#batman x reader

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤATTENTION BABYㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : When you're too busy for them.

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

Bruce was a busy man. A billionaire CEO, Gotham’s protector, and a single father to a hoard of emotionally volatile vigilantes. He understood the concept of being busy better than anyone.

That didn’t mean he liked it when it applied to you.

It had started simple. You’d been swamped with work, deadlines looming over you like a guillotine, and Bruce had been hovering. At first, it was subtle. A lingering gaze as you typed. The occasional brush of fingers when he brought you coffee. A deep, expectant silence as he stood behind you, arms crossed, waiting.

But then—then—it became insufferable.

"I'm working, Bruce," you mumbled, not even looking up from your laptop.

"You need to rest." His voice was that signature Batman growl, but you waved him off.

"I will. After this."

Wrong answer.

Bruce closed your laptop with a single, slow motion. The weight of his gaze was almost suffocating.

"Hey!" You tried to reopen it, but he placed a large, firm hand over the top.

"You’re done for the night."

"No, I'm not—"

"Yes. You are."

You glared at him. He stared back, completely unaffected. It was a battle of wills.

But then—because he’s a manipulative bastard—his hands slid to your shoulders, massaging the tension away with frustrating expertise. You let out an involuntary sigh. Damn him.

Before you could protest, he leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the top of your head.

"Take a break sweetheart."

"But—"

"I’ll make you a deal," he murmured, leaning down, lips brushing against your ear. "You take a break, come upstairs with me, and I won’t disable the WiFi for the rest of the night."

Your head snapped toward him. "You wouldn’t dare."

Bruce just raised a brow.

He absolutely would.

In the end, you found yourself naked in his arms on the bed, completely trapped as he murmured sweet nothing in your ear.

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

Dick is like a giant, overly muscular golden retriever with abandonment issues.

Which meant the moment you got busy and stopped giving him the attention he craved, he went through the five stages of grief.

Denial — "She’s just busy. It’s fine. I’m fine. We’re fine." (Narrator: He was not fine.)

Anger — "Okay, but I’m literally her boyfriend??? Hello??? Where is my affection???"

Bargaining — "If you look at me for five seconds, I’ll do that thing you like—"

Depression — soft sighing noises in the background

Acceptance (fake) — "It’s okay. I didn’t need love anyway. I’ll just wither away like a Victorian child—"

At first, he tried the cute approach. He flopped dramatically onto the couch beside you, big blue eyes blinking up at you as he scooted closer.

"Hey."

"Hi," you muttered, not looking up from your paperwork.

"You’re working hard," he said, smiling.

"Yep."

"So hard."

"Mhm."

"...you wanna take a break?" He grinned, nudging you. "Maybe cuddle? Or make out? Or stare into each other's eyes for an unhealthy amount of time?"

You patted his cheek absentmindedly. "Not now, babe."

He rested his chin on your shoulder, warm breath tickling your neck. "I miss you."

You huffed a laugh. "Dick, I’m right here."

"Are you, though?" He suddenly was Infront of you, forcing you to face him. His arms came around you, caging you in as he pouted. "This is how close we should be."

You rolled your eyes. "Dick, I need to finish this."

"Finish me first," he said with a wiggle of his brows.

"Get out."

And that was when Dick entered his menace era.

Suddenly, your papers were gone.

Like, vanished.

"Richard," you said slowly, "where are my papers?"

"Who’s Richard?" he said, all faux innocence as he stretched his long arms behind his head.

You narrowed your eyes. "Pretty boy."

"Yes, angel?"

"My papers."

"Ohhh. Those." He grinned. "Guess you'll have to catch me if you want them back."

And just like that, he bolted.

You didn’t even chase him. You just texted Alfred. Five minutes later, he walked back in, grumbling, and handed you your papers like a scolded child.

— JASON TODD ⋆

Jason liked to pretend he don't like your attention.

But the moment you started prioritizing anything else? He was intolerable.

At first, he played it cool. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you work. Casual. Aloof. The picture of patience.

But then—then—you didn’t look up. Didn’t even glance his way.

And suddenly, Jason Todd, Red Hood, walking crime deterrent, was pouting.

"Whatcha doin’?"

"Work."

"How long you gonna be doin’ that?"

"A while."

"...so you’re just gonna sit there? Ignore me?"

"Jay," you sighed, rubbing your temples. "I love you, but please."

"Oh, please?" His eyes gleamed mischievously. "Damn. Didn’t know I was just a piece of meat to you, doll."

You groaned. "Jason."

"Jason," he mocked, deepening his voice dramatically. "God. You don’t even see me anymore. I could drop dead and you wouldn’t notice."

Without another word you just go back to work.

Just. Like. That.

He just watched you. Then he sighed loudly.

Nothing.

He groaned dramatically.

Still nothing.

Jason’s eye twitched.

Then, without warning, he snatched your laptop and slammed it shut.

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

Jason’s arms came around your chair, trapping you in place as he leaned in close, emerald eyes narrowed. "You forgot about me."

You blinked. "Jason—"

"Forgot. About. Me." He spoke slowly, as if the words physically pained him.

You gaped. "I was working!"

"You weren’t paying attention to me," he corrected.

You sighed. "Jason, you’re being dramatic—"

"Dramatic?!" He gasped, clutching his chest like you’d stabbed him. "Doll, you wound me."

You shot him a glare. "Do you need something?"

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "My bitch."

And then this giant of a man literally collapsed onto you, throwing himself across your lap like a spoiled cat.

"Jay—you're heavy!"

"Guess you’ll just have to hold me, then."

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

Damian doesn’t ask for attention.

He demands it.

So when you started ignoring him, he didn’t pout like Dick, or whine like Jason.

No.

Damian stared.

Silently.

Unblinkingly.

For hours.

You had been working on something—completely oblivious to his growing impatience—finally you sighed and stretched—only to nearly jump out of your chair when you saw Damian standing in the shadows like some lurking cryptid.

"Jesus, Damian! You scared me!"

He tilted his head slightly, green eyes dark and unreadable. "You didn’t notice me?"

"...No?" You frowned, feeling a shiver run down your spine at his intense stare.

Damian’s frown deepened. That was unacceptable. You always noticed him. He always knew when you were in a room, and he expected the same.

You turned back to your laptop, completely oblivious to the way Damian’s jaw tensed.

"Take a break."

"…Damian."

"You are neglecting me."

Your eye twitched. "Neglecting?"

"Tt. I have been here for three hours."

That made you pause. "...you've been standing there the entire time?"

He didn't answer. He just stared.

"Okay, that’s creepy."

"Hn." He walked over, standing directly beside you. "You will cease working now."

You let out an exasperated sigh. "Or what?"

Silence.

Then—your laptop was gone.

Like, just gone.

"Damian—!"

"You have no choice now," he said simply, kneeling before you with a pleased expression. "Now bless me with your lips beloved."

You later found your laptop in the bat cave. Behind five layers of security. It took you hours to get it back.

— MASTERLIST ☆

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

[kenyummy]

✰ 04. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 04. fantastic four.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: had to wrack my brain to remember what math i was learning in seventh grade LMAO . sometimes i forget damian is just a little guy in like seventh to eighth grade. crazy. and please let me know if there's any mistakes with pronouns/gender!!! i want to keep this open to everybody so im always trying my best ❤️

also ive realised how chopped harry is in the comics after taking my rose coloured lenses off. basically he and mj have their look in the ultimate spiderman TV show (in my eyes anyway, i kind of just described their appearance based off tgat lmaooo)

prev. ✰ masterlist ✰ next.

School has never felt so bland for you. Sure, it was never your favourite thing in the world—except for maybe biology—but you'd think that discovering a whole new world in your last year would make it a little more interesting.

It didn't.

It's been three weeks since you crash landed here in Gotham. The most you'd gotten from your family was an awkward "how are you" occasionally, and a lot of staring.

You'd only shown yourself as Spidey a few times to the public, but never stayed for those pesky news reporters shoving their microphones into your face. You'd never liked interviews, anyway.

The only highlight of your long days were MJ and Harry. You'd gotten over the initial shock of Harry being in love with you—convincing yourself that it really wasn't you he liked; it was this world's original you. (Though—that fact still lingers in the back of your mind whenever you talk).

Apart from that, school truly was uneventful. Your kooky art teacher was the only one of whom you actually liked, and it seemed the education here was rather lax. Uncaring. Not good for your future, surely—but you wouldn't have a future here, and you're sure this [name] Wayne will be just fine.

Speaking of schooling—the people here really seemed to hate the Gotham Prep kids. More than what a petty rivalry should be—it was pure malice.

Harry was especially adamant about this.

"They're all dumb, entitled rich kids who use daddy's money to get whatever they want, you know." He stabs his fork into a dry cut of chicken violently. Then points, accusatory, at MJ—who already presents a sneer to him. "And don't you start lumping me in with them—you know I'm not like that."

Her face twists, but soon she grins cheekily. "Okay, fine. Yeah, you're totally not, otherwise nobody here would like you one bit. And who doesn't love Harry, huh?"

"Oh, be quiet," But still, he smiles—damn his head is big. He glances over at you. You're picking around at your soggy broccoli with a frown. "Hey, [name]. Don't two of your brothers go to Gotham Prep?"

You look up at your ginger friend, head tilted to the side before it clicked. Oh, right. Tim and that young boy—Damian, if you remember correctly. Tim barely ever went to school if your diary was still accurate, and Damian had little choice but to.

(Doesn't seem like he'd be the social butterfly type, though.)

"Yeah, they do." You nod, still fiddling around with that vegetable.

"Not that I'm not glad that you're here—but why don't you go to school with them?" MJ leans forward in her seat. "I mean, isn't it easier for siblings to go to the same school?"

Your eyes widen for a second.

There's a few ways you can go about this.

One—you tell them everything you know about your other self. About how you never felt included enough to ask. How you never spent time with them. How it always felt like everything and everyone else was more important than you. How you suffered silently—begging for their attention for years like a house pet becoming a stray.

Two—you could tell them you have absolutely no idea because you have none of your memories of anything from the past years of this life—how you don't even remember all your siblings names half the time.

Or three, and your personal favourite—you can just lie.

It doesn't take a serial genius to figure out which one you chose.

"I guess I just didn't like the rich private school vibe they had going on." A smile falls over your lips. "Plus—you guys were coming here, so it gave me even more of a reason to attend, you know?"

You're not entirely sure that's true. But—if these two were anything like the Harry and MJ you know—then this would probably be right.

Judging from their smiles, your detective skills haven't failed you yet.

"Man!" MJ lolls her head back, groaning. "Can't believe I'm friends with two rich kids who get to choose which school they want—the beat down public or sleek rich private."

"Don't go dissing this school just because you're jealous of their uniforms," Harry snickers, pressing his index finger into MJ's cheek. She huffs and slaps him away.

"Silence, nepo baby. Your dad is basically Lex Luthor if he wasn't bald."

Harry looks more confused than offended at her comment, "Okay, but my dad isn't an evil mastermind plotting against a red and blue suited superhero."

You press your lips together thinly and look to the side, eyes focused on anything but him. Oh, Harry—if only you knew.

Damian Wayne had never truly seen the point of highschool.

Raised by assassains all his life—he had little room, time, and desire to learn about all this nonsense. While he enjoyed arts and fine literature—he couldn't find it within himself to care about the American Revolution, or whatever other ridiculous thing happened in history.

His maths teacher was absolutely, indubitably pathetic. Always on his phone as he assigns mountains of homework (because he never bothers to explain the complex materials they're given) on the latest subject—whether it be those blasted simultaneous equations, or to factorise useless monic trinomials. Even calculating tax and interest on the stupidest of cases.

Damian found himself sitting in the corner of his class in silence, staring down, bored, at the book in front of him. He truly hated math. There's so much real work to be done—crime to fight, plotting organisations to take down.

But his father, as always, is unmoving in his conviction that school is important. For Damian especially, anyway; Drake can skip as often as he likes because he's a senior already. Truly, ridiculous.

For Damian, and—oh.

You.

Bruce always seemed especially insistent on you two going to school. Even when everyone but him knew you skipped every few days and simply come home to wait.

Wait for what? For them?

His brows furrow. Suddenly, the black and white equations on the sheet blur and he zones out. Thinking.

You always did. From the day he'd walked into the manor, you were always there. Unconsciously, he'd notice it. A trait of a good assassin is that they can spot everyone in the room.

A trait of a great assassin is that they can spot everyone inside and watching.

Always, you were watching. Those pitiful stares. Desperate like a unloved pet. If he cared a little more (if any at all), he would've felt sorrow for your state.

Always wanting, but never asking. Never taking. Simply waiting for it all to come to you. He would never understand it. He would never understand you.

He would never understand how somebody could allow themselves to be so weak.

Like everybody else—when he first entered the manor, he proposed to fight you. Assuming—being the child of his father, like he was—you were worthy. That you were strong.

He doesn't know how he could've been so wrong. You immediantly reacted, gasping and clutching your face. He'd nicked it with the edge of his blade after he unsheathed it. You looked at the blood dotting your fingertips, then back at him, eyes wide.

Immediantly, Bruce rushed to his side and pushed him behind his larger, imposing figure—telling you to not interact with him because he's different to regular people. Different to you.

He watched you storm off from behind his father's legs; anger practically blaring off your figure.

Later—he happened to overhear you and Grayson talking quietly. Telling you to not be too hard on Damian, because he's troubled. That he's had a difficult life. At first—he was a tad offended—but that offence could not compare to the absolute fury burning in your eyes.

Though, it all melted away when Grayson's hand ruffled your hair. Like a little kid, you stared up at him, soft and starry-eyed as you unconsciously murmured you'd forgive your new little brother.

Damian dry-heaved. You were so goddamn weak.

So weak, and so normal. Everything you did was completely regular. You were on the same wavelength as the civilians he saved from burning rubble. The same as people who walked down the street, talking about their favourite Justice League member. Who cowered in fear in front of villains—to be saved by those heroes. By him.

You were nothing, and yet everything he could never have been.

(What child does not long for normalcy?)

Damian always thought you were rather helpless, regardless of how regular you were—and seeing you with that bullet lodged in your shoulder—he was right. Not being able to dodge something like a bullet—there was no wonder you never become a vigilante. There was no wonder you needed to be protected.

... Though—he began to think back.

Who did? Protect you; that is.

Whoever it was, they did a pretty awful job at it.

Damian strums his fingers against the hardwood table rhythmically. Face blank but mind running rapidly.

It couldn't have been Todd. No—he seemed to be in a frazzled state of mania when carrying your bleeding body in your arms. Perhaps he too, believed you were safe with the rest of his family.

(Oh how wrong Todd was—he looked livid.)

... Grayson?

No. When he's not in Blüdhaven, he is almost always with the other vigilantes within the family. Not here nor there, and certainly not close enough to protect you.

Not Drake. He never cared enough, despite everything. Not Cain, either. Though the silent protector type—she had too much on her plate to worry about you as well.

Gordon and Brown had their own families to worry about.

And his—your father? The Batman? There was no time for a regular child like you in the Batman's life of vigilantism. Whom he sworn to protect in his crusade now lay bleeding out in his great failure's arms.

...

Did you truly have nobody?

...

Damian couldn't really imagine it. He'd always assumed you had many friends to fill the void that yoir family left with their civilian clothes. ... Perhaps you did. He wouldn't know.

You are his only half sibling. In this world, only he is truly your brother, and you are his only older sibling. Does that not give him the slightest of responsibility?

He'd always been taught to keep everybody at arms length—even his own family. The whole world is out to get the Demon's grandson, then he must fight it. But his father taught him differently.

To protect those who cannot protect themselves—to keep those he cares about safe at any cost.

What of you? He does not care for you in the way an ordinary sibling should. Seeing you so weak, defenceless against him—must mean you trust him in some way.

(It's hard for him to fathom being able to feel so unprotected in a world he was taught was trying to extinguish him at every turn).

Regardless of how you don't belong—or how frosty you act toward your youngest brother—he has a duty.

No matter how hard you try—you can never sever the blood you two share. The others do not have this duty—but he does, because in the end, you are his. None of the others bothered, so Damian must.

You are everything he could never be, he has realised. But in the end, you are blood. It runs thicker in the veins than any water, and that is one of the most important things to Damian.

Seeing that same blood—his blood—spill out of you carelessly—that is a sight he will never bear witness to again.

Damian was the first one out the door as soon as the bell chimed in his ear. His bag slung tightly around his shoulders and textbook under his arm; he rushed into the familiar sight of a sleek, large car.

He shuts the door as he climbs into the backseat (Bruce said he was still too short to sit in the front, much to his son's displeasure). "Hello, Pennyworth."

Alfred glances back at him through the rear view mirror. "Good afternoon, Master Damian. How was school?"

"Same as usual. A waste of time." He clicks his seatbelt shut as the car begins to move. Alfred only hums, keeping his eyes trained on the road.

"I'm unsurprised to hear you say so. I do hope you understand why exactly, you are enrolled in school, however. And why Master Bruce is so adamant about your attendance."

Damian knows. He's always known, because it has been drilled into his head like a mantra. Talia and Ra's Al Ghul weren't math teachers—and most of his time really was spent training and sparring to be the best he could be.

He was not illiterate, nor stupid. Rather smart, actually. However, he didn't exactly learn algebra and chemistry with the League of Assassins.

He grumbles. "I know, Pennyworth. Father cannot seem to stop reminding me that all these things are far more important than stopping the endless wave of crime in Gotham."

If he weren't on the road—Alfred surely would've given him a nasty look. "Master Damian, please—your sincerity is positively slaughtering me."

Damian rolls his eyes, opting to stop this fruitless conversation and look outside the windows instead. At the outside world—the sky already paling to deep auburn shades as they drive through the endless roads.

He watched all the cars moving past; hurrying to get to their destination. Each with their own story and reason for being there. Every single one with their own thoughts and worries. Some with children, others with pets, and some with piles of groceries.

All with their own, individual lives. Including him.

A bus, too. It stops for a moment at a sheltered space, then drives away, leaving a few people standing under the shade.

An elderly lady with a man, presumably her son, walking away with her. A woman with frizzy red hair and freckles dotted over her nose. A few schoolkids—some his age, some older. Clearly from the public school on the other side of Gotham, if only to judge from the scantily clad clothes some of the older students wore—

Wait, is that you?

He sits up—the car slowly coming to a stop at a red light. His eyes don't leave your figure as he presses his nose against the window; observing.

You look around at the people that pass by you—gripping your bag close to your side and rushing into the nearest alleyway.

He waits for a few moments. This red light feels rather long—but what feels longer is watching and waiting for you to come out of that alleyway.

You never do.

Even as the car begins to move once more, driving past the intersection, he crawls as far back as possible to even get a glimpse—but you never show.

Just today, he had decided to be the one to take up the mantle and protect you. Just today, during a boring math class, he has decided that since you are his blood, he must keep a helpless civilian like you safe.

And now you're gone. Are you dead, or something?

(Deep down, his stomach twists at the thought.)

"Pennyworth, pull over." Hid voice is more taut than he had imagined. "Now."

Alfred looks back, glancing at the streets around. He doesn't question the young boy, simply doing as he is asked and pulling over to a deserted parking area.

When he has parked the car, he turns around and sees Damian slipping his Robin mask on—somehow already fully suited up.

His eyes widen, "Master Damian, what—"

"I have something to do. Let Father know I will be back home late."

Opening the door, Damian rushes out and pulls out his grappling hook, swinging onto the nearest building's roof and looking around.

He spots the alleyway you'd run into. It is still. Absolutely no movement nor any looks from passer-bys. He rushes across the roves towards where the dark side seeped into the crack of the buildings.

Maybe you'd taken another way out?

But looking at the alleyway now, it's more like a dip between the buildings to stand in more than anything. It was blocked off on the other side.

So where...???

He drops down, landing on his soles and squinting as he stares around into the dark. There's nothing.

No people, nor bodies, and certainly not anything to indicate anybody was ever here.

Except...

He glances at the wall. Theres a white cocoon-esque oval webbed to the wall. Those same webs he'd seen all that time ago—from that spider. That would show up then leave immediantly. Never staying for longer than they had to.

Dodging all of his and Batman's attempts at asking who you were, and what you were doing in Gotham. Always swinging away into the distance before they could be subdued.

Now, he stares at their ball of webbing and wonders if it truly is an arachnid he's dealing with.

He pokes it, looking it up and down. Then, he sees it. Through the small holes in the webs and the translucent, silk-like material—he finally sees it.

Your bag.

He tears off the webbing faster than he can think, getting the sticky substance stuck to his gloves and clothes; he barely even notices it. He grabs your bag and stares it, swallowing hard.

His mind buzzes with an unfamiliar staticky feeling and he suddenly feels sick to his stomach. Despite all the noise in his ear—his brain is able to comprehend one singular question.

... What did that arachnid do to you?

Clothed fingers digging deep into the leather fabric of the bag—clearly worn down and fading. Old. He would get Father to purchase you another. ... When he sees you next. Because he will.

His jaw clenches hard.

Damian throws the bag over his shoulder and grapples up—swinging onto a building roof and running across.

Running for what, he isn't sure. But what he is sure of, is that once he gets his hands on that arachnid, it will not be kind.

To find out what happened to you—that is his duty as your blood sibling.

He decides that in this life, he will be your protector. In the next, if he is ever given a chance to be normal like you—he will become a doctor. Or perhaps a painter. Or a poet. Maybe he will ask you to help him decide when he finds you and that arachnid.

... Yes, that sounds good.

You cut through the cool wind as you swing through the city. Grinning widely underneath your mask—you don't think you've ever been so happy since you landed here.

You're sure nobody will take your stuff. Even if they do, you could always just get whatever else you needed again. You were far too excited to dwell on the small stuff right about now.

Landing on a rooftop, crouched—you walk down the wall of the apartment complex, and look around for civilians. As he told you—the streets around the back of the building were practically deserted.

You count the amount of rooms from the side, up and down.

"Row 5, Apartment block... 2..." You hum, and nod to yourself.

You tap your necklace and the nanobots all crawl off your body, leaving you in your regular clothes. You land safely on the balcony of the room you were given.

You smooth out your flared jeans and take in a deep breath. Then, you bring up your knuckles, and knock.

The glass screen door opens before you can say fantastic.

A small pair of arms wrap around your torso and knock you backwards—you fall on your ass and let out a loud laugh.

"Spidey!!! [name]!!!"

"Is that who I think it is?!" You tease, eyes squinted upwards and the young kid buries into your stomach. His giggles are muffled by the fabric and he squeezes you so tight you'd be inclined to choke—if it wasn't you. "Frankie!! How's my favourite Richard?"

"I can't believe you'd say that, [name]. That hurts." A familiarly sweet voice speaks.

"Sue!" You grin, taking in the sight of the blonde and her husband by her side. You get up—Franklin stumbles behind you—and crash into her arms.

She chuckles, patting your back and smiling down at you, "I missed you too, [name]. You always manage to find yourself in the strangest situations, don't you?"

Reed cradles his chin, "Well, we were technically the cause of this distortion in reality, Susan—"

But seeing the expression on both your and his wife's face; he stops himself. Only smiling sheepishly. "My apologies. It's great to see you again, [name]. I didn't think we'd find another familiar face in a different universe."

"You're getting better at this, Reed." You lift yourself from Sue's comforting cradle and grin brightly up at him. "I didn't think I'd see all of you guys again, either. When you all disappeared for so long—I was wondering if something bad happened."

"Hah! Ta us? You kiddin'? Ya more bug-brained 'den that spider that bit ya!"

"Ben!!!" You go flying toward the rock-encased man and wrap your arms around his comfortingly tough neck. He spins you around and lets you down with a loud laugh.

"'Ey kid, how're ya? Heard ya tackled ol' matchstick 'ere outta the sky!" He slaps his rocky chest laughing—in the corner of your eye, Johnny stands behind him, unimpressed.

He walks up beside you, swinging an arm around your neck and snarks, "Yeah—well, Spidey's always been known for catching people off guard, huh? Creepin' up when you least expect it."

"You're making [name] sound like a villain, Unc!" Frankin, who had found himself attached to the side of your shirt, sticks out his tongue.

Johnny recoils, face falling in pure horror as he dramatically points at the young boy, "UNC??!! I... I'm an Unc now...??? I'm not even 19! I can't be an Unc!!!"

You burst out into laughter at the genuineness of Johnny's expression, watching as he freaks out about being "old". Sue and Reed roll their eyes—while Ben is there with you, laughing his ass off like he'd just gotten a home run on Yancy Street.

Franklin looks at your laughing expression and starts giggling along—jumping up and down beside you with sparkling eyes.

"Stop laughing, [name]! We're the same age!" Johnny points, accusatory. "If I'm an Unc, you're a...!"

"Doesn't matter. I'm cooler than Uncle Johnny anyways, right Frankie?" You grin, picking up Franklin as he cuddles into your neck.

"Mhm!" He nods eagerly.

Johnny sends you a blazing glare, lips pouted out. "You and me. We're—" He gestures to the two of you. "—gonna have some issues, here. Okay. Everyone knows I'm the cool Uncle."

"No, that's Benny!" Franklin points to Ben.

The look on Johnny's face shifts into utter disbelief—Ben falls out of his chair laughing wildly.

"Gosh, I missed you so much, kid." You pull at one of Franklin's cheeks and chuckle. He stares at you in awe for a few seconds, before hugging the side of your head and giggling.

"I missed you too!"

That same warmth fills each crevice and pore of your body, as you huddle close to your dear friends and let yourself feel at home for this small moment.

Meanwhile, in the dark of night, a pair of azure eyes watches, sharp and unnerving in the back of your skull.

You notice it. Of course you do. Your mind is tingling with that buzz—but you want to enjoy this night of nothing but home, even if only once.

taglist: @hello-bina @cosmosluckycharms @1abi @yhin-gg @insideoutjulie @bluepanda08 @omnivirgo @vanessa-boo @dind1n @welpthisisboring @lunaetiicsaystuff @marsmabe @atanukileaf @findingjaxx @4mrplumi @bunniotomia @lostsomewhereinthegarden @bat1212 @gaychaosgremlin @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @randomlyappearingartist @cxcilla @spidermanluvr444 @cruzerforce4256 @mybones537 @xjesterxjacksx @nirvanaxx1942 @djpuppy-kittens @br33zy-blizzardz @moon0goddess @0sunnyside01 @mei-simp @redsakura101 @the-dumber-scaramouche @wizzerreblogs @lovemiss-vale @deathbynarcisstick @allycat4458 @wonmyheart @luckyangelballoon @one-piecelover @hartwyrm @horror-lover-69 @maria-trisha @4rachn3 @galaxypurplerose @duskeras @coffeeaddictxd @lithiumval @kaz-playz

tsglist is closed, sorry! but do try and keep up with updates thank you!!!

[brawberryz]

⎯⎯ㅤStupid detective

Batfam Yan! × L Lawliet! Reader

《Platonic》

Note: English is not my first language

TW / yandere behaviors, obsession, isolation, murder, violence, toxic relationships

L Lawliet! Reader, who is one of the family's best detectives.

L Lawliet! Reader, who is scolded daily for her diet of nothing but sweets. Several times they forced you to change your diet to a healthier one, but you simply refused.

Sweets were the best thing for you, and you weren't going to let anyone take that away from you.

L Lawliet! Reader, who spends most of her time in her room solving cases. You had surpassed the entire family in how far you could go without sleep.

Your dark circles were enormous and adorned your eyelids. Your family still wonders how you're still alive.

L Lawliet! Reader, who instead of using the shower or bathtub like a normal person decided to bathe in the washing machine. Alfred could still remember when he found you spinning naked in the washing machine.

Your excuse was that it was more comfortable. From that day on, your family's eyes never left you, afraid you'd do something stupid and end up dead.

You really didn't care. As long as they didn't bother you while you were sorting things out, you weren't bothered by their overprotectiveness.

L Lawliet! Reader, who began to obsess over a particular case, Kira. It was a case of a new serial killer tormenting all of Gotham.

Bruce offered to solve it, but you stopped him and told him you'd take charge. He trusted you in your abilities, but he believed this case was more dangerous than it seemed.

L Lawliet! Reader, who one day found you with a boy handcuffed to your wrist and a very loud blonde girl.

Apparently, you had found the culprits, but you didn't have enough evidence to blame them, so you literally stuck to them, refusing to leave their sides.

You can already hear Alfred preparing the guest room. They knew you weren't one to give up, and they knew you'd do anything to prove you were right.

And if that meant keeping two "innocent" people locked in your room and technically interrupting their lives to prove you were right, you would do it.

Fuck, of course you would.

L Lawliet! Reader, who can feel the murderous glares her family was giving their "guests."

They couldn't believe what you did. How dare you let strangers into the mansion and stick yourself to them!?

They hated how the blonde girl named Misa touched and hugged you. Who did she think she was, touching you like that?

It made their blood boil that someone other than them would touch you or spend time with you. Ever since those two people arrived, all your attention was focused on them.

Are they supposed to be your family? Why are you ignoring them now?

The no-kill rule trembled in each of them every time they saw you with Light or Misa.

They had to get rid of them NOW.

L lawliet! Reader, who ended up getting into a fistfight with Light after an argument, was surprising in that even though you were handcuffed and technically glued to him, your movements were skillful and quick.

Maybe your body seemed weak, but you weren't; you had been trained by the whole family to be perfect.

If Dick hadn't interrupted the fight, I could swear you could have killed him.

Although he wouldn't mind if you killed Light either; it would be one less problem on the family's to-do list.

L Lawliet! Reader, you have shitty posture. You could easily have some muscle problems when you're older.

Sometimes they wondered if your back or some muscle didn't hurt because of your posture.

L Lawliet! Reader, who is aware that she is surrounded by yanderes and murderers, you had realized this a long time ago.

You weren't stupid; you weren't the best detective for nothing, maybe better than Batman (although that would be too much of an ego boost for you).

You just hoped that your family's yandere-like behavior didn't interrupt your investigation into Kira.

My obsession with Death Note has returned. Omfg how I love that fucking show.

Maybe I'll do a Light and misa

[alisonwritesimagines]

Grounded ~Batman Imagine~

Summary: Bruce is grounded.

Author's Note: I had this in a draft so I figured I should publish it.

BatFamily Masterlist

Reader's Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: none

Do not repost this anywhere!

It wasn’t unusual for Batman not to be at the Justice League headquarters. But it was also usual for him to be there when the team needed him there. And he would always be on time unless he stated otherwise.

So when they called him and asked him to meet them at the headquarters, the league grew suspicious when he didn't show up or explain he was running late.

“Where is he?” Superman asked as he stared at the door.

“Wow! For once, the Batman is late!” Flash called out with a gasp.

“I’m sure he has a good reason,” Wonder Woman mentioned.

Two hours had passed and nothing. 

“We should check on him,” Superman said.

“Agreed,” Wonder Woman nodded.

Barry, Diana, and Clark rushed over to the Batcave to see if he was still here while the rest stayed behind. To their surprise, they only saw Alfred cleaning.

“Hello. How May I help you?” Alfred greeted.

“Where’s Bruce?”

“I’m sorry to say but Master Bruce is currently grounded at the moment,” Alfred said, trying to hide his smirk.

“I’m sorry. Grounded?” Clark asked with confusion.

“He and the children had deeply upset Ms. Y/n so she grounded all of them,” Alfred said.

“All of them?”

“All of them,” Alfred said, now smirking.

“What did they do to make her upset that bad?” Barry asked.

“Why don’t you ask him about it? He’s allowed visitors according to Ms. Y/n,” Alfred said as he led the team upstairs.

“What are you guys doing here?” Bruce asked as the three came into his home office. 

It was rare sometimes for Bruce to use the home office. You mainly used it for when you had to plan charity events but since he was grounded, he had to work in his home office.

Many people would label this as extreme. Given that Bruce and almost all the kids were adults, but the grip you had over them was life threatening.

"We thought something happened to you," Clark explained.

“You didn’t show up to the meeting today,” Diana told him.

“Oh. Right. Y/n took my communications away,” Bruce explained in a nonchalant tone.

“I’m sure she could’ve understood for one message,” Diana told him.

“She’s in no mood or any negotiations. The children and I made her extremely upset,” Bruce told them.

“How so?”

“We forgot about her parents coming to visit and we didn’t spend time with them like we were suppose to. She gave us the warnings ahead of time and we promised her that we would spend time with them with her.”  

“None of you showed up?”

“Only Alfred and Martha were with her.”

“Have you tried apologizing or making it up to her?” Clark asked.

“She’s not budging. She made all the kids do the cleaning and took away all of their leisure activities."

"And you?"

"No Batman duties for a few nights."

"We'll talk to her," Clark said. "Where is she?"

"Backyard with Martha. Good luck," Bruce said.

Clark, Barry, and Diana walked to the backyard where you sat under a tree with some of the kids by your side. You watched as Martha played with some toys while the kids kept her entertained.

"Y/n! May we have a word?" Diana asked. You stood up and walked up to them.

"Hello. How are you all doing?" You asked sweetly. You didn't seem like you were in a bad mood. Maybe you were ready to forgive Bruce?

"Y/n, we need Batman for a meeting. Is there anyway you can get Bruce resume his Batman duties for just a day?" Clark asked.

"No," you responded without hesitation.

"Y/n, this is important-"

"No, Let me tell you what's important. I have spent months warning my family about my parents' arrival. I have made sure we were going to have fun activities, have nice meals together, and I had even gone to the point to make sure Gotham was going to be okay for a week without any hesitation. I had to bribe so many people to lay low for a week. And you know what my family did? They went on missions outside of Gotham for that week after I even warned them not to. So I had to deal with my parents with just Martha and Alfred to the point where my parents had to ask me when I planned on getting a divorce from Bruce," you explain to them calmly. You took in a deep breath before continuing. "The embarrassment I felt during that week cannot be undone. Even if you all came here on your knees begging for Bruce or Batman, I am still not allowing it. Now, please leave for now and please wait until Bruce and the kids are done with their grounding."

You walked back over to your children and sat down. The older kids gave the adult a shrug, acknowledging their efforts to get Bruce out. Barry, Clark, and Diana walked back over to Bruce's office who had his arms crossed.

"Told you she's not budging," Bruce sighed.

"How much longer of your grounding do you have?" Barry asked with a slight chuckle.

"Till the end of the week. Then after that, we can resume our duties before we have to go to Addison's hometown to spend time with her parents to make it up to them," Bruce said.

"She seems like she's getting in a better mood," Clark said.

"I wouldn't underestimate her," Bruce warned.

"Wait, if you're all grounded, then who's protecting Gotham?" Barry asked.

"We're not questioning it. Y/n said she'll deal with it and somehow she did," Bruce said.

"How much power does she have here in Gotham?" Clark asked Bruce.

"I stopped questioning it a while ago."

"Have you looked into her? Just in case?" Clark asked.

"No. I trust my wife. I've betrayed her enough times. So whatever she is doing, I will let it slide," Bruce tells them.

"You must really love your wife if you're willing to look the other way," Diana said.

"I do. So whatever she doing, I trust her," Bruce tells them.

"Aren't you afraid you're going to regret it?" Barry asked. Bruce looked over at the family photo of you all together.

"No. As long as she is still with me, I don't care. She can do whatever she wants now as long as I have her in my life," Bruce said.

[gothvenus505]

GIVE ME BRUCE WAYNE AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

idk, I've just been really into the BatFam recently.

≈200 words Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI

Bruce ‘I refuse to accept that’ Wayne, who isn’t forceful, just persistent. Who knows you want it, he can tell by the way your irises dilate when he says your name, by the way your skin flushes against his, by the way your heart thrums when he ghosts his lips against your pulse point. “Don’t deny it pup, just tell me what you want.”

Bruce ‘I have a file on that’ Wayne, who has spent countless nights learning every plane and fold of your body, how it reacts to his fingers, his mouth. Who has analysed, and categorised every part of your body and every way to get a reaction out of it. Which sections of skin he needs to massage to turn you on, how to arch his fingers to make you coo, what words to whisper in your ear to have you shaking. 

Bruce ‘never takes a break’ Wayne, who whispers in your ear “Just one more” when you’re already spent, cock-drunk and oversensitive, chanting the same string of breathless moans and variations of his name. “You can take it, honey, just give me one more.”

[cinnamongrl2006]

⊹₊⟡⋆ Marrying Bruce Wayne headcannons ⊹₊⟡⋆ (mdni, 18+)

contents: suggestive content/smut, cunnilingus, mentions of sex, slight angst (?)

a/n: I pictured Christian Bale's Bruce Wayne for this, but you can imagine whoever you like, he's just my personal fav.

You and Bruce Wayne had a very public engagement and wedding, partly because he needed to feed his public persona and partly because he wanted to show you off.

Bruce Wayne is a very busy man, consumed by his responsibilities as both a billionaire and vigilante, so it takes some persuading from Alfred to convince him to take a week off for your honeymoon.

But once you're on your honeymoon he will not leave you alone for a second.

You're staying at a secluded villa. You have no responsibilities, all the time in the world, and you look so beautiful with that ring on your finger, your cheeks glowing from the sun, he can't help but pounce on you from the moment you wake up.

I mean, you have an entire villa for yourselves, he wants to try things out.

Bruce Wayne who eats you out like a man starved. He doesn't so much as do it for your pleasure, I mean, sure he thinks of it, of the noises you'd make coming undone on his tongue, of how you'd shake your legs and arch your back— but that's a given with Bruce Wayne, he knows all your tells, knows exactly what to do to pull orgasms out of you like it's nothing.

So, sure, it will be pleasurable for you, but he's not really focused on that, it sort of comes out automatic. And he'll notice it, late at night when you're spent, lying in bed in one of his shirts, as he kisses your forehead and walks out the door.

Bruce Wayne who knows he isn't around nearly enough and who makes it up to you by showering you in lavish gifts, no matter how many times you tell him you're not upset.

Bruce Wayne who wakes up earlier than you but always presses a kiss to your forehead and leaves a note in your bedside table notifying you of his plans for the day, complimenting you or simply reminding you of mundane things.

Bruce Wayne who starts to leave little notes all around the house so that you can still feel him there when he's away. 'Prettiest girl in the world' stuck to your vanity mirror, 'Wear these today' stuck atop a jewelry box with a pair of earrings he got you.

If you're really lucky you'll find a note atop his pillow that reads 'at the cave'. You know what that means, he's letting you in— which he rarely does.

Batman who begins to cut his patrols short, starts to take less risks, all because he's got something someone to live for.

Batman who begins to let you in to his personal space, he does it slowly, in a calculated way that almost saddens you.

Batman who lets you sit on his lap, cock warming him as he works on a case. Your keens and whimpers are the only sounds echoing through the walls.

Batman who is an absolute munch. He eats you out when he's stressed, late at night after working in the cave, or early morning with the adrenaline from patrol drumming, beating through his veins.

He holds your hips down on whatever surface he managed to throw you over, and he doesn't stop until you're a blabbering mess, close to passing out.

Batman who holds you and praises you as he draws you a bath.

"so good for me," he mutters as he gets in the bath with you, kissing your hairline.

Bruce Wayne who finally gets in bed with you after a long day, limbs tired and aching, shoulders closing in on themselves; and he feels his body relax, he feels the tension leave his muscles as you wrap your arms around him sleepily.

[lavenderhateswritting]

Bruce x Male Reader Divorce Headcanons

~ BatDad reader who has been with Bruce since Dick first became robin and who has a complicated and rocky relationship with Bruce. The kids and friends don't know why you just don't leave him.

~ BatDad reader who spends his days trying to take care of the company, make sure Bruce isn't meeting an early grave and trying to keep in touch with all of the children who have picked up his worst traits and seem to take less and less care of themselves as they get older.

~ BatDad reader who has spent nights trying to hold Bruce's guts into his body while he waits for someone more trained at this than he is to arrive. You spent so many years of your life next to this man hoping he doesn't die and having him go out every night and do the exact same thing that you know will kill him every single day.

~ BatDad reader who has had to look at the dead bodies of his children and children he has helped train come back to him broken and not breathing only for you to greive and they are back again and somehow you jst have to move on.

~ BatDad ereader whose relationship has lost the passion it once had after the decades of being together. For Bruce he is so sure that you are always going to be there that he forgets you can leave neither yo even know what being a part would really look or feel like.

~ BatDad reader whose been cheated on. On multiple occasions with women who are better than you and stronger than you. It hurts because you know you can't compare. You constantly are thinking about the next strong mysterious woman who will appear in his life and how you don't hold a candle. How you'll just have to pretend you don't know whats happening or like you don't care, but you do more than anyone knows.

~ BatDad reader who spends so much time taking care of Bruce and his life that he loses contact with his friends and family. You are isolated. You have spent so much of your life trying to care for Bruce surrounded by people who save the world that you've forgotten what it means to connect with people who can relate to yo and be there with you whe you're struggling with human issues.

~ BatDad reader who hits a limit. Maybe it's Damian coming home or being cheated in again or maybe you finally start to rebuild your life after Bruce is believed to be dead and you grieve him. You do ,however, hit your limit and you don't go back to Bruce. You place the papers on the bedside table leave the mansion and don't turn back because you're tired and there is so little left in this relationship for you and really you just want to start over before you don't have a chance to.

[jscrawls]

I need the kids to have watched Bruce get his ass kicked by window reader. Like all of them cheering her on because who doesn’t wanna see the Batman lose to this (much smaller of a build) person. He’s 6 foot something and she’s 4 to 5 foot something 😂 anyways I loved the new chapter it was so good. That I’ve decided I don’t wanna throw rocks

LMAO 4 SOMETHING FEET? Widow reader that small would have to get extra nasty in a fight like-it'd be a bloodbath 😅

If you mean the actual accidental fight in the alleyway? Babs 100% got that on camera and watched every bit of it on repeat. Probably did some bat-ai digital enhancing so she could watch it in 4K if it was on some shitty security camera. And yes, she shared it in the non-Batman group chat with the others. Jason rated the gun-slap 8/10, (he thinks they could've hit harder, loosen a tooth at the least!)

Damian and Cass both rate the gas splash and bottle smash 10/10. They can appreciate using what's available to you.

Now I wanna do a normal sparring blurb 😂

Everyone's in the cave for the first official spar with widow, they've seen them train and workout by now, but they all do that, even Alfred does. So it's nothing groundbreaking, what they really wanna see is their fighting style.

Currently Bruce and widow are on the mats, hands wrapped and taped up and they've got compression wear on their elbows and knees for safety of course. The others are all watching very closely as Bruce gestures then towards the center of the mat to explain the rules.

"alright, let's go over the basics. No hitting below the belt, no going for the eyes, and no deadly force." He gives you a pointed look at that one while Jason boos him and gives two thumbs down from where he's leaning against a post, Bruce continues speaking regardless of the interruption. "... This is a serious spar though, and I'd like you to treat it as such. No horsing around, just give me your best shots so I can see what you can do."

You watch him patiently while tightening your wrist wraps one last time, the pressure feels nice after all this time without proper gear, but hitting a person is gonna be even nicer. "It's a serious fight?"

Bruce clears his throat subtly, Cass and Tim exchange glances and out of the corner of your eye, you watch Stephanie and Barbara handing something to each other.

"yes, like I said I wanna see what you can-oof!" Bruce grunts as your shin connects with his side in a sudden crane kick, the strike was so sudden it caught him off guard as you hadn't even wound yourself up first.

Stephanie loudly guffaws and you hear someone slapping something, possibly covering their mouth?

Well the fights on apparently.

Bruce throws his hand up to catch your arm as you swing a left hook at him and moves his foot to sweep your ankles, okay maybe it was just a lucky shot-

Your free arm grabs his wrist while you hop over his leg, pressing your feet against his side and leveraging yourself up to throw a thigh over his arm so you're now upside down, hanging your entire weight off his limb like a fucking spider monkey. You secure one thigh around his bicep, squeezing him hard enough that you won't be shook off easily and start kicking at his head with the other leg.

Holy shit you're brutal, he should've worn a mouth piece or something because wow you don't pull your punches or kicks. Bruce quickly drops his weight to the mat like a ragdoll, using his size to his advantage to land heavily on you and put your damn kicking to a stop.

Jason's calling out random advise to you like this is a televised wrestling match and Duke is filming the whole thing, narrating and giving commentary to his phone like this is a nature documentary.

Even Dick is invested, though he's trying to maintain a calm demeanor since Damian's right beside him, trying to analyze your moves and he's trying not to distract the kid.

As soon as both of you loosen your grip you roll away from each other, Bruce quickly stands but you remain squatting, hunched like a defensive cat in the center of the mat. The kids and Bruce are watching you closely, are you out of surprise attacks? Your whole thing seems to be take them by surprise and end it as quickly as possible so maybe you're running out of ideas?

You tilt your head as you watch Bruce closely, your expression becomes more mocking as you smirk at him.

"well? Do I have to take the lead on everything or are you gonna move."

Bruce knows a goad when he hears one, but obviously you expect him to participate more than just blocking and standing around so he'll oblige you. Cautiously, he steps forward. Leading with his dominant side in defensive posture as he waits for you to do something.

Instead you just stand up and back away like you hadn't taunted him a moment ago, do you expect him to follow you all the way across the mat? You're not exactly indicating anything with your body language so Bruce carefully pauses in the middle of the area to see what you'll do, his stance widens and he keeps his hands up and close to himself.

The cave seems to quiet down as everyone holds their breath in wait, nine pairs of eyes on you as you stretch your arms above your head, then dart towards Bruce.

You throw your elbow up towards his throat and he blocks, he blocks the knee aiming for his gut too. Feeling emboldened he attempts to throw a kick but you hop out of the way like a bunny and then come right back into his personal space, he catches your hand bait you can aim for his nose and starts to twist your arm behind your back to restrain you, but you lean forward and again drop your weight to the mat like a wet bag of laundry and kick at his elbow.

He grunts disapprovingly at that. "What part of fight clean did you not get?"

Alfred speaks up from what he's occupying the bat computer chair. "You did say this was a serious fight, master Bruce."

He crosses his arms over his chest scornfully, one thin brow raising as if judging Bruce.

Stephanie Snickers and lightly elbows Cass. "I'm starting to think all shorties are viscous, I thought you and Tim were examples not the standard."

"hey!" Tim sounds very offended at that, but still doesn't take his eyes off the ring for long.

"well you know what they say, short people are closer to hel-ow!" Damian roughly elbows Dick before he can finish that sentence.

While the crowd of children all bicker, you kick Bruce in the knee in an attempted take down. He grunts in pain but manages to stay upright enough to throw his arms around you in an aggressive bear hug, yanking you close enough to trap you against his body. as soon as his hands move you tense.

Once his arms start to lock around you do you realize he's going for a classic chokehold, so before he can lock his hand in the crook of his elbow you play dirty and reach up to give him a nasty horse bite. Your thumb and forefinger curl and pinch the softest part of his inner underarm, you knowing damn well how many nerves are there as you grab as hard as you can.

The second Bruce hisses you let go and quickly drop your weight and drive your elbow into his liver repeatedly, he seems to be fed up with you and drops his arms from around your neck to grab your waist and body slam you to the floor.

That really winded you, so you're slow to wriggle out from under him. Though you both seem to be done for the moment as he sits down properly, now he's just watching you quietly as he recovers. His dignity

Duke is the first one to break the silence that followed the end of the fight, pausing his video and triumphantly holding his phone in the air. "I got all of it!"

Babs glances over at him in amusement. "You know there are cameras all over in here, right?"

Duke nods even as Jason sidles over to him and gestures for his phone. "Obvs, but those don't capture the best angles on the training mats."

Dick ducks into the little training area and hands both you and Bruce a water bottle and a helping hand up, Bruce declines as he cracks his bottle where he sits but you allow the younger man to pull you to your feet. Smirking to yourself before throwing one final verbal jab at the man before walking off the mats.

"y'know..... Bucky definitely still hits harder."

He scowls at your back so quickly you'd think you'd just poisoned his drink, dropping the water bottle as he pushes himself to his feet. "Okay, who the hell is Bucky!?"

🔹🔹🔹

| m.list |

A/n: thank you for sparing me, I've had threats of dog-stealing and everything 😭😭based some of this off past boxing experience lol 😂 smaller hands might equal less muscle behind it, but the smaller point of impact can make up for the power loss and still mess u up. At least that's what I remember that ish felt like anywho, I've slept since then so eh 🤷‍♀️

@viilan

[ashlovesfood]

You Make Me Wanna Come In A Good Way.

Tags: Cute restaurant date, pampering, spoiling, money money money, teasing, pet names, love hotel, face sitting, squirting, Bruce eats you out like no tomorrow, your pleasure first before his, black lingerie, clit stimulation, nipple rubbing, riding his nose, LOVE.

What’s the position? Log in before clicking <3

Y’know when you get that sickly feral need to just go to town on someone? Well, it’s happening to Bruce.

Today was special, he was going to surprise you with so many damn gifts it would make your head spin. The day called for pampering and shopping, along with a nice dinner date for the two of you, super cute right? Time flowed by like water, gleaming sunlight that warmed your skin turned into the frigid chill of the night. Stars were gleaming through the black cloak, like little dots that told a story every night. Bruce’s manor showed every single detail of Gotham, one of your favorite parts of the house.

“Doll are you finished?” He appeared at the door frame, looking to see if you were done getting ready. Oh, you looked so fucking beautiful to Bruce, he couldn’t stop staring at your face. “Hmm? Oh B! ‘M almost finished just oneeee seconddd..” You clasped the back of your earrings on your earlobe, the sparkly crystals dangling made the light shine on them. Your gaze looked up at him, smiling at how he put the time in to get ready. Bruce had already spoiled you with a cute necklace, the back of the piece being engraved with ‘Wayne’ to show you were his. “Brucey? Your staringgg..” He zoned back into reality, smiling at your beautiful appearance. The dress he chose for you fit you perfectly, the backless design was suited for you, and the deep neckline? Basically all dolled up for him to eat..

“Let’s go love. I’ll grab your bag, okay?” You nodded, spraying perfume on your pulse points before checking the mirror once more. Bruce was starting the engine of his black mercedes, the loud rev telling reminding you to get in the car. Your high heels clacked against the floorboards of the manor, rushing towards the car in the front. He was patiently waiting for you on the passengers side, smiling as he saw you come out. You were about to open the door yourself but Bruce interrupted you. “Please, allow me.” He opened the door, letting you slide into the car while he closed your side.

He slipped into the driver's side, placing his hands onto the wheel. “Are you ready for tonight, handsome?” You smirked, rubbing your hand on his thigh, slightly teasing him. He tensed at the sudden contact, a small fire being lit inside his stomach, his mind taking a mental note. Bruce’s hand slid down to yours as he drove, mindlessly rubbing circles on the back of your hand while he drove, focusing on the road. A soft playlist you made for nights like these was playing, the song ‘Rearrange My World’ by Daniel Caesar coming on. You hummed the lyrics while admiring the streets of Gotham, how it wasn’t the best city but had its moments where everything was peaceful and okay made it special to you. Tonight was so serene, maybe it could’ve been like this all the time .

“Bun we’re here.” Bruce tapped your palm, looking at your face when you realized. A cute shocked expression made him smile, he took you to your favorite restaurant. Coffee and Champagne was a special restaurant that laid in your heart, you went there on special occasions with family or friends, but recently your time was occupied with life. “Bruce! I, oh my gosh this brings back so many memories..” You got out of the car, letting the sudden flood of memories come right back into your mind as you stared at the building. “Hope you enjoy it m’love, wanted to make this extra special for you.” He grabbed your hand, leading you into the entrance.

The employee smiled at both of you, guiding you towards a table under the light. You both sat down, having a conversation about what to order, but then a small fire in Bruce’s stomach grew. Your heel was rubbing his calf, the fabric stopping you from teasing his skin. He gave you a serious look before returning to the waiter, giving your orders. They walked away, making you slide your foot onto his thigh, the flames blazing higher and higher . He grabbed your ankle, stopping you from rubbing him when the waiter arrived with your food. “ Watch. I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll be begging for it, sweets…” Your face flushed with heat, his words being sent straight down to your cunt, the arousal dampening your panties. You sipped on the champagne that Bruce bought for the both of you, sending him a dangerous look before continuing on with your meal. He finished his meal, calling the waiter over for the check. Your dish was nearly finished, your stomach being full from the food. “I can’t wait to see what you do tonight, ‘m just itching to know..”

That was his last moment before the flames burned inside him, he placed a hefty stack of bills on the check and dragged you out of there, walking towards the love hotel near the corner.

You struggled to keep up with his pace, so he picked you up bridal style , walking into the hotel. “Hi. Can I get your most expensive room please?” You grabbed his wallet, placing a couple hundred bucks on the counter, watching as the worker eagerly took it and handed him a key. Bruce practically ran to the room, giving you the key to unlock the door.

He closed it with his body, shifting your legs around his waist so he could kiss you. “Mmph.. Fuck. Dirty little thing teasing me like that in the restaurant? Oh just watch..” Bruce walked towards the bed , sitting on the edge while holding you in his arms, a sloppy make out session happening between you two . He laid down onto the mattress, your thighs locking around his torso, holding onto his inky black locks. You broke the kiss, panting to grasp a deep breath for your lungs.

“ Sit on m’ face doll..” He gripped your hips, squishing your body through the fabric of your dress. You gasped when Bruce practically tore your dress into shreds, revealing the cute floral black set you wore underneath to surprise him. If he wasn’t hard before, he is now. Bruce slapped your ass cheek, making you jolt forward near his face. “Bruce! I- I don’t wanna suffocate you..” You hid behind your hand, covering your embarrassment with your palm. “Baby. I can assure you, you're not going to kill me this way. Even if you did, that’s the best way to kill me.” He reassured you, gently rubbing your skin to soothe your mood. You took a lot of courage to move, but eventually did so. It was a sight to behold, the scene of your sex about to sit on top of his face was something that burned into his memory forever. You nervously hovered over his face, unsure if you really wanted to sit on it. “But Brucey..” You looked down into his eyes, watching as his pupils dilated, looking like giant hearts in an azure sea. He grabbed the fleshy globes of your ass, pulling you down to sit.

You screamed, feeling the wet muscle suck on your little bundle of nerves, his teeth grazing your soaked folds. Your juice dripped down into his mouth like a fountain, the liquid that cured his parched mouth. “Mmnghh..!!” He growled into your little hole, prodding at the ring of muscle with his tongue. Bruce’s taste buds were beautifully blessed by you, your whole body was a meal to him.

The first orgasm of the night ripped you into pieces, euphoria shining through mending it all back together. His hands groped your flesh, feeling you up and down as he rubbed the underside of your boobs. His fingers danced on the tips of your nipples, one hand grounding into your meaty thigh to balance your body. “Bruce! Oh fuck..! ‘Mcumminggg-!” You squirted right into his mouth, the juices of your slick and cum quenched his thirst, Bruce feeling himself leaking in his pants. Your thighs clenched his head tightly while you rode on his face, the bridge of his nose helping you stimulate your clit, jolts of pleasure riding through your body. Bruce sucked and licked on your poor cunt so much, the noises in the room were probably heard from other rooms. You got off his face, lying next to him while you tried to recover. “You taste better than anything in the world angel. Hope tonight was special enough for you, I love you to the moon and back.”

A/N Think i’m gonna release my intro post sooonnnn (✿◠‿◠)

[blubunz]

SUGAR & SPICE

— sugar daddy! bruce wayne x f! sugar baby! reader

《MINORS DNI!》

Tags: reader doesn't know bruce wayne is batman, overstimulation, fingering, praise kink, slight angst, daddy kink obvi, not a lot in here though.

A/N: Ough I don't think this is healthy at all um yeah that's all :] idk if this is angst though I put the tag there just in case. I have a different plot in mind though but I can't lead the story up to that I'm so upset. Maybe I'll do a part 2.

Honestly, Bruce isn't the type to maintain a long-lasting relationship. You should've learned that by now. Hell, one of his titles is The Playboy Millionaire! Or, billionaire. Millionaire is so last season.

Still, young and naive little girl you are, you chase after him. Sometimes, it reminds him of a puppy, always seeking his validation. You are always at every one of his event, dressed so nicely in your favorite colour, with that sparkly eyes and cute smile.

You're not his type, not exactly the one he's looking for to spend the rest of his life when he's skin and bones. You should've given up long ago, he's the type to tease, not to indulge.

He gives you one night, one night to satisfy your urges. You look so pathetic when he denies you, it melts his heart even if his moral is screaming at him not to. You're old enough, already an adult, sure. But he is too old for you, still. This will never work out for the two of you.

That night, he brings you to a lavish hotel, booked on the highest floor, the most luxurious one. Bruce is an absolute gentleman, of course he is, he's not acting like himself, he simply just wants you to stop, to make you realize after one night that he's not a good fit for you.

Bruce can see your anticipation, how your hips sway when you walk, or when he sits you down, your thighs are tightly closed against each other, practically rubbing yourself underneath your dress. He doesn't want to rush you, he even offers to get some food first or shower, but you insist.

Young people these days.

If that's what you want, then.

Bruce sighs, but he gives you a smile that melts your vulnerable heart. You jolt when he gently touches your thigh, and before he can ask you anything, you frantically nod.

“Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself.” You stammer nervously, already sweating bullets. Fuck, you didn't expect yourself to react like this. You're mostly excited, but your body reacts the same when you're nervous too, of course you're sweating, but for good reasons.

“Don't worry, sweet girl. I live up to my reputation.” In actuality, he doesn't sleep around a lot. A few women, sure, but it doesn't go above five.

He's crazy good, though. His finger gently swipes up and down the front of your panties, feeling it getting wetter and wetter by the seconds. He's observing you close and slowly, and you feel yourself burning just from that alone.

Bruce leans down, pressing a small kiss on your cheek. “I'll put my fingers in, is that okay?”

You nod, breathing shakily when he plays with your pubes, then going past it to reach under. Big fingers gently touching your clit, down to your slick folds.

Your hips buck, and you grab his wrist tightly, trying to hump yourself on it.

“Calm down, I haven't put it in.” He laughs, voice low and rumbly in his chest when he can even feel your desperation seeping through his fingers. “I don't want to rush. Stay still for me, okay, baby?”

You nod, slowly loosening your grip, and Bruce pushes two fingers in your puffy cunt. His eyes closed, feeling your wet heat squeezing his fingers as if it's his cock. You're practically shaking, moaning and eyes rolling up already when he's knuckles deep in you. What would you do if it was his cock instead?

Luckily enough, he doesn't plan to fuck you tonight. He'll just fuck you with his fingers until you pass out and that's it, that should make you feel enough.

His mind sets on it quickly, pulling your panties off completely, he begins plunging his fingers in and out of your needy pussy, and you can feel the pads pressing and curling up against your walls, stretching you out so much, rubbing right against that spot.

You're drooling already, your head leaning on his shoulder as he pulls you to his lap to keep you from squirming so much.

“That's it, baby. Let it out, no one can hear you.” He assures, wriggling his fingers in your cunt as he palm grinds against your clit. Your back arches, thinking of how alone you are, how there's just the two of you in this lavished hotel room, on the top floor that has the nicest view of this gloomy city.

“Bruce!” You gasps, his free hand gripping your arm tightly, leaning in your neck to kiss it. It tickles, you thought, but you can't react to it because his fingers just push in you once more, curling so delicious you feel like you're above the clouds.

Bruce reminds every second that this is for you, not for shared enjoyments between two people. Just you. Just to give you satisfaction, enough to have you ignore him, hopefully.

“Good girl. Move your hips just like that.” He pants, feeling a bit riled up himself too. He can't help it, of course he can't. You're moaning and writhing so much, shaking under his grip, so vulnerable and weak, something he expects from someone like you, but it doesn't mean he's used to it. “Can you cum for me, baby? Are you going to cum on my fingers?”

The way he's talking to you is nothing you've heard before. Like he's coddling you, like you're his delicate little doll. You've heard him talked many times, composed and calm, he carries that persona like he's some old-fashioned rich man. But now he's acting like someone you'd call "daddy" as you cling tight to him, and him hugging you back, praising you and protecting you as you deserve to be.

You cum with a silent scream, jaw hanging open and head tilting back with your eyes following. You can't think. How can you just have the best orgasm just from his fingers alone?

“Good girl.” He smiles, that makes you feel warm inside. With a gentle kiss on your sweaty forehead, he drawls his fingers out slowly, feeling your inside convulsed and twitching, clinging tight to him when he pulls out completely.

You're dazed already, too dazed to notice the growing bulge between his thighs. No, Bruce won't fuck you with that. Instead, he resumes his action, pushing his fingers back in, having his name shakingly spelled out from your throat.

“Hmngh...B-Bruce, I-I just—”

“Shh, shh. Come on, surely you can handle one more, can't you, pretty girl?” He pulls your face up to look at him. He gives you that same smile that gives you butterflies, going down to kiss behind your ear. “One more, please?”

You can't deny him. No one can. And certainly he's just made you crave him more after tonight, after so much orgasm in one night. Who wouldn't?

[yall-batman-fanfic]

Vivian Pryor's Barber Shop | Bruce Wayne/Batman x OC!Magician

Synopsis: Just a little fluff between Vivian and Bruce.

"You know, I always imagined you be using those fancy razors when you shave," Vivian entered the bathroom and watched.

"I used to but this is more convenient," said Bruce. 

"You know my Dad taught me to shave his beard using it."

"Is this your way of saying you want to shave my beard?" 

She shrugged. "Why not?"

Bruce set up a chair in the bathroom and took out his old razor that was still polished and sharp thanks to Alfred's upkeep. Sitting down, he let Vivian put shaving cream on him, propped the towel over her shoulder, and took the blade from the counter.

For a moment, Bruce gulped and looked at her to ask, "You do know what you're doing, right?"

"Are you asking if I've nicked someone's neck before like in Sweeney Todd?" Vivian said as she pressed the blade to his cheek and glided it over his stubble and the cream. "I didn't kill anyone while shaving them... well, there is one time when I dealt with an undead barber and I did slit his throat with the razor..."

Bruce didn't breathe when she glided the blade on his skin again, when the blade was gone, he let out a breath and said: "Not helping my situation."

"Relax, Wayne. You're in good hands. I told you, I would shave my Dad's beard," her voice turned soft as she focused on her work. "One time, I asked him if I could practice again, he brought me to his gym and then put up a sign that said: free shave, and when they saw who was holding the blade they were white as a sheet. But they went along with it. My Mom gave me a stepper so I could reach the taller guys, and each one of them gave me a quid. There were about a dozen of them, so I bought myself a book from the bookstore."

Bruce smiled. "What was it?"

"It was Frank Herbert's Dune."

"A science fiction, I wasn't expecting that," Bruce turned to her in shock, she positioned his head back to how it was earlier and finished off at his cheek before she had him look up so she could clean up the area of his jaw and neck.

"It was one of the only science fiction I loved. I borrowed it from the library but I never got to finish it... when the guys at the gym found out, they started calling me over there and they would bring descent people to get a shave so I could buy the whole series."

Bruce waited until she finished her work before he spoke, "That was nice of them."

"In Liverpool, especially in our community, everyone's family. It's one of the things I miss so much about it. How I'd walk down the street and someone would greet me good morning or invite me for a pint, how when I'd get in a cab and the driver would ask me: where to, love?... it's home."

When she was finished putting away the blade and the towel, she took a fresh towel, dampened it with hot water, rinsed it, and then carefully placed it over the bottom of his face, but Bruce took it off and pulled her to sit on his lap.

"Do you miss it?" Bruce asked her.

"Yeah, I do."

"Are there days where you just want to go back there?" 

"There are but... some things make me want to stay here in Gotham," she smiled.

Bruce took her by her chin and pulled her to a kiss, just a short one.

"Then let's go to Liverpool tomorrow."

"Bruce."

"It's the weekend."

"And what about flights? We haven't packed! And I don't have work tomorrow, but what about Mr. CEO?"

"My appointment tomorrow can be moved to another time, and we can take the jet. Let's go to Liverpool, I want to see it. I want to see where you grew up."

"I grew up in many places, Wayne."

"I want to see the place that makes you smile like this..." he traced her lips with his thumb. "And I think Alfred would appreciate seeing England again, and Dick would enjoy the trip too. So?"

Grinning, Vivian pulled him to a kiss again.

"I'll take that as a yes," Bruce said.

"You learn fast, Wayne... now put this on!" She placed the warm towel on his face, "so you won't have ingrown hair!" She kept her hand on the towel over his cheeks and added a bit more warmth to soothe the irritated skin.

Bruce laughed and let her hold the towel over him, and he held her in place on his lap, not wanting her to leave.

[c1nnam00n]

me seeing that my fav character barely/doesn’t have any fanfics OR imagines

[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.”

[vinamari]

How it feels going to bed after reading some words

It was angst

[mostly-imagines]

Sugar on the Rim vol. I

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

warnings: implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), mentions of sex, smut in next part

You twist the stem of the wine glass around between your fingers slowly. Your chin rests atop your knees as you stare vacantly at the tiny puddle left of the drink. You could go refill it, but then you’d have to go back out to the main room and man…you really do not want to do that. So you’ll sit here, swiping your tongue across the bumps of the roof of your mouth as if it's a fascinating new discovery.

The creak of hinges has you shooting upright, your back thumping against the stair step behind you. You’re not immediately sure how to act as though it’s normal that you’re sitting in the stairwell outside the fundraiser rather than in it, fraternizing with old and new money alike. You freeze, trying to relax your posture so it doesn’t look like you’re alarmed at the sight of another person, but not so relaxed that you look as bored as you are.

Your neutrality stutters when you glance up to find the host of the fundraiser. The billionaire host of the fundraiser. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire host of the fundraiser. Your posture straightens right back up and your mouth snaps shut as you make eye contact.

Should you stand up? 

No, he’s rich, not royalty. 

You are in his house though—

He looks you over contemplatively, “I don’t know you,” It’s not accusatory, rather he says it like it’s something interesting.

You perk up at that, immediately formulating reasons to justify your presence. “Oh, uh, no—” the words nearly spill out of your mouth all at once. You clear your throat, “I’m just a plus one for my boss—”

“Who’s your boss?” he asks, relaxed. 

“Arthur Mullins.”

He looks to the side, squinting, “Mullins…he’s the executive at Williamson Industries, yes?”

You nod and he returns the gesture, slower, like he’s processing through something. “I’m Bruce,” he says warmly after a moment, holding his hand out to you.

You nod before you can even think to get any words to come out, “I—yeah, I know,” you accept his hand, shaking it as you tell him your name.

There’s a slight glint in his eye when he hears your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. “A pretty name.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Just your name. But rather than fill him in on that fascinating tidbit, you let the sentence die off.

He smiles kindly anyway, “What are you doing in here? Party’s out there, or so they tell me.”

“I…I’m hiding in here,” you admit sheepishly.

He leans in towards you slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret—so am I,” he smiles at you like it’s easy.

Your grin matches his, “It’s your party,”

“That’s why I need to hide.” He tilts his head, “Doesn’t give you much of an excuse though, does it?”

“I don’t know anybody here.”

He puckers his bottom lip contemplatively, “Your boss.”

You shake your head, “I’m just his assistant. I’m pretty sure he just brought me as a precaution in case he needed a designated driver.”

He laughs at that, “Based on the way I’ve seen Mullins’ attempts to operate, his assistant would have to be a hell of a lot more important than just a designated driver.”

Well, he’s certainly right about that. Your boss doesn’t exactly “have it together” per se. He’s an unorganized man with little to justify his importance in Gotham, so he tends to insist on taking on more responsibility than he has any business having. Not to mention, he’s a bit of a try-hard and you’re constantly left to sweep up the pieces of his reputation that he shattered himself. Not to say he’s necessarily unprofessional, he just will do anything and everything to prove he belongs in any given space. It’s honestly a bit exhausting to watch. It’s more exhausting to try and convince him that the exchange went well afterwards.

You nod slowly, eyes on his shoes. “Mr. Mullins has…a unique approach to business. It does usually leave me fairly busy, I’ll give you that.” You take a quick deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “But that means I occasionally get to go to fancy parties where I don’t know anyone, so..”

“Well then it sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” he ribs, “Or don’t you agree?”

You smile coyly, “I would never be so bold.”

“I don’t mind boldness. For example, the reason I came in here is because he spotted me.”

You laugh at that, “Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Mr. Wayne,” you suppress your smile as you pause, choosing your words carefully. “I think he’s just networking.” He doesn’t have the money to give.

He nods surely, “He’s definitely just networking.” He really doesn’t have the money to give. You allow just the faintest wisp of a smile to adorn your face as you look down again.

You check the time and realize that you’ve been hiding away for too long and that if he hasn’t already, your boss will notice soon. You sigh quietly to yourself, “I should..”

He turns his head to the closed door where the chatter can be heard from beyond, sighing in defeat as he shakes his head looking back at you. “So should I.”

You feel a bit insecure as you stand, the gown you’re wearing is pretty but it is very much affordable and you’re sure someone as wealthy as Bruce Wayne would know the difference.

If he does notice he makes no deal of it, motioning you forward gallantly to walk ahead of him.

He follows after you, hands behind his back. “Would it be rude of me to ask you to distract him while I run for the bar?”

It’s busy, even for a Sunday afternoon, and you have to sidestep past someone nearly every step you take. You stick next to the windows of the line of boutiques down the road, trying to balance window shopping and not bumping into other pedestrians.

You're in a nicer district of Gotham, truthfully an area you don't quite belong in. So far you’ve only managed to find a couple shops that weren’t several ranges above your budget. 

A call of your name has you blinking rapidly and turning around as if you’re lost. It doesn’t take long for you to pick the six foot two billionaire out of the crowd and it’s only half a second longer before you realize he’s walking towards you. A few people collide shoulders with you as they move past thoughtlessly, no regard for the personal space of the idiot that stopped in the flow of traffic.

You let him approach a couple feet closer before you ask him, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?” The presence of his figure in front of you allows for a break from being bumped into, as he seemingly makes for a far more easily seen and intentionally avoided target.

He sways a bit, “Bruce. I’m not sure yet,” he looks down to the couple of bags you’re holding, extending his hand out. “May I?”

It takes you just a moment to move past your surprise at the request, allowing him to hold them for you. “Are you in a rush?”

You shake your head quicker than you meant to, “No, I—not at all,” he gestures his head forward, allowing you to walk before him.

You traipse ahead in silence for a moment before deciding against biting your tongue, “What exactly is it you’re not sure about?”

He raises his voice a bit so you can hear him over the crowd, “Whether or not you’ve got plans on the 19th.”

You look back at him, “What’s on the 19th?”

He stops with you as you admire a set of jewelry inside a window display, “We’re hosting a gala for something or something else, hopefully less boring than the fundraiser.”

You blink, “You’re inviting me?” He nods. “Why?”

“I could use someone who wants to be there even less than I do.”

He said it so casually it takes you a second to even register his meaning. You blink, face contorting defensively, “That’s not—” you can barely make out the smile on his face as he continues on walking.

You shake your composure back together and trail after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t think Mr. Mullins would be very happy to hear that I’m attending a business gala without him.”

He shakes his head as he scans over the crowd, “He can’t fire you for that.”

“He’ll try.” He would. A petty little man, he is. 

He scans across the rows of clothes leisurely. “Well, then he can speak to me about it. Besides, it wouldn’t be for business.” And then he just lets that sentence linger.

It takes you a moment to recover from those words and begin to start processing the world around you again. After a few more feet down the sidewalk he pulls you gently to the side by your lower arm, out of the rush of traffic, and looks at you dead on, “What do you think?”

You try not to waver under the weight of the eye contact, “I don’t…uh, I don’t really have…” you look down, hoping to get the message across without actually having to say the words.

He glances into the store window next to you and raises his eyebrows, “Well then I’d say we’re in the right place.”

You can’t manage to tell him that this store is definitely far too expensive for you, walking through the door as he opens it for you, albeit apprehensively.

Well. Up close window shopping is more fun anyways. 

The spotless white of the floors and walls has you intimidated, and just as much so by less by the no doubt designer clothes lining the walls. The saleswomen all look pretty highbrow themselves, hair up in tight buns and uniforms chic.

You only break from gawking at the store to look behind you at Bruce. You note the way his eyes roam around blindly, looking for something and clearly having no means to narrow down where it might be. You take one more glance around, immediately finding the women's section with no such difficulty. 

“This way.” You say, nodding your head over to the left. He recovers nicely and lets you lead the way towards the section of dresses. You peer back at him, “You don’t seem like someone that does much of his own shopping.”

Thankfully, he laughs at that. “Well, special occasions.”

You keep your gaze ahead this time, asking as casually as you can, “Is this a special occasion?”

He hums in consideration, “I’d say so.”

You stop upon approaching the dress section, taking in the immediately stunning display of options. 

“What are you doing up here anyways?” you ask, hand brushing across a particularly plush dress.

“Ah, I was headed to a meeting.”

“Oh,” you frown, looking at him. “Don’t you need to go?”

He shakes his head with a puckered lower lip, “No.”

A few seemingly heiresses roam down the aisle mindlessly, not caring much that you’re in their path. 

Bruce sees them before you do, knowing well that they were not going to excuse themselves. “Sweetheart,” he nudges you gently to the side, closer to him as the group passes. His hand remained open-palmed and flat as he guided you to the side, seemingly very careful not to touch you with uninvited boldness. Though you’re quite shaken by the chivalry of the gesture, a brazen touch wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.

As your arm brushes against a rack of clothing your gaze follows, met with something rather appealing.

Bruce is quick to notice you admiring the sleek black dress that looks like something you’d see a model wearing on a runway. “You like that one?”

“It’s nice, yeah,” you murmur, not really thinking. You flip the price tag over and your face drops. “It’s $800.”

He nods thoughtfully, “We can find a nicer one,” he says, though it’s clear he knows exactly what your problem with the price tag was.

“I can’t—” you restart, “I would never have a reason to wear something this nice again.”

He shakes his head coolly, “That’s alright.”

Your shoulders drop and your head tilts seriously, “It’s not, though.”

“You like it?” He looks you in the eyes, his own searching for a truthful answer.

“I mean, of course, but it—”

He nods affirmatively, “Then we’ll get it. Problem solved.” He turns his back to the rack, casually observing the rest of the store goers. “Pick your size.”

Apparently not one to argue, you thumb through the row until you find one that should fit. 

You sigh, realizing that you’re running out of time to mention that you don’t have $800 to spend on a dress. “I can’t—”

“You don’t need to,” he says simply as he takes the dress off the rack and drapes it across his arm, making his way towards the salescounter.

You try to stop your mouth from hanging open as you follow, “It really is okay, I don’t need—”

His grin cuts you off, just in time for you to hear him mutter, “Sweet girl..” to himself. You stop right in your tracks, feeling very thankful that he’s not looking at you right now because you’re certain the look on your face would give you away.

He still doesn’t face you as he calls out, “Come on,” as he continues on.

Obviously you’re not stupid. You know what type of intentions a billionaire playboy must have with a younger girl that he doesn’t even really know. However, if said billionaire is offering to buy you a pretty dress…no, you’re not sleeping with him because he bought you a dress—of course not—and you’ve made absolutely no promises to do so, so what’s the harm in letting him? Really?

And yeah, maybe it’s a plus that he’s not bad looking, but how is that your fault?

You stand a bit awkwardly next to him as he puts his card in the machine, not even glancing at the outrageous number, and declines the offer for the receipt.

As you exit the store together and stand at the doors as he hands your original two bags back to you along with the new shiny black one that on its own looks like something people would pay for.

“You will be there?” he asks, eyes more hopeful than you were prepared for. 

You nod, gesturing the bag up, “Well you just bought me the dress.”

He shrugs that off, “I would’ve bought you the dress anyways.”

You linger in the midst of the ado wearing a dress that you feel far too overshadowed by, fidgeting with the half empty wine glass in your hand. Unfortunately, this time around you were invited by the host of the event and it would be extra rude to run away and hide. That doesn’t stop you from considering it, though.

A hand sliding across your lower back has you momentarily startled, and for reasons you couldn’t quite verbalize, you’d naturally assumed it was Bruce. The disappointment rings strong when you turn around to be met with the sight of an even older man, who looks considerably wine drunk. 

“Hello there, Miss.,” The words themselves are polite but the salacious smile on his face and the way his eyes have no trouble roaming your body gives you a solid idea of what this conversation is going to entail.

“Hello,” you fake a polite, tight smile and shift your attention to the rest of the room. 

This does nothing to deter him, as he takes a sizable step back into your line of sight. “Having a nice time?” 

The man is clearly from money, if his attire didn’t give it away his attitude sure did. There’s an heir of entitlement around him, like he’s inherently deservant of your attention—a quality you were notably surprised to not have found in Bruce. 

You give him your faux-smile again, this time tighter but half a second longer for the sake of politeness. A rookie mistake.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, gesturing to the bar.

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say, gesturing your wine glass up.

A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face, but to his credit, he does a better job recovering from it than you would have expected. Though, that’s not really saying much. “Well, pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone here,”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Both of your heads snap to the side, finding a much more welcome surprise than you’d previously received. 

Your counterpart's posture straightens immediately, “Mr. Wayne,” he fawns, “What a lovely event you’ve thrown. I’m sure the Bernsteins will be appreciative.”

Bruce hums, eyes narrowed slightly. “You are…”

The man startles and rushes to finish off his sentence, “Alexander Watson, senior executive to the accounting department for the research wing of the company.”

He nods slowly, no recognition actually present in his eyes. “Ah. The research wing of the company that just blew fifteen million dollars on prototype self-operating cell phones.”

You’re trying hard to fight the smile creeping up on your face.

“What exactly is a self-operating cell phone?”

Watson’s face drops, hurrying to justify his approval of the proposal’s funding. As he rambles, Bruce’s gaze lowers to where Watson has once again placed his hand on your hip, though he’s not close enough to you for it to rest fully or naturally. You don’t know him well but you can say confidently that he doesn’t look pleased. 

He looks back up to Watson, attitude challenging. “Surely you’re not poking around where you’re unwelcome?”

Watson stutters at that, blinking and shaking his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! I was just hoping to provide the young lady with some company. That’s all.”

“And so you have.”

“I—,” about two steps behind in this conversation, Watson finally decides to retreat, “Yes, good evening, Mr. Wayne.” He bows his head and shuffles away back into the crowd.

“Mr. Wayne,” you smile knowingly, turning to him. “How are you?”

The hardness of his gaze fades quickly as he takes in your appearance, quite liking how you wear the dress you’d picked out.

“Things are looking up,” he smiles, “You look lovely.”

 “Thank you,” you glance over to where Watson has made his way to the bar, likely about to down an entire glass. “Mr., uh, Mr. Watson makes quite the impression.”

His smile turns a bit sullen, “You know last year he tried to convince the board that battery-powered battery chargers were going to be the next big thing?”

You blink, tilting your head, “Thought you didn’t know who he was.”

His eyes are fixed on the wall as he tugs the corner of his lip down, knowing he’s been caught but not really caring. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long, it seems everyone needs my attention at these things.”

“At the gala that you threw? I’d imagine so.”

He rolls past that smoothly, “You’re having a good time?”

“I am,” you say with a confirming head bob.

He regards the room with a numb expression, “You know, I think I’m getting bored with all of this.”

You smile at him, brow furrowed, “It’s only been an hour.”

He looks at you, eyes wide. “It’s only been an hour?” He’s exaggerating his surprise to make you smile, and it works.

“I think we should go,” he says lower.

You stare at him, bemused. “You still have a whole room full of guests.” 

He shrugs, “They’ll filter out on their own eventually.” 

He clocks your hesitation easily, accurately noting it to be more out of politeness than actually wanting to stay at the party. “What, you’re not ready to leave?”

You look around at all the mostly old, posh guests, disinterested small talk evident all across the room. You take a breath, “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

He smiles and leads you out a side door and through a corridor that’s significantly longer than you’d expected. 

“Do you always ditch your parties this early?” you ask, following closely.

He makes a sharp right at the next doorway, “If I can manage it.”

You look around at the high wooden ceilings and grand furniture. “Aren’t some of them friends of yours?”

He shakes his head, “My friends aren’t here.”

You frown at that, “Then why do you throw them at all?”

“Why did you show up last weekend?”

You nod slowly, understanding. “It’s your job.”

He returns the nod, adding, “Only difference is, there’s not a chance in hell you get paid enough for the work you do for Mullins.”

For the sake of maintaining your wishful facade of professionalism, you’re going to not acknowledge that incredibly accurate statement. Instead you smile politely and continue on walking. He seems to get the implication, returning it with an even brighter adornment.

“Well, money’s money,” you say wryly.

His smile fades a bit, “You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that.” 

You shrug, “A day in the life,”

He looks sullen upon hearing that, with more sympathy than you’d have expected from someone of his stature. He’s done nothing if not surprise you, though.

“Here,” he says, taking hold of the handle of a glass door. It opens to a garden, lit up beautifully by the moon and outdoor light. A fountain sits in the middle, water rhythmically gushing out of the top and trickling down the sides. The bite of the Gotham night air burns at your cheeks a bit and you find yourself thankful the dress you’d chosen is so long.

Bruce leads the way to an expensive marble bench positioned nicely in front of it, allowing you to sit first before following suit. Your hands find a place in your lap, clasped together awkwardly in an attempt to find warmth through contact.

It takes Bruce less than ten seconds to stand, remove his suit jacket, and drape it over your shoulders before sitting back down. The material is thicker and warmer than you would’ve expected, surely reminiscent of the perks of being owned by a billionaire.

He doesn’t look at you to acknowledge the grateful expression on your face, simply carrying on like it didn’t happen. “Was hoping it was warmer,” he murmurs.

Your focus momentarily goes to the icy cold stone of the bench under your thighs, initially finding it uncomfortable before deciding the coolness actually felt quite soothing. You remove your gaze from the gray stone and turn your head to find Bruce already focused on you.

You start to say something, though you’re not sure what it would’ve been, when he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down.

Well, he certainly knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

His eyes stay on your lower lip as he murmurs, “You’re a pretty girl, you know that?” 

God, he’s a professional.

You look up at him and refrain from saying anything, waiting to see if he follows it up with something that will make you regret agreeing to coming out here with him.

He doesn’t.

You shift, moving your hands off your lap to rest on the stone under you. “You can’t just do this—”

He smiles and lowers his chin to look you in the eyes, “Then what can I do for you?”

“You—” you blink rapidly, “Stop it.”

His coy beam persists, “Stop what?”

You raise your gaze up to him ever so slightly, a pouty expression across your face that you’re trying to sell as serious. “You’re trying to make me nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head down further, a ghost of a smile echoing on his lips, “I don’t mean to, sweet girl.”

Your eyes drop to the ground, biting your tongue. “Yeah.”

His simper grows, “I’m serious. I’d hate to scare away a new friend.”

You laugh at that and he perks up a bit at the sound, “What? We’re not friends?”

You cock your head to the side, “You’re the one who said none of your friends are here.”

He hums, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

“You think so?” You should probably stop flirting so much. 

“Yeah,” he leans in a bit closer, “I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Maybe I want to be your friend,” his hand finds a place atop yours. 

Your eyes flicker across his face as he closes in, “What if I don’t want to be yours?”

His eyes are on your lips, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

You take a slow deep breath, “Your intentions are blurry.”

He smiles lightly, amused. “We’ll have to clear that up then, won’t we?” His lips are inches away and his voice is soft as he says, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

You look up at him eyes wide, barely processing his words as you nod. He gently grasps your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up. His other hand finds the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you with intention. Your hands hover in the air for a second before holding onto his forearms. 

He breaks the kiss only to give you another sweet one right after. Your mouths remain close when it’s over, eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. You stay like that for a moment until he kisses you once more on your cheekbone before pulling away. His hands drop to rest on your knees, the weight of them gentle.

He hums lowly, “Sweet thing..”

Being under the heaviness of his gaze leaves you feeling vulnerable. It’s starting to get you concerned with the potential levity and implications of kissing him. The expectations.

“You��” you stare down at where his hands meet your skin, not quite sure that you actually meant to start that sentence. 

“What?” he frowns, brow pinched. Your chin lowers further as your mouth forms a tight line. He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. What is it?” he asks gently.

It takes a surge of willpower for you to get the sentence out, “You just want to sleep with me..”

He frowns harder at that, pulling back a bit. “No. I’m…” he sighs, “I’m not trying to lure you in just to toss you out right after.”

That makes you look up again. His voice has a sincerity to it that you weren’t prepared for. 

He continues, “I would like to, yes. Yeah. You’re beautiful, of course I would, but..” he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you, “No, that’s not the most important thing to me.”

You break eye contact again, thinking over his words. If that’s not the most important thing to him, what is? You can’t think of what else he could possibly want from you, a billionaire who could have anything he wants..the only thing you could have to offer in his eyes is sex. 

Right?

He exhales, “If you want to leave, I’ll call you a car. No hard feelings.” He nudges your chin up gently so you’ll look at him, but he gives you the freedom to fight against it if you wanted to.

You let him move you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you tell him, looking into his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” he says it like it’s automatic. You physically can’t help but roll your eyes at the corniness of it. He doubles down, though, “Seriously. Anything.”

You smile in disbelief, shaking your head.

“Alright,” he returns your smile, straightening, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Do you need a ride home?”

You blink at him, “I’m going home?”

“You are,” he nods softly, “Do you need a ride?”

“No.”

He nods again, more like he’s working through something in his head. “Okay. You’re going to go home and think through what you want. If you decide you want to, come back here next Saturday.” he stands up, extending his hand out to you, “Then you can let me know what else you want and we can get to work on that too.”

You start to shake your head, “I can—” 

He drops his chin seriously, “Think on it.”

You relent easily, taking his hand and coming to a stand.

“Alright?” Again, his question is genuine. He does really want to know if you’re on board with this plan. 

Already going against his request, you agree without a thought, “Okay.”

He starts to lead you back over to the garden door with a head nod and a kind smile.

It ultimately was not a decision you had to think very hard on.

You’d considered every scenario of how this could play out and none of them ended with regret as far as you could guess.

You’ll still admit though, there was one scenario you had missed, apparently, which is why you were immeasurably confused when you showed up and he invited you to play chess.

He’s not wearing a fancy three piece suit this time, but his clothes are still very nice. With the sunlight peeking through the windows, you’re able to see the manor more clearly than you had been the other night. It really is a beautiful home, clearly very old and charmed, but there’s a lot of little details of character and history scattered around. There’s portraits and photographs of his parents from when he was young and furniture decorated with trinkets all throughout, kept absolutely spotless and dust free. Everything is neat and tidy but there’s still traces of the house being lived in with the patched throw pillows and worn carpets. Still, it’s very, very placid.

You’ve met new money plenty of times over the course of dealing with countless businessmen for Mr. Mullins but old money is something entirely different. You don’t really have a frame of reference here. New money is almost always brash and demanding, they like things done quickly and correctly the first time around. They’re usually not very interested in hearing what you have to say (even if it would save them a lot of trouble) and prefer it when the assistants women keep their mouths shut. Bruce has proven to be very different from these standards already and you’re not sure where to begin with placing new ones.

You’re about halfway through a second game, and while you’re not awful at chess, you get the impression that he’s easing up on you considerably.

You sit on the floor in front of a short coffee table, the game having no clear lead so far.

“I think this is stressing me,” you mumble, no actual weight behind your words.

“It’s just chess,” he says, not looking up from the board.

You watch him move his knight forward as you ask, “And that’s all we’re doing?”

“As it stands, yes,” he looks up at you, though you don’t return his gaze.

“Yeah,” you sigh, sliding your rook, “But later?”

“Later?”

“Well, you said...” you meet his eyes, “You said you wanted to sleep with me.”

He nods slowly, “I do. Is that alright?”

You consider it for a moment. You already knew that, if you really weren’t okay with it you wouldn’t have come here. And yeah, the idea makes you a little shaky, but in a good way.

“Yes,” you tell him, moving your queen forward two spaces.

“Are you sure?” he presses, moving to sit on the side of the table rather than behind it.

You do the same, sitting on your knees. “Yeah, I just..” you shift your weight, eyes wandering. “I’m not…overly experienced.”

He just smiles at that, like it’s endearing. Your words didn’t quite convey your meaning but your tone did. In any case, he understands the implication. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not going to throw you in the deep end.”

You nod, looking down again.

“You’re nervous,” he comments.

“No, I’m—I mean, maybe,” your voice is barely a murmur by the end of the sentence.

He’s quiet for a moment, observing the way you fiddle with your rings. “What if we get you something pretty to wear? Something that makes you feel pretty. Whatever you want.”

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, opening and pulling out a lump of cash without even looking. He holds the money out to you wordlessly and you can see from the bill on the outside that it’s at least a couple hundred dollars.

You shake your head instantly, “I can’t take that.”

He doesn’t put the money down but his eyes turn to begging. “Please. I just want you to feel good.”

“Bruce—”

He wavers a bit at that but it’s more of a falter than you’ve seen from him before so it’s easy to take notice of. “What?”

He shrugs barely, “I like when you say my name.”

Your eye contact holds for a moment and your resolve starts to shake almost instantly.

You exhale, “I’m not taking more than a hundred.”

“Two hundred.”

“Bruce.”

He smiles and picks out some of the cash and pockets it, handing you the rest. You don’t comment on the fact that it’s a hundred and fifty more than you’d agreed on.

You look down at the money in your hand like it’s a foreign object, shaking your head. “I don’t even know what to get.”

His thumbs start to rub reassuring circles by the bend of your knees, “Anything you want,” he tells you. “What do you like? Silk, lace, cotton, anything.”

You look up, tilting your head at him with a furrowed brow. “It doesn’t matter what I like, th—”

“It only matters what you like,” He says seriously, lowering himself to meet your gaze. “I’ll love it, no matter what you pick. Don’t worry about that.”

You lean forward a bit instinctually, “Okay.”

His eyes scan across your face in something that you can only recognize as awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.

“I want to kiss you again,” he says, voice even quieter.

Your eyes go to his mouth and you can only manage a nod, lips already parted.

He moves forward not a second later, kissing you with more fire than you’d gotten to see the other night. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing lightly as you hook one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

You hear the clatter of chess pieces falling over as he moves nearer to you, large frame leaning over you. You push up on your knees, meeting his lips up at his level. His hands caress around your hips as the kiss gets deeper.

You just start to fumble with the hem of his shirt when he takes your hands in his, pulling them away before breaking the kiss.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he smiles, nudging you back with little force.

You groan, “Why?”

He barks out a laugh at that, stroking your hips again. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on the floor.”

“Then let's go somewhere else,” you nod up towards the stairs.

He shakes his head, that soft smile still playing on his lips. “Not tonight.”

You sit back on your heels again, frowning.

He brushes your hair back, murmuring, “No. But for now, I'll kiss you ‘til you can’t think if that’s what you want.”

You really hope you didn’t perk up at that as much as you think you did.

part two

🌾🌽 i heard a rumor that if you like without reblogging your crops will be cursed but hey what do i know 🌾🌽

[jscrawls]

I just wanna know how widow reader show affection to bruce

Through bullying.

Lol I see them being one for 'annoying' physical affection (messing up Damian's hair as proof) time spent together (again Damian and also the times with Alfred as proof) and maybe acts of service? Even if they're scowling the whole time reader will memorize Bruce's preferred drink to a T and just... Silently hand it to him one day, no reason or explanation. readers like a cat bringing him a mouse while hissing at him 😭

The dark mug is set right beside his hand with a soft thump, nearly sloshing the steaming liquid onto his paperwork.

Confused, Bruce glances up at them from his office chair to find them already avoiding his eye as they steady the drink and then take a step back and cross their arms over their chest. Looking around his study as if they've never seen it before.

"... What's the occasion?" Bruce chuckles softly as he picks up the cup, hoping to keep the mood light and not awkward at all.

You look at the papers on his desk and roll your eyes as you pick them up to straighten them out. "You looked thirsty."

You haven't seen each other in hours by the time you'd walked in with the mug, but Bruce wisely doesn't comment on it.

"oh, well thank you..." He takes a sip and then pauses, you made him a caramel iced coffee with it milk, exactly how he makes it. Like exactly how he makes it in the mornings when he's going into work. It's like you somehow got the perfect caramel and milk ratio down. Did you practice this or something? Bruce again looks up to ask, but watching you straighten and sort the papers out and then set them down just to find something else to fiddle with is very.... Domestic.

For a moment he just watches you, warm mug in hand held near his face while his eyes follow your every movement around the room, frown on your face as you pick through his stuff.

In that moment Bruce realizes something about you, the standoffish nature and scornful looks are a shield to cover your nervousness in moments of ease. This is how you let yourself be comfortable around him.

You glance over with a raised brow when you catch him staring, he just drops his gaze to his mug and takes a long swig.

🔹🔹🔹

| M.list |

A/n: Bruce is one of the macchiato girlies now just because 🙂‍↔️ sorry it's short anon I'm sleepy writing hope you like it!!! 💜💜💜