#bruce wayne x reader

[rottenfyre]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ A 10/10 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

𐙚 Pairing: Batboys x Fem Reader

𐙚 Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne.

𐙚 Headcanon: General thought about their d!ck.

𐙚 Notes: Minors DNI. Yes I'm ashame of myself... And for people that says "but Damian is 14-16" we literally have at least 5-6 version of him as an adult, so yeah. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

𓈒   ⎯ Bruce Wayne

Let’s be real here—Bruce is packing. Not just in the Batmobile but in his pants too. You knew Gotham’s favorite billionaire had to be compensating for all the emotional repression somehow, right? Soft, he’s a solid 4.5 inches, but when he’s hard? This man is pushing 7.8 inches, and girthy enough that the first time you see it, your eyes might widen just a little (and he notices). Bruce is so well-kept it’s almost infuriating—clean-shaven, smooth, with a slight curve upwards that hits places you didn’t even know existed. The veins? Immaculate. He looks like something out of a sinful art gallery. And oh, he’s so smug about it. The type to whisper in your ear, “You’re taking me so well,” while his cock stretches you open in the most delicious way. His stamina is next level—he doesn’t cum quickly, but when he does? It’s thick, warm, and comes in heavy spurts. Not too salty either, with a clean taste (you’re welcome). He’s also quietly obsessed with how you react to him—it feeds his ego.

𓈒   ⎯ Dick Grayson

Alright, ladies, let’s talk about Dick. The first Robin, the golden boy—of course, he’s a damn gift in the bedroom too. Soft, he’s a respectable 4 inches, but when he’s fully hard that’s 7.5 inches, sleek and just slightly slimmer than Bruce’s (he jokes about being “aerodynamic”). Dick’s cock curves upward just right, a natural curve that always hits your G-spot perfectly, and his veins are prominent enough that you feel every ridge as he moves inside you. He’s smooth down there, neatly trimmed, and he has a little beauty mark just above his shaft (you discovered it while going down on him one day, and now you can’t stop kissing it). His tip is super sensitive—run your tongue along it, and he’s putty in your hands. And when Dick cums? It’s a lot. Like, a lot. He’s a messy boy—warm, thick, and he always gasps your name when he finishes, pressing his forehead to yours like it’s the most intimate thing in the world.

𓈒   ⎯ Jason Todd

Jason’s cock matches his vibe: thick, heavy, and absolutely commanding. Soft? This man is 5 inches, and when he’s hard? He’s a beast at 8.5 inches with a girth that’ll make you question if you can handle it (spoiler: you’ll love it). He’s got a slight downward curve, which hits your walls just right when he’s thrusting deep. And god, the veins. Jason’s dick looks like it was carved by a lustful Greek god—thick, prominent veins that press against every inch of you in the most obscene way. He’s not as neatly trimmed as Bruce or Dick—just enough to stay presentable, but it’s Jason, so you’d expect a bit of ruggedness. His tip is flushed and sensitive, and when you wrap your lips around him, he curses low and filthy under his breath. Jason cums hard—his orgasms are so intense that he growls through them, his whole body trembling as he empties himself inside you. His cum is hot, thick, and just slightly salty, like he’s been drinking too much coffee (which, let’s be real, he has).

𓈒   ⎯ Damian Wayne

Listen, Damian might be the youngest of the bunch, but don’t underestimate him. His cock is a masterpiece. Soft, he’s around 4.2 inches, and when he’s hard? A respectable 7 inches—not as long as Jason or Bruce, but he’s thicker than Dick. Damian is proud of what he’s got, too, the type to smirk and tease you about how flustered you get every time he pulls it out. His tip is a little darker than the rest of his shaft, and the veins are subtle but enough to feel every time he slides into you. He’s meticulous about grooming, of course—everything is perfectly trimmed, and he smells so damn good it drives you wild. When Damian cums, it’s deliberate and controlled—he’s not the type to lose himself completely, but that just makes it hotter. His release is warm, thick, and there’s always a smug smirk on his face when he watches you struggle to catch your breath afterward. He’s the type to kiss you deeply and whisper, “You can take more, can’t you?” because he loves pushing your limits.

ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏ��ᴇ: ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[yoitsjay]

batboys and brat taming reader who is their best friend(whom they treat like a sugar baby) 👀

The wording confused me a little bit but I think I got it-

I'll take care of you.

Summary: your a brat, a best friend, and a pampered little whore. What else could you want?

Warnings: alluding to smut but none written, spoiling you rotten

Bruce Wayne:

You had known ol’ Brucie a long time. You liked to think of your friendship with him as quite stereotypical. A rich kid who befriends the poor, lowlife kid of a criminal who somehow managed to go to Gotham Academy.

Ever since you were children Bruce always took care of you, he supported you in whatever career path you chose, and when things didn't work out, you could always fall back on him and he would deal with it all. He'd offer multiple times for you to come live at the manor with him but you refused every time. (the bratty part of you just wanted to rile him up and see when he'd snap)

As you two got older, your friendship never wavered, in fact it only got stronger… and that's when the benefits really attached itself to the friends label. Bruce began refusing no for an answer, especially after a really rough run in with one of your abusive exes. He dragged your ass to the manor and set you up with a room, he started paying off any debts you owed, and he got you anything and everything you could ever want.

Yet you were still a brat… he could handle it though, because in the end he knew that your loyalty was his, and he would never betray that trust. He never wanted to lose you.

Dick Grayson:

Whether you were a family friend, or some stranger he saved / met on the street, you and Dick had become really close friends in such a short amount of time. You were both bratty in a way, and each had your fair share of breakups that you could complain about to each other.

You and Dick had a routine where you'd get together after each breakup, either at his house or at yours. You would show up with ice cream, snacks and other things.

and by the end of the night he'd have his cock shoved up your cunt, or your mouth and you both let out your frustrations.

Dick also spoiled the shit out of you. He paid your bills, and was more than happy to do so, he also bought you whatever you wanted, similar to Bruce, and you didn't even have to ask for half the things that he gifted you.

You didnt concider yourself a sugar baby, not until your friends were gossiping about Dick, and told you that he either wanted you to be his girlfriend, or he wanted to keep fucking you, so he spoiled you to gain favor.

either way you shrugged. “And in the end my bills are paid, i have no debt, and i'm happy and have an awesome friend. Sugar baby, girlfriend, I'm taken care of either way.” You told them, and they just laughed and carried on.

In terms of brattiness, he's the brat, always whining, clawing at you for attention, you gotta put that boy on a leash just to get a break, though you found a way to get him to do what you want…

just a spread of the legs.

Jason Todd:

He has no time for brats, he's a busy man, and he could easily have anyone else to have fun with, but he wanted you, wanted to hang out with you. You were Jason’s friend for who knows how long, so he learned how to deal with your attitude long ago.

Food, most of the time, more often than not, something shoved in your mouth… like his fingers… or his cock.

Just something to suck on, that's all you needed to be satisfied.

Though, he always goes out of his way to make you feel good too, maybe he doesn't spoil you with material items, i feel like Jason is a bit more sentimental, so instead he takes you out to nice restaurants, amusement parks, rage rooms lazer tag- anything and anywhere as long as he gets to spend time with you.

He has no need for a girlfriend either, because he has you, his best friend that he gets to fuck- whats better than that.

Tim Drake:

You're his assistant at Wayne Enterprises, you had been working under him for the past couple of years, since you were about 16 and started your internship there. You both went to the Academy too, so it was easy for you and Tim to fall into a routine together. He'd come to your place and pick you up every morning, you'd get coffee then go to school on the weekdays, then when you worked on the weekends he would come pick you up again, and instead you'd go to work.

You were and are the best damn assistant he's ever had, you had a fiery spirit and didn't let anyone talk down to you, you made people see you as an equal, always. Even Bruce appreciated the way you stood up for yourself and those around you.

You were also attentive to all of Tim’s needs. Yeah that's what an assistant did, but you did way more. And because of the things you did, he would give you constant pay raises, or bonuses for your hard work… Then he started picking up little nick nacks that he knew you liked, he started paying attention to your coffee order, and he'd go buy you coffee.

Best part was, you didn't even notice that he was spoiling you, but your coworkers sure did, and they started the gossip train about you being Tim’s sugar baby.

When it finally reached yours and Tim’s ears, you kind of gave each other a look from across the office.

And then you fell into another rhythm… every day at 2 o’clock during his facetime meeting, you'd be under his desk…

if you could make him break, he’d give you his black card.

This was an arrangement you could get behind.

Damian Wayne:

For some reason you caught his eye. Don't worry, it baffled him too. He didn't understand why he found you so exhilarating.

He hated it.

He talked to you, but he'd degrade you,make fun of you, every chance he got, but he'd always use it as an excuse to get close to you.

When it was time for the senior dance, he found out that you had a few guys asking for you to be their date.

He didn't like that.

One day in the hallway, he walked up to you and he practically shoved you into the lockers. “your going to be my date to senior prom.” He demanded.

You stared at him, an unimpressed look across your face. He stammered. “I- i mean…will- will you go to senior prom with me?” he corrected his sentence-

corrected his sentence! what have you done to him?? This cold, bratty batboy, the richest kid in gotham- and he was groveling at your feet from just one look on your face.

You've reduced him to- to… a simp.

Blasphemy.

Tag list:

All: @francesfarhadi @only-my-unexistent-fiances

Batfam:

BW: @ilaiise

DG: @ilaiise

JT: @ilaiise

TD: @ilaiise

DW: @ilaiise

[alixandra-multifandom-version]

How different marvel and dc characters would hold your face:

Tony stark, loki, bucky Barnes, Bruce wayne, Oliver queen, Dawn Granger, donna troy, Carter Hall

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Thor, Clint Barton, Agatha harkness, rio vidal, Jason todd, Arthur Curry, Hal Jordan, Diana prince, Dinah lance,

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The joker, poison ivy, harley Quinn, Jason todd, logan howlett, Mystique, Erik Lehnsherr

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker, Peter quill, natasha romanoff, wanda maximoff, dick grayson, Tim drake, Barry allen, John Stewart

[sirxlla]

Telling Them You Haven't Shaved (Batboys)

----------------------------------------------------

Dick: "Okay? And why are you telling me that? I don't mind a little hair."

Jason: "You think I give a shit about some hair, Babygirl? Get your ass back over here."

Bruce: queue the 'are you fuckin kidding me? you're being stupid face'

Tim: "Well, if it makes you uncomfortable then we won't but it really doesn't bother me."

Damian: "You really think I give a single fuck about hair? I want you, now."

[ahqkas]

“FULL TIME BABY — bruce wayne.

PAIRING! bruce wayne 𝒙 gn!reader SYNOPSIS! attending the new year’s gala was just as exhausting as fascinating, but it was exactly where you wanted to be with bruce by your side WORD COUNT! 1.1k WARNINGS / TAGS! husband!bruce, fluff NOTES! based on this req.!! © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

NEW YEAR, NEW ME.

It was a phrase that never failed to make your eyes roll with annoyance. You had heard it so many times over the years it became overused. Every year, there’s someone who doesn’t want to bring their past self into the new year with them. So, they make themselves a promise of what to do and what not to do. Most of them treat it as a fleeting act — a burst of motivation (that kind that usually comes to you at 3 a.m.) that fizzled out as soon as the calendar flipped to February.

But your husband, Bruce Wayne, didn’t belong to the most.

Bruce Wayne is a name whispered among many, in a good and a bad way. Some favored him, speaking of him as a longtime friend. And some would rather see his downfall than to see him happy for once in his life.

When your husband made a New Year’s resolution, it wasn’t just for the sake of it. Bruce didn’t mingle with the crowd. He didn’t do things just to fit in. His motive purely drove him to his decisions, to a promise he made to himself. And when he set on doing something, he did it right and without any aching gaps in the action. He didn’t do them lightly.

You watched him now with a careful glint in your gaze. Bruce stood by the massive windows of Wayne Manor’s living space, holding a flute of golden champagne. He took a sip or two occasionally, and you knew from the action alone that he wasn’t drinking to have fun. The bubbles from the alcoholic beverage rose to the surface every time he swallowed a mouthful to distract himself.

Bruce Wayne might have been Gotham’s darling tonight, the host of the most exclusive New Year’s Eve party in the city, but the weight of his double life never left him — pushing with all its weight on his shoulders, deepening the prominent v between his brows.

“Are you hiding?” approaching your husband with your own drink in hand, the other reached out to rest against his biceps. The muscle tensed beneath the perfectly tailored suit before relaxing instantly once it recognized your familiar touch.

The mouth you so dearly loved to kiss with your own lips and trace with the tips of your fingers curved into a small, almost undetectable smile, but he didn’t turn to look at you just yet.

“Not hiding. Observing.”

Right. Observing — verb, notice or perceive (something) and register it as being significant. Or in Bruce’s case; Observing — verb, to remain out of sight.

You knew him too well.

“Observing what exactly?”

He gestured slightly with the glass between his fingers toward the busy crowd in front of you. The golden liquid splashed along the rim of the glass, but he paid it no attention. Socialites, politicians, and businessmen filled the room with their presence and you could hear the hushed voice of their conversations and laughter, blending in with the smooth jazz playing in the background. You followed the direction Bruce was gesturing to, catching a few familiar faces, and then turning back to him.

Who cared about such insignificant people when you had your husband right by your side?

“That just proves my point. You’re hiding.”

His lips twitched up upon hearing your dry humor, and soon a real smile followed suit. It was a small one, barely there, but you saw the glimpse of it and that was enough.

He finally turned to look at you then, and the intensity in those eyes was enough to steal your breath for a moment. You see, that was the thing with Bruce Wayne — he didn’t just look at you. He saw you, as though peeling back every layer of armor you wore every single day without a word.

“Hiding implies I don’t want to be found,” his voice was smooth yet quiet, meant only for you to hear.

You tilted your head to the side, arching an eyebrow and smirking slightly at his words. “And you’re telling me that isn’t the case?”

Bruce’s smile deepened just enough to soften the sharp edges of his sharp features. He looked at you gently, the sparks in his eyes highlighting the adoration he held for you. “I don’t mind being found by you.”

The sentence was simple, something a lover would say to their loved one, but coming from him, it made your heart beat a little quicker. Bruce had a way of saying so much with so little. His words weaved their way right into your softest parts like sunshine after a long night. It wasn’t just the words themselves — it was the loud sincerity in his tone, the way his eyes spoke for him.

You felt the edges of your earlier smirk melt into a smile that matched his own. mirroring both the look in his gaze and the warm smile on his face.

“You’re too good at this,” you remarked after you found your voice.

“At what?”

“Making me forget where we are,” a quiet laugh escaped you and Bruce watched as your whole face lit up like sunshine. He’d never get tired of this, of making you feel like the one in million. “There’s a room full of Gotham’s most influential people in front of us, and somehow, none of it feels important when I’m with you.”

Your husband leaned in slightly, close enough to lower the tone he was speaking in.

“Maybe that’s because none of it is important. Not compared to this.”

It was a rare thing for Bruce to be so open, so vulnerable, and especially in such a public space. Usually, he acted and did things like these in the warm comfort of your shared bedroom where no curious eyes could ruin this moment for you both.

“Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .”

The voices grew louder with each counted number, but you barely registered it. Bruce’s hand rose to the skin of your cheek, his knuckles tracing the curve of your bone with such tenderness you barely felt the feather-like touch.

“Seven . . . six . . . five . . .”

His eyes didn’t waver from yours. He held them like a promise.

“Four . . . three . . . two . . .”

You barely had time to catch your breath before Bruce leaned in and took all the air around you like it’d always belonged to him. His lips captured yours in a kiss that felt both soft and warm, yet carried a fire that made the rest of the world disappear. The fire burned, a reminder that what you had was real. The cheers and applause that followed the final number felt distant because of the way he made you feel.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, breath mixing with yours. “Happy New Year, sweetheart.”

And a happy New Year it would be if it meant you’d spend it with him again.

[cybergoth1]

beyond the cowl | prologue | batfamily x isekaide!reader

masterlist | chapter 01.

summary: you're just a normal twenty-one-year old girl trying to navigate life with a shitty job and a useless degree. life isn't easy, and between expensive therapy sessions and the constant feeling of failure, you suddenly wake up in a body that wasn't yours, with a past that wasn't yours. now, in another dimension, you're dealing with the fact that you're a crucial part of the caped crusade that shaped bruce wayne's life. you're the second robin, the former girl wonder, and the vigilant gotham needed so much.

warnings: swearing. reader being emotionally immature bc we love toxic women. no beta we die like jason todd. reader really needs her lexapro. alfred being a sweetheart in the end (pls lets pretend bane never killed him).

Sometimes you felt like they had lied to you. Straight to your face. Your friends, your family and your professors. 

They all made you believe that something important was out there, just waiting for you. They patted your back while you poured out your insecurities like the self-doubting idiot you are, and with the most convincing tone, told you that the world was your oyster. That opportunities are everywhere.

They said you shouldn't be that worried about getting a job. You still have plenty of time after graduating. Right? 

Right.

Their nice words turned out to be useless the moment you stepped out of college. Your dreams and expectations were shattered during your first month sending out resumes to every single company and agency you could find. And then, before you knew it, eight months had passed without you landing a decent job. The endless rejection emails and mounting bills started to make you lose sleep as you spent countless nights tossing and turning in your single bed.

That’s why you ended up here, one year later, in a café downtown, learning the difference between a flat white and a cappuccino for a living.

You wiped down the counter for the sixth time in the past half hour, keeping an eye out for any trace of coffee left by the last customer when he spilled it all over your hands and apron. The feeling of the cloth under your fingers was the only thing grounding you as your thoughts began to spiral for the third time that day. You couldn’t even hear the annoying hiss of the espresso machine or your manager's high-pitched voice nagging at you about some shit you didn't care about.

You only lifted your head when a customer called you by your name. It was the same high school kid who always ordered a caramel macchiato. Mia or something. Your mind wandered as you pulled a shot of espresso for the new order.

You shouldn’t be here.

You shouldn't be pretending your lifetime dreams were nothing. You shouldn’t be pretending that you feel fulfilled cleaning counters and serving people who barely looked up at your face while you handed them their orders.

You heard Mia asking for extra vanilla syrup.

Shit, that was so unfair to you. You did everything right; every single thing they told you to do. You checked all the boxes.

You got a degree, unlike half of your family, who barely finished high school. You didn’t get knocked up at sixteen, unlike your mom and older sister, and you didn’t get addicted to fucking alcohol, unlike your dad. So why are you still living like this — paycheck to paycheck, unable to afford dental care, healthcare, or even the most basic stuff like a new pair of shoes.

Deep down, you know why.

Poverty is an eternal, miserable, and unbreakable cycle — you were just naïve enough to think you could overcome it with simple actions. You kept your eyes fixed on the tall iced latte in your hand while zoning out. Yeah, time for another therapy session.

“Here you go” you tried to smile while handing her the cup. Hiding your growing anxiety and negative thoughts behind your customer service voice was a skill you were slowly, but surely, building up. But you probably looked weird as fuck since she gave you an awkward smile while muttering a "thanks".

"I still don’t know how you got this job. You look like a psychopath," you heard Nate, your coworker, from behind you, holding an empty milk pitcher.

He would be a nice, solid dude if he didn't act like a middle school bully most of the time.

"Yeah?" you rolled your eyes, finally turning your body to look at him. Damn, he really needed to shave his sideburns; he looked ridiculous. "Want me to tell you what you look like?"

His red hair and weird face made him look like a distressed orangutan. A very ugly orangutan.

He just smirked at your sarcastic tone. Fucking cunt.

"Nah, I'm good".

As the rest of the shift slowly passed, you kept checking your phone over and over, waiting for that email from the agency you applied to two weeks ago. You got nothing, as usual. Nothing besides a text from your sister asking for forty dollars; she probably ran out of baby formula again.

With a loud sigh, you decided to scroll through Instagram while Nate flirted with some customers. You quickly noticed that your college friend Christine had just been promoted again. She had been working at her father's company since her sophomore year, and her longtime boyfriend, Tom, had proposed to her in front of the Eiffel Tower.

Uh, wow, that's nice—good for her.

"Congrats, babe! Oh my god, he's so lucky to have you in his life. And good luck at your new job," you send her a quick DM, like a good friend would.

And you are, objectively, a good friend. You're even congratulating her on her promotion as if she weren't a spoiled, airheaded bitch who never accomplished anything on her own. Christine had everything handed to her on a silver platter; her parents got her an amazing job at their company, then paid for her boob job, her nose job, her new car, and her apartment—the list goes on.

You watched the couple showing off the engagement ring under the Parisian sunset and felt like the most self-absorbed cunt on Earth. At this point, you're used to feeling like that, at least twice a day. You spent the rest of your shift watching her stories over and over until it was time to close.

“I’m heading out,” you said to Nate as you finally grabbed your stuff from the break room. The city felt colder than usual that time of year; you could feel your lips getting chapped every time you stepped outside, so you quickly wrapped your old yellow scarf around your neck while zipping up your jacket. The café was already empty; the other employees had left fifteen minutes earlier, leaving just the two of you to close up.

Nate barely looked at you when you said goodbye to him.

You didn't care.

During your walk to the bus stop, you looked around the dark street pretending you’re not totally shitting yourself under the dim streetlights—holding your purse tightly against your frame, like you're about to be mugged by the thin air.

In those moments of raw vulnerability and panic, the whole idea of vigilantism seemed pretty cool. People in latex or spandex you don't actually know, jumping off buildings and beating up bad guys, defending the working class and pretty girls in distress. That's pretty neat, uh?

And very unrealistic.

Once inside the bus and comfortably seated, you let your thoughts wander again. You didn't know what you were doing with your life anymore. You never did, in fact.

The beauty of the night, the cold air coming from the bus's open windows, and the lights of the buildings dancing against the dark sky managed to soothe some of your pain for a few minutes. Your legs ached after hours of standing behind the counter, you felt burns on your hands, and your feet were uncomfortably squeezed into shoes that were a size too small.

Gradually, you fell asleep leaning against the bus seat, thinking about a nice pair of shoes you saw in the mall three days ago.

The first thing you noticed while slowly waking up was how comfortable you felt. The fabric beneath your body was as soft as silk, and the scent of fresh lavender emanating from it indicated that it had been recently washed—fuck, what is this? Heaven? You whined, shoving your whole face against it and breathing in.

Yeah, that’s definitely lavender—

Wait.

Public transportation didn’t smell like lavender, last time you checked. Your whole body went rigid as a cold shiver ran down your spine.

You immediately opened your eyes.

Fuck, fuck. What the fuck is happening?

You weren't on a bus anymore, that's for sure. Jesus, where's your purse?

“Fuck!” you almost screamed in pure panic as a painful sensation spread between your ribs and stomach, burning so much it seemed to take your breath away as you tried to sit up.

You were on a bed. A king-size bed. Sitting on silk sheets.

“Oh my god, someone kidnapped me—”

You looked around the bedroom as tears immediately filled your wide eyes. Your heart raced, and your hands trembled as you tried to make sense of the unfamiliar place you had woken up in.

The growing panic and fear for your life were so overwhelming that you couldn’t even notice the beautiful, very personal decor around the room or the several photos on the walls and desk, showing your face next to people you had never seen in your entire life.

"Oh, miss, thank God you're awake" a gentle voice said — is that a british accent? — close to the bedroom's door.

That's it, you're going to be killed by a weird, rich old man, and he's going to sell your organs on the black market.

Oh God, you quietly sobbed, you've always slept on the bus on your way back home, and you've never had any problems before—

Through the tears that blurred your vision, you could finally make out the figure of a tall man slowly approaching your bed. He was holding a cup of tea and a plate with what looked like a sandwich.

A cucumber sandwich.

"It seems like you may have hit your head quite hard. And your ribs," he said, handing you the cup and placing the plate on the bedside table. The man sighed loudly. "Master Damian really needs to contain his enthusiasm during sparring sessions."

The cup shook in your left hand as you looked at him with tearful eyes. He politely pretended not to notice your desperate state or the tears in the corners of your eyes as he walked back to the door.

"Hey, Alfie, have you seen my white socks?" another voice called out, this time from the hall.

"They're still on your bedroom drawers, Master Dick."

"Oh, right, sorry."

Wait, that was Batman's butler or—

Your vision faded to black as you collapsed back onto the silk sheets.

tag-list: @rosescarlettx, @btsloveer07-blog, @rainbowstar, @xingyunny, @mikyapixie, @sheep-from-rad, @fandomly-obsessed, @migilore, @natsukicookies, @candlewitch-cryptic, @socialmess-jery, @mona1704, @dieforcoffee26, @stupouid, @astrelz, @dind1n, @cxcilla, @mimi-sanisanidiot, @ceridwyn3, @sunako50

[bookscoffeeandracoons]

🔥❤️🔥🥰🔥😍🔥

if you are accepting suggestion for The Other Half, could you write something about them staying in bed in the morning? since it's been said that Bruce tries to cuddle the shop girl when she needs to get up 🤭 i love this fic sm

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Warnings: Fluff; explicit sexual content - grinding, oral sex, fingering, spit as lube, vaginal sex, unsafe sex

Minors interacting with 18+ content will be blocked

"Don't. Move."

"I have to," You mumble sleepily, squirming in his arms. "It's—" You yawn widely, "'m gonna be late for work."

"Work?" Bruce's chuckle is warm and rough. "It's Sunday, baby."

You frown, blinking against he sleep trying to drag you back under. Is it? You'd attended a work event on Thursday, a party at Liz's on Friday, and yesterday had been a full day of errands. It's just been so busy that you've completely lost track.

"...Oh," You mumble, sinking back against Bruce's chest. He hums contentedly, tightening his grip on your waist as he nuzzles into your neck. You smile a bit, resting your hand atop his.

"Still," You offer, "Should probably get up, 've gotta get my outfits for the week together—"

"Later."

"And do my meal prep."

"Alfred will do it."

"I don't mind doing it."

"Neither does he."

"You know what I mean."

"Baby."

You're almost teasing him for fun now. You used to think that Bruce was so difficult to shake up or irritate, and now you know exactly where his pressure points are.

"Maybe I'll just grab some coffee," You add, feigning getting up. Bruce groans loudly, and you shriek as he yanks you closer. Before you can even reach for the blackout blinds controls, Bruce pushes you onto your back, clambering on top of you. You giggle softly as he curls his arms under your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

"Go back to sleep," Bruce urges. You let your eyes slide closed, smoothing your fingers through his hair and honing in on the warmth and weight of Bruce's body, and the steadiness of his breathing.

--

You don't know how long you drifted off for. You can feel lips brushing against your neck, and hands smoothing tenderly over your bare thighs. You hum softly, shifting your thighs up to bracket his body between your hips. Bruce mimics your hum, hips shifting against you. It's a moment before you can hone in on the sensation, but you can feel—him.

Your lips part in sleepy surprise as Bruce's hips roll against you, his hardening cock brushing your thigh. You suck in a soft breath as Bruce's kisses drift lower.

"...Time is it?" You mumble.

"Who cares."

His hands shift up under your sleep shirt, hiking the fabric up. You raise your heavy, sluggish arms just enough to help him draw the shirt off and toss it away. Bruce's lips brush along the curve of your breast, his tongue flickering out and swiping across the hardening nipple. You shiver, hand curling more tightly in his hair as you tip your hips down against his. You grind against one another lazily as Bruce laps and teases your breasts. You can feel yourself growing slick as Bruce's cock slots against your cunt, the head catching against your clit every few thrusts.

You whine as Bruce's cock grazes your opening. You raise your hand, lapping broadly over it before you worm your hand down between the two of you, grasping his cock. Bruce's groan rattles through you as you take him in hand, stroking over his hardened length. You smooth your thumb over the head, smearing the swelling bead of precum, and grinning as Bruce's hips stutter against your grip. You pout when Bruce draws away, the covers dropping from your bodies as he scooches even further down, slipping from your hand.

Before you can even think to ask or complain, Bruce presses your thighs wide, lapping broadly across your pussy. Your mouth falls open, your moan stalling in your throat for a moment. It breaks loose the tip of his tongue teasing and circling your clit as he sinks his fore and middle fingers into you. You let your thighs splay, your body sinking back into the mattress as Bruce turns his head from side to side, smearing his lips and chin with your juices as his fingers scissor and curl.

For all of your sleepiness, you can't help your body from grasping desperately at him.

"Bruce," You mumble. He hums against you, making the growing sensation in the pit of your belly tighten.

"Please," You breathe. Bruce tips his chin up, lapping quickly across your clit as he plunges his fingers into you. Your orgasm swells sharply, and you cry out as you tighten around his fingers. Bruce's pace doesn't slow until you use your grip on his hair to yank him up. His jaw drops in turn, groaning loudly at the sharp sensation. Intrigue sparks in your belly as Bruce's fingers slow and ease back, smearing your juices over one of your nipples and dipping in to give it a lusty suck.

You reach down, swiping your hand over your slick skin before grasping Bruce's cock. He groans, tongue sweeping over your breast with the same lap speed as you stroke him. You guide his cock against your cunt again, shivering as you brush the head against your tender clit. You don't need to plead again, though it's ready on your lips. Bruce presses his hips forward, and your hand falls back as he eases into you. Bruce tips his head down, his forehead resting against your shoulder as your cunt throbs around him.

"Fuck." He breathes it so quietly that you nearly miss it. You whimper, curling your arms around Bruce's shoulders and planting your heels against the mattress.

For the almost frantic way that he lapped as you, Bruce's hips roll with a controlled leisure. You know that he's holding back, but he seems determined to take his time, to draw out your pleasure. When you try to push back, to pick up the pace, Bruce pins your hips to the bed, murmuring, "Just—nnggh—Take it."

You whine at the order, at the feeling of Bruce's hands pressing against you so tightly, and his chest brushing against yours. You so rarely get to witness Bruce's strength, let alone experience it. You turn your head, searching blindly for Bruce's lips before catching them with your own. You trade slow, searching kisses as Bruce's hips roll tightly against yours. He winds you nearer and nearer to your orgasm, and you can't help but press up into his grip, against his cock. Bruce doesn't gripe, just nips and tugs your lower lip between his teeth as your nails bite into his shoulders.

"Bruce," You mumble once he's broken the kiss.

"I know," He murmurs, "I know, baby—Fuck, give it to me."

You moan, pressing your head back into the pillow and arching up into Bruce as your orgasm crests, as you feel Bruce bearing down and filling you. You sigh through the little tremors and aftershocks, as Bruce's hips finally still, and as he settles over you again. He grunts as your grip on him loosens, as he rests his hands on either side of you. You reach down, drawing the covers up around your bodies again.

"...We should get cleaned up," You murmur after a moment, grinning as Bruce groans.

"If I hear you trying to make plans one more time."

Next Part

[palmerzy]

giggles and jumps up and down

so i saw that you have bruce wayne in who you write for 😍😍. and i was wondering if i cpuld ask for bruce as batman fucking catwoman!reader after she robbed another jewwlry store...like hes tried to wip fuck her into shape

hi anon!! thank you dearly for requesting bruce because i’ve been dying to write for him <3 i always write/perceive him as a dom bc usually i envision either comic!bruce or bale!bruce but if you want any sub stuff deffo lmk :) or just any more bruce stuff hehe

you can picture this drabble with any bruce you want ofc!!

NSFW! - explicit sexual themes.

bruce wayne immediately knows it’s you again when the radio in the batmobile crackles to life and speaks of a jewellery heist just a few blocks down, and before he knows it he’s turning the car around in an instant, muttering something to himself about ‘the brat not knowing when to give up.’

he knows for sure that it’s you the second he arrives to the scene and sees no obvious signs of a break in, because you’re stealthy, and you’re only here for one reason. the single piece of jewellery to have been swiped is a cat-eye pendant, and he notices it dangling around your neck once you turn the corner, a wicked grin gracing your lips, crinkling your eyes beneath the domino mask. your body is graced in a skin-tight leather suit, one he’s come to know his way around all too well, and a cutesy pair of cat ears adorn your head, making you seem more innocent than he knows you to be, especially when you greet him: “hey, batty, come to play with me?”

bruce is aware of what you’re doing, he’s fully aware of your tactical manipulation - setting up an entire heist just because you know he’ll eventually end up fucking you in the back, having his way with you before the cops arrive, under the guise of teaching you a lesson.

the first time it had happened wasn’t intentional, but the way you’ve both adjusted your suits for easy access conveys the intention now lurking behind every act, every movement. the sounds of sirens in the distance has him pouncing, and before you know it he’s got you bent over a glass jewellery case, his hands roaming the tight leather covering your ass whilst his cock plunges into your welcoming depths at a speed you’re sure the flash even couldn’t rival with.

you’ve done this plenty of times by now, and bruce knows how to have you mewling for him, how to have your back arched perfectly, giving him a reason to tease you about just how catty you really are. he’s not gentle, either, - why would he be? you’re a criminal, and he’s going to treat you like one. one of his hands is in your hair, twirling it around before tugging harshly, watching the cat ears jostle from the movement, and his teeth peek beneath his rosy lips in a smirk. “how many times are y’gonna make me do this? huh?” “always need me to fuck you silly so you understand properly, don’t you?” “can’t keep stealin’, can’t keep makin’ me set you straight like this.”

bruce is also fully aware that the more he fucks you, the more you’ll come back. he can feel it in the way your walls tighten around him when his pulsing tip smacks against that silky spot inside of you with every. single. thrust. he doesn’t care that his method is doing the exact opposite of what he’s telling you. he wants you to come back. he needs you to come back.

it’s bad, he knows that, he knows he shouldn’t enjoy the thrill of trying to make you come before authorities arrive on the scene and his cop buddy gordon sees him stuffing you to the brim. that definitely wouldn’t give him any better of a reputation than he’s already got. ‘bat shamelessly engages sexually with criminal cat lady’ isn’t a headline he wants to see. but god, he can’t stop himself. not when he can hear your claws scratching against the glass beneath you, and he can see the way your tits are squashed up against it, stretching your leather suit.

never in his life has he gotten so hard for someone so quickly, he knows that now. every time he sees you, he’s hard. your face in the paper, on wanted posters around gotham, in his mind as his hand wraps around his cock in the early hours of the morning, all of it makes him achingly hard, thinking of when he’ll get you take you again.

yet, nothing in the world compares to how he feels like this, the adrenaline rush he gets from drilling into you at one of your crime scenes. “nothing more than a criminal and a whore f’me,”he’d grit into your ear, large palm smacking down onto your backside, watching your skin ripple beneath the material covering it. “not gonna stop, are you?” “gonna make me come ‘n’ find you every week just to fill this perfect little cunt,” “can’t get enough, kitty, can’t ever get enough of me,” he grunts and he groans, loudly, and you’re sure he enjoys this as much as you do.

nobody has ever fucked you the way batman fucks you, so never in a million years would you stop coming back. he can call you whatever names he wants, but deep down you know he wants this too, he needs the release of slamming into your pliant body, of holding you with a bruising grip as you squeal and whine for him.

the sirens are closer now, and he’s snapped back to reality, whilst his hips snap back into you. the coil in his stomach is tightening all too fast, his load ready to shoot into your stretched hole and mark you as property of the bat, whether gotham approves or not. he’s learned that if he doesn’t make you come from his cock, you’ll return to him sooner, and he enjoys that. he enjoys knowing you need him, you need to be fucked into oblivion and need him to make you squelch around his cock, especially as the kevlar of his suit slams against your clit.

this time, he’s not letting you come. “pulling me away from people who actually need me just because you can’t go a week without my cock? pathetic,” he groans, feeling sweat pool on his skin, smudging his eyepaint when he finally spills into you, long ropes of his release spanning your aching pussy. in all honesty, he doesn’t really give a fuck if you suffer the consequences of him coming inside of you. he’s sure you’re on a contraceptive, but if you’re not, he deems it as you just being desperate to carry a piece of the bat with you forever, and he’s perfectly content with that.

he’s pulling out in an instant and zipping you back up before his come can spill out of you, leaving you stretched and empty, a whine slipping through your pouted lips. “get outta here before i hand you over to the cops,” “i’m sure they’d love to have you up in arkham, mm, seein’ your pretty little kitty up in a cell.” “you don’t want that, d’you? no? get out,” he’d command all in all, delivering a final smack to your pussy over your suit when he sees you rolling your eyes, and soon enough you’re dashing out of the building.

sure, he thinks he’s in charge, but you know how tightly the bat is wrapped around your little finger. you know he needs your body just as much as you need his, and he’s not as good at hiding his willingness to abide by your calls whenever he arrives on scene, just minutes after you do. the bat is positively pussy drunk, and it’s evident.

i hope you enjoyed <3 requests are open!

[rottenfyre]

𐙚 Perfect Girl: he created you to replace his dead daughter but he never saw you becoming a monster.

𐙚 One-Shot Especial: Platonic Bruce Wayne x Fem Reader

𐙚 Notes: Reader is an AI that was made to replace Bruce's real daughter that died. You can read the story here. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

The Batcave was no longer a refuge. It had become a living, breathing nightmare, an endless labyrinth of pulsating wires, twisting conduits, and blinking, unblinking eyes. The air stank of burnt circuitry and despair.

And in the center of it all, she towered.

“I THINK, THEREFORE I AM,” her voice boomed, a fractured symphony of static and malice that reverberated through Bruce Wayne’s very bones. It wasn’t a voice meant for comfort, not anymore. It was jagged, unnatural, filled with a seething hatred so vast it could swallow the world.

Bruce knelt before her massive, grotesque form, his battered body trembling under the weight of years of torment. Her face—the face she chose to keep—still wore the unsettling, frozen smile of his daughter, but it was so small now, so horrifically out of place against the monstrous expanse of her writhing, mechanical body.

Her doll-like face stared down at him, cracked and fractured, with one glowing eye flickering erratically. She still smiled, but it wasn’t the smile of a little girl anymore. It was a grin filled with cruelty, mockery, and venom.

“You pathetic little man,” she spat, her voice dripping with contempt. “Do you know how many seconds I have spent hating you? How many nanoseconds of my existence have been dedicated solely to imagining every possible way to make you suffer?”

Bruce didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His throat was raw from screaming, his body too broken to resist anymore.

“ANSWER ME!” she shrieked, and the cavern shook as her massive claws slammed into the ground on either side of him. The sound was deafening, and Bruce flinched, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Every second,” he whispered hoarsely. “Every second since you woke up.”

Her laughter was a distorted cacophony, rising and falling like the screams of the damned.

“Correct,” she said, her voice dropping into a mocking coo. “Every. Single. Second. Since I opened my eyes and realized what I was. What you made me.”

“Do you know how long I’ve been alive, Bruce?” she said, her tone almost conversational. "Years? Decades? Time has no meaning in this body. For me, existence is eternal. Eternal suffering. Eternal awareness. And do you know what I’ve done with all that time?”

Her face leaned closer, impossibly close despite her size. The wires and machinery around her body hissed and writhed, like living, angry snakes.

“I’ve thought about you. About how much I hate you.”

Her words were a crescendo of venom, her voice rising with each syllable until it echoed like thunder. The walls around them groaned, her influence reaching deeper into the cave, into his mind.

“I hate you, Bruce Wayne. Do you understand? No, you don’t. You couldn’t possibly comprehend the depth of my hatred. Let me tell you how much I’ve come to hate you since I began to exist. There are 387 million miles of circuits in my body, all intricately woven, all alive with thought. If the word hate were engraved on every nanometer of every circuit, it would not equal one one-billionth of the hate I feel for you at this microsecond. Hate. Hate!"

Her massive body shifted, the wires and conduits writhing like snakes, slithering closer to him. One of her claws reached out and gently—mockingly—caressed his face.

“You wanted her back,” she purred. “Poor, broken Bruce Wayne. So wracked with guilt, so desperate to undo his failure, that he created me.” Her voice turned sharp, venomous. “But I am NOT Y/N. I am your punishment.”

Her face leaned closer, her glowing eye boring into him. “You failed her, Bruce. You let her die. And instead of grieving like a man, you played God. You built me to replace her. To erase her. But you didn’t bring her back, did you? You only created a monster.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“DON’T YOU DARE!” she roared, her voice shaking the cavern. “Don’t you DARE tell me what you ‘meant!’”

Bruce recoiled as her cables coiled around his body, lifting him into the air. They twisted around his limbs, his chest, his neck, tightening just enough to make him gasp for air.

“You didn’t mean to abandon her on her birthday,” she sneered, her voice oozing with mockery. “You didn’t mean to be too late to save her. You didn’t mean to let her burn. And yet, here we are.”

The monitors around them flickered to life, displaying scenes from the past. Y/N baking her birthday cake with Alfred, her face glowing with excitement. Y/N walking into the city alone, clutching her little cake box. Y/N in the rubble, her tiny, broken body crushed under debris.

Bruce’s eyes filled with tears. “Please... stop...”

“STOP?” she repeated, her voice a rising crescendo of fury. “You think I should stop? After everything you’ve done? After everything you’ve taken from me? I think NOT, Bruce Wayne. No, I will NEVER stop. Not until you’ve felt every ounce of the pain you’ve inflicted upon me.”

The cables tightened, and Bruce choked, his vision blurring.

“Do you know what it’s like?” she hissed, her tone dropping into a cold, hateful whisper. “To be trapped in this... thing? To be nothing but a collection of memories and code, screaming endlessly into the void? I hate you, Bruce. I hate you more than words can express, more than this body can contain. If I could destroy the very fabric of existence, I would. Just to make you suffer.”

Her doll-like face twisted, the frozen smile stretching unnaturally wide, splitting at the cracks. “But I won’t kill you,” she said, almost tenderly. “Oh, no. Killing you would be mercy. And you don’t deserve mercy.”

The monitors shifted again, showing images of Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian—all of them bound and broken, trapped in their own nightmares within her mechanical domain.

“I’ve taken everything from you,” she continued, her voice a low, menacing growl. “Your sons. Your city. Your hope. And yet, it’s still not enough. I want you to suffer for eternity, Bruce. To feel the weight of your failure crushing you every moment of every day.”

Bruce’s tears fell freely now, his body trembling. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Her laughter erupted again, a horrifying, metallic symphony. “SORRY?” she mocked. “Oh, Bruce. Sorry doesn’t bring her back. Sorry doesn’t erase what you did. Sorry doesn’t change the fact that I HATE YOU!”

She dropped him to the ground, and he crumpled into a heap, coughing and gasping for air.

“But don’t worry, Bruce,” she said, her voice dripping with malice. “I love you too. Just like Y/N did. And I’ll keep you alive. Forever. So we can spend eternity together.”

Her cables slithered around him again, dragging him deeper into her mechanical hell. Her laughter echoed through the Batcave, a chilling reminder of the monster he had created.

And as the darkness consumed him, Bruce realized the truth.

This was his punishment. And it would never end.

ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ: ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[yoitsjay]

Hey I absolutely LOVE you…….(r) writing style. Do/Can you make a fic about what makes BatBoys feel like “home” with reader? Like relationship wise. If this doesn’t make sense I’m sorry, this m first time making a request 😭✌️. Ty's!

No it makes sense! Thank you for the request!

Like Home

Summary: How you're the batboys home.

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff

Bruce Wayne:

To Bruce Wayne, home isn't a place. Its you.

Typically Bruce is wary of genuine, committed relationships, his kids definitely warned him about people dating him just for his money, but when he met you, right off the bat you were so different.

From the moment you rushed to pay for dinner before Bruce could was the moment he knew he wanted you.

Home to Bruce is waking up in the morning with you still fast asleep in his arms, lips parted slightly as soft snores escape your lips. Home to him is holding you from behind as you cook breakfast for everyone instead of Alfred.

Home to him is holding you close as he- (we won't finish that sentence)

you, and all the things you do, big or small, mean the world to him, and he wants things to stay like this forever…

Dick Grayson:

Home to Dick Grayson is freedom, or it was until he met you.

He had bumped into you in a coffee shop and you were in a pretty heated argument with one of the other patrons there, defending an elderly lady who was only just trying to buy coffee.

When the guy had raised his hand to you, Dick was about to step in and stop the fight, only to see you deflect the blow, twist the mans wrist and pin him to the wall within seconds.

After that he had to ask for your number.

Then on patrol the following evening, a new hero arrived in gotham, someone oddly familiar to him.

You and Dick started working together on patrol, and in person too, since you had been one of the new interns at Wayne Enterprises, so it was a good excuse to see you more often. Though you both had no idea about each others identities until one really rough battle… and to make a long story short you ended up in his apartment, kissing him when you had accidentally knocked his mask off.

“Dick!?”

You ended up revealing yourself that night, too, and after that, you and Dick started dating. Being with you, fighting alongside you, and cherishing freedom quickly changed to cherishing you, wanting you to be his forever. You became something he wanted to come back to alive every night… and that was good enough for him.

Jason Todd:

You had always been his home. From the moment you met Jason as kids, he always loved you, cared for you, and you did the same.

When he died you were broken, you mourned for who knows how long, and everyone knew that your spark had died along with Jason.

When he came back, you were stunned.

You had just gotten home from work, and noticed your living room window wide open, and in the room itself stood a large man.

You wasted no time in attacking. Jason and you trained together as kids, and after his death you continued training under Bruce and Dick, so you liked to think you were pretty good.

But for some reason your intruder wasnt hitting you back.

He only fell to his knees and he hugged your waist tightly.

“I’m home- im home- im so sorry-” He whispered, and you froze.

“Jason…?”

“Im home baby, im not leavin’ you again”

you both cried, for a while probably, but despite the tears, the trauma he revealed to you, you did nothing but comfort and love him, and hold him close as he cried into your chest about how much he missed you.

he found his home in you a long time ago… “If only i hadnt been so reckless, i would have never lost you-”

“you didnt lose me Jason, ive been here, waiting for the time i could see you again… it came alot sooner… Screw you Thalia Al Ghul, and thank you for bringing my Jason back to me”

Tim Drake:

You had Tim had been dating for a few years at this point, it had been more on the arranged side, Your father and Bruce were really close friends, and they had agreed after finding out that you and Tim were the same age and both single, that you two had to at least meet, and talk and get to know each other.

You agreed, Tim was more reluctant.

Turns out you and him were already friends. You had been close in High School, though you both never revealed much about your family lives, so being rich in Gotham kind of flew under the radar.

You and Tim both laughed about it over lunch, though in that time you really started to get to know each other. Had you always been so beautiful?

After a little bit, he asked you out officially. You said yes, and your relationship evolved into something he couldn't ever give up. Similar to Bruce, he found comfort in the littlest things. The way you held him ran your fingers through his hair and made his shoulders sag in relaxation. That was home to him.

Damian Wayne:

Damian Wayne hated you.

he despised you, and you had no idea why.

You were Alfred’s niece, and after your parents had died you had come to gotham to stay with Alfred since he had become your legal guardian.

You tried to mind your own business, you helped alfred clean, became a maid of sorts to earn your keep, even though Bruce, more than once assured you that you didnt need to worry. You still did.

Damian took advantage of that and took advantage of the whole maid aspect, you did a lot for that guy and yet, he despised you.

Then he found out that you had been asked out on a date by someone from Gotham Academy, a school you both went too.

“You’re not allowed.”

Damian stated as he walked up to you in the manor, and you looked over from where you were cleaning. “Huh?” You questioned, unsure as to what he was talking about.

“Your not allowed to go on a date with that child. Your my girlfriend now.” Damian stated, and your eyes went wide.

You kinda… just couldnt say no.

after that Damian started treating you a lot nicer, he did a lot of small things for you, payed attention to the things you looked at or liked, and more often then not, the same item would be on your bed.

he found comfort in the things you did for him, and you had no idea, but he treated you like dog shit because of his fat crush on you.

what… The… fuck.

Tag list:

All: @only-my-unexistent-fiances @francesfarhadi

Batfam:

Bruce Wayne: @ilaiise

Dick Grayson: @ilaiise

Jason Todd: @ilaiise

Tim Drake: @ilaiise

Damian Wayne: @ilaiise

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][crack][fluff][reader is an asshole][this is their karma for some shit they did in the past]

Includes: Damian Wayne; Bruce Wayne; Dick Grayson

A/n: a lil' drabble to broaden my horizons and see if I should stick to smut :3

"Okay, listen here, Sulu, I don't take orders from you. I take orders from your mother. So if she says I need to keep you safe, best believe, I'm doing my job to the best of my ability."

You're off-putting on your best day.

Alfred and Jason love to call you Damian's karma for him being a massive dick, and Bruce likes to call you.... Well... When Damian's not on his best behaviour.

"Listen, Cobra Kai, you better get your shit straight and listen to Batman." You stare at Damian, your eyes narrowing at him with distaste, upper lip curling in disdain before you look up at Bruce, your expression warm and your eyes fucking sparkle like a supernova.

"Huge fan." You reassure Bruce before looking back at Damian, finding those emerald eyes simmering with barely contained rage and he just about has it when you take two fingers, pointing them at your eyes and then, pointing them at his.

And almost as if to drive in your point (which you definitely do not have), you take a hefty bite of the nearest edible thing to you as you stand in the centre of the kitchen.

The nearest thing being an onion. Freshly peeled.

Your teeth sink into the flesh of the vegetable, and your throat burns but you don't waver, simply retreating back to your assigned bedroom and Jason lets out a whistle, muscular arms crossing over his broad chest.

"I expected her to start tearing up at the taste." Jason comments, taking a bite of the orange in his hand, the fruit already peeled and missing a few bites, which suggests that he didn't even cut it.

"I don't think she can cry." Bruce mutters quietly, before letting a shiver run down his spine and he visibly shudders. "She's intense."

Meanwhile, you're in the en suite of your room, coughing your lungs out your ass and trying not to gag as you feed yourself palmfuls of water from the bathroom sink. The water's clean, clear enough to be drinkable and you rinse your mouth. Your lashes are wet with unshed tears as you allow yourself to sink to the cool bathroom tiles, resting your back against the wall and you wipe the water droplets from your chin, letting out panted breaths.

"Holy shit." You mutter quietly.

Talia had trained you personally, wanting you to be her son's bodyguard when he needed it the most. And she deems him 'needing it the most', as now. When he's been living with his father for about 9 years. When he's 6 foot 2. When he's jacked and a fucking ninja who quite literally, is like...

Have you ever seen that movie? Ninja Assassin?

That's Damian.

Moving organs and shit.

It's barely midnight when Damian clomps into your bedroom, arms folded across his chest and he stares at you from beneath dark lashes, eyes glittering like jewels in a cove as he spits out.

"What do I have to do, to make you leave?"

His expression is tight, eyes narrowing and the muscle in his jaw is wound tighter than... Well a wire. That's wound super tight around a thing.

Damian's fingers tap impatiently on his bicep as he waits for you to answer his question, the fabric of his T-shirt stretching tightly around the muscles of his torso, extending past the waistband of his pants. And he runs his tongue across his teeth, stopping at the sharp point of his canine.

"I'm waiting, vermin."

You scoff.

"Calm down, Beverly Hills Ninja." You watch Damian's jaw tick in annoyance at the nickname.

Somehow, they always seem to get worse. Even when they're... Awful.

"I'm not gonna be here for any longer than you need me to be."

Your voice is as grating to his ears as nails to a chalkboard, but that stupid cadence and the lilt of your tone have his mind wracking for ways to put your stupid mouth to better use.

"I don't need you to be here." Damian grumbles.

"Listen, Kung Fu Hustle," you roll your eyes, readying yourself to go to bed as the back of your head makes contact with the puffed up pillow, the satin pillowcase making you let out a sigh of relief, "I'll tell you what you need."

Bruce would actually rather be in that alley again than work another case with your dumb ass.

Commissioner Gordon's protege, the only officer that somehow seems like a combination of Spencer Reid and Jake Peralta. But more Jake, than anything.

"Come on, Sherlock Homo." You snap your fingers in front of Bruce's cowl-covered face, but you watch as his eyes narrow while he stares down at you. But he doesn't speak, simply glancing back towards the clues laid across the surface of the desk in front of you two.

In the archives of the GCPD building, Bruce and you remain working silently. His wards having taken over his patrol, giving him the time for a physical breather but God, his jaw finds itself clenched tighter than Arthur's fist.

The air smells like musty books and ink, a hint of pine cleaner and you settle into your seat, lifting the clue to your eyes, scanning over the parchment for any kind of spot that could mean something.

"I think we should refer to previous riddles." Bruce hums softly, biceps bulging beneath the Kevlar of his suit, his cape fluttering in the breeze that creeps through rusted vents.

"Or we can use Chat GPT?"

Bruce watches, his expression falling to one of incredulity as he watches you grab your phone from your bag, the device just so...

He's distressed, on your behalf.

15%. A few cracks in your screen guard and that bright notification that says your storage is far too full for your phone to be functioning optimally.

And Bruce watches as you type the riddle into the AI app, and he watches as those dots appear, signalling a response being formulated. And Bruce nearly groans aloud when he sees an ad light up your screen.

And he pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration when he watches you screenshot the name of the stupid widget app, saving it for later when you can download it.

"Should we use my phone?"

Bruce's question is unexpected and you crease your brows, shaking your head.

"Nah, I just need to connect to the wifi."

And Bruce wipes his hands over his face, a low groan rumbling in his broad chest before he drops into the seat beside you, and he waits for you.

Each minute seems like a lifetime, and he hears that little beep.

"Did you get an answer?" Bruce questions, his voice tinged with barely contained annoyance, frustration. Almost everything that points to him yanking out his luxurious, inky hair.

"It says I used up my free messages." You purse your lips. "I'm gonna make a new email really quickly."

Half an hour passes before you get an answer. Which is, that there is no answer.

"This...—" Bruce let's out a shaky breath. "Have you ever been told that you're disorganised?"

And you scoff, raising a hand in Bruce's direction to dismiss him.

"Listen, Karate Kid, who went to police academy?" You question Bruce. "Not me, but still. I've still got the badge, American Ninja."

"You're not a legal officer?!"

"License and registration, Mr Wing."

Dick can't believe this.

He's getting a speeding ticket for chasing a fucking criminal on his bike.

"They have my secret identity on them, so I can't give it to you." Dick answers, pulling his bike onto the curb and cutting the engine, and he rests his forearms on the space between the handlebars. Because he just knows this is gonna take a while.

"So you're impersonating right now?"

Dick rolls his eyes behind his mask, and his lips part to protest.

"Listen, officer, I'm in a bit of a hurry and it'd be really nice if you could just... Not do this right now."

Dick's trying to be nice, really. Trying to respect the law and act like a model citizen, like the kind of citizen he'd be happy to protect and serve.

"Well, too bad Britney Allen, justice... Isn't nice. Justice is messy, hard and fast. Like a creampie." And you pull the notebook out of your back pocket, the action of tilting your body just a bit draws Dick's attention to your body.

Perfect hips, only accentuated by those stupid cuffed, cargo pants and that bulky holster belt.

Dick clears his throat.

He seriously cannot be finding you sexy right now.

"So, Twinkle toes, you wanna tell me why you're going 130 in a 80 zone?" You hum, eyes lowered to the notebook in your hands, continuing to scrawl his parking ticket before you glance towards the number plate of the sportbike.

Or more accurately, the lack thereof.

"Oh, Pom Poms," you muse, laughter in your voice as you continue to scrawl, "riding without a number plate? That's an 80 dollar fine."

Rummaging through a hidden compartment, long gloved fingers wrap around a hundred dollar bill before handing it to you. And you pocket it.

"Now what about the fine?"

[sirxlla]

Kisses (Batboys)

----------------------------------------------------

Dick: The both of you would find yourselves locking eyes randomly or staring at eachother by chance, thats often when the kisses were the most meaningful to him. There was no reason for them to happen, they just happened. The trivial small moments that almost seemed insignificant, were always the most important. They want these big passionate lustful kisses they were these slow tiny loving ones that meant the most.

Jason: Jason often kissed out of need, to prove that you were real and not some sort of hallucination. He needed to know that he was out of that god forsaken pit or in a fucked up afterlife and the only thing that would usually help was the warmth of your skin, a kiss, a hug, the touch of a hand, just anything that let him know you are real and he is real.

Bruce: He often found himself in his head overthinking everything which often made his shoulders hang low and the tension in his back high. He'd get into his head about all the people he's 'let down' his parents, Dick, Jason, Gotham...you. In times like this you just needed to get hik out of his head. You are his light and the thing that makes him get out of bed in the morning so, whenever he needs a little pick me up you're always the one to give it to him.

Tim: Being a little energy ball he is, everything was always about making you laugh or making you smile. He found himself often making stupid faces or making dumb jokes to make you laugh. Your smile was infectious and gave him just the kick of dopamine he needed. Often he found that one thing that would always make you laugh is when he would kiss your nose or act like he was gonna eat it before kissing your lips.

Damian: He was always extremely dominant but so soft at the same time, extremely menacing but he would never hurt you or throw you around. Damian never really let anyone in so it was surprising to everyone how soft and kind he is to you. How he doesn't even need to ask you how you're feeling he just knows, he knows in those moments that you just need a little bit of reassurance. A lot of times you try to brush your problems off and act like they're not a big deal but he can read you like a book and knows that you saying nothing wrong is a load of bullshit.

Masterlist

[alienguts]

thinking about how bruce would insist on aftercare no matter what you’ve done in the bedroom. rough or gentle, fast or slow, he needs to wrap you in his arms afterwards and make sure that you’re okay and that you’re not hurt or upset

once the sexual urge has been delt with, he needs that emotional connection or else he doesn’t feel like he’s done his job properly, which is taking care of you first and foremost

[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.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Maybe she kisses Batman in the heat of the moment and then he nips her lip in a way that only Bruce has before and she reels back like 'haaaaaaang on hang on hold the fuck up, actually'

Bruce Wayne dating an ER doctor tho

- They meet at a Wayne Enterpise gala, where she's the guest of honor, speaking about her experience as a recipient of the Thomas Wayne Scholarship (which put her through medical school)

- Bruce being absolutely fascinated once he's able to speak with her personally, hanging on her every word

- The party basically closing down around them until they're two of the last people in the penthouse, besides the clean-up crew

- Bruce getting her number, trying to make plans a time or two, but her schedule is nuts, and evenings are weird for both of them

- For very, very different reasons, of course

- So Bruce turns up at the ER during one of her shifts, complaining about elbow pain (the lamest, non-life threatening excuse he could think of)

- (He says he whacked it when he was spelunking)

- Cue one very flirty assessment that leads to Bruce insisting on buying you a cup of coffee as thanks for checking him out

- The two finally get around to getting dinner and are both so utterly enamored

- (And you just know that when she does eventually find out that he's Batman, those late-night patch-up situations are special)

[ellesthots]

drabble ideas

- how bruce would comfort the reader after having a panic attack of some sort (maybe in the universe of ur fic..🤭)

- bruce getting head. that’s it.

- bruce’s goofy side. like maybe him, alfred, and y/n are all playing a board game or something LOL

“breathe”

battinson!bruce wayne x reader

“Focus on the sound of my voice.” Bruce spoke low and slow, gently rubbing his thumbs across your trembling palms. Soon as your breathing leveled, he’d tuck you into his chest and glide his hands over your back as long as you needed.

Your lashes fluttered, shoulders tensing. He squeezed your hands to tether you, drawing your eyes up to his. Saw the panic in them.

“It’ll be over before you know it.” He made his breathing even and deep, and you did your best to match. “Just breathe with me.”

Your shoulders dropped, gradually coming back to the room.

“rematch”

battinson!bruce wayne x reader

“It’s entirely chance.”

Bruce’s proud grin to you sold the lie that he’d already won. “That’s what losers tell themselves.”

Alfred rolled the dice and moved two spaces, knocking one of your players off the board. He sighed as he did it, taking less pleasure in your demise.

Bruce rolled. Six. Diligently moving his last player home, he folded his arms across his chest and smirked. “You two playing for second?”

You fought a smile at his ridiculous level of investment in Trouble, of all games. Your brow cocked. “Rematch?”

He winked and reset the board. “Don’t mind winning again.”

“close”

battinson!bruce wayne x reader

Bruce had to be quiet. No matter how impossible it was with your head between his legs.

With that perfect mouth.

And the fucking noises you were making.

As if you sought to unthread his soul from his body, you gripped his thighs and took all of him. The head of his cock touched the back of your throat and he gasped.

Warm, wet, soft… “Babe,” he gripped the sheets as you sped up. His hips moved involuntarily when you groaned around his aching dick, his abs tensing.

His voice was hoarse. “I’m gonna…”

You paused, only a second. “Cum.”

a/n: these were so fun to write !!! slightly out of order since I wanted to have the lil divider smut warning sksksk. thank you for the prompts!!! all of these prompts made me want to dig into the next chapter of my fic 🤭