#🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 . bruce! thoughts

[bratscave]

HI I LOVE BRUCE and i see no asks so ill do my labor and ask for some titty sucking w him, i just know he'd use them as stressballs no matter the size

— the way i was waiting for this omg

i can just imagine bruce coming home from 'work' better said patrol, maybe he had a meeting earlier during the day and that poor man is horribly tired. His hands are steady, there's no tension in the way his hands move along your skin. He’s not asking for anything; he’s just taking. He may not be abel to control gotham all the time but your tits prove he can focus on two things at once. also I feel like sometimes he just sleeps on your chest. it had been an accident a few years back, you had sex and he had been way to tired to reposition so he ultimately fell asleep on you. now adays he quite frequently rests his head in between your tits, bruce likes to listen to your heartbeat. here and there you wake up to find him, softly licking along the skin. he probably grumbles about you wiggling and moving to much yet won't make any attempt at moving himself.

man i love seeking for comfort! touch starved! lowkey clingy! bruce

[bratscave]

This thought is about Batman specifically. It might a bit out of character?

(tw: dubcon)

So, there's this civilian, always hitting on him, teasing him, just getting herself into trouble to see him. It's a game for her.

Now, Batman or Bruce, he's pent up. He has a gaggle of kids and Gotham to look after. He doesn't get time to fuck or jerk off. So this is just getting on his nerves, even though he's known to have immense patience.

One day he snaps, he just hauls that civilian up into a dark alley. One that he knows is secluded. He ends up eating the civilian out until she's seeing stars and then promptly using her like a fleshlight while rubbing her clit almost raw.

At the end, he dresses her back up, drops her off at her apartment complex with a plan B pill and is back on patrol, feeling much, much better.

Also, I really love your work!

— i can totally imagine this omg

It started out as a joke. Your life was boring, you were mostly buried in your journalist work. Until Bruce Wayne started making headlines, and your company wanted as many articles on him as soon as possible. It became your job — obsession even, to keep up with Gotham’s most elusive billionaire. You, and your annoying snarky comments on his nepotism and his suits, his womanizer activities. Your writing style was something the average reader of Gotham couldn't look away from, not even bruce himself. He'd never admit that he actually reads your 'shit'. You were so incredibly infuriating yet he couldn't stop thinking about you. When he has his little one night stands after the galas you show up to, he thinks of you. pounds harder into said-woman at the thought of you under him. And when he sees you smoke on the large balcony, he thinks about how it would feel like to see those plump lips of yours, wrapped around his dick. He'd never admit that though. You had mumbled another jab at him the second you noticed his lingering gaze, which led to him dragging you across the main hall to the luxurious restrooms. It recks of those typical rich men cologne's, not the ones that bruce wears —not that you knew exactly what dior perfume, he was wearing. The exact one that you now scent while he's kissing down your neck, it's quick, it's rough. rough enough to surerly leave evident marks, in a matter that he knows everybody will see once you walk out. You'll become exactly something that you critize him for being. He slips your dress of, so fast like he has no damn time. Even though he doesn't event want to get back to the gala, he just wants to make you feel how you make him feel. annoyed and well- very horny. He lifted you up onto the marble counter like you weighted fucking nothing, his hands gripping your hips with bruising strength. Slipping your panties off, his fingers cold against your wetness. His mouth followed, finding your core with a primal hunger all while his groans vibrated against you. And how he loves the sound of nothing besides whimpers and whines coming from your direction, they are sweet noises, noises he'd love to hear more of. When he finally slides inside you, it’s with a harsh thrust that makes you cry out. His movements are powerful, driven by a raw need that leaves no room for gentleness. He’s using you, each thrust a release of the pent-up frustration he’s felt from your taunts and the constant grind of his dual life. His fingers continue to work at your clit, rubbing it almost mercilessly. And he's an asshole about it, taunts about how 'loud you are', muses about the fact that all your damn morals went out the window the second you saw some good dick. When he finally finishes, it’s with a low growl of satisfaction, his grip on you loosening just enough to let you catch your breath. He dresses you with a rough efficiency, handing you the Plan B pill with an almost clinical detachment. The look he gives you is cold, but there’s a flicker of something darker behind his eyes. Something that suggests that this will definetly not be the last time. Oh, and he loves that little complete dumbfounded expression of yours. He'd pay millions to see that rare one again.