#bruce wayne/reader

[mostly-imagines]

Sugar on the Rim vol. I

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

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

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

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

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

Should you stand up? 

No, he’s rich, not royalty. 

You are in his house though—

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

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

“Who’s your boss?” he asks, relaxed. 

“Arthur Mullins.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know anybody here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh at that, “Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well. Up close window shopping is more fun anyways. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, I was headed to a meeting.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean, of course, but it—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And so you have.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why did you show up last weekend?”

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

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

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

“Well, money’s money,” you say wryly.

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

You shrug, “A day in the life,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, he’s a professional.

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

He doesn’t.

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

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

“You—” you blink rapidly, “Stop it.”

His coy beam persists, “Stop what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hums, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

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

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

“Why’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hums lowly, “Sweet thing..”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

You let him move you.

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

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

You smile in disbelief, shaking your head.

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

You blink at him, “I’m going home?”

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Later?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, looking down again.

“You’re nervous,” he comments.

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

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

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

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

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

“Bruce—”

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

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

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

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

“Two hundred.”

“Bruce.”

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

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

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

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

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

You lean forward a bit instinctually, “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You groan, “Why?”

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

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

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

You sit back on your heels again, frowning.

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

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

part two

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

[gilverrwrites]

Thinking about clit slapping again, per 2.5 asks, ya’ll make some great observations. Ft. Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, & Roy.

Bruce

Thinking about Bruce who loves to tease you with a straight face. Who tells you to “be patient”, who’s helping you build on your self-restraint by touching every inch of you with those big, thick hands except the one place you keep begging him for.

Bruce who keeps you on edge until it’s unbearable, until on a whim you decide if he’s not going to do anything about it, you will.

Bruce who grumbles in your ear, low and restrained; “What did I tell you?”

Bruce who opens your slick folds, in a controlled, slow motion which only serves to make you needier until he comes down on your sensitive clit with his other hand. The obscene smack that rings through his chambers is almost drowned out by your anguish, desperate cry.

Dick

Dick with his long, dexterous fingers who loves to explore every crevice of your body. Who would do anything to keep hearing you make those pretty noises for him.

Dick who knows the key to keeping you sex dazed is working your clit until it’s dark and swollen and you’re incapable of following a thought. So he rubs and grinds against it, swirls his tongue around it, and laps until his jaw is soaked in his own saliva and your juices.

And then one day, with no forethought, Dick flicks it with the back of his middle finger and the resulting sob was so delicious he had to eat up more.

“You’re so perfect, baby.” Dick purrs between sloppy kisses and strikes of growing intensity. “Do it again, baby. Come on, just for me pretty girl.”

Jason

And Jason, who is big and tough, and rough around the edges but would do anything you want to hear you praise him.

“You like that, sweetheart?” He asks you over and over again, basking and melting just a little bit more every time you reply with “Fuck, yes Jason! Feels so good baby.”

“Who? Who makes you feel good?” He begs for more. “You Jason, you!”

So when you ask Jason to try slapping your clit, he doesn’t hesitate. He slaps it once, savouring the way your body tremors under the force of his brawny hand. Twice, and he can’t believe how lucky he is to have found someone so beautiful and shameless as you. Three times, with no end in sight.

Tim

Tim read about it in an cosmopolitan article and can’t wait for the chance to experiment with you, and he knows if he plays his cards just right you’ll always cave.

“Spread your legs.” He murmurs in a voice that’s assertive but so soft. The tips of his long hair tickle your soft skin as he kisses his way down your torso. Tim’s warm, calloused hands guiding your thighs apart as he slinks between them. “That’s it hon, just like that.”

He intends to warm you up, to rub your pretty little clit beneath his thumb until you’re pleading for more, to spell T-I-M on it with his tongue over and over but; “I’ve barely touched you and you’re this wet already?”

Before you can answer Tim used two fingers to spread your slick folds apart and delivers a sharp slap right where you’re most sensitive, blue eyes unblinking, soaking in your reaction.

Despite knowing from the way your back arches and your eyes roll back, Tim asks; “Did you like that baby, do you want more?”

Roy

Your body is like target practice to Roy, which is to say; he never misses.

Roy has every inch of you ingrained in his mind. Teasing, and touching, and getting you off is as easy to him as firing his bow, its muscle memory.

Not once does Roy need to break away from your needy, heated kisses as he undresses you. There’s not a thought in his head other than how hot you look when you’re dishevelled and riled up as he unhooks your bra or curls his fingers on your core.

Roy brags that he could find your clit, one-handed and blindfolded, and sometimes he likes to put that into practice. He tells you to “Lay back, Princess.” Then he closes his eyes, makes a show of spinning around or pretending to sniff you out and then he spanks your clit with the kind of powerful precision only he could possess.

Taglist: @wandalfnation

[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.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

On the subject of Bruce Wayne getting married: why not both? They have a marriage of convenience at Vegas first, but once they're deep in their feels, they have another more intimate and meaningful ceremony officiated by Alfred

UGH anon i could not agree more

Warnings: Marriage of convenience; fluff

Summary: It was supposed to be easy—a year-long marriage of convenience to keep Bruce's name clean; cash for your time spent, for your name and likeness splashed all over the papers, run through the mud by the tabloids.

You'd been in a tough spot; you were willing to risk it.

But you couldn't have banked on falling in love with Bruce, or on Bruce falling in love with you.

"We should get married."

It's mumbled against your temple mid-nuzzle, and chased by the warm pressure of Bruce drawing you impossibly closer. Your brow furrows even as your lips pull into a smile, your head tipping back to get a better look at Bruce in the dim bedroom light.

"We are married," You remind him.

"Properly," He insists.

You have to consider it for a moment.

Your first wedding hadn't exactly been a grand affair.

You still remember the roiling nerves as you'd pulled up to the drive-through chapel in Vegas. You'd known that the press would catch up with you in the next twelve hours; that every woman that had ever shown an outward interest in Bruce, so much as breathed in his direction, would come out of the woodwork; that you were likely expected to ignore his infidelity for the year of your contract.

But Bruce had held your hand tightly, come home faithfully. Your physical attraction had only grown as your emotional attachment had flourished. While Bruce's nights could be late, you never had a hint of infidelity from the press, or from Bruce himself.

You knew that you were in far too deep the first time the two of you had slept together. You hadn't been able to take your eyes off of him—even as you'd cum, your gaze had been glued to him, watching his eyes slip shut as his jaw dropped, your name and a murmur of, "Fuck," mingling as his hips stuttered.

It was supposed to be easy—a year-long marriage of convenience to keep Bruce's name clean; cash for your time spent, for your name and likeness splashed all over the papers, run through the mud by the tabloids.

You'd been in a tough spot; you were willing to risk it.

But you couldn't have banked on falling in love with Bruce, or on Bruce falling in love with you.

For better or worse, in sickness and in health, sometimes it feels too damn good to be true. Sometimes you wake up in Bruce's arms, and you just keep still and hold your breath. You revel in the warmth and comfort of his arms, and just feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

You've known that the end of your contract was nearing, but Bruce hasn't mentioned it.

Not until now.

"Properly?" You question, fingers skimming along his side. Bruce hums, hands sliding over your shoulder. "Was there some hitch with the first license that I don't know about?"

Bruce huffs softly, and your stomach flips as his hand slips up to your neck, grasping at the base and tipping your head up. You meet his eyes steadily, searching his gaze as his thumb skims along your nape.

"Go ahead," He urges, "Lie."

"Excuse me?"

"Tell me you don't feel this, too."

"Bruce," You huff, pushing yourself up, drawing back from his arms. It's hardly a few seconds before Bruce is up behind you.

"Tell me."

"It's just—We have a contract."

"Fuck the contract."

"You're speaking in a lot of absolutes."

"...Look at me."

You hesitate, gaze lingering on the gold band on your wing finger before you tip your head back toward him. You let your eyes sweep and settle on his chest, his shoulder. It's safe there.

But Bruce has never been one to go the safe route. He reaches up, curling his fingers tenderly around your jaw, tipping your chin up and forcing your eye contact.

"If you want out, tell me right now," He insists. "Nothing from the arrangement will change. We'll divorce, you'll have your stipend...Or," He leans into it softly, "We keep on. Nothing changes...Alfred will get ordained—"

"Bruce!"

"—And marry us properly...He should've been there the first time."

You frown as his face shifts, his eyes dropping to your lap. You hadn't known then, but you know now how dear Alfred is to Bruce, and Bruce is to Alfred. You hadn't known when you'd agreed to the contract, but it's become crystal clear to you now.

You push a quiet sigh through your nose, reaching up and taking hold of one of Bruce's hands in both of yours.

"What if you change your mind?" You ply softly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...This was supposed to be temporary, Bruce. We had a deal—we have paperwork, for fuckssake."

"I'll add a non-compete."

"Be serious—"

"I am being serious." Bruce intertwines your fingers, raising your hand and pressing a kiss to your ring. "Not about the non-compete, but...About Alfred. About getting married—and meaning it, this time."

You consider for a few moments before you lean against Bruce, sliding your thumb along his knuckles as you consider.

"The contract should be retooled into a prenup."

"We don't need a prenup."

"Now you're being ridiculous."

"No," Bruce insists. "I'm being decisive. I know what I'm doing."

"What if you're wrong about me?"

"I'm not."

"Are you always so full of yourself?"

"Sure of myself."

"Tomato, to-mah-to."

"Are you gonna marry me again or not, Mrs. Wayne?"

You grin, tipping your head back to press a gentle kiss to Bruce's jaw.

"Again and again, Mr. Wayne."

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; 

@winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @missswriter ; @nominalnebula

[n0cturn4]

Was it worth it?

Character: Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader Summary: In his arms, with the last breath of life Word Count: 948 Music: Hurt Like Hell - Madison Beer

The abandoned building loomed in dark ruins, like a monument to oblivion, its peeling walls and partially open ceiling letting in only scattered drops of the rain outside. The dense shadows of dusk seemed to hold a vigil around us, and the heavy air carried the smell of rust and dampness, so thick it felt as if time itself was trapped there, holding everything stagnant except for the pain.

And then, in the middle of that desolate scene, my eyes found her. She was leaning against the wall, pale, her trembling lips shaped into an expression of exhaustion that no battle could explain, one hand pressed against the open wound on her torso. Blood slipped between her fingers, slow and dark, as if each drop was being pulled from the very essence of her. My heart clenched at the sight, realizing this was no longer one of the many wounds we healed in silence. This was something far deeper, a kind of sacrifice that should never have been hers to make.

She lifted her eyes to mine as she sensed my presence, her face marked by an exhaustion that went beyond the physical, an exhaustion that burned into the soul. Yet still, she managed a tremulous smile—a smile that, somehow, seemed more of a farewell than a greeting. Leaning against the wall, her frail and fading body seemed to struggle against an invisible weight pulling her down, as if the simple act of continuing to breathe demanded every fragment of strength she still possessed.

“Why…?” The question escaped my lips in a whisper barely audible, tearing through the oppressive silence surrounding us. I moved toward her, each step heavy, each movement carrying the weight of what I knew I couldn’t fix. I knelt by her side, my knees pressing into the dirty, damp ground, but none of that mattered. I was so close that I could see the contours of the bloodstains on her clothes, the dark color I knew so well but had never wanted to see there, on her.

She tried to speak, but the sound came out weak, sliced through by the pain. Her lips trembled slightly, and I saw hesitation in her gaze, as if she was afraid to let me know everything that was inside her. I touched her hand, feeling the warmth of life slipping between our fingers as she struggled to find the words. There was something solemn and irreversible in her eyes, as if she had already accepted a fate I still refused to see.

“I… I wanted to protect you, Dad.” Her voice was faint, a breath barely reaching my ears, but every word carried the determination of someone who knew that sacrifice was inevitable. “I knew the risks… knew it would be a one-way road… but I didn’t care. It was my choice.”

I felt my throat tighten, swallowing hard, trying to contain the unbearable weight now crushing my chest. There, in the middle of the shadows, with my daughter fighting for each second of life, the mantle of Batman felt useless. I was nothing but a father, and watching my daughter fade in my arms was a suffering no battle could prepare me for. I held her hand tighter, as if I could anchor her to life, as if I could convince her to stay.

“You didn’t have to do this.” My words came out shaky, almost like a murmur of despair. “I should… I should have protected you… should have stopped you… never should have let you walk down this path.”

She gave a faint smile, that sad and tired smile that bore a courage I had never seen before. Her eyes, even weakened, met mine with a depth that destroyed me inside. She knew, knew everything, and still, she looked at me with an acceptance that felt greater than any understanding I could have.

“Was it worth it?” The question escaped my mouth almost without thinking, a mixture of pain, guilt, and the desperate hope that, somehow, her words could relieve me of this weight that seemed to crush my soul. I needed to believe that all of this wasn’t in vain, that everything she had endured had a greater purpose.

She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly. Her trembling hand touched my face, a final gesture of affection, and when she spoke, each word came out in a whisper laden with unshakable strength:

“It was worth it, Dad… it was worth it, because I would do it all over again, just to know you’re still here. I was never just your daughter… I am your shadow, and that is my part in your legacy. You gave me purpose. Now, you have to go on, even if I’m not here. You have to keep Gotham safe… that’s the path I chose, for you.”

She closed her eyes, and her hand slipped softly from mine, leaving her last breath to escape her lips. I remained there, holding her in my arms, feeling the weight of loss rooting itself within me, a profound emptiness taking over what had once been a simple desire to fight. The rain outside seemed to intensify, as if the city mourned the loss of a silent heroine, a warrior who had sacrificed herself for something greater than herself.

For a long time, the only sound that filled the space was that of the rain, like a sad melody merging with the emptiness left behind. And I knew, there and forever, that this sacrifice was the greatest Gotham had ever demanded of me—a sacrifice I would carry with me for the rest of my life, a sacrifice that, as she had said, was now an inseparable part of who I was.

[k4marina]

bruce wayne x fem!reader || smau

pt. 3 of this

pt. 1 || pt. 2 ||

a little bit rushed since i made it all in one night. but since the last to parts are doing well, why not right?

lmk any ideas you might have for the next part

it’s been awhile since you or bruce have posted so your fans decide to look back on some of your memorable moments.

——

brucewayne posted a story 3hrs ago

[caption; 🫀: ]

[spideybatsy]

Late Night | Chapter two

Summary: GN!Reader gets a cleaning job working at Wayne Enterprises when a certain billionaire playboy develops an obsession with them. Pairing: Bruce Wayne x GN!Reader WC: 2.4K Warnings: Although the reader is GN, they have female anatomy. With that clear - female and male masturbation (at different times), a bit of exhibitionism, and a blowie. Notes: Can be read as any batsy you’d like, I personally picture Bale bc I’m a slut for him <3 I have never written smut before, so I hope it's enjoyable! Masterlist

Working for Wayne Enterprises had been going surprisingly well. Despite originally taking the job to make rent, you feel like you've settled right in. Your coworkers often invite you out on the weekends and you really enjoy spending time with them. Russell, the security guard downstairs, continues to chat you up when your shifts overlap. Even though he’s your type, you just aren’t interested in him and you’re not sure why. 

Okay, you know exactly why. It’s the exact same reason why you’re enjoying work so much. 

Bruce has been in almost every day you have, always taking the time out of his busy schedule to stop and talk with you. You’ve seen the magazines and tabloids about him but the real man is nothing like they say. Sure, he’s charismatic and incredibly good looking but he’s also hilarious and affectionate. 

Like, you haven’t had to bring dinner in since that fateful night a month ago. He either brings you into his office to eat with him or leaves something for you in the fridge. When it started happening you were worried about your coworkers being irritated by the blatant favouritism. Sure, the office was almost empty that late but you didn't want a target on your back.  When you brought it up with Bruce, he responded with a simple, “I’ll deal with it.” Meal vouchers have been passed out since. 

Coming into the kitchen, you were pleasantly surprised to find Bruce making coffee.

“Interesting,” you comment as you walk in.

Bruce hums, raising his eyebrows questionably.

“I didn’t know you knew how to,” you gesture at him.

“Make coffee?” He sounds borderline offended. “Of course I can. What do you think I am?”

“A billionaire with a butler at his beck and call.” You shrug playfully, “but what would I know?”

“More than most.” His deep voice does something to you.

A smile creeps up his face as he moves closer to you, towering over your shorter frame. You never really noticed how… big and strong he is. Sturdy. You could climb him like a-

Heat rises to your cheeks and you hope he doesn’t notice but he does. He always does. Rushing past him, you look away and start to fill the sink, trying to collect yourself. 

“I’m going to the ballet this weekend,” he pauses for a moment, panic flashing through his eyes. “Would you lik-”

“Hey, I’ve been thi-” Emily stops short. “Oh, I didn’t see you Mr Wayne. Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” Bruce’s business voice rears its head and you can’t help but look at him. He’s not smiling anymore and he looks almost irritated. “I was just about to head out anyway, have a good evening you two.”

His eyes meet yours and for a moment, they soften, his lip twitching up. Then he’s gone, leaving you two alone in the kitchen.

“I don’t think he knows my name,” Emily whispers, bringing her dirty cup over. 

“I’m sure he does,” you laugh. 

“I’m just saying, he never took me out for lunch.” 

You grin as you take the cup from her. “Maybe he was just avoiding you.”

“Maybe he just wants to see the good looking cleaner.” 

Your smile softens, as you plunge your hands into the dishwater. “I think he just needed a friend. Someone who sees him as more than Mr Wayne.” 

“And you’re that friend?” She stops and looks at you.

“I don’t know,” you pause. “I hope so.”

She glances at you, “And what if he wants more than that?” 

“More friends?” You ask mindlessly, hands scrubbing at the cup.

“Don’t be obtuse.”

You take a moment to really think, even though you know the answer. Everyone seemingly knows the answer. You’re not oblivious to the knowing looks that follow you everywhere you go.

Bruce leans on the wall outside the door, the two of you ignorant to his eavesdropping. He’s waiting with bated breath, desperate for confirmation that you feel half as attracted to him as he is to you.

“Well, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Bruce can’t help but grin at Emily’s response. “Do you want to fuck him or not?”

“Of course I want to fuck him,” you blurt out. 

Bruce barely holds back a groan as his trousers suddenly grow tight. 

“Mmm, he does have the face of a god,” Emily comments.

You hum, continuing to wash up. 

“I bet his dick is-”

“As big and bulky as him,” you interrupt. 

Bruce can’t contain the sharp breath that leaves his lips, so loud it echoes off the walls. Before either of you can react, he hurries down the hallway and into his office, practically slamming the door.

You drop the cup into the sink, the water splashing your shirt. 

“Oh my God,” Emily’s hands are against her mouth. “Do you think that was him?”

“I-I don’t know,” you say quietly. “I hope not.”

“It might’ve been Fox.” She tries to reason, “he’s always here late.”

“He called in sick today.”

Emily swears under her breath, pacing through the kitchen. 

“You need to go into his office.”

“Me!” You yelp, pointing at her, “why should I have to go? You’re the one who started the conversation!”

“But you’re his friend,” she throws your previous statement back in your face. “He actually likes you!”

You huff and turn your back on her, thinking through your options. Someone needs to go and talk to him, squash it down before it turns into a big mess. Plus she’s not wrong, you’re definitely closer to him than she is.

“Fine,” you relent. “But if I lose my job, I’ll kill you.”

“Deal.” She nervously follows you to the door, the two of you peaking your heads out to look at the ominous office at the end of the hallway. Her hand comes up and pats you on the back “Good luck.”

—

God, he hasn’t been this horny since he was a teenager. Bruce has always had immaculate control, especially over something as trivial as his body. 

Yet here he is, fly down and cock in hand as he violently pumps to the memory of your words. You’d said it so quickly, effortlessly even. How often have you thought about his dick? Did you touch yourself while you did? 

He’s mid-stroke when he hears the gentle tapping against his office door. He ignores it for a moment, continuing as he replays your words in his head. Big and thick. Was that your preference? 

“Bruce, please.” 

Your words stop him dead in his tracks. He considers putting himself back in his pants but he’s so swollen it’s borderline painful. 

Carefully, he pulls his chair closer to his desk. Now there’s no way you could see what he’s doing under there. Giving his girth one final squeeze, he places his hands firmly on the desk and calls you in. 

His eyes immediately catch on the wet spots on your shirt, sticking to the tiniest bits of skin. 

“Bruce, I-I’m so sorry-” 

“What for?” He cuts you off.

“For what I said in the kitchen, I was just joking.” He can see the blood rush to your cheeks, your eyes suddenly studying his hands. 

Your name rolls off his tongue, “Look at me.”

The anxiety in your eyes is palpable as they meet his. Guilt suddenly floods his chest, almost drowning him in the tidal wave. How could he be doing this when you’re so upset? He should be comforting you, not stroking his dick to the thought of you.

“It’s fine, honestly.” He tries a gentle smile. “All you did was boost my already enlarged ego.”

“Y-Yeah?” Your eyes shine with unshed tears.

“Oh yeah, you could say my ego is big and bulky.”

His chest warms at your surprised laugh, “I’m so embarrassed.”

He reaches out for you, making sure to use his untainted hand to hold your own.

“You already have lots of embarrassing blackmail material for me, I think it’s only fair.” 

“Thank you.” You smile and take his hand in yours, squeezing it gently. 

“No problem,” he returned the smile and squeezes. “Now get back to work, I wouldn’t want to reprimand you.”

Bruce can’t help but stare at your ass as you walk out of his office, closing the door behind you. Waiting a minute to make sure the coast is clear, he pushes his seat back and looks at himself. His head is red and angry, leaking precum down his designer suit.

As bad as he feels, he can’t endure it any longer. He thrusts into his hand, hips angling until he’s biting back moans and cumming into a tissue. 

—

There’s something peaceful about being alone in the office, especially in the middle of the night. Even the bustling city seems sleepy beneath you, everything muffled and far away. You don’t miss the big bat symbol amongst the clouds, it’s on almost every night. Although you hope you’ll never need his help, knowing he’s there always brings you comfort. 

Bruce’s office is the only one left to clean and then you’re cleared to go home. You can’t help but chuckle as you remember what happened in this office only an hour ago. It seemed silly to be so stressed, of course he was going to take it in his stride.

But, if you’re being honest, you’re a little disappointed that he brushed it off. Part of you hoped he’d take you words for what they were and make a move. That was just wishful thinking. Bruce could have anyone he wanted, so why would he settle for you?

Something falls out of Bruce’s bin while you’re emptying it, landing right in front of you feet. Without thinking, you pick it up to throw it away. It’s squishy texture catching your attention. You don’t know why, but you feel compelled to open it. 

It’s full of pale white goo, it almost looks like…

Warmth that floods through your nether region. This is recent. He must’ve done this just before he left, which was minutes after you talked. Was this because of you? 

Your breath quickens and you find yourself sitting back on his chair. Was he playing with his cock in this very chair? Was he hard in his pants while you came in and begged for his forgiveness? 

Your hand slowly slides past your waistband and beneath your underwear, fingers rubbing slow circles against your clit. Breathy moans pass your lips as you draw the circles tighter, picking up the pace. Grasping the tissue, you close your eyes and visualise Bruce sitting in this chair, cumming to the thought of you. 

You hip rock against your hand, begging for more as you moan out his name. You cum quicker than ever before, hand continuing but softening its movement to draw out your orgasm. 

In an almost hypnotic state, you stop and take a moment to catch your breath. You slowly open your eyes, a sense of euphoria coursing through you. 

A cock stands to attention right in front of you, it’s head a breath away from your lips.

“Open your mouth, beautiful.” Bruce rumbles.

Your mouth opens as you look up at him through your lashes. His eyes are hooded as he looks back, tongues peaking out to lick his lips.

He hums, bringing his length to rest against your bottom lip.

“I’m going to put my cock in your mouth, baby.” His voice is so deep, you can almost feel the vibration. “And you’re going to suck it like a good little whore, aren’t you?”

You nod, core feeling like molten fire. He smiles, slowly pushing his head into your parted lips. You suck on it, enjoying the taste of his salty pre-cum. His moan echoes through the room, hands fisting at his sides.

He slowly thrusts in and out, inching his way further into your mouth. You’re not sure if you’re doing the right thing but his groans say you are. 

Turns out you weren’t far off the mark when you said he was big and bulky. His member is hot and heavy against your tongue. 

Without thinking, you reach out and take his hand in yours. His breath stutters before he intertwines your fingers.

“You’re so good for me,” his voice is rougher than you’ve ever heard it. “I’ve been thinking about these lips for months.”

Your mind temporarily notes that you’ve only known each other for a month but the thought rushes away as he pushes far enough to hit your gag reflex. Your other hand automatically comes up to rest on his thigh as you push back. He throws his head back as his free hand comes down to grasp your hair. He pulls at it, yet doesn’t push you any further down. You moan as your scalp burns, the vibration running up his dick.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum.” Pride swells in your chest, you’re going to make the Prince of Gotham cum. “You want it in your mouth, baby?”

You hum, which drives him even wilder. The sounds leaving his mouth are otherworldly and you can feel your own slick pooling in your underwear. His thrusts come to a stop as his cum rushes into your mouth. It tastes better than you thought it would, salty yet sweet. 

You swallow without thinking about it, looking up at him through hooded eyes. His face is flushed, mouth open in a perfect O. You think this might be the first time you’ve seen him dishevelled. You love it.

He slowly pulls back, saliva lines bridging the gap as he does. His eyes are glassy as he tucks himself in and slowly lowers to his knees, his hand still intertwined with yours. His free hand travels up your thigh, coming to play with your button.

“What are you doing?” You murmur, eyes focused on the rapid rising and falling of his chest. He stares down at your waistline, a post-orgasmic sheen coating his gaze.

“Repaying the favour.”

Your free hand stops him, causing him to look up at you. 

“You don’t have to do that.” You insist. 

Bruce recognises the panic that starts to swell in your chest, immediately pulling his hand away.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is soft, eyes starting to clear. 

“I-I-'' you fail to actually say anything before jumping from your seat. “My shift is over, I’ve got to go.”

Bruce says your name as he squeezes your hand. “Please, just speak to me.”

“I need you to leave me alone, right now.” You pull your hand from his before rushing out of the office, leaving Bruce alone on his knees.

Taglist: @so-uncute

[the-wintershade]

becoming unraveled | pattinson!batman

series: staring into the echo | 1 | 2 | 3  pairing: pattinson!batman x reader  summary: bruce needs to hear the truth. wc: 2.3k+  genre: angsty, reader has doubts about feelings, sad, but has a happy ending (here it is!) 

His voice, sad and open, calls to you. “Was it something I did?”

Your face wavers and your feet stop moving.

Of course, this has nothing to do with him. This is all about you. This is about a relationship that you’re realizing you imagined all in your head.

He did nothing wrong. He has a right to pursue and like who he wanted. You’re an adult. You’re responsible for how you feel. You’re trying to sit and deal with your emotions.

But you never meant for Bruce to feel like he could do anything to jeopardize what the two of you had. You just wanted to process and wait for it all to go away.

Slowly, you turn around. His shoulders timidly fold into each other. He looks so vulnerable. You can’t stand it.

You decide to try to tell the truth.

You can’t promise you would tell everything, that might be too risky if you’re trying to protect the relationship you have, but you would at least try to help him understand.

“No.” Your face scrunched into a look of concern. Bruce responds, becoming less sorrow-filled and more inquisitive. “Of course not, Bruce.”

“Then why do I feel like I did something to upset you?”

“You didn’t,” you shake your head.

He slowly pads closer, watching to make sure you don’t back away from him. You don’t this time. “You never said anything to me before you left. You didn’t let me check if you were hurt. I don’t think you were even going to answer my texts.” He stops right in front of you, your toes nearly touching. He reaches down and grasps your hands, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Tell me, what did I do?”

You swallow. Worry engulfs his eyes as they scan across your face, up and down your arms.

The last thing you expected was for Bruce to come and seek you out. You couldn’t help but keep asking yourself, where was this other woman?

You need to bring her up. While you enjoyed having him so close to you, so worried about you, and so insistent on making things right, you need to know what happened between them before you let yourself fall into him.

You close your eyes, scrunching your brows together in a grimace. You can’t believe you’re going through with this.

“What?” Bruce asks, noticing your facial expression, an anxious tone both softening and lifting his pitch. His grip on your hands tightens. “What is it?”

“It’s stupid,” you breathe.

“It’s not, whatever it is. Talk to me.”

You take a deep breath and open your eyes. You make sure to keep your gaze locked on the floor and not on him. He can’t read what he can’t see. “Did the woman with the red hair go back with you to the manor?”

“What woman with the red hair?”

You scoff. You knew this was stupid. Either he’s denying this on purpose or he really does not remember what you’re talking about. “The woman you were talking to when we got out of the building.”

His silence prompts you to look up at him. His expression twists in confusion, eyes shifting slightly as he sorts through his memories. “Oh! Selina.”

Just what anybody wants to hear. The bright recognition in his voice has you ready to confirm your suspicions about her going home with him. Then Bruce keeps talking.

“The woman with the red hair,” Bruce continues. “That was Selina. Selina Kyle. We’re working together to try to get information about the Riddler’s targets. Her friend is missing. She got a lead but lost them in the building explosion.”

You take another deep breath.

He didn’t answer your question. But now you’re more interested in questioning him a bit about the nature of their relationship. Even if you have to result to lower methods, methods you don’t even like the fact that you were about to use.

“You two seemed pretty cozy,” you murmur, trying to keep your eyes away from his face again. He would know what you’re doing if he looks you in the eye. You feel his confusion in the silence.

“She was pretty upset, but it’s not like that.” Bruce squeezes your hands. “We’re just temporary partners. Once we figure things out, we’ll go our separate—wait,” Bruce hesitates and you bite your lip to keep yourself still.

There was that partner word again. As much as you’re elated to hear that he doesn’t think of Selina in that way, it doesn’t dismiss the fact that you don’t know how he views your relationship. Your heart starts to race in his silence. “Are you jealous?”

You could lie, but you told yourself already that you wouldn’t do that. You need to stand your ground, no matter how scary that was. “I don’t know.” Your hands twitch in Bruce’s steady hold. “I just was confused. You looked at her like she was more than just a partner.”

Bruce starts laughing, and you would be lying if you said that it doesn’t tick you off a little. This is a very serious conversation.

You’re beginning to pour your heart out to him. If he isn’t going to take that seriously, you would stop talking to him entirely.

“If you’re going to laugh at my feelings, we can just talk later.” You start to back away from him, slipping your hands from his grasp, but he tightens his hold, keeping you planted where you had only taken a few steps back.

His eyes open as his chuckles die down. His gaze fills with clarity and…happiness?

Only a few moments ago he looked upset and confused, now he looks as if he had made a special discovery that helped him unlock a puzzle.

“I’m sorry for laughing. I do take your feelings very seriously. I just never thought we would get to this moment.” His eyes are so bright now; they draw you in, refusing to let you look away.

“What moment?”

“The one where I can finally be honest with you because I know you feel the same.”

Your heart picks up again. You’re starting to get whiplash from all of the emotional ups and downs.

But now, you let a bit of hope seep through, lightening your face and coloring your voice in tiny bits of giggles that echoed his.

Was he going to admit what you’d been waiting to hear? Did he see you as more than just a partner?

You anxiously shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “Okay, out with it, Bat guy.”

Bruce gently drops your hands. For a second, you thought this is going to go differently, that he’s going to say how thankful he is for your partnership and talk about how he works hard not to jeopardize it.

But then he brings his hands up to cup your face, tilting your chin to look him in the eye.

“I didn’t sleep with her. I was up half the night worrying about you. I could barely sleep thinking you were upset with me.”

You sigh in relief, letting your eyes slip closed. The hope you kept firmly in check spilled forth through your veins, heating your veins and adding a flush to your cheeks. You meant more. You mean more to him.

“So, you see me as more than a partner?” You smile at him, knowing how tender and vulnerable your eyes look.

Before you would have locked your expression down immediately. Now, there’s no need. You’re safe with Bruce, even if the answer is a no.

That same tenderness reflects in the intensity of his stare. Then, he gently leans in, waiting for your foreheads to touch and for you to angle your chin toward his face before he presses his lips against yours. He drops a hand to wrap around your waist, pulling you into his chest. Your hands curl into his shirt.

His kiss is firm but soft, and he surges forward to capture your lips again before leaning back to press his forehead against yours. “Yes, I see you as more than a partner,” he whispers against your lips.

Your stomach erupts in butterflies while your heart calms down. You could feel a puffiness starting to form on your lips.

He feels the same way. He really feels the same way.

“What about me?” Bruce pulls back to brush some of your hair away from your face. “Am I more than a partner to you?”

You smirk and reach up on your tiptoes to kiss him again, lingering longer than you need to. Your core warms as his arm tightens against your back. When you break for air, you chuckle. “I’m not in the habit of kissing my working partners.”

“Oh really?” Bruce laughs. “Well good. Otherwise, HR would have a file about a mile long on you.”

Your laughter is bright and smiley and warm. Bruce grins, a warmth in his eyes.

“You’ve been more than a partner to me for some time.” You murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck and running a couple of fingers along his skin. His breathing stops for a second before he demurely smirks.

Right as he’s getting ready to kiss you again, your phone rings. You check your watch.

It’s 8:05 am. You’re missing breakfast with Gordon.

You disentangle yourself from Bruce, but not without begging Bruce to let you go. His laughs follow you into your room. You answer the phone without looking at the caller ID; you already know who it was.

“Hey, Gordon. I’m so sorry. Something came up.” You answer, breathless and still giddy.

“That bat guy showed up at your place, didn’t he?”

You chuckle, ready to ask how he knew but then you remembered the bat signal the other night and how Gordon could tell something was wrong with you and how Bruce knew you went back to the department instead of going straight home.

“You told him to come here?” You ask.

Gordon is silent for a moment. “I recommended it.”

“Wow. Look at you, matchmaker for the department.” Bruce now leans against your door, looking at you on the phone with a happy grin. He must have already figured out who you’re talking to.

“You guys have a good thing going on. Figured all you needed to do was talk it out.”

“You’re really something Lieutenant. You knew he was going to show up in the morning?”

“No. I told him to wait till the evening after you’d blown off some steam. He’s the nutjob who thought the earlier the better.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. Did he use the biscuit excuse?”

“As a matter of fact, he did.” You cock your head to the side to look at Bruce. He looks back with an innocently curious look on his face. You make up your mind to tease him about it later.

“That was a decent one,” Gordon hums. “A little on the nose for my taste, but it seemed to work because here I am with a pot of coffee in front of me and nobody to drink it with.”

“I’m still going to be there. I just might need 15-20 more minutes.”

“Fine. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

“See you soon, Gordon.”

“Yeah. Hey. Bring that bat guy with you, will you? I think I’ve earned a free breakfast.”

“Will do, Lieutenant.”

You click off the phone and shake your head at Bruce. “What?” He knowingly smiles.

“You little schemer. You planned this thing with Gordon. And there are no biscuits! You lied to me.”

He grins, white teeth peaking out behind his lips as he walks closer. “You know Alfred has plenty waiting for you back at the manor. Plus, I needed somebody to run some thoughts by. I thought I was reading into the situation wrong. I needed a second opinion.”

“Hmm. I guess I can believe that.” Bruce comes to a stop right in front of you, bending down to press a kiss against your temple. Butterflies flutter in your stomach again.

It’s nice to know that all of your worries would lead you to this moment with him. Now, you don’t have to concern yourself with how he thought about you.

Bruce likes you and sees you as something precious in his life. It’s endearing as much as it was scary.

Your honesty paid off. The voices in your head are quiet now. The memories with Bruce change from black and white back to gold.

Now you could just be. Just be with him.

“Oh, also, Gordon invited Batman to breakfast.” You squeeze his shoulder as you walk around him to retrieve the clothes you were going to change into.

“He did?” Bruce’s face scrunches into a confused expression.

“He did. He expects repayment for his services in the form of an early morning meal.”

“Of course,” Bruce chuckles. “I should get back to the manor to change then.”

“Sounds good.” You set your uniform down in your bathroom before you quickly bounce back over to Bruce. “See you soon.”

You lean up and press a kiss against his lips. Bruce responds right away, a hand lifting to your cheek to draw you in, another holding your waist. His lips gently move across yours.

This is really happening. You’re together with Bruce. That the little voice that held on to him was right.

Bruce presses one long kiss to your lips before he backs away, smiling in a daze. “Drive safe,” he tells you, turning around to leave your apartment.

A warmth blossoms in your core that you haven’t felt in a long time.

That warmth follows you from the shower, to your car, to the diner, and expands again when you feel Bruce, now dressed as Batman, slide into your side of the booth, nudging your knee under the table.

taglist! @beautifulgrungekid​ (I got u)

[supeson]

je ne sais quoi

hey guys, girls, and gays. thanks.

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine , part ten, part eleven, part twelve, part thirteen, part fourteen , part fifteen, part sixteen, part seventeen, part eighteen, part nineteen

"Fuckin' stupid, putting it this high up, this is an accident waiting to happen," You mutter under your breath, fingers just grazing the bag of cat food on the top shelf. You step up on your tip toes, the shelf gets no closer. Stepping up onto the shelf helps, giving you another 3 inches, and you grab a corner of the bag, letting out a triumphant noise.

"Gotcha!" 3 inches too many, it seems, as it all gives way and you crash back to the floor, eighteen pound bag of cat food clutched tightly to your chest. You're staring into the fluorescent lights when a sharply manicured hand pops into view.

"Need a hand? I saw your valiant struggle against that dastardly-placed food."

You lift your head and look up. An extremely attractive woman with looks down at you and smiles, her brown eyes crinkling at the corners. You shift the food to the floor beside you and take her hand. "Uh yea, thanks. God, that's embarrassing that you saw that. I would've preferred to have been crushed under the food, actually."

She laughs. She laughs? Your brain short-circuits. "Well, you recover nicely, I'll give you that. What's the name that would've been on the obituary?" You giver her your name as you stare at her with wide eyes. Damn, she's good. She nods as though thinking about it. "Selina Kyle. And here, if you ever find yourself trapped under some cat food, and you can move your arms, give a ring, and I'll come over to dig you out. And hey, if you're not too beat-up after that, maybe we could grab dinner."

She hands you a slip of paper with her name and phone number, gives you a wink, and waltzes down the aisle. You stand there for three uninterrupted minutes before you haul the bag of food off of the floor and start calling Alfred's name.

*

"-and then she gave me her number, unprompted, isn't that fucking crazy?" you ask, shoving the piece of paper in Bruce's face. You'd put away your pet store findings once you'd gotten home and had gone to find him, finding all of this very funny, if baffling. You'd found him reading in the library, book now closed on the arm of his chair.

Bruce takes it, and turns it over carefully. You immediately backpedal. "I mean, I wasn't gonna call her, obviously, what we have is too important to me, and it's going so well, but this has never happened to me before, and I-"

"Selina Kyle is one if my exes. And she knows I'm Batman."

You deflate. "Oh."

Bruce catches the spiral you're going on. "That's not to say she didn't truly find you attractive, that's not what I'm saying. What I'm saying is that it brings up memories for me. Particularly painful ones. Selina and I, we have an incredibly complicated history, one that almost ended in marriage, if only-"

You kneel in front of him and cup his face with your hands. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. Or, even if you want to, but can't right now. I'm in it for the long haul, remember?"

Bruce simply nods and rubs your hand with his own, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Another time, then."

*

Batman stands on a ledge, surveying the city. The night is quiet, surprisingly, given how warm the weather's been. So quiet, that she couldn't hide the taps of her heels if she wanted to.

"Going silent for a bit," Bruce says into his ear piece, then switches it off and turns around. "What do you want, Selina?"

"Oh, can't a girl just enjoy a night out on the town, Batman? Not all of us have such fulfilling careers," she replies, slinking into view from around the door to the roof. "Or relationships, for that matter."

"Did you know from the beginning?" His eye twitches underneath the mask.

"Honest to god, I didn't. I genuinely thought I was just playing the field, until I saw Alfred as I was leaving. That and Harley showed me some tabloids that weren't afraid of getting sued. I gotta say, this is pretty underwhelming, for you. Not a cape, not a villain, hell, not even somebody remotely famous. I'm impressed, I-"

"Don't talk about them like that. This is different. This is-" His hands are tightening under the cape. A master of his own mind and emotions it seems, until it comes to you.

Selina holds up her hands in surrender and smiles coyly. "Relax, B. I'm just here to tell you I'm not stepping into your territory. I'm not stupid enough to try and take something that's yours again." She pulls out a grappling gun and shoots it off into the night. "Just let me know when you're done, 'kay? I wanna take a turn."

She's gone before Bruce can formulate a reply. He switches his comm back on, and starts making plans.

*

You've been out at the pool entirely too long, Bruce thinks. Like a cat laying in their favorite window, as soon as it had become warm enough, you were out in the gardens, at the pool. You always told him that given the opportunity, you would stay out there all day, but he hadn't quite believed it until it became an inconvenience to his plans. You've been out there for seven hours now, and likely for longer, now that Dick, Steph, Duke, and Jason have joined you.

"Sir, if I may suggest going to them, instead of waiting for them to come to you?" Alfred asks, hands perfectly poised behind his back.

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. "Thank you, Alfred."

He simply nods. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

"Depends on how this goes. I'll let you know."

"Quite good, sir."

Bruce makes his way down to the pool, and walks up just in time to see you break the surface in the deep end, much like a polar bear in their enclosure at the zoo. Jason, Steph, Duke, and Dick have a volleyball game going in the shallow end, while Titus lays in the pavement and watches. His heart clenches when you catch his eye.

"Babe, hey! Are you finally gonna join us? The water's great! Steph says it's too cold, but here she is, right? Of course, Tim told us to drop dead when we invited him, but I think that's just because he's too skinny to appreciate how refreshing this cool water is." You swim up to the edge, smiling wide. His other children snicker.

Bruce kneels down by the edge. "Actually, I came to ask you something, would you mind coming up for a second?"

You note the way his smile falters for a millisecond, and how he tightens his hands. He's nervous. Anything that can make the Bat nervous warrants your full attention, you suppose. "Oh, uh, sure, one sec."

You climb up out of the water, and Bruce thinks you look radiant with the late afternoon sun behind you. You join him on the lounge chairs, toweling yourself off carefully. Bruce has never felt anxious until this moment right here. "Okay, big man, shoot."

Bruce clears his throat. "Right. Yes. So, I've been thinking. About our relationship, specifically, and how much it has changed me. Changed us, for the better. I never thought that something like this, given my line of work, would ever be possible, but you seem to have proven me wrong, and gone against every calculation I could have had for our relationship to play out. And it has been the greatest thing to behold, really. I want to deepen our commitment. I want us to commit to each other, despite our problems." Bruce pulls a small box out of his pocket, and flips it open. Sitting in the center are two rings, both with a silver band, but one with a ring of some crushed blue stone inlaid, and another with your favorite color instead of blue. He says your name like it's the first time he's ever said it before. "I love you, will you marry me?"

You immediately stand up, going, "Are you fucking sure?"

His children stare at him in shock, while Alfred simply walks down the pathway, champagne and sparkling grape juice in hand. Bruce's eyebrows start to draw in, and you speak quickly. "Shut up, shut up! I know you're sure, I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that, yes! I meant to say yes, sure, whatever! I just, I don't, I've never-"

Bruce shoots up and kisses you. There are stars behind your eyes as you comprehend what's just happened to you, what's going to happen to you, and all you can think about is that you're soaking the front of his shirt right now. Bruce must not realize he's losing himself a little bit, because just as he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, Dick whistles. The two of you spring apart, Bruce combing a hand through his hair in embarrassment, and you burying your face in your towel. Alfred is already passing flutes of champagne around, and Tim and Damian are tearing down the pathway.

"Father, how could you!" "Bruce, holy fuck!"

Bruce just smiles wider than you've ever seen in your life as he pries your left hand away from the towel, and slips the blue ring onto your finger. Looks just like his eyes, you think as you stare in awe.

The sun starts to dip beneath the horizon as you kiss him again, then slip his ring onto his hand. The thought of announcing it to the press, and having to go out into public with him officially makes you nauseous, but that's a freakout for another time. For now, you kiss your fiancé, then throw down to towel and jump back into the pool to cool your heated face. Everybody yells their indignation, but you just hug yourself at the bottom of the pool, incredulous.

[pentrologram]

Mistletoe and Mayhem

this is within the realm of that hcs i posted!

2.9k words

bruce wayne/gn!reader (reader and bruce are married and have been for over ten years)

cute couples, Bruce Wayne being shy, marriage and cute Batkids, Alfred appreciation, Christmas joy, Bruce Wayne being a little helpless at parenting his children

this was written entirely on my phone and not proofread. you have been warned

The night before Christmas was hell on Earth. Alfred had retired to his room at seven, because neither you nor Bruce could ask him to help nanny the eight kids within good conscious, not when they were so hyped up and Alfred had already done so much. You always helped wherever you could- Bruce was preoccupied with Batman and Wayne Enterprises, making him practically obsolete, so he wasn’t to blame about Mr. Pennyworth doing the most this holiday season. Such as wrapping all hundred sixty something gifts, decorating the entirety of Wayne Manor practically alone (Dick tried to help but just started showing off his acrobatic abilities in places he wasn’t usually allowed to), making Christmas breakfast the night before, stuffing the stockings over the fireplace, keeping said fireplace warm, and helping you keep the children entertained on Christmas Eve morning without Bruce and without the new fascination of Dick going on patrol as Robin to keep them entertained.

It didn’t go very smoothly. Damian cried and so did Cass and Kate had her noise-cancelling headphones on for the majority of the afternoon. You were overwhelmed, too and needed to call Bruce in just to tap out for a little while. He emerged from his office and started a snowball fight, just for your sake. You knew you’d be dusting snow off his stubble afterwards and helping him warm up after Jason stuck a snowball the size of his head down Bruce’s shirt.

Bruce had to yield, as it was nearing his time for patrol. You were on defrost duty, wrapping blankets around freshly showered children’s shoulders and then kissing your husband’s frostbitten lips back to their normal shade of pink. He drags you away from the children for a while, to your bedroom, whispering something about how he was still cold to you before he goes to change into his Batsuit.

That night, when Bruce came home from patrol and you had an odd half a dozen kids to put to bed together, you were starting to really feel Alfred’s absence.

You started with stories. You took the youngest four (excluding Jason- he liked to think himself older than he actually was. Cassie eagerly took his place, though) and let Bruce try to coerce the others to sleep from downstairs, giving you and the more cuddly kids some peace and quiet. Damian fell asleep easily on your lap before you even started to read and curled into a little ball. Cass almost threw him off and onto the ground while trying to put her butt on your shoulder, like she had seen a parrot do on TV. She got it, somehow, after a lot of shifting and prodding- right before, she very nearly tumbled to the ground, saving herself by digging her little fingers into your head and somehow balancing on your shoulder. Around that time, Duke came back with a book. Tim groaned, as the book was ‘If You Give a Mouse a Cookie’ and not ‘Molecular Anatomy 101’, but you just patted his hair and told him to try to sleep. He gruffed and grumbled and groaned but he did try to listen when you started to read.

Near the middle of the book, you had to take a break to shift Cassie to your lap, since she had fallen asleep and would’ve toppled over and hit her head on the ground if you kept her perched there like an half-asleep bird. She curled a little around her little brother, making you take a little break from reading to coo at just how darn cute your kids were.

By the end, Tim was asleep where he was sitting by your feet, leaving only Duke awake. You made a ‘shhh’ motion to him and carefully, quietly, picked Damian and Cassie up and gently put them over your shoulders. You put them in their beds and then circled back to pick Tim up and hold Duke’s hand as you walked to his room. You tucked Duke in as you usually did, and just as you were about to get up, his hands flew out and he clutched at your arm.

“Can I get another story?” He asked with his best puppy eyes.

“Duke… it’s late, buddy. You need to sleep.” You say, but you already know your answer when he cranks the pitifulness up to a hundred, those big eyes staring holes into your soul. You groan quietly. “Fine.” You say, going to his bedside bookshelf to pick a book. “But a short one!” You warn, and he cheers quietly. You come back with ‘Good Night, Moon’ and then you make him scoot over so you can lay in bed, too, because damn were you tired and damn was that rocking chair so not comfortable. By the time you finish the book, he’s half asleep. “Good night, Duke,” you say quietly, kissing his forehead before picking yourself up, putting the book away, and going downstairs to see what your husband was up to.

Downstairs, Bruce had Jason in a headlock. He was kicking his feet up and around haphazardly as Steph held up his knees, effectively turning her little brother into a battering ram against Bruce, who was holding in strong. Dick was on the couch, knees locked and ready to spring onto Bruce like those wrestlers who get up on the ropes of the ring to body slam their opponents. Kate was quietly sitting away from the chaos in a little reading nook by the kitchen with a cup of tea and a book. You stopped at the top of the stairs and everyone froze on the level below- except for Dick, who took the newfound quiet as the perfect opportunity to yell a battle cry and jump on Bruce’s back, forcing your husband out of his sheepish silence with a loud profanity as he tumbled forward, making Jason and Steph tumble, too. Kate snorts out a laugh from her corner. They end up in a pile on the carpet, Jason squirming his way out from the bottom, Steph complaining loudly about where her dad had fallen atop her pinkie finger, and Dick quickly scampering off of your husband’s back. Bruce huffs out in pain and pulls himself up, but not without shooting you another sheepish, apologetic look.

“This is you getting them to bed?” You say as you go down the stairs.

“Well- we were supposed to just throw things around, to get them tired. Then Jason started to climb things and-“

You cut him off with a gentle kiss to the cheek, which makes him deflate, a silly, tired smile on his face. You spare him from a lecture, not wanting to belittle his parenting choices right then, and pat his shoulder before getting down to business.

“C’mon, now. It’s bedtime.” You say to the kids, which makes Jason and Steph groan loudly. Kate puts her teacup away carefully in the kitchen and brings her book upstairs while the three others drag their feet up the stairs, trying to bribe you into letting them stay awake. Maybe it would’ve worked any other night, but it was Christmas night. So you forced the three of them- excluding Kate, as she said a gentle goodnight to the both of you and went to her room- to bed and gave Kate and Dick a good night kiss (she and Dick are the only ones out of the four who accept them anymore) before retiring to the master bedroom with Bruce, who was walking with a slight limp because of that stunt Dick pulled. You yawned- it was already one in the morning, and Tim would be waking the two of you at six for presents. It was predictable, really. He’d wake up really early (at least three in the morning according to Alfred) and then wait until six to wake you and Bruce to impatiently wait for the others to inevitably start trickling in. Dick would arrive after Tim, then Duke, then Cass, and then Damian would awake to the commotion and be grumpy about it so loudly that he’d wake Jason, and then Jason would bully Steph into joining him. Kate and Alfred always waited for everyone downstairs- Kate preferring the butler’s company over her loud, excited and impatient brothers and sisters. You weren’t offended, if anything, you understood, but you couldn’t say Bruce wasn’t. It always hurt him a little when the kids showed obvious signs of growing up or distaste to the two of you. Bruce had cried on your shoulder when Dick graduated middle school, when he had seen that not-so-baby-faced Dick in his cap and gown. You knew he was thinking about the future, how one day Dick would be an adult and leave. You knew he was dreading that, and you understood.

You got ready for bed, revolving around each other in a practiced way, weaving in precise, memorised ways since you just know the other that well, before retiring to the bed around the same time. After years of being together, you two had sort of unconsciously shortened or lengthened certain parts of your routines so you would always be in bed around the same time as the other. You were reflecting on this as Bruce slid into bed next to you, wearing his fancy, matching silk pyjamas that always reminded you of just how old money your husband was. You slide underneath his arm as he lays on his back (like a grandpa, you’ve teased before) and curl up as close as possible to his side. He adjusts his grip so he’s properly holding your shoulders and stroking a gentle line up and down your back.

“Goodnight.” He says quietly, his free hand turning off his bedside lamp.

“Goodnight.”

It doesn’t feel long at all until Tim pounces on the two of you, squirming right next to you since there was such little space between you and your husband. Bruce is already awake by then, gently rubbing your hair while you groan, awakened.

“Can we open gifts yet?” Tim asks, despite knowing the answer himself.

“No, Tim.” Bruce says. “We have to wait for everyone.” Tim grumbles in response. “Try to get some sleep, kiddo,” Bruce murmurs, trying to keep his voice low for you. You file his consideration under ‘things to swoon about’ for later. Tim huffs in response but cuddles closer to your side in an attempt to at least try. You yawn and lean closer to your husband, pressing a lazy little kiss to his jawline. He smiles and ruffles your hair before telling you to go back to sleep in a quiet voice, and you’re quick to oblige.

You manage to get a bit of shut eye until Dick sneaks in at 6:45. He takes his spot on Bruce’s side of the bed, not too close as he was a teenager and valued personal space but still close enough to make Bruce feel loved. He whispers a Merry Christmas to the both of you before pulling his phone out and tapping on it, presumably texting his girlfriend.

Cute.

You rest your head on Bruce’s chest before Duke comes trailing in with his Batman plushie, awoken from the lack of Tim in their shared bedroom. He grumbles quietly, complaining about being left alone, and then cuddles next to Tim before falling asleep himself. There’s a nice pause before Cass comes in, blinking blearily and looking like a sleepy kitty. You position her on your chest as she’s small enough for it, and then Damian comes in, pouting. He takes the space closest to his dad, between Bruce and Dick, and then a few moments later Jason comes in, dragging Steph with him. He cuddles Dick, who is still occupied on his phone while Steph gently scoots Tim away so she can cuddle you instead. Tim doesn’t care- he clings onto Steph in his sleep instead.

“That’s everyone.” You say. Bruce nods and then scoops up the littlest pile of sleeping kids (Cass, Tim, Duke) into his arms and then gets up, shuffling into his slippers. You get up, too, gently rousing the other kids, whispering ‘it’s Christmas!’ to them. That’s enough to wake them, as they take off running downstairs. You hear over exaggerated gasps as they see the Christmas tree, lit up, with dozens of presents underneath.

Honestly, you can’t blame them either. It’s beautiful. The Christmas tree is a story and a half tall, and though it’s a pain to decorate, it turned out beautifully this year.

“Merry Christmas, babe.” You whisper to Bruce as he sets the kids he had been holding down on the ground. They squirm out of reach to gawk at the at the Christmas tree, too.

“Merry Christmas.” He says, wrapping an arm around your waist and kissing the top of your head.

You’re eventually forced downstairs so you can watch the children open their gifts and give them ‘you’re welcome’ hugs. Of course, with it being such a big family, it’s practically impossible to make the littles hold off for that long when there’s presents- literally- with their names on them. So everyone goes ham, and for an hour or two, Wayne Manor is filled with excited shouts and loud ‘thank you’s.

When all has died down and the children are content with entertaining themselves, it’s time for the adults to swap gifts, which includes you, Alfred, and Bruce. Sometimes a kid will place themselves on your lap to see what you got, but more often than not, it’s a little private affair within your own little community of legal drinkers. You got Alfred a candle/tea/matching handkerchief set from a mom and pop store you saw on the beach while accompanying Bruce on a business trip this year, since he liked to keep candles burning while cooking dinner every night. You thought he’d appreciate the earl grey tea, too.

Bruce, however, is harder to shop for. What do you get a literal billionaire? You’ve asked him before and he’s always reassuring- ‘I’ll love whatever you get me, babe’ or ’doesn’t matter, babe, it’s the thought that counts’- but he doesn’t seem to know what he wants, either. You’ve asked the kids too and they just shrug and tell you something that they want instead.

You had just gotten to the shops when you saw Bruce’s gifts. You were really only there to plan a dinner with friends later that week, when you came by a Hot Topic. Ooh. You, obviously, were drawn inside by the very loud, akin-to-My-Chemical-Romance music and the smell of teenage angst.

You went in mainly just to amuse yourself, but lo and behold, there lay a whole shelf dedicated to Batman. Chuckling to yourself, you picked up a soft Batman plush (his mouth was downturned in the cutest little frown), a Batarang pocket knife (Batman would never be caught dead with it, but maybe Bruce Wayne would use it?) and Batman house slippers (to replace those posh satin ones he usually wears).

Alfred said a courteous thank you and a genuine smile, tucking the handkerchief into his suit pocket. He then handed you your gift- one of those ceramic angel children that seems like the sort of thing Alfred would have lying around his house if he had a house. He’s been giving different versions of them to you every Christmas since you and Bruce got serious all those years ago. You exchange a ‘thank you/you’re welcome’ hug.

Then Bruce opens your gift, and he lets out a choked laugh at the Batman memorabilia.

“What’s this?” He asks, sounding amused as he picks up the Batman plushie.

“Your gift!” You say. He laughs.

“Well. Yes.” He says, picking up the pocket knife and staring at it. “Thank you, babe.” He says, leaning in to peck your lips. He chuckles and then shakes his head before setting it aside and giving you your gift, suddenly bashful.

“I hope you like it.” Your husband says with a cute, vulnerable, puppy eyed expression on his face. It’s a small parcel, really, and it feels light in your hands. You give Bruce a reassuring smile and then open it.

Inside is a custom painting of your wedding day. You’re mid-kiss with Bruce, and the painting is light and colorful and cheerful. Bruce has a similar photo on his desk, but it was taken after the kiss, as the relative who had been instructed to take the photo didn’t react quite so quickly to get the photo you wanted. You weren’t mad- it was still a nice photo- but this painting was exactly what you had envisioned over ten years ago. You’re about to start gushing praises and thanks but Bruce cuts you off.

“There’s more.” He says and you blink before you keep looking through the parcel. Underneath a copious amount of tissue paper is another painting- one of the whole family, from last year’s Christmas. The camera hadn’t taken a single good photo that year- someone’s eyes were always closed, Dick fussed about his hair, Steph and Jason started fighting in the middle of the photoshoot- but this painting had taken the best parts of all the photos and made them into one complete piece.

It makes tears well up in your eyes. Bruce immediately looks panicked, and he’s about to start apologising, but you shake your head.

“Happy tears.” You say, and he nods before hugging you. “Thank you.” You say quietly.

“You’re welcome.” He pets your hair. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

[mostly-imagines]

Sugar on the Rim vol. II

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

part one

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, easing your posture.

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

You hum, nodding again.

“Good girl,” he purrs, pulling away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He follows when your eyes stray, “Yes?”

“Yes.”

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

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

“Yeah? Tell me about it.”

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

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

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

“But you like it?”

“Yeah, I—I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hesitate for half a second before answering truthfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh out, “Bruce, please.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you help me out, sweet girl?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lay down.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, this isn’t so bad either.

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

[gilverrwrites]

Discretely touching them down there to their parts and gently squeezing when no one is looking and them not being able to do anything (since it's in public).

Ft. Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, & Roy. AN: Anon you're a menace and I love ya!

Bruce

You get exactly one, which he acknowledges with a stern pout and a cocked brow. Flawlessly concealing the fire you’ve ignited but for his laboured breathing and blown-out pupils. You’re walking a thin line, behaving like a brat in front of Gotham’s elite.

If he sees you reaching for him again, and trust, he will see; it will take him precisely 0.8 seconds to lock you in an unsuspecting death grip and pull you close. He wants you to feel the increased tempo of his heart against your chest. To feel the growing stiffness of his hard-on grazing your hip as he tells you assertively to; “Behave.”  

Dick

Dick sees your game; he raises you tenfold. He knows you’re up to something when he clocks the determined bite of your lips as you survey the subway car, and the mischievous glint in your eye as you look back at him. When your hand snakes under this shirt, caressing his v-lines, he juts his hips forward, presenting himself to you; daring you to take it further.

When you sink your fingers below his waistband he sucks in a deliberately loud breath. You freeze to survey your surroundings, but Dick does not. Dick starts grinding on you until he senses you growing nervous. He locks a sturdy hand around your elbow just in time to prevent you from pulling away, leans in close and whispers; “What’s wrong baby? Thought you wanted to play?”

Jason

“Is that a gun in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?” You giggle at your own joke, because Jason is always packing some form of heat. He might have laughed too, might have trapped your wrist in his hands and rocked against your outstretched palm if you’d been at home, or the club, or even the casino. But not the fucking grocery store, you little perv.  

“Are you drunk?” He offers you an out, glaring down at you with a gaze fierce enough to make a nun blush. You respond with a brazen-faced shake of your head, and he can’t help but imitate it out of disbelief at your cocky attitude. You stay like that, locked in a stare of, rock vs hard place, until Jason cracks first, noticing a couple rounding the corner at the other end of the aisle.

He grabs your arm with an unapologetic level of force, spinning you around and trapping you between his body and the trolley. Hiding his hardness by pressing it against your back. “You’re in for it later.”

Tim

Tim is the most taken aback. His pale blue eyes are rapidly examining your surroundings the moment he feels your devious fingers ghosting over the top of his thigh. He’s cute when he’s flustered, with pink cheeks and blown-out pupils. Nobody is looking, too focused on the conference speaker.

“What are you doing?” He hisses, but before he can get his words out, your hand is gone, casually pulling a non-existent thread from your sleeve.

You don’t reply, you just smile and shoot him a playful wink which puts him even more on edge. So much so that when you abruptly return, this time cupping his half-hard cock through his jeans that he fucking flinches. His knee hits the chair in front, and he sucks in a loud breath, earning him many pointed glares from multiple members of the audience.

“Babe.” Be tries to warn, but his hushed breathy tone makes him sound exactly as aroused as he feels.

Roy

You get it, you do. It was a long trip, and he’s starving but you’ve really been feeling his absence over the last few weeks, and the fact that you’re currently sat in a Burrito Bucket, watching Roy devour a tray of tacos, instead of being at home and watching him devour you, is a problem.

He seems to have noticed your sulking, but too late. “You okay ho- “

His question is halted by your foot tactfully situating itself between his legs. His gaze flits between his food and you, defiant eyes watching you through a mop of shaggy hair. A knowing grin spreads across his queso-stained lips as you answer faux-sweetly. “I’m fine, baby.”

“Right.” He huffs, breath hitching, freckled cheeks turning red when you press your toes down and something firm pushes back. He knows what you want, but he just loves to play dumb. So, he takes another bite, jerking every time you tap or roll your foot but never acknowledging what you’re silently begging for. “Is this one of those things where you say you’re fine, but actually you’re not fine?”

“I’m going home.” You finally concede with an exaggerated sigh, dropping your foot back to the floor and gathering your things.

“I’m coming with you.” He’s on you the moment you stand, draping his arm over you and placing kisses to the side of your neck, your face, whatever he can reach as you struggle to move with his deadweight over your shoulders. Notably, there’s still half a tray of uneaten tacos left on the table. “Funnily enough, I’m hungry for something else now.”

Taglist: @wandalfnation

[meiluu]

Welcome <3

My Masterlist

*just a little note I would like to thank you for stopping by and checking out my stories I hope you like them! and as I grow more confident with my writing I'll open up requests for some of the characters I'll be writing for*

{also don't be afraid to comment on my posts, I would love to interact with y'all. but don't feel pressured either, just a simple like really helps me in letting me know that you like my content.}

TWISTERS (Movie, 2024)

Tyler Owens

Dreamin' about cowboys: SMUT 18+, pregnant!reader imagine

DC

Bruce Wayne, Batman

Bats: FLUFF Bruce Wayne thoughts,imagine/drabble

SPIDER-MAN

Spider-Man 2099, Miguel O'Hara

Fangs: SMUT

Good girl: NSFW drabble

Soft Tunes: FLUFF drabble, Mermaid AU, Dad! Miguel

Spider-Man, Peter Parker

Merry Little Christmas: FLUFF, drabble

Fight Our Battles: FLUFF, ANGST, HURT/COMFORT, one-shot

Tis' The Season: SMUT 18+, one-shot

TWILIGHT

Edward Cullen

Edward Cullen's Mate: SMUT 18+, one-shot

FINAL FANTASY VII

Cloud Strife

Just a thought about Cloud Strife: SMUT 18+, drabble

Pillow Princess Cloud: SMUT 18+, drabble

Cloud?: SMUT 18+, ANGST, drabble

Everything and You: SMUT 18+, one-shot.

RESIDENT EVIL

Leon S. Kennedy

His Sanctuary: SMUT, post-re:4

Good Boy: SMUT re:2 drabble

NSFW alphabet: A-D, E-H, I-M,

Stress reliever: SMUT re:2 drabble

Stray: FLUFF, can be any leon past re:2

Infected: SMUT, post re:4 if Leon didn’t get cured of the plagas

Flour: SMUT, drabble

Sleepy: SMUT, one-shot, re:2

Heat: FLUFF drabble, any Leon past re2

Black veins: SMUT re:4 plagas!Leon

Halloween fun: SMUT, re:4 AU, oneshot

"Touch her, and I'll kill you.": SMUT re:4, plagas!Leon

THE SANDMAN (NETFLIX SHOW)

Morpheus a.k.a Dream

Dreamer Held Captive: one-shot of Morpheus saving you and bringing you to the dreaming.

Morpheus' Return: one-shot of when Morpheus returns to the dreaming.

Lover's Embrace: one-shot, you and Morpheus' journey of your pregnancy.

CALL OF DUTY (MODERN WAREFARE 2 [2022])

Simon Riley a.k.a Ghost

Comfort: one-shot, ghost helps you after a rough mission.

Let me protect you: pt.1 , pt.2 , SMUT in pt.2. a surprise confession opens the door to a new relationship.

MISC. WORKS

Ghostface: pt.1 ,

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

“No, wait. Stay- Stay back. I need to think rationally.” “...What’s that got to do with me?” for bruce please? 🤲

“I’m weak for you.” Prompts

Sure thing nonnie! This one went a little angstier than intended, sorry 😅 the spirit moved me

Warnings: Angst that ends in fluff; no relation to The Other Half

You were trying not to completely lose your cool, but under normal circumstances, who wouldn’t be freaking the hell out?

“Oh…My god.”

“Okay,” Bruce set the helmet on his kitchen counter, raising his hands, “I know this looks bad.”

“Oh my god."

“I need you to take a deep breath—“

“Oh my god.”

“And relax—”

“Oh my god, are you kidding me?” You screeched, waving your hands to the batsuit. Bruce took another step closer, and you raised your hand to stop him. “Don’t.“

“Let’s sit down,” He took another step, and you shook your head.

“No, wait. Stay—Stay back. I need to think rationally.”

“…What’s that got to do with me?”

You shot Bruce a withering look, eyes darting between him, the suit, and the helmet. The engagement ring on your hand had never felt so heavy before, not even when he put it on your finger. Your hands curled into fists as you lowered them to your sides. Bruce’s expression was indiscernible as you took a few steps closer, then skirted around him, hurrying to the penthouse elevator.

“I’m going to—I need to clear my head,” You flubbed.

“Are you coming back tonight?”

You should’ve said yes, you knew that. This was Bruce, your Bruce, the man that you loved, but…You were suddenly questioning whether you’d ever really known the man at all. You gave a small shake of your head.

“I don’t know.”

You felt like you should apologize for it, but you couldn’t. You stepped onto the elevator, curling your arms around yourself and keeping your gaze studiously on the floor. You saw Bruce come into view just as the doors slid closed, but he made no effort to stop them from closing.

You drew in a shuddering breath as the elevator began to descend, leaning back against the wall and scrubbed your shaking hands over your rapidly heating face. You heaved in tight, nervous breaths, desperately trying to calm yourself. You pushed away from the wall as the elevator doors opened, and nearly slammed directly into someone.

“Oh—!”

“Pardon me, miss.”

You looked up to find Alfred there, his hands steadying you. He searched your face for a moment, his smile wilting.

“…He told you,” He surmised, and your stomach lurched. Of course Alfred knew.

“Not exactly,” You managed. “Excuse me.”

"Can I drive you somewhere?"

"No! No. Thank you."

Alfred gave a small nod as you stepped past him, hurrying out and into the night.

—

You both looked like shit—tired, and drawn, sitting at the opposite ends of the counter as sunlight crept into the kitchen. Neither of you were speaking as Alfred puttered around efficiently, setting mugs of coffee down for both of you before disappearing up the stairs.

“…Where’d you go?” Bruce finally asked.

“You didn’t follow me?”

“You thought I would?”

You nodded. He tipped his head to the side.

“…I considered it,” He admitted.

“Have you followed me before?”

“A couple of times, early on.”

“Why?”

“You weren’t traveling to the safest of places.”

“I was fine.”

“I know.”

“Of course you do,” You muttered.

"So?"

"Hm?"

"Where'd you go?"

"Just to a hotel." You trailed your finger along the side of the coffee mug. You didn’t feel any less flustered than you had the night before. Distance and space had helped level your head a little, but the more you’d thought about your life with Bruce, with who he truly was, your questions had multiplied.

“…Has it been you the entire time?” You asked.

“Yes.”

“You’re not some copycat?”

“No.”

“…How can I trust that?”

“You—“

“How can I trust anything that you say now, Bruce?”

He didn’t answer, or try to justify anything, just hung his head. You were angry, sure, and you were so fucking confused, but you couldn’t just look at that hangdog expression and just sit there like a fucking statue.

You straightened up, crossing to Bruce and curling your arms around his shoulders. Bruce twisted slightly in your grasp, drawing you closer and curling his hands in your sweater. You sighed softly, pressing a kiss to his head as you gently raked your nails over the nape of his neck. The two of you held one another for a few minutes, reveling in one another’s touch.

Bruce leaned away to get a better look at you, grasping your hands. His thumb smoothed over the band of your engagement ring, and you watched relief sweep over him.

“You’re still wearing it,” He murmured.

“Mhm. Someone would have to pry it off of my cold dead—“

“Please don’t say that.”

You bit your lip. Fuck, you didn’t mean it like that.

“Sorry, baby.”

"Mm."

You sighed, grasping his chin and tipping his head up to get a good look at his face.

“…I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.”

“I have a lot of questions.”

“I know.”

You shook your head, sighing.

“Okay,” You turned, looking around. “We’re going to bed, we’re getting some sleep, and when we get up, I’m going to interrogate the fuck out of you.”

"I'm looking forward to it."

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; 

@winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @missswriter ; @nominalnebula

[n0cturn4]

You choose… You choose to fail Part. 1

Character: Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader Summary: Bruce crouched down, arms open, and for a moment, found himself almost laughing nervously. Word Count: 3471 Music: Bring me sunshine

Her face, so small and illuminated, lingered in Bruce's memories like a gentle warmth, something he thought would never fade. He found himself back in the days when his daughter smiled at him as if she carried the sun on her lips. "Bring me joy," she would always ask, extending her small hands, demanding a new story or a laugh he always tried to steal. And for a moment, he was another man: a father, and she was just a child.

"Bring me happiness in your arms, Daddy!" She used to laugh and ask, as if pleading with the sun never to extinguish. Bruce could hear her voice humming through the halls, little songs about light and love, and he felt that those moments could fill the empty corners of his life. In those days, there was an innocent hope that he could almost touch. The weight he carried seemed to dissipate in her presence; it was as if his own shadow dared not disturb that little sun.

But now, as each of her smiles and laughter enveloped him in echoes of the past, a dark melancholy invaded him. Time, which once seemed so generous, had revealed itself to be a relentless thief. She had grown up, so quickly and without permission, taking on burdens and embracing the darkness he never wanted her to know.

He remembered when his arms, once a warm embrace and refuge, became a barrier. She was just a child, full of joy and sweetness, asking for more happiness, for more laughter. And he, foolishly, believed he could protect her merely by keeping her away from his own darkness. But she was drawn to his path, to the end, as if she were an inseparable part of that shadow.

"Bring me the sun, Daddy" he could still hear, like a faint echo almost faded away. And now, knowing the sacrifice she made for him to continue, Bruce realized that the light she brought would never return. Even in those tender memories, what remained was the melancholy of a love that sacrificed its own brightness, a happiness that, as it dissipated, left within him an eternal and indelible sadness.

He remembered when she was just a baby, so small and fragile in his arms, her warm and cozy body nestled against him with total trust. She was a soft and silent presence, and Bruce almost feared breaking that enchantment with any sudden movement. In the early months, he would spend hours watching her sleep, marveling at every peaceful sigh, at the tiny face that filled with expressions he could barely decipher. It was there, in his arms, that she found comfort, and he, a calm he had never known existed.

And then came her first steps. She surprised him one afternoon when she stood up, shaky and determined, holding onto a piece of furniture and casting hesitant yet curious glances at him. Bruce crouched down, arms open, and for a moment, found himself almost laughing nervously. He didn't want her to fall, but he knew he couldn't hold her forever. She wobbled, stumbled, but didn't stop, and he was there, waiting. Her little eyes sparkled as she reached for him, and when she finally fell into an awkward embrace, her laughter echoed like the purest music he had ever heard.

In that moment, as she smiled, her tiny hand clutching his shirt, Bruce believed he could always protect her. The feeling of her little arms around his neck, the sweet, childish scent, everything seemed eternal. And for an instant, the world outside, with all its darkness, ceased to exist.

Since her first steps, Dick's presence was like a beacon lighting the way for his sister. He was not just a brother; he was a guide, a companion, a smile that made every day a new adventure to be explored. With a touch of humor and a wealth of laughter, he encouraged her to explore the world, to embrace life without fear, as their laughter resonated through the house like gentle music.

Dick had a special magic: he made his sister feel like the only person who mattered in a vast universe. He was the first to play, to offer words of courage when uncertainty enveloped her. "Come on, little one! You can do it!" His words danced in the air, imbued with confidence, as if every encouragement was a spell that dissipated the shadows of fear. He taught her to ride a bike, running alongside her, always ready to catch her before a fall became real, his gaze a mix of concern and joy.

In training, Dick transformed into something more than just a brother; he was a mentor who inspired her to be strong, to break barriers, always respecting her pace. He knew the world could be unforgiving, and so he made a point to show her that there was beauty in the little things, even amidst the chaos.

When Bruce set out to patrol the city, Dick became her shield. With stories of heroes and villains, he enveloped his sister in a world of fantasy, turning fear into something magical. "Everything will be alright," he would whisper, embracing her with warmth and protection. In those moments, she felt immune to danger, safe in her realm of dreams.

Dick was also the bearer of laughter, the one who brightened cloudy days with his comedic imitations and carefree jokes. There was a sparkle in her eyes, a palpable joy when he was around. And when she tried to mimic his acrobatics, her boldness was always covered by a protective gaze. "Be careful, little one! You don't want to end up on the ground!" He would catch her before gravity could claim her, and together, their laughter mingled, creating a symphony of love and joy amidst the shadows of life.

Tim was the anchor amidst the whirlwind of emotions that life brought. To his sister, he was more than just a younger brother; he was the safe harbor where she found comfort in the storms of the city. When the world around seemed a maze of challenges, she always knew she could count on him. With his curious gaze and sharp intelligence, Tim offered a sweet and calm refuge, where reality became lighter.

From their first exchanged smiles, there was a special connection between them. He watched her with admiration, as if she were the light illuminating his shadows. In their conversations, he encouraged her to dream, to believe that even in the darkest nights, there was a glimmer of hope waiting to be discovered. Together, they created imaginary worlds, and he was always willing to listen to her stories, her joys, and her concerns, becoming a loyal confidant.

When responsibilities and challenges weighed on Tim's shoulders, she was the presence that reminded him that, behind the masks and symbols, there was still a boy with dreams and insecurities. She made him laugh with her silly jokes and affectionate gestures, and Tim didn't hesitate to reciprocate, taking her on adventures that made her heart dance with joy.

There were sunny afternoons when they would explore the nooks of the mansion together, laughing and creating memories that would become eternal. He taught her to see the world differently, showing that there was beauty even in the simplest things. He never saw her as a vigilante, but rather as a sister, someone who brought light to his darkest days.

In moments of anguish, when the city seemed intent on swallowing them, she became the calm amidst the storm. Tim remembered how her words were like balm, healing his invisible wounds. She comforted him without needing words, a tight hug that said everything he needed to hear. In those hours, he realized that, although life was filled with shadows, there was still light—a light he could find in her eyes.

Their relationship was a delicate balance between support and playfulness, where both felt safe to be who they truly were. Tim, even amid his struggles, found in his sister the courage he needed to face the world, while she saw him as her refuge, the assurance that together, they could conquer any challenge life threw their way.

From the moment she entered Damian's life, a new world opened before him, a universe filled with emotions he had never fully understood. To him, she was not just a sister; she was a silent revolution that rocked his existence with laughter and fragility, a constant reminder that life could be lived with more lightness.

Damian, with his serious and often restrained demeanor, found a strange comfort in her presence. She brought a sweetness that softened his hardened heart, like a ray of sunshine breaking through dense clouds. Their connection was a subtle dance, marked by playful moments and competitions that transformed training into adventures. He challenged her, as if he wanted to shape her into something strong and untamed, but at the same time, it was she who shaped him, showing him the beauty of vulnerability.

There were days when the mansion seemed filled with shadows, but she always managed to bring a smile to his face. With her curious and cheerful gaze, she drew him out of the cocoon of seriousness in which he took refuge. "Come on, brother! Show me what you can do!" she would say, her mischievous tone reflecting a challenge he couldn't resist. Together, they would run through the garden, laughing and tumbling, with the lightness of children who only knew the freedom of the moment.

Damian felt more human beside her, as if the barriers he had built to protect himself dissolved with every shared laugh. She was the only one who could see him, not as the heir to a dark legacy, but as a boy who just wanted to be accepted. With her, he didn't need masks; the acceptance she offered was an invaluable gift.

As the training grew more intense, he never failed to protect her. Damian knew that life's struggles were not just physical; he wanted her to be strong but also understanding. "Life can be unforgiving," he would often whisper in serious moments, "but you must always fight with your heart." And in his own internal struggle, he found strength in her, in the silent courage she carried, even without needing a cloak or a name.

On the darkest nights, when nightmares came to visit him, it was her presence that brought peace. She would find him, without the need for words, simply being, like a beacon that never extinguished. And so, in the chaos of Gotham, she became the sun that lit his path, a reminder that there was beauty in being vulnerable, a treasure they both shared in their small moments.

And then there was Jason.

Jason had always been a charming mystery in her life, an enigma unfolding in whispers and glances. From their first encounters, there was an electricity in the air, a connection that seemed to transcend friendship. He, with his unassuming demeanor and teasing smile, made every moment by his side a dance of emotions.

It was as if the universe conspired to create little moments that revealed the depth of their feelings. She remembered the afternoons they shared secrets, the looks they exchanged as if searching for something deeper. The fine line between friendship and love began to blur, and they became accomplices in more than just laughter and playful banter.

He taught her to see beauty in rebellion, courage in fragility. Jason was a sun in a cloudy sky, a flame illuminating the darkest corners of her soul. With him, she felt alive, as if she could embrace the world without fear. Each touch, each laugh, was a note in a melody that grew increasingly familiar, and the idea that this could merely be friendship began to dissipate.

In moments of silence, when words weren't necessary, there was a deep understanding between them. He looked at her with a gaze that spoke more than a thousand declarations could express. The chemistry was palpable, a silent dance unfolding under the cloak of night. And even in the dark hours, when the weight of Gotham felt unbearable, Jason was the refuge she never knew she needed.

And so, amid laughter and looks filled with meaning, their friendship began to blossom into something deeper, something more intense. Each shared moment became an indelible memory, a promise that, regardless of the storms they might face, they would be together, like two lost stars that had finally found each other in the vastness of the universe.

.

.

.

The words hung in the air, heavy as laden clouds, as Bruce's daughter confronted him. The silence of the mansion was broken only by the sound of their hurried breaths. After the tragedy, pain echoed in every corner of the house, transforming home into an emotional battleground.

"You could have saved him!" Her voice was a mix of ferocity and despair, as if each syllable were an arrow shot directly at Bruce's heart. "You had the chance to end this! But you chose to do nothing!"

He felt the weight of the accusation, as if she were stripping him of his vigilante mantle, revealing not only the man he was but also the father who had failed. "I couldn't... That's not how things work," he replied, his voice tense, battling the guilt that consumed him.

"But you knew who he was! You know what he did to Jason!" Her crying was more than a simple expression of pain; it was a storm of accumulated hurt, a cry for justice echoing in his mind. "You let the Joker live, and now Jason is... not here anymore!"

Bruce's eyes, usually so firm and resolute, softened as they met hers. "I didn't want to lose anyone else," he murmured, the truth breaking apart in his mouth. "I thought that if I stopped acting on impulse, I could prevent more suffering. I thought that..."

"You thought you were stronger than the pain, didn't you?" She interrupted, disdain mixing with sadness. "But now it's us who are paying the price. And while you refuse to act, they continue to live. The Joker keeps haunting us! He's still out there, laughing at us!"

The anger burned in her chest like fire, but behind it was an emptiness. She had lost a brother, and the pain transformed her reality into an unbearable place. And even as her powers slowly consumed her, the idea of losing another loved one was intolerable.

Bruce moved, almost instinctively, but hesitated. "I don't want you to carry this weight. I want you to live!" The declaration sounded like a plea, a last remnant of hope.

"Live? How can I live knowing you didn't have the courage to do what needed to be done?" The bitterness in her voice turned into desperation, and her gaze became a mirror of what she truly felt. "I'm not invulnerable, Dad. I'm not like you. Being alive just means carrying more pain."

"Don't talk like that! You have to understand—" Bruce began, but the words faltered, the intensity of the conversation causing the walls he had built over the years to begin to crumble.

"Understand what? That your compassion turns into weakness? That you prefer forgiveness over justice? Jason had no choice, but you did," she exclaimed, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and pain. "And you chose to fail."

The silence that followed was deafening. Time seemed to freeze as they both faced the unspoken truths, the open wounds that defied understanding. She knew that words could be a sharp weapon, but the pain of her loss was stronger than any caution.

"Either way, I can't stay here anymore," she finally declared, determination replacing sadness. "I can't wait for you to do what you should have done. I will seek justice for what was taken from me."

And with that, she turned her back, leaving behind a conflicted father, struggling against the chains of his own guilt.

. . .

How pain can be the fuel for many things...

Amid the chaos that had become her life, there was a moment when the sun still seemed to shine. Memories of laughter, play, and the lightness of just being a daughter echoed in her mind like whispers of a time that felt so distant. However, that light was slowly extinguished, like a flame that flickers before going out completely.

The powers that once made her feel special began to transform into a prison. Each explosion of energy, each surge of strength she unleashed, was accompanied by a growing weakness, as if an invisible parasite was devouring not only her strength but her essence. She had become a spectator of her own life, each forced smile a reminder of what she had lost and what was yet to come.

At first, the powers were a blessing; a way to help, to feel alive in a world that always seemed on the brink of darkness. Every time she used her gifts, there was a sense of freedom, as if she could touch the sky. But as time went by, that freedom became a curse. The echoes of her own achievements turned into screams of pain, and the euphoria that once accompanied her was now just a shadow, a bitter reminder of a potential that was slowly destroying her.

It was on one of those heavy days that the conversation with Bruce became inevitable. The pain of losing Jason still lingered in the air, like a mist that never dissipated. Bruce was distant, wrapped in his own shadows, but the truth she carried could no longer be ignored.

"You don't understand," she began, anger boiling in her veins like poison, "You chose a side long ago and continue to choose it every time you leave the Joker alive. How many lives must be lost for you to care? Is one death worth the lives of thousands?!"

The darkness of that abandoned building seemed to absorb her words, each one echoing against the worn walls, now witnesses to a conflict much deeper than the mere clash of heroes and villains. The smell of rust and mold filled the air, but nothing compared to the pungent feeling of loss that hung between them.

Bruce looked at her, the pain in his heart mixing with frustration. "I... I can't be the judge of life and death. I can't become what we fight against."

"But you already are!" She screamed, the weakness in her body mingling with the ferocity of her words. "You've become a prisoner of your own morality, a spectator while the Joker continues to get away, a predator in the dark, taking more lives! You should have ended this, and now Jason... he's dead!"

Jason's name sounded like a dark echo, a reminder of the pain that cut through their hearts. And she knew that, although Bruce had raised and loved her, there was something in him that still clung to his code, even when it meant losing a son.

The tears, previously suppressed, now threatened to overflow, and Bruce's expression grew heavier. He wanted to scream, wanted to say that all of this was his fault, but instead, the truth was that there were no words that could soften the grief. He had lost Jason, and now, before his daughter, faced the possibility of losing once again.

"You can't leave me, not now," he murmured, his voice choked. "I can't bear this pain any longer."

She shook her head, feeling the weight of the gravity of her words. "I have no choice, Dad. Can't you see? With each passing day, I feel more distant, more lost. These powers... they're consuming me, and with every struggle, every attempt to protect myself, I lose a piece of me."

Bruce's eyes widened in horror, and the realization of what she was saying hit him like a blow. "What are you saying?"

"I'm dying, Dad," she replied, her voice weak but firm. "And you can't do anything to stop it. The Joker has left scars on me that won't heal. I did this to feel alive, but now it's a curse I can't bear."

The silence between them turned into a wave of despair, the reality of their situation sinking like heavy anchors at the bottom of their hearts. The rain began to fall outside, the drops echoing like a lament for all they had lost. What should have been a refuge was now a cruel reminder that even the deepest bonds could fade away.

"You don't have to do this alone," Bruce pleaded, a thread of hope breaking through his voice. "We can find a way to... to heal this. We'll figure it out together."

But she smiled, a sad and resigned smile. "You can't save me, Dad. I'm not the same anymore. And when I'm gone, I want you to know that I did this for us, for Gotham. So you won't have to feel the pain of losing someone you love again."

And with that, she walked away, leaving Bruce in the darkness of that abandoned place, a father consumed by guilt, unable to save his daughter once more.

[k4marina]

bruce wayne x fem!reader || smau

all images used were found on pinterest !

pt. 2

pt. 3

————

brucewayne

liked by harveydent and 20,482,291 others

brucewayne another successful charity gala.🥂

📍wayne mannor

harveydent another unforgettable night!

brucewayne that’s what i do best

racheldawes thanks for the invite bruce

brucewayne always 🩶

user001 i love rachel x bruce interactions 😭😭

user002 rachel’s with harvey. her and bruce have been friends since they were kids.

user003 i wish i could go to one of these galas and meet bruce and we would fall in love and get married (i’m delulu) 😭

user004 girlll ur so real for this (i’m also delulu) 😭😭

user005 y’all bffr bruce will never go out with any of us 😀

user006 yeah but a girl could dream 🙈 (i need to be locked up in arkham)

posted 04/20/2023

yourusername

liked by yourbff and 8,037 others

yourusername livin’ the life 😎

yourbff girl how tf did you get in there 😭

yourusername bitch idefk 😭😭

user007 wait this room looks familiar 🤔

user008 yea isn’t this bruce wayne’s gala room?

user009 what’s the big deal?

user007 it’s just weird how someone with zero ties to gothams elite was able to get into bruce wayne gala

posted 04/20/2023

brucewyane

liked by yourusername and 20,482,028 others

brucewayne back to work

📍 wayne tower, gotham city

user010 his handsss 🧎‍♀️

user011 love the new necklace 😍😍

user012 ur so real for this bestie

user013 everybody talking about his hands but i’m looking at this man’s back

user014 plsss lemme claw it

posted 04/30/2023

yourusername

liked by brucewayne and 10,038 others

yourusername first time at the opera (am i doing this right?)

yourbff okayyyy i see you 😩

yourusername luv u!! 🫶🫶🫶

user015 ayoo bruce in the likes ?? 😀

user016 bruce, bby wyd here 🤔

user017 omg where did u get that dress??

yourusername xxxx.com :)

posted 05/15/2023

brucewayne

liked by yourusername and 21,038,199 others

brucewayne there’s a first time for everything 🤷‍♂️

racheldawes what happened to going back to work? 🤨

brucewayne shush, i’m allowed to have a break

user018 😀

user019 is this what i think it is???

user020 wait waits going on?? what did i miss??

user021 ppl r thinking that bruce and this one girl r together 😭

user022 wait what 😭

user020 wait what girl??

user022 her yourusername. she was at bruce’s gala last week and now they’re at the same opera

user023 surly it’s just a coincidence 😭 (i’m delusional asf)

user024 i wish but the captions match 😭😭

posted 05/15/2023

brucewayne

liked by yourusername and 22,918,194 others

brucewayne thank you monaco

📍monaco

racheldawes is this the “break” you were talking abt?

brucewayne yes :)

harveydent please tell me you’ll be back for our meeting

brucewayne 🤷‍♂️

user025 WHAAT

user026 babeeee i told you not to post me 😻😻

user027 girl that’s my man’s 😐

user028 WRONG that’s none of our man’s anymore 😭😭😭

posted 06/29/2023

yourusername

liked by brucewayne and 120,294 others

yourusername i 🫶 monaco

yourbff you need to bring me next time you go !!

yourusername ofcofc babes 😩🫶

user029 how does it feel living my life 😭😭

user030 just stop teasing us and post him 😭😭😭😭

user031 i don’t see it. why would bruce be into you?

yourbff um no.1 she’s hot asf no.2 she’s smart and no.3 what makes u think he’d want u 💀💀

user032 LMFAO 😭😭

user033 i need a bestie who’d defend me like this 😭😭

posted 06/29/2023

tmz

liked by user030 and 18,927,928 others

tmz billionaire bruce wayne spotted with rumored girlfriend, y/n l/n, in monaco this last week.

according to inside information, the two met at wayne’s latest charity gala where they were introduced by the head of gotham university’s bioengineering department. y/n l/n was brought as a guest of the head of department and is studying for her phd in bioengineering. she also has a masters in biotechnology.

apparently, the conversation was first about finding new ways to turn waste products into a more sustainable energy source as wayne had shown interest in this topic a while back however, the conversation quickly turned more flirtatious and number were exchanged.

in may, almost a month after the gala, bruce and y/n were together at gotham city opera house. though, they weren’t physically seen together however, they were in the same opera room and their captions were almost identical to each other.

now, almost a month later, they’re seen together in manaco. could this be the start of a new romance?

let us know in the comments.

view 11,392,385 comments

posted 06/30/2023

brucewayne

liked by yourusername and 21,397,928 others

brucewayne my girl 🤍

tagged yourusername

yourusername muahhhhh

yourusername ily 🫶🫶🫶

brucewayne i love you too 🫶

racheldawes i told you you’d like her

brucewayne yea yea 😒 (i’m joking, thank you rachel)

harveydent let’s go on a double date??

yourusername yesssss

user034 i’m 😭 so 😭 happy 😭 for 😭 you

user035 she’s literally living the y/n life and i can’t blame her 😭🫶🫶

user036 god, i’ve seen what you’ve don’t for other people 🛐

user037 onggg 😭🙏

posted 07/03/2023

yourusername

liked by brucewayne and 19,395,284 others

yourusername my man my man 😻😻

tagged brucewayne

brucewayne love you too sweetheart 🤍

brucewayne i thought you said you weren’t going to post that third picture 🤔

yourusername srry babes, i had too. you look to cute 🫶🫶

yourbff rue, when was this? 🤨

yourusername 😶

yourbff your still mine

yourusername ofcofc always 😩

brucewayne um 😐

youbff i said what i said 😤

user038 she did it she’s living the life 😭

user039 how does it feel living my dream life 😫

posted 07/03/2023

—

wanted to try smt new and i’ve been on my bruce wayne love train for a hot minute. i’m literally in love with this man someone help me 😭😭😭

anyways the next chapter of heart of the dragon is coming soon. lmk if y’all want a pt. 2 or more bruce wayne fics :)