#bale!batman fanfic

[fear-is-truth]

# BEING BRUCE WAYNE’S ❝SUGAR BABY❞ AND FALLING IN LOVE WITH HIM — HCs

warnings — slowburn. brief mentions of sex synopsis — being a broke college student that caught the attention of none other than bruce wayne a/n — this is the fluffy slowburn sfw version… the 18+ one is still in the works

──⟢  fear-is-truth — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

it started when you were a broke college student in your early twenties, juggling classes, part-time jobs, and an unrelenting mountain of bills. bruce wayne, freshly thirty, was already a household name—gotham’s elusive billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist.

you first crossed paths at a charity gala, where you were working as a server, weaving through the crowd with a tray of champagne flutes. you’d only seen bruce wayne in tabloids before, so when you caught him leaning against a marble pillar, watching you, you simply froze.

“you seem a little… distracted,” his eyes flicked to the tray you balanced expertly. “nervous, or just tired of all this nonsense?” you gave him a polite, slightly weary smile. “neither. just trying to get through the night without spilling on anyone important. still got a paper to finish.”

his lips twitched in amusement, but he didn’t press further. at the end of the night, though, you found an obscene tip tucked beneath his empty glass—crisp hundred bills folded neatly, more money than you’d made all week.

weeks later, he appeared again—this time at a hole-in-the-wall café near campus where you worked part-time. it wasn’t his scene; he stuck out like a sore thumb in his tailored black coat, looking utterly out of place among the students.

he didn’t say much that first visit, just ordered black coffee and left another ridiculous tip. but he came back. again and again. sometimes he’d stay long enough for a brief conversation, other times he’d sit quietly in a corner, newspaper in hand. it wasn’t just the tips that stuck to you—it was the way he listened. bruce never made you feel small or dismissed your struggles, like so many others did.

when he first offered to help you financially, he did it with tact that left you room to preserve your pride. “you’re working too hard,” he said one evening. “let me take some of the weight off—just until things settle. consider it an investment in your future.” there was a sincerity in his voice that made it sound like a practical solution rather than a handout.

accepting his help wasn’t easy. you’d been so accustomed to clawing your way through life that the idea of someone else shouldering your burden felt unnatural. after days of hesitation, you finally agreed—but only on the condition that you’d pay him back one day. bruce had only nodded, though there was the faintest hint of a smirk, like he knew you never would.

he never made you feel indebted, though. if anything, he treated it like helping you was a privilege.

when your ancient car finally gave up, bruce didn’t even wait for you to ask for help. within the week, a sleek, brand-new model was delivered to your apartment, the keys tucked into an envelope with a simple note: you need something reliable. you tried to thank him, but he just waved it off. “just focus on getting where you need to go.”

your decrepit laptop, with its constant crashing and refusal to load anything on time, was next. one day, you came home to find a pristine, state-of-the-art model sitting on your desk, already set up and ready to use. you didn’t even have to ask.

bruce never demanded anything in return. the closest he came to asking for favours were the occasional lunches or dinners where he’d pick your brain about your studies, your ambitions, your dreams. he always seemed genuinely interested, never letting the conversation veer into anything too personal unless you led it there.

you realized over time that it wasn’t just the money, the gifts, or even the way he treated you like an equal—it was the steady presence he provided. bruce wasn’t there to fix your life or control it; he just wanted to make it a little easier. and somehow, that made all the difference.

when you stayed up late working on papers, bruce would sometimes settle on the couch nearby, a novel in his hands. he never intruded, but his quiet presence was a reminder that you weren’t alone. on particularly rough nights, he’d bring you a cup of tea without saying a word, setting it gently beside you before returning to his book.

on your birthday, he surprised you with a bouquet of your favourite flowers—something you’d mentioned in passing months ago—and a beautifully wrapped box containing a classic hermès birkin. the card attached to it read simply, “something to carry all those books in.”

his gifts were always thoughtful, never ostentatious in a way that would make you feel uneasy. designer coats, shoes, and bags—each impeccably tailored to your taste, yet discreet. the labels were always tucked away, hidden in folds and linings. they were things you could wear without being worried you’d get mugged. nothing about them screamed, “i have a sugar daddy.”

bruce never tried to “buy” your affection. you didn’t owe him anything—not in the transactional way most would expect. he just wanted to see you comfortable, to help you in ways that went beyond financial support. and, over time, you realized you cared for him too—not for what he could give you, but for who he was.

he had an uncanny ability to remember the smallest details about you. the way you took your coffee. the name of the professor whose lectures you dreaded. how the sound of rain on a window always calmed you. those little moments of attentiveness.

at first, bruce kept you at arm’s length emotionally, cautious about pulling you deeper into his complicated world. but as the months went by, as your late-night talks stretched into early mornings, it became clear that bruce didn’t see this as a favour or an obligation. he cared for you in a way that went far beyond surface-level kindness.

when you went through a bad breakup, he didn’t try to fix it or console you with empty platitudes. instead, he just wrapped his arms around you, letting you cry into his chest.

it wasn’t long before the line between benefactor and friend blurred entirely. he was no longer just footing your bills or buying you thoughtful gifts—bruce got greedy. he didn’t just want to take care of you financially; he wanted all of you.

one night, you were venting about your professors, frustration pouring out in a messy jumble of words. bruce listened intently, brow furrowed as he leaned back in his chair, giving you his undivided attention.

“you’re too nice to me,” you blurted, the words slipping out like a spew of vomit. before doubt could creep in, you leaned forward and kissed him. it was a kiss that changed everything—as you half expected him to gently push you away, his hand came up to cradle your face, deepening it.

the kiss led to one thing, then another, and before you knew it, you were tangled together in his sheets, lost in his kisses, his touch, his quiet attention to your every reaction. bruce wasn’t just passionate; he was thorough in a way that unraveled you completely—it was hands down the best sex you’d ever had.

when you woke up the next morning, still tangled in his arms, a wave of uncertainty hit you. maybe it was nerves or overthinking, but you couldn’t stop wondering if you’d crossed a line you shouldn’t have. sensing your unease, bruce kissed your shoulder, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “i hope you know this changes nothing… we’re fine.”

and just like that, you became his official “sugar baby.” not that the dynamic between you two changed drastically—it simply gave bruce an excuse to really spoil you.

the secrecy was part of the thrill, but also a necessity. bruce wasn’t ready to let the world know, and truthfully, you weren’t either. the thought of being reduced to a tabloid headline or a shallow label like “sugar baby” or “sugar daddy” felt like a betrayal of the genuine connection you’d built.

he started sending you to your favourite spa on weekends, claiming you deserved a break from all the stress. when you protested that it was too much, he just shrugged. “self-care is important,” he said, as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

your closet, which had been a collection of fast fashion and thrifted pieces, was slowly replaced with the row, max mara, burberry, and dior.

your jewelry collection grew as well. delicate van cleef & arpels bracelets, tiffany & co. pendants, and diamond-stud earrings from cartier found their way into your life. he gifted you a dainty rolex, understated yet stunning, with a cheeky note: “don’t be late to class.”

despite all of this, bruce was careful to ensure it never looked like you were “living large.” you stayed in your same modest apartment, though it was clear his influence was woven into the details: a state-of-the-art security system, upgrades to your furniture and appliances that made life a little easier.

dinners became a regular occurrence, whether it was a reservation at gotham’s most exclusive restaurant or an extravagant meal in his penthouse.

when you graduated, bruce was there, blending into the crowd in a simple black coat, inconspicuous among the sea of families and friends. you didn’t spot him at first—he wasn’t the type to draw attention when he didn’t want to—but when your eyes finally landed on his, he gave you the smallest of nods. after the ceremony, he approached you quietly, slipping a small velvet box into your hand. you opened it to reveal a key.

“what’s this for?” you asked, already overwhelmed, fingers trembling slightly. “your new apartment,” he replied simply. then, after a pause, “unless… you’d rather move in with me.”

from then on, everything changed. bruce wasn’t just your benefactor; he was your best friend, your confidant, and eventually, your lover.

[padmespetal]

casual — bruce wayne

synopsis: you were the voice in his ear, the shadow behind the screen, the one who stayed when the city chewed him up and spat him out. but you were never his. he was never yours.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: just angst </3

note: heavily inspired by the song of chappel roan, again english is NOT my first language so sorry if there are any mistakes! Again I used a pic of bale batman but you can imagine really any version of bruce you want. I enjoyed writing this little piece hope you enjoy reading 🤍

You and Bruce weren’t exactly in a relationship.

You didn’t know what you were, really. Partners in… crime? No, that wasn’t right.

You weren’t criminals, and you weren’t his equal in the field. You weren’t his lover, either, despite the nights spent tangled together in the dark.

You were just there. A presence in the cave, a voice in his ear. A necessity, maybe, but never something more.

It hadn’t always been like this.

You had been a detective in the GCPD, filling in for Gordon while he recovered from an injury—one he’d sustained on one of his evening patrols with Batman.

You hadn’t trusted the masked vigilante at first. A man dressed as a bat fighting crime in the dead of night? It all sounded ridiculous. Borderline insane.

And yet, somehow, he had proven you wrong.

He’d saved your life. You’d saved his. That had been the turning point, the moment when your worlds became entangled in a way you never anticipated.

He’d bled out in front of you, the infamous Bat crumbling to the floor, and in the frantic rush to keep him alive, you discovered the truth: Bruce Wayne was Batman.

At the time, it hadn’t even registered. The billionaire playboy façade was so far removed from the bleeding, broken man before you that it barely mattered.

All that mattered was keeping him breathing. You’d tried—and failed—to drive the Batmobile before fumbling for his phone and calling the only contact he had labeled as ‘Emergency.’

Alfred Pennyworth.

You hadn’t thought about the strangeness of it all until hours later, when Bruce was stable in the Batcave and you were left sitting in the cold, damp silence, staring at the cowl he had carelessly discarded.

That was how it started. How you became his.

Not in the way you wanted. Never in the way you wanted.

You were the voice in his ear, the one watching through the high-tech lenses embedded in his cowl, the one guiding him through the streets of Gotham from the shadows of the Batcave.

He never said it, but you knew he relied on you. Needed you, in a way. But not enough. Never enough.

Tonight had been like any other night.

Bruce had intercepted a mugging, left the thugs broken and whimpering in a dark alley, and now he was prowling through a warehouse rumored to be a hub of criminal activity.

You were in your usual seat, shrouded in dim light, eyes locked onto the monitors displaying his every move.

Then she appeared.

“Fancy seeing you here, Batman.”

The voice was unmistakable. Sharp, sultry, carrying the kind of confidence you could never quite master. The moment Bruce turned, his lenses scanned her features and displayed the name you already knew by heart.

Selina Kyle.

Catwoman.

Your stomach twisted as the sleek silhouette of her body came into view, wrapped in that infamous leather suit.

The pointed cat ears, the glint of mischief in her eyes—she was perfect, in a way that made you feel painfully ordinary.

Bruce grunted something in response, but you weren’t really listening. Your mind was caught in an endless loop, analyzing every interaction, every glance exchanged between them. You knew their history. Everyone did.

The bat and the cat.

She stepped closer.

Your breath caught.

You told yourself you were imagining it, that you were just seeing things through the distorted, blue-tinted lens of the cowl’s feed. But then it happened—

She kissed him.

It wasn’t a long, drawn-out affair. Just a brief press of lips. But it was enough.

You felt your chest tighten. A stupid, irrational reaction.

Pull yourself together.

You forced a breath out, clearing your throat as you leaned back in your chair, trying to appear casual. Trying to be casual.

“Well,” you said, feigning indifference. “Care to introduce me to your lady friend one day?”

Bruce barely spared you a glance. “She’s not my friend.”

“Oh.” You let out a humorless chuckle. “Then whatever she is.”

He didn’t respond. Just moved forward, deeper into the warehouse, his focus shifting back to the mission.

Your fingers clenched around the edge of the desk.

Right. The mission. That was all that mattered.

You swallowed down the bitterness rising in your throat and forced yourself back into the rhythm of things.

It should’ve been easy—you’d spent months perfecting the art of detachment, training yourself not to expect more than what Bruce was willing to give.

But something about tonight felt different.

The silence stretched between you, heavier than before. You spoke only when necessary, feeding him intel in clipped, mechanical sentences. And Bruce—Bruce noticed.

He always noticed.

The warehouse turned out to be a dead end. By the time dawn was creeping over the horizon, you were already halfway out the door, eager to escape before you did something stupid.

But then—

“Wait.”

You froze.

Bruce’s voice, still rough from the night, still filtered through the comms, stopped you dead in your tracks.

“Stay,” he said. Blunt. Direct.

And you knew what he meant.

You had done this dance before.

Batman was just a man, and men had needs. Carnal needs.

And when the weight of the city grew too heavy, when his demons clawed at his throat, he turned to you. Not out of love, not even out of affection, but because you were convenient.

And maybe, for a time, that had been enough.

But not anymore.

You closed your eyes, inhaling sharply. “No. Not tonight.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“Maybe you can go find Selina.”

The words left your lips before you could stop them, laced with something sharp, something you couldn’t swallow down fast enough.

Bruce scoffed. Not angry, just exasperated.

“You need to let this go.” His voice was clipped, impatient, like he was reprimanding a child.

And that—that—was what did it.

Your jaw tightened. “Good night, Bruce.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You tore the earpiece out, slammed the monitor off, and grabbed your things with shaking hands. You were done.

Alfred met you at the entrance of the Batcave, ever the picture of quiet understanding.

His gaze flickered over your face, taking in the unshed tears clinging to your lashes, and in a rare show of restraint, he said nothing.

Because he knew.

Of course he knew.

You left without another word.

And when Bruce returned to the cave hours later, peeling off the cowl with the same stoic expression he always wore, Alfred was already waiting for him.

The older man said nothing at first. Just set down a cup of tea with deliberate slowness, watching as Bruce methodically stripped off his gear.

Then, finally—

“Was it worth it, sir?”

Bruce didn’t look up. “Don’t start, Alfred.”

But Alfred only sighed.

“I do wonder, Master Wayne… how many times must you push away the ones who truly care for you before you realize you’re running out of people to come back to?”

Bruce stiffened.

For a moment, the cave was silent.

“She was never mine to begin with.”

A pause. A flicker of something in his expression, something unreadable.

Alfred shook his head. “No, sir. But you were hers.”

And Bruce said nothing.

Because they both knew it was true.

© padmespetal 2025 - I DO NOT APPROVE OF MY WORKS TO BE TRANSLATED OR COPIED ANYWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION

tags:

[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!

[anitalenia]

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒓 .𖥔 ݁ ˖

𝒃𝒂𝒍𝒆!𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒙 𝒘𝒊𝒇𝒆!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ₊˚⊹ ᰔ 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱, 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮. ₊ ⊹ ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ✧˚ ༘

— 𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖑��𝖓𝖐𝖘 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ 𝘥𝘤 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 | 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

˚☽˚��⋆ 𝑩𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏’𝒕 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑. The silence was too loud and his room was too cold — his arms and torso were left bare to freeze thanks to you (he was too much of a gentleman to snatch the blanket off you anyway). The heavy rain smacked into his windows pointedly and purposefully; with every loud drop it made his lip twitch in annoyance.

The air was sharp and frosted, it burned his nose when he breathed in too deeply and it made him wonder if Alfred forgot to turn the heat on — better yet if you turned it off, knowing you hated to fall asleep too warm and Alfred was too meticulous and thorough to forget to turn it off at all.

It was dingy and dismal, dark and dreary just as Bruce preferred it to be, so little going on for him to be so awake and agitated but yet… maybe that was just it. The silence, the boredom, the macabre sense of monotony on an unfamiliarly quiet Saturday night — so little going on it was driving him mad.

Bruce stared up at the ceiling with his arms laid out on his shirtless stomach, restless but tired. His limbs were sore and heavy, his body bruised and battered, yet his dark eyes couldn’t help but flicker over to his window ever so often when he thought about what was on the other side of it — the source of his calamity.

He’d stare through the droplets of water at the blurred kaleidoscope of lights as they shone onto his floor, not eagerly per say just habitually; Bruce seldom ever saw a peaceful night in, so unaccustomed with the sweet domesticity of crawling under the covers at 10:30 pm and kissing your lover goodnight — he was usually so busy, for Gotham never slept and crime never seemed to stop.

No, Bruce couldn’t sleep; his thoughts a morbid mess of batman-esque obligation that made it impossible to close his eyes.

You were a different matter entirely as Bruce turned his head to look at you; snuggled up on your side of the large bed with his thick, black comforter surrounding you, breathing gently on the muscle of his shoulder and sleeping soundly, beautifully.

His pretty little wife.

His eyes looked over the sharp shadows of your sleeping beauty. From your wispy eyelashes, to your cute little nose, to your softly parted lips, a soft smile adorning the corner of his mouth as he did — he couldn’t help it.

Your hair was frizzy and tangled messily around your head, your soft breaths ever so often stuttered with an adorable snore but Bruce couldn’t help but think how beautiful you looked anyway as he raked his eyes over your face fondly.

As he did he realized how grateful he was that you didn’t need to worry yourself with the things that he did; you were too innocent for the cruelty of Gotham City, too pure and divine; an angel wrapped in wicked tapestry.

Even now, in your pale white pajamas on black silken sheets you looked too fragile for them, like they could wrap their shadowy arms around you and swallow you whole — just as the city could so easily do if he wasn’t there to protect you.

If Batman wasn’t there to save you.

I don’t care, Bruce. I love you anyway.

That’s what you’d always say when Bruce would settle down in bed beside you with a heavy sigh and whisper why do you stay?, on those long nights when he’d come home brutally battered and fatigued. After a night of being heavily reminded to the real dangers waiting just outside his door like a pack of feral dogs and how easily they could ensnare you in their jaws.

I don’t care. I love you.

He loved you too, he really very did.

With that final thought, Bruce was still caught staring at you with a soft look of love on his face when you gently fluttered your eyes open, your body sensing his awareness before your mind could.

He watched patiently as you groggily looked around before eventually meeting his gaze, his eyes getting even softer at the adorable look of confusion on your face.

Your eyes tiredly looked back up at him despite the darkness surrounding you two, able to see his frowned lips and dark eyes clearly, “Bruce? Why are you still awake?”

Your voice was raspy and tired, a small yawn following your statement that made pity tear at his heart for waking you up.

Bruce ran his hazel eyes over your face some more before he responded, unable to stop cherishing you.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He simply responded, voice low and intimate, words spoken in the bare space between his lips and yours.

You settled into your silken pillow with a small huff, eyes focused more on Bruce’s face now as the grogginess gradually melted away and your vision became clearer — the silence and rain thrumming calmly around you. It wasn’t a normal night in Gotham City without the rain.

“Well, did you try?” You teased just as quietly as he, smiling a little at the chuckle he gave you in response.

“Yes, of course I tried. It clearly didn’t go as planned.” Bruce mumbled back with a faint snicker, speaking just loud enough so you can hear him over the rain pattering on the windows, a small smile now quirked on his sharp lips.

You hummed in acknowledgment, eyes looking between his, knowing Bruce well enough to know when he was lying.

“I don’t really believe you. What’s keeping you awake?” You sighed with furrowed brows, resting your head right next to his bare shoulder to look up at him better — maybe if you pouted in that cute way he liked he’d tell you honestly.

Bruce faltered at that, looking down at you with a heavy heart; he couldn’t possibly tell you that he felt guilty laying in bed with you when he should’ve been out there, out there protecting those who needed him. But the fact of the matter, one he couldn’t argue with, was that you needed him as well.

He couldn’t possibly tell you how conflicted he really was but probably shouldn’t have been; two parts of him sharing the same mind and body but each with entirely different obligations — the irreconcilable duality that was he.

One part of him was Bruce Wayne; millionaire, orphan, husband, you needed that side of him, you deserved to have him for at least one night. But he was also Batman, and Gotham always needed him.

He was haunted with a classic case of Jekyll and Hyde but instead of one side lusting for murderous intent his alter ego longed for rightful justice in the grandest city of injustice. Batman was the only one who could live harmoniously in the dark, the only one capable of doing the things he did. It was an enervative dichotomous life of matrimonial duties and moral obligation.

There were two men sharing the same halves of the same soul and Bruce couldn’t decide which heart to listen to without making the other one feel guilty.

“Just work stuff, honey. It’s nothing you need to worry about, trust me.” Bruce dismissed after a short moment, shaking his head gently with a reassuring smile on his thin lips — like that could convince you of anything.

You narrowed your eyes at him slightly, registering the slight blue bags under his eyes and the crippled fault in his smile, all small clues of his devious, well-intentioned deception.

“Which work stuff?” You prodded carefully, raising a brow at him as suspicions already began to brew in the back of your mind as to what he was really referring.

Bruce chuckled again at that, loving your caring and inquisitive nature any day but wishing you’d just drop it already. He really couldn’t bear weighing any of the pressure he carried on your delicate shoulders, fearing you’d crumble under the weight of it.

“Really, it’s…” Bruce looked back up at the ceiling in indecision, searching for the right words, “it’s nothing I can’t handle, okay?” He looked back down at you with confidence, his voice firmer than before but still softly spoken to get his point across.

You narrowed your eyes at him with that, knowing it was a response you fully expected but were still annoyed to hear.

You were aware that he was lying to you but also aware that he wouldn’t tell you no matter how much you begged him; he never liked to tell you anything about his Batman related problems and it greatly frustrated you for some reason.

As his wife didn’t you deserve to know at least something? You were fully aware of what you were getting yourself into when you agreed to his long awaited proposal. After all, you didn’t just marry Bruce Wayne but you married Batman as well… you could handle the truth even if he didn’t seem to think so.

You sighed anyway, unable to mask your irritation towards him for keeping you in the dark. Your lack of sleep didn’t help the influx of annoyance either.

You took your head off his warm shoulder and went to turn around away from him, your fatigue easily irritating you more than usual.

Bruce licked his lips and sighed, having already disappointed you in an attempt to protect you; a small price to pay if it meant your pretty little head wasn’t clogged with constant, pained disquietude like his was.

“Fine, don’t tell me.” You muttered more to yourself than anything, fussing with the blanket you had wrapped yourself in during your slumber and now seemed to be stuck in.

Before you could fully turn around though Bruce laid a warm, consoling hand on your forearm that made you pause, “Hey, hey, wait.”

You lingered a moment at the feel of it before turning back around to face him, expression a little more sour than before — tired and impatient.

Bruce felt guilt swirl in his stomach at the look on your face, knowing he was disappointing you but also knowing it was for the best.

He kept the hand on your arm, leaning up and wrapping it around your back to bring you into his chest, his other arm going behind your neck and tucking you into his side like you were his most precious doll — you were of course.

You didn’t fight him even if you wanted to, enjoying the warmth he provided and the safety you subconsciously sought out snuck tight in between his arms.

“Bruce.” You grumbled anyway as you settled against him, his arm releasing you for a moment to pick the blanket up and over his waist so there was nothing separating you two from each other.

You felt hard plains of muscle underneath you when he did, a flustered pinkness appearing on your cheeks, then slowly crept in hot embarrassment at the fact that your husband’s carefully structured body that you’ve seen many many times still managed to make you shy.

You melted into his side, albeit a bit stiffly as you were still annoyed with him and wanted to blatantly show it, your arms stubbornly slotted against your chest to separate yourself from laying completely on his.

When Bruce was done adjusting the blanket, the bed moving as he did, he settled still and looked down at you with those kind eyes of his you loved so much, the ones that always flustered you when you stared back into them for too long.

The arm behind your neck pushed you closer to him while he took his right hand and wrapped it around your chin, his palm so warm and big against your jaw that you couldn’t help but sigh in submission.

Bruce gently forced you to look up at him, his eyes staring down at you softly but earnestly.

“Alright, hey, don’t be like that with me. If there was something I thought you really needed to know I’d tell you. Otherwise, it’s best I keep that side of myself as private from you as possible. I hate the thought of you being in danger because of me, because I exposed you to that side of myself you didn’t need to see.” Bruce whispered genuinely, minty breath fanning over your nose as you stared up at him, seemingly calm now and even just a little regretful for being so upset with him in the first place.

“Just give it a rest honey, alright? I promise you, it’s nothing you need to worry about. Do I ever go back on my promises, hmm?” He said sweetly, looking down at you with insistent but loving eyes in the expectation of you responding.

You paused for a moment as you registered his words, still curious to know what he was really thinking about because you just couldn’t help it. You worried for him, wished he’d be more open with you so you could help him in whatever way you could. However, you also didn’t want to stress him out any more than he already was either, your mind picturing all the purple bruises littering his beautiful body pitifully.

So, you just shook your head like a scolded child, “No… you don’t.” You’d have to bite your tongue for now, pouting up at him cutely — Bruce was just too sweet to argue with sometimes and he knew it.

Bruce gave you a charming smile, gray shadow washed over the angles of his straight nose and narrow cheeks. His brown hair was more unkempt than usual, wavy tendrils of it fallen around his face. He looked so handsome, more tranquil this way, as he leaned down and gave you a peck on the forehead, a sweet hum sounding in the back of his throat.

“That’s my girl.”

You sighed happily, giving in to him completely now and wrapping an arm around his chest so you could burrow against him; he wrapped his arm around you tighter instinctually, enjoying the feel of you against him as he looked up at the ceiling in content.

Nothing was better than being with you, so much so that Batman himself felt satiated from his lonely perch in the back of Bruce’s mind.

You stared out the large, arched window on his wall for a few quiet moments, watching as the rain quickly fell down the glass one by one as Bruce softly traced his textured fingertips along the spine of your back.

“It always rains, you ever notice that?” You murmured tiredly against his skin, in a daze from the tingling sensation on your skin as he caressed your back in gentle, loving touches.

Bruce looked away from you a moment when you spoke to spare the window a disinterested glance, “What? You don’t like the rain, Mrs. Wayne?” He teased you, his spirits higher than before as he looked back down at you even if you couldn’t see, his nose filled with the sweet smelling shampoo you used — coconut and vanilla.

You smiled a little — you loved when he called you that.

“Well of course you do. You’re Batman, you’re supposed to like depressing things.” You spoke with a smile, only teasing him as your eyes drifted shut from the comfort of his body against yours, muscles melting against the black sheets nestled between his own.

Bruce chucked at that, his hand ceasing its calming motion, “oh, is that right?”

You hummed with an amused smile on your lips, nodding your head, “mmhmm, yes sir.”

Bruce scoffed playfully at that, looking down at you with a fond playfulness in his eyes before gently taking his muscled arm out from underneath your head.

You lifted your head up curiously to look at him, wishing for the moment to not be disturbed, only to be gently rolled over so that Bruce was laid on top of you and you were now sunken into the inky black abyss of cushions beneath him. Your lips parted in a slight gasp, staring up at him with those beautiful eyes he loved so much in surprise.

“Now now, Mrs. Wayne, don’t go calling me that unless you plan on doing something about it, it’s in bad taste.”

You giggled at that, a joyous and twinkling sound that made Bruce tense up, his eyes darting towards your lips and his heart quickening in his chest. You always had such an effect on him even if you didn’t know it.

“How ‘bout you do something about it then?” You whispered up to him sensually, voice low and playful. You could feel the air surrounding the little bubble you two found yourselves in change heavily as you ran your hands softly over his midsection, his light skin cold and soft, muscles hard and firm as you traced your fingers delicately over each individual ab until Bruce was twitching at the feeling.

He glanced down at your hands hotly, already worked up from your minuscule touches alone, his skin tingling from the sensation as a familiar heat started to twirl in his lower tummy.

He looked back down at you, eyes more hooded now but just as eagerly as rain pounded on the windows somewhere in the background — you couldn’t focus on anything but the sound of his warm breaths and the gradual throbbing between your own legs.

“Yeah? Would you like if I did something about it, Mrs. Wayne?” Your husband mumbled huskily, a teasing smirk on his lips as he lowered down closer until his face was just above yours, his big arms pressed into the pillow on each side of your head so you were surrounded by him.

He could see the way you inhaled at the name, felt the way your nails dug into his skin for a subtle, fleeting moment. He always knew all the right ways to turn you on, knew all the right words to say to make you melt in his hands like warm syrup — you were certainly just as sweet.

You stared up at your husband with heavy breaths, mouth watering for a taste of him, eyes blown black with love and unabashed want as he sat in the reflection of your irises. Your skin felt hot and your thighs tightened around his waist, arms aimlessly tracing the ridges of muscle that coated Bruce’s front; it was in an innocently naive way now, so unaware of how badly it was affecting Bruce himself as your initial confidence dwindled down to need.

You impatiently waited for him to make a move, give into the desire you both so clearly felt as your eyes ran over his shirtless body and perfect face in the mean time. With every exhale of breath out of his mouth you found yourself inhaling it back in, breathing his air and smelling of Bruce’s aftershave, Bruce’s shampoo, it was all just Bruce, Bruce, Bruce.

He had completely overwhelmed your senses with his smell, his presence, his very existence and it was making it hard to think clearly — only he plagued your thoughts so much it made your fingertips buzz to feel more of him.

It was in moments like these where the sheer size of Bruce was brought to your attention; he was much more muscular than you, all sharp edges and ridges of pure muscle and destruction that could destroy anything he put his hands on.

It was ironic to you, how those same hands that broke bones were the same hands that caressed your skin in the softest of touches, in the softest of ways, irrevocably incapable of breaking you.

Bruce believed he was all carnal ruination — hands made to break and fists made to destroy. He believed he had a dark side in him he couldn’t control, that Batman was the outlet for all the frustration he felt towards the injustices of the city and how easily it corrupted the lightest of souls. He believed he was made to hurt, to cause ruin — a reason why he never took a single human soul no matter how rotten it was.

But you believed he didn’t give himself enough credit, which is exactly why moments like these were so important to remind him.

You swallowed nervously now as you looked back into his eyes, your fingers faltering in their movement as they stilled on the angles of his hips, right outside the tight band of his black sweatpants.

“Yes, Mr. Wayne, that’s exactly what I want.” You whispered back up to him in a velvety soft tone, eyes looking at his pink lips and then flickering back up between his hazel irises lustfully; the look in them was too intense for you to handle but you sufficed, your heart thrumming passionately under your skin at the attention.

Bruce almost melted at the name, just as affected by the title as you were, lowering his face down until his nose was touching yours, his lips hovering right above your own.

“That’s my girl…” Bruce breathed thickly against your lips, his eyes flickering to your mouth as yours did the same to his, your mouth salivating for a taste of him.

A silent beat passed as you both just stayed in that position, locked into each other’s loving gazes and gentle touches, his lips just a whisper away from yours screaming to have you, to taste you. It was intimate and warm, quiet, your body feeling fuzzy and alight with something similar to deep admiration and not so far from a deep, shared love for each other.

There was no playfulness about it now.

It was then, when the tension had sizzled into flame did Bruce finally lean down and kiss you, his lips soft and cold, so contrasting from the warmth he sought in yours as the rain pattered on the windows and your angelic essence drowned him further into the depths of you.

You moaned softly, feeling relief flood through you as your hands gripped his hips for some sort of anchor off the clouds you seemed to be floating on. Bruce kissed you lovingly, a characteristic act of tenderness as he found his own needy noises hum in the back of his throat.

It was sweet and slow, lips careful and gentle against each other between delicate sighs and hums. He tasted of peppermint and the faint drawl of bourbon, his tongue damping your lips and your shared saliva wet on your mouths.

He seperated from you just for a short moment, your lips feeling the loss but not for too long before he was on you once more with a fervor, tongue molding between your lips forcefully and sucking yours into the warmth of his mouth.

You whined at the sudden confidence within him, lips barely moving against his as he took control of your movements and gave you no other option but to take what he gave you — his lips and his tongue tangling with yours messily as sensual rumbles sounded deep from within in his chest.

He brought a hand down from the pillow and intertwined it in your hair, tangling his thick fingers into your roots and pulling hard enough to arouse you further. It made your back arch and lips part in a salacious gasp.

Bruce found himself unable to part from your delectable taste for long, taking that moment to reconnect his damp lips to the skin between your chin and shoulder. He forced your head back as he kissed your neck, the cold air hitting every damp spot in a pleasurable tingling sensation that had your nails digging into his abs.

“Bruce…” You sighed oh so sweetly in a distracted state of mind, just wanting to say his name and have him hear how good he was making you feel with his simple kisses alone — a feat he always accomplished anytime he did.

The praise didn’t fall on deaf ears but he was too preoccupied with the sound of your heavy breaths and whines to really pay attention, too love drunk on the smoothness of your skin falling over his tongue as he licked his way down to your collarbone. He released his grip on your hair and his hands made idle work in caressing their way down your body to the hem of your white pajama top.

His hands were eager, so familiar on the curves of your body as they slid back up to your chest, hands big and desperate as they tightly gripped your bosom for a fleeting moment that had you moaning at the sting — he was handsy, unable to get enough of you and the way your body perfectly slotted between the strength and ridges of his hands.

His cock was already hard in his slacks, poking against your thigh absentmindedly as his hands dug into the center of your top and adamantly ripped it right down the middle. The buttons flew over the bed and your tits spilled out of the ripped material in a gorgeous ripple of flesh that had Bruce groaning at the sight.

“So beautiful, so gorgeous, just fucking perfect…” He mumbled in a lustful daze, more to himself as a factual observation, his hands now gripping your waist, eager mouth leaning down and making quick work to lap at your chest in the way he knew you liked.

You giggled dreamily at that, feeling fluttery and lightheaded at the praise, body warm and melting like a cube of butter on top of his silk bed sheets. He was always capable of making you melt with just a few loving words and caresses, another one of his talents.

Your hands had found their way into his thick hair, massaging at the loose strands when you decided it was impossible to stay still from the buzzing running through your pores.

Your pussy throbbed in your pajama shorts, painfully so, stomach in tight knots at the sparks shooting down to your core from his ministrations.

He found himself enthralled by the feeling of your tit in his mouth, fervently sucking on the skin there as his hands gripped into your waist so tight in a subconsciously possessive hold so you could never leave. Maybe it was the semblance of Batman himself leaking out from under tight fingertips, a degree of fierce protection in the way he held you underneath him, unable to be taken or destroyed by the same evil he fought almost every night.

You were here with him, with him and all of his burdens for the rest of your lives.

“So gorgeous…”

Bruce was lost in the pleasure you helplessly moaned in his ears, feeling his own mutual desire swirling in his tummy and thrumming through his skin that made every touch feel like fire, every kiss an ember from the flame until you and him were intertwined ash lost in the black smoke.

He loved you, his pretty wife, always so supportive and forgiving in the moments he definitely didn’t deserve it.

He picked his head up, panting and lips wet, your chest littered in pink marks and damp with his spit as Bruce licked his lips, hungry for more already.

You looked at him in all his glory, admiringly, just as enamored with him as he was with you as your warm hands slid down to his cheeks. Your own were flushed pink and feverish, breath warm and heavy as you lovingly ran your palm over his sharp cheekbone. His skin was soft, smooth and tepid under your dainty fingertips.

You gently caressed the faint purple of a bruise with your thumb, right in the hollow of his eye.

Bruce leaned into the tender action for a spared moment of comfort, his eyes hooded and twinkling in the dark as he breathed heavily against your lips. He kept finding himself absent in the presence of your beauty, staring at your face and your lips and being so thankful he had you at all.

“So beautiful…” He breathed gingerly, eyes looking over your face like he was seeing you for the first time — no, he was selfish in his blatant admiration of your magnificence, his heart throbbing almost painfully in his love for you as he watched the soft corners of your mouth twist into a shy smile at your devotees idolatrous attention.

He leaned down after a fond moment of your thumb tracing his cheekbone, after he was satisfied with his generous intake of your prettiness. He pecked an affectionate kiss on your smiling lips before dipping his head down and laying several kisses to your neck once more.

You bit your lip at the sensitive feeling, closing your eyes, lost in the feel of him, as he pampered you with doting kisses all the way down to your ribcage, his hands now playing with the hem of your shorts but not too boldly as to take them off quite yet.

“You’re everything, you know that? I could never imagine my life without you… you’re perfect, so perfect.” He rubbed your stomach adoringly, “Your body is perfect, so beautiful, I can’t believe you ever married me…” He mumbled in that rough voice of his, vulnerable in the night, in the moment when you couldn’t see him all the way clearly but he could see all of you just fine.

You could feel another smile playing on your lips — not that it had even left — the heavy sensation of happy tears casting a light sheen over your eyes. He was the perfect one, he was the gorgeous and beautiful counterpart of you that didn’t seem to realize his own value. You only wished you had the poetic spark in yourself that he had, then you’d be able to voice it properly. Still, his praise made your heart swell as he took your left hand and kissed the diamond ring on your finger amorously.

“Oh, Bruce…” You spoke in a hushed manner, voice wobbling from the overwhelming infatuation you had for the man, so thankful and grateful for such a man as wonderful as he. In your eyes the sudden romance had come out of nowhere, but it was still greatly appreciated as it caused your voice to thicken with the downpour of love it had spiked.

He looked into your eyes as he warmly kissed your palm, lips quirked slightly, eliciting another tender hearted smile from you. He then let you settle your hands back on his shoulders as he slotted himself between your hips, the affectionate moment lingering in the air as you pet his wide shoulders.

You were laid on your back, smooth thighs spread to accommodate his size between them, pajama top ripped down the middle in fragmented material hanging off your shoulders, your tits pooled on your chest and wet with his kisses. Your hair was tangled, fanned around your head, lips pink and plushy from all his salacious kisses, your eyes glittering erotically bright.

Despite that, you were not uncomfortable to be so exposed to him, exposed in a way you’d only ever be with him. You knew he would never judge you nor your body, that he loved you and all your freckles and scars and all the blemishes you considered imperfections — he loved them all. The only part of you not seen were covered by the shorts Bruce was already eager to take off.

You were beautiful to him, ethereal even, just as he said you were an angel, something divine and pure, a holy deity completely out of this world that transcended the mortal plane he was bound to, letting his lowly lips and hands cherish your merciful soul and body. Just oh so perfect.

“I love you…” You whispered, pathetically cute, down to him, a whisper wafting into his ears soft and fragile as if you were scared he wouldn’t say it back — he’d say it everyday for a thousand years if he had the blessing of living that long with you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, pulsing with need, as you smiled down at him sweetly.

“I love you more, Mrs. Wayne… I love you more…” He breathed hotly against your stomach, already leaning down and peppering sugarcoated kisses along your pelvis, so much closer to where you really needed him that the throbbing had become unbearably intense, wetness soaking your inner thighs and cream colored shorts. You felt your body shiver at the title once more.

You swallowed shakily as Bruce moved down, his daft fingers hooking into the band of your shorts and gently shoving them down to your knees as his longing lips reached the band of your lavender laced panties.

Your thighs tightened around his head as cool air hit your wet center, your body sensitive and pulsing heavy notes of desire straight into your pussy that made it hard to keep your head up and eyes open.

You just needed him, needed him and his expert mouth to bring you some sort of relief. Your toes were curled already, pussy clenching around nothing and spewing out clear juices that only damped your underwear further. You tangled your fingers into his hair heatedly, resisting the urge to shove his head down where you really wanted him.

Bruce swallowed hungrily, staring at your panty-clad pussy with dark eyes. He could smell your sweetness on his nose, the rain pattering on the windows still and the room still dark as sin but he could see his heaven clear as day, hypnotized by the patch of wetness in your panties, molded to the shape of your pussy lips and begging to be ripped apart.

His eyes flickered up to you, feeling your grabby fingers tangled in his hair as your thighs tensed back and forth around his neck.

Your head was barely held up, eyes hooded and sparkling with a form of lustful desperation as you stared down at him. Your chest bobbing up and down heavily and your skin radiant and smooth, the city lights from his window blurredly reflected in the fat of your cheeks. You already looked destroyed, like he had just fucked your brains out yet he really hadn’t done a thing.

“Bruce, come on…” You whined in a delicate plea when he made no movement further, hands barely pulling his hair but it was hard enough for his skin to prickle in pleasure, a hiss leaving his lips, just hard enough to get your message across.

He snickered at that, lips shiny and jaw chiseled, his face so sharp yet soft at the same time. His beauty greatly perplexed you for how could a mere mortal be so fucking handsome? He was though, he was strong and big and riddled with scars and imperfections yet the accumulation of all those little faults are what made him flawless.

Bruce himself felt the throbs of impatience nestled in his stomach, burrowed in his heart, buzzing at his fingertips, as he looked down at your pussy once more just inches from his mouth, both wet and watering for the other.

“Be patient, honey. I just wanna look at ‘cha first. You’re so pretty, dripping wet for me…” He had the audacity to murmur in that cocky voice of his, yet simultaneously genuine and stunned at the observation as his hands rubbed your thighs, being sure to heartily press into the tissue in that way he knew you liked.

You couldn’t help but pull his hair some more, bursting at the seams for some sort of pleasure you feared it would boil over and you’d explode. You felt frustration settle through your veins once more like molten lava, your skin tensing and thighs aching from their tight grip around his neck.

“Bruce, no more teasing, please? Just please…” You moaned and whined like a stubborn girl, voice thick with need and painful yearning that made his cock twitch in his pants. You almost sounded broken, voice fragmented with a certain torment only his mouth and fingers could appease.

He licked his lips, feeling desire swell in his lower tummy at the state of you — already so incapable of any thought but the memory of his cock inside you, the feeling of his fingers drilling into your tight hole as he spat and licked on your sensitive clit. It was all you could think about, all you could picture in your mind as your head laid back on the pillows and you scooted down the bed until your pussy was right in his face.

The blanket had long since been forgotten, bunched around his hips and aiding as a nice cushion for his abdomen hunched over the end of the bed.

Bruce felt himself chuckle huskily at your shameless neediness, his big hands stopping on your plush inner thighs as he settled down between your legs on the soft mattress, getting himself comfortable for you.

You breathed heavily, eyes closed as you laid back on the silken pillow with your face crumbled so cutely. He was such a tease even when he was meant to be sweet, even when he was insistent on being a good husband who doted on his wife whenever he could — you guessed growing up rich gave him that arrogant edge.

Your stomach was knotted so tight, your skin hot and shivering for some sort of touch as your fingers dug themselves into the roots of his damp, brown hair. You needed him so bad, but your pussy needed him worse.

You felt your thighs tickle as Bruce lightly traced the pads of his fingers down, down, down until he was at the crook of your inner thigh, his right hand digging into the flesh of your leg like he himself couldn’t hold back from you anymore.

Bruce didn’t bother voicing any teasing quips or dirty statements, knowing you were so out of it you wouldn’t listen to him anyway. Every fiber of your being was hooked on his touches, hyper aware of the spots his fingers trickled across, eager for some degree of pleasure that would make this painful waiting period worth it.

He swallowed down the salvia pooling in his throat, so hungry for a taste of you, starved almost. His index finger hooked into your panties and delicately pushed them out of the way until they were bunched in the crook of your thigh. His eyes were met with your soaking wet slit in all its glory.

White, creamy arousal stuck to your panties and dripped down your pulsing hole into the crack of your ass, sheer white beads of cum dribbled down your needy hole that would escape his tongue before he even got a proper taste of you yet.

The cool air made you whine behind closed lips, your voice high pitched and desperate now, your fingers tighter in his hair as your hips subtly bucked forward. The beautiful noises you were making made Bruce’s jaw clench.

You were glistening, shiny with arousal and the strings of impenitent want, evidence of your desire and love for him as he found himself inhaling the scent of you once more.

You smelt so good. He found himself groaning at the musky sweetness, his finger still hooked around the crotch of your panties as his other hand tightly gripped your thigh — you moaned softly at the pressure, sure that there would be the faint yellow bruises of his adoring fingerprints pressed into your skin tomorrow. A charming reminder of the evening when they blossomed.

You felt your core clench once more, thighs tensing up as wetness shone in his greedy irises.

Bruce was unable to wait any longer, his mouth salivating and his eyes blown black as he pressed his tongue into your wet hole and licked a bold stripe all the way up to your buzzing clit, the taste of your arousal pooled on his tongue and already dripping down the sharp corners of his mouth.

You couldn’t stop the loud moan from echoing in the room, euphoric sounding as sweet sparks went off all over your skin at the long awaited contact. Your fingers tightly anchored themselves in Bruce’s hair as his tongue went up and down your folds, gathering as much of your wetness in his mouth as he could.

His hands swiftly dug themselves into your hips to hold you down once you started writhing in his hold. His tongue forcefully circled your clit in sharp wet strokes, deep rumbled moans escaping his chest that vibrated the sensitivity of it and only made more wetness gush out of you and soak his chin.

You tasted so good, so fucking good; he wanted nothing more than to be drowned in your essence, choking on everything you gave him until his belly was full and even then he wouldn’t be satisfied, he’d never be satisfied. He was like a monster, chasing every little drop of cum that pebbled out of your clenching hole with a forked tongue, greedy and carnivorous like you were the only nectar he ever wanted to taste again.

His tongue lapped your pussy once more as you gasped, back arched and toes clenched as he thrusted his tongue into you over and over, wet and messily as your juices shimmered on his cheeks and lips.

No, he decided, the beast within him would never be tamed.

You bucked away from his mouth in a pathetic attempt to free yourself from the overwhelming pleasure, but Bruce held you down with his strong arms, staring up at you with furrowed brows of concentration as his lips molded over your puffy clit once more, swollen from need and his relentless licking.

He was nothing if not devoted, devoted to your elegance, to your holy figure and endless love as he lapped at you desperately, his tongue swirling your clit as the fabric of your panties tickled his nose. He couldn’t get enough, pushing deeper and harder until your wetness was messily smeared on his mouth and face, eating more and tasting more until his entire being was smothered with your cum inside and out.

“Bruce, o-oh my god!” You squealed wantonly, one hand now gripping the black sheets between tight fingers as your other hand remained in his hair, following the movements of his head as he went up and down, side to side until not an inch of you wasn’t covered in his salvia.

He breathed hotly against you, his eyes closed as he savored the feel of you in his mouth and trickling down his throat. He couldn’t think of anything else, couldn’t listen to reason as all he could focus on was you and your cum, tasting you, licking you, having you in every sense of the word. No one could tear him away from you, not now, not when he was so close to having you cum in his mouth and reaching his final purpose.

You were so close, you could feel it in your tummy. Your hole clenching around his tongue as he went back and forth from your clit and your soaked hole, wanting to pleasure you but simultaneously wanting to taste you for his own pleasure.

Your toes curled, stomach tightened, hands gripping the sheets as your mouth flew open in sporadic moans and gasps, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as your thighs squeezed around Bruce so tight you’d fear he’d never surface from between your legs again.

He wouldn’t have a problem with that.

Bruce picked his head up only high enough to talk, lips dripping and almost incoherent as he mumbled deeply into the wet folds of your pussy like he couldn’t bear to part, “You gonna cum for me, baby? Come on, Mrs. Wayne, make me proud, cum in my mouth.” As he voiced this his one hand crept down and slyly inserted themselves into the tight confine of your warmth, his index and middle fingers pushing inside you, so long and so big it made you cry out.

It was wet and warm, your juices slapping against his knuckles as he circled his fingers inside you, pushing on the spot he knew he was supposed to as his mouth eagerly returned to your clit. He looked up at you, eyes dark and heavy as he stared at your tits jiggling with every thrash of your hips, every arch of your back and every gasp out of your pretty, dampened lips.

He groaned into you at the sight, feeling his cock achingly hard in his pants as he sucked your clit into the warmth of his mouth and refused to let go, tongue prodding the area skillfully and harshly. He wasn’t going to stop this time, not until you were creaming around his fingers and leaking down his neck.

The air was so thick and stuffy that you couldn’t help but pant fervently, your body prickled with pleasure and overwhelming sensations that made it hard to focus on anything but his fingers inside you, long and lithe, slipping in and out as the sounds of your wetness clouded your ears and muffled your moans.

Bruce himself was lost in you, tongue and lips a glistening mess as they lapped and circled and sucked every part of your pussy exposed to him, it felt so good it stung — he was groaning into you softly, pleasure building in his tummy and rumbling through his mouth to your already so sensitive clit.

It was then, just a few short moments after his fingers wormed their way inside your tight walls, just a few short moments after he sucked your clit into his mouth did you feel your stomach relax, thighs squeeze around his head so hard he felt himself go dizzy.

“Ahh, O-oh my god, Bruce!” You moaned so blissfully, so sweetly, as your juices squirted onto his chin and his fingers squelched inside you.

Bruce moaned at the feeling, fingers gently sliding out of your clenching hole so his tongue could catch all the cum pouring out. You whimpered at the feeling of his mouth still on you, lapping at your hole like a dehydrated villager kneeling at a prosperous fountain, your skin pasty and so so hot.

He lapped at your pussy a few more times, up and down, ensuring he got his fill for the evening as faint tremors wracked your body in the aftershocks of his giving nature. You were flat on the bed now, belly sore from the tightness it held for so long, legs limp and body spent as you panted gently, heart throbbing in your ears.

You managed to lazily caress his sweaty hair though as Bruce surfaced from between your legs, face glistening and lips sore and pink. He looked manic, hair pulled and tangled and messily scattered on his face yet he seemed to be glowing at the same time, like he had never felt so alive and it made you want to giggle.

He sniffled, looking up at you with an impish grin, the taste of you lingering in his mouth and staining his nose. His hands fondly massaged your shaking thighs, noting your wrecked appearance and tired eyes, your sweaty skin flushed and warm.

He couldn’t help it as he glanced down at the mess he made, your slippery wet folds and the large patch of wetness staining his sheets.

“Mrs. Wayne, pardon my brashness of course,” He said almost sarcastically, breathless and rugged, an amused smile quirked on his lips as he leaned forward and embraced your hand with his, “but you taste utterly divine.”

⋆˚࿔ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ @little-miss-chaoss — I hope it’s okay I tagged you, you said you wanted to be tagged in everything 😭🙌🏻

[cinnamongrl2006]

Ok hear me out- shower sec with Bruce.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •Bale!Bruce Wayne x fem!Reader•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ mdni, 18+!!!

Warnings: Vaginal sex, fingering, unprotected sex

a/n: I watched The Dark Knight at the movie theater on Sunday and my life changed, I loveee Bruce Wayne, guys; in fact, I need him. Also, I can't believe there's 200 of you already, wowzas.

You’d been arguing with Bruce for the past thirty minutes. It all started shortly after you woke up. He was already up, a steaming coffee mug in his hand, with another on your bedside table. The plaid pajama pants he wore sat low on his waist, and he smiled at you when you opened your eyes. You mirrored his expression for a second, but then your gaze fell on a bruise that ran down his side and up his chest.

"Bruce, what happened?" You sat up in bed, sleep no longer sticking to your limbs.

"Rough night." He let out a humorless laugh and ran a hand through his already messy hair.

He hoped you’d relent, look away, and stop asking questions. Maybe you’d sigh worriedly and mumble something about how you disliked him being Batman before getting up and going on with your day. Instead, you got up from the bed and started scolding him, following Bruce around the room as he went about his tasks. He seldom argued back, knowing there was no bite in it—he knew you were right.

You followed him into the bathroom as he undressed, not stopping the argument. He insisted it was nothing—no broken bones, just a gnarly bruise. "It doesn't even hurt," he claimed. You knew he was lying because he would wince whenever he raised his voice, his arms stretching out to prove a point.

Your reply caught in your throat as he finished undressing and stepped into the shower, shooting you a playful smile.

"I can't hear you from out there. Come in and scream at me all you want," he called out.

God, he was smug; he knew exactly what he was doing, and so did you. So, you took a rain check on the argument and joined him in the shower, expecting soft kisses and whispered apologies against your skin. Instead, you found yourself backed up against the wall, under the spray of the showerhead.

He smiled against your lips. "I'm fine, you know?"

"Stop lying for one second, will you?" you said, deepening your frown.

"Yes ma'am." He didn't even give you a second to react before he kissed you fervently, hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer against his hardening length.

Your heart raced as the heat of his body pressed against yours, but the worry nagged at the back of your mind.

"Bruce, seriously, you need to be careful," you managed to say between kisses, your voice laced with both desire and concern.

"I will be." He brushed off your worries, one of his hands tangled in your hair, the other dipping between your thighs. "Just relax, sweetheart."

"How could I relax when you're getting hurt every night and—" Your words were cut off with a moan when you felt two of his fingers dip inside you.

You gripped his shoulders as he pushed the pads of his fingers against your spongy walls. Your hips grinding against the palm of his hand. You whined at the loss of contact before you felt the blunt tip of his cock against your entrance.

He grunted as he pushed in, slowly, and picked up a pace. Your nails dug into the skin on his back, leaving little indents on his shoulders.

The hand previously on your hair moved to lift up your thigh and wrap it around his waist, his other hand rubbing circles on your clit.

"Bruce I—" You whined.

"You're close? That it sweetheart?" He breathed out.

You shook your head before speaking, "I'm not done arguing."

Bruce laughed and picked up his rhythm, trying to prove a point to you and to himself, with what purpose he didn't know. Your moans got louder and you threw your head back, his mouth latched onto your neck, kissing and nipping wherever he could reach.

He felt your breathing get ragged, your voice louder. He felt your legs give up on his hands and your hands pull at the hair on the nape of his neck as you came with a loud moan. He came shortly after, kissing you as he emptied himself inside you.

"Still mad?" He panted.

"Not mad, just worried." You breathed as he worked his way around you to clean the both of you up.

────୨ৎ────

Requests are open!!

@prettywritergirl2 proofread this 😛

[the-halloween-jack]

Fleeting Moments ✢ Bruce Wayne

Synopsis: Y/N and Bruce Wayne share quiet moments of love amidst the chaos of Gotham. In rare stolen hours between nightfall and dawn, she clings to the man behind the mask, not aware of the double life he leads. She watches as bruises form across his skin and holds him through his restless nights, grateful that, for once, he is by her side. Bruce Wayne x Reader, female pronouns. This piece is not plot-specific, so any iteration of Bruce will work. Though, I wrote it with Christian Bale in mind.

Warnings: A sprinkle of angst. Masterlist

Disclaimer: This is essentially a prequel to another Bruce Wayne one-shot I wrote (here is the link if you're interested), though you by no means have to read it; this works as a stand-alone, too. However, the other one-shot goes into detail on how their relationship progressed from here. Words: 1,726k

Rain pattered softly against the glass, a rhythmic rap that filled the quiet, ornate expanse of Wayne Manor. It was late, too late for her to be awake, but Bruce lay beside her, his breath steady and deep, his warm frame pressed snug against her side. Y/N could not sleep, her mind restless despite the calming comfort of his presence, a presence that so often eluded her. Absently, her fingers traced the ridges of his knuckles, ghosting over the faint scars that marred his otherwise perfect skin.

She wondered, as she always did, where they had come from. He never spoke of them. Never told her of the fights, the injuries, the pain that lingered and simmered beneath the surface of his carefully constructed mask. He was Bruce Wayne, the prince of Gotham, a man of charm and effortless grace. But in the silence of the night when, in his solitude, this façade was brought down, Bruce was something else entirely. Something weary, something worn.

He stirred slightly under her touch, his fingers twitching before they caught hers, enclosing them within his grasp. A small, lazy smile flickered across his lips as he blinked away his stupor.

‘You're awake,’ he murmured, voice thick with lassitude.

Y/N hummed in response, shifting closer, her head nestling against his shoulder. 

‘Couldn't sleep.’

He exhaled slowly, his free hand coming up to stroke along the curve of her spine, soothing and unhurried. 

‘Bad dreams?’ She shook her head against him.

‘No dreams at all,’ she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘Just thoughts.’

Bruce did not push her to divulge in what kind. He never did. He knew her well enough to understand that sometimes, silence was safer, preferred. 

Instead, he pressed a kiss to her temple, lingering there for a moment before pulling her impossibly closer. ‘Get some rest. I'm right here.’

But that was the problem he was blind to; he was here. She could not convince her mind to rest when there was the impending, almost certain possibility that he would leave again, that a time was coming when he would not be around; when he would not be anywhere.

But for now, he was right; he was here. He was with her when this night was still, when the city outside could wait. But Y/N knew, deep down, that the nights like these were borrowed moments, fleeting and precious. They existed in the spaces between his concealed duty and sacrifice, in the hours when he let himself be nothing more than a man who loved her.

She did not ask him to stay awake with her. She did not ask him about the bruises forming on his frame. She simply closed her eyes and let the sound of his heartbeat lull her back to sleep.

Morning came with a soft glow of dawn seeping through the sheer curtains; it cast a golden hue over their space and a warm, rouge gleam through her closed eyelids. Bruce was already awake, as he often was, standing by the window with a cup of coffee in hand. He was bare from the waist up, the morning light tracing the contours of his back and highlighting the scars that stood scattered across his physique.

Y/N opened her eyes and watched him for a moment, drinking in the quiet beauty before her. Though, eventually, she was compelled to speak. 

‘What catches your eye?’ Y/N got up from their bed and moved to stand behind him. She looked past him to the sprawling murk of the Gotham City skyline, the view that held his gaze. She draped her arms around his waist and rested her chin upon his shoulder.

His head tilted ever so slightly in responce, until his cheek made light contact with her forehead. She could feel the smile that played at the corners of his lips. ‘This city… It never sleeps.’

‘Neither do you,’ she murmured sardonically, shifting so her face nuzzled into the base of his throat. 

‘You should, Bruce. You need to.’ He felt her words hum against his skin.

He said nothing, taking another slow sip of his coffee. He yearned to explain, to tell her why he was always unaccounted for, he felt the words swell at the edge of his tongue; he swallowed them back, and they burned in their descent. Y/N sighed, she sensed his hesitation, his unwillingness to speak, to disclose his worries. She gently pushed away and returned to the bed to sit amongst the ruffled sheets. 

‘Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we left? If we went somewhere far away, at least for a little while?’ Y/N did not know everything, but she knew this: it was Gotham that kept him tethered here. 

She did not know why that was; she could not understand it. Was he clinging to the memory of his parents taken too soon? She stared begrudgingly at the Metropolitan cesspool before her and concluded that must be the case; she could not see why else he would want to stay. There was beauty here; Y/N was not blind to it, she saw the Gothic architecture, the intricate ironwork and the towering cathedrals. There was beauty in its darkness, haunted yet elegant. 

But Gotham’s old-world charm stood in vast juxtaposition to its modern decay; the underbelly was a twisted mirage of its grandeur. Every crevice held murmurs of brutality and corruption, from alleyways to corporations. In Gotham, shadows were not merely cast by the towering buildings but by the weight of its crime, greed, and betrayal. Murk clung to its surfaces like a second skin, and the light, if it ever shone through, felt fleeting.

Bruce turned to face her fully, leaning against the windowsill; his face contorted, if she did not know him better, she would have thought he was in pain. 

‘I can’t.’

‘I know,’ she whispered, nodding slightly. ‘But I wish you could.’

He strode over, set his coffee down on the bedside table and sunk into the mattress beside her. His hands found her face, thumbs grazing her cheekbones as he studied her, his eyes unreadable. 

‘Would you? Leave Gotham? Leave all this?’

She swallowed. ‘I would be leaving something behind, something I couldn’t live without.’

Bruce knew she spoke of him; he considered this fact, felt the way it twisted his stomach and burnt like acid in his throat. She would be better off without him, safer. Maybe he should send her away; she should live in sunlight, not his shadow. Instead, he pulled her to him, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that spoke of everything he left unsaid, everything he kept shrouded behind his distasteful second life. Y/N melted into it, her fingers threading through his hair, anchoring herself to this sporadic moment.

Then he pulled away, his forehead resting against hers. ‘I can’t leave. Just know that I love you. That, I’m sure of.’

And for now, it was enough.

There were nights when the world felt too heavy, when the weight of his self-inflicted responsibility bore down upon him until he was engulfed by it, until it pulled him under. These were the times when he came to her in the dead of night, his body weary, his hands unsteady as they reached for her, craving her embrace.

She never asked where he had been. She never asked why his knuckles were raw. She never asked why an affliction lingered behind his gaze, a torment that refused to leave. Instead, she took him in, let him press his forehead against her shoulder, let him expel his unspoken burdens into the quiet space between them.

‘I hate this city,’ he once confessed, voice muffled against her skin. ‘I hate what it does to people. What it does to me.’

She carded her fingers through his dark hair, a soothing motion meant to ease the tension in his shoulders. His declaration had stunned her, he never spoke of these worries, never gave too much away.

‘Then leave.’ She tried to keep her tone light, unburdened. 

He let out a hollow laugh. ‘You know I can’t.'

‘I know,’ she whispered. But the truth was, she did not know; she did not understand.

Bruce lifted his head and searched her face as if trying to memorise it, commit it to his memory. 

‘I don't want to lose you.’

‘Then don’t,’ she whispered, a smile turning her lips as her fingers continued to pass through his hair. ‘Stay. At least for tonight. Stay for me; I’m not going anywhere, you know?’

They perpetually followed the same cycle: love, longing, and the insatiable pull of his unwavering, cumbersome duty. The few, yet treasured, nights they spent wrapped in each other’s arms, the stolen kisses in the dimly lit atrium of Wayne Manor, the whispered exchanges in the wake of the morning.

And then there were the other nights, the dreaded junctures. The ones where she woke to find the space beside her cold, sheets untouched. The vestige of his presence an aching reminder of the life he led, the life she was not acquainted with.

She told herself she could live with it. That as long as he came back to her, she could endure the waiting, the worrying, the never-ceasing fear that one day, he would not return at all, that he would be reduced to a memory, a phantasm of her past.

Though deep within her, Y/N knew. She knew that love and hope alone could not fix the fractures and fissures forming between them. That try as she might, one day, the burden of it all would become too much, and it would crumble under the pressure.

However, in the fleeting moments of his caress, she could not allow herself to fret this fact. She pressed herself even closer, savouring the way his arm tightened around her waist in his sleep, how his breath fanned, warm against her neck.

For now, she would seize these tranquil moments. The transient seconds in which the world outside ceased to exist, where Bruce was merely Bruce, and she was simply the woman he loved.

Because Y/N knew that, when all was said and done, the night would beckon him once more and draw him from her grasp.

Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Moth to the Flame Pt. 1 | Dr. Crane x Reader

summary: Dr. Jonathan Crane isn't the only 'crazy' in Gotham City and he's about to meet his match. When confronted with an unpleasant secret from his past, he's skeptical to trust the strange young woman who calls herself Victoria Vale, the rightful heiress to Arkham Asylum (and maybe his downfall).

warnings: none yet but oh baby just you wait...

A/N: I really enjoy using the original DC comic lore so if you've been following me for a while, you'll recognize the backstories in this but I've tried to make a completely different plot line.

bury a friend- Billie Eilish 🎶

i 

“Professor Crane?” You poke your head into the small office, the heavy door slightly crushing your body against the doorframe. The raven-haired man looks up from a stack of research papers on his desk and cocks an unwelcome eyebrow. 

“Come back during my office hours.” He waves you off with his free hand as he grades a paper with a red pen. His voice has the strange ability to both attract you and put you ill-at-ease at the same time. You step inside and let the heavy door close behind you. You don’t need to lock it, yet. Dr. Crane looks you up and down quickly, his lip curled in displeasure and disinterest. 

“It’s a quick question, I promise sir,” you lie through your teeth, your dimples showing beneath your full cheeks as you smile. Dr. Crane looks up at you from over the rim of his harsh rectangular frames. He stares at you for a moment, his blue eyes shifting as he thinks, then finally he sighs and sits back in his desk chair. 

“What’s your name?” He removes his glasses and wipes the lenses clean with the corner of his suit jacket. He puts them back on as you sit down opposite of him, the desk between you. You glance down at the research papers, an action that is barely noticeable, if at all. 

“Victoria,” you answer and watch as Dr. Crane sighs again, impatiently. He rolls his eyes after a moment of silence and leans forward, gesturing his hand through the air to get you to continue. 

“What did you want to ask me?” He asks pointedly, losing whatever patience he had left. 

“Well we’ve spoken once before but it was just a brief exchange after one of your lectures,” you start and Crane watches you, barely paying attention now. His eyes seem to glaze over. “I asked you about the chemical components of fear. I’d like to hear your answer.” You say slowly, your hands playing with the edge of your seat. Dr. Crane barely cocks his head to the side before he clucks his tongue and looks away. 

“Did you not like the answer I gave you before?” 

“I’d forgotten what you said,” you explain as you wipe your clammy hands on your thighs. Dr. Crane threw his gaze back to you and raised an eyebrow, his expression one of obvious judgment. 

“Fear is an emotional response to a threat. It’s a basic evolutionary survival mechanism. The two primary parts of the brain that deal with fear are the amygdala and the hippocampus…” he answers dully, regurgitating what every psych student already knows. 

“Respectfully, sir,” you start, your voice steady, “I’m talking about the chemical components of fear, not the anatomical.” 

Dr. Crane regards you with an unreadable expression and then removes his glasses, sighing deeply again. He looks down at his glasses and then clears his throat. 

“You’re interested in fear chemistry, are you?” His tone is low and dry, like he’s mocking you. 

“Interested isn’t exactly the right word.” You answer with a small shrug. 

“What is the right word then, Victoria?” The way he says your name is sharp, like a door closing when you aren’t expecting it. He finally looks up at you again.

“I’m…” you search for the right word and then wet your lips, “... attracted to the concept of fear. It’s almost like a passion project that can’t be satisfied.” 

“Attracted to fear?” Crane repeats slowly, though his face doesn’t change. 

“Fear is one of the most fascinating phenomena in the creation of our universe, don’t you think?” 

Dr. Crane regards you differently, his breath shifting to a new rhythm. He wets his lips before he answers, his words measured. 

“One could debate that. I’d say pleasure or desire are more complex and powerful. Why fear?” 

“It’s the power of control over both the mind and body,” you respond without batting an eye. 

“Is it power that fascinates you, Victoria?” Crane asks softly, his hands clenching and relaxing in his lap. “One could say that pleasure can have a similar effect.” 

You allow yourself to blush, knowing it’ll look more believable if you do. “Well, it’s also about control…” 

Dr. Crane looks down at his hands again and thinks for a moment before responding, his voice still calm and even despite the shift in the room. 

“Do you find control attractive?” 

“Well, don’t you? Isn’t that why you became a teacher? The role gives you control over the development of new minds,” you smile sweetly. 

A rare smirk creeps across Crane’s face. He looks up at you and puts his glasses back on, the silver frames catching the light of the fluorescent bulbs. 

“You’re very perceptive,” he trails off and folds his hands on the desk in front of him. “Control is a powerful and attractive aspect of fear.” 

“And what’s so fascinating about fear specifically is that it is universal. Everyone has something that they’re afraid of… even you. And that’s what led me to ask myself this question: what are you, Professor Crane, afraid of? And for the life of me, I can’t figure it out.” Your eyes meet his with an obvious change in intentionality. Crane doesn’t react but feels himself leaning forward slightly like a snake rearing its head.

“I have a few guesses but it doesn’t matter for right now,” you continue when he doesn’t respond. “I read your old thesis about fear in mammalian species and it’s given me a lot of insight into my own mind.” 

“You’ve read my thesis?” Dr. Crane cocks his brow again and grips his hands together painfully. His body goes cold in warning like a lightning rod in a thunderstorm. “Most of my students barely attend class, much less decide to read my work.” 

This is the moment. You lean forward slightly, your hair falling off your shoulders, your eyes wide with excitement. 

“Oh, I never said I was a student, Professor Crane.” 

Dr. Crane freezes, his cold heart stuttering in his chest. He swallows slowly, trying to collect his thoughts before he responds. 

“Then who, may I ask, are you?” 

“I attended one of your lectures on radical treatment of phobias, which is where we spoke for the first time, and yes, I did sit in on one of your classes and left with additional reading materials and a better appreciation for your work. Your thesis however,” you tilt your head away in a show of shyness, “that’s available for any ‘crazy’ to find.”

“Mmm so, you’re just a ‘crazy’ then?” Crane hums cooly, “But that still doesn’t answer how you managed to get a copy of my thesis. It was pulled from circulation and all hard copies that I was aware of were destroyed.” 

“I’m good at getting answers and it helps when people find you attractive…” you shift in your seat, looking away. You can feel Crane’s eyes on you as he considers your answer. 

“And I guess that means you think that I find you attractive?” Crane guesses cooly, his eyes not leaving your face. You look back at him and take note of his guarded expression. Taking a breath, you fix your hair and meet his eyes. 

“I think you’re attracted to my mind.” 

“Who are you?” He asks again, leaning closer against his better judgment, like a moth to the flame. 

“I’m surprised you’re so unconcerned with my presence here, late at night when everyone else has gone home…” your posture is rigidly still as you speak. Dr. Crane smirks softly. 

“You are a very beautiful and intelligent young woman, and you don’t look very dangerous to me. Why would I be concerned?” 

“Because I think I know what you’re afraid of, doc.” You whisper and Crane freezes again, his heart jumping in his chest at your thinly veiled threat. Despite his feelings of unease, Crane smiles. He studies your lips as you speak and the way your body is angled towards him. 

“And what is it that I’m afraid of?” 

And just like that, it’s become a game. 

You smile a little, wanting him to feel safe and comfortable. He isn't intimidated by you yet and you want him to take you seriously. You lean closer, ducking your head in a whisper. 

“Being found out…” 

“About what, pet?” Crane asks pointedly, in a challenging tone. 

“Well…,” you sit back in your chair casually and tuck your hair behind your ears. “I’ve always had a natural inclination towards crime. That’s what made me become a detective. I thought what I wanted was to restore justice in Gotham, but I’ve quickly learned that justice is a jealous mistress and maybe my interest in crime has other motives… Are you following me so far?” 

Dr. Crane massages his mouth with his hand, listening intently. His lips are pursed beneath his fingers, his eyes void of any telling secrets. 

“So far,” he sighs. 

“You and I share something very important. It’s made us both who we are today. I just realized it before you did.” 

“Oh? And what do you think we share?” He furrows his brow skeptically. 

You stand and brush the hem of your dress over your thighs. As Crane watches you, you trail a finger over the books on your bookshelf, stopping at one and pretending to read one of the pages. 

“Thomas Wayne.” 

You toss the book in front of him on the desk. The book is open to the author bio. It’s a picture of your parents, the authors of a book on criminal psychology. The Arkhams.

"These are my parents. My name was Victoria Vale when I was born. Thomas Wayne murdered them and they put me in an orphanage. I didn’t know they were my parents until I started looking into the Waynes. And then I found you…” You keep your story short and to-the-point, not wanting to reveal too much. Dr. Crane looks between the photo and you, his brow furrowed as he works it all out in his head. Maybe for the first time in his life, he finds himself speechless. 

“So you really are crazy, aren’t you, pet?” He covers the shaky tone of his voice with a sneer. You ignore him and close the book, pushing it aside on the desk. 

“Tell me, what did Thomas Wayne do to you?” 

Dr. Crane looks up at you and scoffs. He removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and his thumb until the pressure between his eyes fades. 

“And why would I tell you that?” 

“Because I already know the answer, I’m just giving you the opportunity to say it.” You lean against the bookshelf and cross your arms over your chest. Dr. Crane regards you with suspicion and shakes his head. 

“You’re bluffing.” 

“Am I?” You bite back. You stare at each other, eyes narrowed and blood pumping. Dr. Crane finally sighs through his nose and puts his glasses back on. His eyes bore into you, punishing you for asking him this question. He holds your gaze with a mixture of pain, bitterness and cold rage. He speaks as if the words are acid in his mouth.

“Thomas Wayne destroyed my family and my childhood. He was a ruthless and cruel man and I’m glad he’s dead.” 

You stare back at him and notice the original tension between you changing, shifting as your power shifts. 

“Then we’re kindred spirits, you and I. It was only a matter of time until I found you, the famous criminal psychiatrist with-” You lean over the desk, looking directly into his eyes,” startling blue eyes.” You take a breath before continuing, not waiting for him to respond. 

“Because I’m a good detective, not like any of my ignorant male peers, I looked into a string of unusual robberies and I noticed that most of Falcone’s men were being moved to Arkham Asylum… on your orders.” 

Crane is silent for a moment, impressed by your intelligence and deduction. He feels his heart starting to pound a little faster again. He does not deny it, but doesn’t confirm your suspicions either. 

“I may have had some influence in those transfers.” 

“Don’t worry, Crane, I’m not here to cause trouble for you. I just wanted to meet the man I’ve admired for so long and see if I can be of some… help.” You smile and pass your fingers over the research papers organized across the desk. You’re catching him off guard on how well you know him and he can’t tell if he likes it or not. His eyes flick across your face again, taking in the sight of your dark eyes and darker eyelashes. 

“You admire me?” 

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“How does a young, beautiful girl like yourself become so interested in a man like me?” Then he pauses and wets his lips before adding with a smirk, “why, exactly, do you admire me?”

“Your work, it’s impressive. And what can I say… ” You look back up at him with a serious look on your face as you drag a finger across the research papers, pulling out a piece of scratch paper. “I like your style.” 

On the corner of the paper, there is a drawing of a scarecrow. You drag it slowly across the desk until it sits in front of Crane on the desk. You don’t need to say anything else. He looks down at the drawing, swallows, then looks up at you. 

“Stop acting dumb, doc. I know more than you think. Like I said, I’m good at finding information and sticking my nose into places where it may not belong.” 

Crane’s pulse quickens at the edge in your voice, his fingers reaching for and clutching the paper tightly. He wants to be irritated, but somehow you’re bringing out a different, a darker and playful part of him. 

“Once again, you’ve proven yourself to be a very observant and talented young woman. Maybe too talented. I think you’re too dangerous to keep around my office, Miss Vale. You’re a liability.” 

“What are you going to do to me, Crane? Are you going to use your… little fear toxin on me?” You smile, leaning further across the desk where Crane hasn’t moved from his seat. He looks up at you, smirking slyly. 

“Maybe I will.” Dr. Crane starts to stand, and when he does, he’s taller than you but not by much. He isn’t a very tall man, you could easily take him if you needed to. You’re still separated by the desk but you’re close enough to smell his cologne. 

“Impressed by my skills of deduction?” You ask, clasping your hands behind your back. 

Crane walks slowly around his desk to stand in front of you, looking you up and down intently. He tilts his head to the side, his voice distant and distracted. 

“More than a little impressed, yes. You’ve figured out an awful lot about me in a very short time.”

“Now don’t you want to know why I’m here? Your survival instincts are annoyingly slow, Crane,” you tease. 

Crane bristles, displeased with your slight to his intelligence. He crosses his arms over his chest and sits back against the desk, clenching his jaw. “I would love to know why you’re here. You’ve been very coy about that point.” 

You nod and move away from him to continue looking at the books, organized meticulously on the bookshelf. “I have a proposition for you. I want to be… business partners.” You can see Crane watching you from out of the corner of your eye. Crane chuckles a little, stunned. 

“Business partners, huh? And what exactly would that entail?” 

Crane’s eyes sweep over your figure again as he imagines what kind of ‘business partners’ he’d want to be. 

“I’ll help you with your grand plan for Gotham and in return I get two things…” you keep your eyes on the spines, your fingers following the edges of each book. 

“Mm?” Crane hums, listening carefully now that you have his full attention. 

“1. I get to lead beside you when you successfully turn Gotham upside down and 2. I get what’s rightfully mine… Arkham Asylum.” You turn back to look at him, refusing to be intimidated by him even when he looks at you like something he’d like to eat. 

Crane’s eyes widen and he almost starts to laugh. His navel warms, aroused by your attitude and threats. He chuckles softly and moves his hands to grip the desk on either side of his body. 

“Gotham city flipped upside down, and Arkham Asylum in your hands. Your terms are surprisingly bold, Miss Vale.” 

“What can I say, Crane? I’m in the business of retribution.” You shrug, not backing down. 

Crane chuckles again and shakes his head, “Touché.” He imagines himself pinning you against the bookshelf and feels himself get hard just at the thought of it. He watches you closely, noticing your unwavering resolve. “And how can you be sure I won’t use my toxin on you?”

It’s your turn to laugh now. You smile and step closer to him, meeting his cool eyes. You let your eyes look him up and down, admiring the way his lean body hides beneath his expensive suit. 

“I’ve prepared for that possibility… but I like playing with fire.” You pull a lighter out from your pocket and strike a flame. It glows between your faces.

Crane smiles in amusement at your audacity then his eyes dart between your face and the flame separating the two of you. 

“You are playing a dangerous game, Miss Vale.” 

“My favorite,” you respond coolly and play with the flame in your hand. Crane’s eyes follow the flame and he swallows. “So? What say you?” 

He should stop you, he should kick you out of his office and ignore you, but the fire in your eyes and the confidence in your words makes him want to take a risk. He reaches out quickly and takes hold of your chin, tilting your face up so that he can see it clearly. His voice is a low whisper.

“You’re a dangerous little thing, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you have no idea.” You snap the lighter closed and tuck it into Crane’s breast pocket. “Regards from Thomas Wayne. I thought you should have it.” 

Crane looks down at the lighter, dropping his hand away from your chin. His eyes dart back to your face, assessing the weight of your words. Your demeanor is cold and almost amused. Crane swallows, his skin growing cold where the lighter now sits. 

“Where did you get this, Miss Vale?”

“Not only do I want what’s rightfully mine, you deserve what they took from you too. Think of this as my promise and a peace offering.” You pat his breast pocket, your face getting dangerously close to his. He flinches when you touch him and clenches his jaw. He looks down to your hand patting his pocket and raises a sharp brow. 

“And you’re willing to help me get my revenge?” 

“It would be mine too.” 

“Against Thomas Wayne?” 

“Against the whole city… but especially the Waynes.” You whisper, managing to take a step closer. Crane chuckles, admiring the way your eyes darken when you speak so severely. He leans down a little closer to your ear, his breath ruffling your hair. 

“A pretty, vengeful vixen. I’m starting to like you, Miss Vale.” 

“Now, now, now-” You push him back with a sly smile, your teeth showing, “We’re business partners, not fuck buddies. You’ll need to behave yourself if you want to make this work.” 

Crane actually laughs, though the sound is raspy and dark, it’s still a laugh. He allows you to push him back and holds up his hands in mock surrender, sitting back on the edge of his desk. 

“Feisty. Ok, I’ll play the part. No need to worry, Miss Vale… though the thought is… tempting.”

“Not intoxicating? I’ll just have to try harder next time,” you smile as you pull on your coat from the chair. Dr. Crane watches you from his desk, his eyes following your arms as you slide into the quilted coat. 

“Oh you know exactly how intoxicating you are. Don’t be coy, Miss Vale.” 

“Maybe I’m just a Jack of All Trades,” you shrug and move to the door. Crane crosses his arms over his chest again and nods slowly. 

“Yes, I’m starting to see that now. You’re full of surprises.” He can’t help but look you up and down again, his eyes lingering on the shape of your thighs or the angular way you hold your head. He wets his lips, wetting his pallet. 

“Well, here’s another one,” you smile, fully aware of his arousal, “Falcone was taken into custody today. Someone, and I’m not saying who, may have given him a razor blade. He’ll need a psych evaluation and you need to be the one to do it. I don’t trust him to keep his mouth shut if this goes to trial.” 

Crane raises an eyebrow, impressed by your thoroughness. 

“Falcone in custody. Hmm. A razor blade? What a coincidence...” he starts to wonder exactly how far you’re willing to take this revenge of yours. He can feel himself getting excited in more ways than one. 

“You’ve got the right idea, Miss Vale. I’d be more than happy to take over his evaluation.”

“Good. I’ll arrange for you to administer it between your lectures. You’re such a busy man. Professor by day, psychopath by night. I don’t know how you do it.” 

“I’ve made a lot of sacrifices,” he answers cooly, calmly, “As have you, it seems.” 

Something passes between you, something shifts once again in your eyes. 

“Goodnight, Dr. Crane.”  

You start to leave but turn around briefly to speak, your eyes growing softer. You’re actually capable of feelings too, not just well-worded threats. “Don’t lose the lighter… it’s the one he used…” 

You leave the sentence in the air between you, hoping he’ll understand what you mean. Dr. Crane seems to freeze again as he processes what you’re saying. He puts his hand against his breast pocket to feel the outline of the lighter. He clenches his jaw and finally nods. 

“Goodnight, Miss Vale.” 

You nod once and open the door, pushing against its heavy weight. 

“I’ll be in touch,” you say over your shoulder and Crane fixes his glasses. 

“I’m sure.”

Only when the door closes behind you and you’re walking down the dim hallway do you allow yourself to exhale. Dr. Crane was so much more impressive in person… and so much more attractive. You had almost faltered on your plans until you remembered how much you needed him, and how important it was that the two of you meet. Though you must admit, acting unbothered has never been harder. You run your hand through your hair and slip out of the science building on campus. You’re wearing a quilted coat, more for professionalism than warmth. It’s late Spring in Gotham and it’s too warm for a coat. In fact, there’s a heatwave coming in the next week. But you keep the coat on because the color is dark, helping you blend into the shadows of every building in the city. 

The moment the door closes, Crane finds himself almost unable to breathe. He’s nearly shaking and feels strangely off-balance like you’ve completely turned his world on its head. He walks back around his desk to his chair and slowly lowers himself into the seat. He exhales shakily and pinches the bridge of his nose above his glasses. Part of him wants you, the other part wants you gone. With a sigh, Crane pulls the lighter out of his pocket and places it on the desk, looking at it while his thoughts run wild. 

You hadn’t needed to say the words for him to piece it together: this was the lighter that Thomas Wayne used to kill his mother, and by extension, his father. The knowledge of what you’ve given him finally sinks in and he takes a deep breath, his jaw clenching again. He feels a cold shiver rush over him, a thousand thoughts running through his mind at once. He can’t tell if he wants to cry or scream or laugh. Crane reaches out and grabs the lighter, his knuckles turning white. He thinks of you, of your audacity to crash his carefully constructed life with your own plans of revenge. He plays with the lighter, his lips pulled into an unhappy snarl. But the longer he thinks about you, the more he feels himself growing to like you. As much trouble as you could cause him, he liked how fast you thought on your feet and how good you looked in that dress. 

Hours seem to pass before he can slowly regain control of himself enough to clear his head a little. He’s trying to understand you… he wants to trust you but there’s a very loud part of his mind that’s screaming not to. He can’t deny the fact that you’ve completely enthralled him, in fact, the thought of seeing you again makes his heart pound in perverse excitement. He tosses the lighter back on the desk and runs a hand over his face. 

“Damn you…"

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Voices From The Past - Bruce Wayne X Female Reader

Title: Voices From The Past

Bruce Wayne X Female Reader

(Can be seen as any iteration of Bruce Wayne, however the Batcave is from The Dark Knight).

Additional Characters: Reader's mother, Reader's father (Mentioned), Reader's Step-Mom (Mentioned), and Alfred (Mentioned)

WC: 4,108

Warnings: Crying, family issues/parent abandonment mentioned, Reader is mentioned to have a mother and father, italics, divorce hinted to, infidelity by Reader's mother mentioned, mentions of marriage, nicknames, Bruce is so wise, slight angst, and fluff

You never thought this day would come. Your phone shook in your shaking hands. Tears burned the backs of your eyes before rolling down your cheeks in waves. You stared at the blackened screen, unblinking, shocked, upset, overwhelmed… Too many emotions to fully process properly. 

Your mother called. Well, you didn't call her your mother. Technically, yes, she is your birth mother, who birthed you, but she wasn't your mom. Your step-mother was more of a mother than she was. Overall, it was complicated.

Now, the thing was, your mother never called. The day she walked out on you and your father was the last day you had ever seen or heard from her. And that was fifteen years ago.

You had very vague memories of your time and life with her before she left; a time at the local community pool, that one time she taught you how to bake cherry pie, and when she would tuck you in at night. One memory though, that somewhat haunted you at the worst of times, was when she would sing “You Are My Sunshine” to you. You hadn’t listened to that song since she left, it always reminded you too much of her. You hated being reminded of her.

After she left though, walking out on you and your father, it was like she had taken the bright sun with her. For a long time, you didn’t understand why she left or what you had done wrong. For a long time, you thought that you were the reason why she left. Were you not good enough? Were you not a good kid? What did you do to make her hate you that she left? 

You tried not to dwell on it, tried to be strong for your dad, who did his best to fill the gaping void she left behind. Your step-mother came into your life years later, a balm to your wounded family, and you slowly started to heal. But the scars remained, faint yet unforgotten.

And now, fifteen years later, that woman had the audacity to call you out of nowhere. How she got your number, you didn’t know. You didn’t really care. Her voice on the other end of the line was hesitant, almost trembling, like she wasn’t sure if you’d even answer. It was awkward, insanely so, and you wished that you had never answered the unknown number.

Her voice faltered as she spoke, a tentative edge threading through every word. “Hi, honey. It’s me,” She began, and for a split moment, you didn’t recognize the sound of her voice, but then it hit you like a tsunami and your eyes widened. It had been fifteen years after all, so it only made sense that you wouldn’t recognize her voice at first or at all. She paused. And it was long, heavy, and suffocating. She was waiting for you to say something. You didn’t. “I… I just wanted to see how you’ve been,” She continued, tone awkward, as if she didn’t know where to start or how much ground there was to cover. 

The words hit you, and you fought the urge to hang up right then. “How have I been?” You asked yourself, scoffing mentally.

“I know this is unexpected,” She continued, the slight tremor in her voice betraying her nerves. “I just… I think about you all the time. Wondering how you are doing, where you are. I- I never forgot about you.”

“Okay,” You finally spoke, your voice low, and tone tense. What could you even say to that? 

She let out a breath when you spoke finally, “Are you still in the same town?” She asked, her voice continuing to be cautious, “Or… Did you move? I always wondered if you stayed close to home or if you went somewhere else.” There was a painful irony in her words, like she was trying to piece together a puzzle she had willingly walked away from. The puzzle had long been put away, there was nothing to solve. She didn’t know where you were, what you did, or who you had become. “You must be doing well,” She added, trying to sound hopeful, “You were always a smart kid.” You pursed your lips at her words, “What… What have you been up to? Are you working? Married? Kids?”

Her questions came in rapid succession now, but the questions only grated on your nerves, reopening old wounds that you thought had long since scabbed over. She wanted to know everything, it seemed, about the life she had no part in. And all you wanted to know was why she thought she had the right to ask.

You swallowed thickly, feeling tears burn your eyes, but you held them in. Clearing your throat, you finally forced yourself to respond, though your tone was far from warm. Each word felt like it was being dragged out of you. “I moved,” You said shortly, not meeting her invisible gaze through the phone. “To Gotham.”

There was a pause on her end, a brief silence before she spoke again, her voice tinged with surprise. “Gotham? Wow, that’s... That’s far. I never would’ve guessed.”

You ignored the attempt at small talk. “Yeah,” You said curtly, hoping she’d drop the subject - and the call altogether - but of course, she didn’t do either.

“What do you do there? Are you working?”

You clenched your jaw. “I used to,” You replied, keeping it vague. You didn’t owe her the specifics, didn’t owe her anything, really.

Another pause, “Oh, I see. Well, that’s okay. Things happen, right?” She said awkwardly, trying to fill the silence. “There will always be another opportunity.”

You inhaled sharply, her assuming you lost whatever job you had irritated you, and you debated whether or not to answer her next question. The thought of sharing this part of your life with her felt wrong, like exposing something sacred to someone who hadn’t earned the right to know. 

“I’m married,” You said reluctantly, your voice stiff and clipped.

Her reaction was immediate, a soft gasp slipping from her lips. “Oh... Oh, wow. Married? That’s-”

“Yeah,” You interrupted, not wanting to hear her feigned excitement or whatever platitudes she had ready. “It happened a while ago.”

Your tone remained distant, each answer another brick in the wall you were determined to keep between you. She might have been your birth mother, but she wasn’t part of your life, and you weren’t about to let her waltz back in like she had any claim to it. Not unless she said or did something worthy enough for your forgiveness.

A flicker of surprise crossed your mind, though, as you realized she hadn’t even heard about your engagement years prior. It had been highly publicized at the time. Then again, she didn’t live in Gotham, and Gotham’s news rarely traveled far beyond the shadow of Metropolis. And you doubted that she was living there.

You shifted on the couch, unable to sit still, your free hand fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. Every second stretched uncomfortably long as you tried to decide whether to end the call or endure it.

“So... What’s Gotham like?” She asked, her attempt at casual conversation landing awkwardly.

“It’s fine,” You replied shortly, your tone clipped. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, your fingers trembling slightly.

“Fine?” She echoed, a nervous laugh in her voice. “I hear it can be a bit... Rough, you know, with everything that goes on there. The crime-rate.”

“It has its moments,” You muttered, glancing at the clock. Time wasn’t moving fast enough.

She hesitated, clearly grasping for something else to say. “And your... Your partner?” She asked cautiously. “What’s he like? Or she?”

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. “He’s great,” You said stiffly, leaving it at that. You didn’t elaborate, didn’t offer details. This wasn’t her business.

“That’s good,” She said quickly, “I’m glad you found someone.”

You could feel your stomach twisting as she spoke. Her words were polite enough, but they carried an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite name - guilt, maybe, or regret. You could only hope. Your grip on the phone tightened, and you shifted again, crossing and uncrossing your legs in an attempt to release some of the tension building in your chest.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” She added after another long pause, her voice quieter now.

You bit your lip, “I’m fine,” You said, the words sharper than you intended.

“I just...” She trailed off, sighing softly. “I wanted to hear your voice again. To know how you’re doing. It’s been… It’s been a while…”

Your throat constricted, and you blinked rapidly, trying to keep your emotions in check. You were twisting the hem of your sleeve now, nearly tearing the fabric, your leg bouncing restlessly.

“Well, now you know,” You said bluntly, your voice colder than you meant for it to be.

She was silent for a moment, and the weight of the silence was suffocating. You glanced at the screen, half-hoping the call would drop, giving you an excuse to end it.

“I’ve missed you,” She said finally, her voice breaking slightly. You closed your eyes, exhaling shakily. Your fingers hovered over the “end call” button, and for a moment, you considered pressing it. But something - curiosity, obligation, or maybe just the tiniest trace of unresolved pain - kept you on the line. “And- and I love you. I’ve always loved you,” She added, her voice trembling. The words hit you like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs. You stared blankly at the floor, your mind spinning. Your chest tightened painfully, her words stirring emotions you didn’t want to acknowledge. 

You didn’t respond, didn’t even trust yourself to speak. “Yeah right. You sure have a funny way of showing it.” You thought. Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, until she filled it once more.

“I love you,” She repeated, her voice softer, almost pleading. It was as if she were hoping that, this time, you’d say it back. When you didn’t, she sighed, the sound tinged with resignation. “Well... You have my number now,” She said quietly. “I hope... I hope you’ll call me or text me sometime.”

“Okay,” You murmured.

There was a pause, and you could hear the sadness in her voice when she said, “Take care of yourself, honey.”

The line went dead with a soft click, and you were left staring at the blackened screen of your phone, your hands still trembling. For a moment, you were frozen, the weight of the conversation pressing down on you like a lead blanket.

Then, the tears came, hot and uncontrollable. They streaked down your face, dripping onto your legs as your shoulders began to shake. A strangled sob escaped your throat, and before you knew it, you were doubling over, clutching the phone tightly in both hands.

Your chest heaved as you gasped for air between sobs, the dam of emotions you’d held back for years finally breaking. You curled into yourself, hugging your knees to your chest as you rocked slightly on the couch, tears streaming endlessly. The sound of your own cries filled the room, raw and unfiltered.

The phone slipped from your grasp and landed on the cushion beside you, forgotten as you buried your face in your hands. It felt like the world had been turned upside down, and all you could do was let the storm of grief, confusion, and anger wash over you.

You didn’t know how long you laid there, your sobs slowly slipping into silence. The tears had long since dried on your cheeks, leaving a salty, tight feeling on your skin. You stared blankly at the wall in front of you, unmoving, your mind overrun with thoughts and emotions. It was as though you were suspended in a void, caught between the past and the present, wishing - oh, god, did you wish - that you had never answered your phone.

You weren’t okay - far from it - but eventually, you felt stable enough to move. Sluggishly, you pushed yourself into a sitting position. Your arms felt leaden as you reached up to rub your warm cheeks, your fingers trembling slightly as you tried to compose yourself.

A shaky sigh escaped your lips. Your head fell forward, your elbows resting on your knees as you stared down at the floor. The weight of all of her words lingered, pressing down on you.

Rising, you sniffled, dragging your socked feet along the cool hardwood floors as you drifted through the living room and down the hall. The dim light of the setting sun filtered through the heavy curtains, casting long shadows against the walls. Usually, you would take the time to admire the sunset, but tonight, you didn’t want to. You continued to wander, slipping past the kitchen and the library.

Your steps faltered momentarily as you approached the grand piano in the corner of the study. Its polished surface gleamed faintly in the dim light. For a moment, you hesitated, your fingers hovering over the cool ivory keys, before pressing a specific sequence - notes that resonated softly through the quiet room.

A faint mechanical click broke the silence as the hidden mechanism activated, part of the bookshelf behind you gliding aside to reveal a concealed elevator. You stepped inside, the doors closing behind you with a quiet hiss. As the elevator descended, the air grew cooler, carrying the faint earthy scent of stone. 

The elevator doors opened, the Batcave sprawled before you in all its dark glory. Gleaming metal and stark lighting illuminated the space, reflecting off the walls of jagged rock and smooth concrete. The massive expanse felt both imposing and oddly comforting. The sound of trickling water echoed from the waterfalls and their pools, mingling with the low hum of machinery and the occasional beep of system.

You walked along the narrow bridge that stretched over one of the cave’s pools, the platform ahead glowing faintly from the illumination of the LED lights hanging above. The faint chill of the air seeped through your clothes as your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, seeking warmth.

You lingered a moment longer, your heart tightening as you watched him, his broad shoulders bathed in the soft glow of the monitors. Even in the depths of his focus, there was a quiet compassion about him, a gentleness that softened the unyielding strength he carried. Bruce was your rock, the calm in every storm, and a love so steady, so unwavering, it felt like something you’d only dreamed could be real.

You moved closer, standing beside his chair, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his sharp features. The strong line of his jaw, the way strands of his hair fell over his forehead a bit, the way his lips pressed together in concentration - it was impossible not to love every detail of him.

Bruce was the kind of man who bore the weight of the world without faltering, always making space to carry you through your own storms. He was unwaveringly selfless, fiercely protective, and gave every piece of himself even when he had little left to offer. And, of course, he was devastatingly handsome. Those piercing blue eyes, the unruly dark hair, and a sculpted frame that seemed carved from marble itself. But it was the way he loved you, so completely and unconditionally, that left you breathless every time.

You glanced down at him, your fingers gently grazing the back of his chair. Even without meeting your gaze, you knew he sensed your presence - he always did. Time and again, you found yourself seeking him out, whether you had something to share or simply craved the comfort of being near him.

Without a word, your hand slowly lifted, your fingers grazing through his hair, the strands soft beneath your touch. The simple act brought an immediate sense of calm, as it always did. There was something soothing about the way his hair slipped between your fingers. But the pull of him was too strong. With a soft sigh, you moved around to his side. wordlessly, you lifted one of his arms, sliding into his lap with a gentle movement. Your legs draped over the sides of his chair, your body settling close to his.

Bruce’s hand instinctively rested on your back, fingers splayed across your - his - nightshirt. His other hand, still hovering over the keyboard, stilled for a moment, his muscles relaxing. He didn’t need to say anything - his quiet presence, the warmth of his touch, was really all you needed.

You buried your face in his neck, your cold nose pressing against his warm skin, inhaling his familiar scent. Wrapping your arms around him, you let your fingers slip underneath his shirt, trying to get as much skin-to-skin contact as you could. The warmth of his skin against yours was like coming home, and you let out a soft sigh of relief, closing your eyes as you melted into him. Bruce shifted slightly, his arm tightening around you as he leaned his head against yours. 

For the next couple of minutes, neither of you said a word. Bruce didn’t ask if you were alright; he knew better than that. He knew something was wrong. But he would never rush you, and never push you to speak before you were ready. He just held you, patient as always, waiting for you to open up.

You took a deep breath, the weight of everything still pressing heavily on your chest. Finally, your voice broke the silence, soft, hesitant, muffled. “My mother called me.” Your fingers continued to softly trace the contours of his skin, brushing over the faint scars that lay hidden beneath his shirt. The words felt like a stone in your throat, hard to let out but impossible to keep inside for much longer. You needed to vent.

Bruce’s hand, which had been rubbing soothing circles on your own back, paused. You could feel his body shift slightly, his focus entirely on you. “What did she want?” He continued his gentle movements.

You bit your lip, a shaky breath escaping as you finally answered, “She wanted to catch up. After all these years… She wanted to know what I was doing, if I was married, if I had kids…” Your arms around Bruce’s mid-section tightened. “Waltzing back into my life like nothing happened.” The dam inside you broke. You could feel your tears starting to fall, “She just left. She left us - me and dad. Without any explanation. No goodbye. Nothing. And now she thinks she can just pick up the phone like nothing’s wrong? Like everything’s fine?” You shook your head, the bitterness, pain, and confusion flooding your words. “It hurts, Bruce. It hurts so much, and I never was told why, just… Nothing. No answers, no apology.”

As your words began to fade, Bruce’s hand gently tapped your back, signaling for you to sit up. You huffed sadly, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand, feeling exhausted. 

Bruce’s eyes softened with understanding. “You’ve never told me about your mother before.”

You shrugged slightly, feeling your heart twist as you dropped your eyes to your hands in your lap. “She was never really in my life.” You hesitated for a moment, but the warmth of Bruce’s touch, his understanding presence, made it easier to continue. You looked back up at him then, meeting his gaze. His eyes were steady, filled with patience and care, and it made everything seem just a little more bearable. “When I was ten, she just… Up and left. She just walked away from me and dad without a word, well, at least to me.” Your voice wavered, thick with emotion. “It wasn’t until I was in my late teens that dad finally told me she left him for another man. She never even tried to explain it to me. I was just… Left behind. And replaced… That guy she left us for had another daughter around my age…”

Bruce’s hand found yours, threading his fingers through yours gently so you would stop picking at your skin, along with to support you. “It hurt so much,” You added quietly, wiping your eyes again with your free hand. “Not just mentally, but emotionally. And then she calls me, after all this time, and it just… It opened the wound again. I thought it had healed, but it’s still there.”

Bruce’s hand squeezed yours, his thumb brushing over the back of your knuckles. “I’m so sorry you went through that,” He murmured, his free hand brushing your hair back from your eyes before cupping your cheek. “You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of it.” You tilted your head into his palm, nuzzling closer, covering his hand with yours, grateful for his unwavering support, for his gentle affection that surrounded you like a shield. “And you’re not alone,” He whispered, his voice filled with a quiet strength that anchored you. “You have your dad, your step-mom, and of course, you have Alfred. And I’m here. I will always be here for you.” He then lifted your hand, his eyes never breaking contact with yours. His thumb ran over the wedding ring, a soft smile forming on his lips. “To death do us part, remember?” He said lovingly, reassuringly, before pressing a gentle kiss to the space above the ring on your hand.

You let out a breathy mix of a sigh and a chuckle, smiling as you repeated his words, “To death do us part.” Your heart swelled, feeling the warmth of his love, and you knew, deep down, he was right. You weren't alone, not now, not ever. Your heart swelled with gratitude, with love, the tears slowly drying up. Bruce wasn’t just your husband; he was your home. And in his arms, you finally felt like you could breathe again. "Thank you, Brucie," You slowly, “But, I don’t know what to do now." You admitted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. "I don’t know how to move forward. I don’t even know if I should call her... Or if I should let her in again."

"It’s all your choice, sweetheart," He said, his voice unwavering. "You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for." You let out a shaky breath, leaning back into him, finding comfort in the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. "Just because she called, trying to reconnect, doesn’t mean you have to call her tomorrow or even a week from now." He continued, "It could be three years from now, or six months. Whenever you feel ready. Or you don’t ever have to call her." The reassurance in his voice eased some of the tightness in your chest, the pressure to make a decision immediately slipping away. "You’ll know when you’re ready," Bruce added, "And no matter what you decide, I’m here for you."

You closed your eyes, taking in his words, letting the warmth of his embrace comfort you. For once, the world didn’t feel as heavy. “If I call her, will you be there with me?”

"Of course," Bruce said, "I'll be right beside you, every step of the way. Whatever you need, I’m here. If you decide to reach out to her, I’ll be there with you." He then cupped the back of your head, his thumb brushing softly upon your hair. He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment as he then nuzzled his nose into your hairline. He pulled back just enough to glance at the clock on his monitors. His eyes softened as he looked back at you, his voice gentle but filled with determination. "I’m staying home from patrol tonight," He said, "We can order your favorite take-out, watch one of our movies." His expression was thoughtful, and you could tell that he was making sure everything would be exactly how you needed it to be. Trying to make the rest of the night as comforting and fun as possible. “I’ll even see if Alfred would mind making cookies.”

You sat up slowly, wiping away any lingering tears as a small smile tugged at your lips. The idea of a quiet night with him, no worries or demands, was exactly what you needed. "Can we cuddle?"

Bruce's lips quirked upward and without a word, he moved to pull you closer, his arms wrapping around you. "Of course, my love," He whispered, his voice deep and soothing. "Anything for you."

~~~

Main Masterlist | DC Masterlist

[reveryfics]

Could I request a fic with Bruce Wayne x black!mreader where Bruce starts graying and becomes insecure about it because he doesn't want mreader to see him as old only to find out that mreader actually LOVES his salt and pepper hair :p. If you're up for it, could you make it smut with age gap, breeding, and top Bruce. Also, can I be 🐯 anon?

To Grow Older

Bruce Wayne x Male Reader

Summary: Bruce has started to notice strands of gray hair appearing. He's worried you'll think he's getting older, perhaps to old but you don't mind.

A/N: Okay a few things, currently not doing smut requests so this will strictly be fluff plus I'm not into the whole big age gap or breeding thing, it's just incredibly weird to me. I also always try to not specify a readers skin tone/ethnicity just to make things more inclusive. Last thing is, yes absolutely you can be 🐯 anon. Completely unrelated, but I've gotten back into criminal minds......which means I might do some Spencer Reid fics.

TW: Fluff - Domestic fluff - Growing old

Bruce Wayne stared at his reflection, but not really. The fogged mirror, still clinging to the aftermath of his shower, offered a blurred canvas, yet it couldn't hide the undeniable. There, glinting stubbornly at his temples, were strands of gray. Not just one or two, not the occasional rogue hair he could pluck and forget, but a noticeable constellation. He dragged a hand through his damp, dark hair, the plush robe feeling heavy on his shoulders. He was getting older. That was the simple, inescapable truth.

It wasn't the idea of aging itself that gnawed at him, not entirely. It was the stark contrast. He shifted his gaze from his own reflection to the hazy outline of you behind the frosted shower glass. You, a few years his junior, yet seemingly untouched by time. Your silhouette was as lithe and youthful as the day he'd first seen you, a memory that still felt vibrant and recent. He remembered the curve of your smile, the sparkle in your eyes, the way you’d always seemed to possess an endless wellspring of energy. Had he really looked like that once?

The thought tightened in his chest. He was Bruce Wayne, a man who meticulously controlled every aspect of his life, from his empire to his physique. But this? This was an incursion he couldn't strategize against, couldn't train away. It was a silent, creeping reminder of time's relentless march, and it felt, for the first time in a long time, like something he couldn't conquer. He watched as your movements slowed, anticipating the moment the shower would turn off, the door would open, and you’d step out, radiating warmth and youth. He just hoped, with a sudden, desperate pang, that you wouldn't notice the gray hairs. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

The spray of the shower finally ceased, leaving the bathroom quiet save for the soft drip of water. You reached for the plush towel, its warmth a welcome contrast to the cool air, and efficiently dried off before wrapping it snugly around your waist. Stepping out onto the bathmat, you saw Bruce still standing before the fogged mirror, his back to you.

A smile touched your lips. There was something endearing about his stillness, a rare moment of quiet contemplation from the man who usually moved with such purpose. You walked over to him, your bare chest pressing against his back, the residual heat of your shower warming his skin. Your arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him gently closer. You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his neck, right where his pulse would be.

He stirred, a soft hum rumbling in his chest, and brought one of your hands to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles. Your smile widened, a wave of affection washing over you.

Peering over his shoulder, your gaze naturally fell to his reflection in the mirror. The fog had begun to dissipate, and that's when you saw it. A distinct patch of gray at his temples, more prominent than you'd ever noticed before. It wasn't just a few stray hairs; it was a beautiful, distinguished silver threading through the dark.

Bruce tensed slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if bracing himself for a reaction. But you didn't flinch, didn't gasp, didn't show any sign of alarm. Instead, a genuine, warm smile bloomed on your face. You loved it. His salt and pepper hair, far from making him seem older, simply added another layer to the complex, magnificent man you loved. It was a testament to the years he'd lived, the battles he'd fought, the wisdom he'd gained. It made him even more captivating.

You pressed another soft kiss to the back of his neck, this time lingering a little longer. "Hey," you murmured, your voice a gentle hum against his skin. "You know, that looks really good on you."

Bruce's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, a subtle shift you could feel against your chest. He probably thought you were talking about the robe, or maybe just generally complimenting him. He still hadn't turned around, still hadn't seen the genuine delight in your eyes.

"What does?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

You chuckled, pressing closer. "The gray, silly. It's… it's incredibly distinguished." You reached up, your fingers gently tracing the silver strands at his temple, feeling the soft texture against your fingertips. "It really suits you, Bruce. Like a silver fox." You leaned in again, nipping playfully at his earlobe. "Very sophisticated."

He finally turned, slowly, and you met his gaze in the mirror. There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, quickly replaced by a softer expression. He saw the genuine admiration, the complete lack of concern in your face. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips, and he leaned back into your embrace, letting out a soft sigh. It was a sigh of relief, of a burden lifted, and you felt it resonate through you.

"You really think so?" he asked, his voice still quiet, but the tension had completely drained from it.

You nodded, squeezing him gently. "Absolutely. It just makes you even more handsome, if that's even possible." You rested your chin on his shoulder, your gaze still fixed on his reflection, on the striking contrast of the dark and silver. "Besides," you added, your voice dropping to a teasing whisper, "it means I get to flirt with a silver fox now."

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through you. "A silver fox, huh? I'm not sure I've ever been called that before." He finally turned in your arms, his hands coming to rest on your hips, pulling you closer until your bare chests were flush against each other. His eyes, held a warmth that melted any lingering worry about his appearance.

"Well, you are now," you said, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, then moving up to lightly brush the distinguished silver at his temples. "It's a good look on you, Bruce. It shows you've lived, you've experienced things. It makes you… more." You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, a slow, tender exploration that spoke volumes of your adoration.

When you pulled back slightly, your gaze still locked with his, you could see the last vestiges of his earlier concern fade away, replaced by an easy affection. He seemed to stand a little taller, a subtle shift in his posture that radiated comfort and confidence. The thought of aging, which had weighed on him moments before, now seemed to lift, replaced by the simple, comforting truth of your acceptance.

"And you," he murmured, his thumb gently stroking your hip. "You still look like you haven't aged a day since I met you." A slight frown creased his brow then, a familiar flicker of that overprotective instinct he possessed. "Are you sure you're getting enough sleep? You're not secretly discovering the fountain of youth in the Batcave, are you?"

You laughed, a genuine, bubbling sound. "No secret fountains, just good genes, I guess." You paused, then leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, "Though I do have a very handsome, very dedicated boyfriend who takes excellent care of me."

He pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your hair. "And I intend to keep doing just that," he mumbled into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. The earlier worry about his appearance was gone, replaced by the simple, undeniable truth of your love, a love that saw beyond superficial changes and embraced every part of him, silver strands and all.

He held you close for a long moment, the quiet hum of the bathroom filling the space between you. Then, with a soft grunt of effort and a playful twinkle in his eye, Bruce scooped you up into his arms. You let out a surprised laugh, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he effortlessly lifted you. He carried you the few steps to the sink, carefully setting you down on the cool, porcelain edge.

Your towel rode up, exposing more of your thighs, but neither of you cared. Your hands immediately went to cup his face, your thumbs stroking his cheekbones as he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a deep, hungry kiss. It was passionate and tender all at once, a silent testament to the years you'd spent together and the unbreakable bond you shared. The kiss deepened, full of relief, adoration, and a quiet promise of forever.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, your foreheads rested against each other. "I love you," you whispered, the words a soft exhalation against his lips.

His eyes, still heavy-lidded from the kiss, met yours. A small, genuine smile played on his lips, and he leaned in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. "I love you more," he murmured back, his voice rough with emotion. He stayed there for a moment, simply holding you, the worries of gray hairs and passing time utterly forgotten in the comfort of your shared affection.

[mlmxreader]

High Society | Bruce Wayne x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Bruce Wayne

77"I just… just need to be with you for a while, if that’s okay?”

97“What’s the harm in just one dance, huh?”

278“It was just a nightmare, you’re okay, you’re safe”

292Sneaking away during a party to share stolen kisses ❞

: ̗̀➛ Bruce forces your hand and makes you accompany to him to the very last place in the world that you would ever want to go to.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing

: ̗̀➛ CHRISTIAN BALE!BATMAN

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

spotlight fundraiser : ̗̀➛ help Eman survive and study medicine

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Wisteria Lane was alight and thriving with noise and light and food and drinks and just about anything that anybody would ever need for a good, strong, party; you weren't so keen, outside of Gotham wasn't exactly your favourite place to be and was far from your natural habitat.

But Bruce had insisted, and you did owe him one after he had stayed late at yours to fix a busted pipe; you just figured it was one of those things where you owed your boyfriend a favour and would make him breakfast in bed to even the debt. Apparently not.

The suburb was all too false; perfectly cut green grass in their front gardens with white picket fences and arches and roses and hydrangeas. Every window was clean and there wasn't so much as a speck of dirt on any of the houses or the cars outside; it was disgusting.

You clung to Bruce's arm tightly, scowling as you looked at the false, gleaming white, toothy smiles and grins; he gently tapped your chin, glancing at you from the corner of his eye to tell you to stop.

"Relax," he murmured. "If anyone didn't know any better, they wouldn't think your boyfriend is the richest man in Gotham."

You huffed, glancing around at all the faces and their deceitful and spiteful smiles. "They just have to rub their wealth in everybody's faces, don't they?"

Bruce smiled to himself as he licked his lips; he tugged you close, putting his hand between your shoulders and making a big show and dance of kissing you softly. The camera lights flashed as people took pictures of the moment, and you found it difficult not to scowl.

"It's just one night," he murmured against your lips. "You'll survive."

You shook your head in disapproval, still clinging onto his arm as you followed him around.

The redhead was chatty and polite, kind enough. She seemed to like your candid way of speaking, not so much the raggedy jeans and hoodie that you had donned.

The blonde was a lot more open and honest. She was down to earth and you actually didn't mind her so much.

The brunette was a bit clumsy, having to constantly hold onto her boyfriend for support. But she was friendly and she was sweet.

The ex-model was more than happy to have the company of Bruce. She was pleasant towards you as well, though.

Their husbands and boyfriends were the issue, more than anything; asking Bruce about Lex Luthor's latest shitty electric car that posed a danger to the public. Asking about Lex's plan for government. They seemed like they actually supported that fucking weirdo.

You grew tired of it, though, and when the music increased in volume, you tugged at Bruce's hand; no one noticed when you lead him into one of the open back gardens, pushing him down onto a patio chair and straddled his waist, your hands falling onto his shoulders.

In the dim light, his dark brown eyes seemed to sparkle so brightly; his soft, dark brown hair slightly messy from where he had been chasing around after you to keep you from biting someone's throat out.

He smiled, tilting his head to the side. "And what's this about?"

You shrugged as you stole a kiss, then another, and a third, then a fourth, then you couldn't kiss him again without laughing. "I just... just need to be with you for a while, if that's okay?"

Bruce nodded, maybe a little too eager, as he stole another kiss; holding the back of your neck as he allowed his other hand to drift down to the waistband of your jeans at the back. Just shy of stealing a quick, cheeky, grab. "Mmm. More than if you wanna do is steal kisses."

You smiled against him, and when you noticed that a slower song was starting to play, you stood up, and allowed him to follow suit before leading you in a private, quiet, dance. Your head fell against his, and you leaned into him as much as you possibly could. Bruce hummed softly, keeping you close.

"What's the harm in just one dance, huh?" He asked quietly. "Unless you think we'll get caught?"

"I don't think so," you murmured. "All those toffs out there are too concerned with looking good to worry about us."

Softly, Bruce laughed as he easily fell in with you. "Y'know, I haven't thought about that night for a while..."

You shook your head against him, taking in a harsh breath. "It was just a nightmare, you're okay, you're safe with me... it's that lot out there you should worry about - they'll eat you alive."

He pulled away, cupping your face in his hands as he grinned and swallowed thickly. "But at least I have you to protect me."

"Fancy that," you whistled. "The big, bad bat needs help from a commoner."

"Shut up," he chuckled, making it a point to pull you in close by the shoulders so he could kiss you properly.

It was harsh and it was deep, and you kissed him back as much as you possibly could. You loved every second of it, and when he pulled away, you could only frown.

"Come on," he told you, smiling. "We best make another five minute appearance before we sneak off again, don't you think?"

You agreed, letting him guide you around and cling to him as he did all the talking; he glanced at you from the corner of his eye every now and then when he knew you were scowling. It was amusing to him, as he couldn't believe that you were so against every single one of them, yet perfectly fine with him.

Then again, it was always going to be a funny thing with him.

Finally, the five minutes of high society and false polite small talk was over, and Bruce tugged at your arm to make sure you were paying attention to him.

"Come on, let's sneak off before anyone notices."

[fear-is-truth]

# SUGAR DADDY! BRUCE WAYNE — hc

synopsis — your life as bruce wayne’s sugar baby warnings — suggestive. mdni a/n — if law school doesn’t work out… this is my dream career lol (exclusively bruce wayne)

──⟢  fear-is-truth — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

he’s strict about keeping things low-profile. no selfies, no pictures together, and definitely no talking to anyone about your arrangement. but when it’s just the two of you, behind closed doors, though, his edges softened—not soft soft, of course, but as close as bruce wayne could ever get.

bruce is every inch the gentleman when he’s out with you—always placing his hand on the small of your back when guiding you through a crowd or escorting you to his car, a subtle but firm gesture that says, you’re mine, and i’m looking after you. he opens doors for you without fail, pulls out your chair at restaurants, and always walks on the street side of the sidewalk, even if it means switching places mid-walk. if you’re wearing heels, he keeps a steadying hand at your waist when you go down stairs.

even in private, he’s super thoughtful—draping a blanket over you when you’re curled up on the couch, pressing a kiss to your temple as he passes by.

bruce isn’t overly affectionate in public, but in private, he’s tactile and tender. he’ll pull you onto his lap while he works at his desk, one arm wrapped around your waist as his free hand taps at his keyboard. “just stay here,” he’ll say when you try to move. “you’re not distracting me.” though the way his lips find your neck every few minutes says otherwise.

bruce values your mind as much as your beauty, and he shows it in the way he engages you. whether you’re discussing a book, a piece of art, or the nuances of history, he listens with genuine interest. when he occasionally challenges your points, it’s never in that dismissive, mansplaining tone that most self-assured men use—it’s thoughtful and designed to draw out your best arguments.

he’s particular about keeping things convenient for you, so he’s arranged for you to have access to one of his apartments in the city. it’s fully furnished, with a stocked fridge, top-of-the-line security, and a walk-in closet he keeps replenishing with new outfits.

bruce’s love language is acts of service and quality time, but his wealth makes gift-giving his default.

has alfred handle all the logistics of getting you the best: tickets to exclusive shows, reservations at restaurants you didn’t even know existed, and private shopping appointments where he foots the bill without a batting an eye.

sends you on luxurious trips during your breaks—paris, tokyo, the maldives. you’re not sure how he pulls it off without anyone finding out, but bruce wayne always has his ways.

he pays attention to your interests and hobbies, subtly encouraging you to indulge. if you mention liking a certain author, musician or a brand, you’ll find their newest release or collection waiting for you the next day.

leaves his black card with you whenever he has to leave on business. “buy yourself something nice,” he says like you don’t already have everything you could possibly want.

bruce has an almost masochistic appreciation for how deeply you affect him. when you tease him. the first time you call him daddy, it’s in that girlish, playful tone, meant to test how far he’d let you get away with. bruce freezes for a millisecond, his face carefully blank, but the dark glint in his eyes gives him away. he exhales slowly, but the extra time he spends adjusting his cufflinks is a tell—you’ve gotten under his skin.

has a love-hate relationship with the short, tight skirts you wear around him. on one hand, he can’t deny how much they drive him mad, how his eyes inevitably linger on the curve of your ass, like he’s entertaining the idea of ripping the skirt off. on the other hand, he hates the idea of anyone else seeing you like that. he’ll chide you in that authoritative tone of his, maybe even smacking your pert ass for extra emphasis (when in private)

despite the chastising, the next day, he’ll gift you a collection of couture skirts and dresses that fit his exacting standards—form-fitting but elegant, sexy but understated. if you insist on being a distraction, you’ll do it his way.

he loves when you wear his clothes—especially his shirts. seeing you in something oversized and smelling faintly of sex and his cologne drives him insane. but he also loves taking it off you.

he’s not above making you jealous, though it’s very rare. if he senses you’ve been a little too independent lately, he’ll let a socialite or two flirt with him at a party just to see your reaction. when you glare at him from across the room, he’ll flash that infuriatingly charming smile and mouth, “come here.” the second you’re alone, he’ll have you pressed tightly against the wall. “you know there’s no one else for me,” he mutters between hot kisses. “but i like seeing you fight for it.”

has an infuriating habit of teasing you in public, keeping you just on the edge of propriety. he’ll whisper filthy things in your ear during a black-tie gala, his hand resting on your thigh under the table. “be good for me,” his thumb grazes discreetly beneath the hem of your dress, and when your cheeks heat up, he just smirks and kisses the spot beneath your ear.

the car rides are his favourite indulgence. he tells the chauffeur to take the long way home, windows darkened, privacy partition up, while fucking you in every position possible.

has a weakness for seeing you in pieces he’s chosen himself. the delicate lace, silk, and satin he picks out always feel indulgent, tailored to fit your body and his preferences. he leaves boxes for you to find, with a note in his neat handwriting: this one tonight

he buys you diamond necklaces and earrings so extravagant they could rival museum pieces. every time, he insists you model them for him—alone, in the privacy of his bedroom. “just the necklace,” he’ll say with a smirk, his tone leaving no room for argument. the sight of you standing there, bare except for the glittering gems, leaves him utterly speechless. and then he’ll step closer, eyes trailing over the diamonds on your neck before his hands wander elsewhere.

sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly indulgent, bruce will forgo sleep altogether just to spend the night making love with you.

he’s a perfectionist in every aspect of his life, including the bedroom. he’s meticulous about learning what makes you tick, and takes immense pride in knowing your body better than you do. precisely which spots make you gasp, which areas make you arch your back. steady and precise, he’s always tuning in to your reactions. he doesn’t rush, taking his time to explore, kiss, and touch in a way that makes you feel completely cared for.

he can go for hours, but he’s patient, too. enjoying the process as much as the end result—taking his time to kiss, to touch, to indulge in every inch of your body.

bruce is insatiable, but he’s also deeply considerate. though he’s always hungry for you, there’s never a moment where he isn’t attuned to your needs, making sure you’re enjoying yourself, always ready to slow down or adjust if you need him to.

loves leaving marks on your body, but he’s careful about where—always hidden, tiny traces of his presence on your skin that only he gets to see.

still, when he notices you wince as you shift in your seat, he puts on a somewhat sheepish expression, offering a murmured, “sorry about that.” but you can see the faint smirk gracing his lips, the flicker of pride in his eyes. it’s all a front—he’s anything but apologetic.

he watches you drift off in his arms, your breathing steady and soft, the rise and fall of your chest lulling him into a rare moment of peace. his lips brush against your bare shoulder, the small gesture as fleeting as the thought that follows—he doesn’t deserve you—but he’s selfish enough to keep you anyway.

tagging — @suumaer

[padmespetal]

my love mine all mine — bruce wayne

synopsis: the weight of loving a man like him.

word count: 984

warnings: none, mentions of blood

note: my first fic i’m posting <33 sorry if there are mistakes english is not my first language i used a bale batman picture but you can imagine any version of bruce you want, hope you enjoy reading !! 🤍

Everyone always says you are so lucky to be Mrs. Wayne.

They say it in whispers behind champagne glasses at charity galas, in the sharp-edged comments of online forums dissecting your every move, in the glossy spreads of magazines that parade you like a prize.

They say it like a mantra, like an undeniable truth—because to them, you are the woman who won.

The tabloids adore you. Or rather, they adore picking you apart.

They scrutinize every dress you wear, every way you style your hair, the minute fluctuations in your weight as if it were a stock market chart. Did you gain a pound? Lose two? Was that diamond bracelet new, or just an old piece resurfaced to keep up appearances?

The public treats you like a living exhibit, a fragile doll encased in glass, standing at the side of Gotham’s most infamous bachelor-turned-husband.

No one thought it would last.

Bruce Wayne, the Bruce Wayne, had been through more relationships than anyone could count.

Women entered his orbit and just as quickly disappeared, leaving behind only the fading scent of expensive perfume and speculation in the tabloids.

He was a playboy. A heartbreaker .

The kind of man who could smile just right, make you feel like you were the only woman in the world—only for you to wake up one morning and realize you’d just been another name on his list.

And yet.

You had to be different, didn’t you? Because somehow, against all odds, against the expectations of an entire city, you weren’t just another chapter in his book. You were the last page.

But no one ever talks about what it actually means to be Mrs. Wayne.

They don’t know about the weight of it, the exhaustion, the sharp edges that come with the soft silks and diamonds.

They don’t see the sleepless nights spent staring at the clock, waiting for him to come home—wondering if this will be the night he doesn’t.

They don’t see the way your hands shake as you press them against his bloodied skin, patching him up in the dim light of your bedroom, biting back the tears because you knew what you signed up for.

Because crying never stopped him from going back out there.

They don’t see the fights, either. The yelling that ricochets off the walls of Wayne Manor like gunfire, your voice raw from screaming at him because how dare he be so reckless—because does he not realize what he’d leave behind if he didn’t come back?

“You don’t get to be careless,” you had shouted once, eyes burning with unshed tears. “You don’t get to act like your life doesn’t matter.”

And Bruce—stoic, unshakable Bruce—had just stared at you, jaw tight, breathing heavy, as if he wanted to argue. As if he wanted to tell you that Gotham came first. But the words never left his lips.

Because Gotham might be his city, but you—you and the messy, complicated family you built together—you were his home.

Everyone thought it was impossible for him to let someone in. Even he thought so.

Batman never thought he’d find someone who could understand.

He had learned the hard way that loving him was dangerous. He had been burned before. He had loved and lost, and he had told himself that it was better—safer—to be alone. And for a long time, he believed it.

There was Selina, of course.

The woman who had come closer than anyone else before you. The one he almost, almost married. But they were fire and ice, drawn together by their similarities yet always breaking apart because of them. They wanted too much from each other—too much change, too much compromise, too much that neither of them could ever truly give.

But you…

You weren’t like the others.

You didn’t fall for the mask. You weren’t enamored by the money, the power, the legacy of the Wayne name. You didn’t flinch at his darkness. You saw him—not just the billionaire, not just the vigilante, but him.

And that terrified him.

You saw through the careful facade, through the charming smiles and effortless grace, through the masks he had perfected over decades of hiding.

He tried to push you away. Oh, how he tried.

But you were persistent. Stubborn. You told him you weren’t going anywhere, that you’d rather walk through fire with him than live a life without him.

“You’re a fool,” he had told you once, voice low, rough.

“And you love me for it,” you had whispered back.

He married you months later.

So yes, being the new Mrs. Wayne was glamorous.

It was champagne-filled nights at high society events, breathtaking gowns, luxurious vacations, and a life most people could only dream of.

But it was also bruises hidden under expensive fabrics, exhaustion masked by perfectly applied makeup, whispered arguments behind closed doors.

It was being Batmom to the family of misfits and broken souls he had adopted along the way—learning to navigate the chaos of a home filled with vigilantes, each carrying their own wounds and ghosts.

It was being the one person who could ground Bruce, the one who reminded him that he was more than his mission, more than the cowl, more than the trauma he carried like a second skin.

It was waiting up at night, staring out at the city skyline, waiting for the Bat-Signal to disappear—because that meant he was coming home.

It was waking up to the sound of him slipping into bed beside you at dawn, his body aching, his mind heavy, but his arms pulling you close like he needed you to breathe.

It was love, in all its messy, painful, beautiful glory.

So let them talk. Let the tabloids speculate, let the world watch and judge and never understand.

Because they’ll never know what it truly means to be Mrs. Wayne.

And you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

© padmespetal 2025 — I DO NOT APPROVE OF MY WORKS TO BE TRANSLATED OR COPIED ANYWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION

tags:

[moonwqves]

⋮ 𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡, 𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧

───〃★ bruce wayne (batman) x reader.

★ — SUMMARY | shower sex after a night on patrol. ★ — WORD COUNT | 1.2k ★ — WARNINGS | fem!reader ; pwp ; unprotected sex ; mentions of blood/injuries

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI.

most nights when bruce gets back to the manor, you’re still asleep. in the early hours of the morning, just before the sky begins to lighten, he doesn’t expect you to still be awake as he sheds all his gear and trudges his way upstairs.

but some nights you wait up for him, occupying yourself with a book or a new tv series as you sit curled up in your chair in the dark.

he assumes you’re still in bed sleeping soundly and he heads quietly into the bathroom to start cleaning himself up, not noticing that you’re silently watching. he’s known for being stealthy, but tonight you’re the one who’s slipping into the shadows.

his clothes hit the floor piece by piece as he turns the water on and strips bare, the steam from the shower quickly filling the room with heat and fogging up the mirror.

the hot water stings the bloody cuts on his knuckles, and he hisses as he runs his hands beneath the shower stream, watching the blood wash down the drain. they’re just minor scrapes and it’s nothing he isn’t used to by now, but it’s always a chore to take care of himself at the end of the night.

you open the bathroom door just a crack and peek your head inside to call his name, and instantly his head whips around at the noise. droplets of water collect in his eyelashes as he stares at you, his piercing gaze locked with yours as tears of black eyeliner roll down his cheeks, the warm water melting away his dark exterior. he's tired, he's aching and bruised from this routine of difficult nights, but everything disappears the second he sees you.

you pause as he wipes his hand across his eyes, smearing the fading makeup even further before he jerks his head to beckon you to join him, and you quickly start to undress. your clothes slip off, collecting in a pile on the floor next to his as you slide back the glass door and step inside.

your heart races as his eyes silently roam over your figure, streams of water trickling down his toned chest, and you can’t help but study him in return. you reach out to trace your fingers over the old scars that litter his skin, and you note the fresh scratches and cuts he’s earned himself while out in the city tonight.

you start to pull away to grab the soap, but his hand wraps around your wrist and you freeze, looking up at him. you can see the flash of lust in his eyes as he grips you tightly, pulling you closer until you’re standing flush against his body, and the proximity sends a shiver of desire down your spine.

he leans forward to capture your lips, his deep voice groaning out your name as his arms sliding down to sit firmly around your waist. you melt into him, automatically moaning into the kiss, and he greedily swallows your noises until it feels like he’s going to suck the breath right out of your lungs.

he kisses you harder, one hand falling to your hip while the other reaches up to cup your jaw and guide your mouth further into him, his tongue prodding between your lips in a way that makes you feel warm from the inside out.

his hand on your hip travels lower to grope your ass, and he squeezes a little harder when you let out a gasp against his lips, relishing in the responses he’s drawing from you. he starts to move and suddenly you feel the ice cold tile of the shower wall against your back, and you arch away from it instinctively, seeking the warmth of his body.

a large hand grips your thigh and hikes your leg up around his waist, securing your ankle behind the back of his thigh for balance. his pelvis presses between your legs, and you can already feel his cock hardening against your skin.

“bruce,” you whine as you try to rock your hips against him, desperate for the friction he provides.

he doesn’t reply but he lets out a soft noise under his breath, somewhere between a hum and a growl, and he attaches his lips to your neck just below your ear.

he pushes himself into you and you gasp, your heat enveloping his length as you cling to him. your legs tremble as he begins to thrust slowly, your arms wrapping around his neck even tighter. you can feel his biceps flexing around you as he holds you against the wall, supporting nearly all of your weight as he starts to build up his pace. drops of water trickle down your neck and between the valley of your breasts, but it’s hard to tell if it’s from the shower or if it’s sweat.

even after a night of patrol and the physical toll it takes on him, bruce’s stamina far outweighs yours. it only takes minutes before he has you whimpering and clenching around him, struggling to keep up with his relentless pace.

he pulls back to adjust his hips, giving him a better angle to drive his cock into you so that his tip kisses your spot with each stroke. he can tell you’re about to cum when he feels you starting to pull away from him, all the tension in your body building up like a dam about to break as your back arches and you squirm in his grasp.

with one more pointed thrust you come undone, a constant stream of whines pouring from your lips like the shower water pouring down his back. he doesn’t let up until your body goes limp in his arms, fucking you through your orgasm while you can barely keep yourself standing up straight.

suddenly he swoops in and presses his lips to your mouth once again, his perfect pace slipping and becoming more and more erratic, and you know he’s close behind. with your leg behind him you pull him closer, giving him just enough extra leverage to bury himself inside you as deep as he can go before his release slams into him.

his grip on your hips is almost bruising as he keeps you held tightly against him, letting out low, deep groans as he spills into you. warmth floods your stomach and you exhale a shaky whimper as you start to come down from the dizzying effects of your high.

just before you feel your leg starting to cramp up he pulls back, slipping out of you but keeping his arms still firmly around you to keep you supported. he tilts his head down to study you, secretly preening at the fucked-out look on your face. he looks much worse off, his cuts and scrapes still forming scabs and the black makeup streaked across his cheeks, but he’s still more concerned about you than himself.

he gives you a moment to stand on your own, and he smirks when you immediately reach again for the soap and start to scrub at his body with a loofah.

he lets you pamper him for now, because he knows neither of you will be getting any sleep until dawn.

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

if you enjoyed reading, 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 :)

a/n: this is my first time posting outside of my main fandom, but it was a lot of fun to write && i am really excited to continue writing new things!! i hope you enjoy, please interact (reblog, comment, ask) if you liked it!

[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

[cinnamongrl2006]

dont know if this is random, but what kind of perfume scent do you think bruce would go crazy for 🥹 i feel like he’s such a vanilla guy

a/n: HIIII sorry for my absence lol!! I’m back now…sort of. I kind of adressed this in my Bale!Bruce headcanons post, READ THAT!! With all that being said—

I think Bruce likes to wear scents that remind him of his parents, like citrus and jasmine, really fresh scents for his mother, and more musky tobacco and vanilla scents for his father. All of them pretty fresh and light, strong scents make him dizzy.

For his partner I think he’d be partial to sweet, fruity scents, with hints of florals, like hibiscus and peach or orange.

────୨ৎ────

tags: @laceyfaeryy @cherrycolaheartss @resting-confused-face

[gothic-aesthetic-gal]

Old Scars (part 25)

Ledger!joker x reader

Fem!reader is kidnapped by the joker and his henchmen while just trying to get a moment's reprieve from her boring, soul-destroying job ✨️

Tw: I mean, we all saw TDK, right? I'd say this is has many of the same darker themes. Kidnapping, violence more generally. In this chapter specifically, graphic descriptions of violence, guns, knives, NSFW moments. He's the joker, so... Minors Do Not Interact! 🔞

Part 25 -

I almost jumped out of my skin and instinctively drew my gun, aiming it in the direction of the sound of his voice. I was greeted by the sight of an all-too-familiar painted face. He was sat on the bed with his legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankle, looking perfectly relaxed in his full suit and coat. Beside him on the table was a record player and a set of speakers - the source of the strange music filling the space.

"What are you doing here?!" I demanded, still reeling from the shock.

He threw his arms up in mock surrender.

"Well I didn't know when you'd get back to your little bolt hole. I mean, it's not like you gave me a way to contact you after you ran away," he said, his voice turning sour with the final accusation, his words biting with cold sharp teeth.

My scrambled brain struggled to catch up to the situation unfolding; I kept looking from him to the record player and back. Why had he gone to the effort of bringing that with him? Had he taken all this time to meticulously pick out a song to kill me to? The hair on the back of my neck prickled with fear as he got up from the bed and moved a step closer to me. I hastily jerked the barrel back in his direction.

"Stay back. I will shoot you!" I sputtered out.

The yellow walls seemed to be closing in all around me and I cursed the way my voice choked up and cracked, undeniably betraying my fear and apprehension. He paused for the time being, with a look of satisfaction on his painted face.

"It wasn't easy, tracking you down."

I was silent, unable to find the words to respond.

"No snappy comeback? That's not like you doll," he taunted, deliberately advancing another step.

I tried to keep looking forward as I wondered if I could make it to the door before he could close the gap. If I turned now I still had to undo the deadbolt and turn the key. I cursed myself for locking myself in with him - for not realising something was wrong as soon as I heard the music. My near-paranoia about securing the room had turned it into a cage rather than a refuge.

"I don't think you can make it, but maybe if you're quick... why don't you give it a try?" He said, his words slithering around me like a snake, mocking and malicious.

I tightened my grip on the gun, my finger pressing against the trigger the tiniest bit harder but I felt stuck, fixed to the spot. I was screaming at myself to move. To shoot. To run. Why couldn't I shoot him? It would be the end to all my problems... wouldn't it? What the fuck was wrong with me?

"I had something... I wanted to do," I murmured finally as he took another step closer, while I remained paralysed.

"What could be so important that you'd leave in the middle of the night, without as much as a goodbye?" He asked, flicking open his knife and inspecting it.

The yellow light glinted off of the silver blade as he rotated it. This was finally enough for me to bypass my unexpected freeze response. Flight took over. I whirled round and frantically tugged the bolt undone. Next I turned the key, grasping the handle and managing to get the door half way open. Just as I saw a glimpse of hope, a gloved hand clamped down over my mouth, suppressing my rising scream. His strong arms were around me, dragging me backwards.

I resisted furiously, stomping on his foot and fighting not to give up control of the gun. I managed to get halfway free, turning to face him as he still tried to control my arms. His hand was gripped against my wrist, squeezing the bones together so hard I thought they might break. Still, I gave it my everything not to let the gun go - it was the only ace up my sleeve. Seeing I was stubborn enough to break my own wrist rather than relent to this method of attack, he quickly changed tactics and went for my already bruised neck. As soon as he made contact, I cried out and tried to throw up my arms in defence, aware he still held the knife in his other hand - knowing it could be over for me in a matter of seconds...

There was enough of a lapse in my focus on the gun that he managed finally to wrench it out of my hand and toss it aside, but not before a shot fired off into the ceiling. Feeling as though he'd almost snapped my fingers and aware of how bad things were starting to look, I grabbed for anything else I could find from the dresser and my hands seized upon the weighty, battered Bible in the top drawer. As he tried to lunge for my throat a second time I swung the book in a cross-body arc and it connected squarely with the side of his face.

He stumbled sideways, stunned by the impact, and I knew one strike was not enough. So I hit him again. And again. And again. The fifth time he managed to block the blow and knock the book out of my grip.

Panicking, I grabbed for something new, tugging the worn leather belt for my pants from it's place dangling over the back of the chair. I whipped the buckle end into him a couple of times, eliciting a few muderous curses with each impact. This too wouldn't save me though, as he suddenly caught the end and violently tugged it, using it to pull me towards him instead. Not having time to fight it I went skidding forwards, crashing into him and again we began to wrestle as I grabbed his knife hand with both of mine.

The renwed fight was so fraught that it sent us both tumbling onto the floor and the impact dislodged the weapon from his fingers. I kicked it so that it skidded across the hard floor and out of reach, somewhere under the bed. He then grabbed a fistful of my hair as I reached out frantically for the door frame, desperate to prise myself free of his clutches and drag myself into the hall. I screamed in terror, no longer muffled by his hand. My fingers grazed the frame. I was beyond desperate. Tears began to well up in my eyes.

"Come back here," he muttered, dragging me back by the ankle and kicking the door closed.

"No" I wailed, knowing I didn't have the energy to get that close to freedom again.

By now he was standing in front of my exit, putting himself in between me and any hope of escape. I looked up at him with utter contempt as I writhed in pain on the floor and he watched, wordlessly, as he pulled off his gloves and wiped the dripping blood from his nose with the back of his hand.

"You told me I was free to walk away if chose to," I forced out the words between desperate attempts to catch my breath.

"Hm, I did say that," he answered, pushing the hair away from his face and rolling his shoulder as though he was testing it's range of motion.

"You said you were a man of your word. You lied," I added as I groaned in pain, still in a heap on the floor.

"Oh I didn't break my word. Unlike you," He said glaring accusingly at me.

"What do you mean?" I pleaded, exasperated.

"You promised not to interfere," he began to pace up and down, like a caged tiger, his coat tails swinging out at the apex of each turn.

"And how have I broken that promise?" I scoffed.

"You have been a distraction. I've been wasting valuable time."

"That's not my fault! I didn't ask for any of this! I wish I'd never walked into that department store. I could've just gone home," I sobbed.

"I have to give credit where it's due, you almost got away. I really thought I was never going to find you again... but you stayed in the city,"

I looked up at his montrous face through eyes stinging with tears.

"I actually thought..." I murmured under my breath before trailing off in despair.

I didn't want to speak it aloud. That meant admitting it to myself, showing all my cards. I had played the fool. I actually thought he cared for me. Somewhere in my attempts to stay alive I had instead got tangled up in this pyschological cat and mouse game. Somewhere the lines had blurred, a threshold was crossed. It had evolved into something entirely different.

"You played the long game, didn't you?" He laughed, halting his pacing.

"I don't understand," I said, trying to wipe the tears from my face, a surge of anger replacing the terror i'd felt.

"You know, I almost believed you wanted to stay," he wagged a finger at me, "I didn't want to clip your wings. I wanted you to fly... but you were just biding your time. I thought we saw eye to eye."

I looked up at him in utter confusion as I finally struggled back onto my feet.

"Oh, I wanted to stay! And I hate myself for it. It makes me feel twisted and broken. It's so wrong," I spat as I burned again with contempt for him.

He looked like this was an unexpected response from me, pausing for a moment to take in my outburst before adjusting course.

"Then why did you leave?" He stalked closer again.

I stared him down, clutching my sore wrist.

"I had something I needed to do, and I couldn't be part of whatever your next plan was. You -" I searched desperately for the words, "you hurt people."

"So do you."

"It's not the same."

"No?" He prompted, picking away at the unravelling threads of my mind yet again.

"It is not the same," I shot back.

He raised an eyebrow.

I was silent, steadfast in my conviction.

"You know, he also has a habit of disappearing and popping up again where you least expect it," J said with an accusatory tone.

"Who?"

"The batman. And now, you're running around playing vigilante too..."

"I'm not like the batman... Or you." I responded bitterly.

He bent down and upended the contents of my backpack onto the floor, tugging free the object of his search. I watched then as he stood holding up my mask triumphantly - as though he was Perseus with the severed head of medusa.

"That's not what it looks like, Queen of Spades".

Of course, he would get the reference. Even if no one else figured it out. I shook my head and laughed a little, wincing as I held my bruised ribs.

"You don't understand. This isn't the start of some long campaign across the city. I did what I set out to do."

"So that's it? A one-night-only show?"

"I'm done. I'm not under any illusions that I have the power to change anything. Just for one moment, I made those men feel fear. Alexe is going to be feeling it for the rest of his life.'

I couldn't help but smile faintly at the memory of him and Brady's shocked reactions in the club. The Joker watched me intently as I spoke, that look of excited fascination again taking root in his face. I ignored it and continued.

"Do I trust the police to do right by those women? Not really. But I'll bet the DA will be interested; it's an easy moral feather in his cap and looks nice for a re-election campaign. And maybe, just maybe, it's put enough fear into some of the other up-and- comers in the city gangs that they'll be looking over their shoulders."

"Bravo," he clapped his hands together in apparent celebration, "But now you've had a taste, don't you want more?"

I sighed as I stretched out my neck.

"No. Just once, I wanted them to be afraid of me, not the other way around. I got what I wanted but it doesn't change things."

"Oh but it does."

He turned on the TV and flicked through the channels. The news reels were all talking about the new mysterious crimes: The burning of the old Post Office, the attack on Alexe Ibanescu at his nightclub and the strange figure in a mask fleeing the scene. The press had even already got hold of police photographs of the cards i'd left at the first scene - they worked fast. We watched the images of the fire ripping through the building, and cops tackling the gang members as they tried to run from the blaze, there was even grainy video from someone's mobile phone of panic erupting in the nightclub, as the crowd poured out into the street.

There was already a cloud of frantic speculation whirling around. Was this related to the Joker, who was still at large following the devastation he'd caused just days ago? Or was it related to the 'bat' vigilante who was becoming more and more visible? Who was this new figure attacking mobsters? And who did they align with?

"You've got the whole city on the edge of their seats... and you want to leave them disappointed?" He tossed the mask in my direction and I caught it before it could hit the floor.

"I didn't do it to perform," I argued, wondering if I could again make it out of the door now that he had moved away from it.

I knew though that he had control of the gun. I might have been too cowardly to shoot him, but I didn't think he'd have the same difficulty.

He looked unconvinced by my answer, disappointed even.

"Then why the theatrics?"

I looked down at the porcelain face staring up at me from my hands.

"You and the bat have made sure that any crime fitting the normal bill is buried beyond page six. I didn't intend for it to be a headline, but it did need some impact."

"Well it is the headline, on every channel, and it will be splashed across every paper tomorrow morning."

I sighed and set down the mask.

"And what? You're here to encourage me to keep at it? Or are you here to kill me? Can we just skip to it if so?"

His expression at this comment was unexpected, he looked frustrated and almost upset by it. Surely i'd misread him, or it was some ploy to deliberately confuse me further. I thought about what he'd done a few days ago, about the missing people presumed dead at the Mayor's offices in City Hall and my anger rose again.

"You know, I'm not a nihilist like you. I'm not running around blowing things, or god forbid people, up just to prove some depressing point about how miserable our existence is, and how pointless everyone's lives really are."

I stormed over and turned off the TV, not wanting to hear any more about what either of us had done.

"Is that what you think I do?" He said with amusement.

"Yes. You know what? It's funny that you'd compare me to the batman when you're more like him than I. You both have your ego-driven campaigns to single-handedly show the city why your way is the only right way. You parade around on some kind of anti-moral crusade."

My voice was rising with my anger, but I didn't care, I was too swept up in it to notice.

"You are so close to something entirely on a different level, and you're throwing it all away. Wouldn't you rather be a face card, not just another number in the deck?" He said, pleading almost.

He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and waved it in front of me. It was my bus ticket out of the city.

"Why leave?" He asked, his demeanour and body language softening a little.

"Why stay?" I countered, still as prickly as before.

He rolled his eyes as he slapped the ticket down on the dresser. Now it seemed it was his turn to be angry, his voice slipping back into a more sinister register.

"So what's the plan (y/n)? Run away, take up another mindless 9-to-5, eventually meet and marry some boring guy and pop out a few kids for him? Don't you want something more?"

"By staying with you?" I asked, cutting to the point at the core of all this which he was dancing around.

His face betrayed a flash of his own confused emotions for a split second and he fell silent as I dug in further, stepping within arms reach as I continued to stare him down. If he wanted me to curl up and cry, I wouldn't give him that satisfaction. I pushed further:

"Are you really disappointed that I'm leaving Gotham, or are you disappointed that I won't be around to fuck you again if I do?" I asked flatly.

It struck the nerve I was aiming for and he suddenly grasped my blouse at the collar with one hand. I froze for a moment, waiting to see what he'd do next. His mouth was taught with frustration.

"Yeah I said it. Is your counter offer really just 'no don't leave the city, stay here and be my personal whore instead'?"

"You don't want to admit just how much you liked what we did. It scares you... that's why you want to pack up and run," he countered flatly.

Undeterred, I shoved him away, breaking his grip on me and refusing to let his words push me back down. I would always hit back. One way or another.

"Really? And what about you? Trying to revert to approaching me like you did in the dress store. You want to pretend, but you need me. You hate it. Even, if i'm just another little project for you; just another little pawn in your ridiculous game of chess. You can't bear to lose me now. I've changed things, there's no going back."

The sombre vibrato of the woman on the record cut into the tense silence bewteen us as she began a crescendo.

"What is that, why is it here?" I asked, suddenly irritated that he wasn't responding to my argument.

He frowned.

"You don't know?"

I shook my head as the singer's grieving tone washed over me.

"It's Tchaikovsky. The Queen of Spades."

I looked up to meet his gaze, startled.

"You, brought it here... For me?"

His mouth straightened out into a thin line as though he was witholding something.

We were so close now that one step would have bridged the gap between our bodies. Finally, without the constant trading of physical or verbal strikes, I realised that he was wearing cologne again...

"What use is a chessboard without a Queen?" He muttered, sounding almost defeated in tone as his dark gaze washed over me.

I was floored. Of all the things I might have expected from our altercation, this hadn't featured.

I reached out a hand tentatively to touch his coat lapel, rolling the purple felt between my fingertips as thoughts crashed around my mind like ships at sea in a tempest. He grasped my hand in his own and my heart fluttered in my chest. Not able to stop myself I slipped my other hand inside his coat, feeling the cool silk lining, moving it up over his waistcoat to rest atop his shoulder. I was still angry with him. I knew I should hate him... but I couldn't deny the part of me that was drawn in by him too.

My arms threaded around him, embracing him so tightly that it had to have hurt him. Of course, he didn't flinch. Instead, he let his fingertips brush over my scars as he slid a hand into my hair, pressing my head to his chest. I could feel the slow beat of his pulse.

The opera music again bled through into the moment, a duet of voices rising and falling together, and he leant down, his face agonisingly close to my own, his brown eyes burning with chaotic desire. I let him hold me there, abandoning all reason as he drew me into a violent kiss. Something in me had snapped and I returned his affection with equal passion tugging his coat away from his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. I could taste the tang of iron, the remnants of the nose bleed I had caused but I didn't care.

I pushed him towards the bed, leading him to lay down on it as I clambered on top of him. I slid my arms over his own and broke free from our kiss to look down at him for a moment. I had missed him. There was no use in denying it. How strange it was to see him like this...

I didn't have long to entertain the thought; he turned and pushed me down onto my back. I let it happen, leaning upwards to meet him in another kiss. He played along for a minute, but then I felt his hand slide up my neck to grasp me by the jaw and forcibly turn my head to the side. Before I could protest I felt his breath in my ear and he began to kiss my bruised neck. Tenderly at first, but soon becoming more aggressive.

I was already losing any sense of composure and a moan escaped my lips. He growled his approval at this in my ear. I threaded my fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck and hungrily pressed myself harder against his body. He responded by pulling away from me in deliberate denial. It frustrated me as I glared up at him only to be met with a sly smirk.

I used this extra separation to kick off my boots and tug the red blouse up and over my head, tossing it aside. His dark eyes excitedly roamed my torso as he kicked off his own shoes, letting them fall to the floor with a thud. I sat upright and began to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt, sliding my cold hands underneath them. His muscles tensed up as I touched the skin of his chest and ran my fingers over his collar bones. He paused to slide the straps of his braces off both shoulders and peeled away his shirt, dropping it to the floor, before pushing himself back down on top of me.

His kisses and touches were so intense, with a kind of violence to them that was surprisingly arousing to me - it was as if he really was desperate for me not to leave. Whatever the reason, it felt powerful that he wanted me so badly. He soon had pinned both arms either side of my head and began to kiss his way down my torso. I tried to move, wanting to take off my bra but he didn't let me, gripping me tighter and holding me fast.

I looked up at him a little afraid and exhilirated by the feeling while he relinquished my arms, letting one of his hands trail up to my neck where he gripped me instead, still holding me fast. I was totally at his mercy as he withdrew a blade from his pocket. My breath stalled in my throat as he continued to press his fingers into my flesh. For a moment he held it up to my cheek, the silver metal glinting as it touched my skin, feather light. Not enough to break it. I made no attempts to struggle, looking up at him with complete trust, however stupid that was. He let the blade trail down my neck and across my collar bone, his eyes bright with violent fire.

As he slid the blade under the fabric where my bra met in the centre, it grazed my sternum. The bite of the blade made me wince, eliciting a kind of ragged breath from him. The fact that my life was in his hands might have scared me more, but I knew from our previous journey into this territory that we could also swap roles: he seemed to have a masochistic streak that matched his sadistic tendencies in equal measure - he evidently found dancing on the knife's edge just as intoxicating. For now I was content to be at his mercy, too tired and bruised from the past twenty four hours to resist, as he cut through the fabric with one swift movement and our mouths hungrily reconnected.

My fingers again found the countless scars which covered his back as his hands supported my arching lower back. It wasn't long before he began to pull down my pants and no sooner had they been tossed aside than he began to kiss and playfully bite my inner thigh. My hands knotted themselves into his hair as his tongue sent me into a pleasurable spiral. The ceiling seemed to spin above me. My head sank back into the pillow and I tried to suppress a moan. So much for escaping Gotham's corrupting criminal world. I had reached the top of the slope only to slide all the way back down into the dark...

Tag List:

If I forgot anyone or you want to be removed from the tag list - please let me know! 💕

@dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd

@dance-like-a-clown

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@sunfyrejoker

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