smellingbats

[smellingbats]

Hi guys, so so sorry I’ve been so busy with finals, working full time, moving and being sick! It’s been a crazy couple weeks but hopefully I can update soon 😭 Mayhaps by the end of the week?

[smellingbats]

Omg can you please please do older bf/sugar daddy Bruce I absolutely love ur work

Older bf Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

a/n: Sorry for my absence, life has been beating me up (quite literally), but I am back in full swing. As always, the age gap is legal, I feel the need to mention it. cw: fluff, age gap, insecurities (?), smut in part 2 summary: Bruce takes you out on a date for your birthday, but when people begin to look at you wrong he takes matters into his own hands.

part 1 | part 2

You weren’t completely sure how your arrangement with Bruce had begun, but somewhere between flirty conversations at events and muttered hellos in passing, the two of you had fallen into a steady rhythm. What started as a simple acquaintance had blossomed into a relationship.

So now there you were, standing on the street outside of your apartment, phone in hand, carelessly scrolling as you waited for his car to show up. You heard it first, roaring from down the street, and then you saw it— saw him, as he rolled the window down to greet you— park in front of you.

He got out of the car and jogged towards you, embracing you once he got to you.

"How's the birthday girl doing?" He spoke into your hair, breathing you in.

"Better now that you're here." You mutter, face smushed against his shirt.

He led you back to the car, opened the door and helped you settle against the seat before jogging back to the driver's seat.

You rested your head against the car window, watching the city streets, the night lights, the traffic go by. Bruce's hand laid steadily atop your thigh, his touch warm and grounding. He squeezed your flesh periodically, as if to remind you he was there.

"I got you something, but you'll have to see it later, 'kay?" He mumbled, looking over at you, the red light of the stoplight made his sharp features stand out, his gaze almost aggressive.

"Then why tell me now?"

"Because I don't want my girl thinking I'm not spoiling her. I'd just...rather do it somewhere private." He winked at you before hitting the throttle again once the lights went green.

The first thing you noticed when you walked into the restaurant was the low lights and the soft jazz music playing. Then, you noticed the people—couples having dinner, just like you and Bruce—except they didn't look like you, not really. The women were middle-aged, dressed in classy pearl-colored dresses with tastefully painted nails, their skin pulled taut and diamonds adorning their wrists. Their husbands looked just like your boyfriend.

Bruce had assured you many times you belonged there, but standing there, waiting for the maitre'd to come over, in your high heels, red dress on hugging your waist, you couldn't have felt more out of place.

He squeezed your hand arrhythmically, brought it up to his lips, kissed your knuckles. When you did nothing in response he looked over at you, one brow raised in concern. You didn't meet his gaze, to engrossed in a staring contest with a woman in some other table. Way to spend your birthday.

Once the maitre'd got back to where you stood he excused his absence and led you to your table, in a secluded booth, away from prying eyes. Bruce had always valued privacy, more so when he started dating you, the backlash came almost instantly after your first public appearance together, and then never really stopped; you'd learned to ignore it, Bruce did the best he could to help you avoid it.

Throughout the dinner you felt their eyes on you, like phantoms poking at your skin, vipers biting at your flesh. You knew the looks you were getting without even having to turn your head.

Bruce held your hand on the table, his fingers, curious, played with your rings, your acrylics, your bracelets. He failed to notice the way your heart sped up and your eyes found solace in your lap, the way your palms began to sweat and your cheeks reddened. At least you weren't fucking crying, you thought, but then the waiter brought a birthday cake, and more eyes were on you, and you swore you were happy but god could people mind their business?

Bruce noticed after taking a photo of you, trying your hardest to smile for him, he was so happy, smiling softly under the low lights of the restaurant, his gaze sticky and thick like caramel— and then he noticed, your smile faltered for a second, your brows knit with discomfort as you tugged on your clothes, your hair, the stupid napkin on your lap that wasn't smooth enough, why wasn't it smooth enough.

"Hey," His deep voice broke you out of your worries, "let's leave. I'll get the check, you wait in the car, how does that sound?"

"Yeah, fine. Sorry, I just—"

"—got overwhelmed, I know. I know you." His voice was authoritative and sweet, in a way that made you feel protected, safe, like you could just let him take the lead and you'd get to where you needed because he always looked out for you.

You got up from your chair, gathered your stuff and exited the restaurant, trying your hardest not to break in there. The tears came as you sat in the car waiting for Bruce. You saw him move around the establishment, talking to servers and the maitre'd, from the stern look on his face it seemed like he was arguing. He always did that, got into passive aggressive arguments to defend you.

And then he walked out, winking at you, smirk on his face.

"Bought the place. We'll do some...staff rearrangements, change some of the rules...ban a few people, maybe next time we'll be able to actually enjoy our dinner in there."

Your tears dried down almost instantly, sobs replaced by giggles. "B, that's so reckless! You can't just buy a restaurant because someone in there looked at me wrong." "Yes, I can," He hummed. "It's your birthday." He argued.

Bruce had never been one for bold displays of affection— you sometimes swore he had the emotional range of a wet wipe— and he found that spending his money was a way for him to demonstrate he loved without having to risk anything. That's why you'd learned moments like this mattered, where he bought a restaurant out of spite for all of the clientele, threatening to ban them if you wanted to dine there again.

But what you liked the most was when he wasn't trying to prove he could love, when he simply did it. When he took pictures of you when you were sleeping or eating, or sitting in the yard drinking coffee in the morning, pictures he took to remember how his heart had done a little flip when he saw you like that.

When he struggled trying to post them on social media, because you looked so beautiful the whole world had to know. His usually deft fingers, so smooth when it came to Batman technology, felt too big, too heavy for instagram.

The car ride back to the manor was quiet, his hand traced small circles on the flesh of your thigh all the way. He was at your side, picking you up into his arms immediately after parking the car and killing the engine, apologetic look on his face.

"I really wanted it to be a good birthday for you, sweet thing, I'm sorry." He pressed a kiss to the side of your neck as he carried you upstairs.

"B, don't say that, it wasn't bad. I was with you."

Once he got to the bedroom he set you down on the bed, beside a pink box with black bows on it— your birthday present, lingerie. How on brand for him— but his gaze was stuck on you.

His hands caressed your ankles before he helped you kick off your shoes, finally looking away from you, offering the pink box to you by setting it on your lap.

"You don't have to wear it tonight, we can just put you to bed and leave it for tomorrow, but I thought you'd look beautiful in that." He whispered on your ear from over your shoulder.

You nodded silently and undid the bows, opening the box to reveal a black lace matching set, pretty soft pink bow at the front of the panties.

"I'll go put it on."

"Okay." He kissed the exposed skin of your back, and tapped you in the ass once you'd gotten up from the bed.

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co-written with @cherrycolaheartss tags: @laceyfaeryy, @resting-confused-face

[smellingbats]

2. therefore i am  

⏾  professor! bruce wayne x student! reader 

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⏾ Last chapter

⏾ cw: 18+, slow burn, eventual smut, your professor is still hot…shocker, bruceiskindofadick, opposites attract

⏾ content: Your first meeting with Professor Wayne is off to a shaky start to say the least.  

⏾ eek! I'm so excited for all the notes from last weeks chapter!! Thank you guys so so much for reading my first fic!! I'll eventually post one-shots as well, but for now I'm focusing on this. If anyone has interest in being tagged when I update, let me know. I'd be glad to do that!

It has been a week since Professor Wayne offered you the extra credit opportunity, and let’s just say that the research aspect isn’t going great. But, here you still are. Obsessing over what today’s meeting will look like and obsessing over the way your dress looked. 

So stupid. You thought while you tugged your dress down to your sides. You figured it would be best to not dress in your usual attire. Which consisted mainly of whatever you dug out of your laundry pile that day. You give yourself one last look over and then glance at the time on your phone; it reads 2:07 PM. 

“SHIT, I’m gonna be late!” You grab your bag and rush out the door, double-checking that you locked it because the apartment building you lived in was not the safest of places. The streets on the other hand, were far worse by comparison. The roads were still pretty torn up with man-sized potholes and cracks that made them undriveable, the surrounding buildings looked like they could crumble at a gust of wind, and the garbage left behind from the flood covered the sidewalks entirely. You had been promised real change, but it would most likely take years before you saw a difference in Gotham. For now though, you could settle for the shitiness. It’s something you’ve known your entire life, so what’s the harm in a few more years of waiting?

You eventually make it onto the crowded subway and immediately put your earbuds in to drown out everyone around you. The noise on the subway is always just too damn much for you to handle. You grab your phone out of your backpack and hit play on your playlist, sighing softly as you hold your backpack close to you. There was no way that today's meeting would go well, especially with the lack of peer reviewed articles. So far you only found two that weren’t already in the stack of papers Professor Wayne gave you. You can only assume that he will find this unacceptable, so you have to do something to distract him from the fact that you totally blew it. 

Maybe I could just lie and say I had some more “stuff” come up this week so I couldn’t fully focus. No. You attended class all week, and besides he would probably see right through your lie. You haven’t personally experienced this, but he seemed to be the type. Like he could get anyone to cough up the truth with a simple look. 

The subway comes to a stop and you squeeze your way through people to get off at your stop. You hop off the platform and quickly make your way up the stairs and to the street towards your University. 

You eventually pass a cafe and come up with an even better plan. I’ll bring him coffee! Shit. I don’t know what he drinks…and I can’t email him either. He literally takes a million years to ever get back to anyone. You enter the shop and look at the time; 2:47. 13 minutes until you had to meet him. You knew you were cutting it close, but you couldn’t show up completely empty handed either. A peace offering of sorts would hopefully make him look past your fuck up. You glance up at the menu and panic after you realize you’re next in line.  I’ll go with a latte to be safe. Everyone likes those. You order and before you know it you’re out of the cafe with 8 minutes to spare. You’d make it in time if you ran and didn’t eat shit on the way over. 

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2:59 PM. 

You made it on time! You’re huffing and puffing, and your hair is a mess but you made it. Before going in you are sure to make yourself presentable. You wouldn’t want the hottest professor on campus to see you look like a hot mess. He was too particular to settle for anything less than perfection. 

You shakily open the door, immediately feeling yourself overwhelmed with butterflies in your stomach and chest. Was this a terrible idea? Probably! But it was far too late to go back now. 

There sat Professor Wayne, perfectly composed as he leaned back in his chair reading today's newspaper. Gods, he even makes reading the paper look sexy. How can such a grandfatherly act look so perfect?! You shake away the thought, feeling slightly ashamed of how shamelessly you thought of him. He was your professor for heaven's sake! You glance at one of the headlines; WOMAN STABBED ON SUBWAY BETWEEN PARK AND 5TH BARELY ESCAPES WITH HER LIFE. Unfortunately, this was nothing new for the citizens of Gotham, especially the female presenting ones. You consider yourself lucky that you’ve never experienced anything too terrible on the subway. 

“(Y/N).” He glances at his watch and then back to you, his expression unreadable. “I almost thought you lost your way.” Professor Wayne folds the newspaper carefully and places it in its designated spot on his desk. 

You stand awkwardly for a second before setting down his latte, your heart exploding from anxiety. “Ha ha. Very funny. I am actually right on time sir.” 

He makes a disapproving tut and straightens his posture, staring straight into your eyes. “Early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable.” 

Before you can help it, you involuntarily scowl. Now that was definitely something a grandpa would say.  “I was unaware of that rule. It won’t happen again.” Great, what a wonderful first impression you’ve made. Smooth move (y/n) smooth move. 

“Obviously.” Your professor wordlessly motions towards the seat in front of him, ignoring your scowl. 

You hadn’t noticed how bare his office was until today. He had no pictures, posters, or even one of the university's dumb infographics about getting therapy. You couldn’t imagine Professor Wayne in therapy. He’d probably spend the whole time with that smug look on his face. Ugh, his stupid handsome jawline with his stunning blue eyes. Not now, he’s literally standing right in front of me. Quickly, you take a seat in the tiny uncomfortable chair, making sure to push his latte directly in front of him. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be offended by the gesture. 

Professor Wayne’s eyes flicker to the latte, but only for a moment before they return to his now lit up monitor. He looked…unimpressed to say the least. “I don’t drink latte’s. But your gesture has been noted.” 

Dick.

Instead of letting him win this one, you give him your best fake smile and fish your tiny file out of your bag. “I know it’s not much, but I think I’m off to a good start Professor. I figured we’d go over the requirements for the paper itself. Like, the minimum amount of citations, the format, the length, and the content itself.” 

“If you expect that to take up most of our time today then you’re sorely mistaken.” Your professor states, still looking emotionless. “I have already assigned you the project on Canvas, did you not see it?” Fuck. “No, I’m sorry I didn’t see it. I swear I check-” “Take this time to look it over then, it’s alright.” He says with an almost caring look in his eyes, maybe a part of him did have some empathy. 

The next hour and a half is filled with many more awkward silences and more ‘quirky’ remarks from Professor Wayne. You're not convinced that you’ll even get a good grade on something that is literally for extra credit. The part of you that is hopeful that you may be able to pass is spurred on by your dirty little crush on him. Could you be more cliché? You kind of liked being in his inner bubble, even if he had built about five brick walls around himself. Maybe one day you’d be able to get a peek through one of them. Somewhere under that hard exterior is a person. But what kind of person? You were dying to know. 

After another long awkward silence, Professor Wayne’s voice interrupts your thoughts. “Let’s meet in one of the library’s study rooms next week. I’d like to show you how to do proper research. With a subject this new, you can’t get away with your research solely being from online articles. I will email you with more details within the next few days.”

You pause for a moment, realizing that this was your cue to get out of his office. “Alright. I will see you next week then. On time.” You add the last part while you finish packing up your things. 

When you look up again, you see the smallest smirk on the corner of his lips. “Have a good weekend Professor Wayne.” 

“You as well. Oh and (y/n).” You stop in your tracks and look over your shoulder in the doorway. 

“You did some good work today. Keep it up.” 

A small smile creeps across your face along with an ever so slight blush across the bridge of your nose. "Thank you Professor Wayne." Internally, your stomach was doing backflips. Another compliment? You could get used to this.

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[smellingbats]

1. let it happen

⏾  professor! bruce wayne x student! reader 

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⏾ cw: 18+ (MINORS DNI), opposites attract, eventual smut, you can’t tell me this man isn’t ocd, your professor is hot 🥵

⏾ content: Your professor calls you out in front of the entire class. Your world comes to a screeching halt. 

⏾Hi! I haven’t written a fanfiction in a really long time so I’m sorry if this is not the greatest piece of work. I’m going to probably turn this into a series as well so stick around if you’d like! Thank you so much to @ellesthots for inspiring me to write this and being so encouraging and so dang sweet!

“Y/N L/N. See me after class today, and yes, I see you pretending not to see me.” Professor Wayne’s  voice abruptly interrupts your thoughts, snapping you out of the dissociative episode you were in. 

You can’t help but scowl at his callout. You did not appreciate being called out in front of your fellow classmates. Especially after the ever so slight smirk on his face upon seeing you scowl. Only for a split second of course. Almost immediately, he returns to lecturing as if nothing had happened. His face and body language was perfectly composed, it seemed like everything he did was deliberate, no matter how small the action. Somehow, he always remained in complete control of the room. Which wasn’t hard because not only is he a genius on multiple subjects, but he also happens to be incredibly attractive. 

‘What is his deal?’ You think to yourself, internally cursing yourself for letting him catch you off guard like that. 

You sigh softly, knowing exactly what his deal was. Not only were you incredibly late for almost two weeks straight, but you had a handful of unexcused absences. Missing five of his classes was bound to get you dropped at one point or another, you just wished you had communicated more. Perhaps then you wouldn’t be in the predicament you were in right now. 

The rest of class is spent with an insurmountable amount of anxiety about the meeting with Professor Wayne  after class. Your mind was racing with possible scenarios of how it would go; in one he absolutely shits on the entirety of your submitted work, and in another he just sits and stares while you cry and beg him to not drop you (he drops you). 

Finally, he excuses everyone and you find yourself practically sprinting out of his class to get the meeting over with. Of course, by the time you get to his office he is already there. Perfectly composed at his desk, presumably looking over your school profile on his computer. You wonder if he is secretly the shadows or something. You go to knock politely, but he speaks before your hand reaches the door. 

“Come in Y/N.” His voice was smooth and low; unreadable as always. 

You nervously walk in, not saying a word. Professor Wayne was always unnerving to you. How could someone be so passionate about what they teach while being one of the most intimidating people you had ever met? Not because of who he was or how much he was worth. But mainly because of the way that he seemed to see through others so clearly while remaining incredibly aloof. You have never really been able to get a read on him, so you had no clue how he felt about you, or anyone else for that matter. 

He points to the chair directly across his desk and simply states, “Sit.” 

You adjust yourself uncomfortably in the small chair across from him, internally cursing yourself for choosing to wear a skirt today. You stare at him awkwardly, noticing his piercing blue eyes for the first time. You watch him type something and then meet your gaze, making you blush ever so slightly. 

“I’ve noticed you’ve missed several lectures now.” He fully turns towards you, placing his now folded hands neatly on his desk. His tone is sharp, but not harsh. Just straightforward. You expect him to ask why, so you open your mouth to finally speak, but he continues. “Is everything alright?” 

You swallow softly and nod, slightly shocked at the question, but then shake your head. “It’s been…a really tough few weeks. Just some family stuff.” You say, trying your hardest to not unravel in front of him and embarrass yourself by crying. “I know that that’s no excuse Professor, I know that I’m falling behind. I just didn’t want to give up so easily…especially because I’ve really enjoyed being in your class.” You look down at your hands ashamedly, 100% certain that he’d fail you. 

Bruce looks at you, his expression unreadable. “You’re not one to give up so easily.” 

You look up at him. Was that a… compliment? “You think so?”

“If I didn’t, then I wouldn’t have told you to come in today.”

You stare at him, unsure what to say. You didn’t realize that he was actually paying attention to you or the assignments you submitted. 

“I’m offering you a chance to earn your grade back through extra credit. A research paper.” He stares through you, leaning back in his chair slightly. “A research paper on the psychological and social effects of constant exposure to violent content, specifically on social media.”

You look at him with an intrigued gaze, “So. Desensitization?” 

“That is one part, yes.” He grabs a thick file next to him and places it in front of you. “The most important part though, is how this desensitization is affecting our ability to sympathize with others. Specifically when it comes to self proclaimed victims. The ones caught in the middle.” He pushes the file towards you and continues. “Especially when these ‘victims’ are committing acts of violence openly in the name of ‘real change’. Think of how the public reacted in the past year to Edward Norton. Some were angry, yes, but he gained quite a large following within a very short amount of time from the first video he broadcasted. Do you remember how people mainly reacted to his videos and livestreams?” You look at him with slight shock, impressed at how well versed he was on a subject so fresh. You open the file and look at him again. “With anger?” You could barely remember the last year, especially with the terrorist attack committed by the ‘Riddler’ and his followers. Everyone in Gotham was heavily impacted by his ‘real change’. He had made thousands homeless, killed hundreds, and forced everyone to start over. 

“Close.” He says with a slightly amused look in his eye. “Amusement. People like to say that they’re empathetic, but if you give them a phone screen to hide behind and one person's confession? Then it becomes entertainment.” 

“Thats…heavy.” You say.

“That’s exactly the point.” He pauses before continuing. “I expect your work to be 100% your own. No regurgitating my lectures, and no citations that are already in this file. I don’t want to read about something I have already researched myself. ” You look at him, feeling defeated. The file was huge! How could you ever find evidence that he hadn’t? 

He ignores your look of defeat and continues on. “Not only will your work be 100% your own research, but you will also meet with me weekly. If I’m going to invest my time into this then I expect you to show me that you’re fully committed to this. We’ll meet for progress check-ins, research reliability, and any other needs that arise.” Professor Wayne stares through you expectantly, awaiting your response. 

“I’ll do it.” You say quietly, not wanting to come off as ungrateful. “I’ll work hard and I won’t let you down sir. Thank you. Really.” 

For the first time maybe ever, you see his expression soften ever so slightly. “Good. I look forward to seeing what you find. This is going to take more than a little bit of effort to redeem your grade.” 

As you left, you could feel your knees buckle as you turned slightly to look at him again. He was still looking at you. With the same damn smirk from earlier. Maybe he wasn’t just talking about grades.

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⏾ Next chapter ⏾ 

[smellingbats]

“twin bed”

read on AO3 ❤️‍🔥

plot: bruce wayne visits your family home, but you struggle to find time alone together.

pairing: (battinson!)bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, mdni, smut, oral sex, fingering, teasing, risky

words: 2.8k

Dinner had been good—great, even. The drinks were never late, the food delicious and warm. The only complication in the whole affair regarded lodging; you were staying at your parent’s house, which they’d insisted upon. This wasn’t the first time Bruce had met your parents, but it was the first trip dedicated to spending time together as a group. The brief initial meetings had made quite the impression, so much so they already considered him a part of the family. 

Meaning? Polite luxuries were no longer afforded, and they had him camping out on an air mattress in your childhood bedroom beside your tiny twin bed. 

Bruce didn’t mind. He was so used to sleeping on a hard cot in the basement of Wayne Tower that the air mattress was a sort of opulence. Most importantly, he thoroughly enjoyed time with your family. Seeing you in your element, getting to know the people who had helped mold you into the person he loved, was blissful. He would’ve slept on cement without complaint.

The first night, two days ago, you’d been so petrified of your parents overhearing that you barely even let him kiss you, despite how badly you craved his touch. He’d been working relentlessly the past month, various charity appearances and meetings about more charity appearances taking up his days, and high-intensity patrols taking up his nights. This week was supposed to be a vacation, but you couldn’t get a true moment alone. Stolen kisses and gripped thighs under tables weren’t enough to satiate your desire for closeness.

Last night you’d prayed for your parents to tuck in early, as they usually did, but they’d kept the both of you up until three in the morning with a deceptively intense game of Monopoly. It had tuckered the both of you out enough to pass out immediately. You’d slept until mid-afternoon, waking to a text from your mother about spending the evening at her friend’s birthday party—and that your sister would visit in their place. 

She hadn’t yet met Bruce, and was entirely enamored. Her eyes glittered every time he acknowledged her. When he excused himself to use the restroom, she leaned in with excited, jealous whispers. The next few hours were a bore.

Bruce caught onto your need for escape like you’d spoken it aloud. He pretended to surprise you with dinner reservations, and hastily made them in the car ride over. Your head throbbed with so much fawning conversation, always surrounded by prying eyes and ears. And you had another four days of this, with a family party pinned at the end of it. 

By some stroke of luck, your sister had abandoned the house by the time dinner plans were completed. Opening the door to an empty, quiet home was a godsend, and you slipped off your jacket and slunk to the bedroom to change. Bruce followed close behind. You fell onto the bed and slipped off your heels, rubbing the side of your foot where they had pinched. Your vision trailed along his legs when he tossed off his dress pants and pulled on a pair of gray sweats. His hips pulled forward as he shrugged off his blazer and yanked on a tee, creating a yummy print against the light fabric. You felt your body flush, and checked the time. It would be at least a few minutes until they got back…

You shimmied out of your underwear and sat on your knees, staring at him hungrily. Maybe it was the fact the room was dark aside from dim, faded fairy lights you’d put up years ago, casting beautiful mountains and valleys across his briefly exposed chest. Or maybe that it had been weeks, and your body felt tight with need, hoarding every second of that time like a grudge. You couldn’t decide what you wanted first—to touch him or him to touch you. For his fingers, or his lips, or…

He walked to the side of your bed, smoothing your hair behind your ear with a calloused hand. His movements were innocent and slow, and you knew he was acting oblivious. There was no universe where he immediately caught onto your boredom but couldn’t tell how intensely you ached to be taken care of now. You vibrated with it, full to the brim, desire so bloomed it blurred your vision. 

Was he waiting for you to beg for it? Would he really make you beg? Or was he playing safe, assuming your parents would be back any second? The thought only made you want to rush, not stall. Only increased the desperate pull for him to be on top of you, or you on top of him or, fuck, anything. 

You started pulling down his pants but Bruce shook his head; he let the rejection hang for a moment, watching the quiet flicker of your eyes across his face, gauging your reaction as he sunk down to his knees. The only sound was the air mattress sliding across the floor with a satisfying shick, and a creak of coils within your mattress as he moved a warm hand to your thigh and spread your legs.

He moved his hands underneath you and hooked around your legs, gently scooting your hips to the bed’s edge. The quilt you laid on cushioned your elbows as you sat up to watch him with wide eyes. Vibrant anticipation made your mouth water, peppering goosebumps up your arms and down your legs. The dim lighting framed his wide shoulders in half-shadow and accentuated the valleys his fingers created in the flesh of your thighs.

His eyes flicked up to yours and all thought vaporized as he brought his mouth to your clit. You held a breath. His eye contact was immobilizing, bringing heat to your cheeks and closing your throat. You only realized his hands had wandered when you felt a squeeze around the fleshy part of your waist. Your attention had been bought and fate sealed when his tongue pressed between the folds of your pussy, sending a soft rumble of pleasure up your core. 

You inhaled sharply as a hand traced down the side of your body, spurring a shiver at the base of your spine. The bedframe creaked as his weight adjusted against it, a finger teasing your entrance. He watched as your breathing shallowed and your subtle, quick nod shook the fragile twin bed. 

He wanted to watch your reaction when… your lashes fluttered as he slid his finger in, simultaneously pressing his mouth firmer against you. God, you tasted so fucking sweet. He suppressed a moan so he could better hear yours when he added a second finger, and oh, his body was unprepared for the sound. Your hips bucked against his mouth, and he let out an involuntary moan as your slick drenched his chin. He pumped his fingers deeper, harder, and suddenly your hands were in his hair.

His eyes dipped down only to pull back and visualize your arousal; your fingers slacked in his hair, a longing whimper slipping off your tongue at the pause. You were puffy, swollen, and the most delicious shade of pink. He drew a long, deep breath, half teasing, half preparatory. He brought his wet, pursed lips a centimeter away; your body tensed in anticipation, the room’s air turned static. 

Tight puffs of warm air caressed your clit, and your elbows slipped as your head fell back; your low groan was his cue to close the distance and lap at you, his fingers motionless inside. He kept a deliberate tempo, every few seconds leaning a little closer, moving his tongue a bit faster. He was waiting for it to be too much, patient for your hands to rip at his hair until it stung. Mmms and ahhs accompanied the thick, wet noises between your thighs, and he nearly lost himself in them. 

Usually you folded before this point, but you were making him work for it tonight—challenge accepted. He broke the suction and slowly withdrew his fingers, reaching for your spare hand. “Look at me,” and you immediately obeyed without protest, not even a sarcastic tease. His heart skipped. Ooh, you needed him. Even in the low light he saw how thrown you were by the width of your pupils and the slack in your jaw. His cock twitched under his sweats, his thoughts loosening. 

“Please,” you pleaded, shifting your hips closer. Bruce grinned when you grabbed the back of his head. He felt the insistence within your palm and obliged, moving his mouth back down. A part of him felt bad—you were never this needy. But the beauty in the trembling arch of your back and the heat emanating off every inch of your skin was so intoxicating he couldn’t resist keeping you here. He dragged his tongue lower, circling your entrance until your grip tightened, but not enough. Not yet. 

The warm, unhurried slip of his tongue against your clit had your moans echo off the walls. His pace was achingly slow, but you couldn’t complain when his mouth knew your body this well. His easy tempo continued for minutes, decreasing each time he felt your walls clench around his fingers. Tension built in your stomach and your back arched higher off the mattress. The sweeping motions of his tongue were languid, but his flicks were hard and calculated. You grabbed another fistful of his hair and yanked as his swipes turned to sucking, and he groaned against it. 

You shrieked as his fingers entered you once more, the come here motion hitting that dull, heady spot over, and over, and… “Fuck,” you cursed, face tense as he worked you to the edge. He was hitting that spot relentlessly, and the noises of your soaked cunt were downright pornographic. 

He felt your pussy clench hard around his fingers, and his mouth separated from you with a pop. “Go, baby.” He coached you as he curled his fingers higher. The room was hazy, his senses attuned only to your face and his fingers. His gravelly voice was strained by his own mounting desire. “Cum for me.”

You bit your lip and fought it; he couldn’t overwhelm you this easily, work you as he pleased. Even though he was right and you were on the edge of completion, almost dangling off the cliff, you wouldn’t let him have it so easily. He didn’t let you have it so easily. Remembering the torturous speed of the past ten minutes… and how fucking perfectly he was nailing you right now. 

Your breathing slowed intentionally when he moved up to kiss you. A whimper slipped from your lips as you held your orgasm at arm’s length, and Bruce’s brow cocked when he realized what you were attempting. “C’mon,” he purred, nudging your jaw out of the way to press a wet kiss to the nape of your neck. Your pulse hammered beneath his lips, betraying you, his hot breath matching the pace of his fingers as they fucked you. 

“Not so easily.” You managed a breathless sentence, the end frayed with a whine as he pulled his fingers out to circle the pearl of your clit. Your teeth made an indent in your lower lip, failing to keep secret how you were putty in his hands. 

His blue eyes bore into yours, framed by his straight, dark hair. His cologne mocked you this close, weakening your resolve. Your body quivered, barely able to keep moans from spilling out in an endless chorus, singing his praises. He grinned, speeding up his pointer and middle fingers. “Let it out, baby.” he kissed along your collarbone, dragging his lips down to your nipple. A moan hummed from his chest as his tongue swirled it, making you yelp. “I can tell you need it.” 

His coaxing wouldn’t undo you, his coaxing wouldn’t… you gasped as his fingers pushed inside again. You shook your head, face heating. He paused and thank god he had, because you needed a split second to contain yourself. “Want me to stop?”

“No.” You pushed your hips down on his fingers and grinded on them, moans and whines escaping full force. The bed creaked under the impact, a laugh mingling with a moan as you noticed his eyes flash, then darken. His jaw dropped open, beginning to pant. It was water. You were water. 

The room spun. He kissed his way down your torso until he could finally taste you again. Impossibly wet, impossible to keep up with the gyration of your hips and the roll of your waist. His tone tempted the Bat when it got this ragged. “Fuck,” he swallowed hard, as if it were the last breath he’d ever take. And maybe it would be, the way you weren’t leaving him room to breathe. 

He wanted to egg you on. Fuck yourself on my fingers, he’d gasp, but he was worried you’d stop. Somewhere the script had flipped and you were teasing him now, commanding control. You always melted him like this. “Take what you need.” 

The words unraveled you. Your body slammed the length of his fingers, jamming the headboard into the wall without mercy. “Another,” you groaned, feeling instantly fuller. His knuckles, the angle of his fingers, and the pinprick pain of hickeys he stained along your skin made you feral. “Please,” you mewled, threading shaking fingers through his sweaty hair. He’d caught your staggered rhythm; you closed your eyes and submitted to the pleasure of each thrust, as sensitive as you’d ever been. 

Bruce felt like you were riding him; he swore he felt each slip of his fingers on his throbbing dick, his hips twitching in unison with his hands. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Broken curses fell from your lips and you tightened around his fingers. His cheeks burned scarlet. He didn’t know if he was still breathing. Everything in the world left him. 

You didn’t have to say anything; he felt it in the tremble of your legs, saw it etched in the crease between your eyebrows. “That’s it,” he coached you through it, feeling you clench so tight his breathing hitched. “Perfect baby, cum for me.”

Your hands landed on his shoulders, nails digging into sweaty, flaming skin as your climax shot through you. Your hips bounced erratically, Bruce’s fingers still fucked you through it, your pussy a useless, trembling, spasming mess. The white-hot release flooded your brain with TV static, a rush which cascaded through every cell in your body. Your mouth opened wider to free a guttural moan when you suddenly felt empty, clenching around nothing, and his hand clamped down on your mouth, muffling you. 

“They’re back,” he whispered, gulping for breath. You writhed, simultaneously wrestling against the forced silence and grateful he’d heard, body contracting and jumping beneath him. “Shh…” he soothed, his dominating gaze quickly placating your throbbing frame. You blinked down the residual high when you heard the front door shut, footsteps entering the hall. 

“Back from the party! Brought you guys some cake.” 

Hearing your parent’s voice so soon after was disorienting; Bruce paused, waiting a second longer to drop his hand. You stared at each other a moment, completely still, until a smile crept on his face and you laughed. 

“I’ll have to wait a minute.” Bruce sat up, adjusting his sweats with a heavy sigh. Your eyes traveled the dark room, catching your breath like you’d just run a mile. His fingers never felt that good before, his tongue never worked such brutal magic. He interrupted your reverie. 

“You okay?” He was breathless too, his shirt limp and stretched haphazardly. He looked dazed, and blushed when you didn’t immediately answer. “Sorry for teasing. You just…” he turned tomato red. 

“Just what?”

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he confessed, focusing on your smile as you leaned toward him. Your hand rested on his knee; his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Come try it, you two.” 

You felt like a teenager again. “I have an idea.” Your fingers trailed toward his waistband. “You better simmer down, or we’ll get in trouble. Cake tasting’s important, you know.” 

“Evidently…” he tried to measure your parent’s wrath against the ache in his boxers, half shocked he was even considering being so reckless. How soundproof was this room?

“More than okay.” You finally answered, tugging at his drawstring until the knot untied. He drew a quick breath, but didn’t pull away.

“I won’t be able to be quiet,” he admitted, flustered.

The walls narrowed to the space between your lips and his. You knew your parents would soon unwind in the living room across the house, unable to hear a peep—but Bruce didn’t. “Is that a challenge?”

a/n: apparently i have writer’s block but not for bruce wayne smut, so here you go <3 i think it’s cute for Bruce to have the experience of parents interrupting something, since he likely didn’t have that experience growing up !! at least battinson probably didn’t, lmao. also he’s a total munch. a real eater. let me know what you think !!

[smellingbats]

Bruce Wayne! who loves to see you tremble and shiver all over his hands as he makes you cum multiple times. He‘ll be knuckles deep in your pussy as he finger fucks you, getting off on the sight of your whines. “Cmon bunny, one more for me yeah?” Your practically arched off the bed, sheets damp with your fluids as he flicks your clit, hot squirt soaking his abs. Link

Bruce Wayne! who’ll be balls deep inside your cunt, mercilessly pounding you into the mattress as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. How could he resist when you’re just so soft and pliable for him? It’ll be late into midnight and he’ll still be fucking you thin and through, good luck if you want him to stop. Link

Bruce Wayne! getting an instant boner at the sight of your body wearing a cute sun dress, the frilly fabric hugging your delicious curves as you walk around the manor. His hands immediately reach for your ass, kneading the soft flesh as he bends you over the kitchen surface. Let’s just say, you got a different ‘cream pie.’ Link

A/N sorry for the delayed post, having issues with writing rn(｡-_-｡)

[smellingbats]

me waiting on all the fic writers to get on the Professor Bruce Wayne AU bandwagon

[smellingbats]

code of ethics

iii. “possessive”

read on AO3 🤎

parts: previous / next

plot: things become a bit easier between you and your professor (now mentor)—but something isn't adding up.

pairing: professor!bruce wayne x student!reader

cw: 18+

word count: 3k

a/n: listened to 'bad decisions' and 'hands on me' by ariana grande on loop while writing this—if this were my main fic, i would've written like fifty bajillion scenes of lusting and personal time, but this is a miniseries, so, we move right along! trying new things <3

A one-on-one mentorship didn’t require a classroom, so you found yourself sitting across from Professor Wayne in his minuscule office. Evidently, billionaire or not, every faculty member got the same 100-square foot space that left barely enough room for one student in addition to a desk, filing cabinet, and two chairs. Deep brown tones filled his office, making it appear stuffy. 

You felt awful watching him squeeze into his tiny seat across from you; had he opted for the smaller seat so you could have room? Surely the higher-ups could accommodate him. Like you’d spoken aloud, he apologized while hunting through his desk. 

“Emailed the admin about booking a conference room, but they’ve yet to get back to me. Hopefully,” he pulled out a bottom drawer, a small, satisfied sound slipping past his lips that made you sit straighter. “They’ll respond soon, and we can get somewhere more comfortable.” 

Comfortable. You’d repeated that word like a mantra in the mirror as you picked your outfit for the first day. Against your better judgment, you’d gone with sweats and a tee; unprofessional, you’d chastised, but wearing anything else felt promiscuous. Hyperaware of how tightly the jeans hugged your waist and ass—and oh, god, you avoided your skirts like your life depended on it—you’d landed on a perfectly comfortable pair of thick, cozy sweatpants. You tugged at a loose thread as your focus landed on his hands. 

Blue was the color he’d chosen for his pen. Not black, not red, but a cool, even blue. How sweet. You pulled at the thread harder. 

“Do you have topic ideas?” 

“Yes.” Dutifully, you slid a folder out of the backpack you’d obsessively cleaned the night prior. Smooth manila protected your typed list, ranging from strict academia to looser creative pursuits. You pushed the paper to him, heart pounding. 

He stared, his head cocked slightly. He looked to you, the paper, then slid it back. “Which are you passionate about?”

“I thought we’d look over them and decide together,”

He shook his head, lips pressed in a thin line. You felt what he wasn’t saying. “I won’t be the one writing it. It should be about what you want.”

Your professor held out his pen, and your fingers brushed as you took it. It was weighty in your hand, and you very well could’ve imagined it, but the cushion where his fingers had been held warmth. His big, long, warm hands… they were what you wanted. Manicured nails caught your attention, and you bit back an audible ‘of course’. His hygiene was impeccable. What else did you expect from a man like him? Was he manicured elsewhere? 

“Circle the topics you’re most interested in. If you still need my help,” yes, I do, “then we’ll talk.” 

You knew it would be bad after the break you had, but not this bad. You were achingly aware, in fact, following out of the corner of your eye while you pretended to deliberate topics, that he’d switched his usual sweater for a button-up. With the top two buttons undone. 

Focus. 

You snuck another look, and he caught your eye with a curious squint. 

FOCUS!

In truth, none of the topics genuinely interested you. Scouring his faculty page online, you’d gone down his research and found topics he was engaged with, and went from there. Sitting only a few inches from him now, your play felt embarrassingly obvious. It could’ve been minutes or could’ve been hours, but nothing was circled, or underlined, and the pressure in the room shifted. 

“I don’t like any of these,” you admitted, once again feeling like a child owning up to a Big Mistake. What would the slap on the wrist be? Sending you home early? Emphasizing that you really needed to take this class seriously, only making you feel worse? 

Instead, he bridged the space between you. The depth of his blue eyes this close had you genuinely worried you’d drown. “If you had to write the paper right now, and no one would read it, what would you write about?”

You hoped he couldn’t feel the heat emanating off your cheeks, and fought to keep your voice steady. “But you will read it.” 

“I’m here to support, not punish.” He lingered a moment, holding your gaze so firmly that a small gasp escaped when he sat back against his chair. “The process will be more enjoyable if it’s a subject you want to dig into, and your writing will be better for it.” 

It’d been hard enough getting grades back throughout undergrad knowing someone had read what you wrote, perceived you, judged you. It was an entirely new thing when the single most attractive, naturally charismatic man you’d ever seen was judging it in real time, intimately. If you didn’t know him, and had seen him on the opposite end of the same coffee shop, you would’ve hightailed it out of there, holding your breath—never would you have even thought it an option to approach him. 

Yet here you were, mandated to share a teensy room with the object of such desire. 

“This isn’t like last term. This course is about development and revision, pass no pass.”

“Alright.” It didn’t settle the rhapsody that threatened to overwhelm you, but nothing would in his presence. He appeared to attune to your continued hesitance at once. 

“What makes you afraid of me reading it?” 

That you’ll think less of me. “You’ll think it’s elementary.”

“Pick whichever topic without regard for how I might receive it.” He waved his hand over the carefully crafted options. “Or pick from the assembly of my research credits you collected there.” 

Crap. Of course he could tell. 

It took you the rest of the class, but you finally selected your paper topic. When you shared it, Professor Wayne’s eyes flashed, and after your internal recoil, you noticed him grin. “It’ll certainly make for an interesting essay.” 

You shifted in the chair, the space between you and the shared desk seeming too tight. “Bad or good?”

“Neutral.”

He’d been too thoughtful when he said it. Pause… ‘neutral’. “A professional way to say ‘bad’ without hurting my feelings?” An hour spent with him and your filter was slowly removing itself. A smidgen of bravery gathered within you, though you couldn’t imagine how with the adrenaline-spiked overwhelm at how fucking perfect he was.

“Seems to be your Achilles heel, Y/n.” He stood, somehow managing to pull on his coat in the meager space. His perfect hair fell perfectly around his ears, swishing slightly as the jacket’s collar grazed it. “A harsh inner critic will only get you so far.” 

“Mm.” Your throat went dry as he towered over you. It was as if he’d plucked last night’s fantasies from your bedroom. Now, just press his hands onto the desk… lean closer… tell me he wants to…

“I mean it.” 

You bit your lip, blinking at warp speed. “Yeah?” Too pitchy, shit.

He nodded, oh, even just a nod… and it was only the first day! “Almost dropped out of my doctoral program twice.” 

“No way.” 

He grabbed his mug, and your eyes trained on the movement. Does Professor Wayne know all I can think about is his hands on me? “Overthought my dissertation from the day of admission. Didn’t think I could measure up.” 

Him having anything outside of strict confidence was so shocking it pulled you out of your lust. “And?” 

“Now I get this spacious office all to myself.” 

Your cheeks hurt from the slope of your grin, digging into the apples of your cheeks. The man was endearing; certainly more than he’d been a term prior. Was it pitying? Did he see you as fragile? Because good god, you wanted him to break you.

“My point being: I had to write it despite my concerns. Follow where my mind went. Learn to trust it.” 

“How did you?” If you could mimic a single crumb of how he moved so effortlessly through the world—billionaire near-miss-A-list-celebrity notwithstanding—you’d take it. Managing a string of conversation that didn’t make your core tighten would be helpful, too. 

“Trusted my supervisors. That if I were truly out of line, someone would’ve told me.” He walked around the desk toward the door, but stopped between you and it. The noise got harder to ignore, but you managed. 

“Like you did last term.”

“A bit kinder than that, I’ll admit.” He gestured for you to lead the way out of his office, and you shakily got up from your chair to follow orders. You stalled in the slim, empty hallway, lit mostly by passing headlights through the window at its end. 

He clicked the lock and strode just ahead. “You have a strong voice. It’s a shame you’re not trusting it.” 

His smooth speech was beginning to genuinely unravel you. If he’d been speaking to you like this in his office, when you had to stare into his face instead of at his broad, flowing shoulders… 

“I just can’t believe you ever felt that way. You seem like you knew all this stuff from birth.” 

He tossed a look back at you, the whisper of a smirk wearing his mouth. “That’s the trick, isn’t it?”

Mmm…

Professor Wayne held the door open for you into the building’s main hallway, and you hugged the folder tight to your chest as you skirted past. “Come with an outline for next week’s session.”

“Will-do.” Your voice was too deep, thrown, almost ragged.

“Hopefully we’ll have a more accommodating room by then.” 

You did not have a bigger room for the rest of the term. 

“Wonderful.” 

He handed your essay back without comment, which was too confusing to internalize his praise. “No edits?”

“Stellar paper.” 

“Like, I’d get 100 if I turned it in for a grade?”

“I’d invite you to TA on the back of the rubric.”

“Shit.”

If you had to pinpoint the moment you and Professor Wayne’s communication had become less rigid, it might’ve been at the reveal of his dissertation insecurity. Or two weeks later when he made an offhand joke about being an orphan, and his cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink when it didn’t land. 

Either way, things had become easy. For the last day, you’d brought him a coffee. With sessions being in the evening, you usually showed up with water or the occasional herbal tea; however, as your roommate made customary for the end of a term, you were headed straight for the club after. A latte for you, black coffee for him. 

And a pastry, as a parting gift. 

“What now? Since I’m apparently perfect?” You tapped your fingers against your exposed thighs, the minidress you’d thrown on only covered from the waist-up by a baggy sweater. Things were pleasant between you two, sure, but that didn’t mean you didn’t ache watching his lips curve around the edge of his cup, or linger when he rolled the cuffs of his sleeve. 

He checked the clock, and you attuned to the movement of his waist when he shifted. You’d miss this. His tiny office that made you both sweat, his dry one-liners, the perfume of citrus and musk that followed you on your walks home. 

“Guess you get out half an hour early.” A bit curt of a nod, you noted, but it could’ve been in your head. 

What wasn’t in your head, however, was how he didn’t rise to follow you out the door. You withheld a pout as you tucked your folder into your bag and stood. It was your favorite time of the week getting guided down the hall with him. It felt delightfully possessive; he was your mentor, you were his student. 

“Not coming?” One hand on the doorknob, watching as he glanced halfway up at you, then quickly back to his desk. 

His voice went quieter. “Have finals to grade.”

“That’s why my paper has no errors?” You teased. “Antsy to finish?”

“Have a good night.”

No joking, no awkwardly-delivered story about some niche aspect of his personal life: nothing. 

With a level of awkwardness that hadn’t existed since the first meeting in ethics, you caught his hint for you to leave, and left. The hallway felt massive without him guiding you, the walls colder. What the fuck?

The walk home was quick, his TA comment stuck like glue. The first order of business when you slumped into bed involved pulling out your laptop to peruse the class listings. After such a lackluster goodbye, you figured you could make up for it through another term. A jarring crack in your chest festered when you considered the possibility of that being your last ever interaction.

Ethics 511: Ethics Matters, An Explanation of Moral Qualities (TA)

Time: Wednesdays 4-6:40pm

Faculty: Bruce Wayne

Seats: 0/1 [OPEN]

You slammed it shut and paced the room, drawing an invisible pros and cons list, a frustrating experience that ended with you flipping it back open, wildly moving your cursor to the REGISTER button, and clicking SUBMIT with your eyes closed. 

The computer made a bad sound. 

Registration Locked: Requires Instructor Approval.

“Hey, Professor Wayne.”

He glanced at the yellow office slip in your hand and sighed. “The assistant position is no longer open.”

“Oh!” Your spine tingled at his flat affect, disappointment disorienting you. With one term left, this had been your single opportunity to work with him again. “Damn. It wouldn’t let me sign up online.” Had it gotten sniped in the two days it took the office to get back to you with the override form? 

He didn’t look over, opting to concentrate on whatever lay within his notebook. Right off the bat, it was apparent you were a nuisance. Your stomach twisted into a knot. 

You parted your lips to speak, but nothing came of it. Fuck. Say anything. 

“Get a conference room yet for your new mentee—”

“Sorry to cut you short, but I have a deadline to meet.”

He didn’t sound sorry. He wouldn’t even look at you, and practically cut off the last syllable of your sentence. 

You swallowed back bile and a thousand other questions. It was a knife to the heart that you weren’t worth looking at for two fucking seconds now that he wasn’t obligated to teach you. At least you’d go out politely. Kindly. Maybe that could be enough. You faked a cheery grin. “Good luck!” 

“Have a good evening.”

Invisible bruises peppered your skin moving down the hallway from his classroom. Reduced to tears once again, like the past three months hadn’t even happened. Prideful, you leaned against the wall before the exit and searched the schedule to double-check.

Ethics. 511. Ethics Matters. An Explanation of Moral Qualities. (TA). Wednesdays. 4-6:40. Faculty: Bruce Wayne.

Seats: 0/1 [OPEN]

You stomped back to his classroom, pausing for a beat at the door to catch your breath and reign in tears. Clenched fists at your sides. Biting your cheek. It didn’t make sense. He always made sense.

Peeking through the window panel, Professor Wayne looked beaten; his posture hunched over the desk unlike he ever sat. He ran a stiff hand through his hair, and the huff of his exhale ruffled the papers below him. He adjusted uncomfortably.

He seemed… flustered. Strung-out. You pressed the pushbar.

“Did I do something wrong?”

He startled like a gun had been shot, but his recovery was smooth. You thought an additional button had been loosened on his shirt. “I’m immersed in my work.” 

“Did you just pass me and say all that because I cried at the midterm?”

His shoulders dropped in disillusionment, and you tensed. He squeezed the words past his teeth. “You did good work. Now let me get back to mine.”

Vulnerability spilled out of you, your voice cracking. “I just—”

“Y/n.” His voice was firm, an edge creeping in. 

“You acted like I would be the perfect candidate. Classes start next week.” 

“I no longer need an assistant.”

“I just checked, and it still says ‘open’ online.”

“I’ll get it changed.”

“This doesn’t seem—”

“Let it go.” He glared at you while he said it, as fiery and brutal as swallowing hot coal. 

“So it is something.” Whatever window he’d opened for you was bolted shut, and it felt like it snapped off a finger as he slammed it. He faced his desk, an absent stare at the empty monitor. His silence was the final brick, and you chewed on your cheek as hot, angry tears wet your lashes. He didn’t respect you enough to even tell you why. 

He repeated himself, weaker this time. “I no longer need an assistant.”

You stepped closer, and his shoulders drew inward. What the hell was his problem? 

“Hi,” another student maneuvered around you to set up at the desk in front of his. Precisely where you’d chosen the first day of ethics. You could’ve fallen to your knees as she took your seat. “I hope I’m not interrupting, I wanted to go over expectations for the mentorship next term when you’re available.”

“We were just finishing, Isabel.” 

So much for his deadline.

The ease of the last term sat differently in your chest. Had it been so relaxed because he hadn’t actually cared? You stopped yourself before scowling at the woman—it wasn’t her fault she was his next mentee, but god, jealousy nipped at the tips of your fingers as she rose from her seat and walked toward what used to be yours. His attention, his consideration, his time; his eyes, his scent, the way your name sounded in his mouth…

“Appreciate the transparency, Professor.” You spun on your heel and left without looking back. Fuck him.

taglist: @noisylime, @serynstorylover, @crayzmarvelfan800, @dreamer7black, @sad-ghouls, @smellingbats

[smellingbats]

You Make Me Wanna Come In A Good Way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[smellingbats]

Cause I see nobody, nobody but you, you, you

Tags: Sex ban! First one to lose is bruce, teasing, stuck in the dryer, pussy eating, slick, marking, kissing, hickies, Bruce is feral for you! full nelson, creampie, sweet nothings, sex

Have you ever tried this one?(∩˃o˂∩)♡

A sex ban, made from you. What even started this? Well, let’s talk about it.

Bruce is constantly bending you over or making full on love to you, but he can be rough at times. There was one time where the headboard of your shared bed cracked right down the middle, his palm gripped so hard on the wood it broke. Or when Bruce fucked you in the shower, almost knocking everything down in the process from how carried away he got.

“You are on a sex ban. Nothing less, nothing more.” Bruce stood there astonished from your words, sex ban? “Wait doll- how come? C’mon, you know how much you love it when I get to bend you over.” He shot back arrogantly, his pride swelling like a balloon from his own words. “Bruce, you break so much stuff in the process the only place where it’s safe is on the floor. Remember the headboard? Shower?” You pointed out the times when Bruce was reckless, fucking you so good be broke stuff in the process.

“Ehh- okay, fine. I’ll go on the ban, but if you break first angel ‘m gonna pound you so hard..” He whispered against your ear lobe leaving you all flustered, a stupid smirk wiped on his face as he walked away.

Day 1. It was easy, light brushes and touches did nothing to you and Bruce, maybe. You were washing your dish when he came behind you, leaning against the plush of your ass, supposedly ‘grabbing something’ from the cabinet. You almost would have  punched him from the stupid sneaky move. As the two of you laid in bed that night, you cuddled up against his front, accidentally touching his chest just a little too much.

Day 2. There he was, shirtless and in a pair of dirt washed jeans in the garage. Bruce was fixing one of his cars that he owned, the dirt and grime coating his body making you clench. “That’s not fair..” You whispered, thinking of any way to get back at him. Maybe it was fair when you walked in the garage with a pitcher of ice cold lemonade in nothing but his oversized shirt, the fabric swallowing your torso. Bruce had to hold everything back when he saw you, your cute frame being covered from his very own shirt made him hard in his jeans.

“Thank you angel.” Bruce leaned into your neck, leaving a small kiss on your pulse point, watching as you flushed with pink. Oh, two can play at that game.

Day 3. You woke up to Bruce falling off the bed with a loud thud. “Bruce! Are you okay?” You leaned over on his side, finding him face first on the floor. He laid on the floor and shot his hand up, his hand giving a thumbs up. You dismissed it and went back to sleep.

Little did you remember, you took off your pajamas due to the heat and fell asleep in your underwear, leaving Bruce with a great image burned into his retinas and a semi boner. When he heard the soft noises of your snores, Bruce thought he was in the clear but you were sprawled all out on the bed without the blanket. “Son of a..” He mumbled. The rest of the day, Bruce had to hold back from pouncing on you and pounding you senseless for hours to make up.

Day 4. Bruce snapped. You were doing laundry, grabbing the dry clothes out of the machine when there was just an old sock wedged into the metal. You leaned inside to grab it when you felt something warm on your ass.

“Bunny. I’ve been holding back so fucking much, but this? You believe I can last longer when you're bent over like this? Fuck..” Bruce’s warm breath brushed against the curvature of your ass, his hands groping the flesh as he heard your soft moans inside. “B-Bruce! Not here..!” He slid down your pajama shorts, introduced with the pretty sight of your puffy folds throbbing with slick. The breeze of air against your folds made you twitch, lightly arching your back as Bruce spread you open.

He sucked on the inner part of your thighs, biting and squeezing the tender flesh with his teeth, his hands spanking your ass. You moaned from the stimulation, the red marks against your ass spurring Bruce on even more. His lips leeched onto your pussy, the taste of sugary sweetness blessing his taste buds after such a long time. “Fuh- taste so sweet f’me love, needed this..!” Bruce spit against your folds, the warm fluid hitting spot on your tight hole as it dripped down. “Bruucee!” You were tense with need and pleasure, his teasing getting you worked up. Forget the sock, his mouth worked wonders on your wet little cunt.

You shook from your first orgasm, the slick smeared all over his mouth. Bruce slurped loudly, his eyes closed shut from your sweet fluids as he ate you out. “M gonna make up for all the time, better take it all bun.”

Bruce pulled you out, a smile growing at his lips as he saw your face all flushed with need and embarrassment. You were so hazy from the orgasm that you didn’t notice he was carrying you to the bedroom, his footsteps moving faster as he approached the door. Bruce laid you down onto the sheets, the soft silk against your body was relaxing.

“Gonna make me break the bed again yea? My dumb little baby needs to be bred with my cum?” Bruce shifted onto the bed, your body in between his meaty thighs as he looked down at you. Your shirt was riding up towards your breasts, the underside being left out just enough to not reveal your nipples. You yanked off your shirt, throwing it to the side as you looked at Bruce.

He leaned down and kissed you, his arms tightening around your waist as he sat you up. You clawed at his back, angry red scratch marks littering his skin from your nail. “More- please..!” You moaned in between, breaking the kiss to lift your neck. Bruce latched onto your unmarked skin, his canines digging into your skin leaving a large bite mark. He sucked on a sensitive point, leaving you all twitchy and shaky.

There were hickies and red spots all over your skin, as Bruce sat back to admire his work.

“World's best pussy for me..” Bruce sat on the bed as he flipped you around, the small of your back against his front. His cock was out, the tip leaking pre as it ran down his length. He lifted your legs, your feet dangling in the air as his shaft rubbed against your folds. The softness of your boobs and the plush of your tummy was so damn sexy to Bruce, his cock slowly entering your small tight hole. Your wet gummy walls clamped around his inches like a vice, the way you clenched around him was dizzying.

Bruce had you in a full nelson, the position making it easier for him to reach deeply inside your sweet pussy. “Ngh, too! much..!” His hips snapped up against your ass, his balls slapping against the skin of your flesh definitely leaving a mark. Bruce was merciless with his thrusts, his cock making you squirt all over the bed with a wet mess. The sheets were stained with your fluids, as he continued to fuck you over and over.

“Gonna cum inside and you’ll take it all for me, yea?” Bruce was pussy drunk, the way your tits jiggled and your ass rippling from his hips made his mouth water. He buried himself deep into your pussy, biting down on your shoulder as he came inside, the hot flood of cum inside your womb making you shiver. Bruce let you down onto the sheets as he pulled you into his body, basking in the aftermath of your orgasms. “Guess that really was a sex ban.”

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══

A/N Started a new story for fun and kinda getting really into it.. also had no desire to cum but now i have a high libido ◔_◔

[smellingbats]

SUGAR & SPICE

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

《MINORS DNI!》

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Young people these days.

If that's what you want, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmngh...B-Bruce, I-I just—”

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

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

[smellingbats]

code of ethics

ii. “obsession”

read on AO3 🤎

parts: previous / next

plot: you get your final grade back, and a side of candid conversation with your professor.

pairing: professor!bruce wayne x student!reader

cw: 18+

word count: 2.9k

a/n: i utilized the tag ‘bruce wayne has ocd’ on ao3 and it is oh so true… the havoc he will endure with his beloved moral scrupulosity. i love putting him in Situations

The rest of the term was spent in a flurry—you practically ignored the rest of your courses to channel every crumb of energy into studying for ethics. The final was another essay, this time a persuasive one; you’d read the rubric so many times you’d began reciting it as you drifted to sleep. Sometimes when you woke up in the middle of the night with an ache of dread, you couldn’t parse if you were more upset about flunking, or more upset at Professor Wayne being proven right.

Week after week you showed up early to class with his slides printed out, stapled together, and notated. If you didn’t catch yourself silently finishing at least ten of his sentences per class, you’d spend the rest of the night reading them over again. A spiral notebook sat to the right of the printed slides where you’d track his responses to student questions. By dead week, you could say with utmost confidence that an inhale before he responded meant he was pleased—the student was on the right track; an exhale meant he was disappointed (they were wrong, of course), and an almost imperceptible quirk of his brow meant something hadn’t been what he’d anticipated. He gave his longest responses after it, which he rarely indulged.

More than anything else, you were learning Professor Wayne. What made him tick. 

“That’ll be all, class.” He’d taken the last sip of his coffee as he draped his jacket over his forearm. “My apologies; a department-wide meeting is cutting the last few slides. They’ll remain on our course site for review prior to submitting the final.” 

You hadn’t heard him as you replayed the rubric in your head for the thousandth time, and became alarmed when your classmates started filing out. He hadn’t gone over his requirements for the references—you needed to know the requirements before starting your paper. Every section had to be perfect. “Professor,”

He was already at the door, leaning his waist against the pushbar to open it. Maybe he hadn’t finished his coffee, because he juggled it in his hands with his staff lanyard and trademark satchel. 

You abruptly stood, the legs of the chair making an awful scraping sound against the floor. It made him lock eyes across the room. Impatience coated his tone.

“Is this something the syllabus can answer? Possibly a peer?”

Why would I ask him something someone else could answer? Either he thought students were idiots, or he was unaware how unapproachable he was. “The references. What are the requirements?”

“The same as for every other assignment. Have a good day.” He swung the door out with his hip, and you had to raise your voice to stop him from leaving down the hallway. 

“That’s not true,” you gulped; suddenly breathless, suddenly chilled to simply restate what he’d already announced months ago. “You said week one that the references page would shift for the final.” 

Professor Wayne mused on this for a moment, and your breathing ceased with it. The room dropped ten degrees as you struggled to read an unreadable slate; his stoicism was so practiced it seemed innate. Hours spent staring at him, studying him, and all you had were an inhale, exhale, and brow quirk. 

“You’re correct. I did.” 

Your shoulders dropped and breathing resumed, though it hitched on his every blink. 

“I’ll keep that in mind for next term. As is, keep to the course standard.”

You nodded, hardly aware you were doing so, and watched him leave. Your body was coated in sweat. 

Sunday night rolled around, though you wished it wouldn’t. By ten in the evening, your paper had gone through three different cycles of editing at the campus writing center, your roommate had read it over at least five times, you’d paid some inordinate sum to have it put through the plus version of an online grammar checker, and you were finally ready to hit Submit. But your hands wouldn’t move. 

Failing this class wasn’t the end of the world; it wasn’t like you were particularly attached to your cohort. If you had to start again next fall, you could make it work. Maybe it would even be better; you’d be able to save some money in the year between coming back, you’d take this class with a different professor, and by that time someone else could be teaching Writing 505 in winter. How wonderful it would be to not have Professor Wayne breathing down your neck anymore.

Fuck it. 

Submission Received.

The three days between submission and having a grade back was the picture of hell. You paced circles around your bedroom, anxiously cleaned things throughout the apartment, and fought the urge to pore over your paper for the billionth time. Your roommate tried to calm you by normalizing what you were feeling; “Anyone would feel that way, dude. His family was practically royalty.” She was convinced he was a snob, excessively questioning why, with all of his inherited fortune, Bruce Wayne decided to work at all. She kept referring to him by full name, and you cringed each time. Bruce. What a clunky name. 

The snob showed up on Wednesday with his artisan coffee and a thick stack of papers that could’ve made you pass out. You’d sat closest to the door, where he started his handouts, so you wouldn’t have to suffer through any additional period of waiting. 

Professor Wayne set his coffee to the left of his keyboard, where he always did. He resituated the stack to settle in the crook of his elbow, and walked toward you without a glance. Every step toward you ratcheted your anxiety to a peak, until he was standing a foot away at the edge of your desk and you levitated outside of your body.

A subtle shhk, shhk sound fell from his fingers as he flipped to your submission, and fuck, your throat was tight like breathing through a straw. What if you got a 91? Christ, he would totally do something like that; he’d so dock points just for smelling fear. Maybe he’d say that you shouldn’t have tried so hard, that it bled through in your writing, that you needed to learn a lesson, that he could tell you weren’t engaging with the material in a genuine capacity, that you were searching for a grade, oh, shit, he was tugging out your paper, fuck, fuck, who were you kidding saying it would be fine to wait a year, no, it wouldn’t, you couldn’t breathe, FUCK!—

94.

He continued handing out papers without comment like your life hadn’t just hung in the balance. 

Ninety-fucking-four. 

Your skull buzzed, mind tumbling over itself as shock washed through you. Some scoffs and other mutterings scattered across the classroom as the stack slowly disappeared, and by the time he was back at the front, your breathing had regulated. The person to your left glanced at your score, eyes flashing before they turned away at his announcement. 

“Good work, everyone. If you’re confused about your grade, I attached a rubric with comments.”

Anxiously, you flipped to the last page to ensure he hadn’t miswritten the number. Everything was ‘exemplary’, aside from one ‘sufficient’ under the references page. He had to be joking. 

You flipped back to the front. 94. It didn’t feel real. Though you’d worked tirelessly for weeks to get here, to get this, it didn’t quite feel deserved. He wasn’t pitying you, was he? Anything in the nineties was striking gold with him; at best, this resembled silver. 

His final announcement was missed by you yet again, rendering you one of the last students left in the classroom. You couldn’t keep letting your mind wander around him, and would need to find a way to stop it between now and the end of winter break. If the conversation shifted from the level of effort being unacceptable to this behavior, then he’d really get under your skin. 

“I need to speak with you about next term, if you have a moment.” 

Your fingers went cold against the straps of your backpack, your only lifeline in the chasm between the professor and the exit. His tone was almost pleasant. He ran a hand through his hair, and something in you bristled like a plucked string. “About 505?”

“Yes.” He turned his chair to face you squarely, tearing his attention from his monitor to solely focus on you. A jolt ran through you as the word pretty stung your thoughts. Attractive, yeah, hot, absolutely. Pretty? 

“I wanted to check in around the class format.” He clasped his hands together between his knees, and you realized he was a bit shorter than you when he sat. A thrill rolled through you looking slightly down to meet his gaze. You cleared your sticky throat, and avoided the growing desire to step closer, get yourself in the vicinity of his cologne. You never realized it before, but his roots were practically black, the lengths of his hair lighter, more playful. Did he get highlights? Spend a lot of time vacationing in the sun, outside of Gotham? You couldn’t picture him beyond the classroom at all. 

“Y/n?”

Under his attentive stare—which felt like he was physically grabbing you—your face got hot, flustered. “Sorry, my mind, yeah.” Whenever he said your name, you short-circuited. You’d have to get used to it if you were to survive the one-on-one mentorship of 505.

“You mentioned feeling threatened last time we talked. I want to know if there’s any way I can make you more comfortable.”

A joke flitted across your thoughts, and it must’ve twisted something on your face. He questioned it with a firm, yet warm, “What?”

It was dumb, but you figured he wouldn’t let it go if you redirected. Apparently the harsh man was dead set on making you comfy-cozy. So you did the least you could do: answer without stammering. “Get a different color pen.” 

His brow quirked, just barely, so subtly, but pride flushed every vein. It was very pleasing to subvert his expectations. 

“Which color would you prefer?” 

You stared back at him blankly, noting a furrowed crease between his eyes; you forgot how literally he took things. You made a mental note to keep next term’s paper topic specific and straightforward to save yourself a headache. “I’m joking, sorry,”

“Do you feel like you need to joke?” Professor Wayne had a special talent of asking the questions you didn’t want to answer. Questions that, from any other person, might seem endearing; from the rigid, impenetrable wall of a man in front of you, it continued to fray your nerves. 

“It’s fine, I’ll just get through it.” You wished he would go back to looking through random folders, or typing something on his computer. He didn’t even have a pen in his hand. Every facet of his attention was placed on you, invoking a curious fight or flight response, dancing across your skin like static. 

“If you think of anything over the break, don’t hesitate to communicate it.” 

Can he change his whole personality?

“Excuse me?”

You opened your mouth to recover, but nothing came out. All the blood had rushed from your head and sloshed somewhere out of body. A hammering heart thudding against your eardrums was the only sensation as his tone cut into you. It wasn’t, it wasn’t even mean, just slightly upset, or not even upset, but, god, you didn’t need to give him more reasons to be disappointed. A younger part of you trembled and held in a sob, a shy, nervous teacher’s pet from birth. Your hands shook as they clenched into fists around the straps. 

A soft sound fell out of him—a, a sort of laugh. “Appreciate the transparency.” 

You burned, wishing he would have slapped you instead. Forcing himself to be nice made you feel weak, and fuck, you hated when people coddled you. 

“I’ll take your feedback into consideration.” 

Please don’t. You wanted the conversation to end, to grab him by the shoulders and shake it out of both of your memories. Why was he teaching in the writing department if he was known for ethics? Was the university that strapped for professors? Was he a secret prodigy? Probably. 

“Great work on the final, by the way.” 

Ooh, that was rubbing salt in the wound. Tears prickled your lash line. Every childhood insecurity came roaring back, your irritability rocketing to 100. All you could hear was how much he hadn’t believed in you. “I know, shocking.” 

He learned forward in his chair, and your gaze oscillated from him to his desktop, the tips of your ears scorching. “I apologize for the impact my frustration has had. This is a learning environment, and I don’t want it to feel punitive.” 

He said all the right things, and it even looked like he meant them. But the pedestal you’d placed him on—from how he walked, talked, looked… wouldn’t let you believe his empathy was anything but hollow. 

“I acknowledge I can be very… particular.” He spoke with a hesitance that drew your focus beyond your tears. Melancholy tinged his expression, and it was like you’d seen a ghost. It didn’t fit him. “I was unaware it was influencing my teaching so heavily.” 

His hard edges looked a bit rounder. Tears leaked from the corners of your eyes, and you could’ve sworn something akin to shame flickered across his face. 

“I’ll be more aware of that going forward. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.” 

“No,” you wiped your cheeks with your sleeve. “I just get like this.” An invisible force compelled you to honesty, and you shoved through the last cardboard wall to say it. “Authority. I get worked up, I don’t know.” 

You thought it might be cathartic to finally speak what was on your mind without heavy filtering, but it wasn’t. If anything, it made everything feel more raw, sink fully into your bones. 

“I know I don’t make it easy.” 

Whether he meant his demeanor or his classes, you hadn’t a clue, and you weren’t about to ask. His candor, though said with his standard professional cadence, was so atypical it stole the oxygen from the room. This wasn’t how you wanted it to go; you meant to get your grade, and get out, not be on the precipice of trauma-dumping on your professor. 

Maybe he thought you would report him if he didn’t try being nice; but why would a firing, much less a report, be an issue for a billionaire? 

Your breath caught, mortified to remember you were in conversation with Bruce Wayne, someone who would be entirely untouchable if it weren’t for his choice of career. It all felt so orchestrated, your roommate’s suspicions creeping in full-force. How was his deal anything but an ego boost? Teach the poor public university students, then go home and jet off to Dubai? Something to soothe his conscience, make him feel like anything besides the spoiled rich kid he was? Did he want you to think he was so nice? So understanding? 

“Bye.” Digging your teeth into your tongue was the barrier between words better left unsaid. 

“Have a nice break.” 

It took everything in you not to slam the door on your way out.

“How’d it go?” Your roommate laid out on the couch watching a rerun, a bowl of popcorn tucked into her elbow. You flinched. 

“Awful.” Your body was worn, back hunched like your bag was full of bricks. Break couldn’t have been more timely; sleeping for weeks on end never sounded more beautiful. 

“You failed?!”

You paused, having forgotten what had been firmly plastered to every thought the past month. “No, I passed.” 

“That’s good… right?”

“Yeah.” You thudded your backpack to the ground in front of your bedroom, letting her know you were turning in early. Clothes strewn across the floor, a baggy tee yanked over your head, and you flopped into bed. A sitcom laughed from the living room. A car passed outside the window. And your professor’s bright blue eyes permeated all of it. 

His eyes didn’t leave you all break, either. Some moments remained sacred; unwrapping presents over the holidays, hosting a New Year’s party—but not even all of that; the term began closer to the new year than it ever had before, and you found yourself drunk off lukewarm punch just past midnight, wondering, for just a blip, how it might feel to kiss him. 

Not that you hadn’t imagined it before; the first weeks of class had been rough on your sensibilities. Envisioning his outline under those sweaters, a silhouette that gave delicious glimpses whenever he leaned to pick something dropped or pulled the screen over the whiteboard. But the last time you’d fantasized, you hadn’t talked to him, bumped into him, hadn’t known he’d be your mentor, scripting mandatory alone time into your week. His unplaceability was as frustrating as it was invigorating; so much blank space left delicious room for assumption. 

You abandoned the party and wandered to your room in a guilty, lustful haze. Each interaction with him gave your daydreams more shape, and you couldn’t fathom how dangerous it could get so soon. Uncoordinated hands grabbed your journal out of your nightstand, and blurry eyes watched you write a resolution.

Don’t fuck your professor.

taglist: @noisylime , @serynstorylover , @crayzmarvelfan800 , @dreamer7black

[smellingbats]

WHAT ABOUT DRUNK!PUSSY BRUCE WAYNE 🤤🤤🤤

Aahh absolutely feel free to request more

Tw: Oral (f) afab reader. Overstimulating come on pants pussy drunk.

Enjoy

"Bruce." You let out a whine. Your back arching of the bed, your hands in his hair as his tongue lapped at you drinking up every drop of slick and come he could manage.

He'd be at this for at least an hour. You lost count of how many times you'd come how many times you'd told him it was too much. He was to far gone now absorbed in your cunt.

You let out a moan feeling his mouth move up to suck on your oversensitive clit. You look down at him through half lidded eyes and watch as he whirls his tongue around the nub, dark eyes taking in every whimper every plea.

"One more. One more, please. One more." He begs throwing your legs over his shoulders and diving tongue first into your fluttering whole. He lets out a moan into you as his tongue gives expertly around. He's done this some many times now he knows just what makes you blow.

And he gets it. With a moan and a cry of his name, you finish. Coming around his tongue, soaking his face in your juices. You feel him grunt against you as he rides you through your orgasm and laps up anything left.

Finally, he sits up, looking down at you as you catch your breath. Your eyes train over his messy hair, blow out pupils, slick soaked face, and wet stained pants. You sit up weakly, looking from the stain to him and back to the stain. "Did you -" He cuts you off before you can finish. "You just taste that good darling." The man hums and lays down next to you, burying his face in your neck.

Hope you enjoyed

Feel free to request like reply repost

Stay safe

Have a wonderful day night afternoon etc

[smellingbats]

#4 Batboys and their text: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Damian.

[smellingbats]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ Bale!Bruce Wayne nsfw alphabet , mdni 18+ !! ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

a= Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): If you two are in a committed relationship he will pamper you, I mean he will clean you up with a warm washcloth and kiss his way up your body, praising you in between kisses.

He'll also kiss all the little marks he left on your body and rub them soothingly as he holds you in his arms. If you're especially worn out he'll run a bath for you and carry you bridal style to the bathroom. He'll sit on the edge of the tub as his hands massage your scalp.

If he has time he'll wait for you to fall asleep before he eventually leaves for patrol. He'll mumble sweet nothings in your ear as you doze off, head on his chest. When he feels your breathing slow down he'll press a kiss to the top of your head and get up.

He's more into morning sex because it allows him to be close to you for longer.

b= body part (their favorite of theirs and their partner): Of his: his broad shoulders. Listen, Bruce Wayne is a big guy, he's all sharp edges and muscles and he is proud of it. This man has a serious size kink (see K for a more developed idea).

Of yours: your thighs. He likes touching you, holding on to you at all times, and he prefers meatier parts of your body for that. Plus, he likes holding them when he's eating you out.

c=cum (anything to do with cum): He likes to cum inside you (has a bit of a breeding kink, check k for more info) or on your stomach, refuses to cum on your face because he finds it degrading.

d=dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs): He has orgasmed from eating you out before but he refuses to tell you.

e=experience (how experienced are they): He's been passed around more than a blunt, this man has experience. He'll never make you feel uncomfortable or inadequate in any way in the bedroom, just let him take the lead.

f=favorite position: Missionary all the way, he loves seeing your face and being able to kiss you. Also likes doggy in front of a mirror because he can see your face and the size difference between you that makes his cock twitch.

g= goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): In general he's a very serious and stoic man, I doubt there'd be many silly moments, however if he's comfortable with you and you're more humorous he will lead you on and laugh.

h= hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) : He's a very neat man so I think he'd be well groomed and careful about it; however he'll explicitly tell you he doesn't care if you shave anything. Who do you think he is? He's a grown man, a bit of hair won't hurt him.

i= intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) : He gets especially romantic during sex, holding your face or neck in his big hand, pressing kisses all over your skin. He's not really into dirty talk but he loves praising you and sweet talking you, especially because your cheeks get a pretty pink tint and your cunt gets so tight around him he thinks he might be in heaven.

j= jack off (masturbation headcanon) : Bruce doesn't really like to, why would he if he has you? So it's kind of a situation based on necessity; if he's away for a long time for a mission or something. He likes doing it with you on the phone or to pictures you send him. He doesn't keep that a secret from you, you're the only one who can get him off.

k= kink (one or more of their kinks) : Very vanilla but he does have a raging size kink, even the smallest displays of your size difference get him hard. He likes fucking you in front of full body mirrors for that exact reason, manhandling you however he likes, moving you as if you weighed nothing.

l= location (favorite places to do the do) : He's a very private person and for that I think he'd leave sex for the privacy of your own home— at home he'd fuck you in any room Alfred wasn't in, really— but I do think he'd fuck you at a hotel bathroom in a charity gala or event.

m= motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) : Domesticity, seeing you walk around the manor as if you owned it, making breakfast for him while you talk to Alfred in the kitchen. He likes seeing you comfortable, calm, smiling at him with that loving look in your eyes.

He also loves it when you wear clothes or jewelery he's bought you because he feels like you're showing him off in a way.

n= no (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs) : I don't think he'd be into spanking, choking or degradation (he will smack your ass and hold your neck without applying any pressure if you like it), there's so much pain and violence in other aspects of his life, he'd rather not take that home to you. Iike I said before (in the letter k) Bruce is very vanilla, so any hard kinks would be hard nos.

o= oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc) : He'd rather give than receive, like I've said before he is a munch, he'll be there night and day gripping your thighs and working you open with his tongue. However, if you offer to give him head who is he to refuse?

He's not a headpusher but he will grip your hair tightly in his fist, and if he's getting close and he's really out of it he'll pull your hair in the most delicious way. (He'll feel so bad and apologize like crazy when he realizes, but he'll ease up a little if you tell him you like it.)

p= pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) : Batman does it hard and rough to release tension, Bruce likes to start slower and escalate.

q= quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) : He's not a fan of quickies because he likes to make you cum several times before he finishes, but sometimes the time isn't enough and a quickie has to do. However, he's pretty big and a lot to take in, so he'd rather take his time and work you open.

r= risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) : Bruce doesn't take risks during sex at all, the most he'd do is tie you up if you're okay with it or smack your ass, but even then he'd feel like he was doing too much. He will experiment and try out certain things if you ask nicely, though.

s= stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…) : This man has stamina for AGES, I mean, he'll stop when you're sated but he could go longer, and he'll let you know with a smile, he'll ask "Another one?" With that shit eating grin on his face, and more often than not you'll agree.

t= toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) : He does not own any and is not really into them, if you own and use a vibrator on your own he'll feel like he's not doing enough so he'll try to prove to you how much better he can make you feel.

u= unfair (how much they like to tease) : Teases you like it's his day job, he'll have you squirming beneath him, begging for it, before he's even put a finger in you.

v= volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make) : Not too loud but he is a groaner. He loves calling you pet names throughout, LOVES calling you a good girl. He's not really talkative otherwise.

w= wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) : He loves kissing during sex, his mouth will be glued to your lips, cheeks, neck, thighs— anywhere he can reach, really.

x= x-ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words) : He's a tall buff man, he's big. 7'5 inches (19 cm) soft, almost 9 inches (22 cm) hard, and girthy. He's fairly veiny. It is a lot to take in, like I said earlier, but he takes his time with foreplay to prep you.

y= yearning (how high is their sex drive?) : Before you got together it wasn't exponentially high, he'd date and have sex, but he was busy and didn't give it much thought; now that he's with you, though? He wants you all the time you're in the same room. Good thing you do too.

z= zzz (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward) : It takes him a long while to fall asleep, and usually he doesn't, he gets up from the bed once you're asleep and goes on patrol.

[smellingbats]

Teasing Bruce in public with short skirts or subtle touches and rubs and how he would react to it :3 nsfw

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •Older bf!Bruce Wayne x fem!Reader•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚ mdni (18+)˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆

a/n: Reader is in her 20s (in college, studying for a master's, whatever you want) and Bruce in his late 30s. Thank you to the anon who sent this, omg I'm soo obsesseddddd!!!

Warnings: age gap, smut (oral m! receiveing, face fucking).

Bruce had called you that morning to let you know he would be out of the office before midday and he wanted to take you out. You didn't have any classes that day so you eagerly agreed, and before you knew it there was a black SUV waiting right outside your door.

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"What are you wearing?" He asked, his voice dripping with annoyance as his hand came down to cover your backside as you jumped out of the backseat of the car.

"Miu miu!" You replied, "It's my favorite skirt."

"Darling, I don't think that qualifies as a skirt." His words came out smooth, dripping with sweetness like honey, but an annoyed scowl remained on his face.

"You bought it for me," You whipped your head around to glare at him, "and you said you loved it in the store."

You knew he didn't like it when you wore skirts so short outside, it wasn't that he was possessive, he was just over-protective; he feared the way media outbursts would affect you, he feared tainting you, ruining you.

"I know I did, but it's not really an outside skirt, is it?" He spoke again, his tone more stern this time as you skipped ahead of him.

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Bruce spent the rest of your date following you around stores and coffee shops with a frown, any time photographers were in sight you'd brush up against him, palm him through his slacks discreetly.

If any of this had actually bothered him you would have stopped, but it didn't, not really, it gave him an incentive. You could see the fire in his eyes behind that stern look, the amusement behind the feigned annoyance.

Bruce would rather die than show any reaction in public, the most he'd do would be giving you a tap on the hip or whispering "behave," in your ear, but once you're back at the manor and all alone he confronts you.

Dropping your bags in a corner and locking the bedroom door he says "What was that?"

"What was what?" You reply, smiling with mischeif.

You're pushing your luck and you know it, he's so close to snapping, you can see it in his eyes, in the way his chest rises and falls with ragged breaths, in the way the fabric of his pants tightens over his crotch.

He strides over to you, your smile grows and heat pools in your stomach in anticipation.

"You know what." He all but yells at you, "That was reckless, sweetheart."

"'m sorry, Brucie." You look up at him, wide eyed and eager.

Your eyes shine under the sunlight that filters through the window and Bruce almost forgives you. Almost.

"Don't look at me like that, you did it on purpose," His lips twitch up slightly, his gaze is softer now, loving, but his expression remains stern. "so you'll take care of it."

You know what he means and what he wants so you drop to your knees without hesitation. His hands tangle in your hair and push it away from your face.

"You're beautiful. Annoying too, but most of all beautiful." he breathes out softly.

"You're supposed to be mad at me," You tease as you tug at his belt.

"Oh, I am. Terribly so, young woman." He frowns jokingly.

You chuckle as you pull him out of his slacks, twitching, red as you hold it in your hand.

The second you begin pumping your hand at his base and your tounge makes contact with his tip his whole demeanor changes. His grip on your hair gets tighter and he pushes his cock all the way in, hitting at the back of your throat, making you gag and drool all over him.

His grip on your hair shifts slightly as he pulls almost all the way out. Tears pool in your eyes and roll down your cheeks. He gathers them on the pads of his fingers.

"Deep breath..." He whispers before pushing all the way in again, gripping your hair with both hands. You run your tounge down the underside of his base which elicits a whispered curse from his lips.

"Fuck...honey..." He speaks before he pulls out again and pushes in with more force than before.

Your nose is pushed up against his pubes as he ruts against you with force, you know he is close from the way his fingers pull at your strands carelessly and his breathing gets ragged. You hollow out your cheeks and meet his gaze, his eyes are heavy lidded and his pupils blown, there is that twitch in his upper lip that makes you blush, an almost smile that he reserves for you.

"I'm so close— shit— look at me, baby, look at me." He taps your cheek with his finger to get you to meet his gaze again.

His hips stutter against your face as hot cum spurts down your throat. He pulls you off from him with a loud pop, a string of saliva connecting you to him.

his hand moves from your hair to your chin and he tilts your face up with two fingers as you swallow and smile.

He zips his pants up and winks at you. He chuckles when he sees the confused look in your eyes.

"I would have fucked you if you'd behaved, you know?"

────୨ৎ────

requests are open!!

[smellingbats]

Hii can u pls pls pls do either Bruce and Bambi reader or Bruce and his controversially younger girlfriend love ur work btw<333

Warnings: oral sex (f!receiveing), p in v, fingering.

a/n: Ughh I love this!!! Bambi reader is so cute, and Bruce is so fine...also I mixed both prompts because they're SO HOT, thank u for this omggg

❀✿Older Bf!Bruce Wayne x Bambi!Reader✿❀ ⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚ mdni (18+)˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆

Bruce had been hard at work in the cave for the past few hours, he'd told you to wait upstairs, in his room. He said he'd come up when he was done working and listen to anything you wanted to talk about, but right then he had to work.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." He'd said as he kissed the top of your head.

And you'd smiled at him sweetly and laid back on the bed. You wanted to behave, you really did. Bruce was so sweet when you followed his orders you would never dream of misbehaving; but it was almost lunchtime, and he said he'd be done by twelve.

You could always just walk down the stairs, pout at him until he sighed and bent you over the desk. So that's what you decided to do.

You knew he would be mad, he hated when you went in there, especially when he hadn't given you permission to. He wasn't controlling, he just worried about you. He didn't want you down there, in such a dark and gritty setting; he didn't want you to see the cases he worked on, the injuries he suffered, the things he saw.

Bruce would dip his hands in holy water before touching you if he could, all he ever wanted to do was keep you safe.

You strutted down the stairs to the cave, careful as to not make any noise. He was slumped over the batcomputer, back hunched over, eyes heavy. You wrapped your arms around his neck, expecting him to be at least a little bit startled, but he wasn't, he only leaned his head back against you and looked up at you.

"You shouldn't be here." He rasped out, his tone stern.

"I missed you, though." You whined.

"I know, sweets, but I'm working." He spoke as he shifted his gaze back to the screen.

"You've been here for so long already, just wanna keep you company." You mumbled as you ducked your head to kiss the side of his neck.

He took in a sharp breath, "Baby—" he warned you.

"I'll be so good, B. I'll be quiet."

"I know you will, sweetheart, you're always good. Just go upstairs now, okay?"

"Don't wanna." You pouted.

"Darling, don't make me say it again." He spun the chair around to face you.

There was only one thing you liked more than the treatment Bruce gave you when you behaved, and that was the treatment he gave you when you challenged him, so you stayed put, arms crossed over your chest.

You knew what you were doing, you were challenging him back, waiting for the moment he snapped. He was so close, running a hand down his face as he eyed you. His expression changed, his eyes met yours, holding your gaze. He was accepting your challenge.

He sat up from the chair, leaned down and threw you over his shoulder before you could protest.

"Bruce—" You laughed, clawing at his t-shirt. You didn't know how he didn't get cold sitting there in a t-shirt and sweatpants for so long.

He gave your ass a warning tap as he carried you up the stairs.

Once he got you to the master bedroom he unceremoniously threw you on the bed, you giggled as you threw your head back. Bruce chuckled with you and leaned down to bunch up your skirt.

He rested his head in between your thighs as he traced the outline of your clothed cunt with a finger.

"You're wet already?" He questioned in a slightly teasing tone.

You whined and kicked his shoulder softly. "Told you I missed you."

"So much you had to interrupt my work." He complained as he pulled your panties down your legs slowly.

"Shut up—" Your words were cut off by a moan when his lips came in contact with your clit. His hands wrapped around your thighs and kept them apart while he traced your entrance with his tongue. Your hands tangled in his hair and tugged at it when you felt him push two fingers inside you, working you open, curling just right.

He kissed a path down your thigh and looked up at you as his fingers worked inside you. He could see the sweat beading on your forehead, your brows knit in concentration; your hips chasing his movements, grinding against the palm of his hand, slick and glowing with your wetness. You were so close, almost there.

You whined and grinded against him when he pulled away.

"Stay still." He offered, his tone stern and commanding in a way that made you pulse.

"'m sorry." you whispered.

"Turn around, baby, get on all fours for me." He got up from the bed and helped you position yourself the way he wanted. His hands never left your hips as you steadied yourself. Once he assesed you were steady enough he plunged in, slowly at first to help you adjust, and quickened his pace once you started to push your ass back against him.

He held your hips tightly as he rutted into you, his movements becoming erratic, your moans louder. The sound of skin slapping against skin and your soft moans was cut off when he pulled out and flipped you over like you weighed nothing.

When you yelped, startled he just smiled at you and said he needed to see your face when he came.

He pushed your legs up to your chest and kissed you sweetly. You could taste yourself on his tongue. He held your face as he pushed in again, faster this time as your slick made it easier for him to slide in, and he kissed you softly as he bottomed out.

Bruce knew he was a lot to take in, and he knew there was no way to really distract you from the sting, but he'd kiss you as many times as he could and for as long as he could just to help you forget for even a second. Once your moans got louder his pace got quicker, his lips found your neck, leaving sloppy kisses down the length of it, and his thrusts got messier, he started getting closer. His hands tightened their grip on your hips as curses fell from his lips. He brought a hand up to your face and tapped your cheek, making you meet his gaze as you came on his cock, gripping him so tightly he couldn't have pulled out if he meant to.

He came seconds after, falling over you with a grunt and pulling away slowly.

You both laid on your backs for a second, catching your breaths. Bruce was the first to talk, turning to face you with a smirk.

"One more round in the shower?"

────୨ৎ────

requests are open!!