#bruce wayne x plus size reader

[hyacinthandmoss]

A Glimpse of Us

Summary: You've been married to Bruce Wayne for the past three years, an arrangement initially orchestrated as a strategic alliance. With time, genuine affection and love blossomed between you. Burdened by his internal conflicts, Bruce vehemently denied his feelings and distanced himself from you, cloaking his emotions in an impenetrable facade. Then, an unexpected and mysterious visitor from the future compels him to confront the undeniable truth of his feelings for you.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Plus Size Female Reader

Expect a blend of fluff and angst. Reader is of fairy & human lineage.

Word Count: 5,356

A/N: So, here I go again. I don't know. I just have a thing for happy families and fairies, I guess. But hey, I wrote this two years ago and felt like sharing it. Also… I didn’t bother to edit it much. But nonetheless, ENJOY! X

The Batcave hummed with a low, almost silent energy. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and the distant whirring of the Batcomputer. Bruce Wayne, clad in the familiar black armor, stared at the unmistakable crimson beacon on the screen. Beside the beacon was your photo and your current location. You were working tirelessly at your clinic in Gotham. Bruce knew you were safe, not that you needed any protection. He had observed you multiple times on the battlefield amidst the chaos and danger and was genuinely impressed by your skill and composure under pressure. 

Bruce vividly recalled the first time he encountered you during a covert mission with the Justice League Dark, where he was introduced to your existence in the most unexpected circumstances. As was his vigilant and cautious nature, he initially harbored suspicions about you, questioning your motives and abilities. However, you remained indifferent to his opinions, exuding an air of confidence that left a lasting impression. You made it unequivocally clear that his concerns were his own and owed him no explanations, standing your ground with unwavering resolve. 

Bruce couldn't help but smile as he reminisced about the past, recalling the intensity of that initial encounter and the unexpected turn of events. Little did he know that a simple partnership would eventually lead to marriage, which seemed unimaginable amid initial skepticism and guarded interactions.

Three years. It had been three years since your arranged marriage, a union born from the need to bridge the gap between two worlds. He, the human that was best suitable for you, and you, the fairy-human queen of a realm beyond the veil. The initial resentment had long simmered down to a dull ache, replaced by a love that felt like a betrayal, a betrayal of his vows, his mission, his very being. Instead of being truthful and honest, he told you that he never saw this arrangement becoming more than mere duty. And so, he cowardly pushed you away, encouraged you to date others, to find happiness outside your arranged marriage. But the truth was, he couldn't bear the thought of you with anyone else and a sense of great, hurtful regret pierced his heart when he saw you on a date with Kyle Rayner. And despite that, Bruce felt that the way you smiled, your laugh, the sparkle in your eyes, it all belonged to him, even if he refused to admit it.

He had hoped his avoidance would make the feelings fade, but instead, each passing day amplified them. He craved your touch, the soft brush of your fingers against his skin, the warmth of your embrace. It was torture, this yearning he couldn't acknowledge.

The red dot on the screen, now pulsating with a rhythmic urgency, pulled his gaze back from the memories. It was time.

'Alfred, I'm going out.'

'Very well, Master Bruce. Mind the streets, and be careful.' Alfred said.

Bruce, mid-way through donning his utility belt, froze when a blinding white light erupted from the cavern's entrance, momentarily eclipsing everything. As his vision adjusted, Bruce saw a towering silhouette, broad-shouldered and cloaked in darkness, silhouetted against the fading light.

'Who are you?' Bruce roared, his voice echoing in the cavern. But the figure remained silent, a stoic enigma, and then vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Bruce, adrenaline coursing through him, cautiously approached the direction of the blinding light. His gaze fell upon a simple, woven basket resting on the cold concrete floor. Inside, nestled in a bed of soft fabric, lay a tiny infant, their face still and peaceful.

He surveyed the scene with a cold, distant gaze, his eyes tracing the sleeping face of the baby. A tremor ran through him, a shiver of something he couldn't quite place. 

A note folded neatly, sat beside the basket. Bruce picked it up, his heart pounding in his chest. His eyes scanned the familiar script, a calligraphy he recognized but couldn't quite place. It read simply, 'Keep her safe. I will be back for her.'

Alfred's attention shifted to the basket, his normally stoic features contorting with bewilderment. He knelt beside it, his eyes wide at the sight of the baby.

'Master Bruce,' Alfred rasped, his voice barely a whisper, “She…  she has the Wayne emblem.'

Bruce's own gaze fell on the tiny silver emblem pinned to the infant’s swaddling clothes. The emblem, a symbol of his family’s legacy, now marked this tiny stranger.

He glanced at Alfred, who stood beside him, his usually impassive face etched with concern. 

“Alfred, is everything alright?" Bruce asked, needing the reassurance of a familiar voice in the wake of the impossible. “Is she… is she okay?”

"Certainly, Master Bruce," Alfred replied, his voice steady. "Except for the extraordinary circumstance that just transpired. I must confess, I have never seen anything like it."

With trembling hands, he studied the note once more. The handwriting was unmistakable—the flowing penmanship, the distinctive slant…

“Alfred,” Bruce uttered. “I- I think I wrote this note.” 

Alfred looked away from the sleeping oblivious baby and turned his gaze to Bruce.

“This doesn't make sense. I've always been against time travel. I have cautioned Barry Allen against his impulsive use of the Speed Force for reckless time travel,” Bruce said firmly. 

Time travel was a game of dominoes, one misplaced move, one alteration, and the entire future could crumble. 

Alfred smiled. "Indeed, sir. But allow me to propose an alternate perspective. Your future self may not have been reckless. He may have simply been acting as a father protecting his child. All rules and protocols are rendered moot when the safety of a loved one is at stake."

Bruce carefully took a small pinch of blood from the baby's heel. 

"Batcomputer, DNA analysis. Cross-reference with all known subjects in the Wayne database. And, I need a full medical report." 

"Initiating cross-reference procedure. Estimated time of completion: two hours."

He turned to Alfred who had the baby cradled in his arms. “Alfred, take the child to Y/N. She can check her to ensure she’s healthy. And bring her up to speed. Inform her about… everything.” 

The air hung heavy with unspoken questions, anxieties simmering beneath the surface. Alfred, his face etched with concern, nodded, carefully cradling the sleeping baby. 

“What will you do, sir, in the meantime?” he asked, his voice laced with an undercurrent of worry.

Bruce’s eyes, dark and bottomless, met Alfred’s. “I will wait for the results. We need to know, Alfred. We need to understand.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps it's unnecessary, sir. The baby bears an uncanny resemblance to both you and Dr. Y/L/N."

Bruce’s jaw tightened, a flicker of incredulity crossing his face. “I know, Alfred. That’s precisely what defies logic. I need to know if this is… possible. If what I’m seeing… is real.”

“I understand,” Alfred said firmly. He respected Bruce's request. As the butler carried the infant away, Bruce retreated to the colossal screen. 

The Batcave was silent save for Bruce’s loud thoughts. 

Bruce found himself unable to continue his vigilante activities as Batman. His need for facts gnawed at him incessantly. After an interminable wait, the Batcomputer whirred to life, casting an eerie glow across the cavern. Bruce observed, his heart racing as the data streamed across the illuminated screen.

Bruce stumbled back, his hand instinctively reaching for the support of the lab counter.

The Batcomputer’s monotone voice echoed through the lab. 

DNA results for the six-month-old alien subject: maternal match - Y/N L/N; paternal match - Bruce Thomas Wayne. The alien subject possesses magical abilities, some are dormant at birth. Recommend further study and careful observation.

—

As the clock struck 10:00 pm, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief after a long and tiring day at your clinic. The thought of finally returning to the warmth and comfort of your cottage was a comforting prospect. As you gathered your belongings, the exhaustion started to lift, and you looked forward to reveling in a book at home. However, just as you were about to leave, the tranquility was shattered by the unexpected sound of the doorbell echoing through the empty clinic.

Alfred stood at the entrance and held a swaddled baby. When you first laid eyes on the baby, the world around you fell away. Alfred let himself exhale a whoosh of relief and he stared into your eyes that sparkled with ancient wisdom and held a kind of magic that transcended the mundane. You were one of a kind—your dual lineage woven into your very spirit, allowing you to navigate both the realms of humanity and the mystique of the fairies with grace.

Before Alfred could open his mouth to explain, you spoke. 

“She’s… mine and Bruce’s daughter.” Your voice trembled with disbelief and joy. Yet, beneath that disbelief lay a current of understanding. You were no stranger to the extraordinary; you had always dwelled in its embrace. 

You delicately lifted the infant from Alfred's embrace. The baby, with her tiny nose and delicate fingers, wrapped around your thumb and stirred. As you held the baby, a strange sensation washed over you. A rush of warmth, a sense of familiarity. It was as if a forgotten memory had been awakened.  The baby gazed up at you with eyes that sparkled like stars, and as she held your gaze, she conveyed images of futures untold—a lush hyacinth garden where a radiant you twirled in laughter beside a strong, confident Bruce who gently held his baby girl. His gaze was on you, tenderness and love in his eyes you had never witnessed. He was filled with a love for you that transcended time, a love that had bloomed in the years that had passed. 

“Our beautiful Mercy,” Bruce uttered and leaned in to press a gentle kiss on your lips.

The vision faded leaving you breathless. You looked back at the baby and noticed her delicate features that carried the echoes of Bruce and as if you even needed the reassurance, just helped to solidify the truth.  You wondered if you had become the woman Bruce had always wanted. The mother his future daughter needed? Or were you just a vessel, a safe haven for a child who belonged to another time?

Somewhere, in the shadows of the present, the man who shared her bloodline, the man she had grown to love, wrestled with his own demons, a man forever bound to you by the invisible threads of time. 

"She's got your eyes," Alfred remarked, as the baby wriggled in your arms.

Your heart ached with a love you weren’t sure you deserved and smiled faintly. "I see a little Bruce there, too..." you sighed. 

“I hope he finds the courage to speak his heart. He can be quite adept at handling challenges—both in the city and in his personal life,” Alfred said, probably to cheer you up.

—

You had decided to keep your distance from Bruce, who had vanished into the shadows after the revelation a week ago. Alfred, his loyal servant, offered no explanation, only a knowing glance that confirmed your suspicions. He was avoiding you. You couldn't blame him. Not really. Your marriage was a forced union for leverage and had been built on mutual indifference. Love had never been a part of the equation, even if you had allowed it to bloom in the fertile ground of his warmth and the shared care for his sons. But now, this child, this tiny miracle, had changed everything.

While a tinge of sadness lingered in your heart, you resolved to make the most of the time you had with your baby girl. 

Your modest cottage was livelier than ever. Your heart swelled with a love so intense, it threatened to consume you. Here you were with all your children who were a source of comfort and amusement. Then, there was Alfred, a reassuring presence in the chaos, who busied himself with changing diapers and preparing bottles while you rested. And each brother had taken on a different role in caring for Mercy. Dick had a knack for entertaining her, his playful antics making her giggle in delight. Jason, with his rough edges softened by tenderness, had taken to changing diapers with a grim determination that made everyone laugh. Damian, it seemed, was a little perplexed by the whole situation but had assumed the role of protector with a seriousness only he could muster.

You found yourself standing by the doorframe, unable to resist eavesdropping on the boys' conversation in the nursery. Though you wanted to join in, you decided to stay silent and just listen.

Dick plopped himself onto the floor, tossing a brightly colored rattle in the air with a flourish. “Just think about it,” he began, his voice energetic and animated. “With mom’s powers, Bruce’s detective knacks, and my martial arts skills, she’ll be unstoppable. I’ll take her training seriously, starting with the basics. I’ll teach her the best moves, and–”

“Who the hell made you primary trainer, Dick? I’ve died before and came back to life. A badass. If anyone can hone her skills, it’s me.” Jason chimed in, tongue-in-cheek, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms with a smirk.

Dick raised an eyebrow. “And yet that experience has made you reckless. You’re good, Jason, but lack discipline.”

“Discipline?” Jason scoffed. “I get the job done fast and efficiently-”

Damian scoffed, perched on the edge of your bed as he cradled his baby sister. 

He looked down at Mercy. “Unlike Grayson and Todd,” he declared with an air of authority, “I will continue to keep Gotham safe so you don’t have to burden yourself with protecting it. You’ll have the liberty to do normal things like run a bakery or help me manage Wayne Enterprises.” He paused, his expression softening as he looked at the baby in their midst. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t teach you how to defend yourself, baby sister.”

"And I swear,” Damian continued. “I will not let you walk the same path we did, well unless you want to. No night terrors, no endless chases through the dark. None of that. You’ll have your choice, and I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to you. And know this—you are never alone. No one gets left behind in this family.” As if sensing his gaze, his baby sister shifted slightly, her tiny hand brushing against his shirt. She might not understand his words yet, but in that fleeting moment, Damian felt an unbreakable bond form between them. He would be her protector, her brother, and the one who would teach her how to protect herself.

The unexpected declaration hung in the air, filling the nursery with an aura of warmth that caught everyone off guard. The corner of Dick’s mouth twitched upward, half-proud, half-amused. Jason raised an eyebrow, his typical bravado faltering for a moment. They hadn’t expected the youngest Wayne to express himself with such affection. 

You leaned against the doorframe, your arms wrapped lovingly around yourself, your heart swelling with affection as you listened to your sons. They had taken to their roles as older brothers with unexpected zeal, and you found it beautiful and precious to witness.

“I think Mercy might just end up becoming a mix of all of you three,” you said lovingly.

Mercy let out a series of delighted squeals, her arms flailing as she instinctively reached for you, the sound of her laughter filling the cottage like music. 

—

The Wayne Manor had been eerily silent for the past week, creating a palpable sense of wrongness. Bruce longed for the familiar sounds of his sons' bickering, Alfred's witty remarks, and, most of all, your presence. Your daily presence at the Manor had become a comforting routine. To the outside world, you and Bruce presented a facade of a content, married couple. Little did they know that a single room in the Manor held an enchantment, serving as a secret passage to your hidden cottage where every morning you’d come out of and every night, you’d enter. But for the past week, you didn’t. 

Bruce found himself standing in front of your door. It wasn't a coincidence or a fleeting moment of courage; it was a deliberate choice that he had been wrestling with since the arrival of your daughter from the future. The weight of his unspoken emotions had become too heavy to bear, and he knew he couldn't continue to run away. As he hesitantly raised his hand to knock, he felt the weight of every missed opportunity and every unspoken word. It took every ounce of courage he possessed to face you and finally admit that he had been a fool and a coward for evading his true feelings for so long. 

As if sensing Bruce’s presence, Alfred opened the door. 

“About time,” Alfred said bluntly, crossing his arms with an amused glint in his eye. “You let this go on long enough, Master Wayne.”

Bruce sighed. “I know. I just… needed time to think.”

“Think? Or avoid?” Alfred raised an eyebrow. “It’s been almost 8 days since you’ve seen your wife. 8 days of avoidance that likely brewed more uncertainty, I’m sure.”

“I don’t know what to say, Alfred,” Bruce replied, frustration evident in his tone. “I was just afraid,” he admitted. “What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I ruin everything?”

Alfred sighed, adjusting his cufflinks and preparing to deliver his trademark wisdom. “Bruce, she’s your wife—not a foe to be defeated. It’s time to drop the pretense of the Bat and be a man. You’ve fought countless battles; this one requires only honesty.”

"I know," Bruce said, determination lacing his voice. "That’s why I’m here, Alfred."

Alfred offered a rare, genuine smile. "That’s the spirit, sir. I’ll be here, waiting to hear all about it—hopefully, with good news." Alfred's piercing gaze surveyed Bruce's disheveled appearance clad in his armor but bereft of his mask. He crossed his arms, a subtle display of his disapproval. “But first, for heaven’s sake, shower! You can’t confront the woman you’re in love with while smelling like sweat and leather.”

Bruce paused, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You always know how to make me laugh, Alfred. But… you’re right.” Bruce wore the suit like a second skin that he forgot he was still donning it. He let out a soft breath, the weight of his internal conflict lifting slightly.

“Go on, then,” Alfred prompted. “Wash away the grime of your nightly escapades.”

“Alright. Alright, Alfred.  I’m on it,” Bruce replied, finally conceding.

—

As Bruce returned and entered the cozy cottage, the scent of aged books and mahogany enveloped him. He followed Alfred down a hallway, lined with family portraits of your sisters, human parents, Bruce, and your sons. He came to a halt before a nursery, the moonlight spilling through the window and illuminating a cradle. You laid curled beside it. Bruce thought you looked ethereal, your face etched with exhaustion, yet your eyes, when they opened, were filled with a warmth that melted the ice around his heart.

“My precious little one,” your voice was soft and melodious as you spoke, your words imbued with the same warmth and kindness that had captivated Bruce's heart. “your tiny face is the mirror image of your daddy's. And just like him, I know you will grow up to be courageous, compassionate, and filled with the same unwavering determination to do what is right.”Your voice filled with an emotion he could only describe as pure, unadulterated joy. 

Bruce couldn't speak and relished that intimate moment, the way you held your daughter, his future, in your arms.

Bruce took a step forward, the creak of the floorboard drawing your attention. You looked up, startled, but then a soft smile spread across your face. 

"Bruce," you whispered, your voice laced with relief and a touch of awe. “You came.”

A smile slowly spread across his face. “Can I come in?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion. 

“Please,” you retorted.

Bruce walked into the room, his heart heavy but strangely lighter at the same time. He saw the tiny face nestled against you, the tiny fingers wrapped around your finger, and felt a surge of love that he had never experienced before. 

“She’s beautiful,” he said, his voice rough. "So much like you."

You bit your lip, trying to contain the swell of emotions you were feeling. 

Alfred, who had been watching the exchange with a stoic expression, cleared his throat. “May I suggest a more private location?” Alfred’s tone was both firm and kind. 

You turned to look at Bruce.

“We can talk in my study,” you said, brushing the lingering thoughts of the intimacy shared in that moment aside. “If that’s okay with you, Bruce.” 

“Of course,” Bruce responded.

Alfred raised an eyebrow, ever the observer, before nodding with a hint of a smirk that suggested he knew more than he let on. "Very well,” he said as he grabbed the baby from your arms. 

Bruce followed you to your study room. You closed the door behind you, the click echoing in the quiet room, and a sense of intimacy settled between you two. "Please sit," you said, your voice soft but firm.

The room was bathed in the warm glow of a lamp, the rest of the study dark save for the faint moonlight filtering through the window. The scent of mahogany and aged parchment pervaded the air, mingling with the faint aroma of exotic herbs. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves adorned the walls, their spines whispering tales untold. Artifacts and curiosities from all over the world were carefully arranged on delicate display cases, hinting at a hidden passion for exploration. You were a naturopathic doctor, a fact he knew, but he rarely saw this side of you. 

"I apologize for the mess here." Your eyes met his briefly before you turned back to the bottles, your fingers tracing the delicate script on the labels. "This is my workspace, my haven. Sometimes, I just need to be surrounded by knowledge, by the potential for discovery…” you set down the obsidian bottle on the table and turned to meet Bruce’s gaze. “but anyway, we’re here to talk about much important things.” You paused. "I was starting to think you weren't coming,” you admitted.

"I’m sorry," Bruce finally choked out, his voice rough. "I… I didn’t know what to do." He could sense the tension in the room, the weight of unsaid words lingering in the air like a storm about to break.

“Bruce,” You began, your voice soft, “don’t apologize. I know this is a lot to take in. But I need you to understand that this future doesn’t have to happen... and it probably won’t.”

You paused, your gaze fixed upon your husband, who remained seated, his piercing blue eyes inscrutable. "I mean, our marriage is not a decree of destiny," you insisted, your voice trembling with a mix of frustration and longing. "This future is not written in stone."

Bruce watched you with a heavy heart. Your words cut him deeply. Had he pushed you away so vehemently that you didn’t envision a future with him? You continued your unstoppable torrent of words, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

“I'm not blind to your feelings, Bruce. I am an obligation, nothing more,” you uttered.

Bruce's gaze met yours, a brief moment of vulnerability in his impenetrable facade. A wave of guilt crashed over him. He’d been a cold, distant husband, his heart a locked vault, refusing to admit the truth of his feelings to you.

“That is not true, Y/N. Don’t ever say that.” Bruce uttered, his voice gaining strength. 

“Then speak your mind, Bruce," you pleaded. "Because for the past 3 years, your silence has betrayed your statement."

The tension in the room became palpable. Bruce stood up from the worn leather chair, his eyes narrowed with determination as he took a deliberate step towards you. In response, you took a step back involuntarily, feeling the weight of the room's tension pressing in on you.

"Y/N," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "you make me feel things I've never allowed myself to feel. It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once. I never thought I'd want to be vulnerable with someone, but here I am, wanting to share everything with you."

you shifted slightly, your gaze piercing into his. Your eyes showed an understanding and a quiet recognition of his struggles. 

"and it feels so right," he added, now more earnest. "Being with you feels like home, which frightens me more than anything else. I've built up so many defenses to protect myself, but you—you're breaking through them, and I can't help but want to let you in."

Bruce took another step closer to you. "Yes, I admit, our marriage was merely a formal strategic alliance. Before you, I never saw myself sharing a future with anyone because until three years ago, I didn't know I had one."

For a moment, Bruce feared you might look away and leave him exposed.

Bruce continued with unwavering determination as he made another step forward, his eyes reflecting a mix of wonder and excitement. "But a week ago, I caught a glimpse of my future. And damn it, it's incredible."

"Bruce," you whispered, your voice barely audible, and found yourself locked in a trance by the intensity of his gaze. Without realizing it, he had closed the distance between you, and when you attempted to retreat, you felt your legs pressed against your desk. Feeling the hard surface behind you, you instinctively leaned into it, seeking its support as your pulse quickened with anticipation and uncertainty.

"Y/N, I'm not usually one for superstition, but I strongly feel we were meant to be together. It's as if our paths were always meant to converge, with you destined to be mine and I, yours."

"Bruce..." you repeated, soft and quiet. He was so close to you now that you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

But Bruce said enough. He lowered his head, his lips pressing against your soft lips. He poured every ounce of his unspoken emotions into that kiss - the longing, the regret, the desperate hope that he wasn't too late. You froze for a moment, your mind reeling. This wasn't the Bruce you knew, the man who treated you with polite indifference, who saw you as a pawn in a game of power. This was a man who craved you, who yearned for your touch, who bared his soul in a single, impassioned kiss.

Bruce’s hands traveled from your waist to the small of your back, holding you securely as if you were the only thing that mattered. You kissed him back intensely, welcoming his tongue with yours. You could feel the thrill of adrenaline coursing through you, mixing with the warmth of his body against yours. 

Breaking the kiss, you gazed into his deep eyes, searching for reassurance that this was real. Bruce smiled, his expression playful yet serious, and he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

Bruce knelt before you. “I love you,” Bruce whispered hoarsely, his words a confession long overdue. “You transformed my world, Y/N, and I want to spend my life showing you how much you mean to me. Will you marry me again? Only this time it’ll be honest and intimate. Just us.” 

Bruce pulled from his pocket, a vintage gemstone you knew had belonged to his mother. 

your eyes widen in shock and delight, Your breath catching in your throat. Then, you looked into Bruce’s sincere eyes, feeling the weight of his words.

“Yes!” You exclaimed, tears of happiness sparkling in your eyes. 

Bruce slid the ring onto your finger and planted a gentle kiss on your hand.

This was a new beginning, a chance to build something real, something true, something that was yours and Bruce’s alone.

—

Together, you approached the nursery, where Alfred had the baby in his arms. He smiled at both of you, knowing that you both had surrendered to love. “Baby Mercy eagerly waited for you, Master Bruce.”

He carefully placed the baby in Bruce's arms, mindful of her fragility. As Bruce cradled her, he felt the gentle warmth of her tiny body against his skin. Looking down at her, he noticed her unblinking gaze, so full of wonder and innocence, as if she were already trying to understand the world around her. Despite the weight of his responsibilities, a rare and tender smile adorned Bruce's face, softening the hardened lines that defined it. "Welcome home, Mercy," he murmured, feeling a rush of love and protectiveness wash over him as he held his daughter close.

Your smile grew, your eyes sparkling with joy as you watched Bruce gaze at your daughter with a softness he had never shown before. Mercy giggled, a sound that seemed to echo through the room like a gentle melody. It was as if the universe itself rejoiced at this reunion.

“I think she wants to show you something,” you smiled. 

The first vision-like memory flickered to life, blooming before Bruce. He could see himself as a distant figure, surveying the scene from the doorway, his expression a blend of wonder and amusement. He stood in a warm kitchen filled with the aroma of freshly baked cookies. Mercy, no older than five, wore a tiny apron adorned with colorful motifs. An older version of his son, Damian Wayne, was busy rolling out dough. Flour dusted the air like fairy dust as Damian orchestrated their little culinary adventure with serious intent.

“Watch, Daddy!” Mercy exclaimed, her voice a melodic chime. The two of them were collaborating on baking a batch of cookies. Damian, with all his precision, carefully measured the ingredients while his sister, in a flurry of excitement, added spoonfuls of sprinkles and chocolate chips into the mix.

“Too many!” Damian chided, suppressing a smile despite his best efforts. The kitchen was filled with laughter and the delightful chaos of sibling bonding.

The scene shifted with a swirl of color, pulling Bruce into another cherished moment from the future—a day at Wayne Enterprises. The sleek, modern building glimmered under the sun, its towering structure a symbol of the legacy Bruce had built. Inside, his daughter, now slightly older, wandered through the gleaming halls, hand in hand with her father.

“Daddy, can we go to the rooftop garden?” she asked her voice a melody of excitement. Bruce nodded, his heart swelling with pride as he watched her interact with the bustling world of business around them.

The rooftop was a breathtaking oasis, filled with vibrant flowers and greenery that you had carefully nurtured. 

Bruce and Mercy sat together on a sun-drenched bench, a picnic spread before them. 

“Did you know that if you talk to the flowers, they can grow even more?” Mercy said, leaning closer to the petals, her delicate breath almost a whisper. A soft breeze stirred the leaves.

“Are you going to be a botanist and save the world?” Bruce teased, gently ruffling her hair.

“I’ll be a hero like you, Daddy. Only with cakes and magic,” she replied earnestly, her eyes shimmering with determination. 

“That’s incredible, sweetheart. You have a gift,” Bruce said, his heart swelling with pride.

The visions filled your heart with warmth, giving you the undeniable certainty that this baby was the embodiment of yours and Bruce’s future, born from a love so deep, so profound, that not even time could erase it.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

May I have Childhood friends to lovers with Loki or Bruce Wayne pleaseee… thank you!

.⋆｡For the Longest Time｡⋆.

Bruce Wayne x plus size reader

You were always there in his life, just like he was for you. A little jealousy and a clingy eight year old might finally give you the push you both need

Warnings: fluff, jealousy, simp!Bruce, vague mention of hook-ups, little bit of Dick’s abandonment issues, mutual pining WC: 2.5k

6k Follower Celebration Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“Where’s Y/N?” A little voice spoke up from somewhere over Bruce’s left shoulder. He groaned and buried his face deeper in the silk pillowcase, he had only just crawled into bed. The mattress dipped as Dick hauled himself onto the bed, making Bruce swallow down a curse.

“What’s up?” He rolled onto his back and pulled back the blankets enough for a little body to slip under the covers. He received a kick to his very sore ribs as Dick clambered over him in his attempt to settle in the crook of Bruce’s shoulder. The eight year old sighed happily and cuddled up close to his adoptive father.

Bruce smiled despite the throbbing pain in his torso and the early wake up. “What did you need?” 

“Where’s Y/N?” He asked again, propping his chin on Bruce’s collarbone.

“She’s at her apartment?” His voice tilted up, confused at the question. Sure, you were at the manor quite frequently given that you helped Bruce with Dick’s care but you had never stayed the night, save for once when both you and Bruce were too drunk to even move.

Dick huffed, his bottom lip poking out as he looked away from Bruce. “That’s stupid.” The older man swallowed back a chuckle, instead he placed a hand on the boy’s back, his palm almost covering the entire thing. 

“Why’s it stupid?” He shut his eyes again. 

“Cause I want her to live with me!” 

“Hmm, maybe you can go live with her and I can finally get some sleep.” Tiny fingers dug into his armpit, making Bruce yelp and raise an eyebrow at Dick.

“No. I don’t wanna move my toys. Make her live here.” Bruce sighed heavily, sinking further into his mattress.

Yeah, right. He wanted to say but held his tongue. He had broached the idea when he had first taken Dick in, needing an extra set of hands for the rowdy child but you had quite literally laughed him off, just the same as you did when you were both eighteen and he had tried to give you one of his credit cards. You were fiercely independent and while you loved Dick, you still had your own work and life.

“You could try, chum but I think she likes her house more.” 

“Then let’s go there today!” Dick pushed himself up onto his knees, eyes shining with this brilliant idea. 

“Chum-“ But Dick had rushed out of the room before Bruce could get another word out, leaving him to contemplate whether he was going to break his son’s heart by falling back asleep or get up for the day and end up with a massive headache later. Distantly, he could hear Dick chattering away to himself and he knew he would have to raid your medicine cabinet in a few hours.

——————

Dick practically flew up the stairs of your apartment building, his backpack rattling with the sound of loose Lego bricks and inevitably a book he would get you to read him, as Bruce trailed behind, dark sunglasses perched on the end of his nose. He himself held a bag of food from Alfred and a bottle of your favourite wine as a sorry for the unexpected visit. He could at least pat himself on the back for delaying Dick just long enough for the boy to get some food and Bruce to get a couple hours of sleep.

“Come on! You’re so slow!” Dick whined as he reached the landing on your floor. He bounced on the balls of his feet before he huffed and threw open the door, darting down the empty hallway. The rattling of his bag grew distant and then, he was banging on your door with all the might his little fists could muster.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” Bruce cringed, his head ducked down as he passed by the other apartments on your floor, silently apologising to each of them. 

“Chum you can’t-“ But your door opened right then and the breath was knocked from his lungs. You were wearing a dark red dress that perfectly matched the matte lipstick on your plump lips. The fabric perfectly clung to you, making your curves even more prominent. You were still wearing your slippers and only had one earring in but you were still the most beautiful thing Bruce had ever seen, just as you always had been.

“Well isn’t this a surprise.” Dick wasted no time, throwing himself into your arms, he squealed loudly and buried his face in the crook of your neck. You laughed as his little fingers dug into the neckline of your dress, no doubt ruining the fabric. “I thought there was a monkey at my door with all that noise.” You ran your left hand along his side as you stood up, making Dick giggle and cling to you even tighter. In a couple months, Bruce doubted you’d be able to pick him up anymore.

“I missed you!” You beamed. Bruce felt his knees buckle.

“It’s a good thing you came over then, cause I missed you too!” 

Bruce cleared his throat. “I hope I can be included in that sentiment as well.” You finally looked up at him, your eyes shining like stars. You smirked, biting down on your lip as you gave the man a quick one over.

“Depends, what did you bring me?” 

“So my child doesn’t count?” Dick laughed again, his knees digging into your side. You raised an eyebrow at Bruce who lifted the bottle of wine with a sly smile.

“Why didn’t you start with that? Come on in.” You stepped back into the apartment, leaving the door open for him to follow behind. 

Your home had always been a comfort for Bruce, a safe haven tucked away from the world and his responsibilities. The weight of Batman and being the last Wayne, and even though he loved him dearly, being Dick’s father, lifted from his shoulders as the soft colours of your walls surrounded him. 

You wandered into the kitchen, like you normally did when they stopped by for a visit, Dick chattering away about anything and everything that came into his little mind while Bruce stopped to look at the new photos you had hung up in the living room. Photos of memories he had forgotten. There was one of the both of you in a pillow fort that towered over you, your faces slathered in chocolate from bags of candy at your feet. Another was the 3rd grade dance that your parents had chaperoned, you in a bright pink princess dress complete with fairy wings and a plastic tiara and him in a tiny suit with one of his father’s best ties that was far too big for him. Your high school graduation party where you and Bruce in all your drunken genius decided to race up one of the old trees on the Wayne property and got stuck at the top.

But the most recent one made his heart skip a beat; it was of all three of you curled up on your couch, Dick sound asleep on your lap as Bruce ‘rested his eyes’ while leaning on your shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around both of you as you beamed up at the camera. All of his happiest moments had you in them and for the life of him, he wouldn’t change anything about it.

Bruce turned and spotted your heels by the door, the red-bottomed ones that you only ever used when you wanted to get laid. Something in his stomach turned sour at the thought. “Why are you so dressed up?” He asked as casually as he could though his voice cracked. 

“Yeah! You look pretty!” Dick chirped though his own voice was muffled, no doubt you had already given him a cookie that he shouldn’t be having.

“I have a date,” You cooed (to Dick but Bruce liked to pretend it was for him), “but since you guys are here now. I’ll cancel it.”

“You don’t have to do that. We can go.” Relief made his shoulders sag but Bruce still forced a frown on his lips as you came back around the corner, Dick still perched on your wide hip. You were practically glowing with joy.

You waved him off and pressed a kiss to Dick’s chubby cheek, leaving a bright lipstick stain there. “I would much rather spend the evening with you guys. It also means I get to wear comfy clothes instead of this dumb dress.” Dick slipped from your arms and went to his bag, which he had dropped on the couch.

“Are you sure?” But that wasn’t the question he was really asking. You just smiled at him, putting a hand on his bicep as you leaned in close.

“There’s nowhere else I would rather be. Now let me get changed and we can watch a movie, how’s that sound bud?” Dick grumbled something to the affirmative, making you laugh to yourself as you turned to go to your room but not without a parting squeeze to Bruce’s arm. He watched you go, his gaze dropping to your ass to appreciate the sight for just a moment before he caught himself and turned his attention back to his son.

Dick, who was already observing his father with a curious expression, suddenly lit up with an idea. He covered his mouth with his hand and then disappeared as he fell back onto the cushions, a little laugh escaping him as he landed. Bruce ignored the boy and went to the kitchen to get some snacks together for all of you. 

The TV flicked to life, dousing the apartment with a hazy background noise that served to lead Bruce deeper into the fantasy of this life of domesticity actually being his. If he let himself, he could almost imagine how perfect it would be, just his family spending time together away from the rest of the world. But there was still that nagging fact that you had a date tonight, one that you cancelled for him sure, but a date nonetheless.

You weren’t his wife or his girlfriend, and that made his blood freeze.

He pulled out the cork from the bottle with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, sending a few drops of red liquid directly onto his white shirt. “Fuck.” He groaned and grabbed the dish towel on the counter to try and scrub away at the stain. 

“I can’t leave you alone for a second.” Your smaller hands gripped his waist, turning him around so you could take the towel from him. Bruce let you manhandle him until you could easily rub against his chest but the stain had already set in. Your bottom lip poked out, an almost overwhelming temptation to your oldest friend, before your fingers curled into his belt and tugged him away from the kitchen counter.

Bruce went willingly, eagerly. “I’ve got some of your shirts in my wardrobe, go get changed and I’ll finish up here.” He nodded blankly and wandered away from you.

You watched him go for just a moment before finishing pouring out the wine and laying some of the cheeses Alfred has so thoughtfully packed on a small tray. You grabbed some hopefully not stale crackers from the cabinet and journeyed back into the living room. “What are we watching tonight Dickie?”

Dick looked up from his spot between the couch and coffee table as you sat down with an almost bored expression on his little face. “Star Wars.”

“Duh.” You replied.

Soon Bruce wandered back in. “Why exactly do you have so many of my shirts in your closet?” You shrugged behind your glass, though he knew your cheeks were heated with embarrassment.

“Cause you’re clumsy and I knew I’d have to keep clean clothes for you.” He flopped down on the couch next to you, his arm immediately finding its place across your shoulders.

“Yeah right.” You curled into his side, settling in for a nice little evening.

It was halfway through the movie that Dick climbed onto the couch between you and his dad. “I wish we could stay like this forever.” He muttered wistfully, taking yours and Bruce’s hand into his. You looked at Bruce from over his little head.

“Aw buddy, we can do this whenever you want. You’re always welcome here, you know that.” He shook his head and Bruce's heart sank.

“What do you mean chum?” He asked, wondering if there was something more going on. Dick’s chest inflated as he took in a deep breath.

“But we always go home and you never come with us! You-you don’t really want us, you live so far away. And,” he sighed heavily, giving you the biggest, saddest puppy dog eyes he could muster, “and you go on dates with people who aren’t my dad. You’ll leave.” His grip on your hand tightened like you would disappear right then.

Bruce’s heart lurched as your lips parted. “You should date him instead! And then we can all live together at home like we should be!” Dick continued and then, he slammed your hand into Bruce’s, forcing your fingers to intertwine.

“Dickie-“

“No! You’re supposed to be together! Even Alfred says so! So just do it already and then we can go home. Together.” His gaze switched to Bruce, who caught his glare. The man swallowed thickly and looked at you and for the first time in his life, Bruce couldn’t tell what you were thinking.

You let out a shaky breath after a moment, your fingers pressing into the back of his hand. He could feel your pulse against his wrist, your heartbeat was fast, almost matching his own. “Maybe you’re right Dickie.”

“What?” The word escaped him like he had just been punched, making your lips curl up into a bashful smile. 

“Maybe, I should be dating you and not those other men who I always end up comparing to you anyway. Maybe I should be going home with you.” 

“I think maybe you should.” Bruce leaned over his son, his free hand coming up to hold your full cheek. “Because I have spent my whole life with you by my side and now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t want you so far away anymore. I want to see your face everyday and hear your voice from beside me every moment that I can.” 

Your eyes dropped to his lips and that was all it took for Bruce to close the distance and finally kissed you like he should have done years ago when he realised that no other woman would live up to the place you carved out in his heart. You immediately melted into him, laying your hand on top of his own. 

Just as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, Dick got up on his knees between you and threw his skinny arms around your necks. You separated just as he shouted, “I told you!” 

You both laughed and hugged him back, sinking back down into the couch all together. Bruce’s chest warmed. Maybe, finally, he could get you to come home.

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[a-fandom-reimagined]

ALL OF YOU | BRUCE WAYNE X PLUS SIZE GN! READER (FT. ALFRED)

୨୧ type: fluff & angst | word count: 887 | tw: sfw, mentions of bullying but no actual descriptions of what was said or done. please enjoy

→ please note that I don't think I've ever written anything for a gn reader before so if I messed anything up (like how i couldn't figure out what the gn alternative for master/miss is) I apologize

requested: omg okay, idk if you would want to write this but; since i can't find ANY battinson x plus size reader stuff, could i request a battinson x gn plus size reader where bruce discovers his partner being insecure about themselves and tries to cheer them up? this would be angst mixed with fluff if that's okay with you :>

Everything is fine, you told yourself.

The limo pulled away from the curb merging into early morning rush hour. The annual Wayne Foundation Ball had ran hours longer than you'd intended. And as host, you couldn’t leave early. No matter how much you'd wanted to. You relaxed into your lover's embrace, drinking in his cologne. Basking in his warmth. It was the most relaxed you'd felt all evening.

You were almost asleep when Bruce's voice dragged you back to reality. "What's wrong?"

You opened your eyes. "Nothing." You couldn't even manage a smile to better sell the lie.

Tonight was supposed to be your night. And they took it from you…

Bruce frowned. "Don't lie to me. We're better than that."

You were better than that. And now you had shame to add to the long list of emotions weighing you down.

They were just words. Everything is fine.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck. You didn't want to talk about it. Not with him. But you couldn't lie to him either.

Your fiancé kissed the top of your head, hugging you tighter. "Talk to me. Did someone hurt you? Did something happen?"

"It doesn't matter. It's not important."

"It's bothering you so it does matter and it is important. You've been talking non-stop about this Gala. You've been planning it for months. What happened?"

You pulled back to wet eyes and a broken smile. Bruce's jaw ticked, his expression chillingly blank. Bruce usually kept this side of himself hidden away from you. Was this the version of him that went out to hunt bad guys every night? Or was this just a small sliver of him?

"Sir, not to interrupt but would you like me to turn the car around?"

You'd forgotten the partition was down. Alfred's voice was low and clipped. Almost unrecognizable from the sassy, well-mannered man who'd been like a father to you over the past four years.

"I'll let you know." answered Bruce before returning his attention to you. "Please." he said softly.

You shook your head. "It's so silly. They were just words."

"What did they say? Who said it?"

You sighed heavily. He wasn't going to let this go. And it was stupid of you to try to hide it from him. The World's Greatest Detective… The World's Most Attentive Fiancé was more like it. "The…people at the gala were mean to me," you admitted in a small broken voice. You hated the way you sounded. You hated even more that you'd let it get to you. "There. I told you. They were mean to me tonight and they said awful things about my weight, how much I ate at dinner. One woman gave some diet pills she swears by in the bathroom. It shouldn't bother me. It's not like I haven't experienced this before. I am a plus-sized person, I know that but…I don't know. These people gather every year to give away exorbitant amounts of money to make Gotham a better, safer place to live. I don't know, I guess I just expected better. Dumb, I know."

"It's not dumb."

"But it is! Bruce, you put on a mask every night and go face down real villains. Real villains that cause real pain with real weapons."

Bruce's jaw dropped. It took a lot to shock him. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It has to do with everything because they're just words, Bruce, not bullets! And I let them get to me. I've been miserable all night. That's why you caught me in the hallway tonight. I didn't get lost, I just got down crying in a broom closet and I was walking around and waiting for my eyedrops to kick in and hide the redness! Now, can we please just drop it and forget that this ever happened?"

"No we can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you feel like you can't confide in me just because of who I am and what I do at night. They're not just words, Y/N these people bullied you. You worked your ass off to make this Gala the success it was. We've never raised this much money in a single night before and it was because of you. Y/N I don't care how minor or unimportant you think it is. You don't have to get roundhouse kicked into a dumpster for your feelings to be valid."

You swallowed a laugh. "When in the world did you get roundhouse kicked into a dumpster?"

Bruce smiles. "That's the point. The point is your feelings are valid. And you can come to me with any of them."

"And I as well, *[Master/Miss] Y/N."

You breathed easy for the first time that night, And smiled for the first time that night. "Thank you. Both of you."

Bruce smiled back, pressing his forehead to yours. "Feel better?"

You nodded.

"Good. Because you're going to tell me the name of everyone who bothered you tonight. And then Batman is going to toilet paper their house and slash their fucking tires."

You barked out a laugh.

Bruce pulled you even closer leaving a trail of kisses from your temple to your collarbone. "You're perfect just the way you are, my heart. All of you."

REQUESTED! | REQUESTS: ALWAYS OPEN | REBLOG DON’T REPOST | MASTERLIST

[eternallyhauntingthehouseoflove]

Bruce Wayne fucked his partners through the mattress—and it depended on who and why. If you know he’s Batman, then he’d fuck for stress relief, to uncoil the sickening knot in his belly. However, if you’re unaware of his nighttime activities and believe you’d just lucked up meeting Bruce Wayne, then he’d fuck for ego. He’s got a point to prove: all those years as a recluse hadn’t dulled his ability to grant a lady a good time; that the stories of his youthful adventures are true. (Though his ego bleeds over into Batman as well since he wonders if he’s too old to still be the Dark Knight. If he’s lost his edge).

Bruce’s stamina is insane. He’d have you spread on your belly while he drove his cock into you. One hand enclosed around your throat, the other encircling your waist, and his lips grazing over your ear. Warm gusts of air caressing your cheek with each huff and grunt. The faint scent of his cologne lingering within the atmosphere, though it had been toppled by the aroma of sweat and sex. “Fuck,” he gritted out,” so tight f’me, doll. Only for me. Mine, aren’t you?” There was pride in being the one to undo Bruce Wayne, to make him cuss and grunt like a caveman, to draw out his Gotham accent. He was usually so put-together and driven.

Time warped and melted whenever Bruce had you beneath him. Despite his age, (don’t let him hear that) he could fuck for hours, content to drive his cum back into your hole until he came again. In fact, he enjoyed the slickness. There was something about keeping you beneath him that soothed the territorial monster caged within him like Mr. Hyde. Rarely could you lure the possessive, emerald eyed, envious beast out; Bruce was old and had dealt with his fair share of women seeking an emotional response. But with the perfect concoction of circumstances could you shatter the manacles binding the dominating, jealous, spiteful side of him—and it was wonderful.

Dick Grayson (Dixon’s version) preferred to let his lover work for it. There was a tantalizing element to gazing at his partner while she straddled him, and attempted to sink down into his cock. Dick wasn’t girth-y like Jason or Bruce (nor as unshaven). No, Dick was slim and long—and pretty. Dick was shaven and trimmed, smooth and hairless if he could help it. He never liked to offer up unshaven goods; he thought it was rude.

“God, you. . . you ride like a pro,” he breathed out, nigh gasping as though he’d run a race beside Usain Bolt. A sheen of sweated coated his toned physique, and a scarlet blush left a fiery trail from his cheeks down to his neck. “Don’t stop till I say.” Dick is more selfish in bed than Jason. Unlike Jason, Dick knows he’s cute—pretty, even. He’s confident both in himself and his ability to be selfish and still make you cum. . . hard. He won’t hesitate to assume control if he’s not liking your rhythm, or if he just wants to be a little shit and knock your orgasm off kilter. “Oh, were you going to cum? Sorry. Didn’t notice.”

Speaking of orgasms, Dick cums beautifully, even when he’d rather be described as ‘’manly’’ and handsome. He couldn’t restrain the tremble of his muscular thighs, or quell the furnace roaring inside his belly, or freeze the stars bursting behind the paleness of his eyelids. “I know, pretty baby. I know. Tight, aren’t I? Let it out for me,” you cooed, caressing his sweat-slick, inky black curls. Dick nodded quick and desperately, coal black lashes falling over his oceanic eyes. “Yes. Yes. That’s it. Gonna cum again. Just keep going.” The power he’d stolen returned with a vengeance. He’d gone limp beneath you. Fucked out, his breaths tremulous and stuttered. Naturally, Dick’s palms found purchase upon your breasts, pinching and flicking your nipples before he exerted the last of his strength to lean forward and suckle one into his mouth.

(There’s hints of a mommy kink if you squint hard enough).

Jason Todd loved to see his partner deep-throat his cock. It’s a personal pleasure of his, the one time he allows himself to be selfish during sex. He’s not sure why it’s fascinating to him. Perhaps the sheer primality of watching you struggle to swallow his thickness intrigues him, excites him, causes the hairs on his forearms to stand at attention and the nerves within his body to buzz like a million bees trapped beneath his skin.“That’s right, baby, keep going. Till I see tears,” he murmured, as his large hands slithered up into your nape and tightened in your hair.” Show me how much you love me, baby.”

“What a beauty.” Jason’s chocolate smeared irises tipped backward, his slender hips bucking upward into the warm cavern of your throat, his cock spewing viscous ropes of pearlescent cum. Jason’s frame fell slack against the sofa. Sated. Only you could loosen the tautness in his shoulders like a ball of yarn. Boy, did he adore you.” I hope you can go all night. Cuz I got some steam I been needin’ t’ blow off.”

[draculasintern]

♡ You can be the Boss ♡

CEO!Bruce Wayne x Chubby/Plus sized!secretary!fem!reader Oneshot (?)

Cw: AFAB reader, office AU, power imbalance, age gap but not mentioned much, dominant!Bruce, “sir” kink, Pet names (Sweetheart, pretty, pretty thing), desk sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, overstimulation, light D/s, possessive!Bruce, he's a bit condescending then soft, aftercare, unspoken feelings, mutual pining, this is so inappropriate, freaky ass boss

Intern Note: Wrote this under candlelight while Dracula yelled about taxes. He doesn’t know I have Docs open..

He doesn’t touch you. He hasn’t—not once. But he watches.

And when he’s alone in that glass-walled office with only the hum of fluorescent lighting and the soft tap of your heels across the floor—he thinks.

Not about work. Not about the board. Not about Gotham.

No.

He thinks about how your blouse clings when you lean. How your pencil skirt always rides high on your thighs when you walk too fast. How your lipstick matches your nails. How your necklace dips into the crease of your cleavage when you tilt forward to hand him papers. And how oblivious you are to all of it. You’re not trying to flirt. You’re not playing innocent. You’re just… you.

Sweet. Competent. Tired. Always tired lately. You stay late when no one else does. Bring him coffee without being asked. Speak softly when his jaw is clenched.

You’re the only person in the building who doesn’t flinch when he raises his voice. You’re the only one who sees him when the rest of the city only sees the suit.

He hates it. He wants more of it.

The couch in the shared office is worn at the seams. You sit there after hours now—blouse unbuttoned just one button more than usual, like you’d loosened it without thinking. Your skirt tonight is different. Not the usual pencil fit. This one’s looser, longer. Falls past your knees in clean, soft lines.

It hugs the swell of your hips when you sit.

You’ve kicked off your heels. Set them politely beside the couch. Your legs are crossed, but not primly. You’re too tired for that. There’s a crease at your waist from sitting too long. A little smudge in your lipstick where you’d bitten your bottom lip.

He notices everything. Every. Single. Thing.

You look up suddenly, sensing something—maybe his gaze lingering too long—and give a quiet little smile.

“Everything okay, Mr. Wayne?”

He doesn’t answer. Not right away.

Because no. Nothing is okay. Not when you’re sitting there, looking like that. Not when he’s been fantasizing about tearing that skirt off with his teeth for weeks.

He clears his throat. Shifts behind the desk. You don’t notice. Of course you don’t.

He watches your eyes drop back to your notes, lashes low, and for a second, he can see it— You. Bent over his desk. Your necklace pooled on the floor. That sweet mouth of yours parted, moaning his name. You, ruined. Undone. All for him.

His cock throbs in his slacks. And he breathes out hard through his nose.

Control.

He still doesn’t speak. Just stands, walking slowly toward the couch. You don’t look up this time.

He stops just a few feet away. And then, finally— He says it. Low. Rough. Measured.

“You have no idea, do you?”

You blink. Look up.

Confused. “Sir?”

“The way you sit. The way you dress. The way you lean across my desk like you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

Your lips part.

And for the first time tonight—maybe ever—you don’t speak. The air is heavy. Still. You’re staring at him, wide-eyed. Not offended. Not frightened. Just… processing.

Your thighs shift. The fabric of your skirt pulls. He watches it.

“You keep looking like that,” he says, voice quiet, dangerous, “and I’ll stop pretending to be a better man.”

Your breath hitches. But you still don’t move. You just watch him. And maybe now—finally—you know.

He doesn’t touch you. He still doesn’t touch you.

But when he turns back toward his desk, his hands are shaking. You go home with his voice still echoing in your head.

You shouldn’t. It should’ve faded in the cab, or in the elevator, or somewhere between unlocking your front door and kicking off your shoes. But it doesn’t.

You keep looking like that…

You unzip your skirt, toss it over the back of a chair. Your blouse is half open. You don’t remember unbuttoning it. You sit down on the edge of your bed like you’re waiting for something, hands limp in your lap. Your necklace presses warm into your chest. You reach up. Touch it. Slowly.

His eyes had followed it. Had tracked every sway and shift and little accidental show of skin.

He had looked at you like you were something he could taste. Like he’d been holding back for far too long. And he’d meant it.

He didn’t say it like a man trying to flatter his secretary. He said it like a man fighting every part of himself not to ruin her.

You breathe in, deep. Then out.

Your hand is still at your collar. Thumb brushing the edge of your necklace. Your pulse is louder than the city outside your window.

You lie awake most of the night.

Not because you’re in love. Not because you want him to sweep you into his arms and confess something tender.

But because you can still feel his stare. Because for one solid moment, you felt like prey. And you liked it.

And you know—if he ever stops holding back? You’ll let him.

You arrive the next morning five minutes early.

Lipstick reapplied. Skirt tighter. Necklace tucked just a little lower.

You don’t speak of the night before. Neither does he. But when you hand him his coffee, and your fingers brush—he looks at you. And smiles. Just barely. But it’s the kind of smile you’ll think about for days. Not soft. Not kind. More like a secret. Like he knows something you don’t.

You straighten the files in your arms even though they don’t need it. Your fingers tremble only a little. You don’t speak. You don’t have to.

Because everything feels different now. The air. The carpet under your heels. The faint smell of his cologne already clinging to the hallway before you even reach his door.

You sit at your desk. You type. You file.

You feel his gaze more than you ever did before. Not constant. Not indulgent. Just… present. Taut. Pulled like wire. Like he’s holding back.

And that’s what kills you the most. He hasn’t said anything else. He hasn’t done anything. But every moment, every quiet interaction— The brush of his hand when he gives you a folder. The pause when you glance over your shoulder. The way his voice drops half a step lower when he says your name— It all tastes like something that already happened.

Even though it hasn’t. Yet.

You don’t know when the line will be crossed. Maybe it never will.

But when the sun sets again—when the others go home and the floor empties out and the silence returns—he’s still there. And so are you.

But you’re not soft tonight. Not tired. Not gently fading into the couch like before. You’re busy. And furious.

Your jaw is clenched, a little muscle ticking near your cheek. Your eyes scan the reports on your screen like they’ve personally offended you. And your nails—painted in that same muted, perfect shade—are digging into the palm of your off-hand hard enough to leave little arcs of red.

Someone didn’t format their department files. Someone else duplicated a data pull with wrong timestamps. Someone signed off on a quarterly draft you now have to fix before the board sees it tomorrow.

It’s all coming down on you. And you should’ve gone home. Should’ve had time to think about the look he gave you yesterday. The low rasp of his voice when he told you not to wear that skirt again. The weight of your name in his mouth. But no. You’re stuck here. Grinding your teeth.

Because no one does their goddamn job.

And he hears it. From the other room. The tight typing. The sharp shuffling of folders. The little curse you whisper when a spreadsheet crashes and doesn’t autosave. He doesn’t come out right away. He waits.

He tells himself it’s to give you space. But really—he’s just watching. From his office doorway, tie loosened, jaw set.

He’s watching the way your shoulders tense under your blouse. The way your skirt rides up slightly when you shift in your seat. The way your hand rubs the stress out of your own wrist like it hurts to even exist in this building tonight.

He should offer help. He doesn’t. He just listens. Watches. And wonders if you’re as worked up about him as you are about the files.

You don’t notice he’s watching until you stand to grab another folder—fast, too fast—and drop a pen from behind your ear.

You bend to grab it. And he’s there.

“Don’t.”

You freeze, hand outstretched toward the pen. Your fingers brush the floor, then curl back. You straighten slowly.

Bruce is in the doorway. Tie loosened, eyes dark. He’s looking at you like you’ve just crossed a line. Like he’s trying not to follow.

“Don’t bend over like that,” he says quietly. “Not when I’m standing here.”

Your breath catches. His voice isn’t harsh. It’s low. Flat. Controlled. Like there’s something behind it he’s keeping caged.

You blink at him. “It’s just a pen.”

“It’s never just anything with you.”

Your mouth goes dry. He doesn’t move. He just stands there—tension in his jaw, hands in his pockets, gaze pinned to you like he’s memorizing every part of this moment for later.

And then, like it costs him, he tears his eyes away.

“Leave it,” he says, voice tighter now. “Get it later.”

He doesn’t walk away. Doesn’t look at you again. Just returns to his side of the room. The same one you share. You stand there.

Jaw tense. Breathing shallow. And something inside you just tips. You speak. Stepping back a bit.

“I’m not trying to bother you,” you mutter, not even looking at him. “I just—god, I’m frustrated.”

You’re still holding a folder—creased now in your grip. He steps closer with you noticing, you're too busy rambling to notice he's backing you against your desk.

“It’s like everyone clocked out early and left me with their unfinished trash. And now I’m the one stuck cleaning it up, again, because no one else knows how to follow a format. I was supposed to go home. I was supposed to unwind. I was gonna eat something that wasn’t coffee and fantasize about—”

You cut yourself off. Jaw flexing. Hand curling into a fist. “I’m tired. I’m so tired. And I know that’s not your problem, I just—”

You pause. You feel it before you hear it. The air changes. The weight of the room shifts. He’s in front of you. Close.

You hadn’t heard him move. Your voice falters—but you keep going, like momentum will protect you.

“I’m trying not to be dramatic, I just—I’m doing everything. Everything they don’t. And I’m not asking for praise or anything, I just—I don’t think I can keep doing this if I’m the only one who—”

You stop. Because you can feel him now. Standing right there. His chest barely brushing yours. His heat soaking into your chest.

And then—

“Yeah?” His voice is low. Against your ear. Just one word. “I'll fix that.”

You gasp. He doesn’t give you time to think. He leans in. Kisses the cuff of your ear. Then lower.

A soft, deliberate press of his mouth beneath it—where your neck curves into your shoulder. Warm. Hot. Careful. Like a secret he’s finally allowing himself to tell.

You inhale sharply, lips parting. “Mr. Wayne, what are—”

But you don’t finish. Because his teeth graze the edge of your jaw—just enough to make your knees lock. And still—he hasn’t touched anything else. Not your waist. Not your hands. Just his mouth. And the sharp, electric silence between you.

His teeth catch the sharp line of your jaw—lightly, deliberately. You breathe in. Fast. Shallow.

“Sir, I don’t—” Your voice cracks. “W...wait…”

But your legs are already pressed together. You’re not pulling away. You’re breathing hard, like he’s the one who backed you against the desk (he did)—like he’s the one chasing you (he is), even though you’re the one who led yourself here (gaslighting you right now). He doesn’t say anything. Just leans lower.

His breath is hot against your skin. You feel it first—then the drag of his mouth along the base of your throat. Slower now. Unforgiving.

And then—his lips part. Teeth. Tongue. Pressure. He bites. Not hard—but deep enough to leave a mark. Right at the base of your neck. Where no one will see it until you change. Until you’re home. Until you’re alone again, staring in the mirror and pretending this didn’t happen.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. It shakes on the way out. Your hand clenches the edge of the desk behind you. Your head tilts back just slightly—inviting, even though your mouth says the opposite.

“We can’t—” But you don’t move. And neither does he. His lips linger over the bruise. Warm. Possessive.

His voice is barely a whisper: “You should’ve gone home an hour ago then, sweetheart.”

His lips drag lower, slower this time—like he’s tasting the skin he just bruised. Like it’s his now. You can’t think. Can’t breathe right. Your body is hot and tense and aching in all the wrong ways, and still—you don’t push him back.

Your head tips farther. Your hand tightens on the desk. The words we shouldn’t die in your throat, drowned by the heat curling in your stomach. You squeeze your thighs together. He notices. Of course he does.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice like crushed velvet. “You’re trembling.”

You are. You don’t answer. You can’t. Because his mouth is back—just beneath your jaw now, soft and slow and dizzying. Your breath hitches. Your lips part.

“We shouldn’t…” you whisper, uselessly.

But it doesn’t even sound like you believe it. He huffs a quiet laugh against your skin—dark, satisfied. And his hand finally finds your waist.

It’s firm. Warm. Spanning your side like he’s meant to be there. You don’t flinch. You melt.

Bruce exhales through his nose, slow—like he’s holding something back. And then—he leans in again. Lips ghosting along your jaw. A kiss. Hot. Precise. One second too long.

“If you really don’t want this…” Another kiss—closer to your ear. “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t. You can’t. You just look at him.

Those wide, soft eyes—fuck, those eyes. All hesitant and glassy, like you’re about to cry but don’t know why. Your breath stutters. Your thighs clench tighter. He can see it. He can feel it in the way your hips shift, just slightly—like your body’s already aching for pressure.

And your mouth?

“Sir…” A whisper. A whimper. “Don’t stop…”

Your chin tips higher. Your neck tilts—offering him more. Giving him room. Like you want him to bite again. His grip on your waist tightens.

God. His thoughts are a mess. Vile. Addicted.

She’s probably soaked under that skirt. Soaked and trembling and standing here like she doesn’t know what she’s asking for. Cute little secretary, all pretty and sweet, probably ruined already from a few fucking kisses. Thighs pressed together like that’s going to help. Like she doesn’t want me to reach down and see what she’s hiding.

His hand flexes against your waist—thumb brushing over the soft curve of your belly. Fuck. You’re trembling.

“This is so…” you breathe. But your voice is barely there. And you don’t pull back.

Your plush stomach rises and falls with every shallow breath. He can feel the flutter of butterflies beneath it. The tension. The need. And all he wants is to see if you're as soft under your skirt as you are under his hands.

That spot—just beneath your ear, delicate and warm—and he mouths at it like he’s been dreaming of it. And when his lips drag over that exact place—

You whimper. Soft. Uncontrolled.

Your hand flies up to your mouth, eyes wide in horror.

But he’s already heard it. Already felt the way your thighs tensed. Already hard at the thought that he pulled that sound from you. He huffs—low and wrecked.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your throat. “That’s how I want you.”

His hand rises, sliding along your waist—fingertips brushing your ribs, up, up—until he presses a kiss to the swell of your chest, right above your neckline. Then another, lower, near the center. Right where your necklace rests against your skin.

“Pretty thing,” he whispers, voice dark. “Shaking like I haven’t already made you mine.”

You gasp. But you don’t stop him.

And when his hands shift—gripping your hips now—you barely have time to breathe before he lifts you. Effortless.

Like your softness means nothing to him. Or rather—like it means everything.

He sets you on the edge of the desk, lips still on your skin, kissing up the curve of your chest. And then—he drops to his knees.

His hands find the hem of your skirt. Your breath catches.

“Let me see,” he murmurs. Not a question. Not a command. A need.

He lifts the fabric slowly—palms gliding up the soft skin of your thighs, kissing every inch as he reveals it.

The plush give of your legs. The way they tremble. He kisses above your knee. Then higher. Again. Your thighs twitch. He presses another kiss—closer now.

“So soft,” he murmurs against your skin. “You’ve been hiding all this from me?” Another kiss. Higher.

“You think I haven’t noticed? Every curve. Every step you take in those skirts that ride too high on your thighs.”

You’re breathless now. Flushed hot. Soaked. And he’s still kissing. Not your core. Not yet. Just your thighs—soft, plush, trembling beneath his mouth.

He starts at your knee, lips parting over the skin with obscene slowness. One kiss. Then another. Then a trail of heat dragged upward, like he’s mapping you out inch by inch.

You twitch when he reaches the tender inner part. You can’t help it.

Bruce groans—quiet, but deep—and presses his thumbs into the crease where thigh meets hip, parting your legs just enough to make you gasp.

“You’re already shaking,” he mutters against your skin.

You cover your mouth, trying to keep the whine in.

“Sir…” you breathe. Barely audible. But it makes him pause.

He lifts his head slightly, breath grazing over the front of your panties. “Say that again.”

You hesitate—swallowing hard—because he hasn’t even touched you properly, and your body’s already betraying you.

“Sir,” you whisper.

Bruce groans like he’s the one falling apart. And then he mouths over the fabric. Not removing it. Not yet. Just pressing his tongue through the soaked lace—tasting the heat, the slick.

“God…” His hands squeeze your thighs, thumbs brushing the edge of your panties like he’s contemplating tearing them. “You’re soaked through, sweetheart.”

You try to respond—try to say something coherent—but his mouth is back, pressing in, lips dragging along the soaked seam like he’s savoring the fact that you’re already ruined and still dressed.

“These are in the way.”

And with that—he hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties and pulls them down, slow.

Dragging the damp fabric down your soft thighs, watching how the slick clings, watching it stretch before snapping back—leaving you bare and glistening. He stares like it’s the first light he’s seen in years.

“Fuck…” he swears. “Look at you.”

Then—he leans in. And licks one long, deep stripe through your folds. Your whole body jolts. A breath caught in your throat.

“Sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted,” he rasps. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

And then he’s gone—mouth sealed, tongue working, hands pinning your thighs open. He doesn’t ease you into it. He dives in.

Tongue curling. Lips dragging. Nose brushing your clit with every groan he lets out against your soaking core. He eats like he means it—like he’s starving. Like this isn’t just something he wants—it’s something he needs. You let out a sound—half gasp, half whimper—and slap a hand over your mouth, cheeks flushing hot. You’ve never had this before. Not even close.

No one’s ever been down there for you—let alone a man like him. With his mouth greedy, his grip bruising, his voice hoarse from how much he wants to stay between your legs.

“Sir,” you whisper, but it’s shaky—like you're falling apart just trying to say it.

Bruce groans into you. The sound vibrates right through your clit. Your thighs twitch, instinct pulling your knees inward—but his grip tightens, holding you open with one large hand as his other smooths slowly over your trembling belly.

“First time?” he murmurs, voice wrecked, lips brushing against your soaked folds.

You nod, eyes glassy, thighs trembling harder.

“Thought so,” he growls, pressing a kiss right over your clit.

Then another.

Then his tongue slides deep again, slower now—but more intentional. More possessive.

“You’re too sweet not to have been touched like this,” he mutters against you. “Too fucking soft.”

You’re whimpering now. Not because it hurts. Because it doesn’t.

It feels too good.

“W..we shouldn’t—” you gasp, but your hips roll toward his mouth like they know better. “Not here–”

He chuckles. Dark. Muffled. "Yes, here.."

And then—he sucks.

Mouth wrapping around your clit, tongue flicking until your hand is gripping his hair, thighs pressed to his jaw, your whole body tense and fluttering.

“Sir—ah—Sir, I—”

But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow.

He groans again—filthy and full—like he’s tasting every single noise that falls out of you.

“That’s it,” he pants, breath hot, lips dragging over your slick skin. “Cum on my tongue, sweetheart. Let me feel it.”

And you do.

You fall apart with a sharp cry, hand still over your mouth, legs shaking, soaked and ruined and barely keeping it together as he rides you through it, licking up every drop like it’s his prize.

He pulls back slowly, tongue heavy in his mouth, lips slick and red from where he’s just been. You’re still panting. Shaking. He doesn’t move far—just enough to look at you.

Your skirt is bunched around your waist. Your blouse clings to your chest. And your thighs are still parted, trembling, the inside of them wet with him.

“I can—” you start, voice quiet, “I can return the favor, Sir.”

He breathes hard through his nose. The way you say Sir nearly breaks him.

“No,” he says. A little too fast. A little too raw. “Don’t.”

He presses one hand to your knee. The other slides up—slow, firm—until his fingers trace the heat between your legs. You jolt. Breath catching.

“This isn’t about me,” he murmurs. “Not tonight.”

And he doesn’t stop touching you.

Even after you’ve come on his tongue—hard, ruined—he stays there, face still between your thighs, fingers dragging through the slick mess he’s made.

He watches it. Watches how it glistens between your folds. Watches the way you twitch every time he brushes too close to your clit.

You’re still in your blouse. Still in your skirt.

Your thighs are bare now, trembling under the heat of his breath.

And Bruce? Bruce is still on his knees. Still in that expensive suit. Still hard behind his zipper, jaw tight like he’s holding something back.

His fingers are slow at first. Sliding over your slit. One thick finger pressing just enough to feel how soft you are inside.

“You ever been touched like this?” he murmurs—not teasing. Just curious. Just ruined.

You nod slowly, breath stuttering. “Yeah… just not like this.”

He hums. Dark. Low. His fingers stroke again, dragging slick over your entrance.

“Figures,” he mutters. “You’re used to boys, huh?”

You don’t answer. Not when he’s already pushing a single finger inside—steady, controlled. You gasp, hips twitching forward. His mouth presses to your thigh.

“You feel that?” he breathes. “How easy you open up for me?”

You nod again. Barely. His name trembles on your tongue, but you can’t form it.

He curls the finger once, then again—deep—and your whole body jolts. He kisses your other thigh. A little harder this time. Closer to where his finger is moving. His mouth is warm. Wet.

“So fucking tight,” he mutters. “Can’t stop thinking about how you’re gonna feel around my cock.”

Your breath stutters. “Sir—”

His tongue drags a line up the inside of your thigh. His finger doesn’t stop. If anything, he adds another—thick, smooth, stretching you open until your knees shake. You feel full—not overwhelmed, just aware. Like he’s studying how your body reacts to every thrust, every curl, every filthy flick of his wrist.

“They didn’t take their time with you, did they?”

You don’t answer.

Because he’s right. You’ve had sex. But not like this. No one’s ever knelt for you. No one’s ever worked their fingers this deep, this slow. Kissed your thighs like they meant it. Like they wanted to. Like they couldn’t help it.

You’ve been touched. But not like this. Not like he’s savoring you. Not like he’s grateful to be on his knees between your legs, with your skirt hitched up and your body flushed, trembling, real.

And maybe that’s what hits you hardest. Because you’ve always been soft. And you know what the world does with softness—it tolerates it. Avoids it. Looks past it.

But Bruce? Bruce is looking.

His mouth presses another kiss to your thigh. His hand, large and warm, spreads across your waist like it fits there. Like it belongs. Not clutching. Not pawing. Just holding—firm, steady.

“You have no idea,” he mutters, voice wrecked, “how long I’ve wanted to touch you like this.”

You almost laugh—but your breath hitches instead. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat. Your skin. Between your legs.

“I’m not—” you start.

But the words vanish when his fingers move again, deep and slow.

“Not what?” he murmurs. His lips ghost up your thigh. “Not like the girls you think I’ve had?”

Your chest rises. Your hands grip the edge of the desk behind you.

“You think I’d be on my knees for anyone else?” He curls his fingers inside you—just right—and your whole body jolts.

“No. Just you.”

He leaves a few marks on your inner thighs.

“The way you sound, the way you feel—fuck, the way you look in these skirts…”

You moan softly, and he eats it up. Kisses the crease of your thigh. Moves his hand from your waist to your hip, grounding you.

“You’re not some fantasy. You’re real. And you’re gorgeous.”

Your thighs tremble.

He doesn’t let up. Doesn’t give you time to hide or deflect or turn your face away. Because he’s not worshipping the idea of you.

He’s touching you.

And wanting you.

Two fingers, deep, curling just right. His thumb strokes lazy circles over your clit. Not fast. Just enough. Just perfect.

Your thighs are shaking now. Your grip on the desk is white-knuckled.

“That’s it,” he murmurs behind you. “Just like that.”

Your skirt’s still bunched up at your hips. Your blouse still clings to your back. You’re mostly dressed, but it doesn’t matter—because you’re coming apart anyway.

You moan—soft, sweet, wrecked. And Bruce watches every second of it.

“So good for me,” he breathes, voice tight. “Letting me feel you like this…”

You choke on a sound—his name maybe—but your body does the rest for you. Your walls clench around his fingers, trembling through it, hips twitching as your orgasm hits hard and helpless.

“That’s it. Just like that. Let me have it, pretty.”

He works you through it, slow and patient, fingers never leaving you until you’re whimpering from the aftershocks.

And when he finally pulls them out—slick and glistening—he doesn’t speak for a moment. He just looks.

Then, quietly: “Can you take me?”

You blink stars in your vision, still catching your breath, hand over your mouth.

“Are you up for it?” His voice is lower now. Rough. Like he’s asking, not assuming. Like this is the moment he’ll stop if you ask him to.

You turn your head, breathless and hot. “Please, Sir…”

It breaks something in him. You hear it—in the low groan that leaves his chest. In the clink of his belt coming undone. In the way he swears under his breath like he’s been waiting years to hear you say it.

“Fuck…”

His trousers slide down. His hand wraps around himself once—just to take the edge off. And then—he steps closer.

“I’m gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, cock dragging through your slick folds. “Gonna fuck you nice, I promise.”

You feel the head of him press against your entrance—thick, hot, aching.

“Still so soft,” he whispers against your cheek. “Still so wet for me.”

He slides in slow. Thick. Heavy.

Stretching you inch by inch, so full you can barely think—barely breathe. Your soft thighs twitch against his sides. Your fingers dig into the muscled skin of his arms, holding tight.

“Fuck,” you whisper—half-shocked, half-wrecked.

Bruce groans low in his throat, forehead nearly pressed to yours.

“Yeah?” he breathes. “You feel it, don’t you…”

And god, do you.

He’s so thick. He’s not even moving yet, and it already feels like he’s splitting you open—dragging along every nerve, pressing deep where no one’s ever reached.

His hands settle at your waist, sinking into the soft give there—not just steadying you, but grabbing you. Like he needs the feel of your body under his palms just to stay grounded.

You let out a shaky breath. Your arms reach up, instinctive, wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer—needing the weight of his chest, the warmth of his breath against your mouth.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he exhales, broken.

You moan in his ear when he grinds in just a little deeper, adjusting the angle. He groans again—this time lower, rougher, like he’s biting back a curse.

“You’re—fuck—you’re wrapped around me so tight,” he mutters, almost to himself. “So goddamn wet.”

He pulls back—not far—and then pushes in again, slower this time, letting you feel the entire stroke.

Your jaw drops. Your breath stutters. His grip shifts lower, kneading at your thighs now—thick, plush, spreading just for him.

“That’s it…” he coos, lips brushing your cheek. “You take me so fucking well.”

You feel everything. The press. The weight. The stretch. And he’s deep. So deep.

You whimper into his neck, and he keeps going—praising you, rambling, sounding like he’s drunk on every squeeze of your cunt.

“You’re made for this, you know that?”

“Sitting at your little desk every day looking so sweet—so soft—had me fucking aching.”

“You don’t even know what you’ve been doing to me…”

You clutch at his shirt now, pulling him flush to you—skin to fabric. Your blouse-covered tummy soft against his stomach, his shirt riding up just a bit. Your thighs bracket his hips, needy and open.

“Sir—”

That nearly breaks him. His hips stutter forward and he groans, face buried at your throat, his hands tightening on your waist like you’re the only thing holding him to earth.

“God, you feel so good,” he grits. “So warm—so fucking perfect.”

You’re soaked around him. Still fluttering. Still stretched and trembling and so full. He fucks in deeper, slower—like he’s trying to savor every slick squeeze, every flutter of your soft body wrapped around his cock.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he breathes into your neck. “Coming into this office every goddamn day wanting to ruin you.”

His hips roll again.

You can feel him everywhere. Your tummy flutters with every slow thrust, and your moans shake as you cling tighter to him—your nose buried near his ear.

“I’m never gonna forget how this feels,” he whispers. “You, like this—around me.”

He rasps out, breath trembling. “Fuck, sweetheart—you’re gonna break me.”

You’re close. He can feel it—your body fluttering around him, tighter, warmer, soaked with every slow roll of his hips.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice ragged. “That’s it, baby…”

He draws back and thrusts deep again, hips grinding into yours, the soft curve of your belly pressing flush to his abdomen. His hands grip at your thighs, your waist—anywhere he can touch—sinking into the warmth, the give of your body, pulling you down onto him like he wants you to stay there.

“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” he breathes, nose brushing your cheek. “Gonna fall apart just like this?”

Your walls clamp down around him and Bruce grunts—deep in his chest—still holding your hips, still fucking you through it like he can’t stop, won’t stop until he’s wrung every last flutter out of you. His cock twitches inside you, hot and thick.

“That’s it,” he pants. “That’s my girl. Just like that.”

Your body trembles—legs shaking, thighs pressing to his sides—and he groans at the way your cunt tightens around him. He barely slows—just enough to lock his hips deep, deep inside you—his voice breaking on a moan as he buries his face against your cheek.

“You’re gonna make me—fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum—”

His hips stutter against yours, thick inside you. He angles deeper, hitting that soft spot again, and your body arches, a gasp ripping from your throat. The heat bubbling in your lower stomach coils tighter—white and pulsing, about to detonate.

You’re a babbling mess. “Sir—Mr. Wayne—” Another gasp hits you like a wave. “Bruce—”

That does it.

A guttural groan tears from him. His fingers, probably leaving bruises on your plush hips, thrust deeper. Your hands bury in his hair. His name spills from your lips over and over. And it absolutely undoes him.

His hips stutter again, slower now, dragging out every last flicker of sensation from you. And when he presses into that spot one more time, it breaks you.

Your body tightens around him. The orgasm hits—hard—white heat pulsing through your veins, your back arching, thighs clenching around his waist. A breathless cry escapes you as you fall apart completely.

He groans as you squeeze around him, his own release chasing yours. A low, wrecked sound spills from his throat as he buries himself to the hilt, pulsing deep, warmth spilling inside you. His forehead drops to yours, damp hair sticking to his skin, chest heaving.

For a while, it’s just the sound of your breathing. Both of you wrecked. Sweaty. Trembling. Tangled in sheets and each other. You close your eyes, still catching your breath, and feel his hand brush over your thigh—gentle, almost absent-minded.

“You okay?” he asks, voice rough from use.

You nod against him, soft. “Yeah.”

Bruce exhales slowly, like something in him loosens at your answer. His forehead stays pressed to yours for a moment longer, eyes closed, before he finally shifts—carefully. He draws back, pulling out of you with a hiss between his teeth. He stills the moment your body jolts at the sensitivity, a large hand cupping the back of your thigh to ground you.

“Easy,” he murmurs.

You breathe out a shaky laugh, eyelids fluttering. “I’m fine.”

“Still,” he mutters.

He slips off his suit jacket—crumpled somewhere on the floor—and grabs a clean handkerchief from the inside pocket. It’s monogrammed. Of course it is. He’s quiet as he cleans you up—not rushed, not clinical. Just… gentle. Attentive in a way that makes your throat tighten.

When he’s done, he reaches for your underwear, sliding it back up your legs slowly, then smooths your skirt down, fingers lingering more than they need to. He doesn’t say anything. But there’s something reverent in the way he does it. Like this is more than just habit. Like you’re more than just a distraction.

He stands, tucks himself back into his slacks, fastens his belt with a sharp click, then glances down at you—still half-draped over your desk, body spent.

“Come on,” he says, offering his hand. “I’m taking you home.”

You blink. “But I still have to finish—”

“No.”

His voice leaves no room for argument, but it’s not unkind. “You’re done for today. You’re off tomorrow. I’ll handle everything else.”

“Bruce—”

He leans down, kisses your forehead like it’s something he’s wanted to do for a long time. His hand smooths your hair back, eyes searching yours.

“Let me take care of you.”

And for once… you let him.

So...how we feeling..? First time writing for Dc.. hopefully I dont get a stake to the heart for this.. Also dont tell me if its bad, let me cringe later.

-The Intern

[yerbuaaa]

i need a x reader fic with no smut just fluff and love. IM TIRED OF THESE LUSTFUL FICS. Give me drama, give me a hurt/comfort, give me multiple parts, GIVE ME MEN WHO YEARN!!!!!

[blond3ang3l]

❄️Snowy day with Batkids❄️

(Male reader)

Dick- 17 Jason- 16 Tim-12 Duke & Cass- 10 Steph- 7 Damian-5

———————————————————————

“Get your cold ass hands off me you son of a bitch!”

“No way, not after you had us outside for two hours because you lost the key.”

You shook your head listening to your two step children go back and forth. You had came home to see them in nothing but pajamas outside to your confusion. What made it worse was that it was snowing heavy, at least 4 inches now. You had just came back from food shopping and Bruce was out grabbing other stuff. You two left the oldest two to watch their younger siblings so just how did they end up out here? You unlocked the door and pushed them into the house to warm up.

“Cmon boys. I’m gonna go check on your brothers and sisters. You two try not to kill each other please.”

Your hand went to the back of their heads rubbing it softly before going upstairs to check on the younger five kids. It was the middle of the days so the youngest two Damian and Steph were in their rooms napping. You stepped into the room and your heart practically melted. The two tended to argue about literally nothing but they looked so adorable. The two fell asleep on the floor next to each other after they seemed to have finished painting. They were covered in it and their finished products were on the floor. Steph’s was a picture of the family and Damian’s seemed to be of you, Bruce, and Talia. A small smile came on your face and you picked the two up and laid them in their beds. You’d have to bathe them later but it was so worth it.

Duke was playing quietly with Cass in their shared room. As you stepped in the two kids practically lit up. You were ambushed and tackled to the floor making you groan but chuckle as well.

“I’m glad you guys are happy to see me.”

“Daddy! Is papa Bruce with you? He said he was gonna train me when he got back from the store!”

You smiled at Cass’s eagerness to see and be like her other father. It was adorable how much you guys children adored him.

“No, but he is on his way. Why don’t you get dressed so you’ll be ready when he comes.”

She practically squealed with excitement at your words. Duke was holding on to your leg. You looked down to him and he was smiling up at you. It was damn cute, while bruce had Cass, Damian, Dick and Stephanie you had Duke and Jason who were total daddy boys for you. You pressed your lips to his forehead before letting go back to playing.

That was four now only one was missing. When you heard a sudden crash from the bathroom you knew it was the last one.

“Tim, what are you doing this time?”

He turned around and all you see is him messing with your hair and skin care. The twelve year olds face was covered in your charcoal mask making you shake your head to keep from laughing.

“I uh- I didn’t know you’d be home so soon dad.”

“Uh huh, and you seem to be havin a real good time with my stuff kid.

You wet a rag to wipe the excess away from his eyes to keep it from getting inside them.

“Need to be careful boy. Next time wait for me to help you. Or ask Dick, he knows how to do it without getting messy. And ask before you just touch my stuff, you could have been allergic to something in this”

“My bad dad.”

You hummed in response until you hand sudden thought.

“Wait a minute did you not hear your brothers knocking on the door?”

“Oh no I did. But they wouldn’t let me play the game with them so I ignored it.”

You deadpanned at your son’s words and got ready to scold him when you heard Stephanie’s small voice calling out to you.

“Dada!”

You had a long day ahead of you..

———————————————————————

I’m gonna make a part two probably next week

My Christmas sucked so writing what I want my future to be<3

[sofiafantasies]

“Tirame las aguas.”

You say, turning your head behind your shoulder before looking back at your hands. Your fingers working their magic on the keypad. You never really understood why Bruce locks his cookies like this. It's not like you guys were gonna steal it.

Damian nodded and turned around, crossing his arms and leaning on the wall. Jason turned around just to snap his head back at you. “What?” He asked, shaking his head like you just gave him an insult.

“If you can't understand simple instructions on a cookie heist—”

“I understood!” Jason whispered back from the crouched position he was in. You rolled your eyes and looked over your shoulder. “It just doesn't make sense.”

You raised your bottom lip and looked him up and down. You gave him clear instructions, and he made a big deal of them. “Work faster, would ya?” Tim rushed into your ear, the headpiece he had left for you beeping as it activated.

You hissed, rubbing your ear on your shoulder. “Can it, Tim!” You whispered harshly after you lifted your head up. You brought your hand up to your ear and tried to lower the volume. “What doesn't make sense about—?”

“Pennyworth's coming,” Damian informed you in a rush, pushing himself off of the wall. He narrowed his wide eyes at the butler before turning his head to you.

You shifted in the crouched position you were in, a hand to the floor to keep yourself steady. “Distráelo,” you whispered, nodding up at him. “ya casi termino.” He nodded before walking off.

“Jason, tirame las aguas,” you said to him, lifting your head up to look at him. He furrowed his brows at you, you thought it was because you said his name in a Spanish accent. You rolled your eyes, turning to the keypad and typing in other codes that Bruce would use.

“I don't-I don't know what that means.” He stuttered, leaning forward.

“Really, dude?” The voice of Tim came through the comms. You slapped your palm on your ear and took the piece out with a hiss. A chill running down your spine. He must have added volume right after you turned it down. He was a menace.

“Not gonna lie—same!” He chuckled. Jason groaned, reaching out to the headpiece. You sat on your bum and rubbed your ear, groaning. This better be where Bruce keeps his cookies.

“Same what?” Jason questioned, lowering the volume on the earpiece.

“That you don't know what it means.” Tim said with a mouthful. It gave you an idea he was finished patrol and stopped by for a snack.

“Jason, tirame las aguas!” You rushed him. You knew Damian could not keep Alfred away forever. And Bruce could come any minute from patrol.

“I don't know what that means!” He yelled.

You tsked and pulled at the lock. “Tim, si no te apuras te voy a matar!” You whispered harshly. You grunted, hitting the lock with your palm. You wanted those cookies, you were getting those cookies!

“But, Alfred!”

You inhaled, a sharp gasp as you turned your head behind yourself. “Jason!” You whispered, narrowing your eyes. “Tirame. Las. Aguas!” You said, emphasizing your words by widening and narrowing your eyes at him.

“I don't know what the fuck that means!” He whispered, glaring at you. “Do you really want me to throw you the waters? The waters! With an 's'?”

“What?” You furrowed your brows before grunting as you sucked in your bottom lip. You turned back to the keypad, why did Bruce decide to change the location to the floor at the pantry? You didn't think anyone but Jason was allowed in the kitchen.

“Jason, presta atención a la puerta.” You said, trying to clarify.

“They do look sick! I think it's a virus. We must give them medical attention at once.”

Jason peered over his shoulder before he turned back to you. “Why?”

“Code Black!” Tim's frantic voice came through the headpiece.

“What?” You said, turning your head to look behind you.

“Bats on the way home!” He informed, and you could tell he was running.

“Do you want them to die!?”

“Did he catch you?” Jason asked, raising a brow at the headpiece.

Tim scoffed, “Of course not. He got an alarm.”

“Who has an alarm on their cookie jar?”

“Bruce, apa—aparentemente,” you said, pulling at the lock. "y nos va a matar." You say in a whine before snapping your head behind you. “Después de que te mate yo!” You whispered at Jason.

“I am going to die!”

“I don't understand what that means.” He said once again with narrowed eyes.

“Mira, mocoso, hijo del Diablo,” you start, turning to him and abandoning the lock. "como que no sabes? Si te hablo en español todos los días."

“That specific phrase has never been muttered—” he pointed a finger at you making you gasp.

“Como te atreves!” You lean forward just to smack his hand away. “Tu me respetas—me importa un pepino si sos más grande que yo, jueputa!”

“Guys!” Damian said, peering over the door. “Alfred's on his way.”

You groaned and slapped the back of Jason's head which was open to the hit once he turned his head to the little demon brat. “Ow!”

“Que te dije que me tiren las aguas!”

“Why would I throw waters at you?” He yelled, rubbing the back of his head as he turned to look at you. “Waters!”

Damian sighed, shaking his head. “Being around you has made me lose brain cells and unable to make up a great excuse. But then again all your yelling didn't help.” He looked back at the two of you, narrowing his eyes—he hadn't realized until now the two of you were working in the dark and his older brother's eyes were glowing.

He paid no mind to that; the two of you were weird anyway. "I will be heading to the Batcave. I must check on Batcow and Alfred the Cat and make sure they have not caught a sickness. I will accept any punishment from Father once he finds out about this, but I will not leave their side until further notice. Good night, and I love you—not you, Todd.”

“Adiós! Descansa! Dile a los bebés qué los quiero, te amo!” He took a step back and rushed out of the kitchen, evading Alfred. He huffed and made his way to the kitchen pantry. “'Perate!” You yelled, realizing what that meant.

You quickly grabbed the doorknob and closed the door. “Esto es tu culpa!” You say, turning your head to Jason.

“My fault?” He yelled, a hand to his chest. “This is your fault!” He pointed his finger at you because he found that you took it as an insult.

You gasped and stretched your foot out to hit him. He fell back and glared at you. Your foot only missed again. You decide to stand up and kick him, but he just grabbed your ankle and tossed it aside. “Ey!”

You fall to your knee and glare at him. A knock at the pantry door makes you two freeze. You pull at the doorknob, putting all your weight into holding the door closed. “Mrs.—”

“It's okay, Alfred, I'm just very hungry.” You say before he could say anything. “You know, you buy the best snacks—healthy yet yummy!” You chuckle, tilting your head to your shoulder.

“We've been caught, kiddo.” Jason whispers next to you. He narrowed his eyes at you as you didn't reply.

“If you are as hungry as you say why don't I make you and master Jason something.” Alfred offered, his hands behind his back.

“You can take him,” you said loudly, turning your head to him, narrowing your eyes. “all yours.”

“What?” His eyes widened.

“You can call me when dinner is ready.” You nodded your head at the door, hoping—praying he would get it.

He rolled his eyes and stood up. You let go of the doorknob quietly and pushed yourself to the wall, tucking your knees close to you. He opened the door, his eyes stopped glowing. “Hey, Alfred.”

You tapped his shin, trying to get him to keep moving—the light was killing you. He rolled his eyes and stepped out, closing the door behind him. “Are they okay?” Alfred raised a brow.

“Eh, sort of.” He shrugged. You crawled to the door and pulled down on the doorknob. Jason crossed his arms with a bored expression—he really wanted those cookies. “S'just back to her old habits.”

Alfred narrowed his eyes. There was nothing to go back to if it was always there.

“He's here, he's—” Tim froze as he saw Alfred. “—Alfred. Hey! Hi, Alfred. Hi, Alfred. Hi, Alfred.” His hands flew behind his back, smiling awkwardly at him.

Jason raised a brow, coughing in his fist. “Uh, right, where's—” a loud alarm rang through the house.

“I got it!” You yelled, kicking the pantry door. Jason yelped and jumped out of the way as Alfred simply took a few steps back. “Te dije qué podría hacerlo, hijos de—” seeing Alfred you settled with a nicer insult. “de vuestro padre hermoso.”

You cleared your throat, hugging the jar of cookies close to your chest. Your irises flickered from Alfred to Jason to Tim as you side-stepped. “Haha!” You exclaimed before running past Tim, holding the jar above your head.

“Hey!” The two guys yelled before running after you. “We were supposed to share those!” Tim yelled after you.

“You were never gonna share those, were you?” Jason yelled.

You ran as fast as you could, not letting yourself get caught. You and your little gremlin laugh were caught off by dark green eyes glaring at you. You yelped before slowing your run. “Beloved, you will share those, won't you?”

“Nope!” You say, running around him. Damian scoffed, turning around to look behind his shoulder. “Ni lo pienses, amor mío!” You laugh before screaming as Batcow mooed at you. “Tramposo!” You yelled as you fell on your bum.

Damian walked to you, Alfred the cat in arms. “You will share.” He said firmly.

“'Ta bien!” You huffed, still holding the jar in your arms. “Pero vámonos qué ya viene el suegro.” You stood up, glaring at him. “Y tu sabes cómo se pone el viejo ese. Baba-in-law nos va a matar pero yo esperó qué te mate primero mientras yo me cómo las demás galletas.”

“Put those back.” The menacing voice of Bruce said behind the two. He ignored the cow inside the manor plus the insult and focused his eyes on the cookie jar.

“Give those back you—” Tim cut himself off and stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Bruce dressed in his suit standing menacingly behind the two of you.

“Move it, Replece—what the fuck?” Jason cut himself off as well. He did not flinch at the fact that his father was there. Mostly that Batcow was in the manor. He will fight his father if he has to and you know this.

You know this.

“Aguas!” You yelled, turning to face your brothers-in-law before throwing the jar of cookies. Jason was the first to respond to the call since he still wonders why the hell you are yelling out waters!

Bruce wasted no time in attacking. And Jason wasted no time in attacking back. Tim yelped, getting knocked down. He huffed, the air leaving his lungs. “Corre, hijo de puta!” You yelled before turning to run yourself.

All you knew was that it was chaos. You hid behind a wall, Alfred the cat joining you after getting knocked out of Damian's arms by Jason on accident—the man swears!—making the boy join the fight.

Tim was the only one who was not in the battle. You knew this, of course. He's tactical. Strategetic. And definitely won't share with his dear sibling-in-law. You grabbed Alfred the cat and made your way past their little cartoonish dust battle, passing Alfred who didn't look too happy about the fight.

You rounded the corner and started running, holding poor Alfred the cat in your arms like a little baby. You slowed down once you saw Tim holding the cookie jar. He was about to open it when Duke appeared from behind him with Steph. “Heeeyyy! Whatcha got there?”

You narrowed your eyes and placed little Alfred the cat down and dashed forward. “Uh, nothing?” Tim shrugged a shoulder as he closed the lid with an awkward smile. He gasped once the jar was snatched from his hands.

“Son mías!” You laughed, a little evil Stich laugh.

“Hey!”

You rounded the corner and pressed your palm to the wall. The wall parted and you dashed forward, bricks closing in and paint sealing the entrance. Tim grunted as he followed after you. “Oooh, a race?” Steph giggled and stretched her hand to her side, slapping Duke in the stomach, “Whoever finds the cookie jar first gets to eat it all!” She yelled before rushing after Tim.

Duke grunted, holding his middle. “I think the cookies will be long gone by then.”

The walls opened and you settled into the bed. The walls closed in, the paint re-sealing the secret passage. You laughed as you opened the cookie jar. You took one out and was about to take a bite when a little moo and meow was heard. You turned your head and smiled, lowering the cookie.

Still stuck in adrenaline you said, “Hola, bebés.”

“Share.” You gasped, clutching the cookie jar, wrapping your legs around it, and bringing your knees close. Damian stood at the other side of the bed. He either found a secret passage or he was that damn sneaky. You'll take the second one.

“Pero—”

“Hubi,” you pressed your lips into a thin line. You sighed and relaxed your legs and arms. You placed the cookie jar next to you as he climbed on. You turned to the two animals and gestured them over. They slowly made their way to you as you took a bite of the cookie.

“We should do this more often.” You say, petting Batcow as Alfred the cat jumps on Damian's bed.

“Agreed, habibti.” He smirked, he had definitely struck a few blows on his family. You shrugged, looking at the half biten cookie in your hands.

“I wonder if he has a tracker inside the cookies.”

“That's too extreme even for him.” He says, petting Alfred the cat who snuggled on his lap. He looks at you and rests his head on your shoulder.

“Eh, las cosas qué uno hace por la comida.” You said before biting the rest of your cookie. Damian smiled, wrapping his arm around your waist, caressing the extra fat there.

He lifted his head and you turned to look at him, grabbing another cookie from the jar. “True, you did marry me back at Nanda Parbat after my mother held a dinner for us.”

You scoffed, turning your head the other way. “That is absurd. Yo nunca me casé contigo solo por la comida.”

“Then why are you speaking Spanish, amada?” He teased, leaning in and kissing your cheek with a cheeky smile. You turned your head to him, licking your lips.

You pouted, “Porque yo puedo?”

“That sounded like a question.” He chuckled, kissing just beneath your eye. You smiled, scrunching your nose. “Go on, let's finish these before they come banging on our door.” He lightly squeezed the fat on your side and leaned to kiss the corner of your lips.

“They wouldn't dare.” You say, nuzzling your head against his. He chuckled, leaning against you.

You gasped as you felt the cookie in your hand disappear. “Batcow!” You snap your head to your right and gape at the cow eating your cookie. “No, eso puede ser malo para a tí, corazón!”

Damian panicked as well, getting out of the bed. “Drop it!" He told his pet, his eyes narrowing as he held the cow's muzzle.

“Give us the cookies!” Steph yelled as she slammed the door open.

“Not now!” Damian yelled back.

“Call Alfred, our babies are dying!” You yelled as you held Alfred the cat from biting the cookies that slipped out of the knocked-over cookie jar.

Damian groaned, glaring at you. Steph stepped back and dashed off, “Alfred!”

“You jinxed it, Damian!” You yell, kicking the jar off of the bed as you held Alfred the cat high above your head.

———————————————————————

Incorrect quotes aftermath.

Translations;

"Tirame las aguas." - "Throw me the waters." - Old Mexican slang for watching/looking out.

"Distráelo," - "Distract him,"

"ya casi termino." - "I'm almost done."

"Jason, tirame las aguas," - "Jason, throw me the waters." - Basically saying for him to keep an eye out.

"...si no te apuras te voy a matar!" - "..if you don't hurry I will kill you!"

"Tirame. Las. Aguas!" - "Throw me. The. Waters!"

"...presta atención a la puerta." - '...pay attention to the door."

"...apa—aparentemente," - "...ap-apparently,"

"y nos va a matar." - "and he's going to kill us."

"Después de que te mate yo!" - "After I kill you!"

"Mira, mocoso, hijo del Diablo," - "Look, you brat, son of the Devil," - It sounds better in Spanish, trust.

"como que no sabes? Si te hablo en español todos los días." - "What do you mean you don't know? If I speak to you in Spanish every day."

"Como te atreves!" - "How dare you!" - Pointing at someone is considered rude in some places.

"Tu me respetas—me importa un pepino si sos más grande que yo, jueputa!" - "You respect me—I don't give a damn if you're bigger than me, motherfucker! - Fits Jason, I guess.

"Que te dije que me tiren las aguas!" - "I told you to throw waters at me!" - "I told you to keep an eye out for me!"

"Adiós! Descansa! Dile a los bebés qué los quiero, te amo!" - "Goodbye! Rest! Tell the babies that I love them, I love you!"

"'Perate!" - "Stop!" - Full word for stop is "Esperate"

"Esto es tu culpa!" - "This is your fault!"

"Te dije qué podría hacerlo, hijos de—" - "I told you I could do it, sons of—"

"de vuestro padre hermoso." - "of your beautiful father."

"Ni lo pienses, amor mío!" - "Don't even think about it, my love!"

"Tramposo!" - "Cheater!"

"'Ta bien!" - "Fine!"/"Okay!"

"Pero vámonos qué ya viene el suegro." - "But let's go, that father-in-law is coming."

"Y tu sabes cómo se pone el viejo ese. Baba-in-law nos va a matar pero yo esperó qué te mate primero mientras yo me cómo las demás galletas." - "And you know how that old man gets. Baba-in-law is going to kill us but I'm hoping that he kills you first while I eat the rest of the cookies." - "Baba" = "Father" in Arabic.

"Aguas!" - "Waters!" - "Watch out!"

"Corre, hijo de puta!" - "Run, son of a bitch!"

"Son mías!" - "They're mine!"

"Hola, bebés." - "Hi, babies."

"Pero—" - "But—"

"Hubi," - "My love," in Arabic gender-neutral version, I think.

"...habibti," - "My love," Female version in Arabic, 100% know. Gotta add the 't'!

"Eh, las cosas qué uno hace por la comida." - "Eh, the things one does for food."

"Yo nunca me casé contigo solo por la comida." - "I never married you just for the food."

"...amada." - "Beloved." - Female version - "Amado" for male

"Porque yo puedo?" - "Because I can?"

"No, eso puede ser malo para a tí, corazón!" - "No, that can be bad for you, sweetheart!"

Tell me if I missed any.

[thirstnotes]

| Rivals To Lovers - Clark Kent - Part Twelve - Clark Kent, Superman (Alternative)|

Pairings: Clark Kent x AFABBlackCurvyReader

Warnings: abduction, Red Hood, mild confusion, language, minors DNI, violence, Dark Clark, Murderous Clark, manipulation, Jason being angsty

I'm so sorry this took so long, ya'll. Life is happening and I was at a loss for what to write at the same time. I'm very sorry to ya'll that are in love with this. I haven't forgot about you, I promise! Thanks for all the likes and love and reposts!

If you don't like it, don't read it.

No one could've predicted that Clark would actually have gone through with it. Not even he himself. But there he was, standing in a room full of men he never even bothered to even speak to, blood splattered across his chest from their attempt to destroy him.

The Gatling gun was a solid touch too.

Arguably this could've been spun as a case of self defense by any of Bruce's army of lawyers. They'd defended way worse. But really, there was real no reason to involve them, seeing how no one was left alive and no one was going to report lack of harassment from the local assholes. So it was win/win.

Bruce's dirty work was done. By someone willing to kill.

More specifically willing to kill for you, but semantics.

He picked up what Bruce asked for, looked at his phone and started typing.

Done.

It wasn't long before he got a response.

That was quick.

They weren't too bright.

They never are. Anyway, assuming you're headed to her apartment, I think it's wise to let you know that Y/N isn't there at the moment.

Clark stopped mid-flight.

Bruce's phone began ringing. Bruce exhaled.

"Where is she, Bruce?"

"She's at a high-rise on my side of town. A colleague of mine is entertaining her."

He neglected to tell him that Jason had her with him. Given Jason's record, Clark was likely to panic even more. Granted, telling him it was a colleague of his probably didn't ease his thoughts. It was quiet for a moment on his end before the phone hung up.

Shit.

He was angry. Angry and homicidal. He had to get to Jason first.

Which was going to be a challenge since Clark was now heading in that direction.

Broken shards of his phone rained into the river he flew over as he sped towards Gotham. He had no idea what Bruce had planned, but he was furious. Why did he feel the need to have you taken from your apartment when he'd already decided to do what Bruce had asked? He was doing far too much.

Had he not have crushed his phone he could've asked about why you were taken

Maybe Bruce didn't know about it

Then again, Bruce usually knew about everything.

So he didn't want to hear it.

He'd had enough of Bruce's bullshit.

As had you.

You eyed the masked man sitting across from you. He seemed very amused by your anger towards him. At that point, you hadn't said anything more to each other after his talk with Bruce, but he seemed pretty content about it. He was pretty well armored, so hitting him with anything in the room was probably useless. That and his reflexes were probably on point if he worked with Batman, so you knew it was useless to try.

In the first place, if he worked with Batman, he must have been a "good guy", so it was strange that he had decided to kidnap you. But you didn't know the motivations or morals of superheroes. In the back of your mind, you reminded yourself about Clark and his intent to "steal" Lois from what'shisface.

Y'all know his name

Anyway, it reminded you that Clark was just as human-like as the rest of you, despite his alien origins. He often hinted that Bruce was dangerous, but maybe your bae was dangerous too.

No, he was definitely dangerous

The thought of it excited you more than you wanted to admit. A powerful, deity-like being choosing you to be his everything didn't sound like a bad deal, but you had never really considered the baggage that came with it. It was also terrifying.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he interrupted in a tone that suggested he was definitely smirking. Your eyes rolled to him, but rolled back to the window that you half expected Clark to crash through any moment.

"Just thinking. What are you getting out of all this? Why abduct me for Bruce when you know 'Golden Boy' is probably gonna kill you for it?"

"So you acknowledge you're important to him. Interesting," he said in the same tone which made you want to smack him.

"You wouldn't have taken me if you knew I wasn't, so cut the shit. What's this whole thing about?" you demanded in a less edgy tone, as you did when you conducted your interviews.

"If I haven't made it abundantly clear, it's about you and Bruce. Like I said, you've been driving him to distraction. So much that his focus has been on Metropolis lately. Which isn't a problem, unless you're Gotham's protector. Whether you know it or not, you're a liability for us unless..."

"I'm here," you said, completing his thought. You couldn't believe this stupid ass plan. Was he seriously planning to make you choose between Clark and Bruce? The whole thing felt incredibly pre-school and immature, but this dude seemed as impulsive as they came. Especially since he was risking life and limb to convince you to choose his favorite.

He seemed content to your understanding of his goal in this, but you were still unsettled as to why he was so calm about a potentially murderous Superman heading there to destroy him and probably everything he loved. Something didn't sit right.

You continued to mull over the thought until your eyes caught a familiar form in the distant sky. Clark. He hadn't seen you yet, but you guessed that all you had to do was say anything aloud and he'd hear you.

"You have something up your sleeve."

It was mostly to catch Clark's attention but it was a genuine theory that you were curious about. He didn't respond, instead looking at his phone. Clark hadn't budged either, but from the looks of things, he hadn't heard you.

"So now you don't have a smartass retort?" you provoked a bit louder, trying to catch his attention. You had no idea the range Clark could hear at, but apparently it wasn't as far as you thought.

"I mean, I could mention how your ploy to catch his attention isn't working, but I think you might be figuring that part out already," he said, still looking at his phone.

You're eyes flickered between him and the window. True enough, Clark hadn't budged, but you were realizing it wasn't because you were out of range.

"I'm broadcasting a high pitched frequency from several places that only he can hear. It doesn't do much, but it makes it a bitch to try and find you by listening for your voice. But seeing how he does that whole x-ray bullshit, I'd say we have a few minutes longer to hang out."

Your eyes floated to the phone in his hand, which was in a heavy, most likely shatterproof, case. He put it back into his arm plate, which closed it off from your access, so there was no point in trying for that either. Your blood boiled.

No. There was no use in losing your temper.

That'd only give him more of the upper hand. He expected that of you

You damn sure weren't in the habit of giving assholes what they wanted

You took a deep breath, straightening the skirt of your dress as you sat back in your seat. "Say I do choose Bruce. What's to say I don't change my mind?"

He was hesitant at your sudden cooperative shift. "Not my business. I'm only here to set the stage for you to choose. Bruce is a big boy. If you say enough, he'll back off."

You raised a brow. "If he's such a 'big boy', why'd you do all this instead of letting him approach me instead?"

Sensing you were levelling with him, he plopped down across from you again. "Bruce drags his ass. Especially when it comes to women. Sometimes drastic measures have to be taken to force his hand. To be honest, Bruce is the only choice here. Either you choose him, or I put an end to all this right now."

You didn't like the sound of "put an end to all this"

Not because of the grammatical phrasing either

His tone implied he had plans to keep you from "distracting" Bruce ever again

Was it really that deep???

Your eyes rolled to the side. "With friends like you-"

"Shit gets done," he finished, subtle laugh slipping from behind his mask.

As if on cue, the wall behind him violently seemed to be blown to pieces. The pictures and lamps fell with a helpless crash while you ducked as best you could on the sofa, covering your head for added protection. You were vaguely aware of your captor hovering a bit closer, shielding your unarmored body from any debris--not something a person bent on unaliving you might be concerned with--but your eyes were mostly focused on the figure walking through the hole in the penthouse.

"Clark," you breathed, a relieved feeling rushing over you. However, the Clark you knew wasn't there. This was Superman. A very pissed off Superman. His cold gaze swept over the armored man in front of you.

"Get away from her," he demanded, his tone sharper and colder than you'd ever heard from him. You've heard him be sarcastic, even a little cold and vindictive. But this. This was deadly.

"Easy, Flyboy. I haven't laid a single finger on her," Jason smirked.

He didn't respond. Instead, using his lightning speed, his powerful grip was around the man's throat, lifting him from the floor. You watched, polarized by the sight, unsure if he was bluffing or really about to snap his neck.

Sure, he'd abducted you and put you there and part of you was thinking he got what he deserved

But you didn't really want to see him die for it

Though, something wasn't right. Clark stumbled and his grip weakened around his throat until he'd dropped him altogether.

"Clark?!" you gasped, rushing to his side as the Red Hood corrected himself and caught his breath.

"See now that....That's why I prepared this little contingency," he said, one of the compartments in his wrist gauntlet overturned and revealing a glowing green stone in it. Kryptonite.

You'd heard and written about it's effects before, but it was the first time you'd seen it first hand. It looked radioactive almost. It was a sickening green, but you weren't the one feeling its effects. It was Clark.

His breathing was steady, but he looked drained, his forearms shaking from exposure to even that small bit. The chamber rotated shut again and Clark looked to breathe normally.

"You okay?"

He flashed you a soft, but brief smirk. "Are you okay?"

"A little rattled, but nothing I can't handle," you joked smoothly, not wanting the masked asshole to think he'd gotten the best of you.

Jason straightened himself and plopped on the sofa across from the both of you again.

"Now. Since I have your attention-"

"Jason," Bruce's voice called from across the room with every authority of a father. Jason didn't seem deterred a bit. In fact, he relaxed further into his chair.

"Bout time you got here."

"What you're doing isn't necessary," Bruce said evenly. Not unlike someone talking someone from a ledge.

You got the sense that you were a subject that was talked about before, though you didn't really know the context.

This time, he took his mask off, his eyes fiercely aimed at Bruce. He tossed a bitter chuckle at him.

"It's not necessary? Funny, for a while there, I thought this little tryst was all you seemed to fuckin' care about. You couldn't even come to see her when she called you."

You looked between them. Was he referring to Selena Kyle? Whoever that was.

Bruce exhaled. "I was busy-"

"Right. We're all supposed to understand how you piss off to play playboy while she's fighting for her life right now-"

You jumped when he screeched suddenly, his body stiffening as a jolt of electricity hit him. As he collapsed, a smaller, curvier form stood just behind him, taser in hand. Catwoman.

"Tantrum's over, Junior," she said, stepping over his body and meeting Bruce across the room.

"I might've known you'd keep your eye on him," Bruce said, eyeing her with an eerily similar look he was giving you in the park.

Your reporter senses were tingling, sensing the obvious history the two of them had.

The soap opera had taken a sudden left turn

At this point you didn't care anymore

You had a headache

(was Jason okay, or...?)

(he's breathing. it's fine.)

"So I take it the dress-" Bruce said, his eyes flickering over to you. You suddenly felt self conscious and exposed being brought back into the conversation.

"His idea, my execution. I mean. I couldn't very well let him undress an unconscious woman like a creep," she said.

You found yourself liking Catwoman quite a bit

Of course, you wondered why she'd help him if she knew what he was doing was wrong in the first place

But, truly like a cat, she had her own logic and reasons

Still, you were relieved that Jason hadn't seen all your business while you were out cold

"After I heard he was speeding off towards Metropolis, I couldn't bring myself to let him make a dumbass of himself. Call it a favor for my favorite Bat," she winked, though he looked less than amused to be owing her anything. She tapped the tip of his nose before exiting through the generous hole in the room made by Clark.

Then it was quiet. You helped Clark to his feet, though he seemed to be regaining his strength fairly quickly after the stone was securely back inside Jason's armor.

"You must think the worst of me," Bruce said, running a hand through his hair.

"I never really though much of you to begin with, but I'm sure you have an explanation," Clark said, still sounding thoroughly pissed.

Though not homicidal, so that was something

Bruce seemed to be wrestling with idea of telling you everything, but given the situation, it couldn't be helped. Jason had forced his hand.

"Strange's goons poisoned Barbara with a synthetic drug."

"I'm guessing that's why you needed this," Clark said, handing Bruce a vial.

Bruce took it, immediately scanning it with his watch. "The compounds in the poison is the only way to create an antidote. She left a tracker with one of them as they fled the scene and it pinpointed them being in the outskirts of Metropolis. Going in alone might've meant suicide, or worse, them smashing the vial. I needed to send someone they weren't expecting."

Your eyes drifted to Clark, who looked to have simmered down considerably. He was definitely not someone you'd expect. Your eyes swept down his solid form in his blood-stained spandex- Wait...

Did he kill for that vial?

When you'd imagined Superman, you always pictured a dude that always knocked out bad guys and sent them to jail, not to the cemetery

"What did you do?" you asked quietly, turning towards him. He didn't look at you immediately, instead taking a deep breath.

“When I saw you two on the street, I knew it was the perfect way to get him to do what I needed,” Bruce spoke up, sounding oddly like he was trying to defend him.

Clark’s eyes narrowed dangerously and Bruce didn’t say anything more, surrendering the situation to him.

Clark turned to you, his eyes softening considerably.

You knew what he wanted to say. What he was ashamed to admit. But you were done.

“Take me home," you said before he could even find the words to offer.

He quietly lifted you in his arms and effortlessly sailed from the window, leaving Bruce and Jason behind.

(Part 11 (Alternative))

[akairawrites]

Born for conflict | Jason Todd mini series

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"You want me to do what?"

"Find the Red Hood and rip out his throat!"

Y/n stuck her hands inside her hoodie, furrowing her brows, looking at him as if he were crazy. "Why would I ever do that?"

Black Mask returned the intense gaze, and Y/n could sense he was losing his composure, which amused her. "Because you work for me," he said through gritted teeth.

Y/n smirked, relishing in getting under his skin. She had heard about the Red Hood disrupting Black Mask's supply, but frankly, she didn't care. In a few months, he wouldn't be her problem anymore.

She looked around at the construction workers fixing the aftermath of the explosion that took place a few hours ago. She took a step forward and leaned on his desk which somehow managed to survive.

“What's in it for me?” her face was only inches away from his the look in her eyes told him she was dead serious.

“Extra pay until your deed with me is done.”

Y/n straightened up from the desk, a sly grin playing on her lips. “Consider it done.”

As she left Black Mask’s office, her mind began to strategize. She knew Gotham’s underbelly well and understood that hunting the Red Hood required finesse. The city echoed with rumors about his movements and haunts, and Y/n was determined to navigate the tangled web he wove.

Her journey took her through dimly lit alleys and hidden meeting spots. She spoke with informants, listened to whispers in the shadows, and pieced together the puzzle of the Red Hood’s elusive presence.

Days turned into nights as Y/n relentlessly pursued her target, a dance of shadows in Gotham’s treacherous landscape. The city’s pulse thrummed with secrets, and she moved through it like a silent predator, closing in on the Red Hood’s trail.

Finally, a lead pointed to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Y/n approached cautiously, aware that the Red Hood was not to be underestimated. As she entered the dimly lit space, the tension in the air grew palpable.

And there he was, the Red Hood, a figure clad in crimson and black, standing defiantly in the center of the warehouse. Y/n sized him up, her gaze meeting the unmistakable red helmet that concealed his identity.

"I assume your daddy sent you?" Of course, he already knew that.

"You're foolish if you think that man is my father." Y/n took a step forward, a deliberate move.

He chuckled "You're good, you know. Found me quicker than I expected." Y/n tilted her head in confusion, a detail the Red Hood noticed.

"Yeah, I knew you were coming. Do you really think you'd find me if I hadn't allowed you to?"

Y/n's jaw clenched; the guy was undoubtedly a character, much smarter than he looked

"I know you hate Black Mask as much as I do. Join me, Y/n, we could run this city."

His offer was tempting, and under different circumstances, she might have considered it. However, her focus was on completing the job at hand. She had no desire to align herself with him; she wanted to finish this task like all the others.

"I have no interest in joining you. I came here to get a job done."

Jason sucked his teeth. "I was afraid you'd say that."

The air crackled with tension as Y/n and Jason circled each other in the dimly lit warehouse and without warning, Jason lunged forward, blades glinting ominously. Y/n sidestepped with a dancer’s grace, quipping, “Careful with those, wouldn’t want to ruin your manicure.”

He smirked, countering, “I’ve got more important things to worry about.”

Y/n countered with a series of quick strikes, her fists a blur. “Like what? Maintaining your mysterious bad-boy image?”

Jason parried with a fluidity that showcased his own combat prowess. “You think I do this for image?”

The echoes of their banter and blows reverberated through the empty space. Metallic clangs of weapons colliding punctuated the silence.

Their fight danced between offense and defense, a symphony of skill and determination. Y/n’s hands blurred as she executed a lightning-fast combination. “You really think you can take on the entire underworld on your own?” she teased.

He smirked, dodging with acrobatic finesse. “Just getting started, sweetheart.”

Y/n’s confident facade wavered for a split second, a subtle blush creeping across her cheeks. “Don’t get too cozy with endearments; you might not live long enough to enjoy them,” she retorted, trying to mask her flustered reaction.

Jason chuckled, catching the momentary vulnerability. “Sweetheart, you’re not the first to threaten me, won’t be the last.”

She rolled her eyes, but the unexpected flutter in her chest lingered as they resumed their agile dance. The echoes of their banter and blows reverberated through the empty space, creating a unique rhythm in the midst of the fierce battle.

In a sudden burst of energy, Y/n unleashed a powerful kick. “Time to wrap this up, Red.”

As the battle intensified, the clash of fists and kicks echoed in the warehouse. Y/n’s agility matched Jason’s strength, creating a dynamic equilibrium and it showed.

Jason had finally met his match.

Their faces mere inches apart, the intensity of their locked gaze mirrored the struggle for dominance.

Jason found themselves locked in a desperate struggle. Blades met fists, and the air crackled with the sound of their duel.

Exhaustion painted their faces, yet determination still burned in their eyes. A risky move from Y/n left an opening, and Jason seized the opportunity, disarming her with a swift kick. With her weapon clattering to the ground, he held her at a momentary disadvantage.

Breathing heavily, Jason surveyed the situation, the adrenaline of battle still coursing through his veins. Instead of capitalizing on his upper hand, he took a step back, releasing Y/n from his grasp.

Their eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between them. In that moment, the intensity of the fight transformed into a strange, unspoken connection. Jason, despite having the power to end it all, chose not to deliver the final blow.

“You’re good, Y/n. Maybe we’re not that different after all,” he said, his tone carrying an unexpected depth.

She looked at him, her guard still up, but a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. “Don’t read too much into it, Red. This doesn’t change anything.”

With that, he nodded, choosing not to pursue the confrontation further. The dimly lit warehouse remained a witness to their clash, a silent testament to the complexities of their entwined destinies. Jason vanished into the shadows, leaving Y/n to collect herself in the aftermath of their intense encounter.

“Mask is going to kill me.”

Let's be real Jason Todd would destroy you if he wanted to

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[hyacinthandmoss]

Two Lonely Hearts

Summary: At first, your relationship with Batman was casual, marked by the excitement of secret encounters. But as days turned into months, you began to feel a deeper connection. Thoughts of him lingered in your mind long after your time together, and you found yourself increasingly captivated by him. You tried hard to push those thoughts aside, convincing yourself that this affair was purely physical; after all, you didn‘t even know who the man behind the cowl was. But then, Batman confessed his feelings for you.

Pairing: Batman x Plus Size Female Reader

Warnings: Minors DNI! Fluff, and non-graphic smut.

Word Count: 5,867

A/N: This might be a two-part fic. Enjoy! x

It had been a long month since you last saw Batman, your Knight. The absence was deafening, a constant buzzing in the back of your mind. Every headline, every news story about Gotham City made your heart pound faster, wondering if it was him they were talking about. Was he okay? Was he injured? Was he...alive?

You went about your days on autopilot, your heart and mind constantly drawn to the Batman.

You tried to distract yourself. You threw yourself into your work at the Wayne Legacy Foundation. Still, even that didn’t entirely keep your mind from wandering. 

At night, you tossed and turned, his image and the memories you’d shared repeating in your mind. And then you found yourself standing by the windows, gazing into the night, hoping to spot a shadowy figure against the cityscape. But there was nothing. Just silence. With every silent night, the worry in your heart grew. The silence was too loud, the absence of your Knight too palpable. Every minute without him felt like an eternity, your mind and heart constantly filled with memories and worries.  Did he lose interest in you? Was he no longer interested in your casual relationship? Had he… finally found someone?

That thought hit you like a punch in the gut. The possibility of him losing interest, finding someone else, the idea that you were truly just a casual fling left a stinging pain in your chest. You tried to push the thought away, but it kept coming back, relentless, eating at you from the inside.

It was ironic, really. You both had this intimate, passionate relationship, yet you knew nothing about each other. You shared your bodies, your desires, your time. But nothing more. No names, no dates, no personal details. Just shadows and moans in the night. 

Were you foolish to expect more? To wish for more than just physical contact in the darkness?

All this overthinking weighed heavily on your mind, leaving you with a dull throbbing headache. Seeking relief, you wandered into the bathroom and turned on the shower. As the water gradually warmed up, you took a moment to appreciate the soothing sound of it cascading against the tub. When the temperature felt just right, you stepped under the invigorating spray, letting the stream of warm water envelop you. The sensation was immediate, removing the tension from your muscles and sending a cascade of soothing warmth across your skin. The heat relaxed you, and the rhythmic patter of the water felt like a gentle massage, allowing your mind to finally start to quiet down.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes against the spray. You tried to focus on the water, the sound it made as it hit the tub floor, and the feel of its heat against your skin. Anything to keep her mind off the Batman.

No matter how hard you tried, your mind returned to him. The memory of his touch, the sound of his voice, the feel of his body against yours. It was maddening how he had woven himself into your thoughts… into your heart.

You chided yourself at how foolish it was. You knew it from the start, really. This was never about feelings, never about a relationship. It was about attraction, lust, and physical desire. And yet, there was a part of you that couldn’t help but hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, there could be more. That your connection could be more than just physical.

Finally, you turned off the shower, stepped out, and wore a bathrobe. 

Your skincare and hair care routine was soothing and almost therapeutic. You took comfort in the familiar scents of florals and bergamot that wafted through the bathroom as you applied your favorite lotions and creams. It helped ground you, returning your mind to the present, away from the shadowy vigilante consuming your thoughts.

You paused at the threshold of your bathroom, your heart pounding and a wave of confusion clouding your thoughts. As you squinted into the shadowy room, you felt an unsettling absence where the warm, familiar glow of the lights should have been. 

Now, standing there in the doorway, the realization sent a frigid shiver cascading down your spine, causing goosebumps to erupt along your arms. Someone had turned off the lights while you were in the shower, lurking silently in your sanctuary. The weight of that discovery settled heavily in your stomach, curling like a cold knot of dread within you. 

You stood utterly still, the silence pressing in around you like a thick fog, your senses heightened. Each soft creak of the floorboards felt magnified, and you strained to listen for any sound—a whisper, a rustle, or even the faintest footfall—that might indicate another person’s presence in your apartment. The usually comforting familiarity of your home now felt foreign and threatening, every shadow cast in the dim light a potential hiding place for the intruder.

The tension in your body coiled tighter as you crept towards her room. You felt like a prey moving through a predator’s den.

 Your room door was slightly open, the darkness within making the pit of your stomach tighten. With a deep, steadying breath, you pushed the door open. The room was almost pitch black, the only light coming from the window offering a dim glow.

“Princess,” came the familiar, modulated voice you had yearned to hear for what felt like an eternity. The deep, resonant tone sliced through the heavy silence of the room, sending a rush of fear and surprise coursing through your veins. Your heart raced as the warmth of recognition battled against the chill of apprehension, filling the air with an electric tension that left you momentarily breathless.

Your head turned towards the voice. Standing in the corner of the room was a dark silhouette. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness, to make out the details of the figure standing there. But there was no mistaking that voice, that presence.

“Batman,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a blend of disbelief and relief as if the weight of the world had just been lifted from your shoulders.

The silhouette shifted as the shadow took a few steps forward. He seemed like a part of the darkness itself, his broad figure clad in black. His only visible features were his eyes, peering out from beneath the cowl, and his mouth curled into a slight smile.

"I was wondering when you'd notice," he said, his voice low and controlled.

You felt your heart race, your body experiencing a mix of emotions: fear, surprise, and a thread of excitement running through it all. He was here, in your room, in your apartment.

“You’ll be the death of me,” you joked, a hint of laughter in your voice as your heart rate gradually returned to normal. "I was worried about you. It has been over a month since I last heard from you. I thought…" you paused, leaving the air heavy with unspoken words.

Batman’s expression softened as his eyes met yours. “Worried?” he repeated, a hint of surprise in his voice. “About me?”

He stepped closer, closing the distance until there was hardly any space left between you. His presence felt almost electric, filling the air with a palpable tension. With a gloved hand, he raised it slowly, fingers brushing against your skin with a delicacy that sent shivers down your spine. The touch was soft and feathery, as if he were afraid to break the fragile moment that hung between you.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice a whisper. “You just…disappeared. Without a word…I didn’t know if you were okay…or if…if…” Your voice trailed off, the unsaid fear of him dying – of him not coming back – hanging in the air between you.

He studied you for a moment, his eyes dark and unreadable behind the cowl. Then, he shifted again, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.The sudden proximity made your heart rate spike again. You could feel the solidness of his body against yours, the hard planes of his armor pressing against you, the warmth seeping through the suit. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “My duties kept me away. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

His hand on your face began slowly caressing your cheek, his movements gentle and surprisingly tender.

“Can you promise me something?” you asked, your voice steady yet soft.

Batman's hand dropped from your cheek at your question. He watched you intently, his expression serious. "What is it?"

“Please promise me that if you happen to find someone special—a lover in your intriguing, everyday life—you will let me know. I don’t want to be left in suspense, waiting and wondering about your feelings. I understand that what we share is meant to be casual and carefree, but it would mean a lot to me if you could be open and honest, rather than disappearing without a word.”

Batman's expression remained stoic for a moment, his eyes unreadable behind the cowl. He was quiet, mulling over your words. Finally, he spoke, his voice a low rumble. “I promise,” he said, the words heavy with a sense of finality. “If I ever…find someone, I’ll tell you. I won’t just disappear.”

You exhaled slowly, a wave of relief washing over you, but it was tinged with an undercurrent of sadness. His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, offering comfort, yet they also brought a poignant reminder that what existed between you was nothing more than a fleeting connection—a casual arrangement devoid of any commitments or deeper ties. Yet you felt her heart clench at the thought of him with someone else. Another woman, a face that wasn’t yours.

You struggled to suppress the sharp pang of jealousy and the possessive feelings that ignited within you. Deep down, you knew you had no right to feel that way, to lay claim to any part of him. He was Batman. In contrast, you were merely a woman, a civilian lost in the chaos of the city, relishing moments of mutual pleasure and connection, even if it felt fleeting and inconsequential. You pushed the thoughts aside, locking them away in a corner of your mind.

The silence between you was thick, charged with unspoken emotions. Your heart continued to pound in your chest, your body pressed flush against his. You could feel the solidness of his chest, the strength of his arms holding you against him, and the heat of his breath through the mask.

You knew this was wrong, that this wasn’t what you had agreed upon. It was supposed to be casual, with no strings attached. And yet, you found yourself raising your hand and placing it on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beating through his suit. You needed to connect with him, to reassure yourself of his presence, to feel his very essence beneath your fingertips.

You decided to steer the conversation in a different direction, driven by a question that had been gnawing at your mind ever since the unexpected gift arrived a month ago. With a blend of curiosity and disbelief, you finally asked, "You bought me a car. Why?" 

Batman seemed amused by your question. “The car?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t like it?” There was a hint of playfulness in his voice, like he was enjoying the fact that you were questioning his gift.

“It’s just,” you said slowly, choosing your words carefully, “most people don’t just give away expensive cars, you know.”

His fingers began to trace patterns on your back absentmindedly, sending shivers down your spine.

“You think I’m like most people?” he countered, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. His touch continued, light and feathery, his hand now moving lower, skimming the curve of your hip.

You shivered again, your skin reacting to his touch, but you pushed on, determined to get a straight answer out of him. 

“I’m just trying to understand…why," you uttered.

His hand stilled, his fingers gripping your hip a little tighter, the smirk on his lips growing broader. “I couldn’t bear the thought of my princess relying on cabs. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with them, but your safety is my top priority. Ever since I met you, I’ve known you to put yourself in dangerous situations at night.”

You were taken aback by his words. The underlying concern for your safety made your heart flutter. It felt a little too personal, a little too intimate for your no-strings-attached agreement. Yet the words coming from his lips, from the Batman, filled your chest with a warmth you hadn’t expected.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, his other hand found its way under your chin, lifting your head up slightly.

“And I also like indulging you,” he said, his voice taking on a huskier tone. “Your happiness, your needs…I like meeting them.”

“But why?” you questioned, your voice laced with confusion. “I thought… I truly believed this was just a casual fling. So why do you care about things like that?” 

The question hung in the air. Batman was quiet for a moment. You could almost see the gears turning in his mind, trying to find an answer. 

Finally, he spoke, his voice lower than usual. “Would you believe me,” he said, his fingers tilting your head back a little further, making you look directly at him, “if I said it’s because…I care about you?”

The words sent a jolt through you. You hadn’t been prepared for that answer. Caring for you. It was more than just lust now. More than the heat and passion you shared during the night. He cared for you. Batman, the Dark Knight, cared for you.

“You…you care,” you repeated, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. “You care…about me?”

He ran a thumb along your cheek, his touch gentle yet possessive.  “Yes,” he replied simply, his voice a gravelly growl. “I care about you. I care about your happiness, your safety. I…I care too much, in fact.”

The confession took your breath away, and your heart skipped a beat. 

Batman cared about you. Not just as an object of his desires but as a person. He was protective, affectionate, devoted.

This was more than you had signed up for. More than you had agreed upon. Yet…you didn’t want it to stop.

“You've also sent me flowers plenty of times. Was it for the same reason? You asked.

“The flowers,” he said, as if contemplating his words carefully. “They’re a symbol. A way I express my feelings.” His other hand continued to caress your back, his touch soft and deliberate. “They’re a silent devotion. Your favorite flowers are to remind you ofme. To remind you that I’m thinking about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. The flowers, always appearing every night before his disappearance, your favorites, left on your pillow before you went to bed. You had always assumed they were just a part of the arrangement, a gesture of courtesy. Yet hearing it now, knowing they had a deeper meaning, sent your heart racing.

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze. Even though his face was concealed by the cowl, you could see the intensity in his eyes and the way he looked at you. You felt your heart fill with a mixture of feelings – emotions you couldn’t name, couldn’t sort out. But one thing was certain. You cared back. You cared more than you ever had before.

“You’re simply incredible,” you whispered to him.

Batman let out a low rumble of a chuckle, his chest vibrating with the sound. "I could say the same about you," he murmured, his voice a low, velvety murmur. "Incredible, beautiful, intoxicating…"

Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck. You felt the cool surface of his suit against your skin, the hardness of his body beneath. 

He started to move, holding your hand and moving you to follow him. You didn’t know where he was taking you, and you found yourself not caring. You were safe with him. He reached the bed and laid you down gently, his body covering yours, the weight of him pinning you down. His lips found your neck, his mouth hot and relentless as he began to trail kisses down your skin, as he removed the towel that was wrapped around your body.

You let out a soft moan, unable to suppress the sounds of pleasure as his mouth explored your skin. He knew all your sensitive spots, his lips and teeth running all over you until you were breathless.

“I want to feel you without your suit and cowl, please.” Your voice trembled as you whispered, the words escaping like a fragile plea into the dimly lit room. The weight of your longing hung in the air, a palpable tension that wrapped around both of you. You yearned to explore the warmth of his skin beneath the layers of fabric and armor, each stitch an invisible barrier separating you from the man you so desperately wanted to know. 

You imagined running your fingers along the strong lines of his body, tracing the contours that had been hidden from you for too long. The thought of uncovering the secrets he kept—the scars, the softness, the pulse of life beneath his tough exterior—sent a thrill through you. It wasn't just about physical intimacy; it was about the connection, the depth of understanding that only came when the mask was stripped away. 

In that moment, you felt a surge of vulnerability, the desire to bridge the gap between you, to fully immerse yourself in the essence of who he was beyond the hero persona he portrayed. You craved that understanding, the chance to know the heart that beat beneath the armor, to embrace him wholly, and to share in both the comfort and complexity of that connection.

Batman pulled back slightly, his breath warm against your skin as he lifted his gaze from your neck to meet your eyes. Shadows danced across his chiseled features, revealing a flicker of hesitation that was rare for him. In that moment, the weight of his dual identity hung heavily between you—his commitment to secrecy battled with an undeniable desire that lingered in the air. You could sense the internal struggle within him, a silent war between his duty as a guardian of Gotham and the connection he felt with you.

He was quiet for a moment, his body still pressed against yours, his breath hot against your skin. As he began to pull back, you couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation. You watched the conflict play out on his face, knowing that what he would say next would change everything. "I can oblige, but only if..." he started, leaving the rest unspoken, creating a tension charged with possibility.

"Only if...?" you prompted, your heart thudding in your chest. 

“My identity holds immense significance, and while I trust you, this is all about keeping you safe. I will agree to proceed, but only if you’re willing to wear a blindfold.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. A blindfold. To not be able to see his face, yet still feel his touch, taste his skin, hear his voice… the idea was both thrilling and somewhat nerve-wracking. 

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his shadowed face. You could see the question in his eyes, waiting for your answer. You bit your lip, contemplating his offer. The idea of being blindfolded, of submitting yourself to his touch was both erotic and a little frightening. 

But this was Batman, and you trusted him implicitly in more ways than one. 

"Yes," you finally said, your voice a whisper. "I'll wear the blindfold."

He reached out, his hand moving across the night stand, grasping something that you couldn’t see. A moment later, he was holding the promised blindfold in front of your face. He gently placed the blindfold over your eyes, adjusting it carefully. The world went dark, your vision obscured by the fabric. You felt a wave of helplessness wash over you, but it was quickly replaced by a rush of excitement. Your world was now a void of darkness, and your other senses heightened. You could feel him move about, the sound of his heavy armor falling to the floor. With each clink of the suit’s components hitting the ground, your anticipation grew. You could only imagine what he looked like undressed, what his bare skin must feel like.

The sounds ceased and you felt the bed dip under his weight. The heat of his body radiated through the darkness, his proximity increasing your heart rate. There was a pause, a moment of silence as he simply hovered over you. You could hear his breath, quick and uneven, mingling with your own.

Then, without warning, his hands were on you again. His touch was electric, his fingertips skirting lightly across your skin as if he were reacquainting himself with your body. You gasped at the sensation, his touch becoming rougher, more purposeful as he continued his exploration. His mouth was on yours then, capturing your gasp on his lips, his tongue plunging into your mouth as his body pressed against yours. 

You responded eagerly, your mind going blank as you focused solely on the feel of him, his skin against yours, his hands roaming your soft, plump body.

He broke away, his mouth moving down your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat and your collarbone before pausing at the valley between your breasts. Your body arched against him involuntarily, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through you. You were completely at his mercy, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control. He took his time, his kisses and touches deliberately slow, building up the tension until you were pleading, begging for more.

“Knight,” you said. “Please.”

He finally relented, his mouth moving lower, trailing kisses down your soft stomach and your hips, pausing just above where you wanted him most. You let out a frustrated moan, your body straining against the slow pace he set.

He laughed, the vibrations against your skin maddening. "Patience," he murmured, his voice a deep, soothing rumble.

You grabbed at the sheets, your body trembling with need. You couldn't see him, but you could feel him, smell him, hear the raggedness in his breath as he edged you closer and closer to the precipice.

Finally, his mouth found its destination, and your mind went blank. 

His tongue was relentless as he worked at you, bringing to life sensations more intense than any you’d experienced before. He moved with precision, his every touch designed to push you over the edge. And you were on the verge, your body taut, your breath coming out in ragged gasps, when suddenly he stopped. 

You let out a cry of frustration, your body protesting at the sudden absence of his touch. “Please,” you whimpered, “don’t stop.”

“Not yet,” he murmured, his voice filled with promise. 

You felt the mattress shift, felt his weight changing, and then he was on top of you, his body pressing you into the bed. The heat of his body radiated through you, his skin hot and slick with sweat. The feel of him against you, skin to skin, made you shudder. This was the first time you’d felt all of him unhindered by the suit. It was more intimate, more primal. You reached up, your hands finding his arms and his shoulders, mapping out his skin with your touch. He captured your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head, while his other hand roamed down your side, his touch almost reverent. His mouth found yours again, and he kissed you hungrily, his tongue delving deep, claiming you possessively.

You responded eagerly, your body arching against his, molding to his own. Despite the blindfold, you could see him in your mind, and you could picture the sight of his naked body, all taut muscle and strength.

He moved, his hips pressing against yours, parting your legs with a swift, fluid motion. You felt him at your entrance. His desire was as intense as your own. 

He paused, his body trembling with restraint, his breath ragged against your ear. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice a gruff question, tinged with desire and something else – vulnerability.

You whimpered in response, arching your hips up, wanting to feel him inside you, eager to satisfy the craving he had ignited within you. 

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice a pleading whisper. “Please, yes. I need you.”

Your words seemed to unleash something within him, and he slammed into you, filling you completely. You cried out at the sudden fullness, at the sensation of him inside you, and he bit down on your shoulder, muffling his own groan. As he moved, his pace set a rhythm. 

“Beautiful. Stunning. Perfect.” He murmured his voice, a low, guttural rumble.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, wanting to feel all of him, to give all of yourself to him. His lips found yours again, and he kissed you passionately, taking your breath away.

You felt yourself reaching the brink, your body tightening around him, preparing for release. His movements became more urgent and frenzied, and his words and possessive mutterings were a constant in your ear. “Come for me, princess,” he commanded, his voice rough and guttural. 

His words, his body, and his touch were the catalysts you needed. 

You let out a gasp, your body bucking against his as your climax crashed over you. You felt him follow, his body tensing as he found his own release, a low, guttural growl escaping him.

Only your ragged breathing filled the room momentarily, the rest of the world muted, irrelevant.

He stayed where he was, his body pinning you to the bed, his chest heaving with labored breaths. 

Finally, he rolled over, pulling you close so that you were half draped across him, your head resting on his chest.

His chest was hard and firm, the muscles taut under your gentle touch. You traced the outline of his pecs and trailed your finger down his stomach, feeling the hardness of his abdomen. 

He shivered under your touch, his fingers playing with strands of your hair, drawing lazy circles across your back.

As you ran your fingers over his skin, you could feel the presence of multiple scars, each with its own story etched in time. But one particular scar caught your attention more than the rest. It was unique, spreading  like a firework bursting into the night sky, with jagged edges resembling the vibrant trails of color and light.

You traced the path of the scar, your touch light and gentle. You could feel its heat, as if the memory of whatever had caused it still lingered.

“This one here,” you murmured, your voice filled with curiosity. “What caused it?”

“It’s a burn mark from my encounter with Firefly.”

You paused, your fingers still. Firefly. You knew that name from the news. The villain was responsible for a string of robberies and arson attacks.

You felt the tension in his body, the slight tightening of his muscles under your hand. 

"There was an explosion," he finally admitted, his voice a low murmur filled with a mix of regret and unease. "It was set off by Firefly’s bombs—his deadly incendiary devices designed to wreak havoc. I remember the heat of the blast and the shockwave that knocked me off my feet; I wasn't quick enough to evade it." He paused, lost in the memory for a moment. “This happened in my early days as Batman, when I was still honing my skills. My suit at the time was far from the high-tech it is today. Back then, every confrontation felt like a lesson in survival, and I was still grappling with the realities of my role."

You knew that being a hero was dangerous, that Batman risked his life every night. But to know that he had been seriously injured by a villain, and to see the physical reminder of that encounter etched onto his skin... it made your heart ache.

You leaned closer, your lips brushing the scar gently. You wanted to soothe the pain it represented, even though it was a part of his past. 

You felt him shudder at your touch. He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you, his face buried in your hair. 

"I'm scared for you," he admitted, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "I worry about what could happen to you because of me."

Your heart ached at his words, his admission of his vulnerability. He didn't say such things lightly, you knew. He was a man who kept himself guarded, both physically and emotionally. To have him open up to you in such a raw, genuine way was rare.

"I'm not afraid," you answered, your body pressing into his. "I know the risks. But being with you is worth it."

You felt his embrace tighten at your words, his fingers digging into your skin. He held you as if he were afraid you might disappear and slip through his fingers if he didn’t hold on tightly enough.

"You’re a stubborn woman," he muttered, his tone warm despite the words, "and I... I'm falling for you,” he admitted earnestly.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, your stomach fluttering with mixed emotions. He was finally admitting what you had felt between you for a while now. 

"I’ve fallen already," you whispered back, your voice a soft confession against his skin. "I’ve been falling since the moment I met you."

He pulled back slightly, his hand tilting your chin so that he could look at you. Even though you couldn’t see his face, you imagined the expression in his eyes, the soft smile that only you got to see.

"And what do you feel now?" he asked, his tone light but with an underlying current of importance.

You reached up, your hand tracing his jawline. You could feel the stubble under your fingertips, the contours of his face. 

“Safe,” you answered truthfully. “Wanted. Cherished.”

He stilled underneath your touch, his breathing shaky. You could feel his emotions through the small movements, the way he held you tighter, the way his heart pounded beneath your hand. 

He moved then, shifting until he was looming over you, his body caging you. Your heart stuttered, your body responding to his proximity.

“And what do you feel, my knight?” You asked him.

He smiled, his own hand coming up to touch your jaw, tracing the curve of your lips. "Protective. Complete," he answered without hesitation. "Like I’ve always been searching for something, some part of me that was missing. And I finally found it in you. I'm inexorably drawn to you.”

Your breath hitched at his words, your heart swelling with a mixture of emotions. You hadn’t expected such a raw, honest response. You could hear the sincerity in his voice, the depth of his feelings. For a man who kept his emotions so well-guarded, for him to lay himself bare like this… was a true testament to the depth of his feelings for you. Perhaps you were two lonely hearts yearning for connection, gradually merging into one unified being. Whole and complete. 

“You found me,” you whispered back, your voice thick with emotion. “And I’m not letting you go.”

The moment was disrupted by the sound of the alert in his batsuit cutting through the heated atmosphere like a knife. You felt his body tense, his hands stilling on your skin. 

“I have to go,” he said slowly, his voice tinged with an unwilling resignation. The weight of his words hung in the air between you, a reminder of the responsibilities he could not escape. 

He glanced at you with a mix of hesitation and determination in his eyes. He took a deep breath, the weight of his words pressing heavily on his chest. "Before I go," he began, the urgency in his voice palpable, "I need to tell you something important. I think I'm ready to reveal my true identity to you, but I can’t do it here—this moment feels too casual, too ordinary for such a significant revelation. It deserves a more fitting setting."

Your heart leaped in your chest, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety swirling within you. A part of you was eager to find out who the man behind the mask truly was, while another part worried about the implications of that knowledge. 

“Are you sure?”

You knew that this decision represented more than just a choice about revealing his identity. It was a question of trust, of vulnerability, of baring himself completely to you. And you understood the magnitude of it and, the unspoken request for you to accept and love him wholly without reservation.

You ran your fingers over his skin, memorizing the feel of him, the solidity of his body, the slight hitch in his breath as you touched him. 

“Whenever you’re ready, I’m here,” you whispered, your voice steady and sincere. “I trust you, completely.”

His hand closed around yours, his grip firm yet gentle. He was silent for a moment, his mind undoubtedly weighing the decision as he considered the implications. 

Then, a quiet sigh, almost a surrender. “I know,” he finally said, his voice soft but resolute. “I trust you, too.”

Your heart beat a little faster at his words, the trust he was extending to you more meaningful than any other. He was opening himself up to you, allowing you to see beyond the Batman, the symbol of Gotham City, to the man underneath.

“But not here,” he added, his voice returning to its usual, decisive tone. “Not tonight. As I said, I want it to be perfect... somewhere meaningful.”

You nodded, understanding his sentiment. “Then I’ll wait,” you said, your voice filled with anticipation. “For whenever you’re ready.”

“Are you up for an adventure tomorrow? A Christmas getaway?” he asked. “If you don't already have plans, that is.”

Your curiosity was piqued. An adventure, a getaway… with him. It sounded both exciting and mysterious. 

“I’m in,” you answered, your voice filled with eagerness. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he answered. There was a hint of satisfaction in his voice as if he knew you'd agree. 

“I’ll see you soon, princess,” he reassured, his voice a quiet rumble. 

And before he left, he kissed you. His lips moved over yours with a fierce intensity, as if by doing so he could commit the taste and feel of your memory to ensure that he would find his way back to you.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Bruce Wayne. 2

.⋆｡Batman’s Kryptonite｡⋆.

Bruce Wayne x plus size reader

Bruce works too hard but unluckily for him, you’re more stubborn than he is

Warnings: reader can be sunburnt, fluff, mentions of showering together, workaholic Bruce

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

5k Follower Celebration

Bruce was nothing if not a hard worker. He continuously worked himself to the bone to keep everything afloat and for that, you really did admire him. He used his privilege to help so many people both in his day job and his night job but god did you find it hard to spend time with him.

His brain seemed fixated on his goals, even in the quiet moments where there was nothing to do. Nothing ever got his full attention, not even you, his loving girlfriend.

“How long has he been down here?” You crossed your arms over your chest as you observed Bruce who was currently hunched over his new project, blue eyes firmly fixated on the delicate wiring. Alfred sighed heavily through his nose.

“Since the moment he returned from the airport after dropping you off.” Your eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

“That-“ You took a deep breath in an effort to calm yourself down. “I knew a week long girl’s trip was too good to be true. I’ll take care of this, take a couple days off.” The older man nodded and left the cave with a fatherly squeeze to your shoulder.

As soon as you heard the elevator doors shut, you shed the thick cardigan and long sleeve shirt you were wearing, leaving you just in leggings (that Bruce absolutely went crazy for) and a thin undershirt that did little to disguise the colour of your bra. Your steps were light but not completely silent, it would do you no good to sneak up on the Dark Knight.

Even centimetres away, you could feel the tension in Bruce’s muscles, like he was wound up for a fight. He jumped only slightly as you laid your hands on his shoulder blades but he quickly eased into your tough, letting out a hum of acknowledgement. “Back early?”

“Actually, I’m right on time.” His hands faltered and you knew that his dark brows were pulled up like they always did when he was coming out of a work-related trance. The chair turned yet your hands never left his skin, now resting on his strong chest as he looked up at you. His pupils dilated, slowly overtaking the stunning blue of his irises as he took in your attire.

“Are you sure?”

You chuckled. “I have the sunburn to prove it.” He grunted, obviously not quite believing you, or he just didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t obeyed your suggestion of taking some time off when you were gone. 

“You were supposed to come back on the fifth.” Bruce tried to argue as his eyes flicked back to his work. You knew that look, it was his ‘I want to end this conversation so I can get back to work’ but you knew exactly what to do to distract him.

“It is the fifth, my love. Maybe you need to take a break. How about coming upstairs with me and we’ll have a nice hot shower?” Your touch slowly migrated up his chest to his jaw and Bruce’s eyelids fluttered under the attention. But he just as quickly tensed up again, catching onto your game.

“Sorry sweets, I have work to do.” He attempted to turn his chair back around but you stepped between his spread legs, pinning him to the spot with your body. 

Your bottom lip turned out into a truly award winning pout and you sniffed. “But I missed you baby, I just want to spend some time with you.” You could actually see his will beginning to crumble. One more step.

Tears filled your eyes. “Do you not want to spend time with me?” 

He knew that they were crocodile tears but they tugged at the mass of guilt in his chest anyway. “Do not. I said no. Those puppy dog eyes don’t work every time. Fuck- fine.” Immediately, your tears disappeared and you beamed at him.

“Great! Maybe I’ll also show you the new bikinis I got on the trip.” Bruce groaned and let you pull him to his feet, abandoning his half-finished work.

“You are a cruel woman.” He complained as you dragged him to the cave’s exit. You looked back at your boyfriend with a wink.

“I just know Batman's kryptonite.” You teased and though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, Bruce wholeheartedly agreed. You definitely knew how to get him to fold.

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[writerinthewoods05]

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Requests are currently open! As of right now I only write X Fem Reader. Could change in the future but as of right now I don't, I apologize.

~~~~~~~~~~

Bruce Wayne

Dick Grayson

Jason Todd

Tim Drake

Damian Wayne

[eternallyhauntingthehouseoflove]

Bruce Wayne had you on your knees between his spread thighs, his fingers threaded through your hair. “Behave,” Bruce commanded before pressing his thumb down onto the pad of your pink tongue, testing your gag reflex. Always experimenting, always testing and tweaking. “I see you’ve been practicing the pharyngeal exercises I’ve provided. You didn’t even gag this time,” he murmured, more-so to himself, though the soft smirk that crawled onto his lips was for you. Satisfaction shimmered in his naturally icy gaze. His thumb traced the curve of your bottom lip. “Impressive. Well done, honey.”

The affectionate name was a nice touch, right? Right? Or was it too. . old-fashioned? Or worse, was he too forward and made himself look like a desperate creep?

“You look exquisite on your knees. Beautiful, like a painting.” *Not trashy or filthy, but elegant and tasteful,* Bruce had nearly added, but he understood how the words could be received coming from the lips of a wealthy white man.

(I was ovulating when I hurried and threw this together lmao)

. . . That’s how you’d ended up stuffed full of Bruce Wayne’s cock, bent over the examination table of his home lab, his hand fisted in the hair at the nape of your neck. He analyzed your facial expressions, every twitch and moan, in your reflection off the metal equipment.

Chest to back, he panted against your ear, “How does this feel? You like when I go deep, doll?” Bruce placed a hurried, sloppy kiss against your cheek before planting his palm between your shoulder blades, holding you in place.“Use your voice, honey. I want to know what you like. How do you want me to play with you?”

Dick Grayson had planned the perfect date . . . except he forgot how prone to rain showers Bludhaven was.

On the rooftop of a rain-slick abandoned building beneath the neon glow of restaurant lights and advertisements on the Jumbotron, takeout containers were hastily shoved aside along with the spandex of your super-suit, so you could straddle him. A crisp drizzle dampened his hair. In between ravenous kisses, you could hear the patter, patter, patter of rain droplets hitting the plastic of your takeout.

Dick was the first to break the kiss, gasping for air. “We’re gonna have to be quick, baby, or it’s gonna get wet around here. And I don’t mean just you.” His skin was damp with mist, and a florid blush sprouted on the apples of his cheeks as he watched you sink down onto his cock. Lips pursed in a wince, you wobbled, your balance not the greatest.

Dick was the acrobat, not you. You preferred the safety of gravel, the promise of a next step.

“Oh, come on, just a little more,” he dared you,” I know you can take it. You’ve done it before.” Dick’s gloved hands slithered around your waist, pulling your chest to his, then he bucked his hips upward, bullying the rest of his cock into your hole. “There we go. Just like that,” he half cooed, half murmured into your cheek and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Look at you. . .” Jason Todd said, almost reverently, his breath fanning your slit from beneath you. You’d been sucking his cock after every patrol, no questions asked. It made Jason feel a bit guilty, like things were unfair, so he let you ride his face. He’d been teasing all night because he was still Jason. Thigh kisses, kitten licks, his breath ghosting over your core.

The smirk that crept across his lips could only be described as sardonic, smug, shit eating. “Worked up yet?” Jason raised a scarred eyebrow. “Aww, you poor thing, needing me to take care of it.” Jason pressed a kiss to your mound, right above your puffy clit, the special place he was needed most. Your stomach was flooded with warmth, your thighs were as tense as violin chords. You needed to cum.

“Should I cave?” Jason considered, tilting his head and screwing his lips up. “Nahhh. You look too good all soaking wet and desperate.” He himself was rock hard and leaking within the confines of his jeans. Never mind that, teasing you was one hundred percent worth whatever torture he might suffer. Though, you knew the game of teasing would be a lot less fun when his turn came around.

“Y’know you could beg and I would be a bit more. . . forthcoming.” Jason paused and gave you time to cave and beg. “No? Nothing? Then I guess you’ll just have to get your own self off, sweetheart.”

A string of saliva connected his top and bottom row of teeth when he opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out. “Well, baby, if you want to it so bad, you better start taking it. I’m set to go all night.”

[solarrene]

i was wondering if your have any plus size reader fanfic recommendations, just finshed your jason fanfic and i love it.

Hi!!! Ty, love!!! And I do!!! Soul String by @persephone-has-a-blog-now it's a bruce wayne x plus size reader. beautiful beautiful beautiful work, the story is just....yeah...the writing?....incredible...i ride so hard for this fic, like-💯 Neon Grave, a jjk fanfic, it's only one chapter yet but it got me so hooked already!!! Falling in love with Oikawa Tooru, a haikyuu fic, although it's been a bit of a time since it's been updated, its great!!! I'm always hoping those two fics continues because I just love them and so invested in them. Check it out, yall, pleath😩🙏🏼 They all deserve the kudos and praise they should have!!! You'd see all my comments there, lmao🕴🏼

[moonwqves]

⋮ 𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 + 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐞!𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐧.

───〃★ christian bale!bruce wayne (batman) x reader.

★ — TYPE | headcanons ; fluff ; smut ; sfw + nsfw sections ★ — WORD COUNT | 1.1k ★ — REQUESTED | @wandalfnation ★ — WARNINGS | fem!reader ; reader is described as smaller in both height and stature ; dom!bruce ; size kink ; strength kink ; big cock!bruce ; possessiveness ; reader wears lingerie and heels

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI.

SFW ── ⊹ ˙ . 𖥻 BALE!BRUCE WAYNE . . .

• who buys you endless pairs of high heels because he thinks it’s cute how much shorter you are than him. he’ll always tease you and then make it up to you with more platform shoes. of course you’ll never be as tall as he is without having to stand on a chair beside him, but he'll make sure you have that little bit of extra height when you want it.

• who often waits until you’re home so he can do his workout in front of you. he can do pushups while you’re laying on his back, because he likes to show off how strong he is, and also to prove to you that those big muscles aren’t just for scaring criminals.

• who loves to spoon with you— of course he’s always the big spoon. he loves it because he can wrap himself around you as you tangle up together under the blankets, and you fit so nicely in his big arms.

• who holds your hand because he secretly loves how small your hand feels in his, giving you little squeezes wherever you go. he’s possessive and protective as a side effect of his night job, so it’s inevitable the fact that he’s always got a firm grip on your hand and keeping you close to his side. but he won’t deny, it makes his heart race when he feels your smaller hand squeezing back.

• who also loves it when you hold onto his arm. you always loop your arm through his at parties, and all he does is smirk because he knows the only reason you’re doing it is because you shamelessly love to feel his biceps. so of course he’ll play into it for you, flex his muscles a little for you, give you something nice and firm to hold on to while he guides you around like a prize on his arm.

• who always has his hands on you at parties. everyone knows he’s the prince of the city, the cocky billionaire playboy who gets everything he wants, so of course he has to not-so-subtly let everyone know you’re his at all times. he keeps one large hand around your waist as he parades you through the mansion for everyone to see, occasionally squeezing your ass as he walks past a journalist. he has a reputation to uphold, after all.

NSFW ── ⊹ ˙ . 𖥻 BALE!BRUCE WAYNE . . .

• who can’t help that he subconsciously compares your size to his, especially when you’re in bed. he can’t help the fact that he towers over you, or the fact that his bicep is thicker than your head. he’s addicted to the sight of you beneath him as he pounds into you, and he knows you feel the same; his wide, chiseled torso is the only thing that fills your view as you hold onto him and moan out his name.

• who accidentally discovered that he loves when you wear the high heels he bought you in bed too, and he has a few favorite pairs he likes you to wear. having your legs tossed over his shoulders while you’re wearing stilettos makes him feel all the more powerful and tall, and plus he loves that they match perfectly with the lacy black lingerie sets he likes to spoil you with.

• who can easily overpower you in bed if he really wanted to, but although he doesn’t always do it he never fails to remind you of the fact that he can. he can fit one of his hands around both your wrists, and he’ll hold your hands together and pin your wrists against the sheets above your head while he kisses you.

• who loves it when you’re being a brat because it gives him reason to use his strength on you. he isn’t always a hard dom, but when you start begging him to use you like that, all he wants to do is give you everything you want. he’ll get rough because he knows you like it, making sure you’re aware of every inch of his muscular body

• who likes to wrap one hand around your neck temptingly. he never puts any real pressure, his grip always barely just light as a feather; a reminder that he’s there, that his massive hands fits so nicely around your throat, and nothing more. he’ll give a gentle squeeze in warning when you start to act bratty, and it always sends your mind reeling.

• who lets you grind on his thighs to get off whenever you want. he’s a busy man; he has an entire city to look after, so he doesn’t always have time to dedicate to making love or even just for a quickie. but you have needs and he’s well aware of that, so he’s more than happy to let you sit on his lap and make yourself cum. he gets to sit back, occasionally tensing his thigh and bouncing his leg a little, and he’s rewarded with the beautiful sounds you make as you desperately grind your sensitive clit against his muscle. he adores the broken whimpers that leave your lips when he stiffens his thigh unexpectedly to throw off your pace and keep you at the edge for just a few seconds longer.

• who loves the way you grip his broad shoulders when you ride him. his shoulders are one of your favorite parts of his body (besides, well, everything else). you’ve had your ankles dangling over his shoulders more times than you can count, but conveniently they also make for the perfect place to hold onto while he’s got you bouncing on his lap, like built-in arm rests just for you.

• whose cock is definitely bigger than average but he knows how to use it. you both know it’s not going to fit, but vengeance is perseverant, and that never stops him from trying anyway. he won’t lie and say it doesn’t massively inflate his ego when he sees you struggling to take him in all the way, but watching you moan and writhe in overwhelming pleasure because of his size is the best part of the whole experience.

© moonwqves 2024. do not repost or translate. ── ⊹ ˙ . 𖥻 want to join my taglist? send an ask!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. — @sadattorney

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