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paintlavillered · 2 days ago

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WHERE DO I FIND A MAN LIKE THISS

Sugar on the Rim vol. II

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

part one

warnings: heavily implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), smut, oral fem!receiving, nervous but enthusiastically consenting reader

You’d tried to calm your nerves but they couldn’t be helped.

You’re anxious about everything, all of it. What he wants you to do, what he’s expecting you do, whether it’ll hurt, whether you’re ready.

You think you trust Bruce, but you also know that these things are different for men and women. You don’t necessarily expect that he’ll have a mind for what you’ll need, but honestly, neither do you. You don’t know what to do to make this easier for yourself—you don’t know what to do at all.

You bought the lingerie, you’ve got it on under your clothes and it feels like a costume. You can’t tell if that aids or worsens the anxiety.

You’re fidgeting with the hem of your skirt and you wish you could quit it, you’re radiating enough nervous energy as it is, you don’t need to be sending him visual cues on top of it.

Bruce holds your free hand in his as he guides you through the manor, you think it’s a different section than you’ve seen before. His hand engulfs yours unfairly as he leads, but the touch of his skin is so warm and inviting that you can’t tell if your hand is still shaking under it. If it is, he pretends not to notice.

He guides you up the stairs and into a corridor and then another before you arrive at a set of double doors. You’ve never seen double doors on the inside of a house before.

He lets you in ahead of him, and you have a distinct thought that you’re glad he can’t see the look of awe on your face as you walk in. His bedroom has an entire living room inside of it, and altogether it’s bigger than your whole apartment. A maroon couch and matching chairs surround a grand fireplace at the front of the room and the resulting glow from the active embers has the area shrouded in a warm light ahead of the shadows filling the rest.

You glance past the seating at his bed; large and proud. It’s definitely bigger than a king sized, with an overhead canopy and streams of dark burgundy curtains draping down from the corners. There’s another set of closed double doors past the bed, you imagine leading to the bathroom.

The end of the room displays a large window seat that looks like it’s never been used, and vast tinted windows. You look up to find the ceiling higher than you’ve ever seen in a bedroom with a very expensive chandelier hanging over it all.

He takes your arm, steering you out of your wonderment and leads you towards the couch rather than the bed, gesturing for you to sit down with him. You do, quietly glad when he positions himself so that you’re close to each other but not pressed right up against you. He’s able to relax his body more than you’re able to fake it on yourself, and you think your thoughts must be vibrating out of you by now.

One hand comes to rest on your thigh as his other nudges your cheek towards him. “Hey, nothing’s happening right now. No need to be nervous.”

You nod blankly, but your thoughts are running wild with everything that you very much are nervous about.

He takes your hand in his, rubbing circles with his thumb.

“You’ve got to relax,” he coos, “Remember what I said?”

You take a breath, “You’re not going to throw me in the deep end.”

“Exactly,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Just wanna make you feel good, right?”

You nod, easing your posture.

He looks you in the eye, “You gonna let me?”

You hum, nodding again.

“Good girl,” he purrs, pulling away.

You quickly find that the distance is not at all what you want, and you decide to push forward—as forward as you can—sitting up again to peel your jacket off. He watches you move with a look in his eyes, you take it for intrigue but it may just as well be something akin to pride. Pride in you? He’s openly flirted, kissed you, and straight up propositioned you for sex—but sure, he’s proud of you for taking your jacket off.

Your nerves transition into insecurity before you can catch them, and you’re starting to feel a little stupid, like a child playing pretend.

You watch tentatively as he tilts his head at you, running his own assessments of your actions.

“Will you come sit on my lap?” he asks you after a moment.

You suddenly become acutely aware of the amount of air in your lungs. This feels like a big request and you’re not even sure how to take his meaning. Does he want you to sit sideways? Your back to his front? Or fully straddle him?

He wants whatever you want, he’d said. What do you want?

You glance down at his thighs, covered by fabric more expensive than you can imagine. Positive confirmation rings through your head immediately, willing you to push yourself forward a little more.

You reposition yourself over him, straddling his lap in spite of your nerves.

Again, he looks pleased. Happy even. One of his hands comes to stroke soothing patterns across your lower back, the other resting on your waist.

He makes sure to catch your gaze, “You’ll tell me if you want to stop.”

He follows when your eyes stray, “Yes?”

“Yes.”

He places a tender kiss on your cheekbone, “How did shopping go?”

“Um, good. It was good. One of the sales girls helped me,” your breath is shaky as he kisses your jawline.

“Yeah? Tell me about it.”

“I, uh, I just went to this little boutique up on third street,” he places another kiss on the column of your throat as you talk. “Um, it took longer than I thought it would. There were so many choices.”

His hands come up to soothe over your ribs, pulling you a little closer as they do. He hums for you to keep talking, his kisses continuing to lower until they’re down to your collarbone, though they remain relatively chaste.

“I—I didn’t really know what to look for,” you admit, breath shaky as you exhale.

“But you like it?”

“Yeah, I—I do.”

He hums, smiling against your skin. His fingers inch under the seam of your shirt, caressing your waist. “Can I take this off?”

You nod timidly, trying not to seem so on edge with anticipation. You’re not confident that he can’t see right through you.

He presses another chaste kiss to your neck upon receival of the permission, and your shirt begins to come off slowly, his hands skimming every new bit of skin revealed. As he pulls it over your head, he glances down at the baby pink bralette you’d picked out for yourself.

He groans quietly as he takes in the sight, “Oh, pretty girl. Beautiful girl,” He noses at your chest, leaving little kisses where his lips make contact with your skin, “Look at you. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your stomach flutters as his hair tickles your cheek. His hands roam up your sides, stopping to stroke placid circles along the sides of your breasts.

His touch makes its way around your back, expertly undoing your bra clasp without a second thought. Your bra hangs forward a bit off your shoulders, but he leaves the work of entirely removing it to you. And you do, with more confidence than you’d imagined yourself mustering.

He immediately shows his appreciation, kissing and caressing your chest with lover-like admiration. Your head falls back involuntarily as he noses at your soft skin.

He’s breathing heavy when he pulls back, humming low and deep before lifting you up off his lap to stand. The sudden shift has you a bit thrown off, working to catch up as he kneels down in front of you and repeats his earlier process with your skirt—kissing your thighs and tugging the fabric down bit by bit.

When it’s discarded on the floor you stand only left in your underwear, the lace practically illuminated against your skin.

He looks up at you from his place on the floor and smiles as he takes in the sight of your body. His hands find your hips as he asks you, “Has anyone ever seen you like this before?”

You hesitate for half a second before answering truthfully.

His smile grows, “No, you’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s nodding, “Yeah, I know.”

As he rises to stand he scoops you up by the back of your thighs and lifts you in the air with no discernable effort. Now at face level with him, you get a bit bolder and lean in to kiss him. He kisses you back, pleased, beginning to walk the two of you over towards the bed.

He sets you down gently atop the soft mattress, kisses pushing you backwards to lie back on the bed. He scoops your wrists up and leisurely moves your arms up above your head. His grip is benign as he releases one hand in favor of holding your jaw. Your kiss is deep and controlled on his part, but in a way that makes you feel light in the head. You like the cloudy-sensation very much.

After a while, he pulls back to look at you with clouded eyes.

He practically purrs, “You’re such a kind girl. So sweet to everyone, all the time. Will you let me be sweet to you?”

Your breath is shaky as you nod, attempts at hiding your anticipation failing.

He nods back at you with a faux-sympathy across his face. “Let me hear you say it.”

You force air into your lungs, giving you the willpower to speak the words. “Will you touch me? Please?”

The corners of his lips turn up, “Of course, sweet girl.”

He nips at your jaw as his hands travel down, petting the inside of your thighs with a touch so feather light it almost tickles.

Your knee jerks inward towards his hand, your body desperately seeking out more of this new sensation. He obliges, tracing his touch back up, up, up until his hand dips under the lace trim of your panties, skimming over your clit. Your hips flinch back away from him momentarily in surprise, only to press back forward a second later.

He actually laughs at the action, like it’s endearing. You feel a little silly for it, but you’re not given much time to dwell as he persists, brushing against you with a bit more pressure.

He tilts his head, watching your expression carefully with a remarkably pleased look on his own face. “How’s that, sweet girl?”

You nod, beside yourself. “Feels good,” you whimper. “Feels really good..”

You don’t necessarily mean to, but your hips grind up against his touch, your body too mesmerized with the sensation to remember to be embarrassed.

He’s certainly not complaining about it though, his quiet coos encouraging you to chase the feeling.

He lets you grind up against his hand, taking in the needy look on your face with contentment.

“Poor girl,” he tuts. “Just need somebody to take care of you, huh?”

That makes your cheeks burn, but your attention finds itself more concerned with the urge to squeeze your thighs together.

You whine when he pulls his hand back out of your underwear, only for him to stand resolute in his actions.

“Not yet, sweet thing,” he hums, pressing you back down to the bed with a light but firm touch when you try to sit up.

He hushes you gently, murmuring for you to be patient as he shifts his position over you.

He starts to move down your body, leaving kisses in his wake. The sensation of his lips tracing down your stomach has you feeling butterflies.

By the time he reaches your waistline you’re borderline dizzy from the anticipation, squeezing your legs together in an attempt to alleviate the ache.

He pauses there for a moment, torturously, and noses at the seam of your panties. A whine from you has him chuckling and finally moving to where you need him.

He kisses your clit over your underwear and you’re fighting thoughts of embarrassment over how sure you are he can taste how wet you are over the fabric.

It doesn’t seem to be enough for him though, as he tugs your panties down slowly, kissing your thighs as he goes.

Bruce’s hands hold onto your waist as he eats you out, holding you in place with an easy grip.

You squirm against the feel of his tongue and you can’t quite figure out what to do with your hands. You almost wish he’d made you keep them above your head but really you’re not sure you’d be able to keep it together if he had. You’re not sure you’re keeping it together now.

He groans against your pussy, and one of your hands flies to grip his hair without permission from your brain. If you’re being honest with yourself though, your brain isn’t really the one calling the shots anymore.

You gasp when he licks a bold stripe, “Bruce—”

He groans again, briefly breaking away from you. “Oh, say that again.”

You sigh out, “Bruce, please.”

He makes a pleased hum. “Good girl,” he murmurs before diving back in.

He complies with your pleas generously, giving you more. He’s gradual but resolute as he inserts two fingers into you, giving you the time to adjust. But he’d evidently done a very thorough job prepping you for it, you’re so wet that the initial entry doesn’t sting like you’d expected. No, rather the first thing you register is closer to pleasure. A lot closer.

He begins to pump in and out of you at he continues to suck at your clit, and somewhere during you have a distinct thought of “oh this is it.”

You let out a little gasp and for once, you break out of your own head and just relish in the way his fingers curl inside you.

The way your thighs squeeze around him as you come, doesn’t hinder him one bit, only has him applying his ministrations with more intent. It doesn’t take long for the trembling of your body to give way to full on shaking, your body stuttering beneath him.

He continues working at you the entire way through your orgasm, until you’re flinching from overstimulation.

He gives you one more lick before looking up at you with hooded eyes. “Y’taste sweet too, you know that?”

You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks as he starts to move back up to face-level, kissing the high point of your cheekbone.

He pulls down on your bottom lip, your slick wet against your mouth.

You open without question, a clouding urge to please him the only thing running through your mind.

He grumbles a low, pleased sound as you do, moving his hand only to provide room for him to kiss you again.

He sits back up over you and starts unbuttoning his shirt and you realize only now that he’s still fully dressed.

He glances down to his belt as he undoes the buttons.

“Will you help me out, sweet girl?”

You blink a couple times before registering the request, still overwhelmed by how quickly and skillfully he’d made you come.

You struggle a bit to push yourself up into a sitting position, but he supports you by your waist, nipping along your jaw as encouragement.

Your hands shake as you undo the clasp, and while you’re still very much eager, if not moreso, you’re suddenly confronted with the very real possibility that you’re about to have your limits pushed. He ate you out and did a damn good job, stands to reason that he’d want you to return the favor.

So it takes you by surprise when he’s nudging you back against the pillows, removing his pants himself.

He keeps you occupied with an intense kiss as he does, and the distraction so smooth it’s almost like it’s rehearsed.

You follow his lead easily, though surprised by his lack of desire to get his fill too.

He drapes himself over you nicely, his size easily dwarfing you out. He’s quick to block your chin from tilting down, gently bringing your face back up to meet his.

He shakes his head lightly, murmuring, “Don’t worry about that. I got you.”

You are worried about it, but you trust Bruce, you know you do now.

You feel the weight of his cock against your stomach, at this exact moment, feeling like not much more than a daunting task.

“S’alright, sweet girl,” he lulls, brushing your hair back. “Okay?”

As heavy as the simple question is, you don’t need to think about it before you’re nodding and moving your hand to hold onto his bicep.

He peppers kisses all over your face as he starts to push in, effectively starting to distract you from the pain of the stretch. He hushes your whines soothingly and kneads at your waist with confident hands.

Your arms lock around his shoulders on instinct, your eyes squeezing shut as you try to convince yourself he’s almost all the way in, but you know you’ve got aways to go.

He pauses halfway, imploring you to open your eyes so he can check up on you properly.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he softly urges.

You will yourself to blink up at him and try to take on the challenge of both him and his gaze. Surely, an impossible task.

But you manage shaky eye contact that occasionally gives way to glancing down at his lips.

It doesn’t feel good yet, but it only makes you more eager to keep going.

“I’m okay,” you nod, taking a breath. “You can keep going.”

He waits to find that reassurance in your eyes before he continues to push in, bestowing you a deep kiss in reward for your bravery.

Once he’s nearly bottomed out he waits a moment, then begins to rock in and out slowly, letting you get used to a starter of the sensation.

He brushes your hair back, weaving through the strands. “There we go,” he coos as you look down between you. “Doing so good.”

Your gasp is louder than they had been before, and closer to a sigh now.

He’s fucking you gently, with a decorum that exceeds what you’d earlier told yourself you were stupid for hoping for.

It doesn’t take long at all for his movement to start to feel really good and your grip around his shoulders comes around to a different kind of intensity.

He noses against your jaw, applying kisses whenever convenient. “‘S that feel good, sweet girl? Hm?”

He hits a particularly deep spot in you immediately after and it makes you borderline squeak. He huffs out a laugh that’s nothing short of affectionate.

“Yeah?”

He then attacks that spot with extra intention, hitting it absolutely expertly every time. He speeds up a little, lips latched onto your neck as he fucks you nice and deep.

He drops a hand down between you and starts rubbing circles onto your clit with a pace that makes you want to scream.

You can’t help the moan you release when he teeths at your neck, clearly aiming to drive you crazy. But damn if he isn’t going about it the right way.

His circles pick up pace and you can be sure you’re leaving nail marks on his back. He seems to only get more encouraged by your sounds, working you closer and closer to the edge with every whimper.

He finally lets you over after a minute of shamelessly relishing in your moans, himself following close after.

He continues moving in and out of you until you’ve both completely finished, slowly coming to a stop.

You get a moment to catch your breath before he pulls out delicately. You don’t even realize he’s moved before he’s got his boxers back on and is halfway to the bathroom.

You’re a little alarmed by the sudden shift in proximity, though you guess that’s the playboy experience, isn’t it? After a second you hear water running and assume he’s taking a shower.

You push yourself to sit up fully, minding your achy thighs, and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You glance at the foot of the bed where your underwear lies, then back over by the couch where the rest of your clothes lay discarded. You briefly contemplate how quickly you can get your clothes back on when the bathroom doors open again.

You glance up at Bruce, dazed, who looks surprised himself to see you sitting up. As he makes his way back to the bed you notice the supplies he has in tow and your brain begins to slowly start turning its gears again.

You don’t realize the glass of water in his hand is for you until he’s pushed it into your palm.

His other hand carries a wet wash cloth that you, again, aren’t able to register the purpose for until it’s in action.

“Drink,” he tells you as he spreads your knees apart gently, wiping away the mess between your legs with a notable amount of compassion for your sensitivity.

You do, gulping a few as he finishes, tossing the rag in a hamper before setting your glass down on the side table.

Your eyes return to the end of the bed and you nearly decide to get up, but he’s still standing so close to you, you’re not sure this is the right time.

You seem caught halfway between decisions now, you know you do. You’d honestly preferred when you thought he’d just ditched you for a shower because at least then this part wouldn’t be so awkward.

He watches you closely as you deliberate and seems to draw a conclusion about your hesitation rather quickly. His brow pinches as he processes, tilting his head at you.

“You’ve got to be joking,” he says, bewildered. “Right?”

“I—” you falter, looking to the couch and back to him again. “No?”

He stares at you for a moment with an expression you can’t define.

“Lay down.”

You don’t have a second to process before he’s climbing back in bed too, pulling you down to lay your head on the pillow.

He pulls the covers over you and splays an arm over your waist, clearly firm in his decision for you to stay.

Your eyes are heavy and his bed is so comfortable, it’s difficult for you to even consider either of you wanting you to leave now.

Maybe you’ll just sleep for a little while, get some of your energy back.

The way he traces soft patterns across your stomach certainly encourages the idea and doesn’t give you much power to resist.

You let your eyes flutter shut to the feather-light touch and listen to the steady deepness of his breaths.

Well, this isn’t so bad either.

🐲 reblogging is an ancient art form, only the strong may master it 🐲

#bruce wayne x reader #fic recs #fic series #smut #i love it #sugar on the rim series #i will be reading this once a day thank you #possibly even more #😄

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reinersredemption · 2 days ago

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Stay-at-home Dates | Batboys x Reader ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

masterlist

Bruce Wayne One thing about Bruce: He is a tired man, he’s days are exhausting, to say the least. With managing Wayne Enterprises to being Gotham’s dark knight — he rarely has time to relax, so when he gets the rare opportunity to be home with you, his first instinct is to rest. He’s a fan of old-school romance, and a candlelit dinner or a cozy fondue night is his idea of the perfect evening.

Dick Grayson Dick loves the intimacy of cooking together and enjoys indoor picnics. The quiet moments shared over food make for some of his best memories. He’s also all about living room karaoke, turning a simple night in into an impromptu concert.

Jason Todd You and Jason started a mini book club, just for the two of you. With you in his life, he also discovered a love for pampering himself—something he never allowed himself to do before, hiding behind tough exteriors and emotional walls. Now, you’ve dedicated entire days to treating him with the love he deserves: think robes, scented candles, face masks, foot massages, and bubble baths.

Tim Drake Tim is also a fan of naps, especially when he can curl up next to you. When he’s awake, he enjoys when the both of you watch random documentaries together. He’s also into building complex Lego sets with you, he created a collection of all the ones you finish together, and it’s become one of your favorite bonding activities.

Damian Wayne Pottery nights have become a staple in you and Damian’s date nights, and he’s (not surprisingly) skilled at it. He keeps the pieces you both create, even using them in his daily life. You often catch him sipping from a mug you made him, even if it’s a little lopsided. Painting nights have also found a soft spot in his heart—they’re a quiet way for him to enjoy his day with you.

Duke Thomas Duke is all about board and card games for a cozy night in. He also secretly loves your reality and drama TV marathons, accompanied by lots of snacks. At first, he pretended to be uninterested in it due to it being drama-filled, but now it’s your shared guilty pleasure, and he’ll get genuinely upset if you watch an episode without him.

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dollyolo · 3 days ago

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MY FAVORITE FICS

(I want to keep all the fics I've read and enjoyed in one place in case I return to them. If you see your fic here and want it removed, please let me know and I'll remove it as soon as possible!)

FICS*

DC UNIVERSE

Jason Todd x reader

Don't go disappearing on me again

savior

you hold me tight without hurting me

Soft Jason

love this author thank you for blessing me with Jason

At least I'm not alone at wake

Call me your fool (I only wanna be with you)

safe haven

Restroom attendant

In your hands

Moonlight And Intentional Mistakes fear

Biomimicry, anyone?

too sate

the blood in your vain it only takes one

please come home

it only takes one

Pre-Noon Saturdays.

fear

in your hands

fluff

soft

the words of your body

and on and on, i'll be by your side pt1 &2

DICK GRAYSON x Reader

the blue of your eyes, the blue of the sky

dont miss me

you with the dark curls, you with the watercolor eyes

BRUCE WAYNE x reader

warm

walk me home

a world alone

shadows in the storm

Good Night (Sweet Dreams)

reverie

ferrari

sugar on the rim

fright

I LOVE THIS WRITE PLEASE CHECK THEM OUT

away away away

again

JUJUTSU KAISEN

satoru gojo x reader

no garden can bloom without the sun can't sleep

not so invisible string

to lose a lonely heart

Intrinsic Warmth

supersonic together

| blinked and suddenly, I had a Valentine

TOJI FUSHIGURO

• weeping, craving open heart

• soft Toji

• my duty to you

• unkept secret

• only fools

• please please, please

soul mates

SUGURU GETO

casual

summer stress

delicate

ashes

KENTO NANAMI

safe and sound

lay your love on me

unrequited love

SUKUNA RYOMEN

I'm gonna get you

arts and crafts

love and company

CHOSO KAMO

sweet tooth

I wish

FRANK CASTLE

• favorite place

The Bodyguard series

sit around and miss you

two am automatic

TASK FORCE 141

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

I hear you like magic? I've got a wand and a rabbit! pt1 &2

Grimm Reaper

chest flexing

'cause now I'm scared to love the thought of you the way you did with me

KEEGAN P RUSS

calling it love but this isnt falling

#jason todd x reader #jujutsu kaisen #dick grayson x reader #simon riley x reader #choso x reader #frank castle x reader #matt murdock x reader #bruce wayne x reader

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aangelinakii · 9 hours ago

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BATBOYS + SITTING ON THEIR BACK DURING PUSH-UPS.

note : personally i would love someone to push up w me on their back ,,, and also no damian just becquse i couldn't rhink of a scenario soz aloz

BRUCE WAYNE.

the kids had forced offered bruce a night off, after performing his nightly duties too many months in a row. now, sitting in bed with a book, you found it difficult to concentrate on the printed words as your partner lingered on the floor by his side of the bed, his quick breaths huffing through your shared bedroom. what on earth could he be doing? flipping the corner of your page down to save your place, you folded the book shut and put it down, rolling over the bed to peer over the side... only to find your wonderous bruce wayne... doing push ups?

"what are you doing?" you'd chuckled with a soft shake of your head.

muscles rippling beneath the flesh of his back, bruce brought his body down, and then pushed himself back up again, his triceps straining against skin. with a grunt he glanced back at you, never ceasing movement. "i need to get energy out before i go to bed. mind you, i'm not usually relaxing by this time."

another laugh brushed past your lips. "then that's not tiring you out." but bruce only sent you another glance, more sheepish this time; you couldn't blame him, not being accustomed to how one normally retires for the evening.

before he could reply again, you were slinging a leg over the side of the mattress and landing on the plush carpeting. bruce's exercise ceased in curiosity, his head turning to run his gaze over your legs. "oh, no, don't stop on my behalf," you grinned, carefully tucking one of your shins along his back and lowing the rest of your weight onto him.

but bruce wayne didn't falter a bit.

instead, he took it in his stride, tucking his arms and moving down, and then pushing up even faster than he'd been doing before. but he couldn't hide the crescent of his eyes and lines at the corners of his mouth as they turned up — he could do this all night.

DICK GRAYSON.

bullets of sweat shot to the floor with each punch, his flesh grunting against the boxing bag hanging from the ceiling. it never had the chance to swing too far, for he was already hitting it from the other side. although you weren't going as hard at it as your boyfriend, your own limbs were straining from exercise.

with a loud exhale, dick stepped away from the swinging sand bag, holding out a shaking hand to steady it. before it could stop, he was already moving to one of the ready-laid mats.

without a second too long of a break, he was down on his palms, moving up and down, his triceps tensing and bulging in his flesh. the way he kept glancing at you every few moments was making it very difficult to focus on your own workout.

ceasing your movements, you looked over at him with crossed arms. "anything i can help you with?" it was half a joke, expecting him to just grunt a chuckle and shake his head, getting caught red-handed checking you out. instead, he allowed a few seconds' silence, and then hummed.

"yes, actually." his voice was strained against his action, but he'd be damned if he stopped now just to speak. "come here, will you?"

it's not like you're busy or anything. but who were you to deny one dashingly handsome dick grayson your time and energy; especially when that's what you were dating him for.

unable to bite back a smile, you made your way over. "okay... what now?"

"sit on my back."

despite the tension in his throat as he spoke, dick didn't pause his push-ups — and you were supposed to sit on him like this? right...

however strange it may have been to try sit down on a moving man's back, the sheer fact dick could push-up your body weight made it worth it (no matter how many times you fell off before finally sticking it).

JASON TODD.

relaxing days — no work, no appointments, nothing to do — had to be the best days. especially here, as you and jason lay belly-down on the floor, using your glorious free time to complete a puzzle book you'd found at the grocery store the other day.

well... jason was belly-down on the floor; you were belly-down on his back, peering over his shoulder and pointing at the page, giving your contributions.

it got to the point where you were both on the last page, pen marks etched into the paper from where you'd scribbled answers and numbers and words, but you were stumped. with a huff, jason flicked the pen from his fingers, landing with a thump a metre away. "how are they gonna make puzzles you can't even solve? stupid..."

"hey, hey," you chuckled, bringing your fingers to scratch lovingly at his jaw. "i can get us a new one. want to go now?" as the words left your mouth, you moved one leg from where it lay entwined with his, preparing to get ready for an outing.

but jason was too quick, and too stubborn. before you could react, he'd pulled one arm from beneath him and lightly pressed down on your back, keeping you in place. "no, i'm joking," he mumbled. "please, let's just stay."

anything for him.

and so you fell limp against him once more, arms folding beneath your chin so you could rest your head, eyes fluttering closed. silence ran through the apartment, aside from the soft workings of jason's breathing beneath your ear; outside the city buzzed, but, by now, it was more background noise. perhaps a little nap wouldn't hurt—

something was moving beneath you, and your eyes shot open in alarm, arms shooting out from beneath you and clinging to the nearest thing – which happened to be around jason's waist. although you weren't moving, the coffee table beside you was bobbing up and down, and you couldn't possiblt fathom what was happning, until you realised...

"don't want to miss a workout," jason grunted from below, as if reading your mind. no lazy day was truly lazy when you had a jason peter todd to mind.

TIM DRAKE.

"i bet i could do that," tim spoke from the other end of the couch, where his socked feet were prodding your legs, probably in a surreptitious attempt to get them massaged. "no sweat."

you glanced between the tv and him, your lovely boyfriend tim, who would come up in the dictionary if you searched for the word overzealous. on the screen, playing the scene of a bizarre film you'd flipped to, the main love interest was working out when the main character stumbled into the room; there was some fleeting dialogue, and then, before you could find an explanation for it, she was sitting on his back as he continued his workout.

"what, you—" now when you looked over at tim, he had that wide grin on his face, and you knew you were in for something. "you want to try it now?"

without much of an answer, tim was rising to his feet, adjusting the waistband of the linen pyjama pants he wore, and fell to his hands and knees. "i mean, if you insist," he scoffed playfully. "try not to fall in love with me even more."

something about this didn't feel right... tim was certainly muscular, certainly strong — you'd seen him in action — but you didn't have much trust in him this time. regardless of your worries, you shimmied from your seat on the couch and carefully arranged yourself, legs crossed, on tim's back.

he only shook a bit at first, his legs now outstretched behind him, arms firm as logs. but he wasn't moving, just frozen in the plank position.

peering over his shoulder at him, you asked, "what's with the hold-up?"

pink in the cheeks, jaw clenched, tim's voice barely came out through his teeth. "yeah, just... wait—"

carefully – and very slowly – tim lowered himself, and in addition you, down, until his toned chest was millimetres away from the floor, and then, just as slowly, he pushed back against the ground.

once he was back in his starting position, he shifted beneath you, almost toppling you overboard. "okay, okay, i'm done!" he gasped. "my abs are gonna kill me!"

DUKE THOMAS.

being sick for the past week, you'd found it difficult to encourage yourself out of the house to go visit the gym — so, instead, you'd resorted to working out at home.

duke returned home the moment the sun began to dip below darkening clouds, his warmth radiating through the house as he closed the door behind him. he called something into the living room, but it went unheard beneath the instructions playing on the telly.

"oh, you working out?" he hummed as he entered, raking his eyes over your form and the synchronised movements on the tv screen.

mid-movement, you grunted a yeah, and duke edged around you to sit on the couch.

finally, when your break came, you collapsed to your mat and turned to him, grabbing your water bottle on the coffee table. "how was patrol?" you breathed.

the corners of duke's mouth turned up in a grin, clearly bemused by the sheen of sweat along your brow. "yeah, great." his eyes glanced over to the screen — two more minutes of your break, and it looked like you'd be attempting a five-minute plank. "mind if i work in with you?"

you glanced back, sipping at your water, and gave a half-chuckle. "i would've thought you'd be too tired for more exercise."

duke's bottom lip jutted out with a casual shrug. "i've missed you, we can do it together."

unfortunately, you couldn't ignore that little smile, that charm he held like a secret. and so you put your water bottle back on the table and duke joined you, beside your mat.

when the timer was up, you braced yourself for your plank, but duke, also on his knees, caught your attention — some stupid smile lingered on his lips, like he had a cheeky plan. "i don't know if a plank will be difficult enough for me."

"well done," you scoffed playfully. "just because it's easy for you, doesn't mean it's easy for me."

he held out a hand to diffuse any wrong ideas. "no, i just meant i think i know a way to break a sweat."

at this, you eyed him suspiciously, albeit curiously. before you could question him any further, he was on his palms and tip of his toes, gesturing you to sit on his back.

after a few "are you crazy?"s, you found yourself sitting on his back, trying not to touch him too much with your overly-warm limbs, lowering and raising with ease, your youtube workout by now forgotten.

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1raven0 · 2 days ago

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I need to calm tf down

BUT GOOD LAWD THIS IS AMAZINGGGG

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ A 10/10 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

𐙚 Pairing: Batboys x Fem Reader

𐙚 Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne.

𐙚 Headcanon: General thought about their d!ck.

𐙚 Notes: Minors DNI. Yes I'm ashame of myself... And for people that says "but Damian is 14-16" we literally have at least 5-6 version of him as an adult, so yeah. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

𓈒 ⎯ Bruce Wayne

Let’s be real here—Bruce is packing. Not just in the Batmobile but in his pants too. You knew Gotham’s favorite billionaire had to be compensating for all the emotional repression somehow, right? Soft, he’s a solid 4.5 inches, but when he’s hard? This man is pushing 7.8 inches, and girthy enough that the first time you see it, your eyes might widen just a little (and he notices). Bruce is so well-kept it’s almost infuriating—clean-shaven, smooth, with a slight curve upwards that hits places you didn’t even know existed. The veins? Immaculate. He looks like something out of a sinful art gallery. And oh, he’s so smug about it. The type to whisper in your ear, “You’re taking me so well,” while his cock stretches you open in the most delicious way. His stamina is next level—he doesn’t cum quickly, but when he does? It’s thick, warm, and comes in heavy spurts. Not too salty either, with a clean taste (you’re welcome). He’s also quietly obsessed with how you react to him—it feeds his ego.

𓈒 ⎯ Dick Grayson

Alright, ladies, let’s talk about Dick. The first Robin, the golden boy—of course, he’s a damn gift in the bedroom too. Soft, he’s a respectable 4 inches, but when he’s fully hard that’s 7.5 inches, sleek and just slightly slimmer than Bruce’s (he jokes about being “aerodynamic”). Dick’s cock curves upward just right, a natural curve that always hits your G-spot perfectly, and his veins are prominent enough that you feel every ridge as he moves inside you. He’s smooth down there, neatly trimmed, and he has a little beauty mark just above his shaft (you discovered it while going down on him one day, and now you can’t stop kissing it). His tip is super sensitive—run your tongue along it, and he’s putty in your hands. And when Dick cums? It’s a lot. Like, a lot. He’s a messy boy—warm, thick, and he always gasps your name when he finishes, pressing his forehead to yours like it’s the most intimate thing in the world.

𓈒 ⎯ Jason Todd

Jason’s cock matches his vibe: thick, heavy, and absolutely commanding. Soft? This man is 5 inches, and when he’s hard? He’s a beast at 8.5 inches with a girth that’ll make you question if you can handle it (spoiler: you’ll love it). He’s got a slight downward curve, which hits your walls just right when he’s thrusting deep. And god, the veins. Jason’s dick looks like it was carved by a lustful Greek god—thick, prominent veins that press against every inch of you in the most obscene way. He’s not as neatly trimmed as Bruce or Dick—just enough to stay presentable, but it’s Jason, so you’d expect a bit of ruggedness. His tip is flushed and sensitive, and when you wrap your lips around him, he curses low and filthy under his breath. Jason cums hard—his orgasms are so intense that he growls through them, his whole body trembling as he empties himself inside you. His cum is hot, thick, and just slightly salty, like he’s been drinking too much coffee (which, let’s be real, he has).

𓈒 ⎯ Damian Wayne

Listen, Damian might be the youngest of the bunch, but don’t underestimate him. His cock is a masterpiece. Soft, he’s around 4.2 inches, and when he’s hard? A respectable 7 inches—not as long as Jason or Bruce, but he’s thicker than Dick. Damian is proud of what he’s got, too, the type to smirk and tease you about how flustered you get every time he pulls it out. His tip is a little darker than the rest of his shaft, and the veins are subtle but enough to feel every time he slides into you. He’s meticulous about grooming, of course—everything is perfectly trimmed, and he smells so damn good it drives you wild. When Damian cums, it’s deliberate and controlled—he’s not the type to lose himself completely, but that just makes it hotter. His release is warm, thick, and there’s always a smug smirk on his face when he watches you struggle to catch your breath afterward. He’s the type to kiss you deeply and whisper, “You can take more, can’t you?” because he loves pushing your limits.

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

#🕊️. dc comics #ㅤㅤ⠀ㅤ 𓇼ㅤ ㅤ𓂂ㅤㅤ ˚ㅤㅤ ◌ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏#bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne smut #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x reader

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thewitchblue · 3 days ago

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"Get your hands off that, Richard John Grayson!"

You stole your potion back while swatting his curious hand away. You sternly say,

"This will liquefy your bones. What if you tripped?"

You were about to continue your worried rant, but Dick cringed at the words liquefied bones. You decided he's had enough of a punishment. He'll forever be cursed with the knowledge you can liquefy bones.

You sighed. You had not anticipated Tim's siblings to be so... grabby, so to speak. They don't leave anything magical alone. Jason has been caught reading a "spell book" (he didn't know it was a baking book with cute Halloween themed baked goods, but you kept that knowledge between the two of you), Dick has tampered with your potions, Damian had read all your dark witchcraft books, even Cass has meddled by touching your hex powder. Tim is the only good one, as expected.

"Can't you leave my potions alone? Do you not remember what happened last time? You had to live with backwards joints for a week while I made a remedy."

Dick rubbed his elbows subconsciously. How could he forget? He had to learn how to fight like a contortionist instead of an acrobat.

You sighed. The wedding is in a couple of hours, but you've been running everywhere trying to control Bruce's borderline feral children for months now.

"Tt. Remember when Todd tripped and became a pile of glitter?"

You frowned at Damian. Jason has been a lot better since then. He's still covered in glitter six months later. You noticed an empty beaker to Damian's left and immediately asked in a warning tone,

"Damian, what did you drink?"

He was holding his hands behind his back too innocently. You narrowed your eyes at him. He retained his innocent act by saying,

"Nothing. Why do you ask, ummi?"

You raised your eyebrows at him. Yeah, right. His legs are starting to fuse together.

"I don't know, maybe because your legs are turning reptilian."

Damian, now caught, began to beg,

"Ummi, help me. I don't want to miss the wedding."

You almost laughed as you walked to your bookcase and pulled out the right spell book. You looked at Damian and then at his now merged legs. You grimaced as you said,

"Anguis mutationem."

Damian hissed in pain as his legs split in two again. You winced. The bones had fused then. They were cracked in half like a christmas cracker. You said sternly,

"Nobody is allowed in the magic room until they can prove they can be responsible."

You ushered them all out of the room as you put up spells. Nobody is allowed in except Jason and Tim, as they are the only two to respect magic. Not even Bruce is allowed in.

Once satisfied with your wards and spells, you left the room. You need to get ready with your girls.

You had no idea why Bruce insisted on a normal wedding, but you humoured him. You allowed the girls to fuss over you like the wedding means something more than a lavish party. You left Bruce to do all the planning, who then left it all to Alfred, who handed it right back to Bruce with a fatherly glare, so then Bruce pawned it off to the girls, who then pawned it off to Dick because he's the oldest. Steph said with a grin,

"You're so beautiful."

You sighed. You look like a swan, in your opinion. You told Tim to order you whatever because you didn't care. In your eyes, you and Bruce are already married, so why bother with a wedding? You both signed the contract to merge your souls together.

Maybe that is why you don't care. Bruce's soul is moody and broods more than speaks. Like a broody hen trying to awkwardly engulf your own soul in the weirdest hug ever. His very essence was nestled alongside yours.

Tim also didn't care. He knew getting you to care about the wedding would be like giving a feral cat a bath: it just won't happen. You cared for Bruce, deeply at that, but you can't care about silly traditions like weddings.

"Can I at least set up runes to keep out criminals?"

You had asked Bruce the night prior. He countered with raised eyebrows,

"You can do that?"

You nodded like that wasn't a game changer for Gotham as a whole. Maybe you could reverse some of the curses on Gotham.

"Yeah, of course. Runes are picky when it comes to interpreting what does and doesn't count, but I can easily do that."

Tim wanted to help, to your delight. He made sure all the runes were correct as you set them down. He was even double-checking the designs in the book to you and reading the runes as you placed them. You taught him basic witchcraft as a kid, but he shined when it came to runes. It's like learning a language, and you helped him become fluent.

Within the hour, you had placed a long list of runes all over where the guests will be and around the alter currently set up.

Now you're here in all your swan glory. Everybody already walked down the aisle, but you, and suddenly you were anxious. Your runes covered everything, and your wards protected every innocent bystander from harms way. Why were you nervous?

"Are you well, my dear?"

Alfred asked at your side. You weren't, but you nodded. You hesitated but slowly walked down the aisle.

You acted almost as if you were trying to approach a cornered animal with every tentative step forward.

The entire family looked wonderful together, despite none of them looking uniformed. Nothing looked like it matched, but you loved the chaos of everything.

If you didn't know better, you'd think the wedding was circus themed with all the bright saturated colours and the cake Dick insisted on designing after Jason baked the tiers.

Jason, at the time, sighed heavily but allowed it and immediately regretted the decision when the clown sprinkles came out from behind Dick's back. Dick thought he did a pretty good job, but Jason winced when he saw it. Bruce would have been furious if it hadn't surprisingly fit.

Damian set up the decorations, and it showed. Everything was set up in a way that nothing could be used as a weapon, and there was nowhere to hide. When questioned by Bruce about the odd arrangement, Damian had said he would be the only weapon allowed. Bruce didn't bother questioning him further.

Bruce's colleagues showed up to the wedding in civilian clothes as well. Clark and Diana were ecstatic to see Bruce find love despite his loner nature.

Oliver was surprised Bruce would ever marry someone, especially a civilian. What else is the Bat hiding from him? That you're a witch? Ha! Bruce hates magic. He would never date, let alone marry a witch.

Diana fell in love with you immediately and told Bruce to marry you before she does. Bruce, evidently, took that as a threat and married you magically that night.

Martian Manhunter is the only one who knows about your witch background, and that's solely because he accidentally read your mind when he met you. He knew Bruce had the tendency to chase after women who were generally unobtainable, so it was unsurprising to him.

Hal was the last to know about a wedding happening. He has no idea Bruce was even in a relationship. Who is crazy enough to marry Batman? The stoic Batman revealed nothing.

Clark was the one to let it slip, and Bruce gave him the silent treatment for weeks. Bruce even hid his heartbeat from Clark, which caused a panicked Superman to go on a hunt for the stealthy Knight. How does he do that? WHY does he do that? He knows Clark will panic. He knows Clark likes listening to his heartbeat to make sure he's alive and relatively safe.

"The League can leave my relationship alone."

Bruce had grumbled as they pestered him. He was reluctant to invite them to the wedding at all. He had hoped they would leave him alone, and Diana would stop threatening him if he brought you to the watch tower. He was wrong. He was forced into inviting them all. With a combination of Tim and the League pestering him to marry you, he conceded to pushing the wedding along faster than he would have liked.

Tim was about to cry when he saw you walking down the aisle. You are his mother, and he was so happy to see you permanently join the family.

You smiled fondly at your family. You raised Tim, but you felt like you became their mum, too. Who knew you'd become a mother of eight?

#batmom #bruce wayne x reader #fem!reader #batfam x reader #witch reader

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thebigbadbatswife · 2 days ago

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Morning Glory

Pairing - Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Summary - It’s the morning after you and Bruce confessed your love for one another and there’s only one thing on his mind.

Warnings - 18+ ONLY. Established Relationship, Age Gap, Older Man/Younger Woman, Explicit Sexual Content, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Multiple Orgasms, Morning Sex, Fluff, Bruce's POV

A/N - Part of the same 'verse as Sippin' on Sunshine but both fics are complete standalones from each other so you don't have to read that one first.

Word Count - 2.7k

When Bruce wakes up, he finds you already wide awake. You’re sitting up in bed, scrolling through your phone like he might read the newspaper at the kitchen table. He lays there for a moment, simply admiring your sleepy, dishevelled state. You’ll resist him if he ever says it outloud, insisting that you don’t because how can you when your hair is a mess and you have no makeup on, but he thinks you look absolutely radiant.

“We made the front page again,” you tell him. Not even bothering to look up from the screen in front of you.

He sighs as he rolls onto his back and stretches, which is followed by a series of loud cracks and pops from his back and joints. It’s just another reminder of his age and all of the damage he’s done to his body over the years. As he shifts in the bed to sit up, he becomes aware of how tight his pyjama pants feel.

“What did we do this time?” he asks, settling his back against the headboard. You hand him your phone so that he can see the article. It’s a picture of the two of you from late last night. You’re straddling his lap in the car and kissing him. It’s right after you told him that you loved him for the first time. His brow furrows. Even in the middle of the night, where the streets are devoid of life, neither of you can get any privacy outside of him locking you away in a bedroom.

The headline reads: “Way more than a PR stunt.” As soon as he sees the writer, he relaxes a little. Lois Lane. Though he knows he can trust her, he still skims through the article to see what she’s written. The entire article is written in defence of your relationship and even goes as far to debunk some of the things other articles have said. He’s going to have to send her a gift basket. A big one at that.

“At least it’s the Daily Planet and not the Gazette,” he says.

“Oh no, they posted an article as well,” you reply.

Bruce huffs. “Let me guess, Vicki?”

“No, it was Ryder this time.”

He huffs again. “Of course it was,” he mutters. He’s really starting to get sick and tired of all of them.

He sets your phone down onto the nightstand, switching it to silent and placing it screen down. Before you can ask him what he’s doing, in one fluid movement, he’s dragging you down the bed and pinning you to it, fingers entwinning with yours as he holds your hands above your head.

“I’ll call my lawyers later. For now though, I have something else on my mind.”

Bruce rolls his hips, letting you feel his morning wood press up against you. You gasp as your hips buck, creating friction that has his breath stuttering. Apparently he’s not the only one who’s woken up with a problem that needs addressing.

“Last night you were fretting about your age, yet here you are. Ready to ravage me and you’ve barely been awake five minutes,” you laugh softly.

Bruce hums as he nuzzles his face against you, just under your jaw before starting to press soft kisses to your neck. “How can I resist when I’m waking up to such a beautiful woman?”

He pulls away and you look at him like you don’t quite believe him. Before you can try and argue against him, he’s pressing his lips against yours. Any protest of his compliment dies on your tongue as you moan into the kiss. As you two kiss, you hook one of your legs over his hip and pull him more flush against you, grinding your groin against his.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans, his cock twitching in his pyjama pants.

“I’m hoping we will,” you reply, breathlessly.

“Oh, we’re not leaving this room today.”

He untwines his fingers from yours so that he can pull your shirt off. In reality it’s actually one of his shirts, but you love to steal them from him and he’s not complaining. You look damn good in his clothes, though you look even better with nothing, but some expensive jewellery on. He chucks it to the side, not caring where it falls, and his head ducks down and his mouth is already closing around one of your nipples. He swirls his tongue around the hardened bud before gently tugging on it with his teeth. The action has you gasping as your fingers run through his hair, gently scratching his scalp. He groans again, enjoying the feeling of your nails.

He litters your chest with lovebites before repeating his actions with your other breast. You won’t be wearing anything super revealing for a while. Or maybe you still will. Show off to the world who you belong to. If he ever lets you out of this bed ever again.

Bruce loves the way that you respond to him. Back arching into his touch, fingers buried in his hair, tugging ever so slightly as the softest gasps and moans leave you. Those sweet noises of yours will only grow with his head buried between your legs. That thought has him releasing your nipple and trailing kisses down your body.

When he reaches you underwear, he smiles. The growing, dark, wet patch on the crotch evidence of how aroused you are. He inhales your scent deeply before licking a bold stripe against your clothed cunt. The taste of you soaked into the fabric has his cock throbbing with the need to be buried deep inside of you.

Ignoring your protests, he rips your underwear off of you and discards the ruined material somewhere off to the side. You get over the ruined garment pretty quickly, spreading your legs wider and showing off your glistening pussy. Bruce swallows thickly, his adam’s apple bobbing. He settles between your legs, hands coming up to hold your hips, getting ready to dive in and devour you. He’ll have you screaming his name in no time.

A knock at the door stops him right before his mouth comes into contact with you. Irritation flares through him and glares over his shoulder, at the door. At least, whoever it is, has the decency to knock and wait.

“What is it?” he calls, his voice sharp as he refuses to hide his irritation at being interrupted.

“Mr Kent is here. He says it’s important,” Alfred’s voice calls through the door. “And I’m afraid he isn’t going to take no for an answer.”

Bruce sighs. He’s been ignoring every text and call from him all weekend so he could be with– he had promised no interruptions– so he probably should have expected this. Still, if it’s not his public persona ruining things, it’s his mask. Sitting up, you cup his face and bring him close to you, your lips just barely brushing against his own.

“Ten minutes?” you ask.

It’s not the morning, or day, he imagined the two of you having, but it’s better than leaving you both wound up all day. He’s still going to be making it up to you later though and he already has plenty of ideas on how.

“I’ll be down in fifteen,” he calls back.

“Of course, sir. I’ll let him know.”

As Alfred’s steps retreat and eventually fade into nothing, Bruce pins you to the bed again. As he kisses you, you’re shifting beneath him. Your legs coming up to either side of his hips and your toes hooking into the waistband of his pyjamas so that you can shove them down. Finally freeing his cock from its clothed prison. He helps you get rid of them the rest of the way and then he’s spreading your legs further. He grips the base of his cock and rubs the head through your folds, coating himself in your slick. Even going as far as to tease your clit which has you sharply inhaling. Then he’s burying himself inside of you, right down to the hilt in a single thrust. The moan that leaves you is loud. Loud enough that Bruce is sure that it could be heard from well beyond the confines of the bedroom, even without super hearing.

It takes everything within him not to immediately start moving. His mind focused on giving you the time you need to adjust to his size. No matter how many times you take him, he’s still a lot for you and the last thing he wants to do is hurt you. You have other ideas though. You’re too impatient to wait for him this morning so you roll your hips, doing your best to fuck yourself on his cock. It makes holding himself back almost impossible.

“Brucie, please move,” you whine softly. Slowly getting frustrated with his lack of movement.

You always ask him so sweetly. Even without a time limit, how could he ever refuse you? The pace he sets to start with is a slow one. Dragging his cock along the inside of your sensitive walls, relishing in the way they flutter around him as a now quiet moan leaves your parted lips. That moan grows a little louder when he pushes back in.

His pace grows a little bit each time that he pushes back in. Low groans leaving him, matching your moans. Your hot, wet cunt feels amazing wrapped around him, turning his brain to mush. Not enough though that he’s completely lost himself in the feeling of you. Well, not yet anyway. Give it some time and he’s sure he will.

Soon enough the sounds of skin against skin fill the room, alongside the squelching of your pussy every time he roughly thrusts back inside, growing louder and louder. You mewl beneath him, your cunt squeezing him tighter than before, drawing deep, throaty groans from him, desperately trying to stop him from leaving your warmth. With the way that you’re gripping him like a vice, he knows that he’s not going to last much longer.

“Fuck,” Bruce growls. He pulls away so he can hike your legs up onto his shoulders. The new angle has your eyes rolling into the back of your head as his cock reaches impossible deeper inside of you; turning you into a babbling mess.

He knows that you’re getting close to coming undone. After all, he knows your body like the back of his hand and he can see, and feel, all the telltale signs. The stuttering of your breathing, the tensing of your muscles, the way that your pussy squeezes him more and more, making it harder for him to pull out each time. All you need now is a little push over the edge that you’re teetering on. His thumb presses against your puffy clit, doing his best to rub it in time with his thrusts.

His name leaves you in a sob as your body clamps down on him, your cunt gushing around his cock as your orgasm soaks the sheets beneath you. The sight awakens something inside of him. Something almost primal. His pace slows only for a moment as his eyes become glued to your pussy, taking in the sight of your how your lower lips now glisten with your squirt.

That moment ends as quickly as it started. As soon as his eyes break away from your pussy and come up to see the half lidded, fucked out expression on your face, he snaps out of his trance. His pace comes back tenfold, starting to fuck you harder and deeper than you would have thought possible. Not even giving you a chance to recover from your first orgasm as he has you headed straight toward the next one.

You’re a ball of oversensitivity, your back arching off of the bed and tears spilling from your eyes as you mewl his name. Whilst Bruce knows that he is completely and utterly pussydrunk. He’s known it for a while, how deep he is under your spell. His pace has completely lost whatever rhythm it once had. Uncoordinated and sloppy as he ruts into you, his cock growing harder and his balls getting tighter, ready to fill you to the brim.

He has half a mind to stay right here. Ignore Clark and spend the day doing what he had intended to begin with. Which involves him staying buried inside of you, keeping you stuffed with his cock and cum. If the previous weekend is anything to go by, it’s certainly something that you would not only enjoy, but deep down crave. Honestly, he craves it as well.

His thumb stays pressed against your clit as he moves forward, almost folding you in half, so that he can kiss you. The kiss is supposed to be passionate, but ends up being sloppy and messy. It’s all tongue and teeth, but both of you are too far gone to actually care.

Your orgasm takes you both by surprise. Your moans are swallowed by Bruce as the feeling of your cunt clenching around his cock, doing it’s best to milk him of every drop he has to offer, sends him over the edge with you. His own moan is deep and guttural as he keeps thrusting, pushing his cum deeper inside of you, like he’s trying to make sure it takes.

Just as it starts to become painful for him, Bruce slumps against you, letting your legs fall off of his shoulders and back down by his side; his head coming to rest against your chest. The only sound now in the bedroom is yours and Bruce’s heavy breathing as you both come down from your highs.

You run your fingers through his hair as he presses soft kisses down the valley of your breasts and underneath them. He sighs softly, enjoying the feeling of your nails gently scratching his scalp.

Slowly, and gently, he pulls out of you and rolls off of your body, to lay down by your side. Bruce’s fingers entwin with your own once more and he brings your hand up to his mouth so that he can press a kiss to the back of it.

His reluctance to leave has you giggling. The sound brings a smile to his face. He is being rather childish in the way that he’s dragging this out. Acting like he might never see you again once he leaves this room. Which, honestly, could be true depending on what Clark has come here to discuss. He shoves the thought away, deciding he doesn’t want to think about that right now.

“I’ll still be here when you get back,” you tell him. You free your hand from his grasp so that you can roll onto your front. Draping a leg over his body, you lean up to kiss him. It’s gentle and sweet, just like you are. When you pull away, he chases after your lips, which has you giggling again.

“Go and save the world and when you come back–” you move forward more and press your lips to his ear– “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Bruce chuckles as his hand comes down to playfully swat you ass. You gasp and playfully hit his chest. It only encourages him as he gives your ass a squeeze as he rubs his nose against your own.

“You should be careful making such promises, princess,” he says, his voice low. “It might come back to bite you.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you reply cheekily.

Bruce hums as he makes a move to kiss you again. In that exact moment there is a series of knocks at the bedroom door. These ones are louder and rougher. If they were a little bit harder they might forcibly remove the door from its hinges. He grumbles as you pull away and move off of him.

“You should probably go before your friend breaks the door down.”

“If he does that he can pay for it,” Bruce mutters, glaring at the door. He turns his attention back to you. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

He’s already running through the different ways that he can do that in his head. At the top of the list is another getaway, but perhaps for a week instead of just a weekend. He just needs to find someone to look after the city while he’s gone.

#bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #batman x fem!reader #bruce wayne x you #batman x you #age gap verse #dc x reader #fem!reader #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #dc x you #bruce wayne smut #batman smut

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koilikesthefishy · 3 days ago

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Oh my goodness the Tim's part was sooooooo cute!!!! Sending a lot of kisses for you darlin 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

attractive things they do while you're dating

pairing: batboys (plus clark lol) & reader ❀ׄ ꥈ

𓍢ִ໋☕ cassidy's note: for funsies. not edited. i love reading variations of these. i haven't written since 2020. if you can like this, reblog too.

bruce 🦇ᡣ𐭩˚.

navigating paparazzi: the careful way he guides you to block the flaring flashes from cameras with his broad shoulders.

bruce wraps his fingers to pull on your waist, tugging you further behind him, ensuring no shots of you are taken on what was meant to be a private night out.

despite the urgency of the situation--his face still stays controlled and imperturbable, but his grip is firm to reassure you, as he leans down and mumbles in your ear, "just a bit farther, the car's close," before his voice cuts through the cries and shutters lowly: "we're done here."

listens intently, and remembers every single detail about you, despite whether you think it's significant or not for him to know.

bruce stores your favorite shampoo and conditioner in his bathroom when you stay the night over.

and when you're sitting on the edge of his sink, removing his makeup from under his eyes, you notice it sitting amongst his own body-wash and pine scented soap.

but when you ask him about it, he simply shrugs and waves it off.

dick 🏙ɞ♥️*

teaches you self defense: his hands gently curl over yours to demonstrate how they should look before you throw a punch.

his touch is light, "keep your thumb on the outside", dick's finger taps the inside of your palm, "if you keep it inside, you'll break it--not fun."

he whistles when you hit him solidly in the side with a wide grin, despite the force of your blow, "better."

insists on helping you put on all your jewellery and shoes.

he turns you around, and pulls your hair to one side of your neck, before fiddling with the clasp. he's clumsy at first, but eventually gets the hang of it the more he does it. his hands linger on the slope of your neck for a moment longer than necessary.

later, as you reach for your shoes, he beats you to it, kneeling in front of you. dick's motions are all exaggerated as he does it.

your hand cards through his hair when he's looking up through his lashes after he's fastened the straps, and kissing the inside of your calf slowly.

jason ❤️‍🩹⋆｡

reads on public transportation: jason pulls out a beat up paperback he picked up from a secondhand bookstore from his back pocket. it has dog eared pages and a weathered spine.

there's a baby crying on the train, but he doesn't seem to notice as he flicks a ringed finger to the page he last read.

he pulls a pencil from his jacket pocket, and traces a line in a passage--a part he thinks you'd like. when he leans forward, his shirt rides up a bit so a strip of his skin is visible to you.

doesn't wipe your lipgloss from his cheek.

the shimmer from it stains his cheek after you pressed a kiss to it. you go to wipe it with a laugh, reaching with your thumb, and jason catches it mid-air. "you've got glitter on your face jay, people are gonna-"

"next time, wear red."

tim 🪽❥˚

gnaws at his lip as he concentrates.

the hum of the keys click in the batcave and papers rustle. tim's focus is sharp as he attempts piecing together his newest case, and his teeth catch in his bottom lip. an unconscious habit.

you can't help but tease him about it, "that's a terrible habit to have, you know that?" you lean against his desk."it helps me think."

sure enough, he does it again. "you're gonna chew your lip off your face one day." his lips curve upwards at your observation, but your gaze was now intense as you observed his lip in his teeth, and before you can state another snarky remark, he shoots you a knowing look before pulling your belt loops, and kissing you.

wears your hair tie on his wrist. it was never really ever a big deal. one day you handed it to him while getting ready for bed one night as you pulled out your ponytail and he snapped it onto his wrist without much thought. now, it's routine. it doesn't matter where he is exactly, if tim's at a gala or in a meeting or out in gotham on patrol, the hair tie is around his wrist.

you heard him cursing from the other room when he misplaced it once.

clark 🌟.*☆

saves you a seat, always: whether it's evenings in or out, clark always makes you feel like you're the most important person there.

it's not something that's said but understood, as he pulls the chair next to him, letting it be out long enough for you to get comfortable, before gently scooting it inwards.

when you eat, and when he thinks you're not looking--clark will adjust your plate, and glace over at your water glass to make sure it is filled. and if you want extra bread, don't even worry because he kept an extra piece on his plate for you.

pushing his glasses up. there's something kinda charming about the way he does it that you wish you could explain it better. it's absentminded, he does it a lot!

when he's looking over articles or reading or just talking to you. in the elevator, he'll lean forward to look over the numbered floors, and they won't stay in place, sliding down the bridge of his nose. you don't say anything, but smile slightly, and he'll return it goofily and with more teeth, before he asks, "what?"

tags: @retvenkos

#bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #redhood x reader #tim drake x reader #clark kent x reader #superman x reader #dc x reader #i need tim drake #me too honey #red robin x reader #dc imagine

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jscrawls · 3 days ago

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Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a slight twist, reader doesn't know the Bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, mentions of death, hospitals, poor writing, possible ooc,

Chapter 3: An apple a day..

You're frustrated, your limbs shake and you struggle to even hold a plastic spoon without dropping it, you've been injured and bed bound countless times sure, but this feels like the most helpless you've ever been. You feel like a toddler, limbs weak and twitching and the medicine they've got you on doesn't help at all, nausea and brain fog feel like close friends at this point. Every time the door to your room opens you wonder if it's gonna be your teammates, telling you this was all a misunderstanding, you'd almost accept a sick prank if it meant you weren't going insane in this tiny linoleum floored room by your lonesome.

The staff's not very careful with their medical equipment, you note. Even with your shaky hands you've managed to snag a syringe and a bit of tubing and hidden it under your mattress, it's hardly anything, but a weapons a weapon. it gives you a tiny piece of confidence in this situation, maybe you'll be able to take someone out if worse comes to worse.

🔹🔹🔹

The doctor's back, Doing his final sweep before his shifts over according to him, you don't trust has word though since you've heard the nurses complaining about doing too much per shift. Why is he focused on you? At the moment he's prepping another dose of Thiamine across the room, the though of him injecting anything into your IV sets you on edge in the worst of ways, but you force yourself to smile at him and look relaxed, your fists clench underneath the blanket to stop yourself from going for the syringe when he approaches. He's too cheery, too comfortable in your presence, even your co-workers aren't so calm with you, stark doesn't turn his back to you, rogers watches you too often, that's your normal, compared to the situation you're in now you’d take it over this borderline creepy behavior.

“Your scans are already looking better, mx Wayne. When you were first brought in I wasn't sure what to expect but your recovery is looking perfect at this stage.” the doctor remarks casually, disposing of the syringe after dosing you.

You sharply glance over, what did you look like when you first came in? Something related to the fall? “What caused my injuries?”

He opens his mouth to answer, looking at you with a serious expression on his face when something loud bangs outside the door -

“Wait you have to sign in!” You hear out in the rest of the facility, one of the nurses sounding frantic. Your heart rate jumps and your hand curls around the syringe just as the door to your room slams open. It's the mystery husband Mr Wayne.

His suit is slightly rumpled, dark circles under his eyes and hair unkempt like he'd ran his hand through it, a far cry from the polished man in the photo you were shown. The way he looks at you makes your skin crawl. there's too much raw emotion there, too much familiarity that you don't share. You keep your face carefully neutral as he approaches, your fingers twitching around the syringe beneath the thin hospital blanket.

“God, look at you…”

He doesn't hesitate to cup your face as soon as he reaches you, he breathes your name with such aching reverence and familiarity you'd think it was a prayer. eyes searching yours as his thumbs tenderly rub against your cool cheeks, it takes a surprising amount of restraint to hold still, let the man examine you like a chipped teacup. He let's out a shaky breath and his whole body just…sags, you don't like the way he subconsciously leans in, it's too real, the body language too genuine. You're tense enough to hurt.

“Mr Wayne, if I could have a moment.” The doctor speaks hesitantly from nearby, pulling attention to him and the hands pull from your face. You resist a sigh of relief as the stranger pulls back, your hand slowly releasing the syringe and tucking it back under the thin mattress.

Wayne straightens up, a just too thin smile stretches his face and he puts his right hand in his pocket, interesting, hiding irritation? You analyze every inch of him as soon as he looks away, you need more information then you have, Your hands clench under the blankets in veiled frustration.

Their conversation is hushed, no doubt you're the main topic of discussion, their body language is mixed, “Mr Wayne” shows agitation, shifting weight, tense hands in his pockets, head keeps turning to glance at you. The doctor is deferring to him, head slightly lowered and palms up as he speaks, Who is this Wayne man?

After hearing words like “amnesia” and “head trauma” a few times you realize he wasn't informed by the doctors, unless this is all an act for you. Trying to convince you of what though? You don't know what they're playing at yet but you're going to find out, it's what you're best at after all.

The man returns to your bedside and carefully sits, thankfully keeping his hands to himself this time as he examines you, you've got things to figure out so you put on an expression of lost, body language conveying uncertainty and tiredness you don't have to fake that part though.

“nice to meet my partner,” you give an uncertain smile, voice drained and small, you're carefully watching him and he seems to be eating it up

“It's…nice to see you, meet you…. I'm - how are you feeling?”

You smile cluelessly at him, though internally you're cringing at the syrupy awkwardness dripping from his lips. He's attached to you and you don't know anything about him.

“tired, nauseous.” You pull the appropriate expression at that. “I'm…. Confused, I don't even know…anything. How old i am, what city I live in. We're married?” You look at him dazedly, fishing for information as you twist in your hospital bed to face him better.

“Yeah, yeah we're married…we have a family, pets, vacation home in Barcelona. Do you remember any of the kids?” He sounds like he's choking on the words, his voice catching a he studies you. His eyes darting to the side of your head from time to time.

“no, kids plural?” Your brows raise, Rugrats, you? No fucking way.

“Yeah, a lot of kids…” he shakily pulls his phone out, his lock screen is a picture of the two of you, what the hell? He starts showing you pictures of the kids and telling you their names. None of them look like you, you question him about that and he chuckles quietly to himself.

“Well, they're not mine either for your information. Except for Damian that is, he's mine…. Happened before we were married.” He elaborates quickly, clearly thinking you'd get upset. “We're adoptees.”

You're silent as you take in all that information, white picket fence marriage with a gaggle of adopted children? What is this a Hallmark movie? Sickening. You lay your head against the pillow and gesture towards him when you notice his eyes on you, asking to look through the phone like you're interested in seeing the kids. You're good at acting at the very least.

🔹🔹🔹

After Bruce was kicked out of the hospital he makes a call and slowly trudged through the halls and doors until he found himself in the parking garage climbing into his car. He plugs his phone in and calls Alfred while he starts to pull out of the hospital parking.

“Master Bruce, how was it? Were they coherent? I heard they were…”

The older man's voice echoes from the dash after the Bluetooth connects, he sounds professional as always but Bruce can tell he's hesitant.

“They're amnesiac, yeah. They don't know who they are, who I am.” Bruce's hands clench around the steering wheel.

“I…I am sorry to hear that, my boy. I had hoped that the information was a fluke…” even without seeing him Bruce can tell the older man's disappointed, he can almost picture him slumping against a counter or wall.

“Alfred they're��” his voice trails, sounding offput.

“Yes?” Alfred's voice perks up again, no doubt hoping for something better to discuss.

“…they were studying me, not like they were confused. Alfred, no they were reading me.” Bruce's eyes remain in the road even though he's alone in the car.

🔹🔹🔹

A/n: hope the dialogue isn't too cringe, I'm new at this! Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter regardless ☺️

Taglist: @cxcilla @redsakura101 @mercuryathens @dind1n

#dc x y/n #dc x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #batman fanfiction #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #black widow reader

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hoodzgyal · 2 days ago

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brat breaker bruce x his young ass girlfriend

yummy.

hey i’m going to have a seizure actually

yea so his young gf has such a potty mouth!!!!! one of his rules is no excessive cursing, as the two of you have an image to maintain, but ofc gf struggles with it, because college girls have some of the most vulgar vocabularies i’ve ever heard.

anyways he’ll have you bent over his knee for breaking another one of his rules if he’s feeling nice. it’s not a pretty sight if he’s feeling mean though.

#— evie speaks #— evie’s boytoys !#im twitching #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne smut #edging torture i think.

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 3 days ago

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Maybe she yanks the cowl off in the middle of an alley and splutters, "What the fuck?" and then jams it back on when she hears someone incoming

but that someone incoming is just a stray cat

Bruce Wayne dating an ER doctor tho

- They meet at a Wayne Enterpise gala, where she's the guest of honor, speaking about her experience as a recipient of the Thomas Wayne Scholarship (which put her through medical school)

- Bruce being absolutely fascinated once he's able to speak with her personally, hanging on her every word

- The party basically closing down around them until they're two of the last people in the penthouse, besides the clean-up crew

- Bruce getting her number, trying to make plans a time or two, but her schedule is nuts, and evenings are weird for both of them

- For very, very different reasons, of course

- So Bruce turns up at the ER during one of her shifts, complaining about elbow pain (the lamest, non-life threatening excuse he could think of)

- (He says he whacked it when he was spelunking)

- Cue one very flirty assessment that leads to Bruce insisting on buying you a cup of coffee as thanks for checking him out

- The two finally get around to getting dinner and are both so utterly enamored

- (And you just know that when she does eventually find out that he's Batman, those late-night patch-up situations are special)

#who she adopts btw #Bruce Wayne x Reader

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batmanlovesnirvana · 1 day ago

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“ENTWINED DECEIT, FRIGID DEMISE”

BRUCE WAYNE X FEM!READER

synopsis : You were meant to be just a mission for Bruce, a source of intel he’d extract before disappearing without a trace. But feelings, unbidden and undeniable, wove their way in, and even death seemed to conspire against the plan.

authors note : Just a heads-up, this one’s tragic. English is not my first language. Lmk if you’d like a part two !!

YOU HAD GROWN accustomed to galas by now, but attending one with Bruce was a different world entirely — everything you expected and yet somehow always more.

The velvet-lined walls seemed to hum with opulence, the chandeliers scattering fractured light across the room like stars caught in crystal prisons. Champagne flutes clinked in a delicate symphony, accompanied by the low murmur of Gotham’s elite exchanging pleasantries.

It all felt like stepping into a dream, one you couldn’t quite convince yourself you belonged to.

Bruce always insisted otherwise, his voice steady and sure, telling you that you were perfect, that your presence made these events bearable.

You’d roll your eyes, brushing off his words with a playful comment about how flattery wouldn’t get him anywhere.

But he’d only smirk, lean in close enough to whisper something sultry in your ear, and seal it with a kiss against your cheek that left your heart stumbling over itself.

At your side, Bruce was the embodiment of effortless poise and commanding presence.

His tailored tuxedo fit him as though it were spun from threads of myth and shadow, something that might have been forged by Hephaestus himself. He carried an air of calm control that was magnetic, the kind of presence that could hold a room without ever demanding it.

His touches were subtle yet constant, an anchor tying you to his side— a hand resting on the small of your back, a gentle squeeze of your hand beneath the table, his shoulder brushing yours in fleeting reassurance.

He wasn’t one for public displays of affection, and you appreciated the way he reserved those quiet intimacies just for you.

It felt private, sacred, like a language spoken only between the two of you.

But the mask never slipped, not in the way that mattered. His expression was calm, his words perfectly measured. The cracks in his carefully constructed world remained hidden, buried beneath the charm and the tailored suit.

You didn’t know then what lay beneath the surface — the sorrow he carried, the secrets he kept.

Behind closed doors, Bruce Wayne showed his affection in ways that made your heart ache with confusion and longing.

He would cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away any remnants of the day’s exhaustion, as if he could smooth out the weight you carried. He’d draw you into his arms in the quiet moments, his embrace firm but never constricting, murmuring reassurances you didn’t realize you needed.

Sometimes, he’d simply sit beside you, his hand resting over yours, tracing idle circles with his thumb — like a silent declaration in a world that expected noise.

His gestures felt genuine, too genuine for someone as guarded as he was, and you began to wonder if there was a depth to him you’d yet to uncover.

And for better or worse, you found yourself falling in love with him.

It wasn’t just the things he said or did but the way he looked at you, like you were something rare and fragile, deserving of reverence.

That look made you feel seen in a way no one else had before, and you clung to the hope that it meant as much to him as it did to you. You wanted to believe it, but a quiet part of you hesitated, unsure of what lay beneath the surface of this man, this relationship.

You had met him in the polished, artificial glow of one of the galas he had organized for Gotham General Hospital. You were there as a nurse, one of many faces in the crowd, trying to blend into the background.

But Bruce had noticed you.

At first, it felt absurd.

Why would someone like him ( a man who could have the world if he asked for it ) single you out?

He flirted with effortless charm, the kind that seemed reflexive, as though it was as natural to him as breathing.

And you? You didn’t fall for it.

Not at first.

After all, this was Bruce Wayne; the billionaire playboy who flirted with anything in heels. You’d seen it on television, read about it in gossip columns. You knew better, so you played hard to get, guarding yourself against the inevitable letdown.

But Bruce was persistent.

He had a way of breaking through walls with his quiet sincerity and surprising humor.

Slowly, almost against your will, he worked his way into your life, into your heart.

You began to trust him, little by little, until one day you woke up and realized he had become your world.

And how you wished you hadn’t.

You came from a family you rarely spoke of — a family mired in secrets and cloaked in shadows, their truths too heavy to carry and too dangerous to confront. You had spent years untangling yourself from their web, building walls to keep their chaos at bay.

The distance wasn’t difficult to maintain; they had never cared enough to hold on to you in the first place. You had learned to be fine on your own.

Fine with the solitude.

Fine with building a life far away from the mess they left behind.

But now, Bruce had found a way into your carefully guarded life, and you couldn’t help but wonder if letting him in had been a mistake.

The love you thought you saw in his eyes — was it real, or just another mirage conjured by your own longing? Could he truly care for you, or were you merely another piece in a game you didn’t know you were playing?

When Bruce first met you, it wasn’t serendipity or fate.

It was a mission.

A calculated move, meticulously planned and executed for the Justice League.

This wasn’t the first time he’d walked this path—charming someone, gaining their trust, extracting the information he needed, and then walking away, his conscience carefully compartmentalized. It was a routine he knew too well, one that came with the mask he wore both in the field and in life.

But somewhere along the way, the mission began to blur.

This time, feelings had complicated everything. You were… everything he didn’t expect and everything he realized he wanted. With you, there was no endless ticking, no constant countdown to the inevitable end like there had been in every other relationship he’d had. There was calm — steady, grounding, like the kind of peace he hadn’t dared to believe he could ever find. And he liked it. No, he liked you.

Perhaps more than that.

Bruce had never been one to believe in easy things like love, but now, he wasn’t so sure.

He might even… love you. Not that he’d ever dare to say it out loud.

The thought of losing you, of you leaving him once you found out the truth — was a fear that settled deep, a sharp ache he couldn’t ignore.

A year and a half had passed, and in that time, you’d become something no one else ever had. His longest relationship, his quiet anchor, the part of his life that felt both foreign and essential.

People had started to speculate.

Rumors about an engagement swirled, whispers that Bruce Wayne — the elusive bachelor — might actually settle down.

He couldn’t deny he’d thought about it.

Late at night, he’d sit in the dim light of the manor, his mother’s ring in hand, turning it over and over between his fingers. He imagined it on your hand and how perfect it would look.

But then the weight of the mission would crush the fantasy. The thought of you discovering the truth behind how this all began made his chest tighten painfully.

Losing you would be unbearable, a wound he wasn’t sure he could survive.

For once, Bruce allowed himself to be selfish. He wanted this — wanted you — and for the first time in his life, he didn’t care how wrong it might be. You made him happy. And he wanted that happiness to last.

He told himself he’d confess everything.

This week.

He’d sit you down and finally tell you everything, not just about the mission, but about how much you meant to him, how deeply he loved you. Those words had always felt impossible for him, too heavy, too vulnerable to speak aloud.

He’d never said them to anyone before, not to any of the fleeting relationships that had come and gone over the years.

None of them had ever held a candle to you.

None of them had ever made him feel this way — this terrified, this alive.

You already knew about his life as Batman; the boys had grown fond of you, and you’d fit seamlessly into his strange, chaotic family.

Seeing you with them filled him with a joy he hadn’t known he could feel, a joy that made him believe, even briefly, that everything might just work out.

If you forgave him — if you gave him a chance — he’d propose.

Simple as that.

He knew you were the one, like Orpheus and Eurydice, destined to be intertwined despite the shadows and trials of fate. Like the sun and the moon, pulled toward one another, unable to exist fully apart.

You were his anchor, the calm in his storm, the missing piece of his story he never knew he needed until you appeared.

He’d already spoken to Alfred, who, ever fond of you, had all but insisted Bruce follow through. The old butler was thrilled to see his master finally find a piece of happiness.

Yet every time Alfred gently reminded him of how this all began, that sharp, twisting guilt resurfaced, tightening around his heart like a vice.

God, he hoped you’d forgive him.

The idea that you might not ( that he could lose you ) was a pain he couldn’t bear to consider.

What would he do if you didn’t? He didn’t know.

And that terrified him more than anything he’d ever faced.

The evening had started with so much promise.

But here, in the heart of Gotham, beneath the gilded lights and the false smiles, the truth wasn’t so easily buried.

You were engaging in polite conversation with some donors for a cause that had always been close to your heart, children battling cancer.

It had been Bruce’s idea to dedicate the evening to this charity, a cause you held dear, and he had gone to great lengths to make it all happen. He’d chosen it specifically for you, recognizing how much it meant.

But you weren’t feeling yourself.

The exhaustion had become almost constant — fatigue that clung to you no matter how much you rested, a persistent need to pee, nausea that came in waves, and headaches that never seemed to ease.

It wasn’t until recently, when your period never came, that the weight of it all hit you.

Something was wrong, and you didn’t know if you were ready to face it.

You excused yourself from the conversation, the urge to use the bathroom pressing hard against you.

The elderly lady you were talking to, though, didn’t make it easy to leave. She smiled softly, leaning closer, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper.

“You know, I’ve never seen him like this,” she said, her eyes glimmering with a knowing that made your heart skip a beat.

You managed a laugh, though it was strained, your stomach doing somersaults as you tried to remain upright. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice betraying a hint of curiosity despite yourself.

She leaned in a little closer, like she was sharing a well-guarded secret. “Well, happy sweetheart,” she said, her tone light with amusement. “I’ve known him since he was just a boy. Always brooding, always stoic. You know, the usual Bruce Wayne charisma. And before you came along, he had a string of relationships that never quite worked out.” Her eyes flicked across the room, and you followed her gaze.

You saw Selina Kyle.

Bruce had mentioned her name before, but you didn’t know much about her. She was surrounded by a few men, laughing, effortlessly charming the crowd. You felt her gaze on you like a weight, but you pushed it aside, acting as if it didn’t bother you. Bruce had told you she would be here, after all.

The lady beside you continued, undeterred by the way your focus shifted. “But they were all toxic,” she said, lowering her voice even more. “Not a fit. Always something off about them.”

She glanced at Selina again, then back at you, her eyes narrowing knowingly. “But with you... it’s different.”

You raised an eyebrow, uncertain of what she was getting at. “What do you mean?” you asked, though you already had a sinking feeling you knew the direction she was heading.

She gave you a long look, almost like she was appraising you. “Well, you're certainly not from our class,” she said bluntly, her words sharp, but you could tell she wasn’t trying to insult you.

You cringed inwardly, but stayed silent, holding onto your composure. “But I can’t deny the way he seems more at ease around you. More him — if that makes sense.” She looked at you closely, her smile softening. “That’s a first.”

Your heart twisted at her words, a strange mixture of relief and unease stirring within you.

Bruce had always been a complicated man to understand — reserved, closed off in many ways — but this, what the woman had said, felt different.

You couldn’t tell if you were being swept up in some romantic fantasy or if there was truth to what she was saying.

All you knew was that you were standing on the edge of something fragile, something you weren’t sure you could trust, even though your heart wanted to believe it.

You cleared your throat, trying to sound casual, even though you could feel the weight of the conversation creeping up on you. The old lady, who smelled of intoxicating flowers, seemed pleased by your response.

"Thank you, I guess," you said with a polite smile, though you were already feeling the urge to leave. "I need to go freshen up, but we can continue this conversation later if you’d like."

She nodded, and you took the opportunity to slip away, heading toward Bruce.

You spotted him across the room, talking with a man, but the moment his eyes found you, his expression softened, and he smiled, just a little. Your heart gave a little skip in your chest as you returned the smile.

Bruce excused himself from the conversation and moved toward you, his hand reaching out for yours. You met him halfway, and when you arrived by his side, he immediately wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

"You okay?" he whispered, his voice low and warm.

You nodded, forcing a small smile. "Yes."

He didn't buy it, though, his brow furrowing as his hand gently cupped your cheek. "No, you're not. Headaches again? I told you we should've stayed at home."

You leaned into his touch, savoring the comfort it brought, then kissed the inside of his hand. "I told you, it’ll be fine. It's too important to miss."

He sighed, his lips pressing to your forehead for a brief moment before he spoke again, softer this time. "Look, just take care of yourself, okay?"

You nodded again. "I will. I’m just going to the powder room to freshen up for a bit."

"Alright," he said, his voice laced with concern, though his grip on your waist tightened slightly. "But don't make me wait. I want you by my side for the speech. And then, off we go. I want you all to myself tonight."

His words sent a thrill through you, but you slapped his chest playfully, teasing him before you turned to leave. "Don't get too ahead of yourself," you said with a wink, heading toward the bathroom.

You needed a moment, a breath, a quiet pause. Your feet ached from the heels, but it didn’t matter now. The rush in your chest was too loud to ignore.

The bathroom was still — like a sanctuary.

The marble walls provided the privacy you craved, and for a moment, you let the silence wash over you. You closed yourself in a stall, sitting with your head cradled between your hands, desperately trying to steady your shaking breath.

But then, the click of heels against the floor shattered the calm.

“Can you believe it?” Selina Kyle’s voice sliced through the air—sharp, deliberate.

You froze.

The last thing you wanted tonight was to face her. But there was no escaping this now.

“It’s just ridiculous,” another woman replied, her voice dripping with a mix of pity and mockery. “I mean, does she really think Bruce cares about her?”

Your heart stilled in your chest, and for a moment, you didn’t even breathe.

The words seemed to freeze the air around you.

“I’m still shocked he hasn’t cut her loose,” another added, voice thick with judgment. “I mean, he already got what he wanted, right?”

A chill ran through you, one that had nothing to do with the cold air around you.

You clutched the purse in your lap, the leather a cold reminder of the world outside this bathroom, but the panic inside you wouldn’t let go.

What were they talking about? What did they mean?

“Yeah,” Selina chuckled darkly. “He was never interested in her. He used her, just like he always does. From what I understand, The Justice League needed her for intel, and once they got what they wanted, he'd be done with her, right?” Her words dripped with a bitter kind of amusement, and both women hummed in agreement.

Your stomach twisted, the silence around you suddenly suffocating. It felt like the truth had just shattered your world in one sweeping blow.

But still, you refused to believe it.

"But I guess it’s fun for him, too." Selina’s voice softened, as if savoring the cruelty of it all. "You should’ve seen him with me, though. He was all about the role — refused to kiss me, refused to even sleep with me. Can you believe that? It’s almost like he was trying so hard to keep it professional, but now I’m hearing he might actually do something with me."

"He's very committed," one of her friend remarked, casually applying some lip gloss.

“Watching her cling to him like he actually cares. It’s embarrassing,” Selina added with a scoff, as if every word she spoke was another wound.

The pain slammed into you like a tidal wave.

You tried to breathe, but the air felt too thick, too tight. Your heart thudded in your chest, and you fought to hold back the tears that were already burning your eyes.

“I don’t know how she doesn’t see it,” one of the women said, words laced with condescension. “It’s like watching someone in a dream, not even realizing that the rug’s about to be pulled out from under them.”

You gripped the purse in your lap harder, trying to anchor yourself to something, anything.

The tears burned against the back of your eyes, but you forced them back.

You couldn’t let them hear you. You couldn’t let them see how deeply their words were cutting into you.

“I guess we’ll see what happens when he finally tells her the truth,” Selina's voice was laced with mock sympathy, like she was savoring the scene she was imagining. “She’ll be heartbroken. Maybe he’ll even do it in front of everyone, make it public. He does love that kind of dramatic flair.”

Each word felt like a dagger, twisting deeper and deeper. The breath caught in your throat as a dark realization settled over you like a suffocating weight.

The world around you tilted, and for a moment, it felt as if the floor had vanished beneath your feet.

Everything you thought you knew about Bruce — the laughter, the stolen kisses, the intimate whispers, the times he held you close, making you feel like you mattered — suddenly felt like a cruel joke.

It had all been a lie.

You had been nothing more than a tool.

The door clicked behind them, the sound too final.

You let out a shaky breath, but it did nothing to ease the suffocating pressure in your chest.

The truth had burrowed deep inside you, cold and unforgiving.

And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake it.

You stayed in the bathroom longer than you intended, lost in your grief, trying to piece together your heart.

Eventually, you forced yourself to step out, your eyes raw from the unshed tears, the weight of their words still heavy on your chest.

You stood before the mirror, hands trembling slightly as you tried to make yourself look presentable, to hide the turmoil inside. Who were those women? Did they work with the Justice League? Or were they just ordinary people, yet somehow, everyone at this gala seemed to know that you and Bruce were nothing more than a mission, a task for him.

The thought made your stomach churn.

You didn’t want to confront him, not now, not like this. You just needed distance, some space to breathe and think, to escape the suffocating reality they had painted for you.

But Bruce was nowhere to be seen.

He must’ve noticed your absence by now, but he hadn’t come searching — not really.

Not with the urgency you needed.

And when he did find you, you knew it would be too late.

You needed air.

You needed to get away from it all.

As you quietly exited the bathroom, you kept your gaze down, desperate to avoid anyone seeing the evidence of your turmoil—your eyes, swollen and red, stained by the silent tears you had fought so hard to hold back.

You moved quickly, your steps quickening as the truth settled in. But then, a voice—a soft, aged voice—reached your ears.

"Ma'am?"

You froze.

Alfred.

You turned toward him before your mind could catch up with your actions. The moment his eyes met yours, the lighthearted words he was about to say disappeared, replaced by a look of concern that made your heart ache.

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. "I know," you said, though your voice cracked, betraying the calm you were struggling to maintain.

He lowered his gaze, his posture slightly faltering.

"You knew too, didn't you?" you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "Everyone did. And I believed it... like a fool."

His eyes filled with sorrow, and he opened his mouth as though to say something, but all he managed was a soft, "I'm sorry."

You swallowed hard, holding back the flood of emotion that threatened to overtake you. "But, ma'am, believe me when I say that he truly cares about—"

You raised your hand, cutting him off. "I need air. Space. And I'm leaving," you said, your voice strained as a sob bubbled beneath the surface. "To think I actually fell in love with him," you muttered, shaking your head, unable to stop the broken laugh that followed.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, Alfred watching silently, expression heavy with regret.

The click of your heels echoed in the otherwise quiet hotel hallway, each step louder than the last. The receptionist gave you a glance, but you didn’t care enough to meet her gaze. You were too lost in your own mind.

You stopped in front of the front desk, barely able to hold yourself together.

“Where’s the back door?” you asked, voice barely a whisper, cracking with the sting of everything you were trying to suppress.

The woman pointed toward the hallway to your left, and you nodded in thanks. As you walked toward the exit, your mind was fogged with pain.

I don’t want to see him again.

I don’t want to feel the weight of his lies on my chest anymore.

I can’t. I can’t.

You stepped into the alley, the cool night air hitting you like a slap.

For a fleeting moment, you had clarity—a fragile stillness before the storm broke. Then the tears came, relentless and burning, streaming down your cheeks as anger and sorrow tangled together.

You gripped the fabric of your long skirt as you descended the stairs, every step deliberate, wary of twisting your ankle in the unsteady heels.

Frustration bubbled up, and you swiped at your tears with trembling hands, the motion sharp and angry.

Then, from the shadows, a figure stepped into view.

“Jewelry,” the man barked, his voice coarse and demanding. “Take. it. off.”

The sight of him made you freeze, a jolt of fear sparking through your exhaustion. But you didn’t have the strength to argue, let alone resist. Wordlessly, you handed him your purse, your fingers trembling as they let go.

It wasn’t enough.

He stepped closer, the gun shaking in his grip, its cold barrel pressing against the curve of your neck. His voice was sharp, insistent. “The necklace,” he growled.

Your hand instinctively rose to it, the one Bruce had given you. Diamonds and gold, gleaming faintly even in the dim light, a small defiance against the darkness surrounding you. The weight of it was more than its value; it carried the ghost of his touch, the echo of a moment when everything felt whole and true.

It was all you had left.

And now, even that was slipping away.

But your fingers tightened around the necklace, clutching it as if it were a lifeline. The barrel of the gun pressed harder, this time against your stomach, cold and unforgiving, a warning that your resistance would cost you.

Even so, you couldn’t let go.

Not yet.

The thought of surrendering the last piece of him — the last tangible thread to a life you had believed in — was more painful than the threat before you.

“No,” you whispered through your tears. “Please, no.”

The man’s eyes narrowed dangerously, his yellowed teeth grinding together as his desperation became palpable.

His hand shot out, rough and calloused, grasping for the necklace with an almost frantic urgency.

“Hand it over, you bitch!” he snarled, his voice rising with rage.

The stench of alcohol clung to his breath, each word cutting through the air like a jagged blade, laced with frustration and fury.

He yanked hard, the chain biting into your skin, but you instinctively pulled back, clutching it tighter. The clash was brief yet electric, a silent battle fueled by his desperation and your unwillingness to let go of the one thing still tethering you to a fractured sense of belonging.

It was all you had left of him.

The only piece that held the truth of what you had believed.

The only thing that reminded you of the moments that weren’t tainted by lies.

You kept telling yourself that, even as the desperation rose within you. With a burst of adrenaline, you drove your knee into his groin.

He groaned in pain, stumbling back.

“You fucking whore!” he hissed, his hand grasping your hair, yanking it painfully. You screamed, thrashing against him in a frantic attempt to break free.

Then, the sound of a gunshot shattered the night.

The pain was immediate, consuming, like fire ripping through your flesh.

You gasped, a strangled cry tearing from your throat as blood blossomed from your stomach, staining your dress a deep, unforgiving crimson.

The man muttered a low, bitter curse, but you couldn’t focus on him anymore. You couldn’t focus on anything except the excruciating burn that spread through your body.

Another shot rang out, this time tearing into your shoulder, and you collapsed forward, the blood pooling faster than you could process.

A third shot — this one grazed near your heart.

The world twisted and spun, and your breath came in ragged, desperate gasps. You couldn’t feel your arms anymore, only the cold numbness that seemed to sink deeper with every heartbeat.

Blood pooled in your mouth, thick and metallic, and you choked on it as the world began to tilt.

The man’s footsteps receded into the background, but you didn’t hear them, not over the deafening ringing in your ears. Everything moving in slow motion, and the sirens — distant and fading — were little more than a mocking reminder of how little time you had left.

There was nothing.

But through the haze, you felt something, someone's touch, gentle but insistent, a hand cradling your cheek, pushing against your wounds. The voice was frantic, urgent, but it was so distant, as if you were underwater. It sounded like Bruce, but no, you couldn’t be sure.

But no, it couldn't be.

Because everything you had once believed in had crumbled to dust.

No love, no man, no future.

The fragments of your heart were scattered, sharp pieces glistening on the floor, each one driving deeper into the hollow space where warmth used to reside.

Your fingers instinctively curled around the necklace : the only thing that had stayed true, the only real part of him left in your life.

The cold metal felt alien against your skin, its weight a cruel reminder of everything that had been torn from you.

You tried to speak, to tell him that it was okay, that if this really was Bruce, you could let go. But the words refused to form, a strangled gasp escaping your lips instead.

And then, the darkness came, cold and complete, swallowing everything — taking the pain, the love, the memories — leaving only silence.

#bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x reader #batman x you #bruce wayne imagine #batman x reader #batfamily

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