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xxsugarbones · 5 months

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-as a kite 🪁

-just 🍃smoking🍃 with your fave character

cw- implied afab!reader but no terms used, heavily implied plus size reader, dr*g usage (weed), brief mention of oral (reader rec.), brief mention of p in v, shotgunning at the end

wc - 1.1k

|| an - hello!! this is my first post so pls be nice because i am terrified of posting this lmfao. very clearly inspired by the fact that i am currently high as a kite and these are just my cheeky little delulu ramblings 😭 This is obviously very self indulgent because all i can every think about doing while high is these kinds of scenarios 😮‍💨

pls enjoy!!

Lately I’ve been thinking about smoking with my faves- or even just getting high with them in general. Whether it be edibles, smoking joints, or smoking cones.

But to be very specific, instead of having edibles or smoking a joint, you two are sharing a bong. Short, but slender, the perfect little “pocket rocket” as you liked to call it. Perfect for travelling, and for moments like these, so he doesn’t burn himself too easily.

He’s got you straddling his lap, one of your hands holding the bong up to your lips and the other resting just atop his wrist, holding him still. One of his own hands held the lighter to the cone piece, allowing you to take the deep inhale, while the other made sure to keep your loose hair pushed back with two fingers, almost cupping your face in the process. He could feel the heat from the lighter on the thin skin of his wrist, but he paid no mind to it, instead watching the way the thick white smoke filled the chamber. You almost finished the entirety of the pull but had to pull back just towards the end, eyes closed and head quickly throwing back. Thick, rolling ‘o’ shaped puffs of smoke were blown from your mouth, and he watched them rise up, rolling for a good few seconds before they slowly dispersed.

“Ooh, nice ones, baby. Think they’re the best ones you’ve done so far.” He praised, moving the hand from your hair down your neck, running it gently along your torso and hip, until letting it come to rest on your thigh to keep you steady. Which turned out to be a good move, because a few seconds later you moved the hand from his wrist, tucking your mouth into your elbow and coughing. He chuckled, shaking his head and taking the bong from you, setting it to the side and raising his hand to carefully help rub over your chest to try and soothe the burning feeling with his warm palm. The coughing fit lasts for a few seconds, before you can finally relax, letting out a shaky sigh. You opened your eyes, little tears from how rough the fit was wetting the corner of your bloodshot eyes, and a sheepish little smile pulling your lips upwards. He laughed and just how high you actually looked.

“Oh honey.” He cooed, reaching for the little bottle of water he’d kept by his side just in case. He slipped it into your hands, and you thanked him sweetly, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip. He watched your throat bob ever so slightly as you swallowed the water, and he hummed out a lazy “no worries” in response. He watched you fully relax again, screwing the cap back on and setting it back down and your sides.

“Y’feelin’ better now?” He cooed, his hand sliding down the centre of your chest, making your cheeks flush at the intimate touch, and smoothing it down your stomach, your muscles twitching a little at the almost ghostly touches. You weren’t ticklish, but that particular spot, just above your pubic bone, the soft pudge of your stomach was sensitive to his touch. He enjoyed the feeling of the flesh subtly twitch under the palm of his hand, and it always made your breath shudder at the same time.

“Y-Yeah. I’m good.” You breathed, just watching his eyes take in your slightly dopey expression. He chuckled, carefully grabbing your jaw and pulling your face forward towards his own. You angled yourself down so he could connect your lips in a sweet kiss. You cooed against his lips, your hands gently cupping the sides of his neck to keep him close to you. A few soft kisses ended up turning into a slow make out session, your arms thrown around his neck, a hand carefully tangled into the roots of his hair at the back of his neck, nails scratching nicely along his scalp, while his hands rest on your ass, squeezing and very occasionally smacking the thinly covered flesh over your little pyjama shorts. His tongue lapped slowly at yours before carefully pulling it into his own mouth, giving it a little suckle that made you whimper against his lips. He returned it with a chuckle, letting your tongue go after one last gentle lick of his own against the tip, and you pulled back for air, panting. He reached up, using the palm of his hand to carefully swipe away some combined spit that had dribbled from the corner of your mouth. He looked cocky- he always looked cocky when you were like this, flustered and needy, just for him. It meant he could play with you just how he liked, and hell, you were not complaining. Sometimes he would lay you on your back, head between your thighs and licking and sucking you like you were the sweetest treat on earth, your sensitive body writhing under his ministrations while he had his fill. Or he’d have you on your hands and knees, face pushed into the pillows and your back arched, kneeling behind you and fucking you absolutely dumb until you had forgotten your own name, and could only recite his like a mantra. And you loved every single second of it.

But as you whined when he didn’t move for a moment, he simply reached over for the bong, plucking it back up once again and carefully tucking it into your hand again, and snatching up the lighter off the couch cushion. He smirked at your slightly surprised expression.

“Aren’t you gonna have any, baby?” You questioned softly. He hushed you, watching you slot your lips into the glass, and sparked the lighter up again, watching you once again inhale, the smoke rising quickly into your mouth, and into your lungs.

“‘s fine, I’ll have some after you finish yours, pretty. Just thought you could use a top-up.” He taunted, eyes half lidded and seductive. You pulled the remainder of the cone with relative ease, pulling back from the bong and once again leaning down, holding the smoke in your mouth, until you were close enough to softly blow it onto his face. He wanted to tease, so could you. He let out a sound between a sneer and a purr, quickly nearing his lips to yours as he inhaled the smoke you blew into his face.

“Little minx.” He growled, smacking your ass again, making you jump, then giggle, blowing him a kiss.

Yeah. 😩

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mothsshoes · 1 year

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🎵 suburbia! you’re not alone! the lights are on, but no one’s home! so welcome home! 🎵

#welcome home #wally darling #welcome home puppet show #will wood #the normal album #this is very self indulgent #but this album is so welcome home coded #my art

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eru-iru · 1 year

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revived bedman au or smth yeah ahaha

#guilty gear #bedman #ギルティギア #ベッドマン #wanted this out before april #this is very self indulgent #i just think he looks cool with a halo #i wanted his outfit to kinda pair with delilah's dfkjghd #im bad at designing outfits LMAO #i still like the ones where he's in a wheelchair #esp the one where it's his bedframe but turned wheelchair ahaha it looks cool #iruiruart

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jentlemahae · 1 year

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MARK LEE @ genie music awards 2022

+ BONUS:

#nctinc #mklnet #nct #mark lee #mark #nct dream #yes i downloaded a 3 hr file just to gif this #he looked so yum ......#the colouring is ... but u should see the before ver #this is very self indulgent #useroro #ocora #mine*edits

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gauloiseblue · 2 months

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John Price as a arm candy personal bodyguard

General HQ | Part I | Part II

(Enemy to friend to lover AU)

Price first met his wife on a mission where he's investigating her under the suspicion of smuggling. She's an antique dealer, and sells any kind of expensive artworks, and for that reason, she gave away a lot of bribes for the transport.

She laughed at him when he confronted her about it, and told him narcotics have no value over the works of art she collected.

She didn't hide her hostility whenever he and his men came to her place, and wouldn't hesitate to whack anyone who's careless at handling her collections with her cane.

(She has a black cane, with a golden lion's head on top)

They didn't find anything that could tie her to the case, but that didn't mean her name was cleared yet.

If they couldn't find the drugs in the warehouse, then they must've been unpacked right after they arrived at the port.

It took months of negotiations, persuasions, pressures, and an expensive bottle of wine to get her to cooperate with them.

Since it had a tie with Las Almas Cartel, he needed to call Alejandro and Rodolfo over.

He was actually scared that his presence would hinder the investigation, because Alejandro's personality might clash with hers. To his surprise, they got along well.

"I like him, he's very honest." She said, "Unlike a certain man in your force."

Their relationship was so bitter that he, a man who rarely complained, ranted about her over drinks. It was bad that the whole team and some of the upper ups knew about their dispute.

Still, they maintained some sort of professionalism whenever they needed to get on the case.

After several months of investigation, they finally stumbled upon the first breakthrough, and that is the fine china. The cartel had smuggled the drugs through the import of high-quality porcelain.

She was stunned when he revealed it at the meeting, and stared at the papers in front of her until the meeting ended. She then asked for his audience, alone in her office.

To his surprise, she wanted to know about his opinion on the plan, before she gave him her own thoughts.

"If what you said is true, then I know who the man is—rather, it's a woman."

She proceeded to tell him her plan to trap the suspect, and the possibility of capturing her. He nodded and took her plan into consideration. They discussed it until midnight, and for the first time, they shared the same thoughts.

The operation went smoothly thanks to her idea of giving the culprit a false sense of security, in which she collaborated really well by getting into her role.

The woman turned out to be her right hand, who usually handled the transport of her collections. During the capture, she begged her to help her and played the victim card, before she straight up threatened her. She did it so viciously, that he felt a pity for her. Yes, he hated her, but she didn't deserve to hear those words.

At night, after clearing up the mess, he paid her a visit at the office. Despite the indifference that she showed earlier, she looked as if she'd been crying when he saw her that night.

When she saw him walking into the room, she quietly sighed. "It'll take a long time before I can find someone as competent as her. She's irreplaceable."

"You'll find them eventually." He mused.

"But it won't be the same." She said, "She was my friend, I trusted her."

He kept quiet, as he understood what she truly meant.

"I don't think you'd understand, John." She began, "I'd forgive her if she stole any of the antiques and covered it up with laughable excuses, but this?" She shook her head, "How could she be so stupid?"

"Money can turn people blind."

"I gave her enough to support her and her family." She scoffed, "I don't understand how it's not enough, she could've asked—"

She paused, as she decided to hold back mid sentence.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For not believing you."

"... It's all in the past."

She turned to him, giving him a slight smile. "I'm in the mood for bourbon. Would you join me?"

That was the mark of their affinities

On the last day of the mission, she bid him goodbye in person.

"Goodbye John, I hope we'll never see each other again."

To any person who's not familiar with her, it might sound like she still harbors a hatred for him. But if they looked close enough, they'd see a small smile on the corner of her lips.

"The feeling's mutual."

She let out an amused snort when he lifted his hat as he left.

From that point forward, they lost contact for over a year, and would stay that way if he didn't send her a postcard on Christmas.

If someone asked him why he did it, he wouldn't know why either. The thought of her just came to him when the first snow fell.

Days later, as he browsed through the newspapers stall, he stumbled upon an article written by her about the modern depiction of Christmas.

"... while it might’ve lost its meaning in a traditional sense, it still holds the very core of it; to celebrate the blessing of life… For those who wrote without return addresses, I hope happiness would find you still."

He still carries the clipping of it to this day.

The thought of her soon forgotten as he received more and more missions, until one day, his team was in shambles as they were branded as traitors.

That night, he arrived at her door—bloody, and dazed—with a pitiful disclosure; "I have nowhere else to go."

She didn't say much, as she stepped aside to let him in.

After all of his wounds were taken care of, he confessed to her about his current status.

"So you've become a fugitive?"

"Not just me, but my whole task force."

She then asked about his plan and what he'd do in the future, but he hadn't thought much about it yet.

"One thing for sure, I'm gonna clear my team's name on this."

"... I see." She mused, "In the meantime, you should focus on your recovery."

He ended up taking her office's sofa as his bed. It was stiff, but certainly better than what he used to have.

The next morning, he woke up with a jolt when the door suddenly opened. With blurry vision, he saw two men carrying a wooden desk to the corner of the room, before she appeared to give them instructions. After all the things was settled, she turned to him to announce that he could work in this room.

"You don't have to." He muttered, still half awake.

"Well, where are you going to work then? The kitchen?"

He couldn't find the answer for it.

"Don't worry, John, I don't expect you to repay me in any way."

And just like that, she left the room, leaving him dumbfounded by the turn of events.

#cod #call of duty #captain price #john price x reader #price x reader #this is very self indulgent #I'd like to think that the reader is the rich one so she could take care of him after his retirement #idk #i feel like that's only fair #he worked hard for the army it's only fair that he got to live a comfortable life afterward

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goodday-goodmorn · 9 months

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Alright! Starting this shitshow of a blog off strong with a platonic yandere Bruce Wayne fic!

Heavily inspired by- @blughxreader and their batman stuff! Go check ‘em out- (specifically the one with poor reader and the rooftop escape, those are my fav’s <3)

———————————————-

Also inspired by this qoute:

'They can't do that,' she said finally. 'It's the one thing they can't do. They can make you say anything -- anything -- but they can't make you believe it. They can't get inside you.' (Gorge Orwells, 1984)

“You know, i’m pretty sure that you helping me right now would be going against natural selection.”

Bruce sent you a look, something dark in his eyes. You knew it was coming however and shamelessly avoided looking at him for that exact reason. Under normal circumstances you wouldn’t have said that, he never was one for jabs or jokes that hinted in any way about you dying.

“You’re kind of a mother hen ya know that? I mean, i knew before but this is really solidifying it ya know?”

It was a deflection and you both knew it, usally Bruce wouldn’t let you get away with those. But once again, these were not the usual circumstances. Truth be told he was probably just glad you were talking again, that you had some life back in your eyes, albeit only a small amount.

“Your soup is getting cold.”

Ah damn it. You were hoping he wouldn’t notice. A stupid hope, consdiering he notices fucking everything.

“So it is.”

…

A sigh, “Kid, you need to eat.” You knew what it meant. It was a silent question, ‘are we gonna do this the easy way or the hard way?’, because either way, you would be eating.

You swallowed, truth be told, you didn’t have the motivation to eat. Nor the appetite, but the alternative was him talking you through every bite and you really didn’t want that right now.

So with a sigh of your own you picked up the spoon, at least you didn’t have to cook anything, all you had to do was eat what was in front of you. You could do that. Barely any effort. It was simple.

So simple.

The spoon stays in the bowl, your hand resting on it as you stare at the soup.

It’s delicious, you know it is, Alfred's food always is, and he’d made one of your favorites too. Something nice and hearty so you would be full for a while and wouldn’t have to go through the effort of eating again too soon.

Bruce was watching you when you looked up, ever watchful, ever observant, waiting to see if he had to intervene.

You swallowed, you never liked it when he stared too hard. His gaze was always so intense. With heavy limbs, you scoop a spoonful of soup and start eating.

Bruce’s gaze softens and he lets out a soft, “Thank you.” He ruffles your hair and you don’t have the will to stop yourself from leaning into it right now.

Give and take, give and take…

You eat in silence, you’re propped up on some pillows on the bed, Bruce is sitting next to the bed on a chair.

Maybe it had been a stupid idea to ask for him, a very stupid idea but at the time you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t deal with the boy’s clinging, not like this. Not when you woke up feeling like anything but a person.

See, a few hours ago, you woke up and felt fatigued, and apathetic. Two oncoming signs of a depressive episode.

It only got worse as the day went on, you tried to be alright- you really did but, you just couldn’t do it. This whole act of playing house with the Wayne’s was already tiring enough, but for your own sanity you had to keep it up.

After all, if you fought hard against all their afflictions they would only dig their heels in and make your situation a lot worse so- you always figured from the beginning it was better to give in early.

At least, on the surface anyway. Not resist their affections, hell you hadn't even once pulled any sort of escape attempt, or tried anything. You’d barely even argued either.

Your lack of resistance was met with open arms and eagerness. Of course- they knew you were only pretending, that you didn’t view them as family, but they knew it was only a matter of time until you came around.

After all, if you act for something long enough, your brain will eventually start to believe it.

Alas, you were a stubborn little shit, and giving in voluntarily had only seemed to help you keep up this mentality longer.

Until this morning anyway.

When you woke up, feeling like shit and simply couldn’t deal with playing house with your ‘brothers’. So, in your moment of weakness, when you didn’t want to do anything or let them drag you around or cuddle or watch movies, you had done something rather unexpected.

Which of course, was to simply shut down.

They were worried as shit, but when they finally did manage to get you to talk, your shaky whisper of, “I want dad.” -Had been shocking, worrying and exciting all at once.

(It had also been a touch too real, your voice had sounded so small, so far away, and in that moment you really did just want the comforting presence of Bruce.)

So now you were here, so deep into the throws of not being a person you barely felt like moving; sitting in your bed with none other than Bruce Wayne by your bedside, stroking your hair lovingly.

You were done with the soup now, as much as you could eat anyway, before Bruce could even say anything you reasoned with him, “I’ll eat more later. Promise.”

Promises held a lot of weight here. Something practically unbreakable, Especially with Bruce. Especially with you, maybe that’s just because you liked when they had weight. It was nice; To have a concrete thing to swear on that you knew would not be broken.

Bruce probably used them to build trust in his words or something, you didn’t know, and quite frankly you didn’t care right now because well- you got to use them too so…

He thinks for a moment, and then nods, agreeing easily, “Okay.” And with that he takes the bowl from you. He’s… he’s rather agreeable right now, usually he would confirm or try and fight you more on that.

Maybe he was being more lenient because you willingly came to him? Or because you were being open right now, or maybe because he felt bad for what you were going through or-

Gods you don’t have enough energy to ponder this.

You nod and lay back down, he guides you down most of the way. Now you’re back like before, lying in bed, cheek smushed against your pillow, starting at him blankly.

You break the silence as he pulls the blanket over you.

“What type of bird do you think everyone would be?”

He looks back to you, a small upturn of his lips and eyes crinkled slightly in an amused manner. “Why do you ask?”

You shrug, “Bored.”

A partial truth. In reality you were thinking about all that poetic shit about you being like a bird in a fancy golden cage. A very very well cared for bird with access to some deep fucking pockets but you know, still in a cage. Even if the cage is real fancy and has amazing food, even better wifi, and a home movie theater.

(You think Bruce would let you install an indoor pool? Or a jacuzzi. …He probably would. You should ask sometime, ah- you’re getting off track here.)

So anyway- fancy bird poems and then you started thinking about what type of bird you would be and then it kinda spiraled from there.

“Hm. Well, that depends, who do you wanna start with?”

“Mmm… Alfred, cause i think he’s the easiest.”

A little amused quirk of his brow, “What bird is he then?”

“Penguin. Cause he’s always dressed all fancy, and penguins got that sleek fancy vibe about them. They are kinda short for Alfred though…”

Bruce nods, as if taking your words into consideration, “Emperor penguin then. They’re the biggest penguin species.”

Contuiting on just to have something to blabber about you confidently say, “Jason is an emu.”

——————

After a very engaging deep dive into what types of birds everyone was-

(Tim was a woodpecker on account of all the times you’ve seen him slam his head into his desk while working; Dick was an ostrich because if Jason was an Emu then those two had to match; Cassandra got the honor of being a crow; Damien was a kinglet, a ruby crowned kinglet, purely because they are small and for some reason you only recall pictures of seeing those bird look annoyed, Bruce was a harpy eagle because they look big and grumpy, And finally you were a pigeon.)

-You were now half asleep as Bruce read to you like you were a little kid.

It was… nice. Like all the other times you were forced to hang out with the Wayne family. (Only this time you hadn’t been forced, you had called for him.) Nice but with that ever present little weight in the back of your mind, reminding you of just how much these people had taken from you.

Right now though, that little weight was… it was a lot easier to ignore.

You let Bruce’s calming voice wash over you, you were barely listening at this point but he paid no kind to your lack of attention.

This was nice.

No one had ever taken care of you when you went into one of your episodes before. Usually you had to suck it up and work yourself up to go get some food and water before laying in bed until the feeling went away.

It was a terrible feeling, a staggering sensation just on the edge of emptiness. But not there enough for you to not feel anything, it was almost as if everything was muted. All sensations dull, your thoughts weren't but you were apathetic to them.

In short, it sucked. Majorly.

But now, here you were, tucked into bed, fed a warm hearty meal, and being read to with such tenderness and care.

You didn’t even notice that your eyes started to water. But Bruce did. He noticed everything.

Gently, so gently, he wiped away the tear about to fall from your eye. His own were soft as they stared at you. Soft and filled with a look you couldn’t decipher, a look you didn’t want to decipher because the closest thing you could even begin to compare it to was- …was love.

Love.

Fuck- love.

You knew there was something wrong with this family, of course you did- they kidnapped you for pete’s sake, but- but they also had been unconditionally kind to you didn’t they?

You… You couldn’t-

“-do this anymore.”

Your voice was soft, just barely above a whisper. A quiet confession.

‘I can’t do this anymore.’

Bruce sighed, his voice level, but quiet, fitting of the atmosphere. “You don’t have to, it’ll be so much easier if you just give in kiddo.”

He cupped your face in his hand. His own skin was scarred, rough, callous, and yet he held you with such care. It was almost reverent. He gazed at you with an almost sad look, as if your passive struggle hurt you more than him.

(It probably did. He didn’t have anything to worry about after all, you would break eventually. You could only keep telling yourself this was pretend for so long.)

“…”

Stubborn. Always so stubborn in the most muted way; silence. You weren't one to make large outbursts, or outwardly resist, but even so, passive stubbornness. It was something Bruce was fond of; how resilient you were.

You look away from his gaze, not meeting his eyes. His eyes, always so intense, always so much behind those icy blue scaleras.

“Is it-“ You start, the chemical imbalance in your brain making you honest right now.

You realize suddenly that this is the first real conversation you’ve had in months. There was no keeping up the act here. No holding your tongue or dancing with your words, no overthinking about what response would make you the perfect sibling, the perfect child. No catering, no push and pull of deciding how much of you you want to put into your words.

This was honest. The most honest you’ve been since you were kidnapped.

Bruce tilts his head slightly, patiently waiting for you to continue. He could sense a breakthrough, and he always did know when it was better to hold his tongue.

“…Is it worth it?” You say, eyes filled with so much emotion simmering just under the surface.

Bruce has a good idea as to what you’re asking. He knows you. Knows the way you think, the way you come to conclusions, your speech patterns, he knows you well.

(And yet it’s not nearly as much as he wants to. He wants to know more, to know everything, he wants for you to share such details about yourself willingly. He wants you to come to him after a rough day and listen to you rant. He wants to hear you laugh as you discover a new interest. He wants-)

“Yes.”

He strokes your hair gently, voice impossibly soft.

“It’s worth it.”

He answers your asked, unasked questions without a moment's hesitation.

‘Is it worth it to do all this? To keep me here against my will? To have me locked away like some canary in a gilded cage?’

“If it means you are safe and happy.”

“Is this really happiness?”

“It can be if you let it.”

“…”

“Don’t you like it here? You have a loving family, a nice house, you never have to worry about food or safety ever again.”

“…”

He cups your face with both his hands now, making you meet his gaze. Always intense. Too intense. You can’t handle the weight of his love for you.

Flicking your eyes to the wall you mumble, “There’s a saying. If you love something, let it go.” It’s weak, half hearted, you aren’t even sure you really mean it. (You aren’t even sure if you want to be let go anymore… you can’t imagine returning to a life before all this.)

(And Bruce knows this.)

You look back at him, meeting his eyes because you- you just- you know it’s stupid to ask but you can’t stop yourself-

“Why?”

You don’t need to explain any further. Bruce always seems to know what you’re asking.

‘Why me? Why do any of this? Why go through all the trouble just to keep some random kid?’

“Because I love you.”

He says it so easily. So simply, so calmly, as if it is undeniable fact, so once more you ask with more feeling this time,

“Why?”

You can’t stop yourself from leaning into his hold as he gently presses a kiss to your forehead. It’s childish, it’s stupid, it’s dumb, it’s humiliating-

He wipes away new forming tears, still cupping your face, “Because you’re precious.”

You choke out, “You don’t even know me.”

“So then, let me know you.”

Weakly, you shake your head, his hands fall from your face as you choke out, “I- I don’t- i can’t.”

“Hey, look at me sweetheart.”

You do, looking up at him and seeing only the love of a father. You don’t know how to handle such a sight. It’s foreign and it burns and yet, you are drawn in like a moth to a flame.

“We already love you kid. Nothing could change that.”

“You love the idea of me.” You counter, shuffling to prop yourself up a bit because laying down for this just seems too- too vulnerable.

He sighs, “If you think that then we seriously should have had this talk sooner.” He mentally tsk’s, he knows he’s been putting it off for so long because well- you’ve been good. And the family was happy and you were adjusting better than anyone expected you to.

It seems his negligence has resulting in this problem growing however.

He says your name, folds his hands and looks at you calmly, “-If the family wanted another child, then we would have gone to an orphanage.”

You swallow, he continues, “But, we didn’t want just any old person. We wanted you.”

You try to deny his words, no one’s ever wanted that before, and yet you can’t. Because it’s the only thing that even begins to make sense in your head. The only logical reason any of this would have happened.

You can’t deny it.

They love you.

They’re insane, they kidnapped you and yet- yet they- it doesn’t-

“-make sense.” You whisper, even though it’s the only thing that makes any semblance of sense.

“I know, you’re confused and not used to this and scared, but you’re the only thing holding yourself back. If you just let yourself believe we’re a family, you’ll feel so much better. This mindset is only hurting you sweetheart, you need to let it go.”

You look at him, eyes wet and so vulnerable as you whisper in a small voice, “I don’t know how to.”

And he pulls you close now, into a hug, it’s a bit of an awkward angle because he’s on a chair next to the bed and you’re on the bed, but you barely even notice with the way he’s pressing you to his chest. He’s warm as he wraps his arms around you and gently strokes your hair, consisting, comforting.

“We’ll be there every step of the way, start small.”

You shudder. The weight in the back of your mind is back in full force. He's asking you to give up your last bit of resistance. Your last act defiance. He’s asking you to give yourself up voluntarily. To fully endorse the idea that they are your family.

The worst part is, you don’t find yourself all that horrified with the idea.

If anything, you’re more scared that you’ll mess up somehow and piss them off with the real you and end up locked in a basement or something.

You don’t- you don’t know how to have a family. How to have siblings, a father- you don’t know how to interact or what to say and what to do- what if you fuck it up? what if you aren’t acting enough like a family and-

“-breathe with me kid. Com’on, in for 5.” He’s stroking your hair still, talking with you as he counts. You find yourself unconsciously following the deep rumble of his words.

“That’s it… hold for 4. One, two-“ It’s actually really nice to listen to him. Pressed so close like this you can hear the purr and rumble of his words in his chest. You can feel his chest expand with his own steadying breaths.

“Exhale for 6. One, two, three-“ You repeat his number sequence until you find your breathing is back to normal. Not that you had noticed how frantic it got to begin with.

Bruce hums, you feel the vibrations. You can hear his heartbeat like this. It’s nice, being held in his arms. “Good job kid, better?” His voice is a smooth rumble.

You nod weakly against him.

The two of you stay like that for a bit, him holding you as you listen to each other's heartbeats. You ground yourself with his and find your eyes drooping once more with sleep.

You make a noise; a hum of sorts and he sends you his own in return, soft, questioning.

“I-“ You clamp your mouth shut, thinking about what you’re about to say, thinking about if this is what you really want.

In the end you settle on this being the best choice, “I’ll try.” You swallow, mouth suddenly feeling dry, Bruce doesn’t give you any time to regret it though. He presses his face to your hair, affectionate.

“I’ll make the transition as comfortable as possible.” He promises against your hair, not being able to hide the smile in his voice.

You swallow again, starting up with slight nerves clear in your voice, “B-but i told you i’m not exactly very likable s-so don't regret it when i start speaking my mind and-“

That gets a laugh out of him, an amused kid huff, “You can’t possibly be any worse than Jason or Damein.”

You give a weak smile, “I dunno old man, think I could give ‘em a run for their money in bluntless.”

Bruce is smiling, you see it when he pulls away and looks down at you with such adoration. “We’ll have to see then.”

He’s happy, more than happy at finally hearing you be you. As much as he wants to keep you in his arms and listen to you for the rest of eternity however, that was a rather exhausting conversation. You look more than ready for some rest.

Gently, (always so gentle with you, as if you were somthing to be treasured), he laid you back down on the bed.

You let yourself be tucked in. You let him press a kiss to the top of your head. You let him turn off the lights.

“Um hey B- D-Dad?”

Bruce notices the slip up, but he lets it go. You’ve just made a lot of progress, and you’re clearly trying.

“Yes?”

“Do you uh- can i call you something else? Dad just feels really weird and kinda artificial at times so I was thinking maybe something more natural like maybe Pops? Or something like that i don’t know i just-“

“Of course you can.” He cuts off your nervous ramble easily, “You can call me whatever feels most natural, kid.”

You suck in a breath, soothed by his clam tone.

“O-okay. Cool… cool cool cool. Uh well then, could you maybe- maybe er- read to me? If that’s- if that’s alright..?”

Bruce was so proud of you. So much progress was made not too long ago and you were already trying to push yourself out of your comfort zone. You were trying so hard, bless you, you precious darling child.

He turned on the bedside lamp and took his seat on the chair once more, picking up the abandoned book.

Truth be told, Bruce was a busy man and he should be leaving because he has patrol in an hour, but he’ll be damned if he can’t carve out time for you. Especially when you asked to see him today.

(Especially when you were finally willing to view him as a father.)

“Would you like me to continue this one or do you want a different book?”

You jerkily nod, “That one’s fine.”

So, he begins to read once more, his voice a calming drawl that washes over you. Your eyelids grow heavier and heavier, and soon you are yawning and drifting off.

Once Bruce is sure you’re asleep he closes the book. With such a soft gaze he gently brushes the hair out of your face, smiling to himself. Then he gets up and turns the light off, walking out of your room and letting the door close with a soft click.

He isn’t surprised to find all of his boys camping out at the door.

He sighs, looking over the lot of them. From the looks of it they’ve been camping out here all day, or have been continuously coming back.

The only one who even has the decency to act sheepish that he’d been caught is Dick, and even then, he barely looks sorry.

Bruce shakes his head fondly at his boys, ushering them all out of the hallway to your room to let you sleep in peace

#reader insert #fanfic of a fanfic #fiction #bruce wayne #platonic yandere #Dad Bruce wayne #i can’t believe i’m posting this #this is very self indulgent #inspiration #Wrote this after reading some of Blugh’s stuff late one night #fanfic #Erm- Blugh if ur seeing this hi?#platonic yandere batfam #Darker undertones #(?) kinda #dark themes #not super tho

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