#batman x fem!reader

[ilianasbruce]

“Something in the air.”

word count: 5,400

summary: it was either an illness or love in the air — and maybe both in your husband.

warning: +18 content with a plot. minors do not interact, please.

notes: well, hello, hello!!! ♡ i’m back with a piece that I hope i could contribute to Bruce’s early husband years with a little bit of adventures of his. i’ve been re-watching Batman: Caped Crusader (2024) since yesterday and maybe, maybe, i’d write my next piece based on the series. don’t know, but thank you so much for you support!!! see ya’, guys later!!! ♡♡ if you’ve any prompts or ideas, please be my guest and come to my ask-aways!! ♡ ♡

“What are you doing?”

You murmured as you pressed your cheek to his upper back, arms circling his waist. He had been busy for the whole day in the cave, working on a case about nauseous people in Gotham for the last two weeks. Few people got infected with some cells from the air during Christmas Eve at first, with bizarre symptoms and with the incredibly petrifying results. Then, suddenly it spread like a wildfire and the pus-covered bodies and yellow-like skin color on the poor people of Gotham started to multiply day by day. There was no indicator of what or who had caused that but Bruce couldn't let his city suffer like that.

“Working.” he muttered as his contemplative blue eyes stayed on the screen of Batcomputer. “Why are you still awake?” he continued.

“Wanted to see you.” you retorted with a small sigh through your lips. It had been a few times during the day that you’d seen him throughout the whole two weeks.

It was either a morning kiss before he left the warm bed of yours or an afternoon glimpse bypassing each other or a whisper of his ‘Go to sleep.’ when you were trying to stay awake to see him a little bit of time. Nothing more than those.

You and Alfred were trying to have an effect on the process — his day and night working schedule since the infection had started. Keep him at least sleeping or eating since Bruce was too concentrated on his city to think or care about. Poor Gordon was sending his Bat-Signal for him to appear as much as he could. Constant patrolling and the first week of investigation led Batman to be busy with the enigma about the cells that caused the sickness all over Gotham.

He was constantly telling you not to come down the cave. The main reason was that he did not want you to catch something from him. Maybe some amount of partitions would be on his suit and he couldn't risk it. As a man of science, before he slipped into bed, Bruce had to take a double shower — with water and alcohol to prevent any cell. Thus, he was taking extra caution for you.

“I told you not to come down here.” he said matter-of-factly.

“I missed you.”

He smirked but not out of amusement. “I’m at home all the time.”

That husband of yours had a habit of accepting that being at home meant you shouldn't miss him. You huffed, still pressing your cheek to his black shirt. “That isn’t a reason for not missing you.”

His eyes found the curved numbers of the clock on the screen. “I’ll be in bed after a few hours. Go to bed.”

Liar.

Alfred had to drag him to bed every single night — technically every morning. Since Bruce was prohibiting you from coming to see him, you were always bound to sleep the night without him. And Alfred was good at his job, with years of experience in knowing his son to take the reins into his hands. You’d usually find Bruce’s form nuzzling you as he slept when you woke up.

You wished you could stay in the cave but you knew better. You reluctantly kissed the part you pressed your cheek on and unwrapped your arms from him. He could’ve sensed your distaste (as he always did when you were upset), turned his head to you.

“I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

“Alright.”

But before you moved, he grabbed your hand to pull you to him. He placed one hand on your waist, the other palm on your neck as he pulled you in for a kiss. He kissed you lovingly, in a way of saying he meant his words.

He would see you later truthfully.

A few seconds of kissing you ended up with his “Go to bed, baby.” murmur. You nodded your head, marked by his lips, and unwillingly left the cave for your room. You knew his responsibilities and you supported him no matter what, but when Gotham had him more than you did, as if he belonged to her, (not to you) it upset you. She had all of his mind and body as if he was not a human being. That was what worried you also.

The next few weeks passed in chaos. Gotham was inflicted. Even the criminals were infected with to do something, thus the crime rate was significantly below. Nevertheless, the city was a nest of pus-covered illness. You did see them on TV or when you had permission to be in the cave for fifteen minutes. You were horrified as well as the whole of Gotham. It was obvious that this was planned by whoever released them into the city, but Bruce had other thoughts about that.

The freezing January days weren’t helping, either — not to the city or Batman. The heavy snow-covered streets of the city and on some days snowstorms had you apprehensive and tense about Bruce. Alfred made sure to feed him with the nutritional foods to keep him intact as he promised but you were scared.

“Come to bed early.” you, on one night, said to him. He was searching for an article on the Batcomputer.

“I can't.” he said, his focus on the screen.

“I am scared that you’ll catch the disease. Either the infection or the cold.” you reasoned. He did not make any remark on your words.

“I am scared, Bruce.”

And your fears became true, unfortunately. Well, he just caught a cold but still; it made you apprehensive. You were trying to keep him in bed at least for a few more hours after his usual short sleep schedule, but to no avail. He was just headstrong about the situation of Gotham, running to the cave as soon as he was awake. That led to an argument between you. You two quarreled and he gave you a cold shoulder from then on.

Bruce had a habit of staying silent instead of arguing with you. He knew his potential — knew his quarrels with Alfred and how he sometimes left him speechless with his harshness. And he knew all too well to shut his mouth before saying any word to you. He loved you and he wasn’t stupid enough to hurt you.

As you were irritated with him, he just gave you a nonchalant stare and then continued with his daily sickness-covered activities. No lie, you were annoyed with his action but you did not push more, because you loved him, too. It was almost a terrible month in Gotham that left everything in chaos, including your home.

You were watching him as much as you could, sometimes waking up earlier than him to see his condition. The first few days of his cold-catching passed with a light fever but he was good. Then, it affected his throat. He did not have a fever anymore — after one week of his sickness — but his throat was sore. Other than that his immune system response was expectedly good. You’d sleep in your bed naturally, even though he was sick. It was your anger that compelled him to the bed of yours, because you couldn't let him get out of your sight. You did not care about catching a cold, you didn’t want to play by his rules anymore.

You needed to switch on the bedside lamp, since the curtains were drawn every night, lighting up the room. He was sometimes disheveled in his slumber, sometimes comfortable; it was different every morning. You’d press your warm hand to his forehead to see if he had an extra warmth. When you were sure that he was good, you’d switch off the light and cuddle him until he woke up. It did not matter that he was still quiet with you, you still missed your husband. He was probably being quiet for not to push your worries about Gotham and Batman up and keep you safe until everything was promising. After everything was normal again, he’d gladly come back to you with his zeal.

You’d sleepily count the mintues, knew the exact time when he woke up before leaving the bed in silence. Sometimes, he’d catch your sleep-filled but longing eyes, looking up at him from your pillow. He’d keep his composure, grab his robe, and head to the bathroom while you'd watch his form. Sometimes, you were asleep after counting the minutes, unaware of his lips on your temple — a softest kiss — and him leaving the bed. You’d wake up to the empty bed. Either way, you were counting the days of the misery to end.

Well, it did end on the earliest week of February. A few days ago before January ended, you were informed by the news that the city was safe to leave the Manor. You were stunned by the things you heard from Alfred but you could finally breathe in peace.

Three of you.

None of you were allowed to leave the Manor — it was decided by Bruce after the early weeks of infection. Only on the vital conditions Alfred or Bruce himself was the exception — for grocery shopping, for instance. You knew every point and curve of the Manor now, after wandering its halls.

The chaos must have ceased completely so that you were now allowed to leave the Manor. You were elated by the news, but you would be more elated if you saw your husband.

“Where is he then?” you asked Alfred, as you followed him. “Master Bruce has left for a few hours to check the city, madam. Would you like some tea?”

That husband of yours.

That night you tried to stay awake in your bed because you were withered without him. Almost one and a half month passed in the dreadful slowness; the foolish tension between you and him addition to that. You missed your Bruce overly.

Unfortunately, your usual bedtime hour and warm quilts were enough to put you to sleep before Bruce came. The last thing you remembered was that your eyelids were heavy under the dim light of your bedside lamp.

When you woke up the next morning, your bed was empty again. He must have woken early as his habit. You left your bed with great excitement to see your husband after all the days and tension. You were sure that he was in the cave or a little chance of eating breakfast in the dining room (he usually ate with you there or he ate in the cave alone). But when you heard the news that he left for Wayne Tech, you were disappointed.

Truly.

Alfred saw the expression on you and he was dissatisfied with the scene, too. He tried to lighten your mood, but to no avail. Your zeal was smudged. You spent the day in the Manor, reading or playing chess against yourself, counting the hours until he would be at home. You did not just miss him, that was not the whole reason why you were disappointed, but you were also worried about his health. He was still sick with a sore throat and he was refusing you to give you a word about his health for the past weeks after the quarrel. Just the small words of “I’m fine.” or “I can handle that.” were on his lips and a nonchalant look was in his eyes. You did not know what was going on in his head, but you did not like it.

So, when you woke up from the nap you took on the sofa in the reading room, your feet took you to the kitchen. Your mind was still filled with sleep as you walked through the corridors. But you walked into the scene of Bruce’s back towards you as he listened to Alfred. He must have sensed your presence so he looked back at you from his shoulder, his blue eyes finding yours.

You two stared at each other for a few seconds, before he turned his attention to Alfred. And you… well, you were silent when you walked to one of the chairs.

“Oh, I see you’re awake, madam. Would you like to eat dinner?”

Alfred was always kind to acknowledge you and your daily routine — and the tension between you and Bruce.

“No, Alfred, thank you.” you answered in a quiet tone of voice but your eyes stared daggers at Bruce as you were sitting. He seemed to be aware of your gaze, but he did not cast you a single glance. You were now both irritated and hurt by his act, unaware of his reason. A few minutes of Alfred’s dialogue about something trivial for you and the sound of a dish clinking, Bruce finally murmured something in return to him. Then added a “I’ll be at the cave.” as he turned to leave.

A silence took over the kitchen, except for the sound of the plates. You knew exactly why he was speaking in a low tone since his voice was altered slightly by his throat. Oh, you knew you should go and make a hell out of his ridiculous sore throat, but you knew better. You just gave Alfred a knowing stare of your anger and he immediately nodded.

“Do not worry, madam. We are making progress on that.”

A few days later, Alfred really did make progress on Bruce’s damaged throat but the tension between you two was still piercing. You were either seeing each other in the silent and glacial February mornings — two of you still under the quilts, catching each other’s eyes blurred by sleep. But before you made a motion, he was already leaving the bed. That would leave you quiet through the whole day around him. You did not understand why he was still doing that; the damned city was almost cured after the infection, and it was absurd that he was still giving you a headache. So, he kept being quiet and you kept being quiet, too. It continued until the earliest hours of one morning after a few days.

You woke up to the darkness of your shared bedroom. It was too dark, both from the winter season and Alfred’s curtain-drawing habit. It must be early, you thought because you were still sleepy and nuzzled to your pillow. However, you were not the only one who was nuzzled.

You felt Bruce’s sturdy body pressed against yours from behind as he slept in peace. His arms were on either side of your body, his face against your temple. He was asleep, you could tell from his steady breathing and softest snores, on you. You sighed at the sensation of the moment, savoring the sweetness of it because you did miss him and your mornings together. You tried to prolong the feeling, bask in the feeling of him. Who would know when you’d gone back to your normal days again? But the warmth of his body was too much for you at the moment, scorching you under the quilts you two shared which was the reason why you were awake in the first place.

You tried to get some space from his body, at least some air to hit your skin. But it was futile. He was holding you as if you could be a dream, wrapped around you with his arms and legs that were tangled up with you. You were drowsy already; unable to have the power to gain some space. Yet, you tried to do something under him.

“What are you doing?” he muttered sleepily. Before waking him up or maybe he was slightly awake, you never knew, you attempted to unwrap him from yourself. It was unsuccessful. You tried to utter something before he tightened his arms around you.

“It is too warm..” you murmured to your pillow. He kissed your temple before saying anything. “Is it?” he breathed out to your skin. Then he drew a few warm kisses on your skin, from your temple to your left cheek, your jaw, and the skin of your throat before pressing his nose to your neck. He stayed there for a few minutes, breathing your scent.

“Bruce,” you sighed in need of some fresh air on your skin.

“Hm?”

“You are so warm.” you said. “You are, too.” he replied with a yawn. You smiled sheepishly on your pillow.

“I did not mean that way.” you retorted. But you understood he knew what you meant since he sighed as he let you go. He loosened his arms around you and lay on his back, one arm still on your waist. You sighed in pleasure as you finally found some air after his resignation, whispering a ‘thank you.’ to the dark covered room.

You two stayed quiet for a long period of time. You thought he was asleep again since he was breathing steadily as he did when he slept peacefully. You were saddened by the thought since you thought you had his attention again. But it was silent again. You did not blame him since he needed sleep and rest. Thus, you turned to his side and did what you always did — pressed your face against his shoulder. But to your wonder, you found him tightening his arm around your waist.

“Hi,” you murmured barely. He got his face closer to yours before kissing your hair.

“Hi.” he whispered back. Your hand went up to his face, trying to find his cheek in the dark. But it instead found his messy hair. You dived your fingers through them, started to slightly playing with them. You two were quiet for a few minutes before you spoke.

“Why are you awake?” you murmured to the darkness and his warm skin. “Why are you awake?” he muttered back.

“Couldn’t sleep.” you said in honesty. His earliest morning — hell, you did not even know if it was morning or still night. You just woke up to the suffocating warmth of his body. — nuzzling made you miss your usual, sweet Bruce in your sleep-blurred mind and heart. He just hummed to your words.

You did not know what to speak about and your fingers were curling the lock of his hair, causing your eyes to close. But Bruce must have sensed that he took your hand into his and started to kiss your fingers. That made you puzzled but you knew what his motives were in the next mintues.

“I missed you,” he muttered to your knuckles. You murmured back without any hesitation. “I missed you, too.”

That must encourage him well enough to let your hand go on his shoulder and incline you back against the sheets. When his lips found yours in a sweet kiss, you were so glad that he was not asleep.

You two kissed for quite a while — some of them left you breathless, some of them were light with his hand on your bare thighs. You pulled him by his hair to your lips again and again, sighing in pleasure on his lips. He had made your wishes true by kissing you more to the point you were drunk on him.

When he pressed his lazy kisses to your cheeks or your jaw next while his fingers played with the waistband of your panties, you were quiet. The only sounds heard by you two were his lips on your skin or the soft ruffling of the sheets. Bruce made sure to wake you up more with his soft bites on your throat, which made you tug his dark hair between your fingers to the back to halt his teeth. That made him laugh with a ‘Too much?’ of his baritone, morning (or whatever time of the night) voice.

He kissed the skin where he bit and came back to your lips. “Do you want to take the lead?” he asked you. You answered him with your kisses. You had missed him dearly and you did not even hesitate when the words left his lips. Your kisses were rushed and needy compared to his. You kissed him as much as you wanted which led you to feel his action of altering the position of yours.

You found yourself on him, him on his back and your face hovering over his with your hips in his hands. You couldn't see his gorgeous blue eyes until his hand suddenly went from your hip to the bedside lamp. The sudden flicker of light made you close your eyes and then open them with a few flutters of your lashes. When your eyes adjusted to the light with your creased brows, you saw his face finally. He was looking up at you with his exhausted but focused gaze. When he realized that you adjusted to the light, he gave you a small curve of a smile and a whisper of “Something got your tongue?”.

You stared at him for a few seconds before your eyes found the digital alarm clock. It was 04:13. It all made sense why you were tired when you woke up. When your eyes found his again, he wasn't smiling anymore but gazing up at you in an unreadable expression (he was actually adoring you but you were dazzled to notice it).

“Do you want me to take over?” he asked you. You shook your head as a ‘no’ and leaned on to kiss him. God, why was he inclined to the idea of having sex as soon as he woke up, you never knew. But the fact that it was the first thing he had in his mind in the darkness was enough for you.

As you kissed him with idleness and neediness, one of his hands found your soft things, covered with your cotton, white panties. He grazed his fingertips on your skin with great pleasure, slightly guiding them to open for his next move as you were breathless from kissing him. His other hand was already in your hair, his fingers threading through it. You broke the kiss with a soft moan when he pressed you to his bulge — he pulled you back to his lips through your hair, causing you to melt into him. But it was slightly challenging when he was hard and you were sensitive in your morning body.

You did not wish to stop kissing him, but you were weakly balancing yourself in his arms. You sighed in pleasure as you withdrew your kisses. He looked into your eyes with a hazy look, questioning you silently.

“I want to kiss you but,” you told him in a complaining tone, not even finishing your sentence. That earned you a smile on his handsome face. “Can't be in the position?” he asked you as he pulled you slightly to himself.

“Yes.”

He kissed you one more time and then, he whispered. “Let me, baby.” he said as he pushed his body with his elbows to the headboard with you on him. He fixed his part, got himself in a sitting position as you ended up straddling him. He pulled you back to his lips with a “Good enough?”.

You answered him by kissing him as your hands found his shoulders. You two made out until it was breathless for you. He broke the fervent kisses of yours by slipping his fingers through your panties, earning a soft moan from you. He pecked your lips with his words.

“Will you-”

“No,” you answered him, interrupting him quietly. “I just want you.”

He was not expecting that honestly, and after your yearning, he did not have any other question. When you started to catch his lips again, you let him slip your panties from your legs, letting them fall on the floor. Then your camisole afterwards followed by his deft fingers, leaving your bare chest for his eyes. In exchange, you let your fingers free his throbbing cock from his boxers. When Bruce had you where you two wanted to be, he helped you to straddle his hips to take him fully.

You gripped his shoulders when you started to take him. But without a good stretch, it took some time for you. Your soft moans were against Bruce’s mouth as he kissed you while you had him to yourself.

“Shit,” he muttered to your lips when you took him fully, your viscous walls wrapping him utterly. You just pressed your face to his throat at the feeling, the rich thickness of his cock. He kissed your hair before muttering to you.

“Are you alright, baby?”

“Mhm.” you hummed. He dipped his face close to your ear while his hands found your thighs.

“Yeah?” he kissed the sweet spot below your ear. “Do you want me to help?” he went on with his words. You just shook your head as a ‘yes’, pressing your cheek to the crook of his neck. He muttered an ‘Okay.’ and helped you to move. The first few thrusts were overwhelming and left you with moans and creased brows against his skin. But his groan against your ear and words of desperation eased the whole process.

“Fuck, can we do this until morning?”

Oh, when you got used to his thickness in you? It felt so good. So sweet, perfect, and left you yearning for more. As if you were made just right for him as he was made for you.

When it started to feel good enough, you withdrew your face from the curve of his neck. He caught your lips immediately. But it was not easy to kiss when you were almost breathless with soft moans against him. His hands were gripping your thighs slightly as you rode him. It could be easy if you let him stretch you out first, but you missed him so much that you wanted only him.

Bruce could see the clumsy attempts of you and he nuzzled to your face before speaking. “Do you want me to take over?”

You nodded at him with your sweet “Yes, p-please.”

He kissed your lips briefly, then helped you to take him out of your cunt. You sighed at the emptiness in disappointment, but as soon as you lay down, he was on you in seconds. But before he slipped where he belonged, he opened the drawer of bedstand. He took the usual condom packet out of it, then opened it hastily for not to waste any time.

“I don't want to come out of you,” he told you before capturing your lips when he was between your thighs. When he entered you again, the feeling was so sweet for both of you. He hooked your legs around his waist and your hands were around his neck, started to thrust your scorching pussy. She was wrapped around him too perfectly that his thick brows were creased in pleasure.

“Damn,” he muttered against your lips. “It had been one fucking month since I touched you.”

It really had been and you had no idea how he was pent up. That was the reason why he was throbbing just by kissing you and your warm body against his. Bruce started with his usual steady and gentle pace for not to overwhelm you. Then, he found his pace slightly faster.

You were a breathtaking mess under him. Your hair was slightly messy, cheeks flushed by your earlier position, and your eyes were closed, preventing Bruce from seeing your gorgeous eyes as he thrust into you. He was too good at fucking you so right. Never missing any spot, any angle you wanted to see the stars. Just against your expensive sheets, under the quilts in the slightly dim bedroom.

He was balancing his body with his elbows on either side of your ribs, one hand on your hip and the other under your pillow, caging you in. You were always touch-starved of each other and you managed to fix the issue during the sex. That was the reason why you were always wishing to stay close to each other.

You felt Bruce’s wet kisses on your neck, nestling after every thrust he gave to you. He had missed you very much, as much as you missed him. After that tension and the case in Gotham had him starved for you and your pussy. He pressed and sucked whatever skin he could reach on your bare shoulders or chest, with the equal pleasure he was having from your tight walls around his cock.

He fucked you so perfectly at the five in the morning — as if either of you cared the hour, hitting every single spot with an effortless skill.

When you told him with broken sentence that it was too much for you, his hand on your hip went to your clit for the stimulate you. Oh, it felt too overwhelming for you that you couldn't fully remember where you let go and see the stars. But after your first-ever climax, you thought he could be coming, too. But, no.

Bruce continued with his thrusts, solemnly focused on you. He did not care about starting all over and getting you to the finishing point one more time. A few more fervent kisses, and his sped up pace made your toes curl again. Your forehead was against his neck, nails digging into his skin on the back of his shoulders as he dived into you again and again, until you called him with a broken voice.

He kissed your ear before having you finish again. You were so relished in the feeling of your orgasm and he saw it with his bare, hazy eyes. The delight on your face was the reason he tried to try something again but he couldn't do it anymore. He was already holding himself back with great effort since the beginning. You just remembered from your heavy-lidded gaze that he came with gritted teeth between your arms.

You two were breathless, gasping from the pressure and sweetness. You just held him right in your arms, while he was nuzzling your neck. For a long time, you stayed like that, catching your breath. You were playing with his dark, sweaty locks curled on the ends of his neck while he was snuggled to you.

He kissed your neck before raising his head and looking at you with his yearning eyes. “I missed you.” he muttered to your lips before stealing a kiss from you. Then, pressed his forehead against yours with his closed eyes.

“Missed you more.” you murmured back. You wanted to guide him to sleep. But he did not want to sleep; not for now. He sweetly caught your lips in a kiss, hovering over you again. He kissed you until you pushed him slightly to breathe. He smiled down at you sheepishly, his blue eyes filled with a lovely glint.

“Your throat,” you muttered to him the words that had been running through your head for day and night. “How is it?” you asked more.

Your flustered cheeks and worry in your eyes made him laugh. He leaned on to kiss your cheek or the skin of your face as he resumed his genuine delight.

“Baby, we just,” he murmured to your cheek, “We just had sex and I thought we could have it again, but you are worried about my throat?”

He saw your furrowed brows and stopped laughing. “I am good,” he said truthfully, with a kiss on your temple. “I’ve said that to you earlier.”

But you both knew he was just telling a white lie earlier. Well, it was your turn to create a fuss to make him learn but he pressed an apology to your lips. “I’m sorry. I won’t let it happen again.”

“You worried me-”

“I’m sorry, baby, so sorry.” he pressed another kiss to intoxicate you with him. “Won’t do it again.”

Truthfully, Bruce was not good with vulnerability or apologizing. Maybe he could be good, if he wasn't stabbed in the back in his younger years for letting his guard down, or gave his care unconditionally. But, you weren’t a renegade to him and it still struggled him to realize that. So, when you looked at him with a pang in your eyes to tell him he did no good, he only did what he was good at.

Loving you with his lips and body.

He sealed your lips with his needy kisses, getting you drunk on him as he was between your thighs. Because he couldn't handle the thought of wounding you or letting you down when you were the rarest thing in his hands. Thus, when he had your attention again, you just let him.

thank you so much for reading! ♡

[peachessprincess]

MRS.WAYNE, THE AMAZON

bruce wayne x amazon!reader

summary: imagine the build up of how bruce wayne meets his future wife, you, and it just turns out that you happen to be the sister of wonder woman.

tw: not that much, just fluff, some mentions of bruce's parents.

notes: hiii, I hope you guys enjoy this one, I really tried and I apologize if it sucks cause my brain was all over the place with this one.please reblog if you liked it!

DIANA is your twin sister.

you met BRUCE through her, and it was quite interesting to say nonetheless.

see, your sister likes to say that bruce is one who doesn't "get out often." so it didn't really come as a shock to bruce when diana lied about "arranging" a lunch under the guise of discussing league logistics and is instead met with you when he shows up. yes, you were the subject of her blind date surprise.

you knew he was batman. he knew you were an amazon.

and you were both actually planning on leaving early, think it would be a waste of time. but things sort of when you realized that your thoughts were aligned with one anothers.

so you both just sat in this secluded, high-end restaurant and talked for what felt like hours. what was the most surprising out of all was how he had th ability to make you laugh like you hadn't before.

it was like you recognized a sense of loneliness in eachother.

you admired how he wanted to keep people safe.

and it was something about your smile that made him feel a sense of warmth.

it was safe to say you both hit it off.

it would shock ALFRED, who would've caught him arranging for flowers to be sent to you at early hours in the morning after he'd come back to the cave after patrol.

bruce would try to cover it up by saying it's for a friend. but he knows that alfred knows better and is smarter than that, especially after he sees bruce returning to the manor with red lipstick stamped across his neck.

DICK was taken aback that bruce was truly putting himself out there. in fact, he didn't think it would even be possible. when he met you for the first time, he dramatically gasped and covered his mouth because he realized that bruce was dead set on you.

his eyes almost jumped out his head when you told him that you were diana's sister. you knew how to fight that was no joke, dick even watched your skills in archery with utter awe the first time as you showed it off in the batcave.

you were intimidating, in a good way. in a way that made you a right match for bruce.

both him and alfred saw it, the way he would genuinely make you happy, the way you held his arm as you were toured the garden of the wayne property, and the way you told him "i love you" spoke a thousand different languages.

bruce even saw changes in himself, once you became apart of his world.

when he started waking up next to you, he'd admire the curvature of your face, the way your hair looked, and he'd listen to the subtle breaths you too as you were curled up against him.

he has always kept his emotions buried under layers of control and deflection. he's always known how to mask his pain. but now with you, he starts allowing himself to feel, even if only in your presence. you'd catch him smiling at you as you open up a gift he gives you, when he takes you out for a night out, or when your anywhere near him in general.

bruce doesn't share his regrets— he carries the thoughts of his parents, gotham, and the league alone. its how he's always done it. with you by his side now, you managed to get him to open up about that darkness that he's always carried to you. he found someone strong enough to not flinch at his problems.

for years, he has walked a thin line between justice and vengeance, often consumed by his guilt. your perspective as an amazon– honor, fairness, and divine balance— it helps ground him. he starts making decisions less from self-punishment and more from wisdom. he no longer sees pain as the only motivator.

he sleeps better at night because of you.

so it wasn't a surprise when you proposed to you.

it was private. no spectacle. just you and him.deeply personal, solemn, and meaningful. not flashy, not public. not a performance, but a vow.

it was just at midnight. that sacred hush between night and morning— when even gotham holds its breath.

it had been a long day for you both, bruce took you shopping for dresses and shoes, got you new jewelry, and even took you to dinner.

the gown you wore that night was something he would cherish for a lifetime. the way it accentuated the figure of your body, the way it glimmered as you wore at it, and the way it complimented the tux he wore, made him want to do anything to please you. anything to make sure you were happy.

when you arrived back to wayne manor, you noticed a change in his demeanor, almost as if he were hiding something from you and you could feel it.

you were making your way towards the bedroom, visibly tired, but he stopped you and took you up to the rooftop garden. you were in starstruck by the intimate, quiet atmosphere, it made your stomach flutter with butterflies as you gazed around at the various flower that were planted. peonies, hydrangeas and roses bloomed, the different colors were so bright that it felt like they could almost light the room.

when you turned to face bruce, he wasn't on his knee, but he held the box out to you.

he took your hand, kissed it softly and just asked you to stand by him.

not behind. not above. but with him.

he knew your answer the moment when he saw you cover your mouth as you cried and let him slip the ring on.

diana was stunnedd when you told her about your engagement. she didn't think it would work out that well and that would both would be that perfect of a match for eachother. she thought the ring suited you, the diamond was big too.

all she did was asked if you loved bruce and when you told her yes, that's all she needed to know to give her approval.

QUEEN HIPPOLYTA was decently surprised when you returned to themyscira to tell her you were bethroded to a mortal man. but her eyes softened as she held her ground once you told her, "he sees me. as i am. no illusions." she could only chuckle as she took your hands and gave her blessings, as she wished you the softest of prayers.

diana helped you with your dress shopping definitely. she was the one making sure your head did fall off body from the press that would chase you asking if you really loved bruce for him or for his money.

you knew she was your maid of honor since the beginning.

your wedding was beautiful, it was private. just some friends and family. the members of the league were all present as they watched bruce somewhat anxiously hold your hand as he read his vows to you.

your wedding dress was regal, something out of a magazine. it made you glow in his eyes brighter than the lights of the sun. that day you were the one perfect thing in the universe.

and the moment he kissed you on the alter. the moment alfred and announced you both as mr. and mrs. wayne. that was the moment he knew that he would never let you go.

now you stand as his wife, his lover, and the mother to his son. you're a warrior in different ways.

whether that be helping him and dick on and out of patrol. whether that be helping him when it comes to handling charities and galas at the wayne family foundation. whether it comes to helping him be a parent when it comes to dick. or whether it's just being there for him when he's in a period of constant darkness.

it doesn't matter.

you love bruce, you love him, you love his family and he loves you.

and to think, all of this happened because diana lied to him about a meeting.

-peachessprincess is the creator of this work. please don't paste my work onto any other site

divider by @enchanthings

TAGLIST: @simplymygojo @rae-akarui @lettucel0ver @ftm-peepeepoopooman @wejwjjwe @lanilxx @unstable-cucumber @the-nerdy-blackgirl

(comment below if you'd like to join the taglist, hope you enjoyed!)

[weixuldo]

Fear and Love

Bale!Batman x Wife!Reader

A/N: Sooo this is a different spin on the events after Batman is gased with fear toxins by scarecrow in batman begins. I made the reader his wife bc its not realistic that he'd let anyone else see him out of the suit at this point in his life. Hope u enjoy an dyes ik- its a bit diff from the movie :0

Toxins pulse through Bruce's veins as he fights against his worst fears, though only one thing can truly help him overcome.

cw: Hurt/comfort, bruce is in mental anguish, fear, anxiety attack like symptoms

wc: 2.2k

The effects of Scarecrow’s fear toxins pump through Batman’s veins as he struggles to scramble away from the quickly forming crowd of prying eyes. To be fair, why wouldn’t they be gathering, he just fell out of a fucking window, not to mention- on fire. 

For once, Gotham’s signature rainy weather came in handy, but Batman doesn’t have half the mind to celebrate the small victory. Instead, he’s stuck in a maelstrom of fear and hallucinations, he knows he has to get somewhere safe so he pushes through and makes his way to the top of one of the buildings in the surrounding alley. 

He collapses with a grunt as he reaches for his comm link, practically begging for his trusted butler (and right hand man) to help him.

No one can fully know what happened in between the time Batman called and Alfred’s arrival- only Bruce knows that. 

Alfred arrives with haste and quickly finds  Batman convulsing with fear on the pavement. You’re sitting in the back seat (despite Alfred’s attempts to keep you at the manor), about to get out of the expensive car before Alfred calls back-

“Please stay in the car, Missus Wayne- It’s not safe here!”

You want to argue with him but he’s already halfway down the alley way before you can get out a word- you’ve never understood how Alfred moves so fast. 

A loud groan rings out and you catch the sight of the cowl, Alfred has his arm wrapped around Batman’s waist as he guides the hulking figure towards the car.

On instinct you shove the door facing the two men open and Alfred helps the Bat into the backseat. You grab under his arms and pull him further into the back so that his head is resting in your lap. Alfred shuts the door and quickly hurries around to the driver's seat. 

“Oh my God!” you exclaim as you finally see his condition. 

His whole body is shivering, his eyes are unfocused, his breathing is labored, and he keeps babbling incoherent nonsense. 

Once the car is started, you’re racing back to the manor. Hastily, you take off his cowl; Bruce’s right cheekbone is bruised and he is deathly pale. You feel your eyes tearing up, he’s suffering so much and there’s nothing you can do to help at all. 

“P-poision- It’s poison- p” he stutters as he twitches in your gentle embrace. 

‘What the fuck happened in there?’ you think to yourself as you brush your fingers through his tangled hair, trying to provide any semblance of comfort. 

“Bats- they, the-, they’re everywhere! Help me!” 

You pull him closer to you; cradling his head with one hand and brushing his cheek with your other. He begins to yell for help and you worriedly make eye contact with Alfred in the rearview mirror- his own eyes, welling with tears; neither of you had seen Bruce so terrified. 

“Shhh, it's ok my Love, It’s going to be ok” you attempt to ground him (and yourself). 

Soon, Bruce begins chanting something else, your name; he calls out to you in desperation even though you’re holding him. 

“Please! Come back- come back!” Bruce sobs in your arms. 

You sit up straighter, your hold on him tightening; you’re right here, why doesn’t he recognize you?

“Bruce, I’m here baby. I’m right here-”

“D-don’t touch her! Don’t touch my wife-” he cries as he attempts to sit himself up. 

You pull him back to your chest and wrap your arms around his waist to keep him in one spot. You’re full on crying too now as he struggles against your hold, the wet kevlar of his suit bruising your skin. 

“NO!” he cries to no one in particular, he’s panting now as he tries to break free from you, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

“Alfred! How much longer?!” you beg in desperation as your husband is becoming too much for you to contain. 

“4 more minutes, Ma’am- We’re almost there” he responds hurriedly as he presses harder on the gas. 

“She’s g- she- she's gone! Killed, killed, they killed her!” Bruce screams, his eyes screwed tightly shut as he thrashes around. 

You release your hold of him and quickly scramble to get on top of him; one knee pressed between the backseat and his left side and the other foot on the floor of the car. You press your elbows onto his chest and reach out both hands to cup his face. 

“Bruce! Baby, I’m right here- It’s ok, I’m alive” you breathlessly pant as he finally squints his eyes open. 

You lean down to press a kiss to his forehead and his eyes widen as he quickly grabs your waist, holding onto you like a lifeline. He pulls you impossibly closer to him and hides his face into your neck as he repeats your name like a prayer. 

Thankfully you feel the car shift into park and Alfred quickly opens the backdoor; you meet his worried eyes that seem to well up more when he sees how Bruce has shrunk himself into you. 

“Alfred would you-”

“Don’t worry Missus Wayne, I’ll get him out” the butler affirms before reaching for Bruce’s arms. 

Your husband tightens his grip on you once he feels another set of arms on him, “Baby, we gotta get you out of the car- It’s Alfred, you’re safe” you offer but he doesn’t seem to budge. 

His arms tighten when you try to wiggle out of his hold, making you gasp- it’s so tight you can tell you’re already bruising. 

“Bruce please- I can’t breathe-” you manage as you tap his chest plate with urgency. 

“Master Wayne!” Alfred exclaims just as Bruce releases you. 

He scrambles back and Alfred catches him before he can fall out of the car.

“No, no, no! I’m so sorry, I-I, I-’m sorry! I’m sorry” Bruce cries as he reaches for you again. 

Once you catch your breath you respond, “It’s ok Bruce, You didn’t mean to. But we need to get you to the manor, so please let Alfred help you out of the car”. 

His blue eyes are blown wide and darting around the car and you reach out a hand to cup his bruised cheek, “We’re home, I’ve got you”. 

________________________________________

Getting Bruce up to your shared bedroom was no easy task; his legs seemed to give out at random times, his whole body shook with anxiety, and he gripped onto your arm as if you would disappear if he didn’t. 

Alfred followed closely beyond to make sure Bruce didn’t fall backwards down the stairs or grab you too tightly. 

You enter the bathroom connected to your bedroom and ask Alfred to fetch water for Bruce as well as call Lucius Fox, he obliges and quickly leaves you and Bruce alone. 

You turn to look at your beloved husband again, you see him shivering in the corner of the bathroom, hugging his knees as close to his chest as he can- his position mirrors that of a small child. 

You rush to his side and slowly place your warm hands on his cheeks to tilt his head to look at you. His eyes are wet with tears and beginning to redden, his bottom lip quivers as he looks at you for comfort. 

“S-Scarecrow- Toxin- Toxin” he babbles, you brush his damp hair as you acknowledge what he’s trying to tell you. 

“I know baby, I know- Alfred and Lucius are going to help you. I’m going to help you. You’re safe” you say through your own tears as you press gentle kisses all over his face. 

“Can I help you take off your suit, so that we can get you clean?” you ask softly, as not to stress him. 

He looks at you with skepticism and you begin to take your own blouse off; Bruce’s eyes watch you as you strip down to your bra and panties- his favorite set.

He seems to warm to the idea now that he sees you’re just you- no injuries, no bruises, no concealed weapons or illusions… Nothing hidden beneath the clothes- just his beautiful wife. 

Safe. 

He reluctantly nods and you reward him with another kiss. "That's my good boy” you smile as you hook your fingers under the solid kevlar slats of his suit, helping pull them off of his tired body. 

Soon he’s down to just his undersuit layer and you begin to slowly pull down the zipper of the suit. Bruce shivers at the cool air on his skin and places a large hand on your thigh. 

Once the suit is off, you begin to get up so that you can run the bath (Bruce wouldn’t be able to stand on his own long enough to take a shower), but before you can stand all the way up, he’s clinging to you again. 

His hand is firm around your wrist, but not tight enough to hurt you. He’s crying again; big beautiful eyes, a sea of uncertainty and torment. He tugs you back down and gathers your smaller frame into his arms and sits you on his lap. 

Your husband cradles you close to his chest, strong hand holding your head, tucking it under his chin. He’s shielding you from the horrors that only he can see. 

“Please, Please don’t go. Don’t leave.” he mumbles as he holds you. 

You allow him to hold you for a while until he seems to calm down a little and you begin to wiggle out of his hold. His eyes protest and he whimpers. 

“I’m not going anywhere my Love, I’m just turning on the water ok?” you offer, giving him a reassuring squeeze. 

He nods, closing his tired eyes and resting his head against the wall as you fill the tub with warm water. 

Alfred knocks on the door, startling Bruce and you silently curse- he was just settling down.

“One minute Alfred!” you exclaim before turning back to Bruce. 

“It’s just Alfred, he’s just bringing us water” you assure him as you take the glass from the older man. 

“Lucius Fox is downstairs working on an antidote as we speak ma’am” Alfred offers. 

You nod and thank him, “Wait Alfred, would you help me get him into the tub? I’m afraid he’s not able to on his own and he’s too heavy for just me to” .

“Of course” Alfred shoots you a sad smile. It hurt him just as much to see the man he raised in such a state. Surely Alfred just saw the frightened little child who once fell down the bat infested well. 

Bruce has folded in on himself in the corner, shaking again, repeating something you can’t quite decipher. 

“My Love” you call, cautiously approaching him again. 

You place a hand on his shoulder and he looks at you. “Lets get you in the tub, ok?”. 

His eyes dart from you to Alfred a few times before he obliges. You throw one of his arms obver your shoulders and Alfred takes the other side. Bruce’s walk is uncoordinated as you and the old man steady his waist with your free hands until you reach the foot of the marble tub. 

The two of you ease him into the bath and he lets out a sigh once the warm water envelops him like a sweet embrace. “Thank you Alfred” you say, before the man leaves the two of you alone again. 

Once the large oak door is closed, you grab the cool glass of water again. “Here Baby, drink this” you say, kneeling beside the tub. 

He narrows his tired eyes at the glass and you can tell he’s not sure it’s safe, so you take a sip first, “It's good, it's normal water”. 

He allows you to lift the glass to his cracked lips and he almost downs the whole thing in one go. Once you place the glass down on the floor, he calls to you- “Please, join me?” he asks so softly. 

Of course you can’t deny your sweet husband, so you take off the rest of your undergarments, ask him to lean forward, and slip into the tub behind him. Once you’re situated, you ease him back to rest his head against your shoulder.

You wrap your arms around his chest, holding him tightly, grounding him. The pressure on his chest makes him feel sane, he knows he’s home. 

For about 30 minutes, you hold him tight, whispering affirmations and praises against his ears as you gently clean him. He’s finally able to let go. 

Once you get him into bed, Lucius is ready with the antidote; he administers the dose to Bruce as he’s drifting off. 

“Thank you Lucius” you say before turning to the butler, “and thank you Alfred”. 

The older man shakes his head, “No, thank you Missus Wayne, I don’t know if I would have been able to get him back”. 

You knew what he meant, there was no one else who was able to draw Bruce back to reality better than you. The men left the bedroom and you snuggled up to your already sleeping husband; gently, you brush his damp hair from his face and pepper him with kisses before placing his head on your chest, “you’re safe my Love, sweet dreams”. 

a/n poor Bruce :(- I’m not the best w hurt comfort writing but I hope it was good :3

[makeyoumine69]

girl. GRABS YOU the way you make bruce call reader SUGAR?? it scratches my brain just right omg. it fits him so well esp when he's in his possessive sugar!daddy bf era. not to be deranged but if you ever wrote more of that??? i would simply ascend. no pressure tho ily 😭

Hello!🌻

Haha, thank you so much!

I really thought Sugar would suit someone like Bruce—but you're absolutely right about him being a sugar daddy kind of boyfriend. The kind who spoils you rotten without ever turning it into babysitting or a strict power dynamic. He just loves seeing you happy, wrapped up in his gifts—even if they aren't expensive.

Imagine telling Bruce one day that you like horses, and he takes you to a private horse farm he used to visit for riding. He even has a horse there—a black Arabian mare with a thick, glossy mane. And of course, she has the worst temperament. But Bruce is exactly the kind of man who can handle her.

If you ask him if you can feed her sugar cubes, he’d refuse at first.

"Are you really trying to get bitten? She's a total brat."

"Even brattier than me?" you'd tease, leaning against the corral, holding out a sweet treat in your palm.

Bruce would let out a slightly tired sigh—you can already see him rolling his eyes.

"If you get bitten, you're explaining it to Alfred yourself," he’d say, smiling almost boyishly as he gently takes your hand in his and presses a quick kiss to the top of it. "You hear me, Sugar?"

You don’t even have to respond—Bruce is already behind you, wrapping his arms around you tenderly. He guides your hand carefully, controlling every movement as the mare leans in, sniffs the sugar cube in your open palm, and finally takes it.

I might actually write a full version of this someday—I’ve always loved horses. Anyway, if you liked this idea or have any of your own, feel free to share! And thank you again for sending me your ask!💍

[havebeenyou4ever]

"THE NOCTURNE"

(Pt.1/2)

Batman x fem!reader

Words count: 𝟨,𝟧𝟤𝟣

Genre: ᴅᴀʀᴋ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ, ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ, ʜᴇʀᴏ x ᴛʜɪᴇꜰ, ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ

Summary: ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ᴛʜɪᴇꜰ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴀᴛᴀ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇʀ ᴡʜᴏ ᴛᴀʀɢᴇᴛꜱ ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛ ᴇʟɪᴛᴇꜱ, ᴇxᴘᴏꜱɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴜᴇʟ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ʀᴇꜱɪꜱᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛ. ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ, ɢᴏᴛʜᴀᴍ’ꜱ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴋɴɪɢʜᴛ ɪꜱ ʜᴜɴᴛɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ. ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇᴅ ᴛᴇᴀꜱɪɴɢ ʜɪᴍ, ᴘʀᴏᴠᴏᴋɪɴɢ ʜɪᴍ, ᴘᴜꜱʜɪɴɢ ʜɪꜱ ʙᴜᴛᴛᴏɴꜱ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱʜɪꜰᴛ ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ᴇxᴘʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ.

ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱʜᴀʀᴘ ᴛᴏɴɢᴜᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙᴀᴛᴍᴀɴ ʟᴏꜱᴇ ʜɪꜱ ᴘᴀᴛɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴜʟᴇꜱ.

Warning: ᴀɢᴇ ɢᴀᴘ, ᴄʜɪʟᴅʜᴏᴏᴅ ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ, ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ(ꜰ!ꜱᴜʙᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ), ᴏʀᴀʟ ꜱᴇx (ꜰ! ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠɪɴɢ), ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ, ʜᴀɴᴅᴄᴜꜰꜰ, (ꜰ!ɪɴᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ)

Talk with me a bit:

ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ! ★｡･ ｡･:･ﾟ

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ! ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴍʏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴅᴇᴀ ʏᴇꜱᴛᴇʀᴅᴀʏ, ꜱᴏ ɪᴛ ᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ. ᴇɴɢʟɪꜱʜ ɪꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴍʏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ꜱᴏ ɪᴛ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴍᴇꜱꜱʏ (ʙᴜᴛ ɪ'ᴍ ᴜꜱɪɴɢ ᴛᴏᴏʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟᴘ)! ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴀᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛʟʏ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ’ʟʟ ᴅᴏ ᴍʏ ʙᴇꜱᴛ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ—ɪ’ᴍ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ! ⌒♥ ✧*:･ﾟ

You glanced down at the unconscious man in the expensive suit, sprawled carelessly on the floor. In your hand was a small chip, no bigger than a thumbnail, its surface glinting faintly under the dim warehouse lights. Inside it held encrypted documents, confidential government files worth more than his life.

You twirled the chip between your fingers, satisfied.

Men like him were always the easiest. Flash a smile, play innocent, ask the right questions and they’d hand you their treasure like candy. None of them ever questioned why a beautiful woman would ask to meet in a place this deserted.

You barely gave him a second look.

Instead, you reached into your coat pocket and pulled out a single white lily. Carefully, you placed it on his chest. Attached was a small card, handwritten in graceful script: Truth never bleeds quietly.

Then you turned, melted into the shadows, and disappeared, just another ghost swallowed by the night in Gotham.

The name The Nocturne had become something of a whispered legend in recent weeks. A phantom thief, a shadow hacker, someone who could slip into the most secure systems of corporate giants and federal agencies without leaving a trace, except for stolen truths and broken silence.

And yes, that thief was you.

Twenty-five years old. Vanished from all records since the age of seven. You had no official name. No fingerprints. The government listed you as missing, dead, most likely.

But you had survived.

Your parents had been murdered in front of you for attempting to expose a massive human trafficking network, one that stretched its roots deep into international power structures. You’d been forced into hiding ever since, raised by ghosts in the underbelly of the city—hackers, spies, criminals. You studied, watched, learned everything about systems, firewalls, social engineering, manipulation.

Science and code became your language. Survival became your only law.

Now, after more than a decade of gathering names and evidence, you’d finally started stealing.

You sold the data to underground revolutionaries, rogue journalists, resistance cells, anyone brave enough to burn the truth into light. Not for glory. Not for justice. Just for survival. A price for truth.

And in Gotham, that made you a problem.

A threat to national security.

A target.

But it wasn’t the police you feared.

It was him.

Just thinking about him brought a smirk to your lips. You’d crossed paths with Batman a few times. Not many, but enough. Now you understood why criminals whispered his name with dread.

He was fast. Smart. Brutal. Relentless. A towering figure cloaked in matte black armor, a cape that swallowed the wind, a chest marked by the yellow bat sigil, sharp and proud like a warning. You never saw his full face. Just that tight, sculpted jaw and the eyes behind the cowl that burned with something cold. Calculating.

You liked to toy with him, to be honest.

Because why not? That's Batman! You flirted, teased, dropped cryptic lines that left him brooding in frustration. It was…fun. Dangerous, but fun. It was worth it to see that indifferent expression change a bit.

The glory dark knight of Gotham City. The one people are having faith in.

You’d thought about telling him once—just once-that what you were doing wasn’t just theft that it mattered. That it was bigger than you. But you knew his ties to Gordon, to the police, to the system.

You couldn’t trust anyone in that system. Not even him. You shook your head at the thought of the Dark Knight. It was fun, messing with him. Even if sometimes he scared the living hell out of you. But you didn’t really have the luxury of paying him too much attention.

You had work to do.

Elsewhere, not long after your escape, in a dimly lit warehouse in Gotham’s Narrows, police officers stood around the collapsed body of a prominent politician. Spread across the floor were freshly printed documents, leaked files from a classified government server. More proof of the human trafficking ring now becoming impossible to deny.

A single white lily rested on the man’s chest.

Beneath it, a note. An elegant handwriting. New evidence from the thief.

Commissioner James Gordon stood in the rain just outside the crime scene. A brown fedora soaked by mist, the collar of his long trench coat pulled up against the wind. He lit his final cigarette of the night and stared at the scene in silence.

This was her mark. Her signature.

There were no prints. No footage. Nothing but a new note and same flower. The name he heard echoing more and more in the alleyways and precincts alike. The Nocturne has made her move again.

The rain hadn’t stopped. Gordon stood on the rooftop of the Gotham City Police Department, the skyline spread out before him like a crooked smile full of broken teeth. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, watching the thin red ember flare against the wind before he let the smoke drift up toward the clouds. The city below pulsed, too alive, too damned quiet.

Behind him, the wind shifted. Just slightly.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t need to.

“She left another one,” Gordon said without turning. His voice was tired, clipped.

“Not just flower. This time with a calling card, handwriting”

He held out the small card, the edges damp but the ink still sharp.

Truth never bleeds quietly.

A low voice answered from behind him. Steady. Cold. “She’s not hiding anymore”

“It seems so”

Batman stepped from the shadows, not arriving so much as materializing from the dark. Rain ran in silent lines down his cowl, his armor glistening faintly beneath the streetlamps. That yellow bat sigil burned like a warning on his chest.

Gordon sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“These documents… they’re not just classified. They’re black-ops level. Clean-up teams are already swarming the Narrows. D.C. is furious. They want someone to blame”

He turned now, facing Batman fully.

“They want her”

Batman said nothing. His jaw tightened slightly, barely perceptible beneath the rain.

Gordon squinted at him.

“You’ve crossed paths with her, haven’t you?”

A pause.

“Sometimes”

His voice was low, almost reluctant.

“She’s fast. Smart. A chatterbox. Controlled. No violence unless necessary. Precise”

Gordon narrowed his eyes.

“That doesn’t sound like your average thief”

Batman looked away, eyes scanning the city below as if searching for something he couldn’t quite name.

“She’s not stealing for herself. Not completely. There's definitely something behind that”

“Then who for?” Gordon asked.

“That’s what I intend to find out”

The wind picked up. The city seemed to breathe beneath them. Gordon exhaled a cloud of smoke, watching it get torn apart by the wind.

“Be careful, Bruce”

He didn’t use the name often. Only when it mattered.

“This one… she’s not just another masked thief. There’s something else going on. The government’s acting nervous—too nervous”

Batman’s eyes narrowed.

“They’re hiding something”

“Exactly”

Another long silence stretched between them. The kind that says more than words ever could. Then Batman turned away, stepping toward the edge of the rooftop.

“She’ll strike again soon”

Gordon raised an eyebrow.

“How do you know?” Batman looked over his shoulder, his voice barely above the rain.

“Because I’ve been watching her too”

And just like that, he vanished into the night. A shadow chasing a ghost. Or maybe something more than that.

You’d gone quiet for a while, not out of fear, not even caution. Just patience.

Every move had been mapped long before the city even realized it needed watching. You knew the names, the faces, the links. Who to start with, and who had to wait until the very end. And you waited, letting the noise of the last incident fade. A whole week of pretending to be a harmless civilian, melting into the background of a city too loud to notice.

And now, it was time.

You’d spent the last few days surveying Artnexts—a sleek, private tech conglomerate that had risen far too quickly for comfort. Wealth and prestige don’t just happen overnight in Gotham. Not without blood in the foundations. The CEO’s name had surfaced in whispers, tied to the same trafficking rings you’d started ripping apart piece by piece.

But tonight? Tonight was a gift.

Word in the underground was that Deathstroke had been hired to eliminate one of Gotham’s old-money families on the other side of town. High-profile. Loud. Which meant Batman would have no choice but to prioritize that chaos over you. He’d chase a bigger monster. He always did.

So while the city’s eyes were somewhere else, you climbed the rooftop of Artnexts.

One press of a button, and your virus took root. The firewalls folded open for you like an obedient pet.

You hummed under your breath, relaxed, eyes glinting as screen after screen flashed and surrendered their secrets. Blueprints. Trade logs. Offshore accounts. Incriminating emails dressed up in corporate gloss. You stole every byte with a calm smile. By the time they noticed the breach, you’d be long gone.

Another night. Another takedown.

And this one was almost too easy.

You moved with graceful ease, humming to yourself as you adjusted the delicate white lily on the rooftop ledge. The note you left fluttered softly in the night wind, anchored just enough not to blow away. Satisfied, you stepped back, your smile feline, elegant, about to vanish into the shadows like always.

But then…

A heavy gust of wind followed something, or someone, descending behind you with unmistakable force. The subtle scrape of boots on concrete. A sound no ordinary person would notice, but your body reacted before your mind did. Your breath hitched. Your pulse spiked.

You didn’t need to turn around to know.

He was here.

You froze for a second, just a heartbeat. Then, slowly, purposefully, you turned, smile curling on your lips like silk. The city lights reflected off your eyes like embers.

“Well, well,” you purred, voice velvety. “Didn’t think you’d make it. I figured you’d be too busy babysitting Deathstroke tonight”

Batman didn’t answer. He stood about fifty feet away, cloaked in shadows, towering, silent. A specter in black. His cape billowed like wings, eyes glowing faintly beneath the cowl. He didn’t move, didn’t speak.

But he stared.

And you could feel it. That familiar, smoldering pressure, like his gaze was crawling under your skin, mapping every breath you took.

You tilted your head. “What? No dramatic speeches tonight?”

Still nothing. His silence was heavier than words.

You stepped forward slowly, hips swaying. “You’re quieter than usual. Did I finally leave you speechless, Bats?”

He finally spoke, voice low and gravel-edged. “You’re getting reckless"

You laughed softly. “You say that like it’s a bad thing"

“You left a calling card,” he said. “You never do that"

“I was feeling romantic"

“Don’t.” That one word was curt. A warning. But not a refusal. Not really. You giggle then took another step forward, closing the gap with deliberate care.

"Why? Are you worried about me?" You smiled wildly as you walked closer to him "That's so sweet darling"

He didn’t move, but you saw the twitch in his jaw. A flicker. Barely there, but you saw it.

“I’m not worried,” he said finally, voice rough like gravel beneath steel. But you make a face, clearly don't believe him.

"Hmm, that's a bit heartbreaking"

He stepped forward at last—just one pace, but it changed everything. The shadows clung to him like armor, and yet you saw how his eyes tracked your every movement.

“You’re chaos,” he said, low. “I've been watching you, Nocturne”

The way he said it made your skin prickle.

You cocked a brow. “So you have been thinking about me"

Silence again. But it wasn’t the cold kind.

You took another step. Close enough now to feel the electric charge between your bodies, the heat radiating off his suit. Your voice dropped, silken and dark.

“I can be a very good girl too, you know…”

You leaned in, your breath ghosting near the edge of his cowl. “But only when someone makes me behave”

The muscles in his neck tensed. He didn’t touch you, of course he didn’t. But for a moment, it felt as if he might. And if he did... You knew damn well you would let him.

You weren’t proud of this strange obsession, this pull he had over you.

But you liked it.

God, you liked it.

“You play a dangerous game,” he said.

“I don’t play,” you whispered. “Not unless I really want to”

Then you slipped behind him, letting your fingers trail through the space near his shoulder, but never quite touching. You paused behind him, voice low, teasing in his ear.

“We always knew how this would end. But some risks…”

You leaned just a breath closer.

“…are worth taking"

In a blink, so fast it stole the breath from your lungs, his hand shot out and clamped around your upper arm. The grip wasn’t painful, not quite, but it was unyielding.

You flinched, only slightly, just before your smaller frame was yanked forward, colliding hard with the solid plane of his chest.

Your heels struck the floor sharply, the echo ricocheting off the walls. And then you were looking up, face level with his chest.

Even in your heeled boots, he towered over you. His silhouette loomed like a shadow you could never outrun, swallowing you whole.

“You think you’re the one in control here, do you?”

His voice was low, gravel-dark and laced with something more dangerous than threat. It brushed against your face.

You let out a soft laugh.

The space between your bodies no longer existed, no air.

Your lips tilted upward as you leaned in, close enough for your nose to graze the sharp shadow of his jaw beneath the edge of the cowl.

“You haven’t pushed me away yet… or am I imagining things?” you whispered, velvet-sweet, laced with fire. The taunt hung in the air between you, delicate and daring.

His jaw clenched.

You could feel the tension coil in every muscle of his body, tight, controlled, like a predator barely restrained. Ready to strike. Ready to end this dance with teeth.

But something stopped him.

Restraint.

Batman always controlled the darkness.

“Don’t test my patience,” he growled, voice deep as thunder, the words vibrating against your skin. “I’m not the kind of man who plays these game without finishing them"

It was meant as a warning.

But it only made your smile deepen, rich with amusement, like you knew exactly what kind of fire you were playing with, and had every intention of getting burned.

“So why don’t we finish it then?”

Your voice came out as a low, silken tease, your lips curling into a soft, suggestive smile. Fingertips brushed the edge of his cape just for a moment. Then, in the next heartbeat, you leaned in as if to kiss him.

Batman froze.

He didn’t pull away, not exactly. But his jaw clenched, tight enough that the vein in his neck flared against the skin. That was all you needed.

In that breathless second of hesitation, you struck.

Your free hand slipped into the seam of your bodysuit, retrieving a small, flat device no bigger than a coin. And before he could react, you pressed it against the armored slab of his chest.

A sharp jolt of electricity surged.

It wasn’t enough to knock him out, but just enough to stun, to lock up those muscles for a split second. Long enough.

You twisted, yanked your arm from his grip, and pivoted sharply. Two steps back. Then you were gone, vanishing into the shadowed rooftop.

“Shit,”

His voice was a low, guttural snarl behind you.

You didn’t look back. But his frustration cracked through the silence like thunder—raw, unguarded. The kind of sound that made you grin.

Your boots hit the rooftop hard as you picked up speed. The heels barely slowed you down. You slipping through alleyways, leaping across crumbling rooftops and rusted pipes, ducking under low-hanging cables and billboards scorched by Gotham’s smog.

You couldn’t afford to let it end here.

Not yet.

You had work to finish, truths to reveal, monsters to unmask. No matter how fast your heart still thundered from the feel of his body against yours.

No matter how the scent of him still clung to your skin.

Focus.

You told yourself you didn’t have time to get swept up in anything else.

But then…

A heavy thud landed on the rooftop behind you. Metal groaned.

The flutter of a cape slicing the air. The quiet but unmistakable weight of boots pounding across stone and steel.

He was coming.

“Son of a—”

You cursed under your breath, cutting left through an alley, launching yourself across a rooftop gap. You rolled mid-landing, sprang to your feet, only to freeze.

He was already there.

Batman dropped down in front of you from above.

You skidded to a halt, breath catching in your throat. Eyes widened, lips parted.

You turned on instinct to run but he moved faster. In a blur, his arm lashed out and caught you.

“Hey! Let go!”

You snarled, twisting in his grasp, palms slamming against his armored chest. But he didn’t flinch.

His arms were steel, coiled around you with terrifying ease. You barely registered the shift of his weight before you were lifted effortlessly, and slung over his shoulder.

“Put me down! You asshole! Son of a bi—!”

You thrashed, cursed, kicked into the air, fists pounding his back, but he didn’t answer. He simply walked calmly, relentlessly back through the alley, back toward the city lights on the other side.

You were frustrated, and afraid.

For the first time, you’d been caught. Not just by him, but by anyone who had ever come after you.

You’d always slipped away before—vanishing through carefully laid plans and split-second decisions, your mind sharper than most and your instincts sharper still. Your ego was far too inflated to ever truly believe this day would come.

Now that it had, your thoughts were in complete disarray, clashing, spiraling. Pride, panic, disbelief… all colliding inside you at once.

And in that silence, there was something new. It wasn’t Batman's usual coldness. Not quite. It was something quieter, heavier, that you didn't notice.

By the time he reached the Batmobile, his sleek, jet-black beast of a machine, you were thrashing harder, fists pounding against his back in rising panic.

You know damn well where he would be taking you.

“Put me down!”

You didn’t expect what came next. Without warning, he threw you onto the hood of the car with ease.

Your body hit the cool metal with a soft thud, breath catching. Then, he was on you, his towering frame moving to cage you in, blocking the night and the city and everything else out.

His face came close.

Too close.

“What- what? Still want that kiss?” You tried to sound flippant. Amused. But your voice wavered just slightly.

There was no amusement in his eyes.

“Shut up,” he growled, voice low, rough.

Before you could respond, his hands gripped your shoulder and waist, spinning you over effortlessly. Your front pressed flat against the car’s hood, the cold of it shocking against your skin. Then came his weight, pressing down, not crushing, but immovable. The strength of him was undeniable. Inescapable.

You struggled, furious now. But it was like trying to push against a wall of solid steel.

And then your wrists snapped behind your back, locked in cold steel.

“Seriously? Are you actually cuffing me?!”

You barely got the words out before he hauled you upright again, one strong arm around your waist. The car door hissed open, revealing the dim, amber-lit interior of the Batmobile. He tossed you in, not hard, but unceremoniously. You tumbled onto the leather passenger seat, your hair a wild mess, boots flailing before you scrambled upright again.

“Hey! You can’t do this! I never agreed to—!”

He climbed in after you, the door shutting behind him with a dull thud that seemed to silence the entire world.

The cabin was too small.

Too close.

The heat of him filled the space.

He reached over, tapping something on the control panel. But in the reflective surface of the windshield, your eyes locked, two storms colliding in silence.

“Did you really think you could outrun this?”

His voice was graveled, quiet, cold in that way only he could make feel like a threat and a promise at once. You were breathing hard, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly from adrenaline, rage, and maybe something else.

“I don’t have time to be locked up, all right? Let me out of this car"

He didn’t answer at first. He just turned and looked at you, really looked.

And you could feel it. The way his gaze traced you, like he was memorizing the details he’d pretend later not to remember. His jaw clenched again. You saw it twitch beneath the cowl.

“You’re a thief,” he said simply.

“And what choice did I have?”

Your voice cracked, raw with something deeper.

“You think you know everything, but you don’t. You have no idea what I had to give up just to make it this far”

The silence after that was almost unbearable.

The space between you charged, thick, heavy with things neither of you could say.

You were in his world now.

Trapped inside his lines, within his reach, under his rules. And he was saying nothing.

He moved, hand hovering over the ignition, just enough to make you panic again.

“Wait! Please”

You softened your voice, pleading, sweet now, instead of defiant. Hope it would change his mind(knowing damn well it’s not)

“Can you please let me go?"

“No”

“Come on, Bats, just this time…”

“No”

“Then at least take off the cuffs?”

“No”

The same tone. The same finality. You inhaled sharply, frustrated to the edge of screaming.

Then you turned your body toward him slowly, deliberately, letting your eyes linger on his silhouette. You didn’t look at the windscreen anymore. You looked at him. Dead-on. Voice low, teasing, laced with challenge.

“Oh? Or maybe the real reason you won’t let go" you paused "The reason you’ve got me locked like this is because you like it. You’re afraid that if you let me go, you won’t get to see me like this again”

He moved sharply, turning to face you fully, eyes narrowing under the cowl. The shadow over his expression deepened. That's not what he wanted, but still asked.

“Like what"

You tilted your head, eyes lifting to meet his, defiant, teasing.

“Like this. Tied up, helpless, with nothing left to do but to beg you”

You gave him a slow, wicked smile.

“You like seeing me restrained, don’t you?”

A low, involuntary growl rumbled from his throat. He leaned in, closer, so close you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

“You have no idea what you’re playing with,” he warned, voice rough like gravel in a firestorm.

“Oh, but I do…” You whispered back, the words dancing off your lips like a promise, “and I happen to like it"

You shrugged nonchalantly, then tilted your body toward him, despite your wrists still bound, refusing to retreat even as your heartbeat pounded like thunder beneath your ribs.

Now, there was barely a breath of space between your faces.

“Or… would you rather prove it to me?”

You tilted your chin, teasing, taunting. “That Batman really is as good as the they say"

You caught the faintest twitch in his expression, just a flicker, but enough.

His eyes darkened.

“What did you just say?”

His voice dropped to a rasp that vibrated through you. His large hand came down to grip your thigh through the tight leather, fingers pressing in hard like he was anchoring himself, holding back something wild.

You doubted he even realized what he was doing.

You smirked, lips curling at the corners with delicious mischief.

“I just want to know" you murmured, your eyes drifting deliberately downward. Down to where the black armor betrayed him. Hard edges swelling, straining against the fabric in ways you weren’t supposed to notice.

But you noticed. And you let your tongue sweep slowly across your lower lip.

“I want to know,” you said, voice soft “If every inch of the man behind the mask is just as hard and just as impressive as the they claims”

You grinned even wider “I really wanna know… is that really his kind of thing?"

At those words, everything he’d tried to restrain shattered into nothing.

He lunged over you in one swift motion, his weight pressing you down as his mouth crashed into yours without warning. The breath was knocked straight from your lungs.

One hand slid around your back, yanking you flush against him as he devoured you with a brutal kiss, fierce, consuming, and relentless.

No room left to breathe. No space to think. His breath burned hot against your lips as he growled the words between gritted teeth,

“Keep running your mouth and you’ll see what happens when I stop playing nice"

You gasped, breathless, lips still wet from the kiss. But your eyes gleamed, defiant. Mocking "So you're really into that kind of thing," you paused a bit.

“And here I was thinking that was you being serious"

A guttural sound tore from his throat. The next second, your back hit the seat hard.

His hand pinned you down, your clothes slipping slightly from one shoulder as you writhed beneath him. He didn’t wait this time. Didn’t pretend anymore.

He leaned down again, like a storm come to swallow you whole, and kissed you deeper, harder, tongue slipping past your lips to steal the taste he’d been craving all this time.

There was nothing tender about it. His mouth claimed you, commanded you. Every kiss a warning. A punishment.

And yet, instead of pushing him away, you found yourself giving in.

Your lips parting willingly to meet his.

Your body betraying you with the way it arched and moved beneath his touch, chasing the heat. His weight pressed fully into you now, and you felt it, the fire pulsing through his skin, the restraint slipping thread by thread.

“Still got something smart to say?”

His voice was quiet, but it rumbled low in his chest, a dangerous sound that made your heart trip in your chest. The hand that had been gripping your thigh so tightly began to roam slowly, almost reverently.

Fingertips trailing along the curves of your body like he was trying to memorize every inch by touch alone.

His breathing hitched, uneven, as if holding back was costing him everything.

And you, you weren’t much better.

But it was clear now, he was running out of control.

The soft clink of your wrists shifting against each other filled the air as you twisted them within the restraints. Somehow, the lack of freedom only made your body burn hotter. The scent of leather, sweat, and him, so uniquely him, saturated the car. It clung to your skin, to your breath. But none of it compared to the heat in his eyes.

He was looking at you like he wanted to devour you.

And then he moved again, leaning in to whisper against your ear, his voice a searing breath of flame.

“Then sit still and shut up"

You forgot to breathe for a second, thinking he’d actually stop. That maybe, just maybe, he was pulling away.

Somehow you didn't want that to happen.

“So that’s it? You’re scared?” you murmured, your voice trembling with mockery and something deeper “Afraid to take it further? I knew it, you really are all bark and no bite, Batman"

You thought those words would make him mad. You thought he’d back off, or hesitate.

But instead, they lit the fuse.

He snapped back around and kissed you again, so suddenly, so forcefully, it stole your breath. You whimpered into his mouth, caught off guard as his lips crushed yours with the weight of everything he’d been holding back. It was rough, heated, and hungry.

He kissed you like a man who had finally lost control.

It was as if he’d finally run out of patience for her sharp tongue.

You didn’t have time to catch your breath. His broad body slid between your thighs, claiming the space like it belonged to him. One of your legs was lifted, wrapped around his hips as his hand slid deliberately up your inner thigh, igniting every nerve it passed.

The heat was unbearable. And only growing stronger. You could feel it, your own arousal, warm and slick against the tight leather pressed between your thighs.

You knew it was wrong.

And yet, the way your body trembled beneath his touch said otherwise.

While you were still lost in the haze, his hand slid down, bold and unrelenting, pressing firmly against your soaked center.

Thick fingers moved with a brutal rhythm, circling, grinding, rubbing into you with no mercy.

A choked moan escaped your lips as your hips twisted in search of relief, but his other hand clamped around your waist, locking you in place.

He felt it.

He could feel how drenched you were through the thin leather.

And when he realized it, his fingers pressed down harder, deliberately rolling over your swollen clit again and again until the heat became unbearable.

Batman broke the kiss, finally, and you gasped, breathless, your head falling back against the seat.

Your focus shattered.

You had been so close to unlocking the cuffs behind your back just moments ago, but now your arms dropped limp again, helpless, surrendering.

“B-Batman, wait- what are you...ah!”

His hand lingered against your core a beat longer. Then, without warning, both hands gripped the waistband of your skintight leather pants and ripped them down the middle with a vicious snarl. The sound echoed through the cabin. Loud. Raw. Brutal.

You gasped, eyes flying wide open as the sudden scrape of torn fabric stung against the sensitive skin below. You never imagined it would come to this. By now, panic was clearly flickering in your eyes.

“W–wait! What the hell are you...!?”

“Shut up,” he growled.

Same words.

Same voice.

But darker now. Lower. Rough with tension. The seat jerked beneath you as he yanked the recline lever, flattening it all the way back, and you tensed, heart pounding, as you lifted your head, staring up at him in shock and breathless disbelief.

“You...Ah!”

“So messy already"

His voice was muffled against the heat between your thighs, but you heard every word, low, dark, and teasing.

You looked down, and there he was, face buried in the part of you that ached the most, where the wetness had already pooled, your wet pussy. His tongue, hot and relentless, traced every sensitive curve with wicked skill, drawing helpless sparks of pleasure through your body.

When he felt you jolt, he doubled down. His broad tongue pressing, licking, circling, focusing on that swollen spot until your moans trembled out of you. Your back arched involuntarily.

He was far too good at this.

Each flick of his tongue was practiced, confident. You had no doubt he was well-experienced. And yet, you weren’t prepared, could never be, for just how completely he was unraveling you.

His sharp eyes looked up through dark lashes, catching your expression. Your skin was dewy with sweat, lips parted and quivering, breath catching like you were holding back a sob. For just a second, his mouth curved into a crooked smile.

“S-Stop. You’re...You’re being greedy"

Your voice trembled, cracking like you were on the verge of tears, but your words only seemed to excite him further. Without hesitation, he plunged his tongue deeper.

The slick sounds filled the enclosed space of the car, mingling with your broken gasps and shaking breaths. You tried to twist away, but he pinned your hips down firmly, holding you in place like a prey.

You were twenty-five, but you’d never done this with someone before.

Your life had always been about survival. It's all about hiding, running, escaping. Not once had you let yourself imagine this kind of raw, intimate contact. And now, here you were, writhing beneath him like fire was licking through your veins.

Batman pulled away slightly when he noticed how you kept writhing beneath him like someone entirely inexperienced. He straightened up, gaze locked onto the beauty in your tear-glossed eyes.

Your face was damp with sweat, lips parted and trembling, slick with saliva. Your whole body trembled under his touch, flushed and vulnerable.

His jaw clenched. Fists tightening at his sides. It was the first time he had lost this much control, especially in the middle of a mission. With a swift motion, Batman tore off his gloves and let them fall soundlessly to the ground. You, dazed and breathless, barely registered what he was doing until his bare hand returned to the slick heat between your thighs.

“W- wait Batman, are you...”

“You haven’t come yet,” he said flatly.

The shameless honesty in his tone made your heart thud wildly in your chest, so much so that you missed the flicker of desire in his usually unreadable face.

“But I…!”

“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “It’s not as big as mine"

“That’s not...!”

He didn’t let you finish. Without warning, his thick fingers slid into your soaked entrance, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. Your walls fluttered in response to the sudden intrusion, and he grit his teeth as he felt the heat clamp around him. His own arousal pulsed heavily beneath his suit.

You really were dangerously good at riling him up.

He didn’t rush at first. He let you feel him, drawing slow, deliberate motions in and out of you, as though giving you time to adjust. You couldn’t look away from the sight of his strong hand working you open, your breath coming in short, needy bursts.

But his patience didn’t last.

The slow rhythm turned feverish. His fingers thrust deeper, faster, and the abrupt change forced a cry from your throat. Your head fell back, hips lifting in search of more.

Your body clenched around him, drawing him in again and again. Teary-eyed, you looked up at the man above you, breath hitching.

“Bat—ah! I-I… I can’t—”

A low sound rumbled in his chest.

“I know.”

Your voice trembled, pleading, breathless. Beneath the half-mask, your tear-streaked face painted a picture of helplessness that could’ve broken anyone’s heart. You looked like someone unfairly cornered. And yet, instead of showing mercy, he seemed perversely captivated by it.

His hand didn’t ease, it drove deeper, and you let out a choked sob, unable to stop yourself from flinching at the overwhelming sensation. When his touch angled just right against that unbearably sensitive spot deep inside, you jolted violently, half-rising just to clutch the hard armor covering his chest.

Then his eyes narrowed.

He’d noticed.

Somehow, you’d managed to slip off his handcuff without him realizing.

His next motion was deliberate, a rougher, sharper press against that vulnerable place, punishment disguised as pleasure.

“Batman! N-not there...please—”

Your protest cracked into a moan, your body betraying you.

“What happened to that sharp tongue of yours?” he murmured against your ear, voice low and dark, sending a shiver racing down your spine. “You had a lot to say a minute ago. And now you’re unshackling me behind my back?”

“I-I’m sorry…” you whimpered, trembling under him.

Each movement of his hand only made the tension in your core tighten. The sound of it wet, slick, indecent, echoed obscenely in the confined space, a cruel reminder that you were coming undone at the hands of the one who should’ve been your enemy.

And yet, it felt like the world was falling away.

You clenched around him, your body’s instinctive response to the wave that was cresting dangerously close now. Each time he found that exact spot, your walls tightened, hips arching helplessly as if trying to escape and chase the feeling all at once.

“Bat—I can’t...I’m close—”

Your hand reached up to cup the side of his jaw, needing to anchor yourself to something solid before everything inside you shattered. His eyes, so often hard and unreadable, met yours. And the sight of your dazed, tear-glossed expression made a deep, primal sound rumble from his chest.

The man above dipped his head and kissed you again deeply, fervently, without warning. His warm tongue tangled with yours, stealing your breath, even as his fingers below continued their merciless rhythm. If anything, he pushed harder, forcing your hips to buck up in response, chasing after the overwhelming pleasure without realizing it.

Batman let out a low sound in his throat, something between amusement and a groan at how horny you were, despite your inexperience. His tongue pressed and swirled, demanding more, until a sharp wave of sensation surged through you. Your hips jerked once, and a sudden heat flooded over his hand and onto the expensive leather seat beneath you.

Your cry was muffled, he didn’t break the kiss. If anything, he held your jaw more firmly, deepening the kiss further while keeping his fingers inside you, now still but possessive.

Only when he finally pulled away did you gasp for air, your breath ragged, your eyes glassy and dazed. He slowly withdrew his fingers from your trembling body, the sight of it making something dark flicker in his gaze.

Batman looked down at the aftermath with eyes that burned like coals, barely restraining whatever war raged within him. This wasn’t who he was. He never allowed things to go this far. And yet here he was.

“Batman…” you whispered his name, barely audible. He met your gaze, those piercing eyes catching yours.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice low, teasing, almost cruel, “now you know, don’t you? Was it worth the risk?”

There was something mocking in his tone, pride perhaps. Or a warning.

“Don’t test me again"

But instead of lying still, you reached for his free hand, the one slick with your warmth, and pulled it toward your lips. Slowly, deliberately, your tongue traced his fingers, tasting what lingered there. Your eyes never left his.

He froze.

The sight of you, soft, flushed, and staring up at him like that sent a jolt through his body.

“You don't have to be so cruel to me”

The words were simple, harmless even. But they struck a nerve. Something about them lit a fire in him, an anger that flared without warning. Whatever the reason, it burned hot and fast.

The tall man jerked his hand back sharply and snatched up the pair of handcuffs you’d managed to undo. Without a word, he snapped them back into place around your wrists. He didn’t think you’d be able to slip out again. Not in your condition. You were barely able to move.

With a low grunt, he adjusted the seat carefully, making sure you wouldn’t fall over during the ride. Then, without another glance, he stalked back to the driver’s side, his jaw clenched tight. One broad hand gripped the steering wheel as the other reached for the ignition.

A soft buzz from the dashboard caught his eye. A message from Nightwing: “All clear on my end. Don’t worry"

He ground his teeth, biting back a curse. His gaze flicked to your motionless form slumped against the seat. You were unconscious now—utterly still. And it left him alone, with nothing but his seething thoughts for company.

Without hesitation, he turned the key. The engine growled to life, and the Batmobile slipped silently from the shadows, tires humming against the damp asphalt.

But it wasn’t the GCPD he was heading toward.

The streets blurred past, a familiar route guiding him to the Batcave. He drove without a word, jaw tense, eyes narrowed.

There was still too much he didn’t know about you.

And he was going to find out.

To be Continued

Pt.(1/2)completed

[eternallyhauntingthehouseoflove]

Bruce Wayne fucked his partners through the mattress—and it depended on who and why. If you know he’s Batman, then he’d fuck for stress relief, to uncoil the sickening knot in his belly. However, if you’re unaware of his nighttime activities and believe you’d just lucked up meeting Bruce Wayne, then he’d fuck for ego. He’s got a point to prove: all those years as a recluse hadn’t dulled his ability to grant a lady a good time; that the stories of his youthful adventures are true. (Though his ego bleeds over into Batman as well since he wonders if he’s too old to still be the Dark Knight. If he’s lost his edge).

Bruce’s stamina is insane. He’d have you spread on your belly while he drove his cock into you. One hand enclosed around your throat, the other encircling your waist, and his lips grazing over your ear. Warm gusts of air caressing your cheek with each huff and grunt. The faint scent of his cologne lingering within the atmosphere, though it had been toppled by the aroma of sweat and sex. “Fuck,” he gritted out,” so tight f’me, doll. Only for me. Mine, aren’t you?” There was pride in being the one to undo Bruce Wayne, to make him cuss and grunt like a caveman, to draw out his Gotham accent. He was usually so put-together and driven.

Time warped and melted whenever Bruce had you beneath him. Despite his age, (don’t let him hear that) he could fuck for hours, content to drive his cum back into your hole until he came again. In fact, he enjoyed the slickness. There was something about keeping you beneath him that soothed the territorial monster caged within him like Mr. Hyde. Rarely could you lure the possessive, emerald eyed, envious beast out; Bruce was old and had dealt with his fair share of women seeking an emotional response. But with the perfect concoction of circumstances could you shatter the manacles binding the dominating, jealous, spiteful side of him—and it was wonderful.

Dick Grayson (Dixon’s version) preferred to let his lover work for it. There was a tantalizing element to gazing at his partner while she straddled him, and attempted to sink down into his cock. Dick wasn’t girth-y like Jason or Bruce (nor as unshaven). No, Dick was slim and long—and pretty. Dick was shaven and trimmed, smooth and hairless if he could help it. He never liked to offer up unshaven goods; he thought it was rude.

“God, you. . . you ride like a pro,” he breathed out, nigh gasping as though he’d run a race beside Usain Bolt. A sheen of sweated coated his toned physique, and a scarlet blush left a fiery trail from his cheeks down to his neck. “Don’t stop till I say.” Dick is more selfish in bed than Jason. Unlike Jason, Dick knows he’s cute—pretty, even. He’s confident both in himself and his ability to be selfish and still make you cum. . . hard. He won’t hesitate to assume control if he’s not liking your rhythm, or if he just wants to be a little shit and knock your orgasm off kilter. “Oh, were you going to cum? Sorry. Didn’t notice.”

Speaking of orgasms, Dick cums beautifully, even when he’d rather be described as ‘’manly’’ and handsome. He couldn’t restrain the tremble of his muscular thighs, or quell the furnace roaring inside his belly, or freeze the stars bursting behind the paleness of his eyelids. “I know, pretty baby. I know. Tight, aren’t I? Let it out for me,” you cooed, caressing his sweat-slick, inky black curls. Dick nodded quick and desperately, coal black lashes falling over his oceanic eyes. “Yes. Yes. That’s it. Gonna cum again. Just keep going.” The power he’d stolen returned with a vengeance. He’d gone limp beneath you. Fucked out, his breaths tremulous and stuttered. Naturally, Dick’s palms found purchase upon your breasts, pinching and flicking your nipples before he exerted the last of his strength to lean forward and suckle one into his mouth.

(There’s hints of a mommy kink if you squint hard enough).

Jason Todd loved to see his partner deep-throat his cock. It’s a personal pleasure of his, the one time he allows himself to be selfish during sex. He’s not sure why it’s fascinating to him. Perhaps the sheer primality of watching you struggle to swallow his thickness intrigues him, excites him, causes the hairs on his forearms to stand at attention and the nerves within his body to buzz like a million bees trapped beneath his skin.“That’s right, baby, keep going. Till I see tears,” he murmured, as his large hands slithered up into your nape and tightened in your hair.” Show me how much you love me, baby.”

“What a beauty.” Jason’s chocolate smeared irises tipped backward, his slender hips bucking upward into the warm cavern of your throat, his cock spewing viscous ropes of pearlescent cum. Jason’s frame fell slack against the sofa. Sated. Only you could loosen the tautness in his shoulders like a ball of yarn. Boy, did he adore you.” I hope you can go all night. Cuz I got some steam I been needin’ t’ blow off.”

[mostly-imagines]

Sugar on the Rim vol. II

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

part one

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, easing your posture.

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

You hum, nodding again.

“Good girl,” he purrs, pulling away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He follows when your eyes stray, “Yes?”

“Yes.”

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

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

“Yeah? Tell me about it.”

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

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

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

“But you like it?”

“Yeah, I—I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hesitate for half a second before answering truthfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh out, “Bruce, please.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you help me out, sweet girl?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lay down.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, this isn’t so bad either.

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

[streetlamp-amber]

never ending night

bruce wayne x femwife!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ashlovesfood]

after bruce got you pregnant, your body started to transition.

in the best way he could say, you were looking so fucking sexy, head to toe. your body was getting used to growing a baby inside your womb, making your hormones help along. you stomach swelled, the bump sending bruce straight to heaven.

but god, your breasts were the best of all. you were starting to feel your boobs get larger, expand with milk for the baby.

you didn't realize how much pregnancy took a toll on your body, you were constantly sore from carrying another human being in you and you focused so much on the babies safety that you could barely take a look at yourself. when you walked past the mirror, you stopped and looked at your top. your top was soaked through, the damp circles on your shirt making you realize.

lactation, the body goes through a hormone shift which helps the body produce milk. but the baby hasn't popped out yet.. you were conflicted, squeezing the flesh as more milk seeped out of your nipples. bruce just had to walk in at that moment.

"you're lactating, need some help with that bun?" he was right behind you, rubbing your tummy as he placed a kiss on your temple. his lips brushed along your ear, placing gentle kisses along your shoulder as your hands guided him. "help me out, brucey.."

he lifted your top up, revealing the swollen peaks that leaked with milk. the sight of you just made him hard, his lower half grinding against your ass. bruce rubbed your nipples between his fingers, using his thumb to stimulate your areola.

"oh- sensitive! 'm more sensitive than usual bruce..." you arched along his front, leaning your head against his shoulder. the creamy liquid dripped along your tits, streaks of milk running along your torso as bruce continued to play with you.

"my special baby. lets take this to the bed, yea?" bruce grabbed your hand and guided you towards the bedroom, gently pressing you against the bed. his mouth latched onto the hard peaks, drinking the golden liquid that came from you. "don't- suck so hard.. ngh." bruce was stimulating your other nipple with his hand, squeezing the tip.

your milk was shooting out like a fountain, the white liquid exploding out. it dripped on the sheets, the floor, your body, making you look perfect in his eyes.

bruce rubbed along your pussy, using his palm to feel your clit. you were barely holding on, clinging onto his shoulders as he relentlessly touched you. "ah- nhooo! cominggguh!" your panties became wet, your breasts emptied all of its milk out into bruces mouth. he came in his pants.

"did so good for me baby." bruce rubbed your head, picking your limp body up as he went towards the shower. looks like he got his fill <3

© ashwashy do not feed into AI, plagarize, or post as own.

[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

[ahqkas]

“MILLION DOLLAR MAN — bruce wayne.

PAIRING! bruce wayne 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! bruce met you through a dating app (his sons’ doing, really) and the temptation to invite you over for christmas is getting harder to resist WORD COUNT! 3.6k WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, bruce is literally down bad for reader in this one, unedited + lmk if found! NOTES! for nat & based on this req. , header bellow belongs to @/v6que © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

BRUCE WAYNE AVOIDED RELATIONSHIPS LIKE A SOLDIER DODGING BULLETS, each attempt adding yet another layer to the armor he wore daily. He didn’t need them, the women, or so he told himself. They entered his life easily — at his own charity galas, where one pretty bird thought she could get a kiss from him by the end of the night. Female admirers who ate up his charming smiles and sharp eyes seemed to flock around him at all times. And those countless girls who were lured in by the Wayne name, the status, the wealth.

And Bruce gave them the attention they craved from him.

The women served their purpose as brief districtions, companions who helped him maintain his public image, but none of them really mattered to him.

They kept the colder side of his bed warm, but never his heart.

It wasn’t that Bruce didn’t want love — some part of him did, but that part was buried under the weight of Batman. Allowing himself to lose the walls around him and find an attachment in a woman wasn't something his alter ego was okay with, not with the way he’d been living. And another part convinced him that his duties as Gotham’s protector, with all his scars and wounds, didn’t make him a possible object for such things. Love and vigilantism didn’t mingle together well.

Maybe that’s why his own sons and personal butler teamed up on him. Batman was a hero to many, but with how much it damaged Bruce’s internal beliefs, it would ruin him soon enough.

It started as something innocent (but it seemed the wolf was clothed in sheep’s wool): Dick, his oldest, had teased him about his non-existent love life during a training session in the Batcave.

The large space was full with flickering lights coming from the monitors and grunts from the fighting men. Sweat filled the air, masculine and strong, but that only indicated to the hard work they were doing. Training wasn’t easy, they liked to train with the maximum intensity ( it was kinda needed, too ) and it showed. From their damp hair and glistening skin to the rippling muscles underneath their clothes.

“You know, Bruce,” his son started when he blocked yet another strike coming from the man in question. A puff of air left his mouth upon the attack. Not fair. “for someone who spends his nights saving people, you sure are terrible at saving yourself from eternal loneliness.”

Bruce delivered another jab, this one directed straight at Dick’s weak point. “Not now, Dick.”

But his son was nothing if not persistent and he always got what he wanted, whether it was with or without serious consequences. “I’m serious. When was the last time you went on a date? And don’t try to tell me you had one on your arm during the last charity event. That doesn’t count.”

Both of them fully knew Bruce’s arm candies were way more interested in his name and money than in his heart and soul. The truth made his jaw muscles tighten at the realization.

“My personal life is irrelevant to my work.”

Dick took the opportunity and circled the older man like a predator catching the prey’s scent of blood. A sweet weakness, that one. He’d be stupid if he didn’t take the chance. “Is it though? I mean, sure, you’re great at taking down supervillains and brooding on top of high rooftops, but even Batman needs a little action sometimes. The different kind of action, of course. Or are you planning to spend the rest of your life married to the job?”

Bruce swiped his right leg toward Dick’s shins, trying to take him down like he was the said supervillain but the acrobat jumped right on time, avoiding Bruce’s attempt with a grin on his face.

He landed on his feet and crossed his arms at his chest, leaning the weight of his body against one leg. The playfulness disappeared from both his voice and expression and instead, seriousness graced him whole. “Seriously, Bruce, even Alfred’s worried. He brought it up the other day while we were decorating the tree. Something about how the manor feels colder than usual this year.”

“The heating system is fine.”

With Jason gone, it was the truth. His second son had this strange relationship with all the members of the family. Off and on. Off and on. No one truly knew where they stood in Jason’s eyes but he made the effort and showed up on Christmas Eve the other year upon receiving Alfred’s invitation.

Bruce doubted he would show up two years in a row.

“That’s not what he meant, and you know it,” Dick pressed, and effectively added more salt into Bruce’s wounds. It stung and it fucking hurt. As much as Batman was ruthless, it didn’t mean the man under the mask was resistant against the pain his life brought. “You’re not getting any younger, B. It wouldn’t kill you to let someone in. And I don’t mean us. Try to meet someone who isn’t friendly with a criminal record.”

The older man could only stare helplessly at the other. Those words his son, partner, spoke were loud, crawling their way into his mind and much to his dismay, his heart as well.

Before he could voice his dismissal, a younger voice called out. It was familiar in a way family tended to be.

“You are wasting your breath, Grayson. Father has neither the time nor the inclination to entertain your nonsense,” his youngest son declared into the space of Batcave, his voice ringing out and echoing every single word. The blood son, Damian Wayne.

The father didn’t even flinch, just let out a deep sigh through his nose. It was as usual between those two, always bickering from Damian’s side and teasing remarks from Dick’s. You could mistake the blood running through their system as one, if not for the physical differences. They were brothers in all but red.

“Damian,” Dick started in that lecturing tone he’d always seemed to use with the younger boy, “when was the last time you saw Bruce here even try to have a social life?”

Damian rolled his eyes, the green disappearing behind his eyelids before they reappeared, rougher than they were. “The so called ‘social life’ you’re referring to consists of women who barely last through dinner. Why would he waste his energy on distractions when Gotham requires his full attention?”

“Because even Batman needs a break. You know, normal human things? Like dating, smiling, not dying alone in this cave surrounded by bats?”

“If Father is content with his choices, who are you to meddle? Unlike you, he does not require constant companionship to validate his existence.”

“Ouch,” Dick put his palm against his heart in a mocking manner, feigning hurt as his lips formed a pout. “You’ve got a real gift for the Christmas spirit, don’t you?”

The younger son narrowed his eyes at his supposed brother. The constant bickering was almost normal in their lives so far, and nothing seemed to be changing any time soon. He had to learn how to live with the excuse of a brother, although he started to form a light liking towards him. He wasn’t so bad. “I only speak the truth,” his green irises flicked to Bruce. “Though it is peculiar he tolerates your interference. Perhaps even Father has realized how pathetic his current romantic life—or lack thereof—appears.”

The object of the conversation let out another sigh, this one loud enough for the boys to hear. Their gazes snapped toward Bruce with accusingly great speed.

“If you two are done debating my personal life, there’s actual work to be done.”

He missed the glance his oldest threw at the youngest. He missed the look filled with amusement and a plan that was already brewing. He missed the nod they gave each other, although Dick’s was more pronounced and determined.

The next few hours were spent creating Bruce’s dating app profile.

The final result was the definition of real sugar daddy vibes. Every detail had been debated (mostly argued over though) and thought through, so to say the boys were satisfied with it was an understatement. The oldest prided in the work, saying how it would get so many women to reply which would eventually lead to the right one. The middle one Dick and Damian (only Dick) dragged into the activity beamed up once the profile was set while the youngest scoffed and scowled during the entire process.

During the next evening, the boys showed the main man his new account.

Bruce was left speechless upon seeing the bright screen flash before his eyes. Not a single word was muttered as he watched his boys showing him the app and explaining how exactly it worked (he’d never used a dating app before all this so bear with him). The main photo on the profile was a candid one of him, the one Cass had taken on a sunny day in the Wayne Manor gardern. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, the long sleeves rolled up past his elbows as the muscles of his forearms bulged up. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the sunlight casting shadows across his sharp features and Bruce had to admit they chose a good photo.

It wasn’t intimidating, but it wasn’t exactly friendly as well. The good old middle.

The boys knew he was convinced to give it a try when he waved them off with a deep sigh slipping past his lips.

The game was on.

It was past the midnight when he lied in his bed, propped against one too many pillows and wondered why he was still scrolling through the damned dating app. It was late—far past the time he should have been out on patrol, but Red Hood and Red Robin got it covered for him.

Bruce wasn’t looking for anything specific, really. If he were honest, this whole situation felt out of place for him. Swiping through the profiles was more like an exercise for his thumb.

First was Madison K. Her profile opened with flashy colors that immediately put Bruce into a doubtful situation. Were all these women going to be like this? Madison was beautiful and her looks screamed professionalism: her makeup was done flawlessly, adorning her bright eyes and full lips. She looked like she belonged on a cover for a fashion magazine, not a dating app. Her bio made his thumb swipe left.

‘Manifesting my best life. CEO of my own happiness. Looking for someone who’s successful, ambitious, and knows how to treat me like a queen.’

The next account’s bio made him grimace and swipe left once again.

‘Looking for someone who can keep me living the dream. If you’re successful, generous, and ready to spoil me, let’s talk.”

At this point, Bruce was ready to delete the dating app his boys set up and enjoy the rest of his night. Most of the profiles he swiped through were simply bland to him. Nothing felt genuine. Right. It was safe to say he was losing the hope Dick had set in him earlier in the evening. Until he stumbled upon your profile.

The account stood out among the others—simple, elegant, but with a certain amount of warmth that seemed genuine. Bruce’s heart skipped a beat once he scrolled further and came across your photo. The picture showed you in a cozy cafe, the one Steph adored so much for their cinnamon roll buns. A soft smile danced on your pretty face, highlighting the curve of your cheeks as you looked off to the side. You captured Bruce in a way the others didn’t.

You looked like a fawn surrounded by hungry wolves. You were admirable while they were craving wealth and status. Two different sides of a coin, but Bruce had already known his pick.

Your bio was sincere, a sight the man liked to see.

‘I enjoy the little moments — finding beauty in the simple things. I believe in kindness, and I’m looking for someone who values honesty and a deep conversation.’

His mind flicked briefly toward the countless hours he spends in the cave, surrounded by work and worries. You seemed like the one who could understand the balance between the quiet and the loud, someone who could exist in both of his worlds without losing that spark you held in your gaze.

Before he could overthink it, Bruce clicked on the “message” button.

Once the screen of your non-existent chat appeared, his mind went blank and all he was capable of was to stare mindlessly at the phone. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but no words came to him. What did one say to someone like you? He wasn’t used to thinking ahead when it came to women. This was a new field. And he couldn’t screw up.

Finally, his fingers moved before his mind could think of whatever embarrassing thing it was capable of.

> Hey, I noticed your profile and wanted to reach out. There’s something about your words that struck a chord with me. I’d like to know more about you.

And that’s how the two of you started your relationship, or whatever you could call it. Neither of you voiced it as official, but that was okay. He hadn’t expected to feel this way, not so soon. And yet it came at him, crashing like a large wave of emotions every time you were around. You changed everything for him.

Your conversations became the highlight of his days.

His ears perked up every single time without a fail when he heard the soft ‘ping!’ of the notification, already convinced it was from you (and it 98 percent was). Whether it was early in the morning before he started working in the chaotic Wayne Enterprises or late at night when the Batcave was quiet and felt at peace. You were always there with him.

You were thoughtful, generous, and refreshingly kind. You asked him questions that no one else dared to: what he wanted from life, what made him happy, what kept him awake at night. You didn’t flinch at his silence. You didn’t push him to give answers he wasn’t ready to share. You understood him in a way only a few people did.

Piece by piece, he let you into his world — not that part filled with constant danger and threats, but that part that longed for something real.

By the time Christmas approached, Bruce was sure of one thing: he wanted you in his life.

The holiday was just around the corner, filling the air with joy and gratitude as it always did. The snow was blanketing the streets with white powder, and although many people were complaining about the cold, it had its charm.

Christmas had always been about family for Bruce, about gathering around the tree and full table with the people who mattered most. It was lonely at first, after the death of his parents, but over the years, Alfred had made it work. The table was always full of tasty food the kids adored and presents Bruce knew would make them more than happy were neatly waiting for them every morning after Christmas Eve.

This year though, Bruce wanted it to be a little different. He wanted you to be part of it.

You might actually fit into the chaos of the Wayne family — the teasing and playful banters between you, Dick, and Tim would be absolute gold to hear. You probably even could handle Damian’s wit which was something his father would like to see. He could picture you smiling, holding back your own remarks. The idea of you sitting beside him at the long dining table, sharing their traditions, made his chest feel warm in a way he wasn’t used to.

That night, he sent you a message.

> Are you free on Christmas Eve?

Your response came in quickly, as it always did. Bruce’s heart thumped against the bones of his ribs.

> I am. Why?

He hesitated for a bit, overthinking his decision.

> I’d like you to join me for dinner. It’s a family thing but I’d really like for you to be there.

> Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.

> You wouldn’t be intruding.

Bruce could picture the light frown between your brows and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. You often did it unconsciously, never knowing how pretty you looked this way. But even as he pictured your face, a part of him was growing more nervous about the situation. Would you agree to an event this serious? Spend Christmas with him. And his family. Or were you coming up with excuses right now? He wouldn’t blame you.

> Then I’d love to come.

His heart skipped a beat and that night, Bruce went to bed feeling a little lighter than he usually did.

Snow blanketed the long driveway leading up to Wayne Manor and for once, Bruce wasn’t thinking about the pressure of Batman or the chaos the boys would definitely stir up tonight. His attention was entirely focused on the one making your way towards him. He stood just outside the grand entrance, dressed in a dark, perfectly tailored suit that fit him like a glove. The soft crunch of tires on the white powder alerted him to your arrival, and as your car pulled up, Bruce started to feel the nervousness. He adjusted his tie with a single hand.

When you stepped out, his breath caught.

You were breathtakingly beautiful. Dressed in an inky black that hugged your figure in all the right places, the fabric shimmered under the outdoor lights of the mansion. The smile you gave him when your eyes met melted all the nerves that had been harboring in his system. He was finally calm and composed, for what seemed like the first time in the evening.

“You’re early,” Bruce pointed out softly when you walked up the stairs to meet him in front of the door, and his eyes sparkled with little stars at the sight of you. How did he get so lucky? “You look stunning, by the way.”

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting. And thank you. You clean up well, too, Bruce.”

Your gaze held a playful edge in it as you accepted his hand, locking your palm around his bulging biceps and squeezing warmly. The touch added the missing piece of the puzzle Bruce was trying to solve while his cheeks warmed a rosy pink under your influence without any hesitation. The gesture felt natural, like it always belonged there.

The two of you approached the doors of the manor in a shared silence, although it didn’t feel a bit awkward. You took a moment to take in the place. It was like something out of your childhood dreams — tall, arched windows glowing with the soft light of a dozen garlands lining the entryway. The faint hum of holiday music and the occasional sound of laughter echoed through the manor.

It was Bruce’s home.

“Do you always go this big for Christmas?” you voiced a question that's been sitting on your mind since the moment you saw the large Christmas tree from the entryway to Bruce’s living room. Decorated with lots of ornaments, it looked lovely, accompanied by a heap of presents.

“Alfred insists,” admitting with a soft chuckle, Bruce rubbed the nape of his neck as he led you deeper into his home. “And the boys like the holidays. I want them to have the best.”

The scent of pine and cinnamon enveloped your senses the further you moved. The sounds grew louder, too. You awe made him feel lighter somehow. The dining room at Wayne Manor was nothing short of spectacular this night, with the long mahogany table adorned with a dozen of flickering candles and plates of food that looked like it belonged in a holiday spread for a cookbook.

You were sitting beside Bruce (he kind of insisted anyway), your hand occasionally brushing against his. He helped you settle into the chair which earned a teasing glance from Dick. Speaking of his oldest son, he was sitting across from you with an easy grin that told you some questions would come your way sooner or later. Tim was at Dick’s right, while Damian occupied the chair from the other side of his father.

The evening was more than successful in your opinion. Steph asked you about your favorite literature, while Tim quizzed you on trivia about Gotham (which you surprisingly got all right). Damian, after much persistence from Dick, shared a story about his latest art project, though he kept glancing at you as if trying to gauge your reaction.

Through it all, Bruce remained by your side.

When the night finally came to an end, and everyone drifted to their own space of the manor, Bruce walked you to the entrance with a gentle hand against the small of your back.

“Thank you,” his gaze met yours as he handed you your coat, effortlessly helping you slip your arms into the sleeves. “For coming tonight. For putting up with them.”

You gifted him with the most precious kind of a present; your smile, smaller hands reaching up to adjust the collar of his dark suit. “Of course. They’re wonderful, Bruce. I enjoyed myself tonight.”

For a man who othen found himself at loss for words when it came to talking in emotions, Bruce found himself smiling softly with his heart feeling lighter than it had in years. Because for the first time, Christmas didn’t feel like an obligation. It felt like a new beginning.

[eternalslover]

WHY IS THERE NO WRITING FOR HIM

GUYS, IT'S LITERALLY SUPERMAN HAS NO ONE EVER SEEN SMALLVILLE?! IM GOING CRAZY BECAUSE THERE IS LITERALLY NOTHING, NOT EVEN CRUMBS

PLS SOMEONE WRITE FOR HIM I WILL TAKE ANYTHING, FLUFF, ANGST, SMUT, HEADCANONS, DRABBLES, FULL ON FICS ANYTHING PLS, HES SO POOKIE

[weixuldo]

Knowing Me, Knowing You

Bruce Wayne/Batman x Surgeon!Reader

Chapter 3: A Little Out of Place

Series Masterlist

A/N: playboy Bruce is back baby, tbh idk how galas really work so just bear w me :3

Getting invited to one of the most prestigious galas in Gotham isn’t something you though would be happening to you, but here you are

CW: surprisingly none

Wc: 4.1k

Life seemed to slow down after the night of the assault; you still went to work as usual but now you moved with much more caution, less assured. 

The operating room became the only place you could truly focus, any other time you were thinking about how quickly you could have been killed- how everything you had worked for could just be gone in an instant. 

One thing you still couldn’t shake was how the Bat knew where you were; where you lived. 

Has he been watching you? He asked about Bruce Wayne’s files too, was there something about your patient you were being kept in the dark about? 

After a long day of surgeries, it was finally time for you to grab a coffee downstairs. You shove on your coat and grab your bag before locking your office. The elevator ride is relaxing as you allow yourself a moment to close your tired eyes.

Once the doors slide open, you head for the cafe. They were closing up for the day but one of the barista’s had saved a pot for any staff members who were just getting off shift; thank god for that. 

The comforting aroma fills your senses as you pour yourself a cup as you let out a long yawn. Somewhere behind you someone calls your name. 

It was your boss, the chief of surgery. He’s an older guy, average height, balding, and a bit of a beer belly. His name is Albert but most of the staff just call him “Al”; upon first glance he just looks like another arrogant old man, but he’s actually quite a kind person. He just has the typical hardened Gothamite exterior like everyone else.

“Hey Al, what’s up?” you ask, stirring some creamer into your cup. 

He politely declines the offer of coffee from the younger guy behind the counter before turning back to you. 

“Hey kid, how’ve you been?” he asks, making small talk. 

You nod your head as you sip your drink, “pretty good” you lie, not wanting to get into a long conversation right now. 

“Well I’m glad I ran into you, cause I’ve got a question for ya” he responds, leaning on the counter. 

“Mhm?” you return, hoping he’s not asking you to pick up another shift. 

“You have any plans on Friday?” 

You unconsciously arch your brow and shake your head, “No?”. 

He pulls out a fancily embellished envelope from his coat pocket and hands it to you. 

“Got invited to this charity gala on friday but the wife and I have a little getaway planned, thought I’d offer it to you. Don’t have many other staff members I think deserve it” he jokes with a hearty chuckle. 

You look over the invitation skeptically before agreeing, “why not, I’ve literally got nothing better to do”. 

“That’s the spirit, Kid! Now, it's black tie so make sure you got something nice to wear. And Oh! Don’t forget, by being there you're not only representing the hospital, you’re also representing me” he adds as if you didn’t already know that. 

“Of course Al, I’ll be on my very best behavior- scout’s honor” you joke, holding up your free hand. 

“I know I could trust ya, Kiddo! Make sure not to drink too much of their complementary champagne!” he laughs as he pats you on the back before disappearing down the corridor. 

You look back down to the invitation in your hand and curiously open the envelope, the words on the invitation are golden in an almost illegible cursive. You can make out the time, attire, and location, but if someone were to ask you who is hosting or the main benefactors, you’d have no clue. 

Looks like you’ve got some shopping to do.

_________________________________

The week flew by and all of a sudden, here you are standing in front of your large mirror checking to see if your dress looks ok. It's not like you don't wear dresses, it's just that you never wear fancy dresses (really no reason to). 

Smooth silk seemed out of place; the dress was quite beautiful, though. You made sure to get a high quality piece after your boss texted you two more times, reminding you that you needed to be a pristine representation of the hospital, him, and blah blah blah. 

The color was a dark blue that you chose to match with silver jewelry and heels. The waist was pretty tight but damn, you looked good.

Turning in the mirror one last time, you suddenly felt a pit in your stomach- you had never been to one of these things and pretty much everyone there had to be a pro…

Quickly you felt yourself getting warm, oh shit- you actually had no one there to guide you, you’re going completely stag. What if you’re painfully awkward? What if you make an insensitive comment? What if your jokes don't land?!

Ok, OK! Maybe having a few drinks when you get there will give you some liquid courage…

In the most embarrassing turn of events, you forget that you need a ride there (because based on the amount you hope to drink, you definitely will not be ok to drive after). So you do the only thing you can think of, call an Uber. 

The only driver available on such short notice is this guy driving a beat down Honda that oddly smells like pancakes, that’ll have to do. 

He’s a bit younger than you and seems pretty interested as to why you’re so dressed up.

“I got invited to this gala last minute” you say, trying to find the source of the pancake smell. 

“Oh the big charity ball! I know all of Gotham’s elite go there- Wait, you said you were invited last minute?” he pipes up as if he recalled some off hand fact. 

“Yea?”

“Oh my God, were you invited by Bruce Wayne?” oh, he’s really interested.

“What?” How did he even come up with that?

“Well the papers have all been talking about how his last fling and him split and he had to find someone quick!” he’s a total fanboy.

Scrunching your face you respond, “Hell no, I’m not one of his little escapades. Plus don’t you think I’d be riffing with him if he invited me?”. 

Damn, maybe that was a little too harsh.

“Oh, yea… I guess I just thought you kinda seem like the type he’d go for”.

Was that a compliment or an insult? Whatever, you were almost there, the sky was illuminated with the grandiose entrance lights. 

“Wait, can you drop me off over there” you point to a block away from the event. 

“Uh, I can just drop you at the entranc-”

“No, no- the curb is fine, thank you” you smile, leaving no room for negotiation. 

Ok maybe you aren’t being the nicest you could be but your nerves were going insane and the mention of Bruce made you even more jittery.

“Thank you so much” you say as you hand the guy a $20. 

He drives off and you’re left to collect your bearings as you head towards the venue. 

__________________

The ballroom is insanely overwhelming; socialites decorated in extravagant jewelry, fancy drink towers, live orchestra, and a cacophony of loud chatter.  

Well damn, maybe you didn’t think this through- making small talk really isn’t your strong suit and you don’t run in any of the circles the event is for.

A young waitress walks by with a platter of thinly stemmed champagne glasses and you swiftly snatch one up as she passes.

Before you can even register what you’re doing, you’ve already downed about two thirds of the glass.

Ok, maybe this was a mistake; maybe you should just go home-

A familiar voice calls your name from behind you. Oh God, please be him…

You turn and are met with the all too familiar Bruce Wayne, his blue eyes wander from your exposed shoulders to your stunned face. 

“Mr. Wayne” you sigh, a little too obviously relieved to see him. 

He chuckles, tilting his head slightly, “Bruce”.

“Pardon?”

“Please. You can call me Bruce” he responds with a small smile. 

Your words catch in your throat for a moment about to protest but you realise you aren’t at work and he’s not your patient. 

“Yes sir- I-I mean, Bruce” you speak rather flustered. 

His lips angle into a small smirk as he scans your reddening face, “You seem much less composed than usual, Doctor”.

“Haha, very funny. Well as you can imagine, this isn’t really my usual scene” you narrow your eyes, he’s obviously having a field day with your jittery aura. 

“Yea, I didn’t expect to see you here tonight- but it’s quite the pleasant surprise” he smiles before looking over your figure once more. 

“I definitely expected to see you here tonight” you respond, of course he’d be here, he’s the richest man in the city and it's a charity event. 

“Ah, are you stalking me, Doctor?” Bruce asks, a confident look gracing his handsome features. 

“You know, contrary to popular belief, you aren’t the only factor in my life” you tease as you find your footing (finally). 

His bright eyes don’t break contact with you as you take another sip of your drink. 

“How did you find me in here?”- “You look absolutely stunning by the way”. 

Your words clash and suddenly your heart is beating all the faster. Bruce, for the first time ever, seems to blush a little too. 

The tall man clears his throat and chooses to answer your question, “I noticed you when you walked in solo, most of the time people come in pairs”. 

“I don’t think it’s that uncommon to come stag… I mean you’re not here with anyone” you say. 

Bruce’s face changes but before he can respond you hear another voice calling his name. 

“Bruuce! Brucie, where are you? Bru- Oh! There you are, I thought you said you were going to get us drinks!” a redhead girl comes up to the two of you and grabs on to Bruce’s nicely ironed suit sleeve. 

He clears his throat and looks at you with an emotion you can’t quite place. 

“Oh my! That dress is just stunning on you, where did you get it?” the bubbly woman asks you once she realizes you are also there. 

You’re about to answer but Bruce interrupts, “Shelly, this is the woman who does my surgeries, and this…” he motions to “Shelly” with a thinly pressed smile. 

“…is Shelly, she’s-”

“Winner of Gotham’s next top model” she exclaims enthusiastically. 

“Right. Nice to meet you Shelly.” you smile.

“Aww you too, I was just looking for Brucie, because I want to go dance. Hope you don’t mind!”

Before you can even respond she's dragging him away, leaving you awkwardly standing there looking like an idiot. Of course he’s here with a literal fucking supermodel.

You stick around for a while, having enough alcohol in your system to be able to feel like a functioning human. Small talk has and always will be the bane of your existence, but you did meet a pretty cool lady who happened to be a council woman. 

“Yes, yes, It seems like he’s all the city talks about these days- The Batman” a woman in a red dress exclaims dramatically. 

“I do find it a bit odd that a grown man is masquerading around town in a bat costume, but you know, my kids love him” the council woman responds with a smile. 

“Well you know he beats up poor people” another woman chimes in, making you scrunch your nose. 

“I just don’t think that’s true” you speak up, a frown on your face. 

“Pardon?” 

“Well, I’ve seen him in action. I don’t think he’d just go around harming innocent people, especially not after he saved my life” you added. 

The women around you gasped and began to bombard you with questions. 

“What happened?”, “Is he really as intimidating as people say?”, “How big was he?”, “Does he actually throw bats at people?”.

You chug the rest of your glass before gearing up to answer them

__________________________

Once 11:00 comes around you decide that you’ve done your duty being here and that it’s time to go home, get into comfy clothes, and doom scroll. 

The valet lot is pretty busy as a lot of the older crowd is heading back home too. In your time throwing back champagne flutes you forgot that you don’t have a ride. Shit. 

You groan before stepping to the side to pull up Uber on your phone- God, this is so embarrassing. 

“Mam? What’s your key tag?” the young valet boy asks you expectantly. 

Startled, you look around before pointing at yourself (guess you weren’t far enough out the way). 

Before you could awkwardly explain that you were calling an Uber, a strong hand rests on your shoulder making you gasp. 

“She doesn’t have the tag, it's with me”. 

It's Bruce. 

“Ah! Mr. Wayne, of course, we’ll have your vehicle right away!” the boy scurries back to his post and says something hushed to the other worker. 

You didn’t know whether to thank him for saving you from an awkward interaction or to be annoyed at him for leaving you in the middle of a gala that he knew you were uncomfortable at. Though the more you looked at him, you were leaning towards the latter. 

“I’ve been looking for you all night, where did you go?” he asks, his brows slightly furrowed. 

You scoff, he was definitely not looking for you because after your initial greeting, you didn’t see him the rest of the night. 

“Oh have you now?” you taunt, your cheeks still warm from your buzz. 

He looks over your features; eyes drifting from your eyes, to your blushed cheeks, and finally to your glossed lips.

“Yea” it comes out low and rough, eyes still trained on your lips. 

A feeling you don’t want to name shoots itself down to your core. He’s too good at this shit. 

“What about your supermodel girlfriend” you say back, sounding a bit more peeved than you intended. 

“Well for starters, she is not my girlfriend and second, she went home with this broker guy” he answers flatly. 

Oh so he’s just taking you back because his date bailed on him. Great. 

“Oh that sucks, sorry to hear that Bruce” you feign pity. 

“Well thanks for getting me out of that stitch, I wouldn’t have really liked to announce I was ordering an Uber from the fanciest venue in Gotham City” you laugh before patting Bruce’s arm. 

“But I really should get going” you say as you head towards the corner you were dropped off at earlier. But before you get too far, Bruce is calling your name and suddenly his hand is gently grasping your upper arm. 

“Wait- Won’t you come with me?” he asks, almost confused that you’d rather take a stranger's car. 

“Nah, I wouldn’t want to inconvenien-”

“You’re not.” There's no room to protest. 

You sigh, “Bruce, I don’t want to be one of your little-”

“Mr. Wayne!” the boy calls and Bruce’s sleek black sports car is pulled up right next to the curb.

He turns his attention back to you and gives an almost pleading look, “At least let me take you home, I know how Gotham gets at night”. 

You sign and agree, taking his hand as he leads you to the passenger side. 

Once you are in the low seat, your eyes meet his again, he’s staring at you intently as he slowly raises your hand to his mouth, giving your knuckles a soft kiss. 

Your breath catches for the third time tonight. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was actually you, but you feel something warm deep in your core. 

Just as soon as you gain your bearings, he’s already slid into his seat and revving the powerful engine. You give him your address before he jets away from the venue. His face is more relaxed, more natural, as you look over at him. 

He has a stunning side profile; strong jaw, straight nose, beautiful eyes and long lashes. How did he get so lucky?

“You’re staring” he says with a smirk. 

“Oh, I didn’t realize” you tried to play it cool. 

He chuckles.

The car goes silent for a moment and you debate asking him about the number he gave you. 

“I meant what I said earlier” he says, making you turn to him. 

His left hand is on the wheel as his right reaches towards your face, brushing a strand of stray hair from your face, “You look stunning tonight”. 

Shying from his touch, you can only quietly laugh, “do you say that to all of the girls that sit in this seat?”. 

He exhales through his nose and tilts his head slightly, “you really think I’m a womanizer, huh?”. 

Now that was hilarious, you couldn't help but laugh, “Of course I do, Bruce- so does most of the city”. 

He frowns at your statement, making you feel a bit bad for being so harsh; it was just frustrating, wanting him so bad but knowing that it wasn’t in your best interest to give in. 

“I know how it may seem, but I am not-”

Was he really trying to argue with you on this? The alcohol chose to give you a rush of liquid courage as you combat him. 

“Bruce, you had a literal supermodel on your arm tonight and now you’re taking me home? I have a PhD, I’m not stupid” you say, turning your body towards him. 

He goes silent, eyes trained on the road in front of him. The only sound is the pitter patter of the forming rainfall and the rumble of his tires as you nervously fidget with the fabric of your dress; Fuck- you just made weird, you really shouldn’t have said tha-

“Why didn't you call?” His voice is soft, almost sad. 

“I-” you begin, before rolling your bottom lip in between your teeth as you think of the best thing to say. 

“I thought it was just a joke- or, I don’t know, I thought you were just being a flirt” you admit, suddenly feeling a pang of regret. 

He hums in response before slowly moving his right arm to rest on the center console. 

“I’ve been sending you chocolates for years, don’t you think if it were ‘just for fun’ that I would have left you my number a long time ago?” his eyes drift to yours, the blue irises suddenly feeling like a never ending ocean.

“Bruce..”

Before you know it, you’re parking on the curb near your apartment building; Bruce shifts into park and turns off the car. 

“I just want you to know my interest is genuine. I’m not expecting you to say anything, so you don’t have to-”

He’s shut up by your lips against his. For a split second he hesitates, making sure you were actually doing what he thought you were. His silk tie is clenched in your left hand as your other brushes against his cheek, drawing him closer. 

The passion he emits is unmatched, he kisses you as if you were the only woman in the world; it's not sloppy or rushed, instead it is deep, slow, and incredibly personal. The way his hands rest on your neck, his large thumbs gently running along your jaw. 

No one had ever made you feel so wanted, so needed, from just a kiss. 

Thunder rumbles ahead and the kiss is broken as Bruce looks out the window to the dark sky.

“We should go inside” you offer, watching sparks of lightning flash across the sky. 

He agrees, telling you to wait for him to open your door since you’re on the side that’s open to the road. What a gentleman.

Once the two of you are on the sidewalk he takes your hand and spins you into his chest with a light chuckle. The light rain collects on your hair and lashes as you turn to face him; Bruce is wearing the largest smile you have ever seen on him- he looks perfect. 

You can’t help but place your hands on his face, making him look down at you. Soon his own hands find solace on your body, one on your waist and the other on you hip; he pulls you closer to himself before joining your lips together once more. This one feels more desperate, like he had been praying for it. 

You pull away once more, the rain beginning to pick up, “We really should go inside, Bruce”.

His eyes are soft as he smiles again, “Lead the way, beautiful”. 

The stairs are dampened with tracked-in rain from the other residents of the building- shit- you’re in some pretty tall heels and would rather not break your leg. Bruce notices your dilemma and promptly arrives behind you, “May I?” he asks, arms out, waiting for the ‘ok’ to pick you up. 

“Oh Bruce, you don’t have to do that-” before you finish your sentence, he’s already scooped you into his strong arms. 

“What floor?” he asks, ascending the winding staircase. 

“Seven” you blush into his chest, “You really don’t have to carry me, I don’t wa-”.

“Don’t worry about it, It’s not a problem” he assures you with a sincere look. 

“Ok” you squeak, your stomach doing flips. 

After a moment the two of you arrive at your door and he places you down gently before standing back to his full height. Instead of making out again, you give him a light kiss on the cheek, thanking him, before fumbling with your keys to unlock your door.

“You want to come in?” you ask, once your door is fully open.

“I’d love to”. 

___________________________

Bruce’s large frame looks very out of place in your cramped apartment, it's a sight you never thought you’d ever see, but you’re sure glad it happened. 

What a scene this is, Bruce Wayne, famed prince of Gotham- holding you so close to his chest, you think you might crack a rib. His hands rake through your hair as he cradles your head to his lips; you swear you heard him moan. 

Your own hands explore his torso and getting dangerously close to his belt. Were you really about to throw all of your discipline and ideas of Bruce out the window? Yes. 

“The rain is bad, you should stay tonight” you breathe through the kisses. 

He hums before taking a step back to admire you; tousled hair, glossy eyes, and perfect body all backlit by the city’s lights shining through your window. Though, his face changes once something seemingly dawns on him. He’s backing up, less composed, no longer focused on you. 

“Bruce?” you call quietly. 

No, no, no… Please no. 

“I’m terribly sorry, I- I think I have to go” He stumbles over his words a bit, something you had never seen. 

There it was. How could you be so naive? Of course he was just toying with you- how did you fall for that?

“It’s just- I remembered that I-”

“Just go Bruce.” you say, a frown finding a place on your face. 

“I’m so sorr-” 

“Please, Just go.”

Tears threaten to fall as you stand in the middle of your kitchen, the heat of the moment turning cold, the alcohol wearing off, and embarrassment creeping in. 

“I’ll contact you- we’ll talk about this” he says, sounding genuine (but it’s probably just rehearsed), before rushing out. 

You’re left there just blinking-not able to get out another word- attempting to process the past hour’s events.

What’s the point of making up an excuse about something if he didn’t even get to the part where the two of you hook up? Wasn’t making excuses more of an ‘after the guy gets what he wants’ type of thing? 

A deep pit of dread forms in your stomach; humiliation, anger, sadness, and guilt rush through your mind faster than you can decide which one is the most prominent feeling.

How fucking stupid are you? 

The rain is pouring much harder than before as you lazily unzip your dress, allowing it to pile at your feet in an expensive puddle. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and cant help but sigh; you aren’t a supermodel- how could you have ever believed Bruce’s, ‘too good to be true’, words? You had been so disciplined for years.

You change into some comfy clothes before taking a seat on the low couch, looking over the city’s dim landscape. But there’s something illuminating the sky- Bright lights slice through the sheen of heavy rainfall; an unwavering beacon of hope. Batman’s signal. 

A small smile graces your tired features as you recall your rescuer. He was dark and intimidating and yet so comforting… At least someone was looking out for the people of Gotham.

a/n: trust, bruce feels like shit and broods the whole patrol. But Breh leaving u high n dry when he’s the one who’s been pining all night is crazy work.

[notsodelirious]

Sleep Tight

synopsis: a good night’s sleep is important but Bruce also had needs

notes: NFSW MDNI, reader had tits and a v but nothing else is gendered (reader can be ftm if you want)

tags: somno (cnc), fingering (reader receiving), p in v, Bruce being a little shit at aftercare (but he’s there), about 1.2k words

here’s my masterlist for more <3

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

Bruce would fuck you while you slept.

It was hot and the perfect arrangement—Bruce felt bad waking you up at the dead of night when he came back from patrol just have sex, but he craved you so deeply, he needed it.

You offered to simply let him do it while you slept.

He was hesitant at first, not that you had been too surprised—it wasn’t wrong, you gave him full permission but he got in his own head about it; you couldn’t tell him to stop, give him a safeword when you were asleep after all. It was just how he was.

He did eventually say yes though.

Ecstatic, you fell asleep along in Bruce’s king sized bed, resting easy while Batman roamed the streets of Gotham.

The next morning, you woke to your boyfriend snoring beside you and a pussy full of cum.

Cleaning yourself out in the shower to the thought of him fucking your limp body was enough to make you orgasm.

So it became routine.

And tonight was no different.

You fell asleep far before Bruce returned—you always did, there was a non-zero chance of you staying up until ass o’clock just to see him before conking out when you had work in the morning.

You were too deep in sleep to notice as the door creaked open or how Bruce padded in silently, hair wet from his post-patrol shower, dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants.

His step faltered when he saw you buried under the covers, sleeping peacefully on your back. He stepped forward, brushing his knuckles against your cheek, almost smiling when you sighed, subconsciously leaning towards his touch.

He tugged the covers back to reveal the rest of you, sleeping in nothing but a pair of his shorts. He began to pull them off slowly, watching your face for any movement as he slid the fabric down your legs and past your feet before folding them and placing it on the floor by your bedside.

His movements weren’t rushed as he took hold of your knees, parting your legs to reveal your plush folds between them, his cock leaking in his briefs at the sight of you.

He palmed himself with one hand, to ease the pressure in his underwear, the other brushing across your slit, parting your lips to watch your tight hole flutter around nothing.

He swore under his breath, taking in the sight for just a moment longer before he pushed his thumb against your opening, but didn’t slip it in—he watched as your folds dampened, responding to his touch even in your sleep.

He ran his fingers along your sex, feeling beneath his fingertips as you grew wetter before he finally pushed his fingers in, stretching you a little to comfortably slip his dick into you. He paused when you sighed and shifted a little, but didn’t wake, not even with his fingers up your tight pussy.

He pulled away to bring his sweatpants down just enough to release his cock, standing hard and throbbing—he sunk into you, sighing softly, slow and controlled as to not accidentally wake you.

He began rolling his hips slowly, gentle enough to not rock the bed, your soft walls enveloping him and refusing to let go as he pulled out.

You made soft sound in your sleep; he just hushed you softly as he reached up to cup your tit, kneading it gently. He couldn’t help but love how soft and pliant you were as you slept on, your body responding to him, pussy drooling all over the sheets, but you remained limp.

He sighed softly as he shifted your leg, pushing his dick just a little bit deeper into you, the tip of his cock gently kissing your cervix as he pressed in before dragging his cock out, watching your folds glisten in the pale moonlight.

He had barely been paying attention, loosing himself to the warmth of your body, the way your cunt subconsciously tried to suck him back in, carving a space out for himself inside you as the stress of the night rolled of his shoulder—he didn’t notice you stir until you whined quietly.

“Bruce?” you mumbled as you slowly came to, blinking away the dryness in your eyes as you moaned and shivered—you were already dripping and you hadn’t even been awake for it. “A-ah, Bruce-” Your brain hadn’t fully caught up to the situation, not as you felt your breath hitch and the heat in your stomach coil.

You tried to reorient yourself, bringing your legs closer together to mitigate the feeling but Bruce just held them open with gentle hands, leaning down as he watched his cock disappear into your wet slit.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he said softly, leaning down to begin fucking you a little harder, caution falling out the window now that you were waking. Your head fell back as you closed your eyes, not quite alert enough to understand how you were being overwhelmed. But you were warm and full, your brain already fucked out. “Being so good for me. Just like that, baby.”

You keened as you let him fuck you into the mattress, ass rippling as his slammed his hips into yours, the pain doing little to wake you up, only blurring your vision with tears. You mumbled his name like a prayer, as he kissed your face, stumbled rubbing against the soft of your neck, your jaw.

You moaned loudly as you tensed, babbling softly about being close.

“Gonna cum already, baby?” he said as he felt you tighten and arch your back, legs trembling, weak as you tried to push yourself up to meet his cock.

Your answer muffled behind your lips as you moan, too overwhelmed to do anything but nod.

“Cum for me then.”

You obliged, coming all over Bruce’s cock as he continues to fuck you, groaning praises and degradations in your ear as he held you down and stretched your walls with his cock, despite the sensitive pussy.

He followed close after, pulling out and jerking his cock a couple of times to cum across your stomach, painting your skin a pearlescent white. He held you, sitting back on his haunches as he admired the sight beneath him, your chest softly heaving as you panted for air, dazed eyes looking up at him.

He kissed your hip before pulling away proper, leaving you shivering and weak, too voiceless to call after him. You felt too raw to be left alone, adrenaline drop bringing tears to your eyes as you try not to sob.

You only panic for so long before he’s back with a warm, damp, rag, cleaning the cum and stickiness from your skin before helping you under the covers.

You manage to catch his sleeve before he can disappear again, staring up with large pleading eyes—you knew he wasn’t one for affection but in that very moment, you needed him.

“Let me undress,” he said softly, an unspoken promise before he tugged away from your weak grip. You didn’t let him out of your sight, not as he shed his post-shower clothes and set a water bottle on the bedside table for you.

He slipped into your arms without hesitation as you opened the duvet for him, pulling him close to you, letting him rest his head on your chest, his warm body pressing against you.

“Better?” he asked softly, to which you simply hummed. He kissed your neck before wrapping his hands around your waist. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Love you,” you mumbled as you squeezed him, your body already falling asleep again after such a sudden awakening. You heard his silence, the pause in his breathing, before his shoulders dropped and he settled against you properly.

“Me too, sweetheart.”

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

I have nothing to say for myself, I just like somno as a concept—requests are still closed but here’s my masterlist again

[vvvchu]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Poor Little Rich Boy.

(He doesn't know how to flirt, but he wants you to touch him forever.)

He doesn’t talk.

Not because he’s rude.

He just... doesn’t know how.

You met him through mutual charity work, and at first you thought he didn’t like you. Cold stares, stiff posture, barely made eye contact. But then—one day—you caught him staring at your hands.

Just... staring.

And when you asked him why, he blushed violently and muttered:

“You have very elegant fingers...”

That's how it started.

Bruce is painfully shy.

But not in a boyish, bubbly way.

No—he’s haunted. Like he’s afraid of the sound of his own voice. Every word he speaks is calculated. Precise. Like he’s been trained to never let emotion slip.

But when you call him baby—

When you ruffle his hair, tease his ears, kiss the corner of his jaw?

He shatters.

You find out he’s a virgin by accident.

Well—sort of.

You suspect it. He’s awkward around women. Stares at your thighs like he’s never seen them before. Once got hard just from holding your hand too long.

You finally ask.

“Bruce… have you ever…?”

(You watch his throat bob.)

“No.”

“…Not even head?”

“I don’t… think I could handle that. I’d embarrass myself.”

You almost pounce.

When it finally happens?

He’s shaking.

Lying under you, shirt off, panting, eyes wide with fear and awe as you straddle him.

“You don’t have to be nervous, baby.”

“I-I’m not nervous about you, I’m—nervous you’ll hate me. That I’ll… come too fast. Or say something weird. Or—”

You shut him up with a kiss.

You kiss him so slowly, fingers stroking his trembling arms, and whisper:

“You’re doing perfect. You’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.”

You go slow.

He’s so sensitive.

You rub his cock over his boxers and he whines.

Like a whimper. Broken. Desperate. His eyes are red. His lips are bitten pink. He doesn’t know where to put his hands.

So you guide him.

Let him feel your breasts. Let him touch your hips. Let him bury his face in your neck while you grind on him.

“It’s okay, baby. You can moan. You don’t have to be quiet with me.”

When you take him in your mouth?

He gasps.

Loud. Like it hurts.

His thighs jerk. His back arches. He cries.

Literally—fucking tears roll down his cheeks because he’s never felt anything like it.

“P-please, I can’t… it’s too much—!”

You suck him until he grabs your wrist in panic, begging:

“Please—slow down—I’ll cum—I don’t wanna cum yet—I want to be inside you, please—”

And when you finally sink down on him?

He stops breathing.

His hands grip your hips like he’ll float away. His eyes roll back. He moans your name like it’s the first word he ever said.

“You feel like heaven.”

You ride him slow. Make him look at you. Praise him. Touch his cheek. Kiss him as he trembles under you, totally wrecked and overwhelmed.

He keeps whispering,

“You’re so warm… you’re so soft… I didn’t know… it felt like this…”

And then:

“I love you.”

He cums fast.

You expected that.

But he’s so embarrassed, he tries to sit up and apologize, until you press your fingers to his lips and say:

“No. You did so good. You were perfect. And we’re not done, baby.”

You ride him again. Slow. Then harder.

Until he begs.

“Please… don’t stop… I want to make you feel good… I’ll do anything…”

After?

He won’t let go.

Lies on your chest, face buried in your skin, breathing slow, whispering things he’s too afraid to say out loud in the light of day.

“I don’t think I ever want anyone else to touch me again.”

“You make me feel safe.”

“I want to fall asleep inside you.”

[dayasusays]

can we please have breeding with bruce wayne and wife!reader?

like feral breeding, maybe he’s had a hard patrol and he’s barely out of the batsuit before he has you on all fours.

maybe his hormones are in over drive from a poison ivy plant he originally thought had no affect on him. but now all he wants to do is fuck until his little wife is filled and he’s satisfied

thank youuuuu

xcherrycreempie

HAWWO !!!!!!

SO HOT. IT’S SO HOT.

I MEAN i have headcanons breeding kink w bruce (it’s here!!), but i can do it again. ofc i can do it again. 🤭

BUT FIRST OF ALL I WANNA SAY THAT I MISSED WRITING !!!

…and requests. i love chatting with all of u 💥💥

and i remember every request!! i promise i’ll write it, my sweethearts 🩷

ANYWAY IN MY HEAD IT’S DEFINITELY SMTH DIRTY IN A GOOD WAY… HEAR ME OUT……

warnings ! — SMUT, fem!wife!reader, husband!bruce wayne, breeding kink, dirty talk, maledom, orgasm torture, feral fuck, multiple orgasm

summary ? — he comes back weird after patrol.

౿ . . ` ౨ৎ ENJOY 🦇

he didn't even bother to change his clothes.

“hold on, hold on, bruce!” you try to push him away as wayne continues to kiss you insistently, “at least change!”

and it's weird because he never acts like that. you know very well that bruce hates quick sex and he's willing to spend an hour of foreplay torturing you. of course he's willing to find a couple hours to fuck you good.

but right now he's impatient. he's still in his batsuit, so you can't even see his eyes under that stupid mask.

you reach out to take it off, and bruce even helps you. you pull it off and he slows down, maintaining eye contact.

when you look into his face you realize that his eyebrows are furrowed and his pupils are dilated.

you think it’s something bad, but why is he looks so fucking hot right now?

you don’t know how many times you’ve cum.

your mind is racing with his every move and word, your nails are scratching his back, leaving a red marks, and your mouth open with loud moans.

“you take me so well, baby, just like you wanna make me cum inside,” bruce whispers and bites your nipples gently, “such a wet mess, pretty girl, is it too much to take for you?” he’s fucking you harder with every thrust, your clit is so swollen, your entrance pulsates around his cock and your moan makes him continue.

he flips you onto your stomach in one easy motion without even getting his cock out. you’re whimpering into the pillow and clutching the sheets, trying to beg him to slow down.

“what are you asking for, wifey? speak up,” bruce pulls your hair back, making you arch your back, “you want this cum inside? want me to get you pregnant?” he bites your lobe, speeding up.

you're ready to swear that right now wayne looks so damn hot. his arm muscles tense as he pulls your hair with one and supports you with the other. bruce’s eyelashes must be twitching as he makes one last push and cum inside.

he falls onto the bed next to you, as tired as you are. you cover your eyes and smile slightly as he reaches out for a kiss.

and now he’s okay again, you think. but what the fuck was that?

“you alright?” bruce kisses your cheeks, hugging him tightly. you nod and nuzzle his chest, “did i overdo it?”

i mean, it’s third time he came inside. you don’t feel your legs and he definitely got you pregnant.

“nah,” you smile, “it was perfect.”

hope you’ll like it cherry !!! <3

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