alfred for your cooking skills one of these days," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist and standing on your tiptoes to peek at his masterpiece.
"How long till they're done?" you asked, pushing your cheek against his, well as much as you could with the towel wrapped around your head.
"Almost. Take a seat while the coffeeβs still hot," he said, turning his head to give your cheek a quick peck before flipping another pancake.
You obeyed, of course, giving him a kiss back and making your way to the table.
And there was your coffee; you quickly took a sip, not caring if your tongue burned. It was just as you liked it no sugar, no milk, just honey.
You quickly settled into your seat, taking occasional sips of coffee as you read the morning paper Bruce had placed beside it.
Not long after, he came up, placing two plates on the table. The one in front of you had a higher stack, and he took the liberty of pouring your syrup for you.
"Thank you," you smiled, immediately digging in, making him chuckle as he sat down.
"Bruce," you moaned, shoveling another piece of fluffy goodness into your mouth.
"These are fucking amazing."
"You always say that," he smiled, cutting into his pancakes more gracefully than you did.
"Well, they always are," you mumbled between bites.
"I'm glad then," he said, taking a sip of his own coffee that you had sneaked some honey into.
"So, what time is your shift today?" he asked, taking the paper you were now done with and flipping through the pages.
"Graveyard," you answered before taking another bite.
That single word made him freeze, and you rolled your eyes.
"I'm a nurse, Bruce. I'm going to have graveyard shifts itβs part of the job," you said before he could say a word.
"You know that better than anyone," you added, looking him directly in the eye, making him sigh.
"I know, I just get worried," he said, knowing anything else would earn him a mouthful from you.
"And that's sweet," you said.
"But your worry wonβt stop me from doing my job."
He nodded.
"What are you riding on the way there?"
"Subway," you answered.
He responded with a firm call of your name.
"I always take the subway, Bruce," you rolled your eyes again.
"But a cab would be safer," he countered.
"More expensive, you mean," you scoffed, pushing your now empty plate forward.
"Iβll cover it," he said, reaching over the table to take your hand.
"You know I wonβt let you do that, Bruce," you quickly pulled away.
"Fine," he said, gathering your plate and his, taking them to the sink.
He conceded earlier than you thought he would.
You followed his lead, taking your empty mugs and pushing past him so you could wash them.
But he wouldnβt budge. Instead, he took the mugs from you and began washing them under the running water.
"Hey, you cooked," you said, trying and failing to push him out of the way again.
"I should wash the dishes."
"You should get some rest," he said, leaving no room for argument as he put the few used dishes in the rack.
"Why didnβt you just sleep in anyway?" he asked, finally looking at you again as he wiped his hands dry.
"I wanted to play house," you answered honestly, without missing a beat.
It was true, and you knew he wanted the same if the missed calls on his phone, which he left in your room, were to be believed.
"I see," was all he said before moving toward you until you were only an inch apart.
The look in his eyes had your heart both jumping and breaking.
Without warning, he cupped your face in both hands, his touch gentle and tender despite the roughness on his skin. You melted into him, leaning in despite the anger that had simmered just moments before, your body, and perhaps your heart betraying your frustration.
His warm breath fanned against your lips, slightly rough, yet inviting, and before you could blink, his mouth met yours in a kiss.
You wrapped one hand around his cheek, your fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring yourself to him. His hands mirrored your embrace, one slipping to untangle the towel wrapped around your hair, the other drawing you closer by the waist, pulling you even closer, as if it were even possible.
He broke the kiss only briefly, lifting you slowly onto the kitchen counter, your body aligning with his. As the air left your lips, you claimed his neck with gentle, lingering kisses, his groans only urging you to keep going.
The sudden, firm squeeze of his hand against your thigh startled you enough to pull away, gasping for air. But he seized the moment, pressing his lips to yours once more with an intensity that left you wanting.
Wanting.
He always left you wanting.
And that was best and worst part of playing house with Bruce Wayne.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
β Live Streamingβ Interactive Chatβ Private Showsβ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
warning/s: making out, mentions of nudity, smoking.
a/n: unedited, I wrote this in like 30 minutes cause it just came to mind lol.
He was fluent in grief before he even knew his own needs.
It was pitiful, and you hated it. But then again, in a twisted way, you loved it.
If it weren't for all that grief, he wouldn't be here in your bed, asleep, looking almost peaceful except for the slight wrinkle between his brow.
With one last look at him, you got up, pulling the covers higher over him before opening the window.
The Gotham chill quickly crept in, and it didn't help that you were currently nude, but you knew what would warm you up.
A cigarette found its way between your fingers, and a lighter followed suit. One thing led to another, and soon you were puffing out smoke.
You leaned against the windowsill, probably giving the drunkard across the street quite the show. But what the hell.
The skies were tinted a light blue, telling you the sun was not far behind. The air was still, as still as it could be in Gotham, and it looked almost beautiful.
You took one last puff of your dying cigarette, glancing back at him for a second. He would be up any minute now.
He never really stayed that long.
Another cigarette was lit, and you were proven right.
"Those will kill you," his deep voice drawled.
"That's rich coming from you," you chuckled, turning to walk toward him, taking another puff just to annoy him.
You blew the smoke right in his face as you sat on the wrinkled sheets before him.
"How'd you sleep, Batboy?" you asked, chuckling again as his face crinkled in disgust.
"Good," he said, matter of factly, taking the cigarette from your fingers and killing it in your ashtray on the nightstand.
Like he always did.
"You?" he asked, taking the blanket youβd placed on him and wrapping it around your body.
You pulled it closer as he stood up.
"I didnβt," you answered in the same tone he used, and he let out an exasperated sigh that made you smile.
"I sleep more than you and thatβs saying something," he said, now in the spare sweatpants he had left in your closet for times like this.
"I'm proud of the achievement," you gave him a toothy grin, and he rolled his eyes, sitting down in front of you.
"You really are gonna kill yourself," he sighed, reaching out to place his hand on your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into his warmth.
"Not if Gotham kills me first," you answered, making him sigh again as he pulled his hand away.
You already missed his warmth.
"I'm going to get breakfast started," he said, getting up and walking to the door.
"Pancakes?" you pleaded, giving him a slight pout.
"Pancakes," he nodded, turning to walk out the door.
"What, no goodbye kiss?" you called from behind him, making him stop in his tracks.
He turned around with another sigh.
He always sighed around you.
Nevertheless, he bent down in front of you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.
"Youβll get a better one once you donβt taste like smoke," he said before finally walking out.
As the door shut, you let yourself fall back onto the bed.
This was a miserable situation.
The flirting and touches were fun, but not when you were alone and reminded that there was no meaning behind it.
The thought made your chest tighten.
You needed another cigarette.
Your hand quickly went to the nightstand, but when you couldnβt feel the familiar cardboard box, you turned your head.
All you saw was an empty space where your cigarettes should have been.
He had taken them again.
"Fucking hell."
***
The smell of pancakes greeted you as you made your way to the kitchen. The sight of Bruceβs bare back pushed you forward as you entered the doorway.
"Remind me to thank Alfred for your cooking skills one of these days," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist and standing on your tiptoes to peek at his masterpiece.
"How long till they're done?" you asked, pushing your cheek against his, well as much as you could with the towel wrapped around your head.
"Almost. Take a seat while the coffeeβs still hot," he said, turning his head to give your cheek a quick peck before flipping another pancake.
You obeyed, of course, giving him a kiss back and making your way to the table.
And there was your coffee; you quickly took a sip, not caring if your tongue burned. It was just as you liked it no sugar, no milk, just honey.
You quickly settled into your seat, taking occasional sips of coffee as you read the morning paper Bruce had placed beside it.
Not long after, he came up, placing two plates on the table. The one in front of you had a higher stack, and he took the liberty of pouring your syrup for you.
"Thank you," you smiled, immediately digging in, making him chuckle as he sat down.
"Bruce," you moaned, shoveling another piece of fluffy goodness into your mouth.
"These are fucking amazing."
"You always say that," he smiled, cutting into his pancakes more gracefully than you did.
"Well, they always are," you mumbled between bites.
"I'm glad then," he said, taking a sip of his own coffee that you had sneaked some honey into.
"So, what time is your shift today?" he asked, taking the paper you were now done with and flipping through the pages.
"Graveyard," you answered before taking another bite.
That single word made him freeze, and you rolled your eyes.
"I'm a nurse, Bruce. I'm going to have graveyard shifts itβs part of the job," you said before he could say a word.
"You know that better than anyone," you added, looking him directly in the eye, making him sigh.
"I know, I just get worried," he said, knowing anything else would earn him a mouthful from you.
"And that's sweet," you said.
"But your worry wonβt stop me from doing my job."
He nodded.
"What are you riding on the way there?"
"Subway," you answered.
He responded with a firm call of your name.
"I always take the subway, Bruce," you rolled your eyes again.
"But a cab would be safer," he countered.
"More expensive, you mean," you scoffed, pushing your now empty plate forward.
"Iβll cover it," he said, reaching over the table to take your hand.
"You know I wonβt let you do that, Bruce," you quickly pulled away.
"Fine," he said, gathering your plate and his, taking them to the sink.
He conceded earlier than you thought he would.
You followed his lead, taking your empty mugs and pushing past him so you could wash them.
But he wouldnβt budge. Instead, he took the mugs from you and began washing them under the running water.
"Hey, you cooked," you said, trying and failing to push him out of the way again.
"I should wash the dishes."
"You should get some rest," he said, leaving no room for argument as he put the few used dishes in the rack.
"Why didnβt you just sleep in anyway?" he asked, finally looking at you again as he wiped his hands dry.
"I wanted to play house," you answered honestly, without missing a beat.
It was true, and you knew he wanted the same if the missed calls on his phone, which he left in your room, were to be believed.
"I see," was all he said before moving toward you until you were only an inch apart.
The look in his eyes had your heart both jumping and breaking.
Without warning, he cupped your face in both hands, his touch gentle and tender despite the roughness on his skin. You melted into him, leaning in despite the anger that had simmered just moments before, your body, and perhaps your heart betraying your frustration.
His warm breath fanned against your lips, slightly rough, yet inviting, and before you could blink, his mouth met yours in a kiss.
You wrapped one hand around his cheek, your fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring yourself to him. His hands mirrored your embrace, one slipping to untangle the towel wrapped around your hair, the other drawing you closer by the waist, pulling you even closer, as if it were even possible.
He broke the kiss only briefly, lifting you slowly onto the kitchen counter, your body aligning with his. As the air left your lips, you claimed his neck with gentle, lingering kisses, his groans only urging you to keep going.
The sudden, firm squeeze of his hand against your thigh startled you enough to pull away, gasping for air. But he seized the moment, pressing his lips to yours once more with an intensity that left you wanting.
Wanting.
He always left you wanting.
And that was best and worst part of playing house with Bruce Wayne.
warning/s: making out, mentions of nudity, smoking.
a/n: unedited, I wrote this in like 30 minutes cause it just came to mind lol.
He was fluent in grief before he even knew his own needs.
It was pitiful, and you hated it. But then again, in a twisted way, you loved it.
If it weren't for all that grief, he wouldn't be here in your bed, asleep, looking almost peaceful except for the slight wrinkle between his brow.
With one last look at him, you got up, pulling the covers higher over him before opening the window.
The Gotham chill quickly crept in, and it didn't help that you were currently nude, but you knew what would warm you up.
A cigarette found its way between your fingers, and a lighter followed suit. One thing led to another, and soon you were puffing out smoke.
You leaned against the windowsill, probably giving the drunkard across the street quite the show. But what the hell.
The skies were tinted a light blue, telling you the sun was not far behind. The air was still, as still as it could be in Gotham, and it looked almost beautiful.
You took one last puff of your dying cigarette, glancing back at him for a second. He would be up any minute now.
He never really stayed that long.
Another cigarette was lit, and you were proven right.
"Those will kill you," his deep voice drawled.
"That's rich coming from you," you chuckled, turning to walk toward him, taking another puff just to annoy him.
You blew the smoke right in his face as you sat on the wrinkled sheets before him.
"How'd you sleep, Batboy?" you asked, chuckling again as his face crinkled in disgust.
"Good," he said, matter of factly, taking the cigarette from your fingers and killing it in your ashtray on the nightstand.
Like he always did.
"You?" he asked, taking the blanket youβd placed on him and wrapping it around your body.
You pulled it closer as he stood up.
"I didnβt," you answered in the same tone he used, and he let out an exasperated sigh that made you smile.
"I sleep more than you and thatβs saying something," he said, now in the spare sweatpants he had left in your closet for times like this.
"I'm proud of the achievement," you gave him a toothy grin, and he rolled his eyes, sitting down in front of you.
"You really are gonna kill yourself," he sighed, reaching out to place his hand on your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into his warmth.
"Not if Gotham kills me first," you answered, making him sigh again as he pulled his hand away.
You already missed his warmth.
"I'm going to get breakfast started," he said, getting up and walking to the door.
"Pancakes?" you pleaded, giving him a slight pout.
"Pancakes," he nodded, turning to walk out the door.
"What, no goodbye kiss?" you called from behind him, making him stop in his tracks.
He turned around with another sigh.
He always sighed around you.
Nevertheless, he bent down in front of you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.
"Youβll get a better one once you donβt taste like smoke," he said before finally walking out.
As the door shut, you let yourself fall back onto the bed.
This was a miserable situation.
The flirting and touches were fun, but not when you were alone and reminded that there was no meaning behind it.
The thought made your chest tighten.
You needed another cigarette.
Your hand quickly went to the nightstand, but when you couldnβt feel the familiar cardboard box, you turned your head.
All you saw was an empty space where your cigarettes should have been.
He had taken them again.
"Fucking hell."
***
The smell of pancakes greeted you as you made your way to the kitchen. The sight of Bruceβs bare back pushed you forward as you entered the doorway.
"Remind me to thank Alfred for your cooking skills one of these days," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist and standing on your tiptoes to peek at his masterpiece.
"How long till they're done?" you asked, pushing your cheek against his, well as much as you could with the towel wrapped around your head.
"Almost. Take a seat while the coffeeβs still hot," he said, turning his head to give your cheek a quick peck before flipping another pancake.
You obeyed, of course, giving him a kiss back and making your way to the table.
And there was your coffee; you quickly took a sip, not caring if your tongue burned. It was just as you liked it no sugar, no milk, just honey.
You quickly settled into your seat, taking occasional sips of coffee as you read the morning paper Bruce had placed beside it.
Not long after, he came up, placing two plates on the table. The one in front of you had a higher stack, and he took the liberty of pouring your syrup for you.
"Thank you," you smiled, immediately digging in, making him chuckle as he sat down.
"Bruce," you moaned, shoveling another piece of fluffy goodness into your mouth.
"These are fucking amazing."
"You always say that," he smiled, cutting into his pancakes more gracefully than you did.
"Well, they always are," you mumbled between bites.
"I'm glad then," he said, taking a sip of his own coffee that you had sneaked some honey into.
"So, what time is your shift today?" he asked, taking the paper you were now done with and flipping through the pages.
"Graveyard," you answered before taking another bite.
That single word made him freeze, and you rolled your eyes.
"I'm a nurse, Bruce. I'm going to have graveyard shifts itβs part of the job," you said before he could say a word.
"You know that better than anyone," you added, looking him directly in the eye, making him sigh.
"I know, I just get worried," he said, knowing anything else would earn him a mouthful from you.
"And that's sweet," you said.
"But your worry wonβt stop me from doing my job."
He nodded.
"What are you riding on the way there?"
"Subway," you answered.
He responded with a firm call of your name.
"I always take the subway, Bruce," you rolled your eyes again.
"But a cab would be safer," he countered.
"More expensive, you mean," you scoffed, pushing your now empty plate forward.
"Iβll cover it," he said, reaching over the table to take your hand.
"You know I wonβt let you do that, Bruce," you quickly pulled away.
"Fine," he said, gathering your plate and his, taking them to the sink.
He conceded earlier than you thought he would.
You followed his lead, taking your empty mugs and pushing past him so you could wash them.
But he wouldnβt budge. Instead, he took the mugs from you and began washing them under the running water.
"Hey, you cooked," you said, trying and failing to push him out of the way again.
"I should wash the dishes."
"You should get some rest," he said, leaving no room for argument as he put the few used dishes in the rack.
"Why didnβt you just sleep in anyway?" he asked, finally looking at you again as he wiped his hands dry.
"I wanted to play house," you answered honestly, without missing a beat.
It was true, and you knew he wanted the same if the missed calls on his phone, which he left in your room, were to be believed.
"I see," was all he said before moving toward you until you were only an inch apart.
The look in his eyes had your heart both jumping and breaking.
Without warning, he cupped your face in both hands, his touch gentle and tender despite the roughness on his skin. You melted into him, leaning in despite the anger that had simmered just moments before, your body, and perhaps your heart betraying your frustration.
His warm breath fanned against your lips, slightly rough, yet inviting, and before you could blink, his mouth met yours in a kiss.
You wrapped one hand around his cheek, your fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring yourself to him. His hands mirrored your embrace, one slipping to untangle the towel wrapped around your hair, the other drawing you closer by the waist, pulling you even closer, as if it were even possible.
He broke the kiss only briefly, lifting you slowly onto the kitchen counter, your body aligning with his. As the air left your lips, you claimed his neck with gentle, lingering kisses, his groans only urging you to keep going.
The sudden, firm squeeze of his hand against your thigh startled you enough to pull away, gasping for air. But he seized the moment, pressing his lips to yours once more with an intensity that left you wanting.
Wanting.
He always left you wanting.
And that was best and worst part of playing house with Bruce Wayne.
Can you believe his ass was fully convinced he wasnβt gonna get the role when he sent this self tape?
"My friends called me Superman in college" "I thought my wife was crazy for thinking I had a shot at playing Superman" Alright, whatever you say, Clark Joseph Kent from our boring universe
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
β Live Streamingβ Interactive Chatβ Private Showsβ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
series description: new to metropolis and the daily planet, you find yourself falling for your deskmate, Clark Kent, who you're convinced will never look your way. a rescue from attempted mugging becomes many late nights spent with superman on your apartment balcony... god why does he seem so familiar?
warnings/tags: use of yn, fluff, angst, ..serious tension, lois lane supremacy:)
---
part 1 - 2k words
part 2 - 5k words
part 3 - 3k words
part 4 - 2k words
part 5 - 3k words
(part 6 teaser)
part 6 - 5k words
(part 7 teaser)
part 7 - 7k words
part 8 - coming soon!
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a/n: it's finally here! pls pls comment any suggestions you have for where the story should go and dms are open if you'd like the proofread or see the next part early π thank u lovelies for letting me b creative (and take my sweet time writing lol)
