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ciaraswritings · 5 months

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Gossip and Galas

Disclaimer: I do not own DC or their settings. This is certainly not canon.

Warnings & Topics: Alcohol, derogatory language, crowds, sexual references, comfort. 18+.

Word Count: 1.9K words

Summary: Shortly after her engagement to Bruce Wayne, fem!reader is met with the gossip that comes with it at one of his charity galas.

Author's Note: Finally made a masterlist, so go ahead and check that out for more fluffy stories like this. Comforting fics like this are just what I like for winter weather. I hope all of you are having a wonderful holiday season, and I hope you enjoy.

My bracelets clinked against each other on my wrist, sliding down my arm as I lifted my hand to brush back my hair, my focus never leaving the man whose arm I was grasping. He stood tall, the suit looking almost small on his frame, smiling politely while he escorted me into the ballroom. This year’s charity gala was quite full, very few people had sent their regrets. The champagne gown that hung over my body glittered, matching the diamond jewelry framing my face.

One diamond I kept hidden in my fiance's arm, dodging the prying eyes full of curiosity. Everyone wanted to see the size of the rock he had placed on my finger, desperate to be the first to share the flaming news. He had only proposed a week before, and it had hit the news almost overnight. Now, it was a free-for-all to see who could get the inside scoop first.

Breaking through my thoughts, he tilted his head downwards to hum, “Did I tell you that you look stunning tonight?”

His comment pulled a smile out of my peach-tinted lips. “You’ve said that six times.”

“Then let me say it a seventh time, you look absolutely stunning.” With the gentlest touch, he placed his hand over my arm in a comforting gesture. The affection made me forget everything for a moment, before the inevitable began.

Guests from all directions began to approach us, important names from all over Gotham, curious voices disguised with polite words. His smile opened ten different conversations at once, and I contented myself with the image of a silent trophy wife. Naturally, I had plenty to say, many words I wanted to make heard, but this was neither the time nor the place.

As I moved my left hand away from Bruce’s arm to brush away a strand of hair from my face, someone caught it in a tight grip.

“What a beautiful ring this is! What a size! Your finger is going to get tired of wearing that…” My hand was immediately surrounded by a group of five or six women, all peering down at the newly acquired engagement ring. My natural reaction was to jerk my hand back, but as I did, I was met with disapproving and disheartening looks from the curious viewers. I slowly let my hand slide back into place, allowing them to inspect with judgemental astonishment.

I turned my head back to Bruce in a silent plea for rescue, but he was occupied with a champagne glass in his hand and several well-dressed gentlemen holding his attention. Now a small crowd was gathered around my hand, many pairs of eyes leering. Using my sweetest smile, I was slowly able to pry free from the spectators and rejoin my fiance in the moment. The moment didn’t last very long.

As more and more people moved past, my lips became a straighter and straighter line. When Bruce noticed that my grip on his arm was becoming a little too tight for comfort, he turned to me with a whisper. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, can we… start walking?” I turned my head in the direction of the bar.

“Of course.” He gently guided me in the alluring direction of sparkling wine glasses, leaving a small trail of party-goers behind us.

Several exchanged words later between the bartender, and he placed a glass of wine in my hand, which I began to sip instantly. “Sorry I’m getting so uptight, I always think I’m going to handle parties better than I do.”

“It’s okay. Don’t think twice about it.” He placed a kiss on my cheek before eyeing another group of guests walking towards us with conversation topics written all over their faces. “Do you mind?”

“No, no, of course not. Go on, have fun.” My smile was fake, but my love was real. I watched him move off into the crowd, entertaining the many who were trying to catch his eye. He was going to have a good time, socialize, and later tonight I’d get all his attention.

I moved into a corner, next to a large, decorative ivory pillar where I could ease my tension and finish my glass of wine. I watched another party of women moving past me, their stares nearly piercing my left hand. Quickly, I shifted my glass into my right hand and put my left behind my back. Not only did I feel judged, I felt ridiculous. Tonight I was supposed to be the princess on the arm of my prince, ravishing in the glory of the spotlight.

It didn’t feel like glory, and I didn’t feel glorious. I didn’t want to be on his arm right now. As exciting as it was to be nearly royal for a night, after all the comments, whispers, and questions, I felt used, almost dirty. Tonight I’d been called many things in overheard conversation. So far I could mark gold-digger, leech, and other appealing titles off the list.

As I took a rather embarrassing gulp of my wine, I could hear feminine voices moving closer on the other side of the pillar. I turned my head, ready to move to a more secluded spot, before I caught a snippet of their conversation. When I heard my name, I sucked in my stomach, trying to disappear behind the stone to eavesdrop.

“Did you see how vain she looked on his arm? I can’t believe how proud she is.”

“Especially after he probably pulled her out of the gutter. Who knows how many rich, brainless guys she’s played around with.”

“You know she’s just waiting to sink her teeth into that divorce settlement.”

“Can you believe he’s so dense that he’d buy her such a huge ring? Somebody’s gotta tell him before she runs away with the next moneybag that smiles at her.”

“He’ll definitely be single in a few months. Don’t worry, Liv, you’ll get your shot with him.”

“Where’d she even come from?”

“Streets, no doubt.”

“You know, that’s probably why he’s with her! He hired her and then…”

“He fell for her the first time she gave him head.”

“Girls like her…”

“I know. What a slut.”

Gold-digger I could handle. Leech hurt, but it was fine. Slut was a cut I couldn’t manage right now. Maybe if my social energy wasn't gone, I might’ve appeared from behind the pillar looking like a goddess and given them a smart remark that would leave their glossed mouths gaping and their confidence rattled.

But that wasn’t where I was at right now.

Instead I was back at the bar, fleeing their snickers and giggles, asking the bartender to hand over another bottle of Cabernet and to not ask questions. With the bottle tucked safely under my arm and the stem of a wine glass between my fingers, I fled to the safety of the private quarters of the manor. Before I ascended the first flight of stairs, I kicked off my heels, letting them lay where they landed on the floor. My feet immediately felt relief even while climbing flight after flight of stairs till I reached the master bedroom Bruce and I had come to share.

Realizing I had no corkscrew with me, I glared down at the bottle, calculating the quickest way to open it. I don’t need all my teeth, I thought to myself. Before I could get a chance to pry out the cork, the bedroom door opened behind me, startling me. I whipped around, my heart racing, feeling guilty for abandoning the gala and running away to drink alcohol.

“Thought you might need this.” Bruce stood in the doorway with a corkscrew, his face riddled with concern and a bit of amusement.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me,” I ordered, marching to him and taking it from his hand. “And don’t act like you don’t have a thousand people downstairs asking for you. Duty calls.” I tried to shoo him away with my hand before he caught my wrist and pressed a kiss to my palm.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I saw your face when you left.”

“Go away, I have a date with a wine glass. I’ll tell you later.”

“(Y/N).” He calmly ushered me away from the door and sat me on the foot of the bed.

“I heard some… people… saying… things… about me.” I managed to get out.

“Which people? I’ll have them removed right now. What did they say?” His fingers brushed away loose hair that hung in front of my face.

“Nothing. I don’t want to think about it. Let me just…” I looked at him and then at the waiting bottle of Cabernet.

“Absolutely, want some company?”

Yes. “No, it’s okay. You need to get back.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do! The gala has two more hours to run!”

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll go next year.”

“Right. I’m serious, you’re going to be missed.”

“I’d rather be missed by them than by you.” His eyes glared into mine with stubborn insistence. I sighed.

“I’m not getting rid of you, am I?”

“Not at all.”

“...Okay.”

Bruce grinned triumphantly before making his way to the cabinet in the corner of the room and retrieving another wine glass. When he returned, his arm automatically wrapped around my waist. “Tell me what they said about you.”

“It’s not worth it,” I replied, finally managing to open the bottle of wine.

“Allow me,” Bruce took the bottle from my hand to pour both our glasses and pressed a kiss behind my ear. “You’re going to tell me after you finish this glass anyway, might as well tell me now.”

My glare wasn’t enough to deter him from his quest for an answer. “They said you pulled me from the streets, and that I was a slut, and I was going to divorce you and run away with somebody else…”

“But that’s not true, is it?” He caught my chin with his fingers and tilted it upwards, forcing me to look into his eyes. “I didn’t find you on the streets, I found you doing what you’re best at, working hard and making a career for yourself. I can’t think of a more admirable thing you could be doing.”

I smiled at the flashback to when we had crossed paths in a business meeting. “Mhm.”

“If anything, I don’t deserve you. Not only are you beautiful, you complete me. You make me better.”

My eyes closed as he pressed a very passionate, loving kiss to my lips. His hand rested on my waist, stroking with his thumb, sending tingles up my spine. When my eyes opened again, he was smiling. I couldn’t help but do the same. “Okay. Thank you for… all of this. Leaving the party for me.”

“You will always come first. What else did they say?”

“They said you fell in love with me the first time I gave you head.”

He tilted his head, pretending to ponder the statement. “Well…”

Laughing, I gently shoved his shoulder. “Bruce!”

“Okay, okay.”

Below, the party-goers searched for us, but we didn’t return. The feeling was transforming, suddenly I felt like the most important and beautiful woman in the world. His world. There, with him, I started to feel myself not care what they said about me or what names they came up with. Here, I was just his. And that was enough.

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ichorai · 1 year

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talk ; bruce wayne.

track nine of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; rpatz!bruce wayne x fiance!gn!reader

synopsis ; it’d been years since you died. bruce stood silent in front of your grave, hair damp from the cold rain. you approached him from behind, tipping your umbrella forward just enough so the tears of the sky would stop mingling with his own.

words ; 6.8k

themes ; angst, action, fluff, engaged au, ex-thief au

warnings / includes ; faked death, injuries/blood/violence/death, depictions of human trafficking, a lot of Emotions, reader used to be a thief, mentions of the joker and harley quinn, alfred cameo !! and one smutty-ish sentence?

main masterlist.

The ground was sodden with rainwater, mud clinging onto his black boots. Its long laces were loosely dragging through the dirt, wet and filthy, but he couldn’t be bothered to retie them. Rain dripped from the hair that hung limply from his head, frigid drops pricking his skin and meandering down his cheeks. The cold air from the sky was a pleasant but striking juxtaposition to the hot tears slipping from the corners of his eyes, conveniently camouflaged by the rain. It wasn’t often that Bruce Wayne cried, but for you, he allowed himself to shed a few tears.

After all, it was the third anniversary of your death.

He hadn’t shown up to your funeral—well, from what Alfred told him, he wouldn’t have made much of a difference. There were hundreds of people there. He was just glad he wasn’t there so the vultures of public press didn’t have the chance to shove flashing cameras into his face.

He could just imagine the headlines: Bruce Wayne At Gotham’s Most Notorious Thief’s Funeral, Y/N L/N And Bruce Wayne: A Tragic Romance, Bruce Wayne’s Ex-Criminal Fiance Killed By The Joker.

Bruce coughed into his fist, masking a strained, broken sob as his eyes trailed down your headstone, where your name was carved in stone. His shoulders trembled. The sky thundered. He bit down on his tongue. His lungs felt thick and heavy, as if slickened with tar.

There were nearly a dozen bouquets of flowers crowded around the stone. Bruce noticed that there were several wilting roses amongst the heap of petals and thorns.

You hated roses.

“Hope you didn’t leave me any of those,” said an eerily familiar voice from behind him. All of a sudden, the rain stopped pelting his head, shadowed by a dark umbrella, just enough to stop the tears of the sky from mingling with his own. “You know I hate roses.”

His shoulders tensed.

Chest constricting, your name slipped from his lips, nearly lost to the pelting rain.

“The one and only,” you said. “It’s been a long time, Bru.”

He turned around, stiff. His eyes twitched in disbelief. There was a bitter taste in the back of his throat. A part of Bruce, the grief-stricken part, wondered if he was hallucinating you.

But you were here, in the flesh. And there was a small grin coyly toying at the corner of your lips. You had a hat pulled low over your head, nearly shielding your bright eyes as well, and you were dressed in loose, dark clothing.

The ring he gave you dangled on a thin silver chain around your neck, gleaming as if regularly polished. You silently noted that he still wore his own engagement ring.

Bruce’s supposedly dead fiance tilted their head, regarding him with veiled fondness.

“Come on,” you said, pointedly turning away so that the umbrella was no longer hovering over him. He flinched when the cold rain touched his skin. He stood there for a second longer, still in shock, before numbly following behind you.

Rust.

Bruce could smell it everywhere.

“I know it isn’t much,” you said, shouldering the creaky door to the abandoned warehouse open, “but it’s home. For now, at least.”

You glanced over your shoulder, catching Bruce’s hardened eyes. With pursed lips, you shook the water out of your umbrella before shucking it closed, tossing it somewhere in the corner. Bruce watched as you busied yourself with lighting small gas lamps on rickety metal chairs, before allowing his gaze to briefly dart around the room. It was spacious in a way that was unsettling—dark and dreary, cold and lifeless. There were a couple dozen boxes stacked along the opposite wall, lining the large, moldy windows. A beaten down sofa was placed off to the side, with a thin blanket messily thrown over the back.

You’d been living here this entire time?

When he spoke—his first words to you in three entire years—it was shaky and saturated with raw hurt. He was… he was so inexplicably angry with you. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered, so quietly you nearly wished he was yelling instead. “How could you… how could you do this to me? To Alfred?”

The splinter within the fractures of your heart was all of a sudden a large stake, and Bruce held the hammer.

A small sigh fell from your lips and you turned to face him fully. “It’s a long story.”

Bruce’s frustrated countenance remained unchanged. “You better get going, then.”

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, before dropping down onto your patchy sofa. “You don’t wanna sit down?” you asked. He gave you no response. “Alright, then.”

There was so much to tell him. You didn’t know where to start.

After clearing your throat, you finally croaked out, “That night three years ago—I contacted the Joker through Harley Quinn. She was an old pal of mine from my crime days. Through her, I asked him to meet me under Gotham’s largest bridge because I had a deal to make with him. A part of me wasn’t sure he was going to show but—my reputation as the city’s most famous ex-thief was more than enough to convince him. He was curious, you see. He thought I was coming back into the business of stealing. It didn’t take him long to realize that I wasn’t planning on working with him, and he was about to call his cronies for back up, but I knocked him out before he could reach for anything. I planted evidence of my death on him—a knife with my blood on it, his fingerprints over my equipment, his hair on my clothes, my skin under his nails. The next couple of hours, I was across the city, ingesting a fake-death pill—potassium cyanide. The next day, the entire world thought I was dead, killed by the Joker—though if you dug up that grave you were standing over earlier today, you’d find it to be empty. I framed him so he’d land in jail, Bruce. Like he deserves to be.”

Bruce’s pallid complexion made it look like he was going to keel over and hurl. “Why? Why did you do it?”

“There were people trying to kill you because of me, Bru,” you whispered. “They wanted me dead, and they wanted you dead, too. I was protecting you. If I’m gone, then they’d no longer have a reason to kill you.”

“YOU COULD’VE TOLD ME!” he roared, his pain ricocheting throughout the warehouse. All of a sudden, he was no farther than an arm’s length away from you. The blue of his eyes gleamed with a mirage of resurfaced bitterness and anger. His voice quietened, “I could’ve done something. I could’ve helped you. We could’ve worked through it together.”

You shook your head. “You knowing I was alive would’ve put us both at more risk. I had to do it, Bruce. I… I had to do it so I wasn’t under the eye of scrutiny anymore. Being the most famous ex-thief and Bruce Wayne’s fiance meant more eyes on me than practically anyone else in the country. One tiny slip up, and I’d be in jail right next to the Joker!”

Bruce reared back upon realizing what you were saying. “You faked your death to steal again?”

“No!” you bit back, voice cracking. “Not to steal. To help—just without the cops on my back. Without the Penguin breathing down my neck. Without Deathstroke hunting me down. I did it to protect you and help the city in my own way.”

Silence stretched thin between the two of you. Bruce was tense, frozen in front of you, repeating your words over and over in his head.

“I still love you, Bru,” you said, reaching out for his arm. “That’s never changed.”

He moved out of your way, flinching at the mere prospect of touching you.

“Then what do you want from me?” he snarled, gruffer than he had intended. “I grieved you. I couldn’t—I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I’d failed you. I couldn’t save you. It tore me apart, Y/N. I just… I loved you so much. You meant so much to me. And to just… leave without so much as a goodbye! Not even a note!”

Your hand fell back to your side, a sharp ache clawing within your ribcage.

“I’m sorry,” you said, gritting your jaw and willing the surfacing tears away. “I’d love to hash this out with you, B, but there’s more pressing matters at hand. I would’ve never told you that I’m still alive if I really didn’t need your help.”

There was a beat of silence. Bruce shifted, shoulders hunched over as if he wanted to cave in on himself. The thought of being around you right now was simultaneously the worst thing he could do to himself, and what he desired most.

He missed you—painfully so. He missed the hard, determined edge to your expression whenever you concentrated on something. He missed the way you used to cradle him close to you when he had terrible nightmares, kissing around his bruises. He missed the way you’d playfully bump your hip against his while the two of you worked on the same table. He missed the way you'd lewdly moan your special nickname for him—Bru—into the mattress when he rolled his hips into yours from behind, pressing hot kisses down your arched spine. He missed your infamous grin, and how it never failed to replicate itself onto his own lips. He missed your scent—a homely mix of cinnamon and lavender, a smell he wanted to drown himself with. After you’d died, he’d sleep with your hoodie pressed against his nose—and he did so until the perfume wore away, and the last trace of you was gone. He missed your laughter, your lighthearted banter with Alfred, your help on missions when he found himself at a dead end.

This time, you were asking for his help.

And how could he say no to that?

Bruce’s sore eyes darted from the rusty ceiling to you, watching him intently. “What is it?”

Hope sparked within you, like a candle lit in the middle of a hurricane. “Human trafficking, Bru. That’s what I’ve spent the past three years trying to take down. Gotham is rampant with it. If I told the police… they would’ve been five steps ahead and relocated across the country and we’d be right back to square one. I finally got my hands on some intel—they’re moving a bunch of kidnapped children through the abandoned railways under the city tomorrow night. I don’t know where they’re going, but I can’t let them leave, or things would get infinitely more complicated. I don’t know how many exactly. Could be a couple dozen. A hundred. Maybe even just one. But I know I have to stop them—and I can’t do it alone.”

There was something akin to awe behind Bruce’s blue irises. “The five missing kids randomly appearing in a homeless shelter last year—that was you?”

A weak grin nudged at the corner off your lips. “Yeah. The poor things were being forced to manufacture illegal firearms with scrap metal parts.”

Another beat of silence. The hesitance in Bruce seemed to wane away with each passing second.

“How do you know it’s not a trap?” Bruce stepped closer to you, eyebrows furrowing. The fact that all of this was happening right under his nose made a sick feeling twist his stomach.

Your lips trembled. Slowly, you pulled out your phone, pressing on a video file and held it out to him. He took it from you, watching with horror as the grainy footage played. Half of the screen was black, as if filming from behind a wall. The kids were chained, manhandled and shoved into a truck by several armed people, screams and cries echoing along the metal walls. There was a louder shout, closer to the person recording, and the camera began to wobble and shake, pulling away from the crime scene as they began running. The video was cut off there.

He felt sick. His eyes flickered back up to you, anxiously worrying on your bottom lip.

“I filmed that around a day ago,” you whispered, throat thick with emotion. You began to physically shake. “I saw it. I tried to stop them—but I messed up. One of the guards turned around the corner and saw me. I killed him, Bruce, or the entire operation would’ve been blown. I… I—”

There was a cold hand on your shoulder. His thumb brushed against the bare skin of your collarbone. Your fiance kneeled in front of you, nodding his head to silently tell you to go on. You swallowed nervously.

“Thankfully, the rest of them didn’t know I was there. I don’t know where the kids are now, and it kills me to wait. All I know is that they’re planning on taking them through the railways tomorrow. It’s the best shot I have.”

Bruce’s stare burned into you. “You’ve been managing on your own for the past three years. Why are you only asking for my help now?”

You winced, pursing your lips. “The man I killed—he didn’t go down without a fight.”

Gingerly, you shifted your hands down to the hem of your shirt, lifting it up to reveal tightly wound bandages over your stomach. Much to your dismay, they were soaked through with copper-hued blood, a dark shade that sent a queasy tremor up your spine.

Almost immediately, a shadowed, closed-off expression melded over his features. You couldn’t exactly tell whether or not he was angry at you, or just angry in general.

“You’re bleeding,” he stated, rather bluntly. You bit back the urge to berate him for spelling out the obvious, and remained quiet as he told you to lean back. “Do you have extra bandages?”

“Yeah—in that box in the corner there. Nicked ‘em from the pharmacy down the block.”

Bruce frowned at that, but didn’t vocalize his disapproval.

In the box, he’d noticed a bottle of alcohol beside the bandages, grabbing that as well.

He strode back to you, softly asking you to peel back your bandages. You complied, but not without a grumpy divot appearing between your brows. If you weren’t practically bleeding out in front of him, Bruce would’ve found it to be rather endearing.

There were several lacerations across your abdomen, some shallow, and others deep. There were stitches across the more serious wounds, but they were done shoddily. Bruce sent you a look, swallowing hard.

“These look awful.”

“Why don’t you try stitching yourself up, then?” you hissed, biting down on your palm as he started cleaning up your wounds with an alcohol-doused bandage.

Bruce couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was cleaning up his fiance’s stab wounds after three years of their supposed death. A part of him wondered if he’d wake up from this nightmare, sprawled across his bed with his nose tucked into your hoodie.

But this was real.

Your muffled groans of pain brought him back down to earth.

You were real.

As swiftly as he could, he neatly wrapped fresh bandages over your waist, murmuring a shaky apology when you cried out from the stinging agony of the combined pressure and the cleansing alcohol.

“What else have you been doing?” Bruce asked, much to your surprise. Your eyes darted to his, and his skin flushed with heat, shifting his gaze to the ground.

It took you a moment to formulate a response. You were walking on eggshells around him, afraid that a slip of your tongue would make him get up and leave. “I’ve been in international waters for the majority of the time—staking out meetings, organizing heists, stealing from the rich—all that lovely jazz. I went to France, Mexico, India, New Zealand—trying to find something to do. My purpose. I guess I was traveling all over the place to run away from Gotham for a while. But I came back—because Gotham will always be my home. Because Gotham is where you are.” You fixed him with a pointed gaze, and Bruce swallowed uneasily. The hazy blue of his irises darkened a shade. You spoke again, voice lowered, “I gave all the money to charities, by the way. A couple of orphanages, too. Balancing out the scales, Bruce. For all the shitty things I’ve done.” You gritted your teeth when he wound another set of bandages over you for good measure.

Your words made an overwhelming sense of nostalgia wash over him, like a tidal wave crashing against the shore. There was good in you, no matter what the press had to say about that. Bruce knew that you were doing your best to help Gotham, just like he was. In your own way, of course, but it was what made Bruce fall in love with you in the first place.

You cared so much for Gotham. For its people. Even when they probably didn’t deserve it.

“Ironic that I fell in love with one of the richest men in the world, isn’t it?” you chuckled, lolling your head back onto the sofa’s armrest, staring up at the rusty warehouse’s ceiling. Bruce could feel his chest constricting. “What about you, Bru? What’ve you been up to since I’ve been dead?”

The man gave you no response, merely lifting one of his shoulders in a tense shrug. He wasn’t sure he was ready to divulge the past few years to you just yet. As much as he missed you, dreamed of you coming back to him—he couldn’t find it within himself to tear down all the barriers he built around himself since your death.

It was all too sudden. Bruce needed time.

You understood him all too well, much to his mild relief, and hummed noncommittally, as if to say ‘take your time’.

“You can’t tell anybody that I’m alive,” you said breathlessly, after a moment of terse silence. “Not even Alfred.”

Bruce’s jaw flexed. He didn’t like keeping secrets from the closest thing he had to a father, but he knew that it was necessary. “What’s the plan?”

“They’ll be moving tomorrow. Are you in, Bruce?”

Only now did he realize that his hands were still splayed out over your bandaged abdomen, and he jerked back, as if he’d burned himself. You propped yourself up on an elbow, a hint of an amused grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

God, you were so beautiful.

It took a great amount of effort for him to look away from your lips, and he focused on leveling his gaze with those bright eyes of yours.

“I’m in,” he said.

You smiled, all warm and utterly heart-breakingly wide, and Bruce could swear the air stilled around the two of you.

“Alright.” Your hand reached out to clasp his pale, cold one. He couldn’t pull away. He should’ve. He didn’t want to. “We strike at midnight.”

There was something about Bruce’s Batman suit that made you stop and stare at him with awe. Quite a few adjustments had been made to the outfit the past three years—the bulletproof platelets over his chest and abdomen were much more form-fitting than before, and a lightweight cape draped down to his ankles, dark as the night. His mask was different as well—it was tighter and covered more of his face. Seeing him like this made you remember that Batman didn’t hide in the shadows—he was the shadow.

He caught you watching him, the blue of his eyes flashing almost dangerously beneath the moonlight. You noticed the way his gaze trailed up and down your form, soaking in your own suit.

It was a simple outfit, made up of a long, cowled coat, the hood draping over your forehead and stopping just above your eyebrows. It was a mottled hue of grey, perfect camouflage for the dull concrete jungle of Gotham city. A mask of the same color covered your nose and mouth, leaving just your eyes for Bruce to see. The rest of your outfit beneath the coat was dark and well-fitted, with several compartments to store your gizmos and gadgets.

There were two daggers slid into your utility belt and a third emergency one strapped to your left shin. Further hidden within your pockets were a multitude of smoke grenades, ropes, and throwing stars.

You had a small pistol wedged into your belt, but that was only for worst-case scenarios. You knew Bruce didn’t like guns.

The two of you stood before the entrance of the abandoned railways, the gaping tunnel overgrown with moss and greenery. He gave you a weary glance, non-verbally asking if you were ready. You gave him a soft nod in response. Graffiti lined the walls near the front, but as the two of you walked in, there were fewer and farther in between.

The plan was clean-cut. Locate the children, take out the guards, and high-tail out of there. Your fiance (or was it ex-fiance? You weren’t quite sure) had made you promise not to kill anybody but—given the circumstances, you weren’t entirely sure if you could hold up to that promise.

Bruce had this innate ability to move in a way that if you hadn’t known he was already there, you wouldn’t have seen him at all. His hands loosely wrapped around your wrist to guide you to the right, and you couldn’t help but hold your breath at the minimal contact.

In the distance, the two of you heard echoing murmurs, gruff voices of what sounded to be a pair of boisterous men. They were getting closer, and getting close fast. In a whirl of dark fabric, you found yourself pressed up against the wall, Bruce’s face mere inches from yours. His long cape draped over the both of you, blending seamlessly into the shadows.

It took you another second to realize that his entire body was slotted against yours. His scent warped around you and consumed you whole, an overwhelmingly nostalgic aroma of fresh mint and blueberries and something purely, entirely just Bruce. You inhaled sharply.

This close, you could see the thin flecks of pale green amongst his blue irises, the smudged mascara around his eyes, the small, faded scar on his jaw. You could—

Oh.

A lump formed in your throat. You could hear his heart beating—feel it—thundering against his ribcage, just above where yours was.

Heat spidered beneath your skin, crawling up your neck and flushing your cheeks. Bruce watched you with an indiscernible gaze, jaw set. Perhaps it was a trick of light, but you could’ve sworn you saw his pupils dilate, dipping towards your lips for a millisecond before flicking right back up to meet your heady stare.

Desperate for a distraction, you craned your neck, and caught sight of the two men passing by. You bit onto the inside of your cheek, swallowing down a tirade of curses when you saw that they both held guns. Of fucking course they did.

Another couple of minutes, and they turned the corner, speaking to each other loudly. Bruce stepped away from you then, still keeping his eyes trained on you.

They both have guns, you signed with your hands. Sign language was something the two of you learned together during your first year of dating—it was always handy in case of emergencies such as this.

Bruce cocked his head in understanding. Stay in the shadows, he signed back.

You nodded, and the two of you took off once more, skimming across the gravel so quickly that you were practically floating.

The two of you slowed to a halt in front of several wrecked train cars, rusted and filthy with neglect. You peered through the glass, noting a few guards milling in front of trucks on the opposite side. That must’ve been where the children were. Tilting your head to look further to the left, you caught sight of a row of children lined up against the wall to the side of the tunnel. Chains shackled their wrists and ankles together. They were entirely silent, which unnerved you more than anything.

You’ve done this a million times before. Why were you so nervous?

Ah, right. Maybe, just maybe, because last time, you got stabbed. Or maybe it was because the love of your life was right by your side—the man who was supposed to think that you were dead.

You bit down on your tongue in a fruitless effort to quell the nausea roiling about in the pits of your stomach.

With a gentle hand to Bruce’s shoulder, you signed, Six kids. Get them to safety. I’ll take the guards.

Not allowing him the chance to protest, you reached into your coat’s pocket and brandished two smoke grenades, your other hand sliding out a dagger. You leapt through the totaled train’s doors, before pulling the pins out with your teeth, chucking them amongst the lounging guards.

Shouts erupted as two large plumes of ashy white smoke encompassed the entirety of the tunnel. Silent as the night, you snuck up behind two guards, bashing their heads together hard enough to render them unconscious. Your dagger flipped in your hand as you knelt, sweeping around and stabbed another right in the leg, dragging the blade down the entire length of their shin. An ear-splitting scream ricocheted across the stone walls of the tunnel.

That was when the gunshots started ringing out. You were able to dodge them lithely, watching the trajectory of the amber sparks made by the ricocheting bullets and ducking away from its sweeping arc. You drove your dagger straight into the jugular of the guard with a gun, kicking him back until he fell into the gravel, gurgling incoherently through the blood flooding his mouth.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Bruce ushering the children through the wrecked train cars, towards the exit. Panic seized its dark hands around your heart as you spotted another guard—the last one in sight—pointing their gun towards Bruce.

You ripped your dagger out of the guard’s throat in no less than half a second, pulling your arm back to hurl it through the air. The blade embedded itself cleanly through the side of his head, the impact sending him crashing into the wall.

A breath of relief slipped your lungs, and you ran over to scoop the fallen gun up, shoving it into your belt.

Bruce had all the kids—it was time to go.

You dashed through the first set of doors into the train.

A deafening gunshot rang out to your right, and you dove down out of pure reflex.

But you were too late.

Searing pain blossomed over your chest, your stomach, your head—everywhere.

Children screaming.

Footsteps thundering.

The gravel beneath you—cold and sticky with your blood.

Bruce yelling your name, panic saturating every syllable.

The edges of your vision flickered with darkness.

Chest heaving—heaving—heaving—your breath leaving you—

Bruce… the children…

Oh, fuck. Everything hurt.

Your head throbbed angrily.

“Wake up, Y/N. Look at me. LOOK AT ME!”

Bruce’s voice was tightly interwoven with dread—bordering on hysteria as he knelt down over you, palm applying direct pressure to the bullet hole in your abdomen. A low moan fell from your lips at the searing agony that shot up your body.

As soon as your eyes dazedly cracked open, Bruce swore under his breath, mild relief seeping into his blown eyes. You’d only been down for no less than two seconds before he ripped his batarang from his armored chest, sending it arcing through the air to the last gunman, striking him down.

Not a single thing registered in your mind as Bruce swept you into his arms, carrying you down the tunnel and ushering the children along with gritted teeth and panic-laced words.

An overwhelming sense of terror still coursed through the very fibers of his being. He couldn’t lose you—not again.

“Bats, put me down,” you said, hoarsely. “Put me down.”

A protest was on the tip of his tongue, but the warning glare you sent him made him reluctantly comply, gently lowering you down to your feet. Your hand clutched his bicep for stability while the other still held pressure against your bullet wound. There were so many emotions coursing through him that he nearly felt dizzy with the overwhelming barrage of turmoil.

The two of you soon reached the end of the tunnel with half a dozen kids in front of you. Bruce herded them into the back seats of the Batmobile—it was a tight fit, but they were small and eager to leave. One of the little girls started crying as soon as she sat down on the leather seat of his car, and Bruce could feel his heart lurch with an ugly amalgamation of anger and concern.

He slid into the driver’s seat just as you slumped into the one next to him. A groan of pain left you as you began rifling through the car dash’s compartment, whipping out a roll of bandages and began winding it around your abdomen.

The car purred to life and in no less than half a minute, you were jetting off, leaving the dirty crime scene far behind.

Bruce’s eyes darted from the dark road to you, nearly bleeding out in the passenger’s seat. You were panting shallowly, head tilted back as you swallowed uneasily. Sweat beaded your forehead.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” he whispered.

“No,” you replied, a biting edge to your tone.

Bruce’s eyebrows drew together. “You have a fucking bullet in you.” His voice lowered, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I can’t lose you again.” The last bit was said softly, his voice cracking with raw hurt.

You shook your head, stubborn. Your voice was quiet enough so the trembling kids in the back wouldn’t be able to hear you. “Don’t take me to the hospital, Bru. It’ll ruin everything I’ve built the past few years. Nobody can know I’m still alive.”

There was a beat of hesitation. Bruce clenched his jaw so hard it was a wonder his teeth didn’t crack under the pressure. “At least let me take you back home. Alfred can help you.”

You frowned but kept silent. Going back to the Wayne Mansion was less than desirable, but it was the best choice you had—the other being bleeding out to death in your rusty abandoned warehouse. Your nose twitched as you slowly shifted to look out the window.

The drive went by much quicker than expected, mostly because you were fading in and out of a pain-induced unconsciousness. When you cracked your eyes open again, your head was pounding angrily and your bullet wound pulsated hotly in tandem with the thick, languid beating of your heart. You could faintly make out Bruce in his Batsuit just outside of the car, leading the kids into a building.

Your gaze shifted upwards, a sigh of relief falling from your lips upon seeing the gotham orphanage sign. Bruce helped the woman at the door usher the children in, before handing her about a dozen fat wads of cash. The look on the woman’s face was priceless—mouth gaping and eyes misting over with unshed tears. His lips moved, but you couldn’t hear him from inside the car.

Once Bruce made sure the kids were safe inside, he nodded once to the woman, before turning back to the Batmobile.

He slid in smoothly, checking all the mirrors to make sure that nobody had followed you.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, quiet and uncertain.

“I’m alive,” you replied. “Could really use an Advil right now, though.”

He huffed out a humorless laugh. “Think you need a bit more than an Advil.”

You couldn’t find it in you to reply, the edges of your vision darkening at a concerningly rapid pace.

“Hang on for me, baby,” Bruce whispered brokenly, his hand darting out to grasp your limp one as he drove to the Wayne Mansion, slamming down on the gas. “Hang on.”

The street lights began to expand into a million shards of light as your eyelids drooped.

Blinding, blinding, blinding.

And yet you could see everything. The blue of Bruce’s eyes that constantly glanced over at you. The trembling of his pale hand on the steering wheel. The tacky blood that meandered down your sides and pooled into the crevices of the leather seat.

All of a sudden—

It all went dark.

It’d been three years since you stepped foot in the Batcave.

Really, it was just a private underground railway beneath the Wayne Mansion, but it definitely wasn’t fit for its original use and you were sure at least a couple dozen bats made the dark tunnel their permanent home, thus its name.

Bruce carried you out the car and into his work station, worry woven between every muscle. He deposited you gently onto the table, just as the elevator door rattled open.

Alfred stepped out, and he immediately blanched upon seeing you, bleeding and teetering on the edge of death itself.

They exchanged a couple hurried words, but you couldn’t hear much. Everything was blurry.

A tear slipped down your cheek when Alfred made his way to you, his hand cupping your cheek. He had a medkit clutched in his hands, and he popped it open right beside your head.

“Hi, Al,” you murmured hoarsely. “Long time no see.”

“Hello, my dear,” he replied fondly, deathly calm. It might’ve been a trick of the dim lights, but you could’ve sworn you saw his eyes misting over with unshed tears. “Last I checked, you were dead.”

If you weren’t in so much pain, you would’ve laughed, and given him an easy shrug. “Plans changed, I guess.”

Mustering what little energy you had left in you, you turned to look at Bruce as Alfred began peeling your clothing back to start working on your wounds.

“Hey, Bru,” you whispered. Bruce’s lips twitched at the nickname. “If I don’t make it—”

“Don’t say that,” he gruffed.

His warning fell upon deaf ears and you spoke again, determined. “If I don’t make it, for real this time, just remember that I love you. And I’ve never stopped.”

Something in his chest broke, and a suffocating sob thundered within him. He clutched at your limp hands, whispering out your name just in time for you to hear before you let the darkness take you one last time.

The first thing you noticed when you came to was Bruce’s hand still holding tightly onto yours. The second thing was the fact that the pain in your abdomen was no longer unbearable, but instead subdued to a sharp ache.

Your gaze roamed around the room, and you dimly realized that you were in Bruce’s bed—the bed that the two of you had slept in together when you were together. He was asleep by the edge of the mattress, hunched over in a position that wasn’t at all good for his spine.

He still had the black eye makeup on, smudged and flaking off, dried bits of mascara on his cheeks. His hair was mussed, as if he had raked his fingers through several times.

When you shifted a bit on his expansive mattress, Bruce stirred awake, the blue of his eyes shifting from confusion to panic to relief in a matter of seconds.

“Hey,” you croaked. “Thanks for getting me here. And tell Alfred thanks for patching me up.”

“We nearly lost you,” Bruce replied hoarsely. A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Alfred wasn’t sure if you were going to make it. There was so much blood.”

A pained smile stretched your lips thin. “Well, I’m alive. Sort of. How long was I out?”

“A couple hours,” he replied. He exhaled quietly, lowering his head. “I never stopped loving you, too. After all these years… I should be mad at you. I was, at first… but I’m not anymore. I’m just—glad. I’m glad you’re here.”

You blinked, tilting your head. Slow, you wrapped your wrist around his hand, gingerly moving it up to your lips. You kissed the back of his palm, and he cupped your face tenderly just as the familiar sensation of tears began stinging the corner of your eyes.

“Oh, Bru. I’m so sorry for causing you all this pain. I’m sorry.” You hiccupped, not wanting to dissolve into a mess of tears right in front of him. “I love you so much. I wanted to come back every day, I swear. I had to do it. I did it for you.”

A glimmer of pain warbled in the blue of his irises. “After you died… I was in a bad place. I nearly killed the Joker when I visited him in prison—I was this close. Gordon took me away before I could. From then I just… I lost myself without you. I spiraled. I was vengeance. Then the anger just sort of left and all I had left was just this… this ache. This hurt that never went away.”

A part of you was surprised he was opening up. It was as if the dam had cracked, and the water was spewing out and Bruce just couldn’t stop. He began to cry softly, the dark mascara meandering down his face once more and his hand shaking against your cheek. You could feel your heart crumbling through the bones of your ribcage, and you wanted nothing more than to hold him close to you.

“Please stay,” Bruce croaked. “I can’t lose you—not again. I can’t go through that again. Please don’t let me go through it again.” His forehead fell to the mattress right beside your hip as his hand fell away from your face and his body shook.

This was him begging, you realized in shock. He was begging you.

Helplessness placed its dark hands on your shoulders, and you were frozen for a second.

“Bru, baby, I—”

“Please don’t leave. You can fight crime undercover with me. Here. By my side. Please—I love you.”

Tentative, you reached over and gently ran your fingers through his overgrown hair. This seemed to quell his shaking just a bit. He stayed in that position for another minute before peering up at you.

“I’ll stay,” you said. “But we’re going to have to be careful. I can’t risk more people finding out I’m alive—and I can’t risk dragging you down with me. I need you to understand that if things go south, I’m leaving immediately—to protect you, Bru. And as long as you won’t hold me back from my own missions. We might’ve stopped one trafficking transfer tonight, but I have no doubt that there’ll be plenty more to come.”

For the first time in a very long time, Bruce smiled. It was a small one, the kind that twitched at the corner of his lips and wrinkled the corner of his mirthful, tear-glossed eyes.

He shifted upwards so he sat beside you on the bed, pressing a chaste, affectionate kiss to your forehead. His palm found its way back to your jaw, and he rested his temple against yours.

It’d been three long years since you kissed him.

You arched your neck just enough so his lips would meld over yours. A pained, broken noise fell from Bruce’s throat, and he surged forward, kissing you back with just as much vigor. He missed this. He missed you.

He avoided touching your stomach, afraid that he’d hurt you or rip the stitches of your wound. The last thing he wanted was to explain to Alfred how you’d managed to hurt yourself even more.

As he kissed you, your hands moved to grip his biceps, nails digging into his shirt. His nose bumped softly into yours and he could feel your radiant smile growing against his lips, utterly contagious. Your homely smell, the mesh of cinnamon and gentle lavender invaded his senses, and he nearly started sobbing again at the pure nostalgia from it all.

You were back. You came back to him.

“As lovely as this is,” you husked, voice lowered an octave, “I still need you to promise me you won’t hold me back. You’d be Batman and I’d be… a ghost.” It pleased Bruce immensely to see your chest heaving, and your pupils dilated as they shamelessly darted from his eyes to his lips.

“I promise,” he whispered against your lips in reply. Despite everything that had happened the past few days, he still trusted you to take care of yourself. A thrill shot through him when the cold engagement ring around your neck pressed flush against his chest. “How’d I be able to hold back a ghost, anyway?”

You smiled into him, before tugging him down for another kiss.

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thecruellestmonth · 11 months

Text

Bruce & Jason fic recs: sweet and bittersweet

Some of the best sweet and sweet-and-sad fan fiction featuring the bond between a Good Batdad and his scrappy birdson.

>Sweet - light and fluffy, minimum hurt with maximum comfort

"Call Me Hopeless" by incogneat_oh - Bruce says good night to Jason and Dick.

"Alternative Means of Acquisition" by Imbecamiel - In which Bruce Wayne arm-wrestles Lex Luthor.

"home is such a lovely place" by evanescent - Jason's first time sneaking out to patrol doesn't go as planned. (He didn't mean to get sick, alright?)

"White Christmas" by LemonadeGarden - Jason's been in the manor for a few months now. Bruce is a pretty cool guy, sure, but he's not exactly sure what to expect from him. And then they go to Siberia in the winter on a case. It goes horribly wrong, and then pretty well.

"Not Guilty, Sir" by incogneat_oh - Robin smoked.

"Safe Space" by Cerusee - Turns out, Bruce and Jason aren’t quite on the same page about who’s parenting whom. Bruce is going to need to clear some things up.

"Sold to Wonder Woman (by my evil adoptive father Batman)" by JeanjacketCarf - Jason writes some fan fiction. It's totally not a self-insert.

"Mint Chocolate Chip" by LemonadeGarden - Summer vacations have been going on just long enough for Jason to start getting bored, when he gets an unexpected visitor. From the future.

"Cookies And The End of The World" by AnActualCrow - Jason has a bad day at school. Alfred and Bruce make him feel better.

"I Love You" by DetectivePrettyBoy - Jason wants to tell Bruce that he loves him.

"don't take your guns to town" by kreestar - batman comes home from a night patrolling to find a 10 year old jason todd waiting for him in his kitchen. across gotham, at the same time, red hood is stopped by a 25 year old bruce wayne.

"The legends and the myths" by orphan_account - Jason Todd is the best liar Bruce's ever met. Jason Todd is the worst liar Bruce's ever met.

"Growing Like A Breeze" by whaleofatime - April 27th isn't anyone's favourite date, but it's somehow worse than usual today when Bruce gets his car stolen. It's nice of Red Hood to come to his rescue. Nicer even that Jason keeps him company afterwards.

"Rise Up With The Sun" by blacklettered - His son came home on a Wednesday evening and Bruce did not call for the slaughter of the fattened calf but it was a close thing. Jason quietly decides to come home, and Bruce is quietly delighted. (Also there's a bunch of freaky Edgar Allan Poe shit happening in the background because lowkey Jason Todd is a revenant who walks the earth as if living and yet remains irrevocably connected to the forces of death and decay—but that's not as important.)

"Bet on it" by Lysical - Damian asks Jason for a favor.

"homerun" by someplacewarm - Bruce backs out from a baseball game with Jason last minute. They handle it just about as well as they handle anything else: bad, then better.

"the reflex" by TheResurrectionist - Jason takes a smoke break.

"Boof" by strikeyourcolors - When Bruce finds Jason turned into a dog in an alley, he tries to take care of him. He didn't plan on getting along so well with this canine form…or getting so emotional.

"Late Night Langoustining" by whaleofatime - Jason steals a live lobster from a supermarket.

"bred in decency and order" by OkayAristotle - Bruce cuddles his giant son. (Contains brief vomiting.)

"Sealing the deal" by orphan_account - In which Bruce Wayne is kidnapped and it’s somehow not the most difficult part of anyone’s day.Or, in which Jason Todd is a selkie.

"Plus-One" by Goldmonger - All the kids were permitted to bring a guest to the gala. Dick brought Barbara, Tim brought Bernard, Duke brought Ana, Cass brought Steph, Damian brought Jon, and Jason brought a forty-year-old 6’6” man with no sense of personal boundaries. Bruce is getting too old for this nonsense.

"the road home" by drakefeathers - Set during Lost Days. An injured and exhausted Jason succumbs to homesickness.

"the clay steals the clay" by zipadeea - Bruce discovers that Jason is alive in the sweetest, funniest way possible.

>Bittersweet - sweet mixed with melancholy, lots of hurt with some comfort; may contain mentions and depictions of child death

"Beneficiary" by sirsparklepants - The beneficiaries of the estate of Jason Todd.

"bird of winter" by knowsphere - Damian meets a ghost. Based on the short story "The Delusions of Alfred Pennyworth" at the end of Batman: Gotham Knights #34.

"A Proper Goodbye" by ceemobster - The emergence of the Red Hood throws Bruce into disarray, and then Jason pays him a visit. The epilogue of the "Under the Red Hood" story... set after Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice.

"this gun needs no bullets" by sacrr - A true Knight is made, not born. Or: the story of Jason Todd. [Batman: Arkham Knight]

"when you were young you used to dream about fires" by someplacewarm - Bruce travels back in time and finds himself in Jason's childhood home. Things aren't easy, but they were never this hard.

"through the valley of the shadow" by Goldmonger - Jason gets kidnapped and tortured. He rescues himself, partly.

"a little bit louder now" by mx_chrx99 - A mission gone awry, too many memories, too much blood, and not enough time. Bruce races to save a son he couldn't save before.

"Haunting" by the_authors_exploits - A child dies of neglect on the streets of Crime Alley; even then, the Batman won't give up on him.

"rip up the floorboards" by orphan_account - Content warning for non-graphic discussions of past CSA. When Jason was young and starved, he hid something like a corpse in his own body. Hurt/comfort.

"Wayward Birds" by LanternWisp - Featuring hilariously crunchy overbearing parent Bruce, who forbids his kid from consuming coffee or dairy.

"Moderation" by orphan_account - In which the Riddler accidentally saves the city a few years early by helping rescue Robin II from Joker’s clutches. Out of pure and vicious spite. [Arkhamverse]

"You're Just A Baby, You Can Not Fly" by BabblingBookends - Batman visits Jason's grave to say goodbye to his partner.

"To See the Stars" by lurkinglurkerwholurks - Jason and Bruce go for a hike.

"Younger Bruce, Older Jason - Shorter Fic" by whatomen

"Knock On Death's Door" by CastleGachi - Red Hood rescues a wounded Batman.

"here in our house, reminders of you" by jesamnelovelace - A Christmas present from Jason becomes Bruce's closest connection to his son after his death.

"a broken piece of what we used to be" by Cerusee - Bruce and Jason messily yet lovingly deal with the ramifications of Damian's resurrection and Nightwing's supposed death.

"Mask Of Blood" by Kieron_ODuibhir - When Jason is trapped in the past, Bruce turns to Jason Blood for help.

"By Any Other Name" by ManURonaldo - Jason thinks of Bruce and Batman as separate people.

"Someone That Hates To See Me Go" by AutumnHobbit - Or, how Jason realizes his family wants him to live, and how he realizes he does, too. (Oprah voice) Your fave gets hurt/comfort! And your fave gets hurt/comfort! They all get hurt/comfort!

"through death and time" by sparkycap - After a mission that takes Batman and Nightwing back twenty years in the past, they end up with time to kill. Bruce does what he does best: he finds a kid. Luckily this one is already his.

"Mighty" by Sparkypants - Five things Bruce taught Jason when he took him in, and one thing Jason taught Bruce.

"it's always sunny in coast city" and "the alignment of the planets, and of you and i" by atlasky - In which Uncle Hal Jordan loves Jason, but Bruce absolutely adores him with every fiber of his being.

"Trapped" by lurkinglurkerwholurks - Bruce and Jason end up trapped in a collapsed building. Jason really dislikes being buried alive.

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har-rison-s · 3 months

Text

mask & seek: 15

batman x fem!reader

based on: Hello! May I request Battinson x SpiderWoman!Reader fic where she’s from the MCU but then she ends up in Battinson’s universe and meets him? Maybe he doesn’t trust her at first but once she saves him from something, he relents then begins to trust her and maybe then a relationship ensues??

author's note: hey all :) mask & seek is forreal back this time. i think this is my favourite series ever, sooooo.... i really want to like actually finish it. there's not a lot left honestly, but don't worry, no spoilers. i hope you guys are still tuning into this, i know it's been like..... more than a year since i published 14, and almost two years since i started mask & seek too.... wow. that's insane. so! bruce and y/n are so cute in this. happy reading <3

main masterlist

bruce wayne masterlist

part fourteen

word count: 4.7k

warnings: little bit of smut towards the end, it's pretty short, some anxieties, self-doubting

gif credit goes to author! (i know it's neil but i needed a sorta domestic bruce gif and there are none!!! i cannot find them!!)

“okay, here goes,” y/n mutters with a heavy heart and a chest that seems to have grown ten times its usual weight. she sticks the porta filter back into its place in the coffee machine and faces vanessa with a heavy sigh. everything is heavy as of now, most of all - her own heart. vanessa meets y/n’s dark eyes with her bright ones, “i... will be quitting this job soon.” y/n finally tells her.

immediately she thinks her voice was too quiet, too unsure, too dark even, maybe? and maybe she uttered the words too fast. but really, no matter what voice she uses or how she says it, the news stay the same, and they still break vanessa’s heart. her eyes grow wide and her mouth hangs slightly agape. “what? you’re leaving?” she asks in nearly a whisper, shock and sadness all over her features. y/n can do nothing else but nod. “why? are you going somewhere? did something bad happen yesterday or something?”

“no, no, no, not at all,” y/n answers with a shake of her head. god, does she tell her the truth? it’s been a only a few days since that faithful night and morning that were followed by this decision being made, officially. it’s been hard for y/n to muster the courage to tell her co-workers, much less her boss, about leaving this job, but it’s also been killing her not to tell them. so here she is, choosing vanessa as the first person she tells. mainly because vanessa has become sort-of her best friend, and she trusts her the most, “i, uh... i got a really good job offer. it’s something completely different, but actually in the field or, value margin, that i wanna work in, and have wanted to for... a while. basically since i was a kid.”

“not a team of crazy scientists, i hope?” vanessa asks, now her face changing to doubt. it makes y/n laugh, and she does so while shaking her head. “okay, what is it, then? some genie came up to you and offered you three wishes, one of them being getting your childhood dream job?” vanessa gets more casual and closer again. y/n chuckles again.

“something similar to that,” y/n nods along, “only the genie is a man who happens to have very, you know, thick pockets,” y/n wiggles her eyebrows, and vanessa laughs, “he’s honestly the kind of man who’d fulfil more than three of my wishes, he’s made that quite clear.”

vanessa grows an ear-to-ear wide grin and gives y/n a wicked look. “is this about bruce wayne coming to visit you here those days back?” she asks and steps even closer to y/n, so their conversation would get more private in the café with nearly all full tables, “did you guys work it out? and how do you even know him? he’s a very hard man to catch outside his enormous house, much less to meet.”

now, bruce had predicted that this kind of question would come up for both of them, and that they couldn’t just dodge it. he also predicted that people would want a clear status of their relationship, to know how the business would really work and how it came to work at all. his and y/n’s conversation about it came to start on something like...

“i don’t want to be a faceless fling of yours in the eyes of the media and public,” y/n admits with a frown on her face, and bruce looks to her.

“well, you’d be the first one to have that title,” bruce faintly jokes. y/n gives him a curious look, still thinking that it sounds kind of impossible, “at least we’re the same age. they’ll take you somewhat seriously.”

“somewhat seriously?” she echoes, now turning to face him completely, one leg bent at the knee before her, on which she lazily splays her arm. bruce shakes his head.

“trust me, i know this so-called industry,” he clarifies, “the press love the old billionaires and their young fling-of-the-months.” bruce says and has a dark-humoured chuckle. it’s sad, really, that old men go after much more younger women, and that the press make all their money off it. bruce knows that. he’d never want to be that kind of man, and he’d never wish that fate upon any girl. “what do you want to be to the public?” bruce asks y/n as he looks to her again, his shoulders hunched forward.

she shrugs. “don’t want to lie about anything that i am, or what we are,” she says truthfully, “but then again – tell the truth, and they find a way to make up lies, anyway.” y/n chuckles and shrugs her shoulders, looking thoughtfully out of the window.

bruce wears a faint smile on his face. “how does being my wife sound to you?” he asks her in a soft tone. that question, though it’s just a casual one mentioning an option for their title, makes y/n look at bruce again. she smiles, too, her head tilted to the side as it’s resting on her knee now.

“for the papers or... in actuality?” she clarifies. bruce smiles wider. he wouldn’t mind having her as his wife, though we all know that’s an understatement, but he needs her consent, of course. he already feels closest to her now, sitting with her in her apartment, and he felt close to her and with her when she was at his mansion. marriage is only a document, two rings and a ceremony. he doesn’t need that to know that he loves her, to have proof that they’ll want and belong to each other forever.

so bruce shrugs for an answer. “whichever one you want.” he answers truthfully. it’s really all up to her. it’s her image to society, after all. and yes, of course, the medias and public change it to what they want it to be, but at the end of the day, she is the foundation of herself and how she is viewed. y/n smiles again, this time with a hum.

“neither, to be honest,” she answers and turns her gaze back to the window, “i’m not ready to be someone’s wife. not because i’d be scared of commitment or anything, no. i feel you and me have committed for quite some time now,” y/n says and they both chuckle, knowing it’s true, “no, it’s just that the word has so much meaning, so much... weight and unnecessary stigma around it, you know. like, you tell a person that you’re someone’s wife, and in their eyes you’re already pregnant, have two cars, a cul-de-sac and its garage full of washing machines, fridges and driers.” bruce laughs further. “plus, being a wife is just a legal paper and title. i could be your wife in my head, if i liked the title, without any legal, official papers.” bruce has quieted down, and just smiles now. it kills him to realise more and more, with each day and each new conversation with her, just how similar they are. they both see marriage the same way. “i wouldn’t say no if you proposed at any point in the future, though,” y/n clarifies and bruce chuckles again, like a school boy, “just making sure you heard me.”

“i hear you,” he confirms with a nod and that smile still on his face, “how double standard of me to not need to worry about my title. what if i wanted to be your husband or your fling of the month?” he suggests, and that makes y/n laugh loudly. she hops off the window sill, only wearing one of her huge thrifted sweaters and a pair of pajama shorts, and still giggling, tiptoes her way over to bruce, her thin socks touching the wooden floor of her apartment. he watches her all the way of doing so, and now that she’s comfortably sitting close next to him on the sofa, his eyes take on a more private gaze at her. she makes one of her beautiful smiles at him and breathes a short sigh. “what about you being my... girlfriend?” bruce now suggests, his voice a bit quieter.

y/n’s smile grows even wider, and her mushed cheeks are complimented by a deep crimson blush. she smiles so wide her eyes are barely visible, but the small portion of them still visible shine with the few tears gathered in them. just pure happy tears, nothing else. she shrugs her shoulders and then moves closer to bruce. his body grows immediately aware of the proximity. “well, my only condition would be...” y/n starts to say, and sighs quickly again, “that you’ll be my boyfriend.” she says. and she thinks god, there must be more age appropriate terms for boyfriend and girlfriend for people their age, something between boyfriend and husband, and girlfriend and wife. partner seems too formal, as well. she feels too young saying saying boyfriend, and too old saying partner. but, she guesses, since they’re just playing with these terms, also the ones the medias like to use, there’s no harm in saying boyfriend and girlfriend.

bruce cracks a wide smile at that, something only y/n gets to see and even she rarely does, and his pale cheeks blush a rose pink for a moment, too. on the rare occasion y/n sees him blush, she always takes note of how the rose pink brings out the soft brown of his eyes, and the gentleness of his eyes altogether. they’re usually dark, filled with emotion to the brim, and encircled by that dark matter he uses. but his eyes are gentle, as is he. the light brown irises look up into y/n’s eyes with care and ease, and a smile still faintly displays itself on bruce’s lips, “i think that’s a good deal.” he says in a voice deep and soft.

y/n smiles wide again and gets the closest to him that she can. legs entangled, y/n partly laying in his lap, faces close but hands still withdrawn from each other. “yeah?” she asks him in a faint whisper, and now her hand glides over the side of bruce’s face, like he’s often done to her, and she adores it. she only expects more of that in the future.

his eyelids flicker as he looks up at her, and any expression except adoration and submission fades away from his features. bruce only gives her a nod in response and y/n smiles. the world goes completely quiet as she presses her lips down onto his. only their inhaling of breath can be heard as bruce encircles her waist with his arms and pulls her body impossibly closer to his own. y/n holds both sides of his face now, continuing to kiss him—still hoping she’s good at it—and draws in breaths through her nose because the event and sensation of kissing bruce is drawing out all air and suffocating her in the best way possible.

“we, uh...” y/n’s mind fogs a bit from that memory, but only pleasantly so, “we met through friends in the justice department.” she tells her, hoping it’ll be enough. she and bruce planned out a small cover story for them to use, involving an old friend of bruce’s in the justice department, who happens to be on vacation right now.

“oh, you never told me you had friends there!” vanessa muses. “tell me exactly how you met, i need all the details.”

y/n chuckles, and hopes the nervousness in her chuckle doesn’t appear too strong. “it’s nothing romantic, i promise,” she tells vanessa, “they visited me here on a closing shift after some dinner they’d had, and bruce happened to be with them.” y/n says, but she knows she’s gotta do better than that. funny, how her whole life here in gotham has been built on lies she’s told, and she’s suddenly nervous to lie. maybe it’s because she has to lie to vanessa. but she’s done that before, too. “he told me recently that i struck him in the first moment he saw me. i do remember how awkward he was when he tried to order a drink.” y/n says and makes a small laugh again, but this time it’s genuine because she knows how awkward bruce, in truth, can get sometimes.

“i don’t care what you say, to me that is romantic,” vanessa replies. y/n shakes her head. the reason why she hates to be lying right now could be that the circumstances of how they met are much better than this made-up story. much more special, “wish i could have been there to see it.” vanessa admits. y/n doesn’t like the light this cover story paints her in, either. rich business man falls for the woman serving him. in her eyes that feels very weird for some reason. maybe it’s her feminist character that finds it weird.

but judging by vanessa’s face, the cover story and y/n’s acting are natural and convincing enough. y/n wishes she could spill the truth to vanessa, because god knows she trusts her, but she can’t tell her the truth. it would jepordise everything. “you would have got second-hand embarrassment, v,” y/n tells her and both women laugh.

“so, what, are you gonna be working for wayne enterprises now?” vanessa clarifies.

“sort of,” y/n answers with a shrug, “you’ll see. but don’t tell anyone else yet. and don’t tell anyone outside of work, ever. they’ll be all over you, and i do want us to make our relationship public, not anyone else.”

“yeah, yeah, you and I both know how tabloids work around here,” vanessa answers, “even though i’d love to tell everyone, i promise you on sebbie’s life that i won’t tell a soul.” she promises y/n on her cat’s life and does a cross over her heart. y/n chuckles at the superstition element. “you’ll have to deal with them a lot, though. i’m sorry for that.”

“yeah, thanks,” y/n replies quietly, taking that vanessa has mentioned the thing she’s most afraid of. she guesses vanessa knows the character assassination women face in gotham if they’re on any tabloid or news banner. y/n is in for a big portion of that—people don’t take too kindly to women who work in the same company for their male partners or spouses. it’ll be even worse for y/n perhaps, because she’ll be getting a job at wayne enterprises because she’s in a relationship with bruce. there’s nothing wrong with it, and it was bruce’s idea. god knows what kind of speculations will spiral out of that fact...

y/n feels bruce’s tongue against her own as he brushes his hands underneath her sweater now, petting her waist gently. the image of his large calloused hands on her bare skin already entices y/n more, her sharply inhaling breath through her nose. it feels difficult to breathe now, her fingers digging into the skin of his face. bruce softly groans at the feeling, and an almost animalistic shiver sends his hands to the back of y/n’s thighs and pulls them closer to his crotch, positioning her legs on either side of his body.

the pair nearly fall over from the impact, but y/n steadies them both with ease that her instincts provide, and they only interrupt their kissing with laughter over their slight clumsiness. she really has me feeling like a teenager, bruce thinks to himself before kissing her once more. they melt into each other so easily you’d think they were two pieces of butter on a hot pan. y/n is just about ready to eat him up, she feels this insatiable urge to touch him and kiss him all over, for as long as she has breath.

and when she’s reaching into his sweatpants and adjusting him up with her entrance, panties slid to the side, it’s almost like they sync up completely. the final transaction, the closest they can get, yet they still want more. they’re messy, panting, giggling, hands trembling as they hold onto each other and y/n rocks her hips on bruce’s length. he thinks this must be heaven – her on top of him, her chest in his face, her hands in his hair. he loves her on top of him, always did when she used to patch him up, clean his face, all those times. now their relationship has been turned around and this intimate position they’ve been in before has gained a different turn, too, one bruce was secretly thinking of beforehand.

“you’re so perfect,” he breathes against her skin, laying hot kisses across her chest, her sweater now pushed up, barely covering anything. y/n gasps at bruce’s lips on her breasts, mewls softly, and feels herself so close to release already. she pulls her sweater off over her head, it being in the way, and lets bruce pull her closer, smothering her chest with kisses, arms around her holding her securely.

“fuck, i’m close, bruce,” she tells him in a heave of breath and bruce nods in response. it might be his familiarity with her body, and it might be her spidey-sense growing on him, but he could tell she was close before she uttered the words herself.

“i know, i’ve got you,” he tells her quietly and keeps his hands supportingly on her back. y/n looks into his eyes, her hand now on his cheek.

“you f-feel so good inside me.” she whines and arches her back, hair messy in the air, complete surrender to her feelings.

bruce feels himself twitch inside of her at the words, and he doesn’t resist the groan coming out from between his lips. he grips one of her thighs in his hand, one palm completely capable of covering it, and sees the bump he’s made in her, completely visible to him. “fuck,” he moans out and takes one of her hands in his, guiding it down to the bump, looking into y/n’s eyes as he does. y/n feels the phenomena there and gives him a tired smile, her cheeks sweaty and shining from it in the half-dark.

“you’re so big, bruce, no wonder,” she compliments him and it makes them both chuckle quietly, though the praise once again goes straight to bruce’s hardness inside of her, “ah, fuck—” she starts to say, but can’t even finish her sentence, whatever it might have been, because her orgasm has taken hold of her and is washing through her entire body like an intense wave. bruce completely succumbs to her, feeling himself unloading inside of her, too, nearly in unison with her milking him in all his length.

he tries to watch her face as she comes, not wanting to miss the sight of it, and he manages through his eyes filled with euphoria to catch the look of her. eyebrows scrunched, cheeks glistening with sweat, breasts on display for him, hair falling over her arched back. that is until she crumbles on top of him, her head resting on his shoulder and her hands gripping the back of the sofa. she pants heavily into his ear as he does the same, both of them grounding themselves back to reality. “you’re incredible, y/n,” bruce tells her and y/n smiles in response.

she easily hops off him and finds her sweater on the floor and puts it on before sitting back down next to him. bruce stuffs himself back into his sweats and runs a hand through his hair. she turns her head to look at bruce and they smile at each other. “you’re not so bad yourself,” she tells him and kisses his lips gently. she circles her arms around his neck and they rest their foreheads together, “i could never get tired of this. physically, i mean. i think my stamina is through the roof,” y/n admits, making bruce chuckle, and she enjoys feeling the rumble of his laughter.

“i’ll try to keep up,” he promises and glances into her eyes, this time he’s made her laugh. with her he comes to realize how much he’s capable of. he can make her laugh, he can make her smile, he can make her blush, he can make her reach ecstasy-level orgasms. all of these are honours he holds dear to his heart, “i could never get tired of you.” he tells her quietly.

“me, neither, of you,” y/n responds, then averts her eyes from bruce’s briefly, “what if i can’t take it? the press, the job? what if i’m not... good enough? classy enough?” she lets her anxieties wonder. it breaks bruce’s heart that she feels this way.

“you’re more than good enough,” he assures her, “the press may want to say horrible things about you, and i know it’s easy to give into hate and... critique, but...” bruce shakes his head, “you’re the amazing spider-woman, without the suit and powers, too.” he makes a smile at her and y/n gives a weak one back. “you’re going to be so great at this, i already know it. and don’t be afraid to ask for help—me and alfred will be supporting you every step of the way.”

y/n sniffles quietly, but gives bruce a nod. she leans against the back of the sofa, letting go of bruce, and his skin misses her touch immediately. she rubs her eyes and sighs. “i’ve wanted to do something like this, be someone who can make a real change, all my life, since i was a little kid,” she tells him, “and everything that happened throughout growing up just made me want to do it more. and now you’ve given me this amazing opportunity to finally do something like it, and it scares me,” she turns her head to look at him again. bruce nods, understanding, and splays an arm over her frame, “i can never thank you enough for doing this for me. i’m really grateful for it. i’m just scared i won’t be any good at it.”

“you will be,” bruce tells her, “i never expected this kind of... role would fall on me. i did know, of course, that i would have to follow in my father’s footsteps, and i was more than happy to, but doing it alone, especially when there’s so much pressure about it, and relentless work, never made me like it.” he shook his head. “i know i still want to help people, i always have, and being batman was my way of doing it, but... you’ve made me realize it’s never going to be enough. yes, i can make people fear me, but there’s always going to be someone not so afraid.” he makes a pause to clear his throat. “you remember that brothel we went to on our first night together?” he asks and y/n nods along. “we’re never gonna stop more of those being made by just... doing what we do on our night shifts. crime and corruption in gotham are like diseases. we gotta do more.” he says and y/n nods again.

“i’m glad you see it now, too,” she tells him and runs a hand through his hair, “we will do more. but i can’t do it without you.” she says and makes a sad smile. bruce holds her moving hand in his and lays a kiss on the top of her palm.

“you won’t,” he promises, “you won’t be alone. i’ll go to every interview, every event, anything with you.” so you won’t be alone, like i was, in this business.

y/n chuckles. “really?”

“yeah, i promise,” bruce says with a smile and that’s what makes her believe him. she nods, “i’ll take care of you.” she presses their intertwined hands against his cheek.

“we’ll take care of each other,” she corrects him, and bruce nods, lips once again on her hand, “thank you for this. and for believing in me.” she makes a smile at him and curls herself closer to bruce. he nods at her. he’ll always believe in her. ever since that first night she took him to her apartment, he has put tremendous faith in her and she has always proved worth it. she has never disappointed him. she’s only ever surprised him and hurt him when she fled the manor that night. but never disappoint him. she should have ‘exceeds expectations’ written in her resume, in her passport.

“always,” bruce says and kisses her lips.

“uh, vanessa,” y/n calls for her attention again, and vanessa turns to her with welcoming eyes, “can you promise me that... you won’t say anything the press want you to say? no matter how much money they’re offering.” she requests shyly, hoping this won’t close vanessa off to her. but her friend-colleague nods.

“of course,” she says, “i would never do that to you, man, come on,” she bumps y/n’s shoulder and they both laugh, “no amount of money could make me want to lie about you.”

“thanks so much. i’d never assume otherwise, you know, just had to make sure.” y/n says timidly and rubs her hands together. “i’ll hand in my resignation tomorrow. a month’s notice.” she tells her and vanessa nods with a smile, though she also sighs sadly.

“only a month with you left,” she says and makes a playful frown. y/n shakes her head, “it’s gonna be weird here without you.”

“i know,” y/n says in an aching voice, “it’s gonna be so strange not working here. but i’ll come here for coffee, i promise you that.”

vanessa smiles. “it’ll always be on the house,” she says and does a salute. it makes them both giggle again, but the bell ringing at the entrance door alerts them of a new customer and their laughter dies down a little.

“that won’t go unnoticed, v,” y/n tells her as she takes her post behind the cash register. vanessa raises an eyebrow at her, “if i’m ever invited to a gala and i can take a plus one, it’s gonna be you.” y/n smiles at vanessa and she nearly bursts at the proposition.

“are you serious? but won’t mr wayne be your plus one?” she makes sure, but y/n shakes her head.

“no, he gets his own invites. we could go as three, and i wouldn’t wanna go with anybody else, anyway,” she admits.

“ah, just imagine – us getting ready together to go a gala! what a dream,” vanessa ties her apron around her waist again and passes y/n to stand behind the coffee machine, “your life’s definitely getting better.”

that statement sort of stops y/n in her tracks. her life is getting better, that’s true, she just hadn’t admitted that to herself yet. probably because she feels she doesn’t deserve it, isn’t worthy of such good circumstances. a great relationship, a job she’s wanted to do since she was a kid, a job in helping countless people in peril, poverty, hunger and everything else that’s eating gotham up from inside. but she doesn’t let herself enjoy it. well, truthfully, it hasn’t happened yet, and she’s already hesitant towards it.

being scared of the job is one thing – how good is she gonna be at it? how will everyone else at wayne enterprises like her? how will the media take her work? how will the people of gotham embrace her? but another thing is feeling like she doesn’t deserve it. she doesn’t come from upper class, she wasn’t born into money like bruce was. she comes from a different universe altogether.

but shouldn’t an advocate for people who can’t defend or support themselves be someone exactly like them? maybe y/n should tell her story to the whole of gotham, about her hardships growing up, about her mother’s hardships – not the whole story in details, but just enough that would make people see that she’s just like them, no different, and wants to help. because she knows how she can help. she knows exactly what these people need because she’s been one of them. who better to protect and vouch for them than someone who comes from the same gutter? that would be a great article headline for the press, y/n thinks.

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#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #battinson smut #battinson #battinson x fem!reader #mask & seek #batman series #the batman fanfic #har-rison-s writes #har-rison-s work #har-rison-s writes batman #battinson x oc #mask & seek series #bruce wayne fanfic #bruce wayne fan fiction

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mxtantrights · 5 months

Text

and so it begins...

see you soon!

#dc x reader #Bruce Wayne x reader #Bruce Wayne imagine #Bruce Wayne fic #Bruce Wayne fanfic #dc imagine #dc fic #dc fanfic #famous dc!au #famous dc! au (Bruce's version)#Harvey dent x reader #Harvey dent imagine

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stargirlfics · 2 years

Text

Constrict

Bruce Wayne x Black Female Reader

The one where Bruce receives his first blowjob

18+ ONLY PLEASE, mostly pure smut lol enjoy!! sloppy blowjobs, dirty talk, cum swallowing/eating and a touch of deepthroating and dominant bruce

Word Count: 2.6k

Nervous energy coursed through your fingers as you fiddled with them, waiting for the elevator to finally stop and open onto the underground expanse beneath Wayne Tower that Bruce so often occupied, now you’d just taken to calling it the Batcave.

As expected, you found him hunched over his worktable, reviewing footage from the night before, his notebook open to the side of him scribbled with his thoughts.

“Can’t sleep?” he turned his head just a little to acknowledge your presence, and you took it as your sign to approach. “Not really no…” you trailed off, pressing a kiss to his hoodie-clad shoulder and peeking over him to see what his hands were toying with.

That was half of the truth. You had been restless upstairs in his bed where he had left you. It was late and you had tried to get your mind to wind down so you could sleep but it had been of no use, all you could think of was Bruce.

At first, your thoughts had been innocent, a reflection of longing, just wanting him to be next to you so you could curl up against his side but the more you thought of him, the less innocent your thoughts became until you were longing in a different way.

You were needy and wanted a release, and decided that maybe tonight was the night to be a little more intimate with the man you had so recklessly fallen for.

It made you feel giddy thinking about it, the fact that this was still a new relationship, that because of how busy Bruce was during the nights under his cowl and cape, there hadn’t been much time to be physical with each other besides you sleeping over on occasion and coaxing him to rest for once, let you cuddle him for a while, and now you were about to make a move.

The dull ache between your thighs brought you back out of your thoughts and you pressed your front against Bruce’s broad back, your arms wrapping around him, the motion was slow, teasing, and it made him shift slightly on the stool. Bingo.

Distracting Bruce Wayne wasn’t something he’d say was easy to do but when it came to you, well, everything got thrown out the window.

He was acutely aware of your presence, your eyes on him, your touch, everything, and you knew this, playing it to your advantage till he sighed and stopped adjusting the bolts on the sleek black gadget he was working on and swiveled around to face you.

You did indeed have his full attention now and it filled you with a sense of pride to know he couldn’t seem to bother getting annoyed with you anytime you interrupted him while he was down here.

Truthfully, Bruce was grateful you were here. He’d also been trying to get his mind to shut off but that wasn’t ever easy and there was something about your sweet voice and warm touch that he couldn’t resist going towards. He wouldn’t admit it yet, or maybe ever, but all you really had to do was give him a pout and he’d be willing to drop everything to turn it into a smile.

He was still a bit awkward in those quiet moments like this where unspoken tension hung in the air, not wanting to say the wrong thing to you in fear the moment would slip away. So instead he reached out, his hands finding their place on the curve of your hips, pulling you in towards him.

Your own arms wound their way over his shoulders, your pulse quickened as he tucked his head down so that his forehead was against yours, and you didn’t skip a beat before your lips were on his, the kiss sweet and polite.

“We should go to bed…sorry for leaving you alone up there, I thought you’d be out like a light,” his voice was calm, whispered, relaxed in the way he only ever got with you or Alfred.

Now was your chance…you were nervous, your heart practically leaping into your throat but something about this felt right, you wanted him and weren’t gonna shy away this time.

“It’s okay, I did too. I..just kinda couldn’t stop thinking about you, that’s all…” your hands twisted the fabric of his hoodie slightly once the words left your mouth, hoping he would begin to catch on to all the signs.

He did. The big hands still on your waist, tightened their hold just a little as he nodded slowly, his eyes studying your face and the quick rise and fall of your chest.

Bruce felt his pulse beating fast too, thoughts coming to the forefront of his mind of all the rather sinful things he wanted to do with you and to you. Yes, he wasn’t very experienced with this stuff but he was hungry for you and was tired of trying to hide it, from you and himself.

“I see. Wanna tell me what you were thinking about?” there was an edge to his voice, a suggestiveness that made your belly warm, especially so when he pulled you in by your waist even closer to him.

“Mm, well I actually think it’d be better if I just showed you. Can I?” you squeak out, very aware of the way his legs widen to give you more space to stand between them.

You were so cute he couldn’t help but smile at your request, jerking his chin up in a sly nod that signaled you could do what you wanted. So you took in a breath and let your hands slide down from his shoulders to his chest and then inched lower, not too quick, not too slow, delving under the hem of his hoodie before the tips of your fingers traced down his abdomen.

Bruce closed his eyes for a mere second as you did, the muscles there contracting slightly, his breath heavier the lower your fingers went until they stopped at the waistband of his pants. Your eyes met for a moment and before you could move, he had a thumb on your chin, his index finger underneath to keep you there.

“Don’t get shy on me now.”

The gruff edge to his voice sparked even more desire in you, giving you that one last nudge to go for it.

So you smirk and flick open the button of his pants, tugging the zipper down in one swift motion and letting your hand flatten out against him, “I’m not shy at all, baby,” and your smirk only widens when you feel him twitch underneath your fingers. He’s already hard and it makes your core ache.

Bruce chuckled and quickly took off his hoodie, rolling it up and dropping it on the floor in front of you, “Knees, sweetheart.”

You knew what he meant, fighting an audible whimper as you sank to your knees, the hoodie padding them a little as you helped Bruce pull down a couple layers, mouth watering as his length sprung free.

The tension in the air was thick as you watched Bruce pump his hand up and down the shaft, just watching you from his perched position on the stool, growing harder at the sight of you licking your lips, waiting so patiently to get your mouth on him.

As much as he wanted to make you wait, to tease you, he couldn’t bring himself to do it, not when you were giving him those puppy eyes, so he reached down, cupping your chin and pulling you forward until the tip of him was tapping against your lips.

“So are you gonna finally show me what you were thinking about? Or do you need me to do that for you too?”

Oh, he wasn’t playing fair, like he knew you would be into that slight touch of dominance, and you were, and you liked that Bruce was gaining confidence, but that would have to wait for another day. His words were a challenge and you were determined to do this.

The grip on your jaw tightened when your tongue came out to swipe over the head, a ragged gasp leaving Bruce’s lips. One second in and he was mesmerized by the sight of you. This was the first time anyone had ever been on their knees for him, taking him into their mouth and it made his chest feel tight in the best way. This was already so much better than his lone hand at night.

You hummed and glanced up at him as you wrapped your lips around him, taking him a little further into your mouth, tasting him, letting your tongue flatten out on the underside of him, smiling when you felt his thigh jump underneath your hand.

He was thick, filling up your mouth generously and the deep breaths and groans he gave you as you hollowed out your cheeks a little more on his chest, one hand twisting the rest at the base only made you wetter.

It was unlike anything he’d felt before, his muscles seizing slightly every time you sucked him further into the heat of your mouth, especially so when he felt you gag, his eyes going wide at the realization that he was slipping down your throat, that you were swallowing him down, choking on his girth and that you were hungry for it too.

“Fuck, sweetheart, that feels…” the words died in his throat as you bobbed your head further down, desperately trying to reach the base of him, tears starting to prick at your eyes. He sounded so damn hot and it spurred you on knowing you were making him feel so good.

Up until this point Bruce had one hand steady on your jaw and the other outstretched, holding onto the workbench his back was against, he was almost afraid to move because he knew what his hands would do but he didn’t know how much force to use just yet, afraid to hurt you, make you uncomfortable.

But you could see it in his eyes, the slight tremble of his hand, how his fingers must itch to grab you, so you decided to let him know that you wanted him to let loose. He deserved it.

A few slurps were rewarded before you started to pull off him, spit dripping onto your chin, a string of it still connected from his tip to your mouth and the sight of that alone made him twitch.

“You can touch me you know,” you leaned back in to kiss his thighs, peppering them up along his shaft, “Know you want to put your hands on me; you don’t have to hold back, or be so gentle. I can handle a dick.” you giggled when you saw the look in his eyes change, your words sinking in.

Well, since he had your word, he’d give you what you wanted.

There was a split second of time for you to suck in a breath of hair before his strong hands were on your head and jaw, guiding your head back onto his throbbing length, the touch of strength, the way he was handling you exactly what you’d been hoping for.

You relaxed your throat as much as you could, sinking into his hold, letting him know you had his trust, that it was okay, your teary eyes blinking up at him as he pushed into your throat, a string of curses grunted under his breath as your throat constricted around him just right, the sensation spreading to his toes as his hands deftly worked your head up and down on him, the sounds so damn filthy and wet but so good.

It was sloppy and Bruce realized he liked that. He liked it a lot actually. As he pulled you off him a little so you could could get some oxygen, some of your drool fell down to your chest and some of it slid down to the base of him. It felt so dirty and he fuckin liked it.

“God…how long have you been thinking about my dick down your little throat? Hmm, baby? How long?” the words didn’t sound like the typically shy and reserved Bruce that you knew but of a side of him newly awakened and you were all for it, indulging him.

“W-weeks.” you garbled, trying to speak around the thickness of him, whimpering as your throat spasmed, and his own moan followed.

“Mhm, that’s my girl. Your little throat feels so good on me.” Bruce smirked when he noticed you clenching your thighs together at his words. He very much loved seeing this side of you too.

Eventually, his grip on you loosened a bit, and the quick and shallow thrusts he’d been giving to fuck into your mouth became less controlled, allowing you to take a little more of the reigns as you got him towards his climax, relishing in how his muscles flexed the closer he got.

You kept your eyes on him, trying to commit to memory how beautiful he looked, how hot his groans sounded, how powerful you felt being able to bring him to this point until his voice was pulling you from those thoughts.

“Fuck, fuck, gonna cum-” he grit out, a hand once again at your jaw trying to pull you away. How cute, as if you wouldn’t want him to cum down your throat after all that, but you couldn’t blame him, he’d never done it before but you were determined to be the first to taste him like this.

His eyes flung open at the realization that you weren’t pulling off him so that he could finish on your chest or something, no, you were flush against him, your eyes a sinful sight, practically begging him to do it, to let go.

And that’s what sent him over the edge, the fact that you wanted him like this.

Bruce felt white hot as he focused on it, on the sight of you between his thighs, your hands accommodating what you couldn’t fit, the obscene sounds, the way he felt so worshiped, so wanted by you at this moment and it all rose to a fever pitch inside him, almost overwhelming as he gave in to the pull.

The side of his fist slammed into the workbench, rattling it as hot ropes of cum spurt onto your tongue, your eyes fluttering at the sensation, your head bobbing still but slower now, milking him tenderly, wanting him to ride out the high as long as possible, swallowing what he gave you as best you could while he was still pulsing into your mouth.

When you finally eased off him you were both out of breath, him more so than you, but there were unmistakable grins on your faces as well.

Bruce watched as you cleaned the edges of your lips with your fingers, sucking the last remnants of his cum off them, another string of curses said under his breath at the sight. You were gonna be the death of him if this was any indication of what intimacy would be like with you going forward.

“Not bad for your first blowjob…” you giggled, pulling yourself up to stand now, legs a little wobbly.

He caught your wrist and pulled you forward, chest still rising and falling deeply, “Ah well thankfully I’m in capable hands,” he pressed his lips to yours, a sweet thank you uttered in between kisses.

It was later now than it had been when you ventured down here and something told you that neither of you would be getting much sleep with the way Bruce had you pressed against the wall of the elevator on the way back up to his bedroom, his cock hardening once again, but that was okay, you thought to yourself, your mouth missed him far too much already anyway.

----

A/N: I just really think Bruce is a fan of sloppy blowjobs and couldn’t help myself! Hope you liked it and please reblog and comment, let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!!!

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some tags! @emilykjh @squidlywiddly87 @lothcatlady @yelenas-lova @allaboardthereadingrailroad @inklore @fluffyprettykitty @yonduismarrypoppins @empower-bi-women @geniedetails @ozarkthedog @existentialvacuum @earl-aive

#amalia writes #bruce wayne x black reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne smut #battinson smut #battinson x black reader #battinson x reader #batman smut #batman x reader #batman x black!reader #batman x you #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne fanfic #the batman smut #the batman fanfic #bruce wayne fanfiction

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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

Text

"Despicable" - yan!Bruce Wayne x Reader

A/N: currently reviewing my book to send it out AGAIN because apparently, I can't let go

🫀REQUESTS ARE OPEN🫀 || Batman-inspired playlist

SUMMARY: While Seline is Bruce's eyes at 44 Below, he spots someone absolutely showstopping. Unfortunately, you're Joker's girl. Bruce is determined to save you from that despicable criminal.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.2k

[TW: yandere themes, explicit language]

Part of Bruce was glad he didn't step foot inside 44 Below. Judging from what Seline was showing him, it was nothing more but a relatively glorified dive bar. It seemed as if corruption could be the sweetest fruit if one simply made it look out of reach or in some way special. It was the pinnacle of human pride and greed to always desire the unattainable.

Despite the supposed prestige of the underground club, he could hardly notice anything out of the ordinary when compared to any other bar one could find in Gotham: young women in skimpy clothing and old, rich men who salivated over them. Drugs. Alcohol. Smuggling. Trafficking. The only visible difference was very superficial - their clothes and jewellery were significantly more expensive. Aside from that one easy-to-overlook detail, 44 Below was exquisite in its lack of exceptionalism.

The swarm of people seemed to be unending. Although the lower level was supposed to be more deluxe, more selective, there was about the same amount of people as on the upper level. Seline was walking through crowds of personalities too important or powerful to want their attention on her. Turning her head in all directions possible, she had nearly given herself whiplash when her stare merely glazed over a figure so brilliant they could hardly be perceived as real; an after-image of a fabulous fantasy:

"Wait, turn around. That woman in a green dress by the bar. Who is she?"

"Fuck no, Bruce," she hissed back at him as she continued marching on. "You know a guy who goes by 'Joker'? The psychopathic mass murderer? That's his girl."

"Look at her," he demanded again. "I need time to scan her face. What do you know about her?" It was a generous half-truth: while he did need time to perform scans, he didn't need yours specifically.

Seline let out a heavy sigh. Reluctantly, she directed her eyes towards you - leaning against a bar, drinking an Old Fashioned, and nibbling on honey-coated roasted cashews. Needless to say, you were completely oblivious to the attention you were getting at the moment. If you could have your way, you wouldn't have been there - 44 Below was an over-glorified workplace for you, waiting for someone who might need a little favour they're willing to repay for.

Bruce's thoughts were running rampant but they lacked coherence. There was a strange feeling in his chest - one he couldn't quite name but it was completely overwhelming and it forced his attention to focus on you. His eyes were eating up your image, his insatiable hunger only grew as he stared at you. The longer he admired your aloof demeanour, the more he was unable to find any flaw in your appearance. It seemed like something taken out of a cliche movie: a diamond found among the filth. How could you have ended up with some lunatic?

You were leaning against the bar counter, bored out of your mind as if you were waiting for someone to show up and get you away from that disgusting place you never quite fit into in the first place. He could be that someone... He wanted to be.

"Ever since Joker got locked up, she's taking care of the business. The whole operation went deep underground and now even the unimportant people wear designer clothes."

"How do you know all that?"

"Penguin's her fan." Seline seemed to not have noticed the lack of emotions in his tone. Bruce wasn't very interested in the criminal part of your life - it will all be left in the past soon enough. "Oh, shit, she noticed me."

Bruce's heart jumped in his chest as if there actually was something that could frighten that man or take him by surprise. Staring at the screen, he met your warm gaze. Words became stuck in his throat, completely awestruck, although you weren't even looking at him per se - you didn't even know about his presence. And he realized he knew no greater frustration.

"Hey, Seline, how are things going on?" you asked. The cheerfulness of your voice seemed genuine. "Haven't seen you working 'round here before."

Dear God, how he began yearning the moment he heard your voice. What darkness and bliss would it bring him to hear you speak his name?

"I'm doing some overtime."

To Bruce's utmost pleasure, you leaned towards Seline. Your face was the only thing on his screen and he truly wished it could stay like that.

"The offer still stands," you whispered. Your eyebrows raised slightly and your eyes had that soft gloss over them. "Give me a call and you'll make a better dollar in better circumstances."

"What offer?" Bruce inquired but Seline ignored him.

"Thank you but I'm still not interested. I'm good."

She promptly turned around and began walking away, her eyes shying away from the bullyboys you brought with you. Rumour had it they didn't need much to happily get involved.

"What offer, Seline?" Bruce repeated. He sounded impatient.

"None of your business," she spat out as she entered the bathroom.

His eyes became bloodshot and dry from staring at the computer for so long. He knew not how many hours had passed and, to be frank, did not care. Nirvana was playing in the background but he barely registered the sounds. None of his attention could be diverted from the picture of your face. Bruce knew perfectly well what he had to do, it was the question of how that kept him up until the early hours of the morning.

The obsessive thoughts inside Bruce's head were too loud to let him hear Alfred come in. "Who's that?"

"Someone important," he answered quietly. For a moment he felt angry that someone else was looking at you but he quickly dismissed that thought as he did with most of his emotions.

It was true but not in the way Alfred understood. Perhaps, Bruce himself did not yet understand the nature of your importance. It was as if he was frantically evacuating and kept asking other people what was going on; smoke was burning his eyes but he did not know the source of the fire.

Seeing as Wayne was even less talkative than normally, Alfred silently left him to continue doing whatever it was that he was doing. Sometimes he got tired of nagging at a grown man.

As it was mentioned before, Bruce knew what he had to do - it was a fact, not a thesis that had to be proved. He was going to save you from that animal you lied to yourself you loved. Bruce had a habit of subduing his feelings, therefore he told himself that it was simply his duty to return your independence to you, completely ignoring the overwhelming yearning that burned throughout his body. He made up his mind that he was going to save you from the filth you'd been stained with, no matter whether you wanted it too. Bruce had seen evil and he was convinced he knew what was best for you.

Oh but Cupid could be a truly despicable beast.

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your-averagewriter · 1 year

Note

Cb!Bruce Wayne x secretary

Bruce doesn’t let secretaries stick around but he gets stuck with one very stubborn woman. And then one day/night Bruce is overwhelmed for some mission gone wrong and wallowing in his office and she comforts him.

(Not necessary to include but if it works in: He may try to tell her he’s Batman but she suggests she already knows)

Summary: (y/n) is Bruce's secretary and has been for a while, she's stuck by him even when he's tried to push her away. She stays late every night and looks after him much more than is asked of her and Bruce finally realises what's been in front of him this whole time.

Word count: 1.5K

Warnings: kissing, mentions of death and weapons, panic attack, crying?

“Mr Wayne, I have the paperwork you requested.” I walk in holding a chunky folder. Placing it down on his desk I finally look to see him with his head resting on the table, sleeping I believe. “Mr Wayne?” I ask with no response. “Mr Wayne?” I ask again louder and this time he lifts his head off of the table. “Mr Wayne, you should go home,” I suggest to him but he shakes his head.

“(y/n), I’ve got work to do, you know that and I told you to call me Bruce if you’re gonna keep sticking around.” I nod before speaking again.

“Do you need anything else?” I ask in a softer tone picking up on his mood.

“No, no, go home, it’s late.” He says checking his watch.

I nod again before exiting his office. I stick around for about another hour before making a pot of tea and laying out a tray. I make a cup of tea for him then leave the means to make another cup on the tray. I lay out a small plate on the tray and place two chocolate-covered biscuits on it.

I take the tray to his door and knock on the door before opening it and walking in.

“Mr Wayne? I’ve brought you a cup of tea and some biscuits.” I say placing the cup of tea on his desk and unloading the tray next to him.

“(y/n), why are you still here? I told you an hour ago to go home.” He says clicking the keys of his computer.

“I’m okay to stay, Mr Wayne, I’ve got nowhere to be,” I assure him with a small smile.

“You can’t keep doing this, (y/n), you do this every day, you can’t keep staying so late.”

“I’ll keep staying late whilst you do, sir,” I reply. “I’ll go home when you do,” I say taking the empty tray, pressed up against my chest out of the room.

“(y/n).” He shouts after me but I keep walking out of the door. I tuck behind the door and chuckle quietly to myself like a schoolgirl with a crush as I hear him sigh.

Walking off to finish my work I place the tray down in the kitchen, grabbing myself the cup of coffee I made when I made his tea earlier.

Sitting at my desk I can only hear silence, that is until 12:03 am every day when a mechanical sound rings out through the mansion. It used to creep me out but it’s nothing as ominous as it sounds, it’s only Bruce fooling around in the basement playing with his toys. I say toys, they’re cars and machines all painted black and fitted with an abundance of guns and weapons which reminds me of a certain masked vigilante.

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

The next day, I take the usual late-night route through the kitchen to make some tea and set up the usual tray when I hear a muffled sobbing sound coming from Mr Wayne’s office.

Venturing out of the kitchen, I make my way to his office. I peek around the corner seeing him hunched over his desk with his face in his hands.

“Mr Wayne?” I ask, tentatively.

He looks up shocked to see me which reveals his distraught face. His face is stained with tears, his eyes red and puffy and his breathing is ragged and uneven. He scrunches his eyes and sucks in a quick breath before he rubs his face with his hands and starts gripping his hair.

“Sir!” I say watching him pull on his hair. “Stop pulling your hair, please.” I walk over to him quickly and sit in the chair opposite. I place my hands on top of his and he slowly stops. “Mr Wayne,” I say, gently removing his hands from his head and placing them on the table with my hands on top of his. “Breathe,” I say in a calming tone trying to get him to breathe with me.

After a few minutes, his breathing slows down and he is generally calmer now.

“Mr Wayne,” I pause still holding onto his hands. “What’s wrong?” I ask gently.

“I told you to call me Bruce.” He says in a monotone voice I didn’t expect him to speak in. His voice doesn’t waver like I expected it’s merely the same as usual.

“Bruce…What’s wrong?” I ask again swapping out the name.

“I messed up.” He says shaking his head, looking anywhere but my eyes.

“Why? What did you do?” I ask, now panicked by his panic but I’ve got to keep a calm front to help the both of us.

“I could’ve gotten everyone killed, I nearly got everyone killed.” He says mindlessly babbling to himself. I rub my thumbs over his hands trying to keep him calm. “I nearly got you killed, you could’ve been killed.” He says finally looking into my eyes and flipping our hands over.

“I’m fine though.” I say tears starting to brim my eyes, I hate seeing him like this. “I’m not dead.” I say with a small chuckle but he doesn’t seem to find it very funny.

“I could’ve gotten you killed. I’m so sorry.” He says standing up and leaning forward to engulf me in his arms. At first, I’m caught off guard but then I hug him back. “I’m sorry.” He says pulling apart from me and then sitting back down in his chair as if nothing has happened. “I’ll send you three months' pay. You don’t have to work here anymore.” He says with his head resting on his hands.

“You don’t need to, I don’t want to leave.” I say with an attempted smile. “I want to stay,”

“I’m firing you, (y/n).” He says with a straight face and I feel my heart break slightly. “You don’t have to work here anymore.”

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

Last night was a tough one, for sure/

I put on my usual uniform outfit for work and head to the mansion even though he fired me. With my usual black trousers and white shirt, I use my set of keys and let myself in. It’s early so Bruce won’t be awake yet just like usual. Following my normal routine of discarding my stuff and getting to work then head down to my office to get on with my work. A couple of hours later is when he usually wakes up so I walk down to the kitchen to make Bruce breakfast.

For some reason, all the cooks, butlers and servants got fired by Bruce a while ago, and so did I but I didn’t leave so now I manage all of their jobs.

I fry some bacon and scramble some eggs whilst putting two pieces of bread in the toaster. A few minutes into cooking the breakfast I hear a husky voice from behind me.

“(y/n)?” He asks and I can hear him rolling his eyes. “What are you doing here? I thought I fired you?” He asks and he sounds hungover.

“Have you been drinking, Bruce?” I ask turning around and walking towards him. “Are you ill?” I ask pressing my hand to his forehead and missing the look on his face. “You haven’t got a temperature,” I say removing my hand from his forehead, suddenly noticing that he’s only wearing a dressing gown.

“I love you.” He blurts out and I can only stare forward not knowing how to react.

“I’ll get you some water, to sober you up,” I say after a few moments walking over to the sink.

“(y/n), I’m not drunk.” He says walking over to me by the sink with a tired tone of voice.

I turn around with the glass of water in hand and he leans down pressing his lips against mine. My eyes widen as I purse my lips in surprise before slowly melting into the kiss. It’s relatively short, with no dramatic breaking away for air, just a soft, sweet kiss.

“I love you, (y/n), believe me.” He almost begs as I stare at him in shock. “You stay late and get here early every day, I don’t know how you manage it. I tried to push you away, and twice now I’ve tried to fire you but you’re so stubborn you stick by me. I know it’s your job to do some of that but you’ve gone far beyond what’s asked of you and if I’m reading things wrong you can push me away, quit and I’ll keep paying your wages.”

I stand still, frozen at the heartfelt, personal confession. The possibility of him liking me back has never crossed my mind. I thought it would just be an immature crush on my boss and stay that way but it doesn’t seem to be anymore.

“I love you too,” I say quietly before wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer. I rest my head on his shoulder as I feel him let out a sigh of relief before pressing a kiss to the side of my head.

Maybe last night wasn't so bad if it ended like this.

AN: I hope you're happy with the fic from the request :)

I hope you enjoyed reading!

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hanasnx · 1 month

Note

Indy! What kinks do you think Bruce would have ?

bruce wayne's kinks.

MINORS DNI 18+

! ── bondage + gags: it's a classic. tying you up and taking control from you is a huge turn on for him. if you have his complete trust, which rare ever do, you'll be able to do the same to him. unfortunately, those pretty silken ropes end up getting worn through way too quick, so you've upgraded to chains so you can ride him like a stallion. however, your headboard creaks a little more each time. when a 200+ man of pure muscle yanks on wood it splinters.

! ── edging + overstimulation + dacryphilia

! ── exhibitionism: part of his bruce wayne persona means public displays of affection are required. however, he enjoys it. getting his hands all over you where anyone could see means he elicits that cute reaction out of you where you hit him and scold him all the while his teeth are on your neck and he's groping you through your dress. the thrill of removing just enough to make sure he can get inside you makes him rip his belt open with fervor, and he's always a fan of a quickie. it's a stress reliever.

! ── breathplay: he's calculative when it comes to breathplay, but more specifically he loves putting his hand around your throat.

! ── size: he's an avid supporter. he thinks it's hot when you get all sheepish being reminded of how big and strong he is. he's got a powerful body he works day and night for, the least you can do is appreciate its every inch.

! ── food play: ever since strippers jumped out of his birthday cake in his twenties covered in frosting and edible bits that he was allowed to lick off he's had a thing for food play. at one point you feel like he's eaten entire meals off of you, he's completely nondiscriminatory when it comes to what he can lick and mouth as long as it's on you. if he's on a cheat day, he lets a scoop of ice cream melt on your skin just so he can clean you himself and watch your poor nipples pebble from the cold.

! ── impact play: chronic ass-smacker, tit-smacker less so, face-smacker even less.

! ── old school panty snatcher: if you put a pair of your used panties in his suit pocket before he goes to work he will play with it all day. stick his hand in there to meddle with the fabric between his fingers while he's talking to his board of directors with the presentation he's been preparing. he gets into the habit of inviting himself to your undergarments, and has been caught multiple times using one of your favorite pairs to jack himself off.

! ── bareback + creampies: condoms are fine he's not an idiot, but there's something about going in raw that draws him in. the extra edge of danger and the intimacy of touching the deepest parts of you bare.

! ── thigh riding: clasping your hands in his for balance while he watches you get off on his thigh. tells you it's like a personal show. he keeps those eyes trained on you with such an entertained grin it makes you whine in frustration, and that's hot too.

! ── threesomes/foursomes: he's done it all. having multiple partners is a testament to his endurance and he loves the praise, but since he's been official with you there is no room for that sort of thing and that's fine with him.

! ── light roleplay: you two have been known to throw the word "batman" around the bedroom.

! ── praise mostly very rarely a degrader

! ── daddy: as far as he's concerned, that's one of his names when it comes to you. in any context you call him that, he swells with pride. one time you visit him while he's in a meeting, not only did you turn every head in the room but when you called him "daddy" accidentally and out of pure habit, he didn't skip a beat. he glances at his companions with a knowing glint in his eye because they should be jealous that the girl they're gonna be thinking about for the rest of the day just called him daddy. he's got no shame about it.

#indy: headcanons #ch: bruce #bruce wayne smut #bruce wayne headcanons #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne fanfic #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne hc #bruce wayne hcs #bruce wayne headcanon #batman smut #batman x reader #tw daddy kink #reader insert

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eyeheartboobiez · 4 months

Text

𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲!𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐜𝐬

-> warnings: smut mention

-> a/n: are you able to pick up other people’s tabs at a bar? what even is a tab? idk. here are some unnecessarily long bruce hcs that i wrote at 1am

(edit): fun fact, this was the first set of sugar daddy!bruce hcs i wrote but ended up “scrapping” bcs i didn’t like the direction it was going in👨🏿‍🦯

• honestly, you don't know how either of you ended up in this situation

The drink in your hands was starting to sweat.

One of your professors had given you the chance to attend a charity event of one of his more high society friends. Of course, while you were beyond grateful, you can easily say you'd much rather be at home binging your favorite series.

So here you were, sipping on your fourth glass of the evening without a single clue how you were gonna pay for them all. Your social battery was beyond drained as you were sitting by yourself at the bar, just about ready to call it a night.

All the other socialites in the room, however, seemed to be having a blast talking about politics or stocks or whatever it was that rich people talk about. Well, all except for one.

• on one hand hand there was you, a broke college student just looking for someone to pay for her drinks

• on the other, there was the rich billionaire who was searching for someone worthy enough of his time

• bruce had noticed you sitting alone at the bar, lightly sipping on an amethyst martini:

He takes the night off from his batman duties, and this is how he decides to spend it?

Bruce couldn't wrap his head around it either. Alfred was actually the one who talked him into going to this party. With him being one of the top donors, he was basically obligated to attend at this point.

While all the other party goers were standing around talking amongst each other, the billionaire found himself off in the corner, eyes sweeping the room to find all its nearest exits. In the midst off his mental scan though, he saw you.

The dress you wore was simple, yet it somehow made you glow against the warm lighting. Despite all the commotion in the room, your presence alone practically drew him in like a moth to a flame.

If Bruce was gonna be here all night, he might as well make things interesting, right?

• you hadn't noticed him approaching until the chair next to you was being pulled out

• you were hesitant to open up to him at first

• because why in the hell was one of the richest men in gotham talking to you of all people

• but after a while, the two of you practically sprung into conversation, talking about almost anything and everything.

• after talking for what felt like hours he asks you:

"Would you perhaps like to continue this conversation back at my place?"

• with the way his index finger was gently caressing your hand, you just knew that if you left with this man, you both would be doing anything but talking

• while you usually weren't one to sleep with strangers, one night of some fun couldn’t hurt, right?

• plus you still needed to get these drinks paid for

"Only if you offer to pick up my tab."

• one thing led to another and you found yourself lying in one of the biggest beds of your life, getting fucked by one of the richest men in the world

• you and bruce ended up spending a very long night together. by the end of it, you both were practically comatose from it all

• the next morning, you woke up fully prepared to sign some sort of NDA and head on home

• or at least you were. until you felt the hot trail of kisses leading down from your neck

"Last night was incredible," The billionaire grumbled, the low murmur of his morning voice making butterflies appear in your stomach. Open-mouthed kisses continued to trail down the valley of your breasts, "I don't suppose you wanna do that again sometime, hm?"

• you almost had to pinch yourself to make sure you weren't still dreaming

• it was over breakfast that you both went over some of the necessary details neither of you seemed to bring up the night before

• you told him things about yourself like your age and how you typically didn't go home with strangers. you also ended up confessing how you were only at the same event as him because one of your professors gave you an invitation

• which then led to him asking what your major was

• …which led him to ask what university you attended

• ….which then led to him offering to pay off your college expenses

• like hold on. pause for a second.

• did he fr just offer to pay your whole tuition?

• was the pussy that good???

• before you could think too much about it, bruce made sure to let you know that this would be a small dip into a very big bucket for him

• all he asked for in return was to spend another night with you

• of course he didn't expect you to come to a decision right away, so after exchanging numbers, he drove you home to think it over

• to be honest though, it didn't take you very long to consider things

• i mean you were practically swimming in student loans over here

• immediately after you called to give him a confirmation, your phone pinged with a notification

bruce w. sent over $860.

‘buy something nice for yourself and meet me tomorrow at seven. don’t worry about transportation, i’ll arrange a car for you.’

• and after that the rest was history

• being bruce’s sugar baby was honestly one of the best decisions you’ve ever made

• after your second night with him was when he wanted to make things official between you two

• “official” pretty much meant that he would volunteer to be your personal bank as long as you continued to keep him company

• even though it all sounded great, you weren’t stupid.

• if you were to really go through with this you would need it written on paper. you wanted this shit documented

• so that’s exactly what he did

• by the end of the day, bruce had his lawyers make a drafted copy of the terms and conditions your so called “relationship” would entail (a draft that you were free to make changes to, of course)

• now that everything had been officially set in stone, most days you found yourself either attending charity events or maxing out his company credit card

• now if only bruce could tell you about a certain night job of his…

-> a/n: when i tell you these have been in my drafts for a MINUTE😭 i think imma make a fic about how their relationship develops but first i wanna write the next part to my jason smau series

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myveryownfanfiction · 28 days

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18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @ghostlypie

warnings: swearing, mention of menstruation

Bruce rubbed circles onto my back as I curled up against him. He sighed before pressing a kiss to my head.

“how are you feeling?” He asked softly. I shrugged.

“I’m alright.” I said. Another kiss was pressed to my forehead. “Everything kind of hurts. I’m tired.”

“anything I can do to help?” Bruce asked, moving his hand to run over my shoulder. “I mean I know you already took pain killers and you didn’t want to eat since you weren’t that hungry but…” I propped my chin on his chest and smiled up at him.

“You’re doing all I could ask for.” I said. Bruce quirked an eyebrow at me. “Cuddles. Making sure I’m taking the medication on time. Making sure I eat something even if I don’t want to eat anything at all.” He nodded and smiled at me.

“ah.” He breathed out. “If there’s anything else you need me to do, just let me know.” I leaned up and kissed him.

“thank you.” I whispered against his lips. “Couldn’t ask for a better partner.” Bruce hummed happily and hugged me tighter.

“I could say the same thing.” He mused, burying his face in my hair.

#Bruce wayne #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne fanfic #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #michael keaton #michael Keaton x reader #Michael Keaton fanfic #Michael Keaton fanfiction #Michael Keaton imagine #Monthly series

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tiredofsatansbullshit · 9 months

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You Aren't What I Wish You Were, And I'm Not What You Wish I Was

Masterlist of fics

Summary: Jason's had enough of Bruce's shit. This is it. Their last discussion about anything because Jason knows he deserves to move on.

“You should talk to Bruce,” Dick says as he lands softly on the rooftop next to Jason. Jason doesn’t even bother to turn his head as he responds, “We just spoke.” Dick sighs softly and crouches down beside Jason. “That was an argument. What you guys need is to sit down and talk things out without working up to an argument.” The two sat in silence, Dick waiting for a response and Jason trying to figure out how to prevent this discussion from turning into an argument. Dick shifts slightly and plops himself down to properly sit next to Jason. They both watch the city below them for a while.

“You know what’s unfair?” Jason starts, waiting for any kind of acknowledgement from Dick. Dick hums softly, turning his head to look at Jason. “He’s the parent. He’s the adult. He should be the one reaching out and doing his best to prevent fights from happening. He should be the one reaching out, not me.” Dick sits up straighter, wanting to say something but Jason doesn’t let him. “I’ll come to the manor. Not the cave, the manor. Bruce and I can talk in his office. But this is my last time, Dick. No more reaching out after that. No more putting in all the effort and getting nothing in return. Wednesday, around midday, I’ll be there.”

Dick leans closer to Jason. Not close enough to be touching but just close enough that one of them would shift slightly and it’d happen. “Thank you, Jay. I know he’s not easy and I know how hard it is for you. This will be the last time I ever bring it up. Whatever happens on Wednesday happens. Just know that we’re always going to be brothers and nothing will change that.”

Jason turned his head to finally look at his older brother and Dick, in turn, studied him. Dick looked tired. The Domino on his face is lensless and Jason noticed how dark the circles under his eyes are. “Wanna get something to eat,” Jason found himself asking. Dick looked startled for a brief moment before a small smile spread out across his face. “Of course, little wing. Same place as always? I’ll race you.”

Jason stood next to his bike, gently placing his black helmet on top of it as he stared up at Wayne Manor, trying to hype himself up to doing this. Dick had sent him a slew of encouraging messages since they last saw each other, including a good luck message half an hour ago. Sighing, Jason walked up the stairs to the entrance, unsurprised when Alfred swung open the doors to greet him. Offering a half hearted smile, Jason greeted the elder man and made his way to Bruce’s office. The door stood half open and Jason could hear the man typing away at a laptop. Slipping inside, Jason closed the door behind him. A tray took up a good amount of Bruce’s desk and Jason didn’t know how to feel about the teapot with two mugs and a variety of tea bags laid out in front of him.

Bruce didn’t say anything, only offering Jason a tight lipped smile which wasn’t returned. Jason stared at the selection in front of him before deciding and pouring himself a cup of tea. “Alfred thought it would help. He’s been subscribed to that monthly tea thing you told him about months ago and said these are the teas he thought you’d like best.” Bruce closed the laptop, moving to place it on the table behind him. He had a mug half filled with coffee. Bruce never got into enjoying tea the way Jason and Alfred do.

Jason stayed silent, wanting Bruce to speak first. “Jason,” Bruce started and then hesitated. Jason couldn’t help but be slightly amused by that. The great Batman, thwarted by having a sincere discussion with his second son. Deciding to take some mercy on the man, Jason spoke, “I’m tired of the constant fights. Anytime I come to the cave I’m always prepared for an argument and that leads me to never coming to the Manor itself because I know the fights will only get worse. So here, I’m asking, what do you want from me, Bruce?”

Bruce stared at Jason for a moment, unsure, “I want the fighting to stop too. We cannot function properly in the field if we are not on the same page.” Jason scoffed, taking a deep breath before he said, in a calm tone, “Fuck the field. This isn’t bat business. This isn’t a discussion between Batman and Red Hood. This is between Bruce and Jason. Whether you like it or not, you adopted me. You are my father and I’m your son, no matter how many times we try and pretend like that’s not the case. If you want to change that, then fine. Tell me now. Do you only ever want us to interact as Batman and Red Hood? Because I’m sick of having to pretend like both are a thing when you only ever acknowledge us as one.” Jason took another deep breath, calming himself. He raised a hand when Bruce looked ready to speak, “I’m giving you an out here, Bruce. We haven’t properly been father and son since I was 15 and I can’t keep pretending like we are. This is it, your chance to say it.”

Looking pained, Bruce finally said something, “Of course you’re my son, Jason. You always have been and you always will be. Do you remember when I first signed the adoption papers and you asked me if I genuinely meant it forever? I do. Nothing will change the fact that you are my son.” Jason couldn’t help the scoff that escaped him, turning to look out the window behind Bruce, he said, “Am I? Because if you really and truly consider me your son after everything then we’ve got serious fucking problems. Was I your son when you threw a batarang at my neck when I was only eighteen years old? Was I your son when you took me back to the literal warehouse I had died in? Was I your son when you beat me within an inch of my life because you thought I had killed the Penguin? That is not the way you treat someone you love and cherish. Let’s be completely honest, Bruce, you stopped seeing me as your son, stopped loving me, a long time ago.”

“I’ve made mistakes. Many, many mistakes in my life, Jason. I wish I could take most of it back or undo it but I really do love you,” Bruce spoke softly, sounding remorseful and looking older than he actually is. If things were different, Jason would’ve probably felt bad and stopped the discussion there, gotten up and walked away. Jason, however, meant what he had said to Dick. This was the last time and he wanted to get it all off his chest while he still could. Looking Bruce in the eye, Jason shook his head, “No. You love the idea of a dead child. A crystallised memory of a dead son. Grief and time has allowed you to twist the memory of what we once were into something else entirely to help you cope and now you refuse to believe and accept the fact that you love the idea of something that never truly was and something that will never be”

Bruce flinched back minutely. Most people wouldn’t have noticed but Jason knows Bruce too well. Knows Bruce’s tells so well. “You might be here right now, but you were dead, Jason. My son was dead and I mourned you.” Jason shook slightly, feeling overwhelmed by everything, he powered through and leaned forward into his seat and spoke, “Yes, I was dead. Me. I died. It was horrible and painful and it happened to me. All past tense because I’m standing right in front of you in the present. Why the fuck can’t you see that?”

“I can, Jay, it’s just-” Bruce started but Jason didn’t let him continue. “I have spent more time without you than I have with you. I don’t know if you’ve realised that. I only lived with you for three years of my life. That’s such a short amount of time compared to everything else that has happened.”

Sighing, Bruce slumped back into his seat, a look of defeat on his face as he said, “I only want what’s best for you, Jason.” Jason wanted to leave. He couldn’t do this anymore, he’s been here for long enough. “I’m only here because of Dick, so you should thank him for that. Fuck, there’s a lot you should thank him for. I’m just tired. I’m sick of trying to make you happy. I’m tired of constantly seeking your approval. You set the bar too high. Your expectations are unrealistic. I’m tired of it. I’m sorry I’m not what you wanted. Why can you not just accept me the way I am?”

Bruce pressed his lips together, his gaze shifting as he observed Jason for a moment before saying, “There are some things you’ve done that you honestly can’t expect me to forgive, Jason.” Jason couldn’t take it anymore, he pushed himself up using shaking hands. Turning towards the door, he said, “This is it, then. Stay the fuck out of my territory and I’ll stay out of yours. Oracle can contact me when needed but I’m done.”

You Aren't What I Wish You Were, And I'm Not What You Wish I Was

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(Check out my AO3 for more of my writings!! Also, I will be posting more of my AO3 works on here!!)

(Masterpost with all my stuff)

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