#battinson!bruce wayne x reader

[bruisedboys]

how do u think battinson shows affection ?? 🤔 since he's literally a sopping wet cat of a man and not the best as socializing, one would think physical affection but is he too awkward for that even ? what do u think ??

battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

okay okay!! so I think for bruce wayne, acts of service is a big one in terms of showing affection!! mostly because he can just do them quietly, if you know what I mean? he doesn’t have to make a big show out of it, doesn’t even have to tell you he’s gonna do them. he’ll just iron your clothes for you without you having to ask, buy your favourite shampoo when he notices you’re running out, tie your shoes before you leave the house together, take your heels off for you after a date. just so many quiet, sweet acts of service that he doesn’t even really think about, he just does them because he loves you and he cares. he gets shy when you confront him about it, though. like, you’ll find he’s restocked all your skincare and hair products and you’ll hunt him down and be like, “bruce, honey, you didn’t have to,” pushing up on to your toes to kiss him. he gets all red around the ears and pretends he doesn’t know what you’re talking about <3

as for physical affection, I think yes he enjoys giving it and receiving it but it’s gotta be at the right time! given how protective he is, he’ll hold your hand in public or almost always have one of his big hands on your hip or the small of your back to guide you, but nothing much more than that. when you’re alone he likes it a lot more, especially if you’re the one giving it. he’s not often the one to initiate hugs or cuddles, it’s almost always you. but you don’t mind, because he never rejects you what you want. he’s a bit awkward about it, especially in the beginning, never knowing what to do with his hands (should he rub your back or stroke your hair or just keep them still??) but once he’s more used to it he’s a really good hugger. his broadness helps too <3

still, his favourite thing is when you initiate the cuddling because it makes him feel really loved and wanted! and then he’ll cuddle back. when you climb in his lap and tuck your chin over his shoulder, he’ll rub your back and you all but melt on top of him. you’ll be lying half on top of him in bed, stroking his cheek lovingly, and he’ll take your hand in his and press his mouth to your fingertips. when you’re massaging his shoulders after a long night, or pushing his hair from his forehead when it’s in his eyes, he’ll give your hip a squeeze as a thank you. it’s almost like, your affection makes him brave enough to reciprocate it. and it honestly means a lot, coming from him. your awkward grumpy touch-starved boy <3

[thewritermj]

cameras flashes, that's how we crashed

battinson!bruce wayne X reader

part 1

summary: on a press conference, bruce finds a journalist who's up to his standards

warnings: usual gotham violence, quick discrimination of a serial killer, not actually smut in this, but in the future so NSFW MDNI

a/n: forgive any grammatical mistakes, english is not my first language!!! Bruce lives in the manor instead of the Wayne Towers cuz I like the manor vibe more, also I kinda picture Jim Gordon from the Gotham Tv show, cuz I love that version but it doesn't really matters lol. (nothing said above is useful for this reading but I just thought you should know) also, this takes place one year after the movie

Bruce sat quietly on the car, the ride was awfully short. He wished he had more time to mentally prepare to his first press conference. He was a recluse for most part of his life, but after the scandal about The Gotham Renewal Program, people deserved to know the truth. And the idea of continuing his family legacy of charity and philanthropy wasn’t all bad and kept Alfred out of his nerves for a while.

And even tough Bruce Wayne could crack a fake smile to the cameras, throw charity galas and events, the true help came at night. The only possible salivation Gotham could have, the real way he could help the city was as Vengeance. The Batman. He didn’t think of himself as a hero, or a vigilante, more of a necessary evil; all the violence and anger, the rage and the darkness of his work, his project; people would be outraged if they found out they were the same man.

“We’re here, Mr. Wayne” The driver announced.

Alfred, who as sitting across from Bruce on the limo closed the papers he was reading and smiles softly.

“Ready, master Bruce?”

Bruce sighs.

“Not really”

The car parked inside the underground garage of the Wayne Enterprises, Bruce and Alfred made their way to the elevator, not a word was said.

Bruce stole a glance at his reflection on the mirror. A black suit Alfred picked for him, a W embroidery on its lapel, his hair was short now, shorter than he liked, all slicked back by hair gel, but nothing could hide the dark circles under his eyes or the lack of sun colour on his skin. Sometimes, just sometimes, Bruce wishes he didn’t have to wear normal clothes, to comb his hair, ties his bottoms; he wishes he could live inside the Batsuit. He felt like the suit was his own skin, her armour, him and Batman were on, there was no Bruce Wayne without Vengeance, they were bonded forever and could never be separated from each other. He wish they could, he wish he could be Batman alone; no press conferences, no reports, paparazzi, no “Bruce Wayne crowned prince of Gotham.”

The elevator stops and the door open. Alfred goes our first and greet some people outside, telling them where to go.

“You have 10 minutes, Bruce.” He warns, “I’ll get them stared and you wait here till I call you”

Bruce nods.

He sits down on a leather couch and waits, starring at the glass doors. All the reports and journalists waiting for him, men and women, from Gotham and other places of the world.

He’s nervous. Not nervous like he is before a fight, nervous he will be put on a corner, that he’ll be catch on a lie, nervous someone knows. It’s like someone in the next room it’s just waiting for him to appears, to stand up from their chair and ask ‘Are you the Batman?’

“Ladies and gentleman, Bruce Wayne” Alfred announces from the stage and glances at him.

Bruce works on his better smile he can put on and enters the stage; he’s received with thunderous applauses and blinding cameras flashes. He waves and sit on a chair, in a wooden desk in front of him is a glass of water and a microphone.

“Let’s get, started then” Alfred said, pointing to a woman in a grey dress standing with a microphone in her hand.

“Mr. Wayne, why did you decided to throw a press conference after years of reclusiveness?”

Bruce leans into her direction a bit.

“Well, I think all the events of the past year made me realize how much the Wayne Foundation means to Gotham and I’ve been a little reckless with that matter”

It was a good answer, he thought.

The following questions were easy too, “Mr. Wayne, how do you plan on taking care of the raised money? To prevent anything to happen again”, “What’s the difference between the Wayne Foundation and the Gotham Renewal Program?”, “What projects do you have in mind?”, and of course, some shallow questions, “What brand is your suit?”, “What car do you drive?”, question he almost laughed at. Did people actually wanted to know that?

Bruce was thinking how the conference was going well, easy, almost, not as he had pictured it before. Until…

“Mr. Wayne, what do you think about The Batman?”

He flinched for half a second, he opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Another woman asked something he didn’t quite hear with all that was going on inside his head, but the word Batman was also there. And then another, and another…

“Mr. Wayne, what do you think about The Batman?”

The room turned into a complete circus. Grown adults talking over each other, fighting for a turn on the microphone.

You rolled your eyes. This happens every time, someone thinks about the name Batman and suddenly everyone has something to say. What does it matter Bruce Wayne’s thought of the Batman? There were so much important questions to be asked, so much more to discover about that man’s life and projects than a simple opinion.

You were begging to regret the moment you accepted the offer to come to this conference. You weren’t a regular journalist, you didn’t know how to write an article about the weather, fashion trends, social events, you wrote about thing most journalist didn’t want to, thing that most people were scare to read. People scared of the truth. You weren’t. You would dig and dig until the raw verity came to surface, it didn’t matter where or who you had to dig.

The man who had introduced Mr. Wayne appeared again and announced the press conference. No fucking way, no without the answers you wanted, you didn’t take this job to watch other people ruin it.

Slowly, you got up from your sit and walked towards the person who as holding the microphone and gently pull it away from his hands.

“Mr. Wayne…” but the voices around you were too loud.

You gave the head of the mic a flick, the loud keen sound made the room come silent.

“Sorry.” You apologized. “Mr. Wayne, why did you felt the urge to re-open the school project at the marginalized neighbourhoods of Gotham after your father failed attempted?”   

The men was halfway leaving, but he turned around reluctant, staring right at you. Those piercing blue eyes roaming your face.

“Well, I believe the project needs a second chance. Children and teenagers should be given a chance to have a good education, it helps getting them out of the streets.” He answered, without the microphone his voice was low, but the silence of the room let you hear him loud and clear. “Who do you write for?”

“The Gotham Gazette” You answered proudly.

Mr. Wayne whispered something to the other man and sat back at the chair.

“Do you have any more questions, Miss…?”

You smile politely and told him your name.

“Would you say that the Wayne Foundation has an impact outside of Gotham?”

A ghost of a smile appeared on the man’s lips. You shook the urge to smile back at him.

You could tell he was a bit nervous, but he had answered the questions with manners and the right words, maybe he didn’t notice, but he’s quite good at it.

“Yes. I think the work we do on the Foundation inspires people to do the same. If it works out, we can show the world that if there was hope for Gotham there’s hope for them too”

“Do you think there’s hope for Gotham?” You asked, out of spite, because you didn’t write it down before the press.

His lips contracted to a thin line and he thought of it for a few seconds before answering:

“Yes. As long as people like me and you care about what happens here, there’s still hope for the city”

You smiles.

“People like me?”

“You seem to know a lot about the charity work, and you care enough to show it to the world”

Your smile grew bigger and you felt a hint of warm rushing through your cheeks.

Mr. Wayne answered a few more of your questions before the press conference was over.

You were, oh, so proud of yourself. The information you gathered was perfect for what you had in mind and for sure, you could make it a good article. An admiring of the Wayne legacy, that’s what you called yourself. It has always called out to you what that wealth family did; they had no obligation to do it, to donate not just money, but time and resources to help those who couldn’t have what they did, to make Gotham something to be proud of. It’s a shame they never lived long enough to cure it, to heal it. However, you hoped that, maybe, Bruce did. At least he sound determined to.  

You gathered your things and your purse, but as you made your way to the elevator, a woman dresses on formal clothes approached you with a clean, sharp smile that made her look like a dental paste commercial.

“Excuse me, miss. Would you mind, following me?”

You frowned.

“Ahn…What for?”

“Mr. Wayne wishes to speak to you” She explained and her smile somehow grew wider.

Standing there for a few seconds, all you could do was nod as you followed her through a long corridor. What was happening right now? He wants to speak to you? Bruce Wayne wishes to speak to a journalist in private? And more important, to you.

She opened a door to a breath-taking office.

Right in front of you was a full wall window, a panoramic view of Gotham in all its “glory”, skyscrapers, apartment buildings, the clock tower, the bridge of the river, the field behind the road, you could see everything from up there. There was a wooden desk in front of the window, quite empty, and a chair that looked more comforting than any other you had ever sat.

When the woman closed the door behind you, your attention changed to the man standing on your left. Bruce Wayne was staring at you dead in the eyes with a facial expression of someone who just saw a ghost.

This guy seriously need some sunbathing. You shook that thought out of your head.

“Mr. Wayne. You wanted to speak to me?”

“Yes” His raspy voice responded. “Sit, please”

You took a seat on one of the chairs in front of the chair and he sat opposite of you, behind the desk, diving completely into the velvet chair. He crosses his fingers and stares at you again. It made you a little uncomfortable, he did that a lot, like a hunter watching its prey.

“So…”

“I’ve searched your work. You’re really good.”

“Thank you, sir”

“You won a Pulitzer, am I right?”

“Yes, a few years ago”

When did he get the time to read all this information? It’s not like you’re super famous, even the Pulitzer wasn’t a very known prize if you didn’t know the industry.

“For a book about a serial killer in Detroit” He said, a voice that verged into an interrogation tone. “The Divine Move?”

You blinked a few times.

“I…Yes. Nathan Walters.”

He lifted his eyebrows just an inch, telling you to continue the story.

You cleared your throat.

“He uh, he used to be the altar boy of the neighbourhood church and he chose his victims based on the sins he supposed they’ve committed.” You’ve shorten it, you couldn’t understand why a billionaire was asking you about the modus operandi of a criminal who was thousands of miles away.  “Why are you asking me this, if I may ask, Mr. Wayne?”

“You’re an investigative journalist. Why are you attending press conferences of a random billionaire?”

You supressed a laugh. Random.

“I grew up here, sir. I’ve always admired your family work, I took the opportunity when it was offered to me.”

“You seem to know a lot about my family history.”

“Like I said, I’m just an admiring. Although, I once thought of writing a book about the Wayne Legacy. Your legacy, sir.”

“Your legacy, sir”.

Bruce looked down at his cufflinks, the W prominent on a silvery material.

His legacy.

He once thought the Wayne Foundation was his legacy. But now he knew, his true legacy came in a bat shaped suit and sleepless nights; it came on purple coloured bruises and blood stained clothes.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Well…it’s very hard to write about something when you only get superficial information.”

You were nervous, he could tell. You kept staring at the view behind him, or at your shoes, tanking a little too long to answer his questions. He wondered how could a journalist gets nervous, almost shy.

He gave you a puzzled look, not using any words to express his question. But you understood it.

“Using material that was wrote by someone else. All the records and stories about your parents have already been wrote by someone else before me, so I couldn’t say it was my work, could I?”

He hummed.

Bruce took a sigh. Maybe. Maybe this was a good idea, it could keep him in a good status with the press, plus, he’d be able to hide even further down his secret identity, having a journalist with him every day? No one would suspect his the Batman.

“There are stories and details that haven’t been told.”

You bit your lower lip.

He stared at you.

“What are you implying, sir?”

“If I tell you the stories, would you write it?”

“If I tell you the stories, would you write it?”

You almost passed out.

Would you?

Who could say they had a proposal like that? Dig into the secrets of the Wayne family?

“Yes”.

___________________

a/n2: aaaah this is actually so boring I'm so sorry, also I think I made bruce a little more talkative than I would've but anyways I may change it yet.

a special thank you to @preciouslandmermaid for inspiring me to finally write this!! <3

[streetlamp-amber]

never ending night

bruce wayne x femwife!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[alixandra-multifandom-version]

Writing fanfiction isn't enough anymore I need that character to kiss me breathless

[fear-is-truth]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[blondwhxrewrites]

Bruce Wayne x reader

Summary: Your relationship with Bruce Wayne is complicated...

TW: None

It was an unspoken fact that you were the only one to get Bruce Wayne. The man was a mystery, a trauma-wrapped mystery that nobody could read. Yet, you could take one good look at him and immediately know what he was thinking about. You, the only person who could make the Batman tremble in fear because he hadn't eaten in a day and was acting too broody and it was 'ruining' your mood. 'Three years of being a masked vigilante, and yet he still can't take care of himself—scary my ass' you'd tell Alfred, to which he instantly agreed.

Bruce Wayne did not enjoy touch; he didn't mind when it came to Alfred, but besides that, his body was off-limits to everyone—not you though. He'd gladly come back to the tower after a long night, get his suit off, and immediately collapse into you even though he's sweaty and disgusting.

He had once been forced by you and Alfred to appear at a charity fundraiser, and when a man came up to flirt with you, Bruce had shot him down, telling him you were taken. You could've sworn he spent the rest of the night glaring at the man. A week later you're watching the news only to see the same man had been exposed for having relations with a trafficking ring.

The Batman didn't kill, but when you had gotten robbed one night, all hell had broken loose. The man that had robbed you barely made it out alive, and you had been put on a strict lockdown in the tower for a week. From then on, whenever you go out during the night, you can always look up and see the faintest outline of someone on top the rooftops.

You're the only one that can touch the suit—even Alfred isn't allowed. Yet, you can be found sewing it up every few weeks and adding things to help with his nightly escapades. You had even put the mask on one night, and it's one of the only times Alfred had seen Bruce laugh so much since his parents had died.

You are the only one that gets to see the man behind everything, not Bruce Wayne the billionaire or the Batman, just him, Bruce.

The funniest part of it all is that you two aren't even dating.

No, apparently it was strictly a 'platonic' relationship.

It's bullshit, you two are both in love but are in hardcore denial about it because you both have problems

[percabething]

when the fic has an aesthetically pleasing layout but the writing is… questionable

[meiluu]

Bats

Here's some thoughts about Bruce Wayne, my husband btw

cw: Major fluff

Just imagine being the wife of Bruce Wayne. Not the playboy, or the billionaire, not the philanthropist, but Bruce Wayne. A man who had to grow up at the young age of eight, and later on becoming a young man who spent his time traveling the world. Learning all he could, fighting, languages, anything. A man who sacrifices everything for the ones he loves, hoping that he can protect them from the world that seems hellbent on taking away all the people he holds dear.

Bruce is a man of few words, but each word that leaves those beautiful lips of his has a purpose. Those quiet moments when its just the two of you, cuddled in one of the plush couches in the Wayne manor library. The moonlight flittering in from the tall windows, the crackling of the lit fireplace is the only other noise that accompanies your whispered words of love. Wrapped in his protective embrace, a body that spends nearly every night defending and protecting the innocents of Gotham is here hugging you and gently massaging your back.

You bring a level of solace that Bruce didn't think he would ever have. Given how he accepted the fact that being Batman meant that he could never really have that. Then you came in. It wasn't some massive firework show or falling from the sky. You just... walked in like you were meant to be here all along. The patience, understanding and unwavering love you showed him time and time again had Bruce wondering where you had been all this time. You were so...You.

Bruce is the husband and lover who lets you kiss his countless amount of scars that litter his body that has been sculpted to fight and endure anything that comes its way. A body that held strength in every fiber of muscle and yet he turns to putty within your loving hands. Mind, body and soul, wholly yours.

Bruce had no idea of what he was missing when you weren't in his life and now that he has you, there is nothing on this planet or universe that would ever take you from him.

Bruce is someone who will die for You, and any one of the people he loves.

[scarlet2007]

⊹ ₊˚꒷꒦︶⊹ Late night talks ₊︶꒷꒦︶

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Pairing: Batman x reader / Bruce Wayne x reader.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Summary: After accidentally mistaking Batman as a criminal and spraying him with pepper spray, you both have seemed to form a friendship.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Warnings: Pepper spray, mention of Gotham being dangerous.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Word count: 1.5k

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

[ Masterlist ]

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Bruce has no idea how he got himself into this situation. Or rather... This habit.

It all started on that faithful night.

Walking alone at night in Gotham was like an one way ticket to heaven. A death wish, as some may say.

You sighed, looking around anxiously as you tried to walk as fast as you could. Every flicker of the night light, every random sound was making you jump in terror. You were half convinced that this was going to be your last day on earth.

You were just about to walk past an alley when you saw a shadowy figure stand menacingly at the entrance. The lights were flickering as the lamp above seemed to be surviving off of the happiness of the citizens of Gotham. Obviously, there wasn't much life left in it.

Red alarms started to go off in your head as the figure slowly started to move towards you. The heavy sound of its boot hitting the ground, the sound of your quickened heartbeat, the sound of the pained hissed that left the shadowy figure- Wait... Pained hiss?

It was only then you realised that you had sprayed the shadowy figure, Batman, with the pepper spray you were clutching while walking.

You gasped, staring at Batman in shock. He was hissing at the sudden attack, one of his eye half opened as he stared directly at you.

'I am so dead.'

Your eyes were wide before you shakingly reached into your purse, pulling out a small water bottle as you handed it to him, "I am so sorry! I thought you were some... Some criminal! Oh my- Splash this in your eyes! I am so sorry!" Half of the words sounded like nonsense due to how fast you were speaking.

He reluctaningly grabbed the water, splashing some water into his eyes as the affect of the spray started to subdue.

For a minute or two, nobody said anything as you both just stared at each other.

"What are you doing outside at this hour?"

"I am so sorry!"

Both of you decided to speak at the same time, which made none of you understand what the other person said.

"Come again?"

"I didn't hear-"

And it happened again.

"Speak."

"I am sorry-"

And again.

Finally, Batman seemed to have enough of it as he just stared at you broodingly, making you shut your mouth from fear.

"Why are you out at such an hour?"

You paused at his question, looking at him sheepishly, "Uh... Nightshift..."

Your answer made him raise an eyebrow which you didn't see because of his mask, "You shouldn't walk alone in the streets of Gotham with only a pepper spray as a weapon."

You nodded, looking at the ground as you suddenly felt like a child getting scolded by your parent.

Batman sighed as he stared at your figure, he can't just let you walk around at such an hour. Especially when it looked like you had the survival skills of a limbless cockroach.

"I will walk you home. Lead the way."

And that's how everything started.

"You haven't been paying attention to what I have been yapping about, have you?" You deadpanned, staring at him as he spaced out.

This made Batman blink, coming out of his chain of thoughts as he stared at the bowl of cereal you passed to him.

"Eat."

He blinked again, glancing at you in slight confusion before he started to eat.

He doesn't remember how this became a... Thing. It started out as occasionally walking you home from your nightshifts, then it shifted to him being injured after a rather brutal fight with a criminal near your apartment complex which made you usher him to your house for some patching up and now it has become a habit of Batman to swing by your window every once in a while, whenever he knew you would be awake or knew you had a day off.

You have come out of your shell fully, and now he knows you as the sassy and playful girl he once saved instead of the scared and timided girl.

"Eat up! You look like you have been starving since the dark ages, Mr. Dark knight." He let out an amused grunt at your words, rolling his eyes as he ate the cereal.

It was a comical scene, having him sit in your kitchen in his Batsuit while you lectured him about his poor eating habits in your pastel night gown.

You were an amusing person, a dramatic display of playfulness and sarcasm was always expected from you. Batman has seemed to grow fond of you and your shared time spent together over the past few months as he found himself looking forward to these meet-ups.

He has heard it all, from how much you dislike your job to how much you loved visiting animal sanctuaries to how you once crashed your friend's bicycle into different objects all under 15 minutes.

All these little stories would make him smile slightly while he worked in his Batcave. Alfred has heard all about you as well, the butler seemed to have grown fond of you as well despite never meeting you.

He glanced at you, watching you move around the kitchen as you washed the dishes. A thought passed through his mind.

He could help you.

Imagining him, Batman, helping you wash the dishes in his Batsuit. That would certainly be something you would die laughing at.

He shook his head slightly at the thought, focusing on eating the cereal you had given him.

"So, when are you going to leave your shitty job?" That made you look at him, slightly taken aback by his sudden question.

"Oh... Um... When I find a job that pays the same or more...?"

There it was again. The same answer you always give him. At first, he used to get irritated by your answer but now he understands your point. He knows the financial struggle you have gone through as a child, which has made you very anxious about having no job. All his attempts to help you fell on deaf ears as you firmly stated that you do not want money from your struggling vigilante friend.

He still has no idea why you think he is a struggling vigilante.

Does he look broke to you?

He sighed, glancing at the clock as he saw what time it was. The sun was about to rise.

"Do you have a day-off tomorrow or another night shift?"

You looked up from the dishes, glancing at him, "I have a day-off."

He nodded, walking up the sink to wash his bowl as you stepped aside to make space for him.

This is starting to feel oddly domestic.

"You should head to bed then." This earned a giggle from you as you looked at him with an amused expression.

"Aww, are you worried about my health?" You cooed jokingly as you leaned against the counter.

"You work at odd hours. From 8 pm till 3:45 am, it has to be one of the most ridiculous work hours I have ever heard of." He mumbled, scrubbing the bowl as he pretended to be annoyed at your playful behaviour.

You hummed, nodding your head in agreement before a small yawn escaped you, making Batman give you a 'I told you so' look behind his mask.

"See? You should head to bed." He grumbled, drying the bowl before putting it in its place.

"Alright, alright, I'll head to bed. Just make sure that whenever you leave, you close the window." He nodded as he watched you walked towards your bedroom, stretching as you glanced back at him.

He still has no idea how this has become something so normal to both of you that you just let him stay in your house while you sleep and he knows exactly where the bowl goes in the cupboard.

Bruce sighed as he flipped through the documents and files of the new Wayne enterprise project, his eyes narrowed as the sunlight from outside was starting to bother him. He could almost feel a headache coming in.

It has been weeks since he last saw you, he has been busy with his duties as a vigilante and the owner of the Wayne enterprise to the point he could barely find the time to visit you. Thankfully, you have left your old job for good so he knows that you are at least not walking around the dangerous streets of Gotham at night.

But he still can't help but feel worried about your financial state, to the point that he has voiced it out to Alfred a few times.

He sighed again, glancing at the door as he heard a knock.

"Come in!"

His eyes widened as he stared as you walked in, his new secretary.

Suddenly, everything makes sense. Alfred suddenly pestering him to appoint a new secretary, Alfred going out of his way to personal find him a new secretary. Everything is starting to make sense.

'That cunning old man...'

[dollfacefantasy]

i feel like (2022) batman would want you to ride his face/let him eat the coochie whenever he had free time. idk he gives likes to please vibes to me. Also luv your work!!!!!

um i love YOU for sending me this ask.

bruce is absolutely a fucking munch because 1. he's obsessed with you and 2. it allows him to communicate his love for you without having to say anything.

shocking to absolutely no one, he's not that great with words. his love for you burns so intensely in his head that any coherent thoughts of adoration get all tangled up before they can leave his lips. and while you find his quiet nature endearing, it always embarrasses him.

so instead, he's found himself developing a habit around you. whenever the two of you are alone, whether it's when he's come home from patrol or during some rare moments where you're both doing nothing, he slides down to settle between your thighs.

it doesn't matter if you're reading a book or on your phone or watching tv. none of that stops him from getting to work on you. he curls his hands around the soft flesh of your legs and nuzzles against the thin cloth of your panties.

most of the time you'll let out a little giggle, but it doesn't make him shy like it does if he's trying to talk to you. instead, it sends all his blood down to his cock. the thick length stiffens up against the mattress even though he's not concerned with getting any attention it.

he takes his time when he's down there. he's in no rush to leave his favorite place in this world. once he's got your panties out of the way, he starts small with little kitten licks and kisses to your clit. as time goes on though, he gets more into it, more dedicated. in a matter of minutes, his eyes are shut and he's moaning against your slick folds, fully making out with your pussy. he laps at it like he's never tasted anything better. he moans without shame while sucking on your bundle of nerves. he devours you like he hasn't done this four other times this week.

he doesn't stop until tears of overstimulation brim your cute little eyes. only then does he pull away and start to crawl back up to be beside you. he then cradles you to his chest and rubs your back, soothing you down from the highs of repeated release. you're all spacey and clingy, so he doesn't have to worry about conversation either.

in fact, when you're all blissed out like this, he finds it pretty easy to whisper out the words i love you.

[bia-wayne-west]

Milk with cookies and bedtime stories [Batmom x Damian Wayne]

Synopsis: It was just a few months ago that Damian was included in the Wayne family. He still didn’t like you, but you tried so hard to make him appreciate you. During a patrol, Damian got hurt and after Alfred took care of the little boy’s wounds, you surprised him with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk.

Characters: Damian Wayne and Reader [YOU]

A/N: I wrote this quickly. Hope you like. In this imagine, Batmom has been married to Bruce since he adopted Dick.

I want to apologize if there are any writing errors. I'm a Brazilian girl and I don't speak fluent English, so I may make some writing mistakes. Feel free to correct me.

I hope you read, like and feel how cute Damian is.

Requests are open

MASTERLIST

You were sitting on the kitchen stool, reading a fashion magazine while you waited for your husband to return from patrol.

Bruce forbade you to stay in the Batcave, as he was afraid that someone would break in and find you, alone and unprotected.

As soon as you felt the ground shake, it meant that the Batcave had opened and that Batman had arrived with his Robin, Red Robin, Red Hood and Nightwing.

You ran to the clock that gave access to the secret entrance to Batcave. The elevator quickly took you to where your children and husband were.

“Hey, my love. You got back before 5am!” You said, running up to Bruce Wayne. He still wore black clothes and was without a mask. Your husband didn’t respond. He was serious and had a worried expression on his face.

“A man dropped Damian from a three-story building .” Bruce said looking at the boy who was sitting next to Alfred.

You finally noticed Damian, whose face was bruised and his leg was bandaged. You walked over to the boy and knelt in front of him.

“I’m fine, Y/N. I fell on top of a car and didn’t break any bones.”

“Damian, darling, are you hurt?” You asked, looking into Bruce’s son’s green eyes.

You smiled, in a motherly way. Damian didn’t consider you a mother, unlike the other three boys who called you ‘mother’ and ‘mommy’ all the time. Your husband’s son only considered you as a stepmother, but that didn’t stop you from taking care of him as if he were your son.

“I’m going to run you a hot bubble bath. After Alfred takes care of you, I think you’ll want to relax in the warm water.”

“Thank you, Y/N, but I’m not your baby.” He said rolling his eyes and turning his face to look at Alfred.

“Damian!” Bruce warned his son. But you smiled at your husband, showing that everything was okay. You left the Batcave, heading back to the mansion to prepare Dami’s bath.

(…)

Damian was already in his room. You were heading to the boy's room, with a tray in your hand.

The clock said 2:32 am, but you were sure the boy hadn't slept yet. The Waynes used to sleep only when the sun came up.

Yout left hand knocked lightly on the wooden door with the boy's initials engraved on it. Ypur ears picked up a “you can come in”, authorizing you to enter Damian’s room.

“I came to see if you were okay, Dami.” You said, entering and closing the door behind your body. Your arms came off the tray on the bed, seeing that the boy was sitting on the mattress. “I brought milk and cookies, this will definitely make you feel better.”

“Why do you do these things, Y/N?” He asked, with a questioning look.

“I didn't understand. Don't you like what I do for you?”

“At first I thought you had a plan to win me over and then you would hate me for being Bruce's biological son.” He said, seeing you take a cookie and offer it to him.

“I would never do that. I love you, Dami, even if you don't like me. These things I do for you are normal motherly actions.”

“My mother didn’t do any of that. She only got cookies when she did something good.” He said, his eyes shining like he was going to cry.

“Oh baby. I know you don't consider me your mother and I don't want to force you into anything, but I want you to know that these things I do are because I love you.” You explained, smiling widely at him and drinking some milk. “Do you know what my mother did for me when I was hurt?”

“No.” He said, while devouring several cookies. “She also gave you cookies and milk?”

“Yes, and she also told me a bedtime story.” You argued, running your hand through the boy's hair. “I'll tell you a story.”

“I’m not four years old, Y/N” He murmured.

“Damian, you’re not old enough to hear a good story before bed.”

“OK. Just don't tell stories about princesses or ponies.”

“Clear. I'm going to tell the story of a boy called Dami. He was so brave and beautiful, he was a strong and fearless boy.” His lips formed a smile as he said the words. Damian's eyes were bright and sweet. “One day, he went to the forest to play with the birds and found a portal to a magical world.”

“Like Narnia?: He asked, completely interested in your story.

“Yes, but without the closet. The magical portal led to a kingdom full of witches, fairies, vampires and any magical creature you can imagine.”

“Even elves?” He questioned you again. Now Damian was lying in bed and you covered him with the blanket.

“Of course, elves can't be missed.” You said. Your heart filled with love and you almost cried when you saw the image of the boy who hated you six months ago totally interested in a bedtime story. “In that kingdom there was a crystal that served as oxygen for all beings there, but a terrible villain broke this crystal and stole its essence, leaving the world without magic.” Damian still had complete fun with your narration. “Then, the queen called Martha went and asked the brave Dami to hunt down the villain and recover the essence of the crystal.”

“And he did this?”

“Yes! Dami took a sword and shield and went out to the magical kingdom in search of the villain. He went to an ancient village in the kingdom called Gothym and met three knights named Grayson, Todd and Drake. They sent Dami to the mountains where he would find the villain.”

“And he found it?”

“He found it, but it was difficult. The villain was hiding in a ruined castle north of Gothym. Dami fought bravely with the villain and defeated him. Dami recovered the essentials of the crystal and in exchange, Queen Martha gave him a personal portal to return to the kingdom as often as he wanted. Dami was a brave hero and defeated the evil villain.” You told the story while running your hand affectionately through the boy's hair. “Did you like the story?”

“Yes, it was the best story anyone told me.”

“I'm glad you liked it, my love. If you want, I can tell you a story every night.”

“Todd would make fun of me if he knew.” He said, looking at you so intently that you knew he was embarrassed for having liked the story.

“I'm gonna tell you a secret. I told Dick, Jason and Tim stories for three years, but they didn't want to.”

“Did you tell Todd bedtime stories?” He asked loudly, as if it were some blasphemy.

“Of course, and he loved them all.”

“So I want to hear stories before bed.”

“I'll love telling you, along with a glass of milk and cookies. Good evening, Dami.” You said getting up from the bed. Your lips found the boy's forehead.

“Good night, mom.” He said, making you look surprised at him. “I can call you mom? Since Dick, Jason, and Tim call you Mom, I thought you might as well.”

“Of course, my dear. You can call me mother and I will call you my son.” Your arms wrapped around the body of the boy, your son. Love seemed to explode in your heart. “Good evening, my dear son.”

“Good nigh, mom.”

You gave Damian one last kiss on his forehead, before picking up the tray and taking it to the kitchen. After washing the dishes, you went to the master suite, the room shared between you and Bruce.

Your husband was lying on the king size bed, waiting for you. After showering and putting on your pajama, you laid down on the bed.

“Damian called me mom.” You said to Bruce, earning a smile from him.

“With bedtime stories, milk and cookies.”

“How did this happen?” He asked, setting aside the iPad he was using to hug you.

[devilfic]

you know what. I think battinson is such an enthusiastic kisser

both his kisses with selina were kind of this dreamy, almost out-of-body experience where selina had him under her spell and he was just sort of helplessly in love with her so he could do naught but follow her lead,,, but I like imagining what it'd be like if HE initiated kissing his partner

like there's the more confident bruce, a few more years into being batman bruce, where he leans in during a lull of good conversation and he's smiling and suave and controlled but like. bruce in year 2? bruce fresh off selina and realizing he could maybe make time for a relationship? realizing how much he missed being touched? somebody call animal control cause this bat is in heat

before he leans in, he watches you like you'll disappear. his eyes are wide open!! he doesn't want to miss a thing!!! I think he's more likely to grab for your waist instead of going for your face or something.... I think he bubbles with the desire to touch you so bad and he just wants to feel you against all of him, and I think he can't help being a manhandler,,, he needs to move you just so because like he cannot let you slip from his fingers when he's aching to kiss you so bad

he doesn't make a lot of noise when he kisses but he breathes Heavy. I think once he's kind of really winded that's when he starts whimpering really low in his throat... nothing too crazy... little grunts and whines but they're so quiet. if he's kissing you and gets disturbed tho I do think he will full on groan and groan LOUD and it's both funny and super attractive because his face screws up in this petulant little scowl like. can't you see he's busy

he 100% leans fully into it which is a lot because he's a BIG man. he's going to have to push you up against something every single time because he is chasing you every time you part for air, almost mindless and eyes half-lidded as he mouths at you. he's so into it that I can guarantee it's gotten you two kicked out of a gala or two when people inevitably find him devouring you in a dark corner or a hallway you both assumed to be empty

if you wear lipstick/gloss he is not wiping that shit off either oh my goooood. don't let me think about you leaving marks all over his face and him proudly walking out into a swarm of paparazzi just. cheeky

it's really hard to just give this man a quick, chaste kiss. everything has to last at least a minute with him. it's why he literally cannot kiss you when he's busy because it'll be a minute and then five and then he's behind on work (oh no..... so sad.... anyway) because he's got you laid on the nearest surface sucking bruises into your neck

bruce will kiss any part of you but I think he's just so obsessed with your lips that it's where he inevitably fixates each time. it is so so hard to kiss him anywhere else because he will be like wow nice. kiss from my lovely partner. not on my lips tho.... and when he turns around for a kiss on the lips you can't just refuse! he's got such kissable lips and oh this is a time loop that never ends isn't it

[manicpixievixen]

Having thoughts of girly/hyperfem/ or just in general bubbly personality reader with these super masculine guys

Like this is so logan (also battinson, Dean winchester, etc)

[streetlamp-amber]

can we just stay in bed? (18+)

bruce wayne x femwife!reader

word count: 2.8k | divider by @cafekitsune | requests are open!

CW: smut (MDNI), p in v sex, oral (fem receiving), soft sex NOTES: i usually don’t write soft smut like this so i don’t really know if i’m 100% satisfied with this or not but i still wanted to share, let me know your thoughts :)

The joyful singing of the birds in the forest surrounding Wayne Manor could be heard from miles away as the sun was rising over the treetops, marking the beginning of a new day in Gotham. A lone ray of sunshine made its way through the gap between the two curtains hung over the window of you and Bruce's bedroom, illuminating the darkness with a soft golden glow.

Today was Saturday, meaning you didn't have work waiting for you or school to drive Dick and Jason to. The only plan on the schedule this morning was to sleep in, even for Alfred.

But your husband had other plans.

Bruce woke up on his own, his body was now used to being up early to make sure the boys had completed all of their homework before dropping them off at school. He was laying on his back with your head nestled in the crook of his neck, your hot breath fanning over his skin at a gentle rhythm while your arm and leg were hooked around him, keeping your body flushed against his. A grateful, satisfied smile formed on Bruce’s lips as he hugged you closer to him and pressed a kiss on the top of your head. He loved waking up with you in his arms, it was his favourite part of the day – when all his worries about Gotham were still dormant in the back of his mind, when he could bask in the peacefulness of the morning with your steady breathing reminding him how lucky he was that you were so much of a hothead, you had him pull over on the side of the road to reprimand his reckless driving when he almost rear ended your car. He remembered that day like it was yesterday, because your anger and your indifference to his celebrity status had already caught his heart right then and there, the fact that you were breathtakingly beautiful was only a plus. Six years had passed since then and Bruce had tried his best to remain on your good side in that time, but it happened sometimes that you let out your anger on him – like when he let Dick patrol with him for the first time. He found that he was still as captivated and enamoured with you as he was when the two of you first met, you’re just so hot when you’re angry, he can’t help it.

Overcome with the love he held for you, Bruce started peppering soft, barely-there kisses on your cheek, your nose, your jaw and your neck, moving you to lay on your back as he did so for him to have better access to your skin. His gentle touches pulled you out of your slumber and you stretched out your limbs, your husband never relenting with his affections.

“Good morning, my love,” Bruce whispered in between kisses on your throat.

You giggled, the softness of his lips tickling you. “Good morning,” you replied, wrapping your arms around his neck while his held you tight under your back. You turned your head to glance at the digital clock on your bedside table, noticing the time displayed in red light. “Isn’t it too early to be awake on a Saturday morning?”

“What time is it?” Bruce asked as he comfortably laid on you, his face now resting in the crook of your neck.

“Ten past seven,” you answered, your hands finding their way to your husband’s hair. Your fingers threaded through his soft waves and you felt him hum in satisfaction against you.

“I’m not sleepy anymore,” he weakly argued, eyes closing as your scent comforted him.

“Bruce, I can literally feel your breathing slowing down like it does when you fall asleep,” you chuckled.

“Then we should do something to stay awake and enjoy these minutes of peace we have that are oh so rare,” Bruce suggested with an impish tone.

“Mhm,” you hummed in agreement, “we haven't made blueberry waffles in quite some time.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and stood up above you, trapping you under his body with his elbows resting on both sides of your head. “Can we just stay in bed?” He asked, his crooked grin on his lips as he leaned down, brushing the tip of your nose with his.

“And do what?” You feigned innocence, but your husband knew you too well – he had known you for more than six years after all, he liked to think he knew you more than he knew himself – and the mischievousness in your eyes didn't go past him.

“I have a few ideas in mind,” Bruce said before claiming your lips with his. You breathed a sigh of relief that he absorbed and he placed himself in between your legs.

He stood up after a minute for the both of you to get some air and teasingly tugged at the hem of your shirt (which really was one of his old Princeton shirts from his university days). “I think it's not fair I’m the only one who's bare chest,” he said, raising the shirt just above your bellybutton.

“I think you make a compelling argument, Mr. Wayne,” you playfully agreed then removed said shirt, throwing it on the floor.

Bruce didn’t waste any second, immediately peppering your chest with kisses the moment your skin was freed from your clothes. You relaxed into your pillow, enjoying the attention your husband was giving to every inch of your body. He took his time to savour your taste and you let him. There was no rushing this morning, only the two of you in your bubble of love where time and the outside world didn’t exist.

He nipped his teeth all over your chest, leaving soft bite marks in his trail, and sucked on your nipples, his hand massaging your boob his mouth wasn’t currently attached to.

“Bruce…” You mewled after he spent five minutes on each of your breasts, only now beginning his slow descent down your stomach. Ten minutes of working you up had you now very impatient and wanting for more.

“Patience, my love,” Bruce said against your skin, getting closer to where you needed him most. “We’re taking it slow this morning, we’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Mmm, I know of two certain boys who will be knocking at our door in less than an hour to see if you’re awake so you can watch the morning cartoons with them,” you argued, raising up your hips when he started leaving kisses on the inside of your right thigh.

“That won’t be a problem,” your husband reassured you before claiming your clit in his mouth, making you squeal in surprise. “Good thing I had the walls of our bedroom soundproofed,” he paused his sucking on your bundle of nerves to tease you with a grin on his shiny lips.

You glared at him, unamused, which made him chuckle at your cute face and he quickly kissed your thigh before going back to his previous task. He lapped the slick in between your folds like a man who had spent fourteen days in the desert and was drinking water for the first time. His tongue teased your entrance before diving in, grunting in pleasure when your hips bucked up closer to him, making his nose brush against your clit. Bruce could never get tired of you, of your taste, of the sounds you made because of him. It spurred him on and for the time being, his only purpose in life was to satisfy you.

He couldn’t even begin to explain the control you had over him, the way you guided him through this life like a lighthouse in a storm. He was putty in your hands, has been ever since the two of you met, and he knew very well how lost he would be without you. Yeah, he would be financially secured thanks to his family, but in every other aspect of his life, even as Batman, he wouldn’t be who he was today without you. And Bruce, who had never really been good at vocally expressing his feelings, would let you know how thankful he was to have you in his life the way he knew best: by pleasuring you to completion like no other person ever has before because no one has taken the time to learn every single reaction of your body like he had.

“Bruce…” you whined as your hand tugged at his hair. You needed more, you needed more than just his tongue inside of you so you pulled him up by the head, bringing him to your level, and attached your lips to his, tasting yourself on him, while your legs wound around his waist. You felt his hard cock brushing against your center through the fabric of his boxers and jolted at the slight pressure applied on your clitoris.

The two of you slowly and messily made out, Bruce’s right hand holding your cheek and his left one clutching onto your hip. Your hands had found their way to the waistband of his boxers, trying to pull them down to get what you wanted. Bruce helped you, his left hand leaving your hip to remove the only item of clothing still on, his mouth never detaching from yours as he did so.

Once fully nude, Bruce retracted from you, standing on his knees before dipping his fingers between your folds to gather some of your wetness and rub it over his dick. You watched him with anticipation, the sight before you something you could never get tired of. Your husband was straight out of a dream and, still to this day, you’d pinch yourself sometimes to make sure you were awake, that this was your life.

That somehow, Bruce Wayne fell in love with you.

But he was also so different from how he presented himself to the media, to the public, that sometimes you forgot you married the Bruce Wayne, heir to the powerful Wayne family, prince of Gotham. To you, he was just your silly husband who was incredibly hot and put everybody else before him.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Bruce brushed the tip of his cock against the lips of your pussy. “I hope I’m not too much of a bore, darling,” he said, a teasing undertone lacing his words.

“No, just admiring the view and how lucky I am that my husband is so damn hot,” you replied playfully though there were no lies to your answer.

“Clearly you haven’t looked at yourself in the mirror lately babe because I’m the lucky one,” Bruce told you, his eyes confidently holding yours to show how truthful he was. He lined himself with your entrance, his stare never leaving your face so that he could drink in your expressions when he sheathed himself to the hilt inside you.

The two of you groaned in pleasure and Bruce took a moment to bask in your warmth, his eyes roaming all over you.

“Especially when you look so goddamn gorgeous with my cock inside you,” he added onto his previous comment, making you roll your eyes at the machoness of his words.

“Shut up and start moving already,” you chuckled.

“As you wish, my darling,” he leaned down to kiss you again and started rolling his hips to a slow, steady pace.

You wrapped your legs around his waist again while your hands found their place at his nape, scratching his scalp and tugging his hair, making him moan in your mouth. Your tongues danced to the same rhythm as Bruce’s thrusts, the both of you drowning in the feeling of the other.

Sex with Bruce was usually more rapid, more frantic, more bruising, more fiery, and you loved it. You loved how he could make you forget about the gala happening right down the hallway and the handprints he’d unconsciously leave on your hips from his grip. But you also loved when sex with Bruce was languid with no hurry. When one made you forget everything, the other basked you in love and made you feel like you were in a dream.

Bruce’s mouth left yours to trail down your cheek, then your jaw, until it found its place in the crook of your neck. He deposited open mouthed kisses all over your skin, licking it and leaving small nips on it. He easily found the pulse point behind your ear and, knowing you could easily hide that spot, started sucking on it and doubled the pleasure building inside you.

It made your breath hitch and your nails dig in his back muscles, leaving small red crescents on his skin. You felt him smile against your skin, his pride always swelled up to the reactions he was able to pull out of you.

“Mph, you feel so good darling,” Bruce groaned in your ear and kissed it. “You always do.”

“And you make me feel so good baby,” you answered, squeezing your walls around him as you said so.

Bruce’s head appeared in your eyeline again, his famous grin on his lips as his eyes roamed over your face, full of love. “I love you,” he told you.

You were about to say ‘I love you’ back but he didn’t let you, claiming your mouth with his instead to drag you in another make out session. He changed the angle of his hips at the same time and the tip of his dick brushed your G-spot, making you mewl. Bruce’s left hand fell down to the back of your right thigh, gripping it tight as he held it a little higher. It allowed him to go about one more inch further, said spot now being hit with every thrust.

“Oh God, yes,” you freed your mouth from his as your head fell back, your eyes squeezing shut due to the pleasure gradually overtaking your senses.

“Look at me, darling,” Bruce asked you and you obeyed, struggling to keep your eyes open as the two of you held eye contact. “Are you close?”

He knew you were, he knew your body like the back of his hand, but he still asked you the question just to be sure.

You couldn’t answer him. Your mouth was in a permanent ‘o’ shape as breathy moans escaped your lips with every thrust and you were unable to focus for more than one second on how to speak. So you nodded your head yes.

Bruce’s hand that held your thigh let it go to instead dip between your legs, easily finding your clit and rubbing it in circles with just the right amount of pressure. He proudly watched as you unravelled beneath him, your orgasm hitting you with full force. As he helped you ride it out, he reached his own climax and fell over you, but still made sure to not put his entire weight on you, as the two of you caught your breath.

Your husband removed himself from inside you and rolled over to lay next to you on his side so he could face you. “I love you,” he said again, kissing your temple covered with a sheen of sweat.

You turned to face him, your hand reaching to hold his cheek as you replied, “I love you”. You kissed him on the lips, this time short and sweet, and Bruce laid on his back so you could snuggle up against him with your head on his chest.

“You know, we should wash up before the boys come knocking on our door,” you said after a few minutes of peace.

“Can we just stay in bed for another minute?” Bruce childishly whined, his fingers brushing up and down your bare bicep.

“You're such a big baby,” you teased him, chuckling.

“Well sorry I’m a little spent from our early morning activity,” he lightheartedly argued.

“Alright, I’ll make you a deal,” you said, rising on your elbows to look over him. “I’m going to the bathroom and I’ll bring back with me a wet cloth for you to wash yourself and then we can cuddle and maybe go back to sleep until Dick and Jason crash through the door to drag you downstairs and watch cartoons. Sounds like a deal?”

“Sounds like a really good deal to me,” Bruce answered, bringing you down to peck your lips before he rested his hands behind his head. “You should come down to the tower next time we’re looking to make a deal with another company.”

“Nah, I’m perfectly fine with leaving all that work to you,” you pecked his lips once again and stood up from the bed, not bothering to cover yourself up. “I’ll be right back,” you said behind your shoulder as you walked towards the bathroom connected to your room.

Bruce didn’t hear you, too preoccupied with staring at your ass to focus on anything else. God, I’m the luckiest man in all of Gotham, he thought to himself before you disappeared through the door frame.

[ellesthots]

punished - kinktober 2024

ONESHOT!

read on AO3 ❤️‍🔥

plot: after a disappointing night as Batman, Bruce wants you to make him suffer [not related to Fateful]

pairing: bruce wayne x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ ONLY, NSFW, smut, orgasm denial, breath play

words: 2.3k

a/n: hi lovelies!! a little treat for the month of October 🎃 based on the 2023 kinktober prompt list (day 14 - orgasm denial), since they didn’t release an official one this year <3 comments, reblogs, etc SO appreciated 💭

It was your favorite position to have him in, and an opportunity that didn’t come often.

Sometimes, after an especially frustrating night crimefighting—say, the muggers got away, the clues led nowhere, or Batman came too late—he’d arrive back home with that look in his eye. A frustrated, ruminating expression that crowded even the massive rooms at Wayne Manor. A demeanor that screamed ‘I need to be punished’.

It floored you the first time he said as much, a few months ago. When he’d trudged upstairs with his eye makeup still on, the black mess smeared up into his browbone and blotchy in the hollow of his undereyes. The fire in his gaze nearly had you running to the bedroom, chasing fantasies of him fucking you into oblivion, blowing off steam. The promise of his bruising touch was the only thing keeping you satisfied on his long nights away.

But that night was different. The closer he came, the more the fire melted into something gentler, more vulnerable. Still, his jaw was tight, twitching in the way exclusive to angry curses and frustrated sighs. His voice was low and hoarse in your ear, the prick of his stubble grazing the crook of your neck. He exhaled a single, quivering breath before speaking. “Punish me.”

You felt faint. Bruce rarely relinquished control in the bedroom, save times he could tell how desperate you were to be on top. Before he walked toward his room, he caught your eye, a careful gauge of your comfort. As shocking as it was to hear it from his mouth, the big bad Batman, you would’ve been lying if you said it didn’t make your pulse race. You nodded, and he disappeared into the dark hallway behind you.

Alone in the hallway, a dozen lewd thoughts circled you. Your limbs tingled with anticipation, overwhelmed by the sheer mass of options. You’d asked him to punish you before, so this was far from unknown territory… you closed your eyes and imagined which sensations he’d allowed you that you wanted to return.

Choking him would be especially pleasing, and… your mouth curled into a grin and you suppressed a laugh. Of course. He wouldn’t think it was anything until he was already in too deep, a shock to his system, leaving him reeling… the anxiety melted away to a selfish excitement, waiting for the pinch in his eyes, how his face might look, his body tense and wanting, so close yet so impossibly far… fuck.

Your feet were light across the cool manor floor. Alfred was nowhere to be seen, and you were grateful for it. Too many times you’d been concerned he might overhear, but tonight that didn’t seem to be the case. Bruce wanted to be punished, wanted to suffer a bit. It wouldn’t be a feat silently won.

The dynamic had already been switched, entering to him sat on the edge of the bed, his spandex long sleeve he wore on every patrol in a pile by his nightstand. You could see in his eyes that he didn’t know what to expect, which was invigorating. He looked almost meek.

As you approached him, you nearly second-guessed it. It would be punishing for you too, not seeing, hearing, feeling his climax. But holy shit was it exhilarating to be the one standing over him, watching as his eyes deepened their focus on yours, fingers moving to undo his button. Was this the power and excitement he felt each time with you, as you tugged down your satin nightgown, unclasped your lace bra?

Your eyes caught on the slightest tremble in his hands while pulling down the zipper. You put your hand over his, and he halted on contact. You pulled yourself closer and dragged your lips from his jaw to his collarbone. His body was worn, muscles tired. It must’ve been a rough night. Your free hand caressed his back, tracing gentle, reassuring circles between his shoulderblades. “Remember your safe word?”

Bruce was putty in your hands, nothing more than a breathy, needy whisper. “Yes.”

Having said the magic words, you placed your hand around his neck, pushing him flush on his back against the mattress. You watched his eyes flash as you tightened your grip, swallowing like his mouth had gone dry. You placed a hand to his sternum as you climbed on top, where you felt his pulse thunder beneath your palm. You slowly dragged your fingertips along his sweat-soaked skin toward the waistband of his boxers.

His breathing hitched, feeling the movement in his throat as you slipped one, then two fingers underneath the elastic. A heady, potent feeling of intoxication swept you, having him completely at your mercy. His face bloomed pink under the pressure of your hand, his eyes a steady pulse of blue, singularly focused as a man starved.

“Were you bad tonight?” Your voice was sweet like honey. He nodded as much as he could within your vice grip, and his lashes fluttered, as if ashamed to admit it. The way the moonlight illuminated the curve of his biceps, caressed the snags of violence across his skin, you felt dizzy. His voice held its own echo, like he’d been hollowed out. “Very.”

Oh how you longed to kiss those lips… “Mmm, can’t have that.” You pulled your hand out from his boxers, as if you had changed your mind about touching him. Your fingers traipsed along the sides of his torso, causing him to shudder. The sensation brought sparks to your fingertips. His eyes searched your face, his desire increasingly evident, desperate to be taken care of. Your fingers caught on the subtle slopes and valleys of his abdomen, skimming the raised scars on his chest, moving agonizingly slower until they reached your mouth.

Bruce’s pupils dilated as he watched you throat your fingers, spit strings falling down your chin as you pulled them away. He moaned as your slick fingers found the base of his cock. He was already hard. Very hard. You squeezed your fingers firmer round his throat with each stroke, drawing strangled moans out of him that only made you press harder, move faster. His head dug into the pillow in glorious agony, the tension in his throat heightening each slip of your hand. You felt every reverberation of his moans within your palm. Every inhale, every exhale. God, it was so fucking hot… you pressed your knees together on the bed, feeling your pussy start to throb.

“Fuck, mmph,” his hands moved up to grip the edge of his pillow, his knuckles going white. He was becoming lost in it, obvious by the shivering moans gasping out of him, the way his hips drove up to match the rhythm of your hand. He was wound up, messy. His hair splayed in dark clumps across his forehead, his eyes squeezing shut, brows furrowing. Seeing him like this, so enraptured in your touch, it could’ve overwhelmed you if you weren’t so stubborn.

But he kept moaning, and his chest kept heaving, and the slip of his dick in your hand was mind-numbingly torturous… when you knew he could be inside you, and the only thing standing between you and his thick, long… you pumped harder, biting the inside of your cheek, hyperfocusing on his mouth like it wasn’t the precise thing making it worse. You noticed your hips subtly moving in concert with his, wanting to lean closer and fucking feel him. Your eyes trailed to his fingers curling around the linen pillowcase, pinching the folds, metabolizing what his moans failed to, and it broke the last thread.

You slowed down, his eyes snapping open at the shift, chest heaving. His pupils were blown, and goddammit, you felt like you could burst. You bunched up your shirt to get it out of the way and straddled him, shoving your thong to the side. If he wasn’t getting release tonight, you’d find it. Sinking onto him was otherworldly, his dick achingly hard, your cunt already puffy and soaked like you’d been at this for hours, welcoming him readily. Your grip slipped on his neck as you rode him, your vision blurring between the wet, slapping sounds of him driving into you, and the groans mingling in the space between your mouths.

He married his hands to your hips to pull you down harder, and it took every ounce of self-control to refuse him. Usually you savored the grip of his fingers, he knew it made you weak, but you were teetering on the edge of a cliff. In a movement that read to your body as blasphemy, as sin, you slammed forward, shoving your hand back around his throat. His arms slacked at his sides as you chastised him. “Manners, baby… only me.”

Your body flattened against him and you left sloppy kisses along his jugular, bathing in the sensation of him hitting your g-spot over, and over… your hands pawed at his jaw, shrieking as you felt tension coil in your stomach, your heart quickening to a fever pitch. Small trails of black fell down his cheeks, the warmth of your colliding bodies running his eye paint.

You knew him well, well enough to know he was lost in it, and that he knew you were there, too. He’d long abandoned the proposition of punishment, relishing in the feeling of your hot, cushioned walls enveloping him, drowning in the symphony of your moans. You could tell he needed this, the way his hips chased yours, slamming into you with increasing abandon. You were almost there, but he was too… if you finished, he would. God, now you really wanted to punish him.

In a swift motion, you slunk between his legs, his dick throbbing against your thigh as it slid completely out of you. A whine cracked the edge of his moan. He propped up on his elbows, panting, watching as you moved both hands to his shaft. By this point his cock was aching, possibly the hardest it’d ever felt. Every time your fingers glided over his tip you’d catch some of his arousal, mingling it with your own with each push, pull.

You had to get this over with now, or you were going to cave. You whispered your lips along his shaft, his hips jerking involuntarily with every gentle swirl of your tongue along the rim. Sweat and adrenaline closed your lips around his head, your hands working the base.

“Baby,” he whimpered, his head falling back. His shoulders relaxed into the feeling, his elbows slipping against his sheets. His lashes were fluttering, his abs tightening, his mouth parting a little, more, a lot… your body became tight with need, borrowing some of the anguish you were sure he’d be feeling soon.

You removed it from your mouth with a subtle pop, savoring the taste of him as you licked your lips. “Look how much of a mess you are.”

His brows knit together as your hands wrung the length of him, his breathing becoming increasingly labored. He was so pretty like this, writhing underneath you. So responsive…

The moans you were pulling out of him almost made you feel bad for what you were about to do. Almost.

A high-pitched groan paired with the twitch of his dick signified the building of his climax. He had no fucking idea, but he’d asked for it. Your brow cocked and he nodded, the edges of his breaths ragged and frayed. “I’m so,”

“Close?”

He nodded again, his inhales shallow and stilted as you increased your fervor, pumping him straight to the edge. His gasps could’ve split the windows, pitchy whines expelling from his chest. “Yes, yes,”

“So close, hmm?” You slowed down just so, barely, imperceptible to someone as thrown as he was. “So fucking close,”

“Just like that, oh, fuck, fuck,” His movements drew erratic, his hips fucking himself into your hand, sweat pouring down his face. You bit back a giggle, watching his body begin to surrender, wishing you could bottle this moment in time. The instant you felt his body prep a shudder, you shot back, ceasing all contact.

He choked on a strangled moan, his eyes flashing wide in shock, his mouth flying open. On your knees at the foot of his bed, you watched his body stretch toward release, unable to grasp it. He slowly attempted to get his bearings, his body heaving with unspent pleasure. You blushed as you witnessed his cock throb in vain—right there, but not quite.

You smirked at him as you ran your hands up his calves, his body vibrating. He blinked hard, whiplash ravaging his system. Your voice was a low, teasing purr. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”

His exhausted eyes held the hint of a glare, his teeth gritting hard as he accepted the loss. His heart jammed against his ribs, screaming in protest. He fell back against the sweat-soaked pillow, bringing his hands up to rub his face, hiding the bitter heat flushing his cheeks. “Christ,”

You stood, the bed creaking softly beneath you. You twirled your shirt off and tossed it by the door of his bath, all but skipping over to it. “I’d help you clean yourself up, but…” When you looked back, his dick was softer, his breathing starting to regulate. His eyes flicked over to you, his breath deepening, as if overwhelmed by the sight of you.

He hauled a sigh from the depth of his lungs, agonizingly situating upright. He steadied his breathing for a few beats, stomach coiled tight, body heavy. Jesus fucking Christ. As wholly, entirely frustrated as he was, he was undeniably impressed; his tense, electrified body the ultimate testament, unable to block a boyish grin from revealing itself to you. “Stop celebrating.”

You hummed your way to his shower, choreographing the shape of your hands slammed against the fogged glass. “Careful what you wish for.”

[fear-is-truth]

# SUGAR DADDY! BRUCE WAYNE — hc

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tagging — @suumaer