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[artemis32]

Your DC universe master list is empty 💀

💕💕 deal with it 💕💕

[artemis32]

I'm afraid I have to admit I have (yet another) Spiderman reader / Batfam idea

[artemis32]

I like to think that Bruce has no concept of a relationship that isn't sex oriented, every other person he's been with has really only wanted sexy fun times with him

Then he's with Supes, who one night goes "hey the sex is great but did you just want to watch a movie and cuddle sometime?" And B just blue screens

“I want you to go down on me.” = normal, expected, something Bruce does routinely

“I want to sit with you and listen to you grumble about evidence contamination.” = Clark is clearly not feeling well, nobody wants to hear this (except maybe Tim), why is he looking at Bruce like that?

[artemis32]

not now kitten. daddy’s writing a post for the three people who always give him notes on tumblr

[artemis32]

being damian wayne’s first and only best friend in middle school is funny and at the same time very humbling.

like what do you mean this kid has the vocabulary of shakespeare and can still drag other kids physically and verbally??

yet, he still also doesn’t know basic media references and common terms used nowadays. it isn’t a problem to teach him those things it’s just, slightly concerning on how much he doesn’t know in your eyes.

so trying to be as best of a friend he could be, damain tries to pick-up on some of the mannerisms the kids his age have while also taking note of the ones you actively dislike — he isn’t trying to lose his only friend here, c’mon.

slowly but surely, parts of your vocabulary has been integrated into his. the words rolling off his tongue like they’ve been said a thousand times before.

it’s begun to slightly concern his siblings with such a drastic change in his way of speech that they started to doubt that it was actually him in the first place. but those ideas were quickly squashed when they realized his tongue was as sharp as ever.

“You’re too short to be talking.”

“You’re built like donkey from Shrek, shut the fuck up.”

HONORABLE MENTION:

[investigating a crime scene]

“…Where’s the hole?”

“That’s what she said.”

“ROBIN—“

a/n: i’ve wanted to become best friends with this boy ever since when i was young LEAVE ME ALONE

[artemis32]

little!miya gets sick and single dad!osamu is in over his head. the little boy's fever is raging and he's inconsolable, refusing any of the care his papa is desperately trying to offer him.

he's only asking for you.

"W-WHERE'S BABE? I want my ba-aaaaabe," the four year old wails, his cheeks flushed scarlet and snot dripping from his nose as the tears continue.

"babe's at home, buddy. you'll see her tomorrow once ya get some sleep, alright?" osamu wipes at his son's nose as he tries to comfort him but it doesn't help much. the little boy clutches tighter at the plush toy tucked under his arm—one you bought for him on a trip to the aquarium, one of the first days the three of you spent together—and turns his head away from his father petulantly.

"I ONLY WANT BABE."

samu sighs, raking a hand through his greasy hair. he's exhausted. it's been hours of this, and his son is showing no signs of relenting.

finally he cracks, reaching for the phone in his back pocket.

"he's asleep now."

the bedroom door closes behind you with a soft click.

samu is slumped against the wall in the hallway, his knees spread and head hanging, having been banished from the room by his own flesh and blood the minute you showed up half an hour prior.

"thanks fer this," samu says quietly, keeping his voice low as you crouch down on the floor in front of him. "i'm sorry to call so late."

you press a hand to his cheek, running your thumb over the shadow of fatigue inking under his eye. it's darker than usual, and you understand why.

"call me anytime, samu," you reassure him. "you know i'd do anything for you two."

"ya shouldn't have to do this, though," samu mumbles, struggling to meet your gaze that feels too tender—too comforting and familiar and pitying—right now.

"i barely did anything," you argue, a bit indignantly. "i just read him a story and helped him take off his pyjama top so he could 'wear his jammies like papa.'"

samu laughs tiredly at that, a short, wry breath of air through his nose.

"and i didn't have to do it," you add again after a moment, taking both of his cheeks in your hands and forcing him to look at you properly. "i wanted to, because i love you both very much."

samu's eyes are burning. he knows it's because he's overtired. hell, he wouldn't be surprised if he caught whatever virus his son brought home from school. but regardless of the why, the tears are flooding up inside his chest and threatening to spill over.

"love you," samu says, the words all breath and unequivocal truth. "'m glad yer here."

he leans forward and tucks his face into the crook of your neck, and you wrap your arms around him as you welcome it.

you hold him there, on the floor outside his four year old son's bedroom, for as long as he needs you to.

finally, osamu feels a bit more himself, and is ready to pull away. you brush a few strands of his hair out of his gaze once he's extricated himself from your embrace. there's a little twinkle of mischief behind your eyes. "you should go get cleaned up and ready for bed, and i'll go grab that ice cream i hid in the back of the freezer behind the broccoli."

samu smiles, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the edge of your mouth.

"i love you," he says, speaking the words against your welcoming lips.

"you already said that," you tease him, tilting your head so that your reply meets the centre of his own.

"i mean it, though," samu replies, inching back only far enough that he can see both your eyes, the ends of your noses brushing as he watches your lashes flutter. "so, wanna marry me?"

[artemis32]

utterly obsessed with the waynes b/c theyre fictional. would want to guillotine them if they were real

[artemis32]

Hello! I love your writing and I was just curious if there would be a part 2 to duplicity? It’s okay if not! I wasn’t sure if it had been left open or if that would be all. Thank you for writing :)

Hello :))

I do plan on writing a part two, just... waiting for inspiration to strike.

Just, trigger warning, Enji will be included (yuck me all you want, the man is hot - fight me)

[artemis32]

Hello there! Do you mind writing about bullying? I would like to request something related to it but I don't know if you're comfortable with it.

Hihi

Yes, I'm open to writing about bullying :))

Tbh, there's very few topics I'm unwilling to write about (I haven't decided if that's a good thing or not) - but feel free to request!!

[artemis32]

Tim Drake really does get all the bitches (gn), huh?

[artemis32]

i’m physically incapable of DNFing books

[artemis32]

✎. simon will do this, if it makes johnny feel better.

tags. fem!reader, established relationship (simon/reader), threesome, double penetration in one hole, slight size kink, dirty talk [18+ only]

featuring. simon, soap

masterlist

Simon doesn’t share, but he makes an exception this time after his best friend’s date is a no-show, and he isn’t heartless enough to let Johnny hang out at the pub alone. Anybody will tell you: he can be a real nice guy when he wants to be.

And you don’t mind the extra company or another mouth to feed, that the flowers in the vase you put on the counter were meant for someone else, how Johnny gets flirty after his fourth beer, or— 

“Fuck, love,” Simon grunts into your shoulder when he finally eases his cock into you beside Johnny’s. “I guess you can take it like a champ, after all.”

But you hardly hear him over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears and the creaky mattress below your knees.

Johnny thumbs away your tears while you tremble above him, cupping your face to pull you into a kiss so you have something to focus on other than the feeling of being split down the middle—it takes an extra amount of effort not to clench down when you already feel like you’re about to break in two.

“Look at you,” Johnny mumbles against your lips. “Never thought you’d really let me do this.”

Then he pulls out, slick heat gripping him the whole way, and pushes deeper inside, punching a shaky breath out of you. 

He and Simon are in perfect sync, keeping you full while the other drags his cock out, only to fill you up again. It’s almost embarrassing how wet you are—at how much you like it—a hazy cloud settling over you as they use you for their pleasure.

Because Johnny’s sad, and you have a thing for making people happy.

Simon sucks little possessive marks into your shoulder and across your spine, murmuring filthy praise against your skin that consists of “sweetest and tightest pussy, my perfect little fucktoy” and “so fucking pretty.”

“That’s it.” Johnny’s voice is low and strained, barely heard above the loud squelching between your legs, but he sighs it into your mouth as he slowly comes apart. “Fuck—ah—you feel so good.”

A hand dips between you to press against your belly, where you can feel them, hot and heavy against your walls, making you squeal as a little ball of warmth travels down to your toes and all the way to the tips of your fingers. Simon fists your hair, tugging you away from Johnny so you’re looking up at him upside down. 

“So greedy that you needed two cocks to fill this soft little cunt, huh?”

You whine, unable to form an actual response outside of a few jumbled syllables, but a slap against your ass makes you whisper a shuddered yes.

He tells you to open your mouth before he spits onto your awaiting tongue, some of it hitting your cheek. When you swallow obediently, he smears what doesn’t make it across your lips with the thick pad of his thumb. 

“Don’t forget who you belong to,” he sneers, at odds with the soft way he kisses your cheek and reverently chokes on your name. Neither of you hear Johnny groaning under you as you clench down hard at the possessiveness in his voice—because at the feel of his wedding band pressing against your throat like a brand, how can you forget?

Simon doesn’t share, but this, he’ll do. Just this once because you’re already his, and he wants Johnny to know what it’s like to have a woman like you.

[artemis32]

Gojo’s creep ass like “do you think there’s a universe you could actually get away from me in? No chance.” meanwhile I’m beating my meat over it

[artemis32]

A Thought™️ that I had yesterday after watching those AITA videos and babbling in the discord:

(This is also babble to be clear. I’ve been writing this throughout the morning so it might be a bit incoherent)

The 141 is shopping for a new team member, someone to round out their four person squad into five. They have a dozen candidates, pick one that looks promising, and transfer him over under the military equivalent of “probationary” status.

Pretty quickly they decide his personality alone might not make him a good fit but whatever, if he’s good at his job, they’ll suck it up. The “alpha male” posturing bullshit is kind of amusing in the meantime at least.

Well, first mission comes and goes. The guy isn’t too bad, honestly — apart from almost picking a fight with Gaz. Skills-wise he’s as advertised, so he gets to stay a bit longer while the 141 decides if they can stand him.

Post successful mission, though, they go out for drinks at the guy’s insistence. He invites his girlfriend — who he dragged along with him — to the bar to meet his new squad. (Because he thinks there’s no way they’re not making him a permanent teammate.)

And the 141 may be barely tolerant of him, but they decide almost instantly that they adore his girlfriend. She’s incredibly charming and bubbly, doesn’t even blink at Ghost’s mask. One of the first things she does is thank them for the opportunity they’re giving her boyfriend and for keeping him alive.

Which is about the time the real issue starts.

The boyfriend says some rubbish about “an alpha doesn’t need protecting, he does the protecting. He looks out for his pack.”

And you smile a bit awkwardly, looking embarrassed, and try to usher the conversation along.

It doesn’t take long for him to quickly fall out of what little favor he accrued. You’re a bright spot in their group, laughing and chatting with them all like you’ve known them for years. Incredibly sensitive to asking any hard questions and sort of forcing the conversation through the weird patches where your boyfriend interjects with some inane comment.

Eventually, your boyfriend gets sick of your chattering and tells you to fetch them more drinks. Soap instantly sits up, saying you don’t have to do that, but you gently wave him off. Chirp that you don’t mind doing it as a thank you for their service, and weave into the crowd.

The table goes uncomfortable quiet — apart from your boyfriend, who makes some ghastly comment about how you have a pretty face but an annoying laugh. When you get back, drinks expertly balanced in your hands, Ghost goes out of his way to drop puns that get you giggling like mad.

As the night ticks later, and your boyfriend gets drunker, he reaches the point you always dread.

“Garrick, le’s arm wrestle.”

“Baby, I don’t think that’s…”

“This is between us men.”

You groan a bit and sit back. Gaz looks befuddled but shrugs and agrees. It’s not even a contest; your boyfriend’s arm is flat to the table in all of ten seconds. Flustered, your boyfriend demands a rematch. And when he loses again, scoffs and demands a go with Soap.

You practically sink deeper and deeper into your seat before the secondhand embarrassment starts to weigh and you have to excuse yourself to the restroom. When you get back, the impromptu arm wrestling seems to be over, though your boyfriend is sulking in his corner of the booth.

When you gingerly slide back in, Price nudges you with his calf.

“Would you like a go, luv?”

You grin and shake your head. “I don’t fancy a broken wrist, Captain.”

“C’mon luv, you might surprise yourself,” he teases and you can’t resist the playful glint in his eye.

So you lock your thumb around his, elbow on the table, and push. And his arm incrementally goes down… down… down…

“Well would you look at that,” he muses.

You burst into laughter, flattered and endeared by his indulgence.

“That tough, eh?” Soap muses, arching an eyebrow. “Let’s see it, then.”

So you roll your eyes, fully expecting to get trounced. But just like with Price, he starts to relent when you put up resistance, making a show of straining and panting as he “loses.” When you’ve won, you finally play into the joke.

“Serves you right,” you tease.

By your side, you hear your boyfriend huff derisively. “Oh, come on.”

Before your fun can be ruined, though, Ghost is offering you his hand, dark eyes sparkling. You bite your lip, but it doesn’t hide your grin as you accept the unspoken challenge. His hand is huge around yours, but shockingly gentle. He goes down easiest of all, whistling in amazement.

“Look’it that, you’re a pro,” he says, “think we should all be buying you a drink.”

“She doesn’t drink,” your boyfriend interjects.

You huff and settle back into the booth. “Maybe some other time, Lieutenant Riley?”

“Count on it.”

You get into an argument with your boyfriend that night. He thinks you were “challenging his dominance” and “stirring the pot,” trying to sew discord and strife amongst the men to get them fighting over you. He says something about being the alpha of the group and that he would win but it’s insulting to him as your “provider” that you would question his authority.

He’s tipsy as he says it though, working himself up. You just follow the usual routine of soothing, reassuring, simpering — and then considering leaving when he’s finally asleep. But you’re far from home, don’t have the means to leave, and besides, you won’t be finding any support from your family on this front so…

Well, it’s not so bad, you remind yourself. He can be an asshole, but so can you and it takes two to fight. Besides, he only gets really bad when he’s been drinking and that’s only once a week? 1 out of 7 isn’t a bad ratio.

—

The 141 pretty much collectively decide that they adore you though. You get regularly invited to team outings, wherein your boyfriend keeps challenging (and losing) arm wrestling, while the boys coax you into “winning.”

They’ve also become rather adamant that you don’t bring them drinks anymore.

“You’re not our personal beer wench, yeah? We’re able to get our own pints,” Gaz soothes.

Your boyfriend chuckles and shakes his head, imparts his “wisdom” that it’s a female’s job to serve her man and his friends. As a sign of respect or something. You know it’s not an argument worth having and just sip at your drink in silence.

But you love going out with them. Love knowing the men keeping your boyfriend alive and they’re a good bunch. Respectful and funny and disciplined — you’re kind of hoping they snap your boyfriend out of this weird “alpha male” phase he’s been going through. On the other hand, you’re thrilled to be making something like friends. Sure, your boyfriend has made it clear that the 141 are his friends, but they’re always so conscious of keeping you involved and comfortable.

Then one night your boyfriend mentions what a “good little cook” you are and that instantly has all the boys perking up. Smiling, you offer to host during the Saturday League matches. They gleefully accept over your boyfriend’s protests about other men in his territory or something like that.

But when they do come over they’re horrified by the unspoken expectations. You tell them to sit, that you’ll bring them all drinks, with snacks on the way. They’ll be having none of it.

Ghost helps you with drinks, Gaz chops the veggies for snacks (and dinner). Soap pops in to keep you company while you babysit simmering pots. Price helps to tidy as you go, despite you’re fussing that he really doesn’t need to, he should be enjoying the games!

They end up spending more time with you in the kitchen than out in the den with their own teammate. You barely notice, swept up in the busy currents of playing hostess. When your boyfriend shouts that he needs another beer, you come back to find Price getting plates and utensils for dinner. It’s so thoughtful you could cry.

Even worse is when they help you clean up afterwards. Each of them taking and clearing their own plates. Soap on washing big dishes, Gaz on drying. Ghost is packing up leftovers. Price is turning over the dishwasher, asking you where dishes go and tutting when you insist you should be helping.

All the while, your boyfriend stands in the doorway telling you all the ways you could improve the meal next time. And how you definitely ate too much for your body size, etc.

He only stops when Price makes a pointed comment about standing around looking pretty.

When they leave, they each sweep you up in a hug and drop a kiss on your cheek, praising your home and cooking and hosting. Soap promises that he’ll get you a little souvenir on their next mission as a thank you.

And sure enough, three weeks later, the boys are coming by. Except your boyfriend is nowhere to be found — out with some other guys from the base that he says he hit it off with. The 141 insist that he agreed to a football watch again, the empty headed muppet.

And of course you’re not going to turn them away! They’ve brought you flowers, a little matryoshka set from their last mission, chocolates and wine. Not one of them is empty handed.

“Do you even like the game?” Gaz asks as you put it on.

“My favorite team isn’t playing until tomorrow but I don’t mind watching,” you answer, shrugging.

But somehow no football is watched at all. Instead they convince you to tell them your top three favorite movies, then claim none of them have ever seen any of them and they have to watch all of them.

Which is how your boyfriend finds his whole team enjoying a little movie marathon with you. You’re on the ground with Johnny (it’s Johnny now, for you) doing his eyebrows. Gaz is braiding your hair. Ghost (Simon) is sharing a bowl of candies with you. You’re sat against Price’s shins, the captain sitting in your boyfriend’s chair, lounging like a king.

When you welcome him back, telling him the boys are staying the night, he tries to throw a fit about it. How dare you let four strange men stay alone with you?! You calmly remind him that he promised he’d be home by 11 and it’s already nearly 1. And besides, he trusts them with his life, you’re allowed to trust them to be polite in your own home.

With all four of his teammates watching, tense and nearly hostile, he mutters something about being tired and storms off to bed. You end up falling asleep on the couch with ghost despite yourself.

And your boyfriend becomes absolutely haunted by his team’s (is it even his team? It feels more like yours!) affection for you.

They always invite you out even if he doesn’t plan to invite you. (When did you get any of their numbers?! Never mind Ghost’s. He doesn’t even have Ghost’s number.)

They stop by the flat constantly, sometimes dropping in. Other times staying for hours. Soap tells him that they’re all one big family; that includes you. (“Alright then why don’t we go hang out with one of your girlfriends?!” He had an actual nightmare about the laughter that gets him.)

And the fucking gifts. It’s not just soap bringing you things anymore. It’s all of them. Magnets, mugs, sweets, pretty rocks. Just garbage to your boyfriend but you treat it all like treasure. They’ve even got you sending them on hunts for specific things. Something blue, something with nuts, something with the flag.

Then there’s the base.

They bring you on one day — Price picks you up, the boys greet you at the barracks with coffee and breakfast. You’re put into a big 141 hoodie that says “Riley” on the back and toured around. You’re supposed to be “surprising” your boyfriend, but he’s busy with recruits and generally seems uninterested in being around you.

Not to worry though, the 141 is happy to show you a good time around base! Gaz and Johnny walk you through one of the obstacle courses, Simon lets you sit on his back for pushups during the last of his workout. Price takes you to the range and shows you the basics of shooting, then lets you catnap through the adrenaline drop in his office.

Your boyfriend only bothers to find you when Johnny and Simon are teaching you basic self-defense. Your boyfriend scoffs that you’re plenty protected by him, but you point out that he’s away too often to be of any real help — at which point Johnny tags you and bolts before your boyfriend can get all up in arms.

You only recognize that this little hurdle in your relationship has become a chasm when something happens. A big argument with your parents over the phone — you barely even remember what about. But instead of calling your boyfriend afterwards, your first call is to Gaz. (Because you know he’s the most likely to be free and paying attention to his phone.) You’re almost shocked when he picks up on the second ring. Your boyfriend has never answered on the first call.

When you try to explain through poorly-restrained tears, he coos at you to find a warm coffee shop and that they’ll be right there. “They” ends up being him and Johnny, since Simon and Price are locked up in an important meeting. They buy you hot chocolate and pastries while you vent to them, and end up leaving feeling better for once.

But you can’t break up with your boyfriend. Because if you do, the 141 will surely stop hanging out with you, and you value their company enough to put up with it.

At least until you come home one day to find all your little gifts gone. When you ask through a tight throat where everything is, your boyfriend says he was just making space. That you’ve been complaining that you two need a bigger flat, but now he’s solved the problem without wasting money.

You actually raise your voice for once, throwing an entire fit because this. This is the last straw. You storm into your bedroom, slam and lock the door, and call the 141.

A small part of you expects they’ll take his side or something. But nope. Simon soothes you on the other end, that the whole squad will be there in fifteen and to pack your stuff.

You do so while Price takes over and keeps you level. Reminds you of essentials to pack and explains that you’ll be coming to stay at his place, since he’s got off-base housing. It’ll be quiet and cozy and safe while you recover.

Five minutes away, they promise to be right there and end the call.

You could absolutely scream when your boyfriend — ex boyfriend — starts banging on the door. Demanding that you open the door to him. That you’re being over dramatic and blowing everything out of proportion. Using the “your emotional and irrational” line that you’ve heard a thousand times and are just about sick of.

Your heart stutters with relief when you hear the knocking at the apartment door, confused silence as your ex goes to see who it is. You take that moment to slip out, packed suitcase in hand.

You startle a bit at some commotion, round the corner to see your ex’s shirt bunched up in Johnny’s fists, looking ready kill him. No one seems inclined to pull him away; neither are you.

“How are you holding up, luv?” Gaz asks gently as Simon takes your bag.

“Been better,” you admit, sniffling as Price wraps you up in a hug.

“It was just things, luv,” he soothes, “we’ll get you a million more, if you like.”

You pull back to give him a miserable look. “But they were my things and they didn’t have to go anywhere. He just threw them out.”

Johnny snarls something out, but Gaz is already ushering you out the door. You tell your family about the break up through text and then shut off your phone, bundled into the backseat of an SUV with Gaz in the backseat. Price is in the front, all of you waiting for Simon and Johnny to come down.

“What now?” you ask quietly.

“Well, about time we cut that knob loose,” Price muses. “But that’s not your problem anymore.”

“Oh…

“And you, luv.” He looks at you through the rear view. “You get whatever you want.”

[artemis32]

fem gojo doodles

[artemis32]

OMG (YANDERE) SUGAR DADDY BRUCE WAYNE

if I have to be plagued by these thoughts, then so do you!! - this look of his specifically, prime dilf Bruce is my fav (Dan Mora writes Bruce Wayne with one hand and one hand only)

Also, this is a drabble, but I am more than willing to expand on it or write like a full length fic, because my man deserves it <33

dc masterlist

Thinking about Bruce Wayne, now in his forties, who's so used to balancing both of his personas that he sometimes ends up slipping.

He realises it when Tim shows him the recent tabloids - crappy gossip tabloids wondering why Gotham's resident playboy has been single for so long in the past few months, not once showing up with a lady on his arm. Rumours have started spreading, and it's honestly more of a hassle than it's worth, but he knows he has to do something about it.

That's where you come into the picture. You, tired and overworked, stretched thin by the burden of work, college and bills.

You'd signed up for some stupid, sketchy looking sugar baby site, at the insistence of your friends. They'd been adamant, pushing so consistently that you'd created a profile more to appease them than anything else. At the very least, it was a reputable site. You just didn't have much hope of any rich older gentleman choosing you.

But someone does. About three weeks after you'd made your profile, just when you'd debated deleting the stupid app, you'd gotten a message.

From Bruce fucking Wayne.

You thought it was a joke, some stupid scam artist, at first. I mean really. Bruce Wayne? What could he possible need from a dating site- no, a sugar baby site? He could have his pick of women too, and he chose you. It made no sense.

His logic, not that he'd ever tell you, was sound. In this scenario, he could have you sign an NDA, he could ensure that no aspect of your time with him would be made known to the public. He couldn't really do that with someone he met on a normal dating site.

Plus, you seem like the perfect candidate. Young, young enough to seem only slightly controversial. You were old enough to drink, but that was about it. It was bound to gain media attention. And, in his mind, anyone on a site like this must be just desperate enough to go along with whatever he said.

****

Your first meeting wasn't anything special. You'd been tentative, weary, honestly believing it was a scam. It wasn't, though you weren't sure that relieved you, exactly.

Regardless, he thinks you'd fit the role well enough for what he needs. He doesn't bother getting to know you or asking you any of the typical questions one would expect in a situation like this.

At the end of that meeting, he hands you a thick stack of papers, an NDA, and says that if you choose to accept, you wouldn't be allowed to tell anyone about what happens when you're with him. And he leaves. Just like that.

If you'd had any other option, you'd probably have declined. He probably wouldn't have cared-- No, he definitely wouldn't have cared. But you were desperate, and he was offering you a ridiculous sum of money to just be around, so of course you accepted.

He treated you well, that much, you couldn't deny. He paid you the agreed upon amount, as promised, but beyond that, he spent an exorbitant amount of money on you - hair, makeup, clothing and shoes, handbags.

Realistically, you knew this was all a part of your agreement, and that he only gave you all of it because you accompanied him to so many high end events, but a part of you felt bad.

Not to mention, he never once demanded or even suggested sex. That part baffled you for a bit, but you'd quickly moved on from it, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth.

You came to realise a few things in your time with him. Well, two main things, really.

One, he only needed you around for galas, charity events and social meetings - many of which almost bored you to tears, others that left you feeling queasy with the strobing lights and questionable smelling drinks. You were clued in to the reason for your contract with him at that point.

You were a placeholder. Someone meant to help him maintain the 'Brucie Wayne' persona.

That was the second thing you'd realised. Brucie Wayne was a persona, a far cry from how he actually acted behind closed doors. As soon as the two of you were alone, in the car or elsewhere, his smile dropped into a practiced scowl or neutral blank look, and he'd remain silent for the rest of your time together.

It was off-putting, jarring to see the rapid change in personality, but it was something you got used to over the months you'd been around him.

Around him. Not with him. Never with him.

****

You spend more time with his bulter, Alfred, than you do with him. You share more casual conversation with him too. The older gentleman is nice, too sweet to someone in your position.

He often made you tea after yet another stuffy gala and sat with you until the driver came around to drop you off back home. You'd admittedly grown rather attached to the old man, and his presence left you feeling warm long after you left the cold, hulking shadow of Wayne Manor.

Alfred, unlike Bruce, had made an effort to get to know you. It felt nice, having someone to talk to, someone who took an interest in you. There were times you thought you might've seen a glimmer of something akin to guilt or sadness in the butler's eyes, but he never said anything, letting you go about your life instead.

That's how your days passed. You'd spend most of your mornings occupied with classes and work (because you refused to stop working, not willing to rely completely on Bruce's 'generosity'), and your afternoons and evenings were spent with Bruce Wayne, when needed.

It was such a stark change in your lifestyle. You'd gone from bottom of the barrel, check to check, literally facing eviction on more than one occasion, to living (almost) in the lap of luxury. It felt... nice. Not having to worry about bills or work.

But, all good things came to an end.

Bruce had started to distance himself, more so than usual, in the last few months. It had taken you a while to notice, since he was already such a closed off person, but you'd realised it eventually.

He'd ask you to accompany him less and less, send you fewer gifts. He still paid your bills, as agreed, but he just sort of drifted away. You'd inquired about it a few times, but when it ultimately came to nothing, you gave up. It was nice while it had lasted.

****

Bruce had, admittedly, basically all but forgotten about your existence, and your contract with him. Your automatic payment hardly even caught his eye every month, and you easily faded from his mind after the news of his re-emergence into the playboy scene had died down.

That's why he's so surprised to see your face plastered on every news outlet in Gotham - hell, half the East Coast, according to Tim.

At first, he feels angry, almost betrayed, thinking you broke your NDA and decided to go public with information about him.

The truth of the situation is so much worse, and leaves him feeling guilty for his initial thoughts. Of course, being publicly linked to Bruce Wayne came with it's own set of difficulties. It put you in danger, beyond what you could've handled.

Some small group of domestic terrorists thought they could strongarm him into handing over a few million dollars in exchange for your safe return.

Bruce had followed the police-set protocol, leaving the two groups in a stalemate. He had, of course, intended to go get you as Batman as soon as the situation allowed, but it seemed your captors had other plans.

A few of the cops in the room had thrown up at the next video they'd sent of you. To say you were beat beyond recognition was an understatement.

It was for that reason that Bruce hadn't felt too bad sending Jason after them, watching from the side lines of Gotham police station as you were rescued, rushed off to Gotham general hospital.

****

You spent a while in the hospital recovering, unconscious for a large chunk of that time, but what you do remember from your brief windows of consciousness were an ungodly amount of get-well-soon gifts - flowers, balloons, stuffed animals, the works.

And, in the midst of your drug-induced haze, you were sure you sensed Bruce at your side, though he was gone every time you woke up.

When you're released two weeks later, Bruce informs you, via a letter left in your apartment, that your contract had ended. He was sure to remind you that the NDA still stood, though. Alongside the letter with the intricate Wayne seal was a check for a truly insane amount of money.

You don't cash the check, and you don't try to argue him ending the contract. Instead, you go about your daily life as usual in an attempt to regain some sense of normalcy after the mess that had been the past few months.

It's only later, about a week after you'd left the hospital, that you realise he'd paid all your hospital bills too.

Yeah, you never did end up cashing that check.

****

Bruce felt bad.

No, scratch that, Bruce felt terrible.

You gotten hurt because of him, because you'd been tied to him.

After a short mental spiral, he decided the best thing he could do for you was to end your contract. So he did.

Only, everything that had happened left him with a lingering sense of anxiety, and lead him to engage in a few less than savoury habits.

It started innocently, and no one had bat an eyelid. He was just monitoring you after the incident, making sure people left you alone, making sure you were safe. Publicly ending your 'relationship' wasn't enough, he had to keep tabs on you for a while to make sure no one else got any smart ideas.

Except, days, weeks, months went by, and his so-called 'innocent monitoring' showed no signs of slowing. If anything, he'd become more intense, resorting to quite literally stalking you, all under the guise of 'keeping you safe', following you, watching you from rooftops and alleyways.

In that time, he'd gotten to know you. Really know you.

How had he missed it before?

You were truly the perfect person. So kind, sweet to everyone you encountered, so driven and smart. He realises how badly he'd neglected you, how he hadn't even attempted to get to know you.

He sees you with friends, with family, the little you have. He sees you go to classes, the library, studying, stressing over essays and exams. He watches from the shadows as you move on with your life, thriving despite everything that had happened - you graduating, moving out of that dark, run down apartment, you getting your first proper job (something he may or may not have helped with, without your knowledge).

Through all this, he feels something beginning to stir deep in his chest, something he pays no mind to, instead letting it fester and grow beneath his skin.

Every month, he sends you a check, the same amount he'd sent before. Only, you never accept it. It annoys him, how you ignore his attempt at atonement.

That's what spurs him on, encourages him to properly make amends. And, really, he sees it as a blessing in disguise, having decided that, despite how your relationship may have started, how it ended, he wanted you back.

****

Six months after Bruce ended your contract, he sends you a letter. A letter, and a dress.

You meet him that evening, despite your better sense telling you not to. It's there, in the private booth at the back of what must be a ridiculously expensive restaurant, that he asks you, after a few uncomfortable pleasantries (none of which suit the Bruce Wayne you've come to know), if you wanted to get back together with him.

In a relationship.

Not a contract, or some mutually beneficial agreement. No, an actual, literal relationship.

The swiftness with which you decline seems to shock him to the point of silence. You attempt, incredibly awkwardly, to explain your reasoning.

You didn't need him anymore, as rude as that may sound. And, honestly, the danger and pain wasn't really worth the money, or a relationship, or anything he had to offer you.

Besides, you had a job now, and you could afford to take care of yourself. You definitely weren't going to rely on a man - an older one at that - to take care of you or be there for you. You, somewhat timidly, admitted that he was in fact too old for you too.

You left the restaurant hurriedly after your brutal confession, leaving Bruce stunned and more than a little upset. But he's nothing if not committed, and so you're greeted the next day by an absurd bunch of roses as you step through the door to your place of work.

While your co-workers all look on in envy, you feel a deep pit forming in your stomach. You had a feeling this wouldn't end anytime soon.

****

It did not.

Nearing the three month mark, Bruce Wayne was proving to be a persistent man. No matter how many times you declined, he just kept trying, returning each time with a gift more extravagant than the last.

You ignored it all for the most part, returning items where you could, gifting them off to others where you couldn't. But through it all, he persisted.

Honestly, it was beginning to scare you. And you'd learnt pretty quickly that the police, as expected, were of absolutely no help. In fact, when you'd asked to file a restraining order against the Bruce Wayne, they'd laughed you off and told you to go sort your relationships squabbles out home.

Bruce, on the other hand, was nearing his wits end.

Why did you keep denying him? What was he doing wrong? He truly couldn't understand it. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how creative he was, or how much money he spent, you just kept declining, and he was growing desperate.

His desperation reached it's peak one windy Autumn evening, and in a fit of both rage and panic, he'd stolen you away, snatching you up right in the middle of the darkened street.

You, according to whispers amongst your co-workers, had taken an interest in someone. Someone other than him. That had spooked him enough into taking action, and now, here he sat, watching over you as you slept.

He was sure you'd be terrified when you woke up. That fear, he knew, would turn into disgust, then rage when you inevitably found out exactly what he'd been doing these past few months. But right now, he didn't care. Sitting beside you, having you in his bed, in his room, in his manor - that made him happy.

You were here, with him. You were his.

And no matter how unhappy it may make you, he had learnt from his past mistakes.

He was never letting you go again.

[artemis32]

sukuna is clingy when he sleeps.

you wake in the early hours of the morning to a veritable vice grip circling your waist. it takes you a moment to gain your bearings, but when you do, you recognize sukuna has both of his arms wrapped around you, holding you snug against his chest. he's practically become your own personal futon—your entire body resting overtop of his—but, regardless of the circumstances, he doesn't seem to mind it considering how soundly he's sleeping underneath you.

you lift your head, using your hands against his chest to push yourself up slightly. glancing down at him, you hold back a laugh at the sight: he's frowning, even in his sleep.

how typical.

"sukuna," you mumble sleepily, glancing over to the clock on his bedside table as you blink away the sleep from your eyes. the clock must be unplugged, because there are no numbers lighting up the clockface, but his cellphone rests just beside it on the tabletop. you reach over—as far as you can given the unyielding hold he has on you—and tap the screen to see the time. you sigh. you repeat his name again.

he doesn't stir.

you repeat yourself two more times, though you keep your voice low. it's barely dawn, and yuuji is asleep only a room away, so you can't be any louder. you start shaking him lightly in tandem with your calling of his name.

finally his nose wrinkles in discontent, a single eye cracking open.

"whaddaya want?" he grumbles as he lets his eye close again, his arms tightening even further in their grip on you.

"gotta get up," you reply. "yuuji'll be awake soon."

the youngest itadori brother tends to be an early riser—a morning person to his core. sukuna tends to rise early only when absolutely necessary, and he's as far from chipper in the mornings as a person can possibly be.

"don't care," sukuna mutters.

"i care," you counter his indifference with indignation.

he doesn't reply, seemingly having fallen asleep again.

"sukuna, let me go," you whine as you fight his hold, but it doesn't waver for a moment.

"baby, stop," he grunts as you wiggle uselessly against him.

you freeze.

his eyes open in the wake of your sudden stillness, a look of suspicion on his face.

"baby?" you repeat quietly as he looks at you.

"what, you don't like it?" he asks, quirking a brow. "would you prefer brat?"

he calls you that anyway, so your preference matters very little.

you're a bit flustered by the sudden turn of events and sukuna leverages this momentary reprieve to his advantage: using his hold around your waist, he pulls you over so you're resting on your side in his bed, facing him. there's little light in his bedroom this early in the morning—just the faintest bit of sun on the distant horizon—but you can still make out his face even in the dimness. his eyes are open but still heavy-lidded with sleep as he watches your face closely.

"go back to sleep," he finally grunts out, tugging you into him so that your cheek is pressed to his chest.

"what about yuuji?" you ask.

"i'll deal with him," he replies dismissively. you hear the smirk in his voice when he speaks again: "you're not the only brat i'm used to dealing with. right, baby?"