#Christian bale imagine

[billsvip]

DOES ANYONE KNOW WHERE I CAN FIND A SOUNDGASM THAT SOUNDS LIKE CHRISTIAN BALE/PATRICK BATEMAN. I'm desperate.

[ransprang]

Christian Bale (OOC) x Fem!Reader

Y/N and Christian Bale had recently gotten married, and her parents hated that. Christian and Y/N had been super clingy, and, to be honest, they felt he was a bit controlling. He would often ask her to do something, and Y/N would simply comply. Christian and she slept while hugging each other with their noses touching, and it turned out she couldn't sleep without him at all. To the extent that Y/N's parents noticed, the two would get upset even when leaving each other alone for a few hours. Her parents weren't sure, but maybe the main problem was that they were scared he would hurt her.

Recently they all had been invited to a party and y/n was super excited to go. Christian went out to buy her a sexy yet elegant dress of his choice that would make his beautiful wife glow. He gifted her the dress and y/n's eyes sparkled. She tipped toed up to kiss him and Christian wrapped his arms around her, as she melted into them. He deepened the kiss and groaned into her mouth as y/n pushed her chest against him. Christian looked at the clock and decided they both could be late...by alot. He pushed her onto the bed and got on top, he always loved being on top and restraining his little girl. Y/n moaned and tried to push against him but his sheer power turned her on. Y/n wrapped her legs around Christian's waist as he unzipped his pants and letting his thick pink cock free. He rubbed the tip before he slid it into y/n entrance. He began thrusting and as he caught speed he put his veiny hand over y/n neck and said "Say my name", but y/n moaned. He tightened his grip at her defiance, gritted his teeth as he pounded harder "say my name.", y/n looked at him "Christ...Christian". He loosened his grip and caressed her hair as he softened his thrusts "good girl, I like it when you listen to me". Y/n smiles back at him and closes her eyes in pleasure as she could feel his dick inside her as her husbands big arms held her down into place. As Christian neared climax he grunted and laid on top of y/n softly sliding in and out as they both laid chest to chest while he kissed his wife while releasing his warm cum inside of her. Y/n's parents happened to be invited too, as they waited out in the hall for their son in law and daughter to come with them they grew more and more agitated. They were already 30 minutes late, how could Christian be this irresponsible. Suddenly the room's door opened and both of them walked out, y/n was a bit nervous. Christian looks at her and said "head up high for me.." as y/n nodded and walked towards the front gate with pride. The drive was long and quiet as Christian sat with her in the back seat and caressed her hair, she was prettier to him than the view. She was his everything.

The party was lavish with many people, y/n separated from her husband to speak to other people. A while later a smaller group of people formed and a beautiful blonde woman with blue eyes, with the body of Pamela Anderson stood across and remarked "Chris, wanna have sex?", Christian looked visibly confused as y/n ears perked up. "I mean come on you're hot I am hot, lets do it. No one here will tell your silly little wife, I bet she's ugly". Everyone quickly realized that she did not know y/n was his wife and standing right next to her. Y/n's eyes were welling up but she held it together, Christian was visibly enraged with his hands in a fist. "Keep your filthy mouth shut." He said through his teeth, she looked a bit scared but nonchalant "oh please don't get worked up about this you know if you were unmarried you would've done me in seconds". When it came to y/n Christian knew no ethics he lunged forward to hit that woman, as a few of their mutual friends held him back in urgency. Y/n sprinted towards him and held his face "Christian look at me, you're not like this. you're better than this. Lets go". he calmed down at the sight of y/n and let it go instantly.

Christian held her hand tightly and stormed off towards the car holding onto the keys y/n's parents had passed to him. As they walked towards the door, her parents gave him a nasty look which said 'I knew you'd hurt our daughter one way or the other'. Christian disregarded it and as they reached the car opened the door to the back seat and rather aggressively pushed y/n in. He sat next to her and closed the door as he held her by the back of her head and kissed her passionately. He deepened it while pulling her closer and getting on top of her. "y/n let me make love to you", y/n hugged him tightly digging her nails into his back. "I love you Christian" as he made love to her and then calmly waited for her parents to say their goodbyes and drive them back home. She was his and he was hers and no one was to come in between them. Your Batman,

Admin Sav

[batemansluvrr]

— 𝐴𝐵𝑂𝑈𝑇 𝑀𝐸

┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ౨ৎ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈

lil bio :

sarah, 21yrs old, italian, gemini

pronouns :

she/her

fictional crush / es :

there are so many but i’ll put the only one i post in my blog

christian bale / patrick bateman

likes :

reading (books/tumbrl/wattpad), listening to music (especially lana del rey), dilfs, movies, writing, making fake scenarios about christian bale/patrick bateman/dilfs in general, pet names (good girl, sweetheart, darling etc.), making edits.

personality :

estp (i guess?)

hobbies :

works in graphic design, that is, the design and graphic design of brands (or logos), coordinated image (business cards, writing paper, envelope, various forms), packaging (graphic design of products, labels, packaging, packaging design)

tags i use ↴

[billsvip]

Want him

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐀𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

— PAIRING: 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲!𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

— SUMMARY: 𝐀𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬, 𝐌𝐫. 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞.

— WARNINGS: ​𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐮𝐛-𝐜𝐨𝐧, 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐤, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤, 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

— WORDS: 1.9k — A/N: I just can't resist his Daddy vibes. Hope you like it! — LINKS: [MASTERLIST], [SERIES MASTERLIST], [support] 💗

That evening in his apartment should have been something special, you knew that by the way Patrick was looking at you. You knew it, and you didn’t have a choice.

Soon, you were standing shocked in the middle of his fancy living room, and you couldn't really believe what he just said.

“W-what do you want me to do? I don't understand…” You muttered and turned around to see him sitting on his perfect white couch.

“I told you to take off your panties, babe,” Patrick smiled at you adorably, putting his feet up. “And give them to me.”

With each word he was saying, his eyes were getting darker and darker, they were sending a million goosebumps right down your spine, and it was getting hard for you to breathe. Satisfied by your reaction, he grinned again and leaned back as he was about to smoke a cigar. His overwhelming self-confidence was blowing your mind, how was that even possible…To be that smug? For some time, Patrick wasn’t looking in your direction, he was so busy with pulling out the lighter from his pocket, a very expensive lighter you guessed, just like his fucking suit.

Shaking like a leaf, you turned around and pulled up the hem of your skirt. And then icy air touched your soft skin as you were removing your surprisingly sexy underwear. Rage and anger washed over you from the feeling of total helplessness and desperation; you couldn't resist this filthy bastard and his sick desires, Bateman had you in his power.

It felt so wrong and degrading, standing here in front of him without anything under your skirt and still - you had to obey. When you turned around to hand him what he wanted, Patrick finally looked up at you; his rosy lips tensed around his cigar before he pulled it out.

“Well-well, look what we have here…” He crooned and took a slightly soaked piece of fabric, rubbing it gently between his long fingers.

You gasped nervously from watching his nostrils turning red each time he touched your panties as he realized how wet you must have been right now.

“Why am I not even surprised?”

“Stop!” You nearly hissed it through your gritted teeth.

“Oh, (Y/N). I’ve only just started.” His low voice made your knees buck a bit. “Now, why don’t you show daddy your pretty little pussy?”

A new wave of embarrassment washed over you when you turned your back to him. Cursing yourself, you bend over a bit so he could see the curve of your butt. You were praying that would be enough for him, but then you heard his sharp exhale from behind.

“C’mon Cupcake, get lower,” he whispered in a raspy voice, setting himself more comfortable on the couch. “I want to have a proper look at my sweet cinnamon roll.”

Without saying a thing, you just did what he said. Mesmerized by the view, Patrick quickly licked his lower lip as he couldn't take his eyes off of your blushing cleft.

“That’s my girl,” he swiftly hid your panties inside the pocket of his suit. “C'mere.”

You submitted again, letting him grab you by the hand and pull onto his wide-open knees. A pitiful whine escaped your mouth, as he lifted your skirt up to your waist, giving him full access to your bottom. Gulping, you began to fidget around his legs, feeling the cool touch of his watch when he slowly squeezed your ass, and it seemed like Patrick didn’t want to rush; he was enjoying every second of this moment.

“I think this time your pussy wants to try one more finger…” he uttered from his seat in his quiet but firm voice. “Last time she took me so well, so greedy.”

This bastard knew exactly how to turn you on, he played with both your feelings and your body so masterfully, like a musician playing his most favorite instrument, and you could only guess which one you were gonna to be today - his guitar or something else?

Meanwhile, his skillful fingers found their way between your legs, brushing against your already wet folds. Slowly, he began to rub your needy nub, coaxing a loud moan to fall from your half open lips.

“Jesus...You’re such a dirty little girl. You should see yourself.” He spanked your buttock and you gushed a bit onto his super expensive suit.

“P-Patrick, please! S-top saying things like these.”

Another spank made you cry out even louder, and he used this opportunity to shove his thin fingers deep inside your throbbing pussy.

“Please who?”

For a brief moment, you lost your ability to verbalize any sounds. Barely breathing, you desperately clung onto his knee, trying to prevent yourself from cumming right now as he hit your most sensitive spot.

“Cupcake, I asked you a question,” he husked into your ear, grabbing your hair into a fist and pulling them a bit. “Ya better speak.”

“Please, Daddy…” you sobbed against his knee. “I’m…sorry”.

Patrick was doing his best to make it almost impossible for you to pronounce these few words with his merciless ministrations, his fingers now were buried in your pussy almost till the knuckles.

“I hope you really do.”

“A-ah, yes…I’m so sorry.”

He chuckled softly in response, letting go of your hair in order to puff on a cigar. A sharp smell of snuff hit your nose as Patrick let out a ring of smoke, not forgetting about you even for a second, fingering you so perfectly.

“Does your family even know how nasty you are?” He was cooing with you, looking down at you as you were bent over his lap and setting the pace of his fingers skillfully.

In return, you only managed to mewl something incoherently, sensing a coil in your lower belly was about to snap. A nasty cacophony of slick sounds echoed in the room, causing your cheeks to blush even more. When you realized your own voice in these wild wails, you wished you could just close your ears and eyes and this madness would stop...

His long fingers were stretching your channel so deliciously, so you couldn't control your body anymore, as if you were struck by the electric shock. Patrick had to pin you against his knees with his free hand as you were shaking erratically, your moans sounded mostly like a cry and your juices made his pants so fucking wet. Although you couldn't see his face, you knew he was smirking because of how your body was reacting to his actions.

“Fuck, (Y/N). You’re so slutty,” he growled and pressed you harder against him. “You just love it when your daddy treats you like a fucking whore you’re. Don't cha?”

“Mhm…D-Daddy, please.” You whimpered as your voice was about to crack. “I’m so close…”

“Then cum already!”

Patrick grabbed your neck from behind for better control as his ministrations became rougher, your dripping pussy was rubbing against his cashmere pants each time he was ramming into you.

“Daddy, it’s so d-deep, So…”

He cut you off with a harsh slap on your ass, and this time he wrapped his hand around your neck, squeezing it a bit.

“I know (Y/N), I know.” He leaned down, whispering in your ear. “Now, be a good girl and cum for your Daddy.”

And that was the last ingredient for a cocktail of pure filth; made by Patrick with love? Your vision turned white as a huge wave of pleasure washed over you like a tsunami, hitting every pitch of your trembling body. Paralyzed by overwhelming sensations, you couldn't even hear yourself moaning as loud as you never did before. Patrick was holding you tightly, his fingers were still moving inside of you as he was prolonging your vivid orgasm. And then, you heard his primal growl as you were clenching around his digits so hard, he thought you would break them.

You were expecting him to say something rude as he usually did, but now he kept silent. Soon, he pulled out his fingers, smearing your wetness between your legs, before he took them into his mouth, sucking them with pleasure. Panting, you were desperately gasping for air and your heart was about to jump out from your chest.

“(Y/N), you’re the sweetest cinnamon roll the world has ever known.”

After licking his digits, Patrick moved a little bit on the coach, so you could feel his hard cock from beneath. This small contact made you sob, and he didn’t miss it. His strong hands were exploring your body once again, when he said:

“I’m gonna ruin this tight little pussy,” he inhaled noisily through his nose. “We both know, she missed my dick so badly.”

You were about to whine in protest when you heard a loud sound of Patrick’s answering machine.

“Hey, Patrick! It’s Courtney.”

A soft female voice ran through the room like a bolt from the blue. Patrick froze for a moment, his grip on your waist began to get weaker.

“I just wanted to thank you for the great dinner yesterday and…For the amazing fun we had last night-”

After these words, he took his hands off of you completely. Confused by the current situation, you wanted to leave this place the sooner the better.

“Things you do with your mouth, mmm, Patrick. I was thinking about it all day-”

With one swift motion, you stood up from his knees, still feeling dizzy after such a strong release. He didn’t even try to stop you, and so you just moved forward to the entrance, fixing your skirt quickly.

“I hope you will call me, so we can have round two. Kissing you a million times…Everywhere, my sweet boy!”

You never thought that any voice could piss you off that hard. When you were about to open the door, you heard his footsteps behind you.

“Cupcake! Cupcake, wait!”

“Stop calling me that!” You shouted. “Next time you want to play your 'Daddy games', go and see Cortney!”

You didn’t even turn to face him, in order to hide your tears running down your cheeks. Sobbing, you tried to open the door, but Patrick managed to grip your hand at the last second.

“(Y/N), stop acting like a fucking child!” He stated, raising his voice slightly as he tried to pull you into his arms.

“No way!” You fought him back and pushed him off.

“Cupcake, if you leave now, you’re gonna regret it. I promise ya!”

Anger and fear mixed up together, boiling and freezing your blood at the same time. If you didn’t go away right now, that place would be the death of you; even if you didn’t want to, you had to leave.

Feeling your heartbeat bouncing in your ears, you gave him one last glare before touching the doorknob, much more confident this time.

“So be it!”

And you left.

Yet you didn’t expect him to chase you, your hands were shaking so badly, you had to hug yourself in order to calm down a bit. You didn’t even think about your panties that he kept in his fucking pocket and you just didn’t care…not now.

After you escaped to the outside, a cool breeze kissed your face which was typical for a late summer evening in New York. Trapped by your thoughts as you were rushing through the crowds of people, praying that one of those people wouldn't turn out to be him.

[streetlamp-amber]

never ending night

bruce wayne x femwife!reader

word count: 1.7k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: pregnancy, pure fluff NOTES: hello hi i’m ailís and i’ve been meaning to start a blog where i can post some one shots that i’ve been thinking of as a way to motivate myself to finally write down my ideas so this is it. i’ll be double posting my stuff on ao3 (which you can find in my bio) and will eventually make a masterlist as well as a navigation post with a list of fandoms/characters i write for. also, english isn’t my first language.

It was close to three in the morning when Bruce finally joined you in bed after a long night of patrolling and fighting bottom of the barrel criminals all night. He showered in the bathroom on the first floor of the manor to avoid making too much noise and waking you up, but when he finally walked in your shared bedroom, you were already awake, sitting up against the headboard.

“Darling, what are you doing still up?” Bruce asked you as he reached his side of the bed.

The room was dark par for the moonlight filtering through the gap between the curtains, meaning your husband had yet to notice the state you were in.

“Dick had a nightmare,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper due to how tired you were. “It took me two hours to get him to fall back asleep and when I finally came back here, this little one started kickboxing me and keeping me awake for another hour,” you continued rubbing your round belly in hopes of soothing your baby to finally catch some sleep.

“I’m sorry I wasn't here to help,” Bruce apologised, planting a kiss on your temple as he held you close to his body.

“It’s alright, Gotham needs you,” you dismissed, not at all angry.

“Still, you’re six months pregnant. You’re growing our child inside your body, you need all the rest you can get,” he softly argued. “I would've come home earlier but all the amateur criminals came out tonight.”

“Bruce, it’s fine,” you brought your hand up to his cheek and he leaned his head into your touch. “You’ve already been cutting your patrols shorter since we found out about the baby. As long as you keep coming back home to us, alive, then I’m not mad.”

Not knowing what to say – his gratefulness for having someone so accepting of his duty as Batman was almost overwhelming, even after all those years – Bruce kissed your palm while staring at you with the same look full of love that he has been sporting since the first time he met you six years ago.

“How’d I get so lucky to fall in love with the most understanding and selfless person I know?” He asked while grabbing your hand on his cheek, wrapping his fingers around yours and squeezing them gently.

“Now that’s a lie,” you rebutted, a loving smile on your lips, lowering your joined hands on the bed. “You’re more selfless than I am. You’re the most selfless man in the world.”

“Let’s not start this never ending argument again,” Bruce chuckled, now his turn to hold your face as he brought you in for a kiss.

You happily sighed against his lips, the feeling of home that overtook you every time you tasted them was a nice welcome in this interminable night. But the kiss was cut short as you felt your baby kick again and you let your head fall back as you groaned.

“She’s still kicking?” Bruce asked you, he couldn't see the movements under your skin due to the darkness of the room and your hand on your belly.

“We don't know it's a she,” you reminded him instead of answering. You had both decided to wait until the birth to know the gender.

“And I’m telling you, I know it's a girl,” your husband repeated for what could be the hundredth time.

You also secretly hoped it was a girl, but Dick really wanted a little brother. Bruce and you were still in the process of warming him up to the idea of a little sister and it was slowly starting to work.

“As long as she doesn't come in my room,” your eight year old son had said last week, with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his lips.

“I doubt she’ll be doing that for the first few years, chum,” Bruce reassured him, fighting off a slightly amused grin.

“And the baby will have its own room with its own toys,” you added.

“Will I still be able to play with the baby?” Dick asked after a moment, uncrossing his arms and a hopeful look filling up his blue eyes.

“Of course you will, bubs,” you said, your fingers threading through his black hair that fell over his forehead.

“But only with her toys at first, some of yours are not suited for a baby,” Bruce pointed out, ever the overprotective father.

Bruce had lowered himself down under the blanket so he could be laying head levelled with your belly, his hand now replacing yours over the bump.

“Hey trouble,” he whispered to your child and the baby kicked again, making him smile lovingly at the movement he felt under his hand. “You shouldn't be awake this late at night, you know.”

“You're one to talk,” you commented, tone almost reprimanding.

“She doesn't know that,” Bruce looked up at you as he defended himself before his gaze fell back on your belly. “Mommy is really tired,” he continued talking to your baby, his hand now rubbing soothingly over your round stomach, “and she needs her rest to do all the work so you can come out all healthy and beautiful. Well, you're definitely gonna be the most beautiful baby if you end up looking like your mother, but that's not the point.”

You smiled at the cheesy comment and your fingers found their place in Bruce’s hair, brushing through it and nails occasionally scratching his scalp.

“Your brother Dick can't wait for you to come around,” he carried on. “Said he will teach you all sorts of acrobatic tricks once you know how to walk. And he asked Alfred if he could help paint the nursery when we finally decide on a colour.”

“And I keep telling you we should do soft green,” you argued.

“I’m not changing my mind from primrose pink,” he told you with a sly grin.

“The room won’t be pink, even if it’s a girl. And that’s final,” you firmly said. Your husband will not be winning this one argument, no sir.

Bruce sighed, rolling his eyes before focusing back on your belly. “I hope you’re not as stubborn as your mother,” he whispered to the baby, as if he was having a private conversation with them and that you weren’t there. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the many reasons why I fell in love with her, but I won’t be able to say no to you even when I have to, so it would save me a lot of reprimanding from Mommy if you’re not as tenacious as her.”

You smiled to yourself as you continued listening to your husband talk to your unborn child as you threaded your fingers through his hair, enjoying the softness it had after a shower. Bruce usually gelled his hair to appear more professional when he was working in the day, and then it would get all mixed up with his sweat under his cowl when he was working as Batman. When he would come back to you after the day was over, you would refuse to touch his hair until he had showered, the texture of the gel and sweat too gross on your fingers for you to ignore.

As Bruce continued talking to your baby, his voice started lulling the two of you to sleep. The baby hadn’t kicked in over almost ten minutes now, and the peace you had waited for so long to arrive made you aware of how heavy your eyelids were. You slowly lowered yourself down the bed, getting in a comfortable position with Bruce’s help where you could finally lay your head on your pillow and it didn’t take long for sleep to catch up on you.

At the sound of your soft, barely audible snores, Bruce turned his head away from your bump to find you asleep with your free hand raised next to your head on your pillow, the other one still tangled in his hair.

He planted a soft kiss on the exposed skin of your belly, eyes closed as he took a moment to absorb the fact that a baby that was half you and half him would be joining your world in a little more than three months. Bruce wasn't known to cry, the only time you ever saw him cry was as you walked down the aisle at your wedding, but tonight, a lonesome tear rolled down his cheek and fell on your stomach, where your child was growing, because Bruce never believed he would ever get to experience again the amount of love he hadn't felt since he was eight years old.

As he observed you, sleeping soundly with his child coming to life inside you, after you comforted Dick back to sleep, Bruce, for a moment, felt overwhelmed by all the love in his life. When he became Batman, he crossed out the idea of ever having a family (other than Alfred), of settling down with someone he loved and who loved him back.

But somehow, the universe put you on his path, as a miracle or a guardian angel or simply as an anchor to life outside of Batman, he didn't know. You walked into his home, into his life, to remind him that he, Bruce Wayne, was also deserving of love, of family, of happiness. Then Dick came along, rather unexpectedly but still no less welcomed, and Bruce started entertaining the idea of having children with you. He definitely wasn't opposed to it, but it wasn't something he wanted to jump right into, especially with Dick having just entered your lives. You were both young, he in his early thirties and you in your late twenties, you could allow yourselves a couple of years just the three of you (four with Alfred) before expanding the family.

So it was rather shocking when two months after you and Bruce had officially adopted Dick that you found out you were pregnant. It both took you by surprise but after talking through it together, you couldn't be happier. And the two of you haven't stopped being happy about this new little addition ever since.

Bruce rose up from his position next to your belly, your limp hand fell from his head as he did so, and he laid on the bed next to you. He delicately kissed your forehead, then your nose before falling back on his pillow and whispered “I love you” as he curled around your body, his hand resting on your belly as he fell asleep.

[moonwqves]

⋮ 𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 + 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐞!𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐧.

───〃★ christian bale!bruce wayne (batman) x reader.

★ — TYPE | headcanons ; fluff ; smut ; sfw + nsfw sections ★ — WORD COUNT | 1.1k ★ — REQUESTED | @wandalfnation ★ — WARNINGS | fem!reader ; reader is described as smaller in both height and stature ; dom!bruce ; size kink ; strength kink ; big cock!bruce ; possessiveness ; reader wears lingerie and heels

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI.

SFW ── ⊹ ˙ . 𖥻 BALE!BRUCE WAYNE . . .

�� who buys you endless pairs of high heels because he thinks it’s cute how much shorter you are than him. he’ll always tease you and then make it up to you with more platform shoes. of course you’ll never be as tall as he is without having to stand on a chair beside him, but he'll make sure you have that little bit of extra height when you want it.

• who often waits until you’re home so he can do his workout in front of you. he can do pushups while you’re laying on his back, because he likes to show off how strong he is, and also to prove to you that those big muscles aren’t just for scaring criminals.

• who loves to spoon with you— of course he’s always the big spoon. he loves it because he can wrap himself around you as you tangle up together under the blankets, and you fit so nicely in his big arms.

• who holds your hand because he secretly loves how small your hand feels in his, giving you little squeezes wherever you go. he’s possessive and protective as a side effect of his night job, so it’s inevitable the fact that he’s always got a firm grip on your hand and keeping you close to his side. but he won’t deny, it makes his heart race when he feels your smaller hand squeezing back.

• who also loves it when you hold onto his arm. you always loop your arm through his at parties, and all he does is smirk because he knows the only reason you’re doing it is because you shamelessly love to feel his biceps. so of course he’ll play into it for you, flex his muscles a little for you, give you something nice and firm to hold on to while he guides you around like a prize on his arm.

• who always has his hands on you at parties. everyone knows he’s the prince of the city, the cocky billionaire playboy who gets everything he wants, so of course he has to not-so-subtly let everyone know you’re his at all times. he keeps one large hand around your waist as he parades you through the mansion for everyone to see, occasionally squeezing your ass as he walks past a journalist. he has a reputation to uphold, after all.

NSFW ── ⊹ ˙ . 𖥻 BALE!BRUCE WAYNE . . .

• who can’t help that he subconsciously compares your size to his, especially when you’re in bed. he can’t help the fact that he towers over you, or the fact that his bicep is thicker than your head. he’s addicted to the sight of you beneath him as he pounds into you, and he knows you feel the same; his wide, chiseled torso is the only thing that fills your view as you hold onto him and moan out his name.

• who accidentally discovered that he loves when you wear the high heels he bought you in bed too, and he has a few favorite pairs he likes you to wear. having your legs tossed over his shoulders while you’re wearing stilettos makes him feel all the more powerful and tall, and plus he loves that they match perfectly with the lacy black lingerie sets he likes to spoil you with.

• who can easily overpower you in bed if he really wanted to, but although he doesn’t always do it he never fails to remind you of the fact that he can. he can fit one of his hands around both your wrists, and he’ll hold your hands together and pin your wrists against the sheets above your head while he kisses you.

• who loves it when you’re being a brat because it gives him reason to use his strength on you. he isn’t always a hard dom, but when you start begging him to use you like that, all he wants to do is give you everything you want. he’ll get rough because he knows you like it, making sure you’re aware of every inch of his muscular body

• who likes to wrap one hand around your neck temptingly. he never puts any real pressure, his grip always barely just light as a feather; a reminder that he’s there, that his massive hands fits so nicely around your throat, and nothing more. he’ll give a gentle squeeze in warning when you start to act bratty, and it always sends your mind reeling.

• who lets you grind on his thighs to get off whenever you want. he’s a busy man; he has an entire city to look after, so he doesn’t always have time to dedicate to making love or even just for a quickie. but you have needs and he’s well aware of that, so he’s more than happy to let you sit on his lap and make yourself cum. he gets to sit back, occasionally tensing his thigh and bouncing his leg a little, and he’s rewarded with the beautiful sounds you make as you desperately grind your sensitive clit against his muscle. he adores the broken whimpers that leave your lips when he stiffens his thigh unexpectedly to throw off your pace and keep you at the edge for just a few seconds longer.

• who loves the way you grip his broad shoulders when you ride him. his shoulders are one of your favorite parts of his body (besides, well, everything else). you’ve had your ankles dangling over his shoulders more times than you can count, but conveniently they also make for the perfect place to hold onto while he’s got you bouncing on his lap, like built-in arm rests just for you.

• whose cock is definitely bigger than average but he knows how to use it. you both know it’s not going to fit, but vengeance is perseverant, and that never stops him from trying anyway. he won’t lie and say it doesn’t massively inflate his ego when he sees you struggling to take him in all the way, but watching you moan and writhe in overwhelming pleasure because of his size is the best part of the whole experience.

© moonwqves 2024. do not repost or translate. ── ⊹ ˙ . 𖥻 want to join my taglist? send an ask!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. — @sadattorney

if you enjoyed this, please reblog or let me know in a comment or an ask! feedback helps so much with motivation and gives me energy to continue writing :) thanks for reading!

[hanasnx]

hip to be square.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: themes similar to the movie | allusions to violence and murder | sexual content | sexism | fiancée!reader | dumbification | degradation | rough sex | anal play references | anal fisting reference | drug references | allusions to asphyxiation.

“You’ve worked up quite a sweat.” PATRICK BATEMAN notes in thinly veiled repulsion. Those cruel hands on your hips restrain themselves, and you can feel that tension against you. Instead, he pours his ample strength into yanking you back on him, choked sounds emit from your gaping mouth. In a way, this is an obligation, he can't really enjoy the way your cunt squeezes him, or how his thumbs fit those perfect back dimples—not in the way he wants to. If it were up to him, he'd squeeze the life out of you while he screwed those lifeless brains to pieces. Finally a bitch like you would be put to good use, eyes rolling back as the lack of oxygen grows black dots in your vision. You'd claw at his grip around your neck, easing in to crushing your windpipe, the light would die as he watched, and he wouldn't even falter in his pace. Those hips would still be fucking you, like he is now.

Hard and rough, it hurts. Abusing your cervix as you're bent over the perfect white covers of his California King. You bounce on him like you want more, but in reality you're limp as he directs your body the way he wants it to move. An irrefutable force against you that you are powerless to soothe, unbeknownst to you your only line of defense to protect you from his wrath is the ring on your finger.

You're engaged to him.

In his eyes it was an unavoidable tragedy. All his friends are your friends, you live in his area, and you're a ten minute commute from work. If he's looking to blow off steam during lunch, he'll pop in for a visit and use you up with a pillow covering your head. You don't catch on to the fact he doesn't want to look at you while he ravages you, never question why he insists on hitting it from the back if he can help it. It aids that you've got a nice ass, plump and round and fits in his palms when he handles it. When you aren't being a priss, sometimes you'll let him slip a finger into your asshole. At one point he managed to convince you to let him fist you, but he'd slipped you one to many things that night, narrowly avoiding a messy emergency room visit. There was no way he was going to wait up for you in such a place so late at night. What would he have told everybody? That his fiancée was some junkie? Absolutely not.

Nails dig into your skin at the memory, the salt of sweat burning that raw that makes you mewl. He steels himself from demanding you shut up, instead assuaging the urge by smacking your hand away when you reach back to hold his in a petty attempt to get him to let up. Cruelly, he drills you. Those pathetic noises release in pain, you don't even sound human. "What are you to me?" he spits, looming over your little body as his every muscle contracts fucking into you at a reckless pace. You're sore from his weight, but you can't do a thing about it when being treated like shit never felt so good. A ring of cream foams at his base, taken from you as your cunt confuses punishment for desperation, your expression twisting so hard you'll get wrinkles early. He'll have to divorce you before that happens, otherwise people will think him vain. "Answer me, you idiot, you're supposed to answer me."

Somehow, you don't notice how he's talking to you. How it's different than the cold and distant nature you're accustomed to in public. "Nothing." you breathe out. "I'm nothing." You chase whatever you can get your hands on, scrambling for whatever stupid response you can muster in this state. Apparently, it pleases him, a sea of moans flowing out through his deep voice as he satiates himself using you like a sock with your name on it in his room.

[anitalenia]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𝒄𝒘: sexual content ahead, husband!bale!batman, fem!reader on top, riding, some dirty talk, soft sex, not my best writing but fr fr don’t come for me im just trying to post things okay? ahhhhhhh 😔🤚🏻 maybe some typos 😚 i oughta be ashamed of myself fr fr 😔😔🤚🏻🤚🏻 ₊˚⊹♡

₊˚⊹♡ 𝒃𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆; eccentric billionaire, former eligible bachelor, orphan boy, son, rich playboy.

Labels. These were all just labels Bruce never particularly cared for nor paid attention to, monickers used to try and simplify who he really was so he could be easier understood. Labels used to better classify him because rich men like him supposedly didn’t have depth or purpose beyond what the media claimed him to have.

They were just labels, words that barely scratched the surface of who he really was.

Bruce had been called many things in his life, too many awful and offensive things he had quickly learned not to pay attention to. Caring gave them meaning, he was told so early on, caring gave them significance. Now, he really couldn’t care less.

Throughout the course of his life, throughout all the tragedy and grief, Bruce had learned to ignore it all; the names, the judgments, the looks, the labels. His indifference had become second nature, an innate response to anybody trying to provoke him.

He didn’t really have a choice anyway. There were too many people praying on his downfall since his birth, too many people biting at the fruits of his labor to see if they were ripe enough for the taking. Selfish, greedy, money hungry men desperate for his demise.

Sharks lurking in untamed depths ready to snatch him up if he swam too far, hiding in the black shores with their sharp teeth bared and beady eyes hungry.

Despite what many people believed, Bruce didn’t have it so easy in the sense of work and spirit. When you were rich like he was, famous like he was, as powerful as he was, everyone believed you couldn’t possibly be burdened by anything.

That he was too spoiled by the grandness of life that it had gradually bled into a lack of work ethic, that it was his last name that gave him any status at all, that it was his reputation that gave him everything he had without him having to ask for it.

He had the money to fix any problem, the influence to hide any scandal, the face to get him out of any situation he needed to get out of.

He was CEO of Wayne Enterprises for gods sake, son to Thomas Wayne, a man that was great and beloved all in his own right. Yes, people had doubted Bruce’s ability to lead, to run a business after so long of being away from it, but then he came back and proved them all wrong as he usually did.

Being someone so honorably renowned in Gotham City, someone that carried the Wayne name at that, it came with its own barrel of familial obligation and responsibility outside of his own personal commitments. He couldn’t disappoint anyone, could never fathom disappointing his late father.

Working by day a normal man with a bullet on his back, a price on his head to any hungry buisness man willing to do whatever it took to get to the top. Then working by night as Batman with the bruises and scars to show for it. Someone every criminal and lowlife in Gotham City wanted dead.

Batman, not so much a label as he was a separate being entirely. It was Bruce, but he couldn’t find any similarities between the polite buisness man wearing a suit by day and the other man wearing a blood stained mask by night. One was forced to coerce with society in the manner of business and passive aggressive smiles, another undertaking the grueling task of removing the grime from it.

Bruce Wayne was all expensive cologne and hand shake deals, money hungry tabloids and self absorbed white collars. It was a life always on display, always the center of attention, always everyone else’s focus.

Batman was purely mystery and intrigue. Hidden from sight yet found in every shadow, heard in the trembled whisper of every breath. No one knew who he was yet he had somehow gotten all of their attention. Everyone eager to know who was behind the mask but no one ready to answer for why he existed in the first place.

The only similarities they shared were the cause for conspiracy. Whether it was Bruce or Batman they stole every headline — always someone trying to figure them out, bring their true identity to light and spread more moral quandary about whether they were right or wrong for every choice they made.

Pure opposite lives he juggled in the same two hands.

No, he did not have it easy. Always more enemies than friends and more snakes than family. Every hour, every minute, every second he spent left exposed there was always someone right behind him ready to push him if he faltered.

He had to be careful; always be passive and nice, diplomatic and respectful to those he knew wanted him gone, to the people who wanted his seat at the head of the table and the money in his bank. Bruce had to be the CEO his father wanted him to be, the one he was destined to be, the one etched into his history before he was even born.

He had a reputation to uphold, a legacy to live, a job to do.

But no, it was not always easy.

Being rich and handsome like he was did have its downsides, as meager as they may seem to less fortunate individuals. Many people hated Bruce Wayne just for those simple, superficial things alone. His looks, his status, his job he was so rightfully given. Apparently this made him an asshole, arrogant, narcissist.

It was looks of hatred and envy from men he’d never even met, women he’d abandoned after a steamy two hour hookup (not that he did those anymore but women loved to hold a grudge), businessmen who cursed him to hell and back for his amount of wealth and fame he had no control over.

He didn’t care about these people anyway. These rambunctious, single minded people who preyed on the weak and ate the hopeless. They were all self centered, arrogant, narcissistic. Self absorbed scum unwilling to put in the hard work necessary to be as successful as he was.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, Bruce was often regarded as someone lonely, someone lost, someone desolate and pitiful. He was a coward, hiding in his soulless black mansion under thick piles of money ever since the fatal death of his parents. So sad, an orphan, just depressing.

That was hushed whispers behind his back and somber stares, awkward, harrowing smiles from coworkers and the front pages of newspapers. Bruce Wayne back from hiding after all this time… living on his father’s name… will he fail or carry on the legacy of the great Wayne fortune… yada yada yada.

Just more words. Pointless and purposeless, written to appease the swill of Gotham with no real substance behind them. Gossip, false news, attention grabbing headlines that were purely speculation.

However, as much as he hated labels — more so his — whatever names he got called behind his back, Bruce couldn’t find it in sensible reason to argue that they weren’t pieces of who he really was. Fabrics of his character torn out thread by thread and poked and needled at by societies curious hands.

They were just pieces, stretched and torn so far from the truth but yet the original strings were still there, hanging on in remembrance of what he truly was chaotically intertwined in the lies and deception of what people thought him to be. Too shredded to be properly understood but still thriving in the undercurrents of whatever he was now being labeled as and people were now foolishly believing him to be.

Yes, they were just labels. But labels that were not so far from factual truths.

However again, none of those words mattered to him as much as this did, as much as the one label that he truly cared about.

Husband.

Your husband.

The only title he held in the same esteem as Batman and Wayne Enterprises CEO, perhaps even higher. It was one of the only labels that carried a semblance of true meaning, one he didn’t shy from.

Husband. It was the only honorific that mattered to him, one of the only sentiments that made him feel actual pride in who he was. Husband was something real, concrete, not some anonymous opinion in a paper or a cruel murmur in a hallway.

It was the label that pierced him through and through especially in moments like this, moments when your hips were rolling deeply on top of his and he was buried balls deep inside your warmth.

He couldn’t think about anything in this moment. Nothing and everything at the same time as your finger nails, freshly manicured and glittering, gripped into his shoulder blades as you rolled your hips once again.

Bruce winced pleasantly, jaw clenching as his head leaned back into the softness of his black silken pillows. Brown hair frazzled and stringy, his smooth skin alight with a soft, lovesick glow.

You rolled your hips once more in a soft soothing motion, nothing too rough and nothing too fast; the evening had called for something more sensual in the delicacy of Bruce’s touch and the softness of his words just an hour prior.

“Oh Bruce…” You sighed dreamily, hands pressing into his bulky arms as he sighed out a trembled breath from his nose.

Your thighs tightened around his waist, his heavy hands squeezing your hips but not as to pressure you, only to keep you connected to him at the hilt so he was never too far out of you.

“That’s good, sweetheart, get it just like that… mmhmm.” Bruce swallowed heavily, voice low and raw as his eyebrows furrowed over darkened hazel eyes. Fingers thrumming on your skin as you pulsed around him, wetness seeping out of your full entrance and gliding down his length until it could leave a memorable darkened patch on the sheets.

You whined quietly, voice high pitched and greedy as the length of him filled you up and pressed into every soft wall surrounding him. He was always thick, always perfect, always felt so fucking good it made your muscles tense and spasm.

You rolled your body in that delectable way he liked once more, barely moving yet every part of him felt the sparks of pleasure thrum through his skin and make his thighs lock up.

Bruce groaned hotly at the action, eyes flickering down to the wet mess of where your pussy was sucking him in. It was messy, glistening, shared arousal in white strings of mutual attraction. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass from where it sat perched on his strong thighs.

“Mm, fuck, honey.” Bruce breathed out gruffly more to himself than you when the sight of your wetness smeared all over him made his heart spike.

You didn’t respond, chin down to your chest and eyes closed as you focused on the pleasure in your own lower regions, the fullness and heaviness that filled you up and refused to part.

“Ohhh, feels so good-“ You gasped as a heavy spurt of pure pleasure sparked up your tummy, hole clenching around him tightly as an obscene gush of wetness leaked down his cock and onto his thighs.

Bruce licked his dry lips, eyes staring up at you heatedly; at the tightness of your shut eyes, the sweet moans gasping out of parted lips — lips, lips that were glossy and plush from all the needy kisses you shared with him just a mere moments ago.

He was enraptured by you, by your naked physique all soft and sweaty on top of him but he didn’t care. You were just so beautiful, pussy so perfect wrapped around him, squeezing his cock so good it made his mind fog up with indescribable pleasure.

“Yes, sweetheart, god, yesss…” Bruce agreed huskily, his head resting back on his pillow once more as you bucked your hips. His thighs tensed, toes curled, a grunt sounding in his throat as his hips rose to further dig himself inside you.

He couldn’t help it; like a soul to a light he sought you out, your warmth and tightness so snug and comforting around him he didn’t ever want to be apart from you.

You whimpered at the intrusion, nails digging into his skin in a painful sting that Bruce was too fucked out to really notice.

He swallowed hazily below you, eyes closing then opening to look down at the way your pussy molded into one with his hard cock as you rocked gently against him. Deep inside you where he was meant to be, stomach and pelvis and thick thighs soaked with your gushing arousal.

Fire shooting down his legs and tummy with every soft bounce back down on him, illicit wet noises sounding in the room with every desperate grind.

He loved that sound, your wetness mashing with his thick base. But not nearly as much as your melodic sounds gasping out every so often because his cock made you feel that good.

His mouth was terribly dry from his own grunts and moans, handsome face and muscular chest flushed pink, the air so so hot he could feel his own dark hair sticking to the dew on his fevered head.

His hands, big and clammy, dug into the soft fat of your hips to help you dig into him in that way you both liked, the one that had you both gasping hotly into each others mouths as you leaned down to give him another sloppy kiss.

You couldn’t quite get it right though, too distracted by the feel of him so deep inside you that your lips stuttered on his. Moving messily against him as you whined into his mouth once more, the tip of his cock so high up inside you it almost hurt.

He was always so big, so round and tall that the stretch alone always seemed to ache pleasurably with every short thrust he made inside you.

“That’s good, sweetheart… that’s it… just how you know I like it…”

Bruce breathed heavily against your lips from where you were leaned on top of him, naked breasts mashed to his chiseled chest and hands gripping onto the headboard now.

You needed something sturdy, something unbreakable to tether you back to him when you felt the pleasure making you float too far.

His breath was hot against your sore lips, mingled with your low moans and spoken just above the subtle creaks of the bed; sounding every time you moved above him in a sensually quickened pace that had your toes curling and thighs tensing.

“So beautiful, sweetheart, so good…”

Bruce couldn’t help but compliment you even in the most nasty of times, voice clenched yet breathy, spoken through hot breaths and pressed teeth as your wetness dripped down his length once more.

You moaned sweetly at his doting words, his voice cracked and low in that gravelly salacious tone you loved so much.

You clenched around him in response, his fingers tightening on you as he let out a handsome groan from the feeling. You watched as his head sunk into the pillow beneath him, eyes clenched shut and a heavy grunt leaving his chest.

The sight was attractive, seeing him so wrecked from just a few simple back and forth motions you were carefully orchestrating.

You felt a wave of stinging pleasure spike up your thighs and down your legs, up your tummy and into your head until your whole body was tingling. Your eyes brimming with unshed tears as sweat prickled at your skin and your legs burned from sitting for so long.

You didn’t care about the pain, too drunk on the sensations of his thickness rubbing inside the most intimate part of you, your hips rolling in desperate circular motions so he was never completely apart from you. You liked keeping him inside as much as possible, to feel that fullness and that dull burn to remind you of just how big he was.

Bruce loved it too, resting inside your warmth, comfortable, letting you take him however you wanted in whatever way you needed. He was always a giver, always a good husband when you needed him to be.

“F-fuck, Bruce, you feel so good.” You gasped wantonly, voice quiet yet fragmented, needy and breathless as your nails dug into his skin.

“Yeah, honey? It feels good?” Bruce replied just as quietly, being sure to thrust up into you just a little bit harder so you’d gasp some more for him.

It was lewd, lovely, his dirty words spoken onto your quivering lips and his meaty hands gripping your thighs to help aid in your eager movements.

It felt so good, so right, being there with him in the darkness of his room with only the sound of your shared panting and moans filling the silence.

It was hot and perfect; his hands on your thighs gripping hard enough to show you he doesn’t want you to stop, your mouths ever so often pecking together in a sweet kiss you couldn’t continue, fond gazes in darkened irises.

“Feels so good, Bruce, I can’t—“ You whimpered out all cutely, sliding up from his chest until you were sitting straight up once more. You could feel him shift inside of you, hardness still prominent and throbbing. He pressed against your walls, invading every nerve point as your clit rubbed against his naval in the new position.

Bruce gripped the flesh of your ass between his hands, helping your soft rocking motions against him as he spoke, “Yes you can, pretty girl, you always do for me. You’re doing so good, sweetheart, you have no idea…”

The praise made you smile brokenly. Your skin so hot it felt burning yet every grind against your husbands hard cock made your legs go numb. You whined and bucked above him as a tightness started to stretch in your tummy.

“Always for you, baby…” You managed to mumble shakily, lovingly, hands sliding over the abs on his stomach as you sat back on his lap so not a single inch of him wasn’t inside you.

Bruce clenched his jaw at that, hands digging into your hips as he thrust his own up to meet your soft grinds. Sparks, electricity, all of the cliche metaphors for how good he was feeling shooting down his cock and into his legs as his knees tensed up.

He felt lightheaded yet completely grounded, here to his mattress. Floating in the skies yet simultaneously stuck on earth with you, his gorgeous wife who always made him feel sane and normal.

Your hair was tangled around your shoulders and falling over your flushed cheeks as you stared down at him with a fond glimmer in your eyes, bright and burning under the lust so boldly wanting.

The stretch of him inside you was so good, his gravelly moans so good, the way he was making you feel so so good.

You exhaled as you settled your weight down on his pelvis, pussy sore yet eager as you squeezed around him once more. Love struck eyes looking down at him passionately as the moon cascaded a light gray glow behind you.

Bruce felt the air escape his lungs, lips parted as he stared up at you in utter devotion; you were so beautiful, so sweet, felt so fucking good around him he couldn’t even think straight. Brain numb and thoughtless, only you and your perfect pussy, you, you, you.

You took a moment to stare back at him. Unspoken love was whispered in the shadows of your eyes bright and glittering as your movements picked up into polite, subtle bounces that had Bruce digging his hands into you, breathy sounds escaping his lips.

“Ah, Bruce…” You mumbled weakly, voice soft and needy as you tossed your head back and moved your hips up and down so his cock was hitting that sweet spot inside you he usually loved to tease.

“Such a good job, sweetheart, so beautiful like this…” Bruce spoke huskily, staring at your heaving breasts as they jiggled and beckoned him forth, beautiful and pure as you rode him to high heaven in your most organic form.

You hummed into a delicate moan, a smile quirked on your lips at his praise as you felt his hands slowly start crawling up the exposed expanse of your waist.

Warm and big and tender as they moved up, up, gentle fingers tracing over your ribcage as your flesh prickled at the touch. He was delicate, always intent on your pleasure over his as he admired your form above him, the feel of your skin under his textured hands that had hurt so many.

You trusted him, your husband, enough to see you like this. Trusted him enough to have you like this, to allow his bloodstained hands to wash over you like he himself was something pure and untainted, bestowing him your presence like a merciful deity to their promised worshipper.

You bit your lip as his palms enveloped the fat of your breasts into them, molded perfectly into his larger hands as he squeezed and admired them in a fashion so familiar for him; he always loved your breasts, enamored with the softness and weight of them in his greedy hands.

You stared down at him with a heated tenderness, the look of a wife irrevocably in love with their husband as he stared up at you with the same fervor.

When he was here, with you, there were no labels, no obligations and no judgments. With you he was just yours, another body made of flesh and blood and bone melded to yours in the conjunction of where his body ended and yours began.

He was no one but he was your everything, hands on skin and lips on collarbones, sweat amongst sweat and heady moans breathed in the gasps of kisses shared between two lovesick spouses.

In this space, in this moment, with you on top of him and his hands all over you any remnants of shame and Wayne inspired obligation was vacant. All he needed to do was sit and let you take him, sit there and be of use when you wanted to use him.

He was a good husband, the best husband to you, his perfect and lovely wife who never addressed him as anything more than yours. He wasn’t this, he wasn’t that, he was just everything and more in the confines of silken sheets under the safety of his mansion.

No cameras, no gossip, no press and no watchful eyes. Serene, tranquil, just you and him and the great love you shared that transcended any label or common sense humanity could fathom.

Yes, he was Bruce Wayne. Eccentric billionaire, former eligible bachelor, orphan boy, son, rich playboy. But those things did not define him, did not set his reality in stone so easily as your love did. He was all those things but he was so much more.

You never judged him, looked at him as anything more than the most important thing. You regarded him with love no matter his past, his present, and hopefully and most likely your shared future.

You didn’t care for labels or surface value lies like everyone else did. You ripped him at his seams, tore him apart to see what was inside and he was ever so grateful for it, for that loving animosity that bared his soul to yours. You were straightforward, heart to heart or nothing at all because then what was the point?

There was no purpose without pain, without pleasure, without love. You suffered, you loved, and you were most definitely bringing him pleasure. All blunt and raw emotions too passionate and loud to ever try and hide or make lies about. No secrets, no deception, no labels.

This night, every night just like this one — nights spent in your arms deep inside where he needed to be most, were nights where his mind was bare and he was just yours. Nights when he didn’t have to put up a face or make up a lie or tell a tall tale.

He was Bruce, he was yours, he was just this. And most importantly, he was just your husband. The only label that really mattered and the only one he ever really cared about. ₊˚⊹♡

tagging , @little-miss-chaoss , @ghostslillady , @boobaeri , @prayingal

[fear-is-truth]

patrick bateman x fiancée!reader | nsfw. mdni

you’re kneeling on the polished oak floor, jerking off your fiancé as he studies your hand, captivated by the engagement ring he’d bought for you. his thumb slides over the warm, polished 18k rose gold of the cartier panthère ring, and you can see patrick’s face contort slightly when you swiped your thumb over the bulbous tip, admiring the rosy shade of pink. you make a mental note of the colour, perhaps you can get some nail polish of the exact shade.

“this isn’t just any ring,” patrick mumbles suddenly, as if justifying his choice to himself. “it’s designed by aldo cipullo—the same guy who created the love bracelet. only the best, obviously.” his voice trails off, noting the way the delicate pavé diamonds sparkle against your skin, then looks back up at you, cheeks flushed.

“two carats of vvs clarity diamonds, high colour… princess cut. they don’t make them like this anymore,” he rambles on, tongue poking out between parted lips. “each one’s hand-finished in their paris atelier. it cost… twenty-five grand. minimum,”

“thank you, patrick. they’re beautiful, i love them,” you say as you gently squeezed the head, a droplet of clear liquid oozed from the slit — glistening like the diamonds you’re wearing. his cock twitches in your hand and patrick frowns. “these trousers are ermenegildo zegna and they cost nine hundred and fifty dollars. don’t get them dirty.”

“… of course, patrick.”

[multiversalfandomwriter222]

I’m back in my NolanVerse era. No explanation required

Little Things | Bruce Wayne x m!reader

@satan-incarnate-666 asked:  OKAY MORE PROMPTS PLS DO NOT EXHAUST URSELF 

 "I don’t need your expertise right now, I just need… fuck, I just need you to be here" 

 all bruce wayne x m!reader 🥺🥺

summary: it’s nice to be reminded why you love Bruce. 

tws: mentions of injury, swearing

word count: 1008

You and Bruce had been dating for a long, long while, and although you could not remember what had originally brought you together, from time to time you had a feeling or two of what it was; certain moments that you had with him where you were nudged towards why you had become his boyfriend in the first place. Usually when he made you smile on days where such a thing really didn’t seem possible in the slightest; sometimes when he brought you a cup of coffee exactly the way you liked it even though you had not asked for one. The little, and usually mundane, things. 

Keep reading

[whereireid]

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐘 — masterlist

pairing: patrick bateman x fem!reader

Summary: Patrick gives up control for one night. It doesn’t exactly go the way that you want it to.

— warnings: nsfw content, sub!patrick but he still has psychological control ofc, blowjobs, teasing, restraints, choking

"Are you trying to get me to beg?" Patrick asks, his brows knitting together as he watches your naked frame kneel before him, an uncomfortable throb shooting to the tent in his briefs as your tongue darts out to wet your lips. "Because if that's what you're doing, then I can assure you that I'm not going to plead to get you to touch me."

A soft coo slips past your lips as you stroke your fingers up Patrick's thigh, the muscle tensing involuntarily as your digits teasingly edge closer to the place where he wants you to touch him the most. You can tell that he's frustrated by the ticking of his jaw and the flaring of his nostrils, and you shoot him a loving smile as he glares down at you.

"You know how much I want you to beg," you murmur, your eyes glinting with mischief as you cup Patrick's hard cock through his briefs, a low groan drawing from the depth of his throat as you do so. "Please, Patrick? I want to hear how badly you want me."

"I'm not going to beg you to touch me.” His voice is emotionless, yet his throat grows dry when he watches your tongue comes out again, this time not to wet your lips but to lick at the outline of his cock through his briefs. "I'll get what I want eventually.” He tenses as you leave a wet stripe up his briefs, before he mockingly adds, “honey.”

You pout, your fingers careful as they slip under the band of his briefs, tugging at the Italian-made cotton softly. "At least pretend like I'm the one in control here," you huff, your hand curling around his cock, your lips quirking upwards as his pink tip leaks with precum. "Humour me a little, Patrick. Beg. Please?”

Patrick tries to ignore how comedic this situation actually is. He's the one tied up right now — his wrists are bound together with rope and he's tethered to the headboard, but somehow, he has all of the control. You're literally begging him to plead with you. If he was in your position and you were denying him of such sweetness, he'd bring out one of his knives and then you'd start blubbering and pleading like it's nobody's business.

He decides to humour you.

"Please suck my cock, honey. I need it so bad. I need it more than anything," he says flatly, the tip of his cock twitching against your cupid's bow as you beam up at him, "you have no idea what you do to me."

Surprisingly, it doesn't work.

"Don't mock me, Patrick. You're a little bit frustrated. I can see how tense you are." A low groan draws from his throat as you lick a delicate stripe up his length, careful to trace along his veins, your tongue sweetly swirling around his swollen head when you reach his tip. "If you don't comply with my orders, you're not getting what you want."

"Just put it in your mouth."

"I'll put it in my mouth when you ask me properly."

There it is — the tick in his jaw, the flaring of his nostrils, the intense, downcast gaze. You're pushing his boundaries, and you grin as he huffs, your lips carefully pressing gentle kisses against his length.

Your movements are incredibly gentle as you cup his balls in the palm of your hand, your tongue flicking out to toy with the needy head of his cock. His eyes crinkle shut and his nose scrunches as you lick a slow, deliberate stripe from the head of his cock down to his balls, your tongue flattening against his length as you bring your skilful muscle back up to his tip.

It's torture. Delicious torture. His nostrils flare when you pull away, a lewd string of spit trailing from his cock to your lips. You look up at him through lidded eyes, and your heart races in your chest as you see how black and blown his pupils are, his hazel irises sheathed from the dilation of his lust.

Pride resides in the depth of Patrick's chest. He didn't think you actual had it in you to tease him, but as you pepper sultry kisses to his cock, he realises that he's actually beginning to lose patience. His hips thrust against your face involuntarily, and an embarrassing whine catches in his throat as you tease him.

"I won't ask again," he says, and there's an edge to his tone that has your heart wrenching and fear prickling at your skin, "put it in your mouth. Please."

You smile.

It's the closest you're ever going to get to Patrick pleading with you. This small act of submission is enough — his bound wrists were his idea, not yours, meaning he was still in control even when he was complying with your demands to be domineering for once.

"Only because you asked so nicely," you tease, flinching under his warning gaze, your lips wrapping around the head of his cock carefully.

Your mouth is so warm and so wet, and Patrick's jaw clenches so hard that he wonders how he hasn't broken a tooth in the process. You feel so good as you roll your head up and down his cock lazily, your tongue trailing around his length as you force your head down, your nose pressing against his crotch as you take every inch of his cock inside of your mouth.

You gag. It's like heaven — the constriction of your throat tightens the grip your mouth has on his cock, and the warm, familiar feeling of arousal pools in your belly as Patrick hisses from above you, the muscles of his thighs flexing underneath your touch. There's something so intimate about how he's giving himself to you, how he's allowing you to have control, and you flush under his heavy gaze as you choke around his length, still not quite used to the uncomfortable girth of his cock.

"I'm glad that I made you bind me to the bed with these ropes," Patrick breathes from above you, his eyes starry as your tongue flicks over his tip, rolling over his slit carefully. "I want to hurt you so badly. If I wasn't restrained I think I'd ruin you completely."

The twitching head of his cock is a good enough signal that he's close. He grunts from above you, and it feels like he's been punched as his eyes lock onto yours, your mouth set upwards into a smile, your mouth glistening with salvia and precum.

Patrick's eyelids flutter shut, and you giggle as he groans again — usually he's not so vocal — using his moans as means of encouragement, forcing your head down, taking in all of his length, until you can no longer breathe breathe.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes and your lungs are burning by the time that he cums. You struggle against him, squeezing your eyes shut, taking in every inch of him, your tongue lewdly lapping at his balls in an attempt to shock him through his orgasm.

And it works. Patrick is so tense that you can feel every single indentation of muscle, and your fingers dart over his chiselled abs, your cunt pulsing with need as he spews incoherent insults from above you.

By the time your breathing has steadied and you've finished swallowing, Patrick is no longer tense. He's no longer twitching, but his cock is still hard and heavy, a small bead of cum dribbling down his length as he gazes at you such fire you feel like you're being set alight.

"Untie me," he says, his voice dripping with authority and warning, “now."

"Yes, Patrick." You scramble towards him, quick to loosen the knots in the rope, your heart thrashing wildly in your chest.

You realise that the only reason you were in control then is because Patrick let you be. Once the knots are untied, his hands scatter towards your throat, and your eyes are wide and frantic as he presses down on your trachea, cutting off your air supply, making you feel dumb and incredibly horny.

His eyes blaze wildly as he gazes down at you, and he smirks, his pearly white teeth glistening in the florescent lights of his bedrooms as he promises, "you're in for a long night, honey."

[makeyoumine69]

Memory Reboot

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader

SUMMARY: You work at P&P, and one day you come into Bateman's office and witness his breakdown. Your attempts to comfort him only increase his obsession with you, and without realizing it, you push this man to his limits. The outburst that finds you both in a club called the Tunnel will change your lives forever and irrevocably.

CONTAINS: Smut, angst, obsessive behavior, desperate-touch-starved Patrick, masturbating, oral sex (reader receiving), aggressive foreplay, dirty talk, body worship, teasing, biting, drug usage, pet names.

WORDS: 3k

SONG REC: VØJ, Narvent - Memory Reboot

A/N: This is for my dear @iron-flavored-lipgloss! It was such a pleasure for me to write this for you! Enjoy!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [EDIT]

Patrick Bateman. What kind of a mess was this man? Chaotic, impulsive, pathetic? Or all of the above?

Smirking, you went to his office to deliver some documents you needed him to sign, but when you got there, you noticed that Jean — his lovely blonde assistant — was absent and the door to his office was suspiciously half open. It was strange, to say the least, but you just shrugged your shoulders and stood there for a while when you heard a loud thud coming through the door — the sound almost made you jump in surprise. 'What the hell?' You wondered as you approached the door, turning around to see if Jean was coming, but there was no sign of her. With measured steps you got closer to the hole in the open door and just peeked in out of curiosity, but the scene you saw was not what you expected — Bateman, all flushed and covered in sweat, was storming around his office, his hands desperately fumbling with his tie as if it was choking him.

Your reaction was quick, and you didn't even notice as you opened the door and stepped inside. "Bateman? Are you okay?"

The man stopped shaking the moment he heard your voice and leaned down on his desk. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to get your signature on some of my docs when I heard you crying,” you grinned, watching his face go pale. "What's wrong, Bateman? Did you miss your facial?" The way he balled his hands made you laugh. "But really, did something happen?"

"Yes," Patrick replied, looking at you and running his hand through his disheveled hair. "I mean...no...nothing happened…" You saw his lips tremble a little each time he spoke. "Gimme the docs."

Frowning in confusion, you pulled out a napkin and handed it to him instead, meeting his scornful gaze. "You're sweating…” You placed the white piece of cloth on his desk, only now noticing a small jar that you were sure was full of pills. "Maybe I should ask Jean to bring you some coffee? You look really sick..."

"No!" Bateman suddenly blurted out, pointing his finger at you. "I asked Jean to take the day off..."

"Hey, hey, relax," you raised your hands defensively. "Relax, I was just trying to help."

Slowly, you placed the folder of documents on his wooden desk, which he grabbed almost immediately, and your hands touched for a brief moment, and Bateman didn't flinch, and neither did you. 

"Take a seat." Patrick muttered incoherently.

"What?"

"Sit," he repeated irritably. "And wait."

His tumultuous behavior actually frightened you, but you did as he said and sat down in the chair opposite him. ‘My God, he really is mental, Tim was right.’

"What are these pills? Some vitamins?" You tried to keep the conversation alive, not even knowing why, as you watched his long, thin fingers floating across the pages.

Your question made him stop and look up at you. "That's none of your business, (y/n). I asked you to sit and wait, not ask me stupid questions."

‘Why does he look so cute when he's so angry?’ The thought brought a smile to your face, but then you zipped up your mouth theatrically and Bateman's office went silent for a while. And you used it to admire his perfect jawline, even though his brown hair was messy now, it looked so inviting to touch anyway.

"Is that all?" Bateman asked suddenly, arching his eyebrows and interrupting your train of thought.

"Uh, what?"

A prominent line appeared on Patrick's forehead — a testament to his annoyance. "Are you deaf or something?"

"Lemme see them," you pointed at the documents. "I want to make sure you put your cute sign on every page." Your playful tone made the line between Patrick's eyebrows even more noticeable. "I don't want to come back here."

Bateman didn't even try to jab back, his face still pale and sweaty, his eyes nothing but dark voids — oh, how fucking empty they were. Sighing heavily, Patrick raised his gaze when he heard the chair creak as you got up and walked around his desk. The sudden cut in the distance between the two of you was something Patrick didn't seem to be ready for, as his hands nervously gripped the armrests, but you pretended not to notice.

"We all feel down sometimes," you murmured over his ear, literally sensing the tension radiating from his body. "And that's okay." Placing your hand on his broad shoulder, you leaned down to look at the documents, surreptitiously inhaling the scent of his perfume mixed with his sweat. ‘Fuck, what am I doing?’

"I didn't know you had a part-time job as a therapist," he grumbled, examining your palm, wondering if he was going to kill you here and now, or keep you in here forever. "Listen, I have a reservation at Barcadia..."

"Mmm, Barcadia? Really?"

Bateman nodded and finally removed your hand. "Yes, I'm having lunch with Coutrney." 

"I wonder what Luis thinks of these lunches with his fiancé." You picked up the folder and stepped back from his armchair. "You don't feel guilty about sleeping with Coutrney behind his back, do you?"

Gritting his perfectly white teeth, the brown-haired man abruptly got up from his desk and stormed toward you, surely intending to yell at you or say something rude, but the moment he stopped directly across from you and your eyes met, Bateman's expression suddenly became lost and confused. "Just stop," he finally managed to mutter. "Stop poking around in my fucking head…" As you noticed his pupils widening, things were no longer funny to you. "Understand?"

‘Well, maybe turning it into a joke is not a bad plan,’ you hummed and nodded. "Sure, Bateman," you sneered a little nervously. "I'm just reading this book Timothy gave me," you slowly turned and walked to the door. "The book about Human Psychology." That was surely a joke, but judging by the serious look Patrick gave you, he didn't seem to get it.

"Tim gave you... a book?" He repeated, frowning in confusion and disbelief.

When you opened the door, you paused for a second, wanting to say something smart at the end. "Oh yeah. Why don't you ask him about it? Maybe he can recommend some books about... human relationships or something." And with that, you smiled in satisfaction at seeing Bateman's face quiver with anger before you left his office, leaving him with a raging tempest in his chest.

Later that day, Patrick couldn't sleep because his mind was so full of different thoughts, but the only thing they had in common was that they were all connected to you. You, you, you. The sound of running water echoed off the marble walls of his lavish bathroom as Bateman stood in the shower, enjoying the way the strong streams of cold water hit his back. Huffing, Patrick desperately scrubbed his skin as if it would help him get rid of the thoughts of you that haunted him the day he first met you — you were so cheeky, so sweet, everyone loved you and wanted to hang out with you. How fucking cute. Patrick groaned as he felt a throb at the base of his hard cock, God, he felt like it was hard all the time and no sex could help him with that because all those people, they weren't you. 

"Argh, fuck," he groaned as he finally allowed himself to touch his twitching dick and give it a few strokes. 

"F-fuck..." Bateman pumped his length rhythmically, recoiling at the memories of today, the way you put your hand on his shoulder, the warmth of your breath on the back of his neck. And what would it feel like if you had placed your hand on his chest, or run it over his abdomen and then down? 

"Uh, a-ahhh," the man moaned louder, shaking uncontrollably from the orgasm building at the base of his spine. "(Y/n), your hands feel so good on me, oh-shit…" Patrick had to lean against the shower wall as his legs buckled from the intense waves of ecstasy as he cummed with your name on his trembling lips, the water still running down his sculpted body, washing his cum off, but he was still so hard. 

"Reading books on psychology," Bateman chuckled, tilting his head. "What an idiot." His nervous giggle bounced across the shower, but soon the laughter turned to a low wail. "Pathetic…” 

Time flowed like sand through your fingers, and you couldn't even remember how many days had passed since your visit to Bateman's office, but since then something had changed between the two of you, but you both couldn't understand what exactly had changed, or maybe you didn't want to try to understand. To be fair, it was so fucking annoying that when you found out that Tim, David, Craig and Patrick were going to the Tunnel, you saw it as your chance to dot the T's, no matter how the evening would end.

When you arrived at the club, it was so crowded that it took you a while to find the group of yuppies sitting on the plush couches next to the dance floor, jamming to the music and drinking their cocktails. 

As you approached, Craig was the first to spot you. "Woah, woah, look who it is!" His cheeky remark caused everyone to look at you, including Bateman, whose teeth were visibly clenched around his cigar at that moment. 

"Hey, guys! Enjoying the music I see?" You smiled, fixing your hair briefly from the sudden rush of panic.  ‘Damn it, stay calm! Why am I so nervous?’

Timothy winked at you and raised his glass. "Did you come alone or..." he stopped abruptly when he noticed someone behind your back. "Hey, is that Paul Allen?"

‘Shit, shit, shit. That was so much easier in my head than it is in reality.’ You chewed on your cheek, and while the men were guessing whether they really saw Paul Allen or not, a sudden idea came to your mind, but you hated it before you even started to bring it to life. "Do you have a gram?" You asked without thinking, hoping they would say no.

"I do," Bateman's voice came out of nowhere and you almost screamed in your head, but you had to keep your composure. "But you will owe me." As he said this, you came closer to where he was sitting with a playful smile on your face and took a seat next to him. "Wait, we are not going to do coke here."

"Hey, why not?" David chuckled and took out his business card holder. "What's wrong with it?

"Oh God, look at that cheeky bastard," Craig pressed a palm to his face. "Van Patten decided to be a bad boy today."

The men laughed and high-fived each other before Bateman whispered in your ear, making you almost jump. "Follow me." Those two simple words made you obey like you were under a spell. 

As the two of you made your way to the bathroom where people in the Tunnel usually did coke, your heart pounded to the heavy beat of the music, or even faster. Patrick went first, his elegant silhouette like a shining star in the midnight sky — so eye-catching and mesmerizing that it wasn't surprising that a lot of people turned around to look at him, but you didn't care as soon you would be alone with him. ‘Just you and me, Bateman.’

The bathroom was surprisingly empty today. The last time you were there, you had to wait almost half an hour to get into the free stall, but now luck seemed to be on your side. As you stepped into one, Patrick pulled out his business card holder and rolled the $100 bill; you did the same, watching as Bateman made lines of coke with his platinum AmEx card.

"I have to say, you look much better." You commented briefly.

The man was about to lean over to snort the white powder, but your words made him freeze. "Huh," he chuckled abruptly and brushed away a stray lock of hair. "I was just reading some books about... relationships," Patrick grimaced, drawing out the last word with a cocky grin. "It changed my mind." Before you could say anything, Patrick was snorting the coke, holding the rolled-up bill to his nostril while holding another down with his thumb.

"Very funny," you mumbled, tapping the rolled note against the inside of your palm. "Where was your wit when I walked into your office a week ago?"

Bateman coughed quietly and threw his head back for a moment to clean his nose. "What does this have to do with anything?"

Rolling your eyes, you moved closer to his business card holder to inhale the white line of powder that had been left there, your mood was already off, and at some point you even began to regret coming to Tunnel tonight. Though it wasn't your first time doing coke, you felt so dizzy as the drug began to intoxicate your system that you almost fell to the floor if you hadn't bumped into Bateman's chest, leaving a white stain on the lapel of his Valentino suit.

"Hey! What the fuck!" Patrick blurted out, ready to push you off, but the way you grabbed his shoulders stirred something strange inside him, something he was fighting all the time. "Have you ever done coke?"

You coughed several times, blinked nervously, and only then did you let him go. "Sorry..." you gasped and leaned against the wall of the stall behind your back. "It's been a while."

"You stained my jacket."

"God! I'm sorry, okay?"

"No," Bateman replied, brushing off. "Not okay."

"What do you mean?" You asked confusedly, batting your eyelashes and breathing heavily.

Patrick dropped his head for a second before looking at you again, your faces dangerously close. "I'm not okay."

You licked your lips nervously. "Why?"

Instead of saying anything, the man pulled you against his massive frame, giving you no time to react as his hot mouth covered yours; it was difficult to call it a kiss, it was more like the act of claiming — his strong arms trapping you between the wall and his muscular body while yours hovered motionlessly like whips. When Bateman released you, he tugged at your lower lip and licked it with a wet, obscene sound. "Because...because of this."

Panting, you stood in shock for a moment before nodding and touching your wet lips. "Yes," you put both hands on his chest, exploring it slowly but boldly, causing him to close his eyes for a second. "I don't think I'm okay either." After whispering it in his ear, you slid your tongue down his bare neck, right over the mole, and when you heard him grunting, you lowered your hand to his belt, playing teasingly with the buckle.

"Lower," Bateman husked, and when you didn't listen, he grabbed your hand and lowered it himself — the outline of his fully erected cock eliciting a muffled moan to break out of your cramped throat. "Ahhh-fuck."

"God, you're so needy," you murmured against his neck, busy undoing his belt. "So touchy."

It only took a few seconds for you to undo his pants and let his taut dick pop out of his underwear. ‘Mmhhm, his cock is so perfect, just as I expected,’ you smiled to yourself, and in the next moment you were stroking his throbbing length, smearing his slick pre-cum around his swollen tip without any shame or fear of getting caught.

"(Y/n)," Patrick hissed as he pressed you against the wall with his weight, his hands sneaking down your back to grope your ass. "Be quiet," the man ordered when he heard your soft moans. "Keep quiet and undo this." Bateman pointed to your bottom and just the thought of what he was about to do to you almost made you cum.

"Why?" You gave him a foxy grin and tightened your grip on his dick, forcing Patrick to hold his breath.

"Just...just do what I say..."

"Okay, honey."

"Don't call me that!" He uttered and squeezed your ass painfully, your bodies grinding against each other, making you hot and sweaty.

"Patrick..." You attempted to kiss him, but he turned away.

In one swift motion, the man reached your neck and aggressively nipped at the throbbing artery. "Shut up! Just shut up and undo this fucking..."

You didn't let him finish his tantrum as you caught his lips with yours, increasing the tempo of the jacking, and you could feel he was so damn close. But since he was so insistent, you undid the lower part of your garment, and everything that happened next was like one of your recent dreams. Bateman, flushed and panting, crouched down, his cock slipping out of your grasp, but the next second his fierce mouth found its way between your legs as he began to suck on your sensitive flesh with sheer greed and passion, not forgetting to pump his dick and growl softly against your skin.

"Ohh, Pat-Patrick," you gasped, tugging at his brown hair, dishevelling it, but neither of you cared. "I'm gonna cum if you don't stop..."

"Mmm-fuck, you taste so sweet," Patrick pressed his face closer to your core, his free hand nailing you to the wall to hold you in place. "You're shaking like a fucking whore."

Chucking, you yanked at his hair a little harder. "And you're devouring me like a starved man, are you starved, Bateman? How long have you been... so fucking s-starved?" You hiccupped as he redoubled his efforts, lapping at your crotch and jerking himself off. "F-fuck, I'm... I'm gonna..."

The loud footsteps made you both stop in your tracks, and when you heard people coming into the bathroom, you stalled completely, only to quickly fix your clothes and then pretend nothing had happened as you left the stall. Later, as you were washing your hands, Patrick stood behind you and you met his eyes in the mirror. "Are you leaving or..." You asked briefly as he handed you your twisted bill.

"Yeah," Bateman straightened his jacket and wiped his mouth with a paper towel before opening the door. "You better forget about it. Believe me."

‘And now I feel like I need a memory reboot.’

Chapter 2 is here! 💗✌

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Polar Opposites

(1-1)

Short story # 21

Gif NOT mine.

Summary - You and Bruce have absolutely nothing in common, and yet he can't seem to get enough of your attention. He is completely desperate to make you his, and prove to you that he's more than the tabloids make him out to be.

Year posted - 2024

Rating - SFW (There is cussing & talk of violence.)

Reading time (roughly) - 25 minutes

Reader is fairly covered in tattoos, and is more on the metal head/tomboy style. Enjoy.

(Y/n) has known Bruce for a year now, having met him by chance while at a gala. She was a waitress, serving glasses of champagne to the stuck up society of Gotham. She smiled charmingly to each and every last one of them, despite wanting to tell them to fuck off every time one would catch sight of her tattoos, scowling at her in disgust as if she were the scum of the earth. That is until she crossed paths with Bruce. She'd offered him a drink with a smile, a well practiced role to play while working jobs like this. He'd accepted a glass, and when she turned to move on to the next guest, he caught sight of the tattoos decorating her hands. She was technically supposed to wear these delicate white gloves, to look more appropriate, and to hide her ink. But she had a habit of loosing her grip on her drinks tray while wearing them. So against her bosses wishes, she went without them. Before she got even a step away, Bruce had taken ahold of her elbow, of the arm not carrying a tray full of expensive champagne, and tugged her back to his side.

"Can I help you?" She asked with a bit of a bite in her tone, despite the smile gracing her lips, her eyes betrayed her true feelings. Without a word Bruce pulled her hand up into his line of sight, closely observing the fine details of her tattoos. (Y/n) tried tugging her hand free, but he kept ahold of her arm, ignoring the curious looks of other party goers. "Back off man." (Y/n) hissed, dropping the tray of champagne, she yanked back with full force, effectively tearing herself free. People gawked and gasped in surprise at the sudden noise of the various glasses breaking. While (Y/n) glared daggers at Bruce, who still hadn't uttered a single word, her boss rushed over to see what had happened. His eyes widened considerably when he saw (Y/n) glowering at the Bruce Wayne. The man quickly made up his mind, and stormed to (Y/n)'s side. Without asking what had happened, or even considering the needs and feelings of his employee, he tightly gripped her bicep. "You're fired." He hissed in an hushed tone, not wanting to draw any more attention to the situation. Her attention snapped to him in an instant, her anger now palpable to anyone with eyes. "That's fine." She hissed pulling back her arm.

Unlike her now former employer, (Y/n) was content with making a scene. Without a second thought she ripped open her white button up top, the buttons flying in every direction, she aggressively yanked the material from her arms, and threw it onto the wet floor. The black tank top she wore underneath clung to her like a second skin. Bruce wanted to intervene, but the sight of tattoo sleeves she sported made his voice catch in his throat and die. She was unlike any woman he'd seen before, clearly covered in a vast array of ink, with a confidence that rivaled his own. Her former employer scoffed at her defiance. "You'll never get another job in this town." He threatened her. "We'll see about that." She shot back before turning her back to them, intent on leaving, and giving Bruce a glimpse at the tattoo that covered her back and shoulders. "I'll make sure of it!" The man shouted, clearly enraged by her attitude. "Get fucked!" (Y/n) shouted over her shoulder, practically shoving her way passed the Gotham elites. It wasn't until she was out of sight, and the man began apologizing to Bruce that he snapped out of his daze.

Without a second thought Bruce dropped the glass of champagne he held, and rushed to follow after the woman who'd stunned him into a stupor. By the time he rushed out into the chilly night of Gotham City, she was long gone, like a mystery of the night she'd vanished without a trace. Bruce's heart raced in his chest, looking up and down the empty street, he ran in the direction he hoped she'd gone. But she was long gone, and Bruce hadn't felt this lost in a long time. He'd called Alfred and had him look into the catering company for the gala, and asked him to find out who all of the employees were. By the time he arrived at the mansion, his loyal friend had all the information he'd asked for. A list of each employees name, paired with pictures, printed off and waiting on his desk. Bruce sifted through the papers for several minutes before finding (Y/n). He said her name in a soft whisper, repeating it a few times to really get a feel for it. With her paper in hand, and without saying a word to Alfred, he went down to the batcave. Punching her full legal name into his computer, he scoured for any information.

She had no criminal record, which he was a bit relieved by, but he did find her various social media accounts. Practically stalking them he learned all that he could in one night. She was new to Gotham, and she seemed to be struggling with adjusting to her new life there. From what he gathered, she'd been apartment and job hopping, seeming to get herself into one pinch after another. For several weeks he stalked her accounts, and tried pinpointing where she'd be working or living next, anywhere he could bump into her at, that wouldn't make it obvious he was desperately trying to find her. And ironically enough it had been purely accidental when he ran into her again. He was making his way up the stairs leading to the Gotham library, intent on picking up a few books to take his mind off of (Y/n) for a while. When the noise of a rumbling trash truck caught his attention, he wasn't sure why, he'd heard them plenty of times and never paid them any mind before. And then his eyes landed on (Y/n) as she heaved a couple trash bags into the back of the truck. His heart froze up for a moment, then he was jogging across the busy street to speak with her.

Cars honked at him, and he waved apologetically, the commotion catching the elusive woman's attention. When her eyes locked onto his familiar face she scowled, he tried to smile at her, but she didn't seem interested. "What the fuck do you want?" She grunted with annoyance. "Look I'm sorry about what happened at the gala that night." He said. Wincing a little when she rolled her eyes before turning back to her job. "Really I-" She cut him off when she swung another trash bag into the back of the truck, the sticky black bag just barely missing him. "How about you do me a favor." She huffed before tossing the last bag in. "Anything." Bruce said, totally ready to offer her anything she asked for. "Hop in the back of the truck where you belong." She said with a sweet smile, before pulling the lever that crushed and packed the trash into the back. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle, finding himself at a loss for words again. "How... How about a job?" He tried hollering over the noise of the truck, sighing under his breath when (Y/n) looked at him confused, clearly unable to hear him over the noise.

"I said HOW ABOUT A JOB?!" He hollered louder, feeling a tad bit embarrassed when she cut off the noise halfway through his sentence. "I've got a job thank you." She mused as she stepped up onto the back of the truck, ready to signal for the driver to take off. "I could offer you something better." He tried, but she only laughed. "I ain't no pencil pusher Mr. Wayne." She shot back, and before she could signal the driver, Bruce grabbed her arm, not carrying in the slightest about the sticky feeling of her work shirt. "Please let me help." He begged with a soft look in his eyes, but the confusion in (Y/n)'s eyes turned to anger. "I don't need your fuckin' charity." She hissed before flagging the driver down, having yanked her arm away. The truck jerked then pulled away, and in his desperation Bruce chased after her. Only to loose sight of them after they'd gotten far enough away and they turned down another road. Leaving him there panting for air, his chest feeling tight for having been so close, and letting her slip between his fingers again.

He would go on for several more days trying to track her down, only to be surprised when she showed up on his doorstep one evening. She looked worse for ware, her lip busted and swollen, a nasty bruise blooming on her jaw, and her knuckles busted and swollen. "What happened?" He asked as he rushed her inside, having answered the door while Alfred was busy with dinner. "What's it look like." She huffed, leaning into his hold with a hiss, as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Got jumped." She added, walking on wobbly knees. "What, why?" He asked as he sat her down at the dining room table, kneeling at her feet to asses the damage. "Didn't think to ask 'em." She chuckled bitterly, groaning in pain she clutched her ribs. "You need to go to the hospital." Bruce said as he stood up, intent on calling for an ambulance. But he froze in his tracks when (Y/n) quickly took ahold of his arm. "No fucking way." She hissed, slouching back into the seat when he turned back to her. "Why not?" Bruce asked as he knelt to be level with her.

"Can't afford it for one." She chuckled softly, grunting again with her hand against her ribs. "I'll pay-" He tried but she cut him off with a glare. "You should see a doctor." Bruce tried to reason with her, frowning when she laughed a hardy type of laugh. "If you think I look bad, you should've seen the other guys." She said with a grin, and he couldn't help but believe her. "I think you have a broken rib." Bruce pointed to where (Y/n) clutched her side. "Oh yeah it's definitely broken." She said it so casually Bruce was at a loss for words. "You got a first aid kit layin' around in this estate of yours?" She asked him in the softest tone he'd heard from her so far. "Yeah of course, stay here I'll be right back." He said before rushing off. Another door opened into the room, an aroma of food wafting into the room, making (Y/n)'s stomach turn with hunger cramps. "Oh hello." A gentle voice entered the room, and when (Y/n) turned her head to greet the individual, the man gasped in shock at the sight of her. "Oh you poor woman." He said as he rushed to her side, leaving the trolley of food behind. "I'm alright darlin'." She drawled with a small grin, trying to reassure the older man.

Bruce came rushing back into the room, a first aid kit in hand. "Master Bruce shall I call for an ambulance?" The Butler asked as he turned his attention to his employer. "No Alfred that won't be necessary, set the table for two, and have a guest room ready." Bruce said before ushering (Y/n) to her feet. "Very well master Bruce." The Butler bowed his head slightly and set to work. "I've got a small room set up as an infirmary, it'll be easier to patch you up there." Bruce said as he led her down a hall. "Of course you do." She rolled her eyes, despite the amused grin on her lips. "Why didn't you just take me there in the first place?" She asked as they neared the end of the hall. "I honestly forgot all about it." He admitted with a chuckle, flushing in embarrassment when she shook her head in disbelief. "You're an idiot." (Y/n) muttered as they entered the "small" room. "Only when I'm around pretty girls." He said with a grin as he helped her sit down onto an examination chair. "That's nice dear." She retorted sarcastically with an equally sarcastic smile, making Bruce chuckle softly.

Methodically the billionaire cleaned up the scrapes and cuts. Having to dig out small chunks of asphalt from her banged up knees. She hardly reacted to any of it, simply watching him with curiosity. "I never would have guessed you could do something like this, let alone be willing to actually do it yourself." She stated as he pulled the last of the asphalt from her knee. He peered up at her, with an unreadable expression. "There is a lot people don't know about me." He stated before cleaning the cuts on her knees with warm water and a washcloth. "I guess so." She mused, glancing up when the Butler entered the room. "I took the liberty to bring some Tylenol extra strength, and a glass of water." The older man said as he placed a tray with the items onto a nearby table. "Thanks Alfred." Bruce said not looking away from his task at hand. Without a word the Butler left the room, closing the door behind him. "Can I ask you something?" Bruce asked as he moved onto her opposite knee. "You just did." (Y/n) said with a grin, chuckling when he gave her a pointed look. "Ask away." She hummed with amusement.

"Why did you come here?" He asked her, focusing his attention on cleaning her knee. She was quiet for a short while, and when she didn't answer his question, he looked up to find her with a lost look in her eyes. "I didn't..." She bit her raw lip, ignoring the sting she felt when she bit onto the cut. "Hey look at me." Bruce pulled her attention back to himself, effectively getting her to stop biting her lip. "What's wrong?" He asked in a gentle tone. "I didn't know where else to go." She admitted in a near whisper. "I don't... I don't have any friends in this fuckin' town... Everyone I've met hates me for one reason or another... Except for you... I think." She muttered the last part anxiously. "I don't hate you." Bruce assured her with a smile. "I was kind of an asshole before, so I wouldn't blame you for hating me." She admitted, making Bruce chuckle. "I kind of deserved it." He argued with a smile, making (Y/n) smile right back, then her smile washed away, and she looked lost again. "Those guys... They weren't just trying to jump me... They were trying to kill me." She said as she picked at a torn part of her pants. Bruce gripped her calf a little tighter, but she hardly noticed. "I've done things I'm not proud of, and I can look after myself okay..." She exhaled heavily through her nose.

"But I'm fucking scared, and I can't go home because they know where I live." She continued, jumping slightly when Bruce suddenly cupped her bruised cheek. "You don't have to worry about that right now okay, you're safe here. I promise." He was sincere in his words, his thumb lightly brushing her cheek. "Thank you." She whispered softly, a stray tear falling from her cheek. It was the first time she'd cried in years. After Bruce had finished patching her up, he passed her the pain killers and water. His eyes idly scanning over the tattoos decorating her arms, only just realizing her legs appeared to be just as covered as her arms, tattoos peaking through the various tears in her jeans. "Why do you have so many tattoos?" He asked suddenly, as (Y/n) sat down the now empty glass. "Why does it matter?" She shot back with a bit of bite, having grown sick of people judging her for her choice to get tattoos. "It doesn't, I'm just curious." Bruce explained. (Y/n) eyed him for a moment or two, before responding. "I never felt all that comfortable in my skin, but with these." She held her arms out to him, showing off the intricate work. "I feel more at ease, with it all... I feel more like me." She explained and Bruce found himself understanding her reasoning entirely.

That night was a year ago on this very day, and Bruce couldn't have been more pleased with the outcome of their chance meeting. (Y/n) opened up more to Bruce during her stay at the mansion, telling him all about her past, and her passions. And while they had nothing in common, he felt that he connected better with her than he had anyone else in his life, especially the women. When (Y/n) was all healed up, Bruce had offered to teach her some hand to hand combat techniques, claiming she could benefit from knowing self defense. She had agreed with a grin, and by the end of it, she'd thoroughly kicked the billionaires ass in every sparring match. Even when he tried adding in some mixed martial arts, she excelled past his skill set as if she'd been doing this her whole life. If Bruce wasn't smitten before, he definitely was after that day. After a few months of getting to know eachother, Bruce made the bold choice to invite (Y/n) to move into the mansion. He half expected her to decline and say something snarky or sassy about it. But she surprised him yet again, and accepted his offer with a soft smile.

To say he was overjoyed would be an understatement of the highest degree. And after a few weeks of adjusting to her new life at the mansion, (Y/n) made it known how she had come to feel about the billionaire, and they began officially dating. In his excitement to show her off, Bruce asked her to attend a gala with him. And she swiftly declined, telling him she'd never attend one of those shitty parties again. But today he was adamant about convincing her to join him to a big Gotham ball being thrown for charity. "Please darling, these things are always so boring without you." He asked as he sat beside her in one of the many sitting rooms of the mansion, she sat reading a book, only glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "I've got a beautiful dress for you." He said, as he traced a line up the ink marking her thigh. "I don't really do dresses." She pointed out with a grin. And it was true, she mostly wore band shirts, jeans or shorts, with either combat boots, or converse. Something Bruce considered a breath of fresh air, compared to stiff models in tight dresses and high heels. "I think you'll like this one." He said with a grin, having had this dress made just for her weeks ago. "Please my love, go with me." He begged as he slid closer to her on the couch. The contrast in their outfits almost comical.

"And what do I get in return?" She asked with a grin. "Anything you want." Bruce promised, prepared to give her the world on a silver platter. "I want a ride on the batbike." She stated, having been privy to his secret identity since she moved in. "It doesn't exactly seat two." Bruce pointed out, a fact she already knew. "Hm what a shame." She mused before turning her attention back to her book, Bruce sighed in defeat, resting his forehead against her shoulder. He then muttered something, but (Y/n) hadn't caught it. "What'd you say?" She asked him. And he lifted his head, resting his jaw into her shoulder. "I'll let you drive the batmobile." He said in a whisper, grinning when her head whipped over to look into his eyes. "Liar." She accused as she squinted at him. "When have I ever lied to you?" He asked with a knowing smile. "Fine you've got a deal, Batman." She said with a cheeky grin, chuckling when he leaned forward to nip her jaw.

"Come on darling, you need to get ready." He encouraged pecking her cheek afterwards. (Y/n) sighed softly as she sat her book aside, taking Bruce's hand when he offered it to her, assisting her to her feet. He led her to their shared bedroom, and into the expansive walk in closet. Where a long silk black dress hung on display, another attempt to convince her no doubt. (Y/n) observed the gown with curiosity, an amused grin tugging at her lips. The bust was cut low, the back completely exposed, with fine chains keeping the back together. When she touched the dress she realized the skirt was slit on both sides, which would allow both her her legs to be exposed high on her thighs. "Bruce Wayne, are you trying to slut me out?" She asked when she turned to her boyfriend, a brow arched in question. Bruce's cheeks tinted pink, and he seemed a little embarrassed. "I just wanted to show off how incredible you look." He stated, knowing full well the dress would expose a vast majority of her tattoos. "Uh huh sure." She said with a grin, moving to shoo Bruce out of the closet. "It's not like I haven't seen you naked." He pointed out with a chuckle, (Y/n) scoffed despite her amusement.

"Yeah well I don't want you to see my struggle as I try getting this contraption on." She said as she pointed back to the dress. "I could help you know." Bruce offered. "Nope. Last time I let you assist me with getting dressed, you couldn't keep your dick in your pants." She sassed with a small laugh, and while she was right Bruce had intended on protesting to the statement, but stopped short when he remembered the heels she was going to need for the evening. "Oh I nearly forgot, you're going to be wearing these heels." Bruce said as he picked up a black pair of heels, which had small chain accents to match her dress. (Y/n) eyed the heels then Bruce skeptically. "I don't do heels babe." She pointed out. "Well you can't wear your combat boots." He argued with a small grin. "I don't see why not." (Y/n) giggled, but took the heels anyways. "Okay now out." She shooed him away, smiling when he held his hands up in surrender. "Okay okay I'm going." He said as he backed out of the room. After he closed the door behind him, (Y/n) turned her attention to the dress. Despite herself she found the gown beautiful, and she felt a little excited about going to the ball.

Once she was finally dressed, high heels and all, she exited the closest to find Bruce waiting patiently for her. His eyes widened momentarily, and his breath hitched. He stood up and approached her with slow steps, as if he were in a trance. "You... You look incredible darling." He finally breathed out, taking her hand in his, he had her turn slowly, showing everything off. "I might not be able to resist you." He said with a sly grin. "You better mister if I'm going to this thing, I'm gonna make it worth of it." She sassed before walking to the vanity. "I have something else for you." Bruce said as he walked across the room, coming to her side with a large box which clearly contained jewelry of some kind. "I don't like diamonds you know." She eyed him wearily. "I know you don't, but I do know you love amethyst." He opened the box, revealing a glamorous necklace. "Allow me." He said as he pulled the necklace from the box, placing the cold item around her neck. (Y/n) sighed almost dreamily at the feeling of its weight, it sat high on her collarbones, with a large center piece which lay against her sternum. She did find the necklace stunning, but she felt odd wearing it.

"It's not really my style, but it is very pretty." She admitted to him, looking at him through the mirror as he placed his hands gently on her shoulders. "I know it isn't your style." Bruce said before tracing her jaw with his thumb. "But I hope you'll indulge me tonight, and continue to wear it when we "retire" for the evening." He said with a suggestive smirk, his words making (Y/n) chuckle softly. "If you ask nicely enough, I'll wear nothing but this necklace anytime you like." She said with a cheeky grin, leaning into her boyfriends touch. "You're really making this hard." He said as he closed his eyes, trying to keep his composer. "What am I making hard?" She asked with a small laugh. "You're making it hard not to ravage you and ditch this ball." He said as he opened his eyes, unsurprised to find her smirking at him. "Yes well I plan on making good on my part of the deal, I'm driving the batmobile if it's the last damn thing I do." (Y/n) said with determination, making Bruce smile at her. "Well then let's get this over with, so we can leave early, and I can have my way with you when we get back." He hummed as he took her hand in his, hooking their arms together once she was standing. "You're insatiable." She mused before pecking his cheek. "I'll never get enough of you darling." Bruce said before pulling her in for a proper kiss.

[streetlamp-amber]

blanket fort for the soul

dick grayson x batmom!reader

word count: 2.2k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: mention of death, family fluff <3 NOTES: dick grayson my little baby i love you so so much you deserve endless happiness and to be protected from all evil

You were just coming back from your lunch break with two of your coworkers when you received a call from Gotham Academy asking you to come pick up Dick as soon as possible. It didn’t take more than a minute after the call ended for you to inform your boss you were cutting your day of work short today, to grab your black trench coat and bag and to sit behind the wheel of your car, on your way to the private school.

Dick Grayson had entered your lives a month and a half ago, after Bruce took you on a date to Haley’s Circus where the young boy’s parents died tragically in front of your eyes. When you were informed that their child didn't have any family to care for him and would end up in the foster system, you didn't even have to try to convince your husband to begin the process to become his foster parents. It had been two weeks since Dick started living with you in the manor and though he was slowly warming up to Bruce, Alfred and you, he was still plagued with nightmares and a deep sadness about the loss of his family.

“What happened?” You asked the receptionist in a hurry once you arrived at the school. You didn't need to introduce yourself or mention to the woman behind the desk that you were Dick’s ward, perks of being married to Bruce Wayne.

“Ah, Mrs. Wayne!” The headmaster, a bald fifty-something white man with round glasses that you should probably try to remember his name, exclaimed as he appeared in the doorway leading to his office. “Please, follow me.”

You walked around the receptionist’s desk and entered the headmaster’s office, where a small boy with dark hair hung his head low. You could sense the sadness emanating from him the second you stepped in the room. You ignored the principal’s invitation to take a seat in the chair in front of his desk to instead crouch down in front of Dick.

“Dick, sweetie, are you okay?” You asked him worriedly. You rested your hands on his knees and lowered your head to try to catch his eyes.

The young boy shook his head ‘no’ before lunging onto you, wrapping his thin arms around your neck as he wept on your shoulder. You were surprised at first, Dick wasn’t comfortable enough with you and Bruce to do more than holding your hands when outside of the house, but you recovered from the shock in less than a second.

“Oh, bubs,” you whispered in a sigh, hugging him close to you and rubbing your right hand up and down his back in a comforting way as sobs shook his small body.

“He’s been like this since the beginning of the students’ lunch break,” the headmaster sympathetically informed you. “The lunch supervisors tried to comfort him but it was to no avail, so we called you.”

You turned your head to face the older man, noticing at the same time the plaque on his desk that read ‘Principal Richardson’. “You did the right thing,” you told him.

“Given the circumstances, it is more than alright if Mr. Grayson wants to go home for the afternoon,” Mr. Richardson offered.

“Do you want to go back to the manor?” You whispered the question in Dick’s ear and he nodded his head ‘yes’.

You rose up from your crouching position, Dick still hanging onto you tight like you were his lifeboat. Thank God he was a little frail since his parents’ death or you wouldn’t be able to carry the eight year old in your arms right now.

“Thank you, Mr. Richardson,” you thanked the principal and he accompanied you out of the school where one of the lunch supervisors waited at the door with Dick’s school bag and lunchbox.

You sat Dick down in his booster car seat – he was still a little too small to sit without one – and put his bags in the seat next to him before closing the door behind you.

“Please send our salutations to Mr. Wayne,” the principal told you and you shyly smiled, nodding your head one time as you sat down in the driver’s seat.

The ride back to the manor was quiet except for Dick’s sniffles as he continued crying. It broke your heart that you couldn’t just take all of his pain away. Both you and Bruce had lost your parents when you were kids, you understood the grief Dick was in just like you knew that only time will heal him.

Once you arrived home, Alfred came down the stairs to grab your bags while you carried Dick, who was back to latching onto you like a koala, in the house. You kicked off your high heels after walking through the front door and went straight to Dick’s room on the second floor.

“Let’s get you out of that uniform, how’s that sound bubs?” You softly asked him once in his bedroom.

“Okay,” Dick murmured, letting go of your neck to rub the tears away from his eyes and his cheeks.

You sat him down on his bed and turned to his drawer to pull out a pair of pyjamas. You then helped him change his clothes and once he was ready, with Zitka his elephant plushie tucked under his arm, he grabbed your hand and pulled you out of his room.

“Can we make hot cocoa, please?” He looked up at you with his big blue eyes, the colour eerily the same as Bruce’s, and you simply couldn’t say no to them. Not before, not now and definitely not ever.

“Of course, bubs,” you said, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

You both made your way to the kitchen, where Alfred was doing an inventory of the dry food in the cupboards.

“Mrs. Y/N, Master Dick, can I help you with something?” He politely asked you.

“Pretend like we’re not here Alfred,” you told the butler as you helped Dick sit on the kitchen island. “We’re making hot cocoa. Do you want some?”

“You know I would never refuse a cup of your famous hot cocoa, Mrs. Y/N,” Alfred lightheartedly said and the two of you broke down in small chuckles.

“Should we also leave some for Bruce when he gets home?” You asked Dick who was now eye levelled with you from where he was perched on the kitchen island.

The little boy nodded his head ‘yes’ and you set up everything you needed to make the warm beverage, along with four coffee mugs. Dick helped you and in a matter of ten minutes, your drinks were ready.

“Come with me,” you whispered to Dick as you helped him get down from the kitchen island counter. “I have an idea of how to pass time while we wait for the hot cocoa to cool down a little.”

Dick held your hand as you made your way to the living room with the television and the comfy couches (because of course Wayne Manor had more than one living room, including ones that were more formal for the balls and galas you hosted).

“You wanna know what my brother and I used to do when one of us was feeling down?” You looked down at the small boy. He nodded his head for you to continue. “We built the biggest blanket forts that could ever be built. But I think with all the materials we have here, we can build an even bigger one. Are you in?”

You were slowly succeeding at making Dick feel better after the little episode at lunch. Grief comes and goes in waves, and his loss was still very recent. You just wanted to be there for him when the pain hits him.

Dick nodded his head, a little more excitedly this time, and the two of you set off to start building a giant blanket fort using the couch mattresses, throw pillows and blankets stored in the room. You were hanging a blanket that would be the roof while Dick held up the mattresses when Alfred brought your cups of hot cocoa to the living room, the drinks now topped with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. You thanked the butler and he smiled at you before he went back to the kitchen to complete his inventory, sipping his beverage along the way.

“Are you comfortable in there?” You asked Dick after a moment from the entrance of the blanket fort. He had been in charge of placing the pillows and blankets inside while you made sure the structure was stable.

“Mhm,” he positively hummed in response.

“Alright, I’m gonna give you our cups of hot cocoa then I’m gonna come in with the laptop and we can watch whatever you want,” you told him.

“Okay,” Dick said, his mood lighter.

Once the two of you were settled in the fort with your mugs, you opened the living room laptop (because of course you and Bruce had more than two laptops) and put it down between the two of you.

“So, what are we watching?” You looked at the dark haired boy to your right, waiting for his answer.

He shrugged his shoulders while drinking more of your hot cocoa. Yeah, he was gonna be a ball full of energy until way past his bedtime, but he deserved something fun and comforting. If anything, Bruce could train with him to tire him out once he was back home from work.

“Remember those songs we were listening to on the drive back from Bruce’s office last week?” You tried to jog his memory up to when you blasted Abba’s greatest hits after his first visit to Wayne Tower. You kept stealing glances in the rear view mirror the whole ride, smiling every time you saw Dick bopping his head along to the music.

The little boy nodded his head.

“Well, they made a movie where the characters are on a Greek island and sing the songs the whole time. Wanna watch that?”

Dick shrugged his shoulders. “Okay.”

You grabbed the laptop and put it in your lap as you went on Netflix and searched for Mamma Mia!. Dick took the opportunity to scoot closer to you, his small body curling around your torso, and you smiled at the fact that he was more trusting and comfortable with you.

When Bruce arrived back home, he came to a stop in front of the living room with the television in it that he was only planning on passing by while he made his way towards the staircase to get to your shared bedroom. The room was disordered and more loud than it usually was at this time of the day, which is what got his attention away from his cellphone. He loosened his tie, feeling more relaxed now that his day of work as ‘Bruce Wayne, CEO’ was over, and approached the blanket fort in the middle of the room.

“What is going on in here?” He crouched down and peaked his head inside the fort.

“So when you’re near me darling, can’t you hear me? S.O.S.,” you sang instead of answering him, index finger pointing in your husband’s direction.

Bruce sighed and rolled his eyes. “You roped him into watching Mamma Mia?” He asked with a hint of a smile.

“I didn’t rope him in,” you scoffed over Pierce Brosnan’s horrible singing. “I suggested it and Dick agreed to watch it,” you sweetly grinned at Bruce.

Dick, who was still curled against you, one arm looped with yours while the other held tight onto his elephant plushie, nodded his head to back up your claim.

Bruce then noticed the two now empty mugs, clear traces of hot cocoa on them. “Did you make hot cocoa?” He perked up, now fully smiling.

“You got this little man to thank,” you pointed to Dick. “We made a cup for you, just heat it in the microwave then you can join us.”

“I’ll be right back,” Bruce said and jogged to the kitchen where a cup of your famous hot cocoa was indeed waiting for him. He was back in the living room two minutes later, shoes and blazer off, top buttons of his shirt undone and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, ready to relax with his family.

He handed you his cup of hot cocoa for you to hold while he made his way in the blanket fort and settled on your left since the laptop was still in your lap, hence putting you in the middle. Once next to you, Bruce pecked your lips to greet you and when Dick glanced up at him, the look in his eyes wondering if he would also receive some kind of greeting, your husband affectionately ruffled his dark hair before leaning over you to plant a kiss of the top of the little boy’s head.

Bruce then made himself comfortable, also cuddling onto you, and put his head on your shoulder, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips as he did so. You handed him his mug back and the three of you continued watching Mamma Mia!, much to your happiness.

Enveloped in the warmth of your two boys squishing you from both sides, you couldn’t fight off the smile that pulled on your lips. Laying under your blanket fort with your little family, it was moments like this one that made everything else worth it.

[balesfx]

they're permanent and i'm not

patrick batman x fem!reader

smut ! , power exchange, degradation, knife play, cutting, some blood play, sadist!patrick (when is he not), dub-con

a/n : yay first fic here umm.. i haven't written in a while…cut me some slack

♫ : under your spell — snow strippers

"Be quiet."

Patrick's hand encased your mouth, pinching the skin of your lips up into your teeth as you strained a whine. Your jaw ached with surpressed retaliation and still his palm pressed tighter. The cool touch of the bedsheets beneath you kept you from overheating under Patrick's large frame, skin against skin causing a fire like presence between the friction of your bodies.

Your hands tugged at the fabric, a pathetic attempt at dragging away from him. Of course, the feeble action only made him tougher. Patrick's free hand grappled to your shoulder and yanked you back, ripping a muffled yelp from your throat.

"No, no…you can't leave. No, not yet…" His lips dipped down into the curve of your neck, his breath a tingling humid. The gentle kiss he pressed to your skin caused the nerves in your body to jump in unwarranted confusion. The tender gesture was a heavy contrast to the rest of his aggressive ministrations and your eyebrows furrowed.

The more you squirmed, the more evident the weight of his cock felt on your lower back. The erect member sent shocks down your spine everytime it brushed along your skin, your stomach fluttering each time Patrick released a hesitant and vunerable noise at the sensation. Miniature foreshadowings of your flesh wrapped around his dick caused it to twitch, flicking up against his abdomen and making him tense.

"Fuck—Fuck, stop moving." He heaved. And for some strange reason, you obliged, your body completely freezing. You swallowed dryly as you listened to him catch his breath, adjusting himself.

His hand finally relieved itself of it's grip on your mouth and you let out a choked breath, your head snapping back with a heavy breath.

"You really know how to treat a woman, don't you?" Your voice held a risky sarcasm, your head craning over your naked shoulder to see him crouched over the edge of his bed. Despite his…more than frustrating personality, you could never genuinely hate him. And when your gaze darted down between his muscular thighs, you certainly couldn't abandon that.

When he didn't respond to your quip, a quiet concern lingered in your chest. By now, he would've said several spat sentences, all of which incoherent and nearly inaudible but stabbing nonetheless. Your neck strained further as you propped yourself up on your elbows, seeing him finally lean back up.

"Patrick? What's taking—"

The impatient look from your face completely dispersed into a bewildered expression, the flush in your cheeks paling with caution. Patrick stared down at you, his eyelids heavy and irises dark as he crawled back up your legs. One hand slid up the back of your thigh and cupped your ass cheek, the other occupied with something far less softer.

His fingers tightened around the handle of a delicate knife, the blade reflected almost beautifully. Nothing too large, not a butcher knife, though obviously not a butter knife. You blinked back the blur in your sights to look back up at his face, speaking his name once more.

"Patrick?"

"Yes, dear."

Your heart skipped involuntarily once again. Your fingers fidgeted with the sheets in your now sweating palms, trying to decide whether or not to pull away again.

"…Why do you have that?" You asked carefully. He took a breath and leaned down, kissing along the back of your neck. Your head turned back over to hang off your tensed shoulders, your breath shuddering.

Patrick's teeth grazed down your spine, nipping vaguely at your skin with thin bites each chance he could get. With a quiet groan he swayed back up, his lip on your ear.

"Why not."

The cold and startling feeling of the knife's flat surface sliding across your back made you yip, your head shooting up. Patrick's free hand grabbed you by the hair and shoved your face into the mattress. He tipped the knife forward as to drag it's pointed end along your skin, poking downward into it though refraining from breaking through your epidermis.

As much as you wanted to throw him off and call him insane, playing with danger like this made you much wetter than you would have liked. Each time his knife would slide along you tail bone or spine, your cunt fluttered with a new found sense of want. Not to mention his bobbing cock lying dense between your legs. Christ, this was crazy.

"Your perfect…" Patrick sighed out, "Like a blank canvas."

You were about to respond with some plead or praise or whatever it may be before you were cut off by the sudden motion of the knife. It stood up from it's flattened position and you could now feel the narrow edge pressed down against your skin. The sudden switch sent a panicked jolt down your body, the excitement budding in your already flushed pussy.

"Patrick—" You hitched into the mattress, "Shit—Patrick, careful with that."

You could nearly hear him grin, a chuckle marinating in his chest.

"Relax. I know what I'm doing." He said.

His words alleviated very little of your worry, but you nodded anyway. The shift in vibe when his free hand traveled down between your thighs distracted you enough.

Patrick's thick fingers slid politely through your slick folds, rubbing up and around your entrance to tear a few whimpers from your throat. He dipped further and lapped his touch along your clit, agonizingly slow up and down movements causing you to tense.

"A-Ah, shit…" Your face buried into a nearby pillow.

Patrick's eyes shifted ever quickly up to your back again, lifting his wrist just a bit so the knife now hovered a hair above your back. Sunlight streaming through the slit of his curtains bounced off the blade and stung his eyes, the pure presence of the weapon enough to present even the slightest resemblance of vulnerability in his form. His hand twitched.

Patrick looked back down, his fingers curling up to rub his knuckle up through your folds, bumping up almost painfully over your clit with each motion. A weighing heat pooled down below your stomach and you moaned again, lifting your head to catch your breath.

"Stay down." Patrick demanded. Your head dropped again. He smiled at your obedience, his voice sultry. "Good girl."

Gingerly, he pressed one finger up into your hole, sliding it through the slickened tunnel and enjoying the way you tightened around him. "Easy."

His finger worked thoroughly along your walls, his knuckle once again pressing forward as his unoccupied digits circled your clit. You could feel yourself basically spilling around his touch, choking when he added a second finger. The two danced and scissored inside you and your heart fell like it was about to jump out your throat.

Patrick's cock was already leaking pre at this point, slickening the patch of your skin it lied on. The knife continuously twirled around in the air, his eyes locked down onto your smooth body. Such an untouched and delicate thing, he was like a moth to a flame. His drive for corruption spun like a storm in his mind, his weak restraint being the only consultant he had to keep him from driving the knife down into your back and out your chest.

Then again, the presence of restraint did not mean the promise. When his fingers twisted a secondary time and you let out yet another yelp, his head shot up almost bird-like and his hand jerked down instinctively. The blade dragged deliciously across your flesh, leaving an invisible trail behind it that only began to fill with blood once he lifted the weapon away.

"Patrick!" Your head immediately flipped over your shoulder to look down, your eyes wide and jaw fallen in disbelief. "What the fuck! Jesus christ, why would—"

"Fuck, don't talk." He groaned, staring down at the dribbles of blood that now rained down your side. They inked the bedsheets, seeping into it like paint and the thought of this fabric being stained in your blood made his dick pulse, his arms trembling. He pulled his fingers out your cunt without warning and you whimpered out a discomforted noise.

"I told you to be careful, I can't…"

"Don't. Talk."

Your lips shut tight. Patrick crawled downward, setting the knife next to your thigh so he could grip your skin with both hands. He leaned down and exhaled a trembling breath into your new wound. You winced, ogling downward.

His eyelids fluttered in doubt before his head crouched and he licked a long stripe up from one edge to the other, collecting the crimson liquid on his tongue. He savored the iron taste and shuddering as he swallowed.

You couldn't even say anything. What were you supposed to say? 'Hey, thanks, but I think they make wipes for that!'

Your lips parted to speak but all you could do was whimper. Patrick blinked back up, his eyes foggy and dazed in this strange bloodlust.

"Head down." He growled. Your ear pressed back into the pillow, your entire body on edge.

Patrick grabbed the knife again and crawled back up, this time positioning himself between your legs and bending them up aside his hips uncomfortably. The stretch of your cut made your eyes water and you sniffled against the fabric that muffled your mouth.

"I like you better like this. When you're not rambling my ear off." Patrick noted, his free hand moving down to give his cock a few languid strokes, his head tipping back with a low groan before he scooted up. "Makes my life much more efficient."

Your stomach sank in a slight shame. Though the emotion didn't last long when you finally felt the gentle resistance of his tip aligning at your entrance. He bit his tongue, his hips softly pushing forward.

"Yeah…mm, you're so good for me." Patrick moaned under his breath, slowly thrusting forward. His indolent fingering was certainly not enough prep, but trying to convince him otherwise would be more of an inconvenience than everything was right now. So you stayed silent.

He sucked an inhale through his teeth, his fist setting the knife back down onto your back, "So tight…"

You were convinced your nails would tear the sheets at how tightly you were gripping them, the moan suppressed in your throat making you all the more stiff.

Patrick thrust again, this time sliding the knife in rhythm with his movements, cutting you once again. You mewled into your pillow, that stinging sensation rippling through your skin as you felt that blood dripping just as before. Patrick slid his fingers through the puddle, catching as much as he could on the digits before pulling them up to his mouth and sucking on them, drinking down your taste with a hunger like none other.

Each roll of his hips that went by, a new cut was slashed into your back, some horizontal, some verticle, all bled the same. You could feel yourself growing lightheaded the quicker he pounded into your pussy, his free hand gripping and slapping your ass any chance he got.

"F-Fuck, look at you…" He grunted, "Goddamn corpse."

The way he seemed to get harder at that statement made a freezing emotion spill down your spine, unsure of how to take it. He slammed forward again, his tip nudging at your womb and making you cry out.

"Ah—Patrick, please…!"

You didn't know what you were pleading for. For him to stop cutting you or for him to fuck you softer, neither of you could tell. Either way, he wouldn't have listened.

He released a crippling moan, his waist snapping down repeatedly as his attacks grew less coordinated and all he could do was leave little, prickling snips along your flesh, his pleasure getting the best of him and soon he dropped the knife completely. Patrick grabbed your hips near bruisingly and shoved you closer, trying to pound as deep as he could into your cunt just to hear you scream.

"You're fucking pathetic. Letting me cut you up like that." He panted. Your voice wobbled as you spoke, your pussy clenching as a creamy ring formed around his shaft.

"I-It's what you wanted…" You answered weakly.

Patrick hummed, his palm rubbing along your back again to listen to you cringe at the pain. His thrusts became erratic and those heaving breaths struggled back out his lips. The few tight whines that escaped him was what made any night with him worth it. Your clit twitched as the noise replayed over in your head like a skipping record.

"Hah—G-God, I'm gonna cum…" He trembled, his forehead dropping down against your neck. Your eyes rolled back into your head when your own orgasm hit you like a freight train, one hand reaching aimlessly for him and the other tugging at the pillow. Your walls clenched around him and Patrick almost yelled, his nails digging into your skin.

"Yeah–Yeah, fuck…!" Patrick's eyes squeezed shut and he gave a final thrust of the hips, pinning you completely down as he shot heavy ropes of cum deep inside you, completely painting your innards.

The both of you collapsed in exhausted heaps. Tears still built up in your eyes as he deliberately lay on your wounds, enjoying the way you squirmed in pain.

After a few short moments, he finally lifted up, pulling out of you with a sharp noise. His thumb stretched up your cunt to watch his seed laggardly drip out onto the bed, your hole contracting as everything tried to cool down.

"Incredible." He whispered.

ext : it's 2:30am as of finishing this, this hasn't been proof read and i am half asleep so good night love you

[batmanlovesnirvana]

— The Waynes like the American royals or the Kennedys…

[ Matt Reeves, director of The Batman, spoke about his opinion on Thomas and Martha Wayne. The director revealed that his version of the Waynes was inspired by British or American royalty such as the Kennedy family. ] via KCRW

KCRW: So many of the movie iterations of Batman going back to Tim Burton’s are about how Bruce Wayne is basically a part that he plays. And the Bruce Wayne that we see in "The Batman" is somebody who doesn't have that kind of equipment, who isn't shaped in that way, who doesn't find this kind of release in pretending to be something that he isn't. Both of his lives bleed into his alter ego and his more public iteration.

REEVES : “One of the things that was interesting to me was to focus on not an origin tale because we'd seen Burton had done that so well, and Nolan did it so well. I wanted to do an early years “Batman” and Bruce Wayne. And it was important to me that while it wasn't an origin story, he was, in the early years of what he was doing, and was still trying to make sense of himself, was still a young man trying to put himself together and find a way to function. This idea of not yet understanding even the asset that being Bruce Wayne could be, the way that other iterations of the character have where they realize, oh, I can be Bruce Wayne, and that can be another kind of mask. He's just not together enough yet to even understand how valuable that's gonna be.

I was interested in the idea that Bruce was at a stage where he couldn't bear the weight of the history of being part of the Waynes. I thought it might be a bit like a member of the Kennedy family like the American royals, or what a British royal would be like in the wake of a tragedy and how a lens has been put on you because of a family tragedy that you couldn't have never escape. And so his response would be to want to withdraw from all of this and not understand that in the mission that he was trying to do to try to make sense of his life, he might be able to use what had happened to him as a kind of mask, which could be useful to him.

This whole movie is about him coming into being. It's not about him mastering himself. Of course, it's a fantastical notion that you could master yourself. I mean, nobody masters themselves. What was really interesting was seeing somebody who was trying to master himself, but had a tremendous amount of what he was doing that he didn't yet even have awareness of. He wasn't aware of his motivations. And I was thinking about the idea of masks and sort of Jungian psychology and him being driven by his shadow side. That whole idea that in Jungian psychology, you're supposed to make yourself aware of those shadow impulses so that you're able to incorporate them into your life. I like the idea of him being at this stage in his life, where he really wasn't seeing that, and he didn't understand everything that was driving him because he was in a kind of emotional freefall. ”