#dark bruce wayne

[lycheeloving]

yandere!Batman wanting to marry you (by which I mean: making you wear a ring, because he can't really drag you to a courthouse after having kidnapped you) and the ring he gives you is one that used to belong to his mother.

So of course the first thing you do is throw the ring out of the window, insult him, maybe make fun of the ring (indirectly insulting his mother) and tell him you'll never marry him.

Even if Bruce has been very patient and understanding with you before, I think that would be his breaking point. Have fun looking for that ring! Better hope it's not raining outside, because you won't be allowed back in the manor until you're wearing it on your ring finger and convincingly asking him to forgive (and marry you), otherwise you'll spend a lot of time out in the cold (and it's not like you can use your time outside as a chance to escape, there's no way you could make it over the fence surrounding the garden).

After that he'll make some changes to the ring, using his fancy tech to make sure you can never take it off again, obviously.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Baby Baby

Pairing: Dark Bruce Wayne x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: Bruce will make sure you're bound to him forever.

WARNINGS: Implied babytrapping; Pregnancy. 

AN: Also, first time writing for this Bruce Wayne so Please, reblog and give me feedback. Also imagine him a bit older, cause he always looks so young.

--

You remain laid down, eyes closed while inhaling long breaths of air. It works averagely, the waves of nausea declining.

But the feeling that something is very wrong only grows with each second.

A hand lands on yours and you open your eyes, turning your face to the side, meeting Bruce's eyes. He gives you a reassuring smile but you can't find the energy to return it.

You already suspect the condition that sent you to the hospital, the thought eating you up inside. 

All the times he forgot to use condoms, the almost imperceptible way your birth control pills tasted slightly different than usual. Bruce's encouragement for you to work out more, the gross healthy diet he'd imposed at home, the way he always came inside you.

Now you suspect why.

“Are you feeling any better?” Bruce asks, stroking your hair. “Do you need some water? Want me to order some food?"

You shake your head, slowly lifting yourself up to lean against the bed's headboard. Bruce hurries to help you, fluffing a pillow behind your back before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

A shiver makes your body shake, exhaustion flooding you and you fight with yourself just to keep your eyes open.

"I'm sure everything is fine, don't worry, love." he says and you nod.

Not long after a doctor appears, accompanied by a nurse and you cringe at the sight of them. The doctors at this private hospital scare you, all of them with a serious, almost robotic face.

“How’s the patient feeling now?” the doctor approaches you, stethoscope in his hand ready to auscult you.

“She’s better now, not feeling that weak anymore.” Bruce answers, a tinge of annoyance hitting you at his behavior. “What did the blood test show?”

The cold metal makes you flinch, but you keep taking deep breaths until the doctor ends. He comes to stand in front of the bed, a sympathetic smile that does nothing to make you feel better on his face as he looks at Bruce.

“Everything is fine besides the sugar level being low, that's what caused the faint.” Bruce squeezes your hand and you hold your breath, already knowing what's coming next.

“However, that’s completely normal in a pregnancy.”

His words make you feel weak again and you’re just glad you're already seated down.

Bruce's face breaks into a huge grin, arms wrapping around you in a hug as his hand travels to your belly, remaining there. You freeze, unable to think properly. You’re pregnant. Of Bruce.  

He parts to hold your face in a possessive kiss, ignoring the doctor that exits the room, leaving you alone.

“I am so proud of you, love. This is wonderful news,” he declares, his eyes twinkling. Your stomach does a flip and you grip the sheets tightly, trying to control yourself.

You will never be able to leave him.

[thebat-musicman]

The Perfect Family

Bruce discovered the show shortly after his parents died.

It was 12 seasons and had been filmed from the 1950s-60s. It was a classic sitcom about a man named Bruce (that’s how he’d discovered it) and his six children. Richard, Cassandra, Jason Peter, Timothy, Duke Marlon, and Damian Thomas.

Bruce spent years watching it to the point where he memorized every line and scene. Eventually, the line between this Bruce and him faded, him no longer being able to tell the difference.

He grew resentful, why should this Bruce have a family when he doesn’t? But of course, TV Bruce had gone out and found his family, Regular Bruce just needed to do the same. There had to be at least one child with one of those names in Gotham.

Other facts about this AU:

Their names are all super long so they can call each other names (Dick, Cass, Jason, Tim, Duke, Damian) not associated with Bruce and so their TV characters can be differentiated from them.

Six months passes every season and the kids are 15, 13, 12, 10, 8, and 4 in season 1. So by season 12 they are 21, 19, 18, 16, 14, and 10

Jason Peter was “killed off” in the season 6 finale for views, but he came back in the season 8 finale as he was a fan favorite character. Jason doesn’t talk about where Bruce sent him that year.

Cassandra had no lines in the show (we love misogyny) and was generally regarded as mute by the other characters, so Bruce made sure Cass wouldn’t talk. She keeps herself to sign language (and that’s only with her siblings) as he has threatened to cut her vocal cords if she talks.

Barbara and Stephanie are love interests for Richard and Timothy, but Dick/Babs and Steph/Tim are completely platonic. Steph and Babs are the least traumatized since while Bruce did grab them, they’re not on screen a lot so he mostly leaves them alone.

Alfred didn’t exist in the show so….. you can interpret that as you want.

[phantobats]

Wings of Vengeance (Dark Batfamily AU) Teaser

"Isn't he just as bad as the criminals, Harper?”

“Please, have mercy on me.”

The Owl takes a slow, deliberate step forward, and Tommy’s knees buckle beneath him.

“Mercy is the luxury of the innocent. I am neither.”

“Some say the Owl seeks vengeance, trying to fill the void left by a loss. Others believe he's Gotham's dark guardian, doing what needs to be done to cleanse the city.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

This one is easy because I’m a nice pal 😔...unlike "some people" 😶

Sugar Daddy! Bruce Wayne

Or CEO! Thor

Alrighty, maybe I... bent this one a bit?

Where the streets have no name

Summary: A certain vigilante becomes your personal protector.

Character: Bruce Wayne/Batman

Warnings: houselessness, self-hate, power imbalance.

Please, if you might, leave some feedback :) I truly appreciate it because I've not written Bruce outside my Regency AU.

The streets of Gotham are quiet but still awake. No sleep is found in the depths of the grim city, not for the sinister that languish there. Or you.

You lean into the side of the slimy metal, the rust catching on the stained blanket slung around your shoulders, a measly shield against the evening chill. Your breath fogs damply into the air as the stink of trash curdles your stomach. It's the best you'll do for the night and you're too tired to make it to the shelter.

It’s not the worst place you’ve slept. The alley is mostly forgotten if a little grimy. The stink of rot itself is enough to keep away most. You close your eyes and pull down your beanie, your finger catches in the hole around the rolled edge. You’re careful not to tear it further and cross your arms as you settle into the nook of the brick wall and dumpster.

You’re immune to the distant shatter of glass and the greedy squeaking of rats as they swarm into the dumpster. Cars honking against the intrusion of thieving hands and hollers of the unsober and unsavoury. 

Soles hammer on the pavement, close, and your ears prick up as they near the mouth of the alley. They’ll pass by.

They don’t.

You hold your breath as the heavy panting and coughs of the sprinter enter the narrow space, shoes crunching gravel and rubble. “Shit, shit, shit…” the man’s coarse whisper drifts towards you. You bend your legs tighter to keep hidden behind the dumpster. “Fucking–”

An odd flap comes from overhead and a sudden crashing impact that shifts the metal bin on its wheels. You swallow a gasp as another set of footsteps scratch on the pavement, the first man whimpering as the wind is knocked from him.

“Was it worth it?” A deep voice grinds in the second’s throat, “an old lady’s purse?”

“Get the fuck off me, you freak,” the other audibly struggles as his last word is crushed from his windpipe.

An unnatural clunk sounds followed by the weight of a body against the ground. The sound of bone on brick makes your stomach churn as you tuck your head down and curl your shoulders. Just go. Just go. I’m not here.

There is only the steady breath of the accoster from the other side of the dumpster. You don’t dare to look. Don’t move an inch. 

“Who’s here?” The rocky timbre slices the air.

You cover your head with your arms and huddle down. Please, please, please…

Footsteps scrape across the cracked pavement as you cower. The shadow darkens your existence as it crests the edge of the dumpster. You remain as you are, shaking beneath the man’s presence.

“Hm,” the syllable rolls in his throat.

“Please,” you croak and raise a palm, keeping your head down, “please, I’m just tryna sleep. Please–”

There’s a soft rustle and a click. A cold glove presses to the back of your hand and folds your hand over the cylindrical shape. You whimper and open your eyes, lifting your chin to look at the ominous silhouette shrouded in black. The dark peaks of his cowl draw your eyes. The Batman.

“Hold onto this,” he says, “keep yourself safe.”

You say nothing as he holds your hand around the object until you grip it yourself. He lets you go and stands, his cape sweeping air around his figure.

“Police will be here soon,” he snarls, “you should go.”

You just stare at him. He pauses and peers down at you past his shoulder as he faces the end of the alley.

“I can drop you at a shelter,” he offers and you turn your head side to side slowly.

You push your hand against the wall and stand stiffly. He watches you placidly and you lower the cylinder to your side. It’s light and smooth.

He says nothing as he looks up and lifts his arm. In an instant, he’s repelled upwards and a whir follows him into the sky as he lands on the fire escape with a quaking clatter.

You hear the sirens and peer down the alley. The other man, the criminal, is on the ground, hands cuffed behind his back as he lays unconscious. You cautiously walk down the pavement and peek both ways before emerging. The bridge isn’t too far.

As you walk down the street, passing beneath the cones of light cast from tall poles, you examine the unexpected gift. Your thumb hits a mechanism, barely noticeable to the naked eye and easily hidden in the night. 

The club expands and you stop as you hold it out. A night stick. That would definitely keep the goons off, hopefully scare them before you have to use it.

You look up as the moonlight shifts and you see the vigilante in his prowl, hopping across rooftops. A laugh traps in your throat; does he really think he can save Gotham handing out weapons?

🦇

You don’t notice it until days later. 

The shelter cot is hard beneath you as you hide the night stick under your pillow, rather your bag full of measly possessions. You’ve learned to sleep with it under your head, whether inside or out. You rub your sore neck as you lean forward, legs bent over the edge as you rest your elbows above your knees.

You groan, sore from days of sleeping in the street. The shelter had one spot left for the night, the rain driving in the itinerant. You unzip your jacket and tug at the sleeve, pausing at the shape hidden along the cuff. You glance around at the drugged out and dozing.

You tilt your chin down as you brush your thumb around the pin, shaped like a bat. You turn out the cuff and check the other side, trying to dislodge the flat circle. As you pick at it, it flashes red. What the fuck?

Why would he do that? What is it? You can’t just toss the jacket, it’s your only one and it's getting colder. Goddamn it, you need a smoke.

You get up and leave your scarf across your cot, hauling up your bag and hiding the club inside. It’s expendable enough to leave as a marker. If anyone even bothers to notice and keep off your bed. You sigh and fumble in the side pocket of your bag, a crumpled carton with one cigarette left.

You go through the rear door and stand under the eaves as they drip, just out of the pouring rain. You fish around and find your pack of matches. You drag one over the rough strip but it bends and snaps in your grasp. You try the next and it curls. They’re wet.

You toss the packet and snarl. God fucking dammit. You lost your lighter days ago.

“Smoking’s bad for you,” the voice startles you as the cigarette dangles from your lips. You take the smoke in your hand and press yourself to the wall as the tall figure emerges from the shadows, “so’s sleeping under the bridge.”

“You’re following me,” you croak out.

“Protecting you,” he asserts as he stands in the rain, the water slaking down his cape, “that’s what I do.”

“There’s hundreds like me,” you put the smoke back between your lips but pull it back out as you recall your lack of flame, “what about them?”

“I protect Gotham,” he insists.

“Mmm,” you hum, “you got a light?”

“Like I said, it’s bad for you.”

You stare at him and huff. You shove the stick back into the carton and bury it in your dingy knapsack.

“Take it off,” you say. He doesn’t react. You hold out your arm and show him the red flash in your sleeve, “please, this is my only coat, I need it.”

Silent, he makes no move, watching you. You don’t understand.

“I kept the cockroaches away last night,” he says, “they like to crawl under the bridge looking for mice like you.”

“What do you–”

“There was a man watching you–”

“Like you?”

“I threw him in the river.”

You’re frustrated by the odd dialogue, not quite sure how to respond, more confused as to why this batty avenger latched onto you. You cross your arms and shiver as the rain adds to the nip of the air.

“Do I say thank you?”

He doesn’t answer. Again. He steps towards you and you flinch, backing up into the wall. He takes your arm and pinches the pin on your cuff. It retracts and he catches it in his gauntlet. He tucks it away in one of the square pouches at his waist, looming over you as he makes no retreat.

“I’ll keep an eye out,” he says as he snaps open another pocket, “get a new jacket.”

He holds out a bundle of bills, folded neatly into an elastic. You frown and shake your head.

“A hot meal,” he continues and hooks his fingers into the loose pocket of your coat, “a hotel room. Get washed up.”

“I can’t–”

“I hear Wayne Continental has soft blankets,” he pats your pocket and shifts back on his heel.

“I don’t want your pity–”

“No, but you have my interest,” he spins and faces the wet street. 

Once more, he disappears into the sky, his cape flapping up into the darkness as you stand dumbly against the wall. You can’t stay, not with that much money on you. And how can you resist the promise of a real bed?

🦇

The attendant leaves the tray on the table and you hand them a tip. It feels like wasted money but it’s not your own anyhow. He leaves and the door clicks loudly.

You hug yourself in the fluffy robe, the fresh scent of the hotel soap wafting from your skin. It’s been a while since you’ve been clean, or warm, or safe.

You lift the metal cover from the plate and the smell of the prime rib makes your mouth water. You collapse into your chair, forgetting all reticence as you grab the fork and knife, sliding the tray closer as your stomach whines loudly. You slice into the meat and greedily devour each bite, scooping up the seasoned potatoes just as ravenously.

When you finish, your insides ache from the richness, near bursting at the healthy portions. You cover the remnants with the metal lid and pour the crackling Coke into the tall glass. You gulp it down until it bubbles back up in hot belches.

You set the glass down as your body grows heavy from your sated appetite and you begin to tremble. You rest your elbows on the table and hold your head as you cry, bawling in disbelief.

One night. One night of warmth, of relief. You’ll take it. It’s worth more than any dollar.

Finally, you manage to suck back the onslaught and get up from the table. You shudder as you go to the window and look out over the city. The view is very different from there. It’s almost beautiful.

You press your forehead to the cool glass and sigh. You close your eyes. Just that moment of peace. You want to remember that.

A knock startles you away from the window and you recoil. You cross the room and peer through the peephole, wondering if they’ve realised you don’t belong. If your money is no good. You open the door to the same attendant as before.

“Miss,” he smiles as he stands behind his cart, “your dessert.”

“My– I didn’t order–”

“Mr. Wayne has sent it as a gratuity,” he declares.

“Mr. Wayne?” You swallow.

“He owns the hotel, miss.”

“I know,” you say thinly as you back up and let him enter.

You hover as he clears what’s left of your dinner and replaces it with another platter and a silver bucket of champagne on ice. You rub your cheek as you keep an arm across your chest protectively. You thank him as you follow him to the door. He refuses a second tip.

Alone, again, you’re reluctant to touch the treat. How long has it been since you had dessert? Sometimes the shelter had cookies but they always tasted like chalk. You pace around, looking at the bed longingly. You could just go to sleep but it would be wrong to waste the food.

Another rap on the door, this one softer. You run your sweaty hands down the front of the robe and once more cross to the door. This time, you don’t bother peeking through the hole.

A man awaits you on the other side, the glimmer of a smirk in the line of his lips, a sparkle in his dark eyes. He wears a dark suit that better fits the grandeur of the hotel. You recognise him from the faded prints of newspapers. Bruce Wayne.

“Uh hello,” you murmur blankly, “I think you have the wrong room.”

He says your name and you wince. You knew you should’ve given an alias. Was he hear to kick you out himself? To clear the street rat back to the sewer.

“Did dessert arrive?” He asks in your speechless lull.

“Dessert?” Your heart throbs.

He smooths his tie as he grins. You notice the split in his knuckles though he doesn’t show an ounce of pain. You smile, clueless.

“Um,” you’re entirely confused.

“Can I come in and explain?” He asks.

“It’s your hotel.”

“I suppose,” he shrugs, “but may I?”

You fold your arms over your middle again and back up, “okay, but if you want me to leave you can just ask–”

He chuckles as he steps inside, unhooking the single button on his jacket. “I would if I wanted that.”

He closes the door as he looks around, “we have an executive suite available, I’ll be sure to have them upgrade you in the morning.”

“I… I’m only here for the night,” you say.

“We’ll see, please, sit,” he goes to the table and places his hand on the back of the chair.

You go to him and lower yourself into the chair. You pick at the robe as he uncovers the tray, revealing two delectable slices of cheesecake coated with a berry coulis. Your hand brushes up to your chin and you tap your fingers on your lip.

He puts a plate in front of you and one before his own chair. He uncorks the wine and saves the bubbles with the first flute, filling both before he takes a seat. He drags the chair closer as he sits sideways.

“Please, eat,” he insists.

“I’m kind of… full,” you lift the fork anyway, twirling it nervously.

You look at his hand as it rests on the table top not far from your plate. He balls his fingers to a fist and grunts as he notices. You meet his eyes and he smiles.

“I’ve had worse,” he retracts his hand as he hooks his opposite elbow over the back of the chair. 

You cut into the cake with your fork to keep yourself calm. He watches you calmly and you can’t help a hum as you taste it. He nudges the wine closer as you swallow.

“I’m glad you made it, I know the shelter’s a bit far,” he says.

You choke and drop your fork. You touch your throat as you force down the last few crumbs in your mouth. He takes the glass of champagne and holds it out to you. You don’t know what else to do but accept and wash away the grittiness.

“How do you know?” You sputter through the lingering tanginess of wine.

He smirks and tilts his head. You bat your lashes and scoff. He cups his hand as if to say, guess. No, he’s not. He can’t be.

“Like I said,” he sits straight and reaches to the middle of his shirt, undoing a few buttons and pulling apart the fabric to show a black splotch on his stomach, “I’ve had worse. Comes with the territory.”

“You’re not– you can’t be–”

He pokes his tongue against his cheek as he buttons up his shirt, “now you know my secret, you won’t feel so… off balance.”

“Like anyone would believe me,” you shake your head, “you’re telling me because you know that.”

His mouth slants, “maybe, but not entirely.”

You sit back and run your thumbnail along the creases of your palm, “why am I here?”

“Do you not like it?” He wonders and you flick your eyes up derisively. He gives a guilty smile, “alright, I said I’d explain. We both have something to offer the other.”

You shrink back and fold your hands over your chest, “we do?”

“Yes,” he continues, “you don’t belong out there. I can keep you safe, comfortable,” he looks around at the room, “and you can keep me… happy.”

You glare past him at the wall as your eyes well in humiliation, “and you think that’s what I am, because I was on the street?”

“No, and it wouldn’t matter to me if you were,” he says softly, “you have every right to be offended, and it’s your choice. Maybe you only stay one night, sleep with a full belly and go back out there. Or you can say yes and go to bed every night, warm, wanted, with me.”

You clench your jaw and issue a shaky breath. You suck in your cheek and peek over at the window. You think of the stinking alleys, the whispered voices, the restless nights listening for the creep of some stranger.

Out there, it’s dark and dangerous, in here, it’s bright and hopeful. You’re worth nothing out there, but you could find value here. At least, a semblance of dignity.

“Can I think about it?” You ask as you look at him at last.

“We have all night and a whole bottle,” he shifts closer and reaches for your fork, “think about it.”

He cuts through the tender cake and scoops it onto the fork. He holds it before your mouth as he leans forward. You look down at the reddish coulis and your tongue tingles for a taste. You open your mouth and let him slip the fork through.

“If you do go back,” he says as his eyes cling to your lips, “I’ll still keep you safe.”

[inkyquince]

Just so you can be super nasty the way you like:

Batfam (your pick) + jealousy + cuckold

You shouldn't have gotten married. You knew what he'd been through, what he lost, you knew it all. But you still... Well, when your husband asked, you said yes. You told Bruce and it was like watching the shutters come down over his eyes.

There you went. Yet another ex. Things weren't always easy with Bruce, even if you did feel seen with him, unlike any other. It's... What's making you a bad spouse.

The dinner party continued in the other room, your husband playfully answering Bruce's kid's sullen questions, your family chatting easily with the friends you invited over. And you were down the hall, in the kitchen, your leg hiked up over the crook of Bruce's elbow, your other foot dangling, barely touching the floor. He took on all of your weight, his thick forearm pressing against your lower back to push you up against his body, thick cock pressed deep inside of you. Worst of all, he was going slow. The tedious drag of his erection slowly pressing in and out of you, while his mouth stayed pressed against your neck, lips parted enough to feel his hot, damp breath against our skin. If it was a few months prior, if it was just you two, he'd be sucking gently on your neck, with a brutal pace to his hips, deeper and deeper into you.

But now, he was just holding you tightly, bodies pressed against each other, with you stifling your noises in the shoulder of his pressed white shirt. He was so big, so good, so all encompassing that you were drowning in him, in pleasure, tears pricking your eyes as he refused to speed up.

"Bruce, plea-" You tried to mumble but he just pressed into you deeper, hitting something sensitive inside of you.

"Not until you promise that you won't go." It's the most raw you ever heard him. The most selfish you ever heard him. "You'll make it clear where you are if you want, who you're with, I don't care. Keep coming back."

His blunt nails dug into your skin.

"F-Fine! Yes, god, please-"

His lips twitched into a crooked smile against your shoulder and Bruce pressed you against the counter top, pace kicking up. Giving you permission to cum all over his cock finally.

Event: Closed!

[clericxhood777]

[nightweb]

shameless promo of my jaydick fic too <3 i realized i never properly linked this fic despite it being my most popular fic on my ao3 :0 anyway if u like a freudian exploration to jason’s mommy issues with abusive bruce wayne and jason and dick both thinking of parental figures while sloppily making out well . here’s the fic. please heed the tags.

[lycheeloving]

a non-platonic yandere!Bruce thought this time, with some multiverse stuff, because that's all I could think about today.

I imagine this is at a point where you've been with him for some time & have mostly gotten used to your situation (having been kidnapped and forced into a relationship with a billionaire who happens to be Batman)

a small allusion to nsfw stuff, minors dni

You're bored, sitting in the bedroom you share with Bruce (who's currently patrolling, so you can't even annoy him for entertainment), so you decide that you at least want a change of scenery, and what better place for that than the batcave? So you take a book, a drink and a blanket with you as you venture down into the cave.

Bruce doesn't like it when you're down there, especially not while he's out, but it doesn't concern him enough to install anything that would keep you from going down there. If you're lucky, this will piss him off just enough to make the inevitable post-patrol sex with him more interesting tonight, so a win-win situation, really! You sit down in his comfy chair in front of his bat-computer, snuggle into your blanket so you don't freeze to death and start reading.

After some time you stand up to stretch and notice Bruce in the reflection on the computer. Weird, you didn't hear the batmobile returning! Well, you must have just been really immersed in the book.

"Bruce? You're back early, I thought you said you'd take longer today because of some Arkham emergency?"

No response.

"Ok, look, I know you don't like it when I'm down here, but I was getting sick of the manor!"

Still no response.

You turn around to look at him more closely, his expression might look like his usual stony facade, but you've spent enough time with him by now to be able to read him a bit and you're pretty sure he looks... confused?

"Hello? Are you ok? Did you hit your head? Did you drive with a head injury?? Wait, no, of course not, the batmobile can drive home all by itself-"

As you say that, you look at where the batmobile should be. should be, because it's not there. You look back at Bruce. Did his batsuit always look like that? You could swear that the ears are usually a bit smaller, and the color is wrong. Huh. You take a step back. "You're.. not Bruce, are you?"

He finally opens up his mouth to explain that he's from a parallel universe, that he and the Bruce from your universe have been helping each other with cases for a while now, he just came here to see if your Bruce was available, but if he's not here right now he's going to leave again. He gestures to a portal in the wall that you missed because from your angle it just looks like the wall of the cave, but when you take a step forward you can see into what looks like the batcave you're in right now but slightly to the left. A bit uncanny.

"You looked confused earlier, did Bruce not tell you about me? Or did you just not expect to see me down here?"

"...I was not aware that he is in a relationship."

"I mean, yeah, I guess if I was him I wouldn't go around telling people I kidnapped someone and keep them locked in my mansion, either. Even if they looked exactly like me, I mean, you never know if they think exactly like you as well. Um. Anyways, it was nice to meet you?" You wave awkwardly while he looks shocked (in his stoic way).

"...Why didn't you try to escape through the portal, then, if you're kept here against your will?"

"Oh, um, my bracelet is designed to shock me as soon as I leave. Like, really painful electric shocks. I'm not trying that again." More shock and guilt on other-Bruce's face.

"I'm sure I could disable it. Come with me."

"...And then what? Bruce will come after me. He'll attack you and be really, really mad at me for running away. Really mad. He said he'd break my legs if I ever tried to run again, I'm not risking that. And he'll keep me chained up in the bedroom for months." You shudder. "I like my walking around the house privileges, thank you very much."

You feel uncomfortable when he doesn't react and instead keeps staring at you. "I think you should leave. Now. ...Please."

He takes a step towards you. "I can keep you safe. I wouldn't feel right, knowing I left you here. Come with me."

You take a step back. "Look, thank you for offering, but I don't think this will end well for either of us. I'm gonna go now."

You turn to leave, but he's faster than you. He grabs your wrist, stopping you from getting away. You squirm in his hold while he inspects your bracelet. He then pulls something out of his utility belt with which he's able to remove the bracelet without it shocking you, throws you over his shoulder and carries you through the portal, not at all bothered by your kicking and scratching. He puts you down and closes the portal behind him. It all happened faster than you could wrap your head around.

"...I think it would be best if you stayed in the manor until I figure out how to resolve this.", he says, an unnerving glint in his eyes.

Did you just get kidnapped by a second Batman? Will he really let you go? You doubt that, somehow. You think you would have preferred to stay with your Batman, at least with him you knew what to expect...

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Friend

Pairing: Dark Bruce Wayne x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: Your boyfriend can’t stand people hurting your feelings.

WARNING: Toxic/Abusive Relationship.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

--

“Bruce, did you… do something?” you hesitate, twisting the phone in your hands as Bruce buttons up his shirt. He looks at you through the mirror, eyebrows raising as his lips curl into a slight smirk. 

“Why would you think that, my love?” his head tilts to the side with his eyes meeting yours, a mist of arrogance and confidence in them. 

You gulp, wondering if you’re wrong to even consider that a possibility. But deep down there’s a submerged certainty that it was Bruce. 

It was foolish of you to confide to Bruce about how a close friend of yours was being so mean, almost bitchy towards you. Her name had mindlessly slipped off your tongue and back then you didn’t think much of it.

You were just taking it off your chest, seeking some comforting words and perhaps advice from Bruce, nothing else. 

But when said friend suddenly loses her job, her apartment and even her bank account savings, it creates an uneasy feeling in you. Bruce is the only person you had shared your problem with, not to mention he has more than enough resources to make that happen. 

“I…Maybe…Just tell me. Did you do something?” you beg. Bruce doesn’t immediately reply, taking his time in fixing his suit returning his attention to the mirror.

When he finally looks up, anxiety has filled your mind and it doesn’t help that Bruce sickly smiles at you, coming closer. 

He presses a kiss against your forehead, his hand intertwining with yours. Closing your eyes, your breath stutters, a bad feeling sinking in. 

“There’s nothing worth about her, so don’t worry that pretty head of yours with those theories, darling.” Bruce’s voice is nothing but a low whisper. 

You were right. 

[phantobats]

A mini version of my Owl!Bruce design for my "Wings of Vengeance" Au.

read the teaser for the story here!

[bruciemilf]

Bruce: I know it’s hard, but you must remain forgiving and merciful, Jason.

Tim, who had to watch Bruce skin a man alive like a piece of salmon with a batarang for saying something rude about his then deceased son, throw him in the back of the Batmobile, and drive him to the hospital just to beat him up again:

[bats-and-the-birds]

Batman being aggressively secretive towards the Justice League is one of my favorite tropes, but it gets INFINITELY funnier when you take the younger generations of heroes into consideration.

Barry Allen? He doesn't know shit about Batman, still partially convinced he's not human, still a little bit scared to talk to him. But Wally West? That's Nightwing's best friend. He's been around Dick since both of them were kids. He's had sleepovers at the manor since he was thirteen.

I just think it would be hilarious if all of the younger generations 100% know that Batman is Bruce Wayne. They've slept at the manor, some of them have taken various Batkids to school dances, they've been offered Alfred's cooking. And all because they've gotten close to at least one Batkid and said Batkid wore Bruce down until he let them reveal their identity. But all of them manage to keep this information from their mentors. Either purposefully or completely on accident.

Then you end up with a situation where the younger generations grow up and join the League and the older members Very Quickly realize that they seem a lot more comfortable with Batman than they should be.

[dark-fics-4-you]

Q+A time because I’m bored, please send asks w any questions you had about my previous fics (ex. details in the fic or motivations of a character), it can be any character, and I’ll answer them

Pretty pretty please send asks i wanna interact with you guys more <3333 Anon is always turned on besties

[clericxhood777]

This Bruce was very much needed in Injustice

[sassylittlecanary]

Batman’s cape should always be drawn like it’s basically a sentient creature with its own personality. Bruce is like “hnnn I want to be a Creepy Night Creature” and his cape is like “got it boss 🫡”