#dark!bruce wayne | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

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

Sugar Daddy! Bruce Wayne

Or CEO! Thor

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

Where the streets have no name

Summary: A certain vigilante becomes your personal protector.

Character: Bruce Wayne/Batman

Warnings: houselessness, self-hate, power imbalance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

They don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm,” the syllable rolls in his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🦇

You don’t notice it until days later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re following me,” you croak out.

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

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

“I protect Gotham,” he insists.

“Mmm,” you hum, “you got a light?”

“Like I said, it’s bad for you.”

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

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

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

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

“What do you–”

“There was a man watching you–”

“Like you?”

“I threw him in the river.”

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

“Do I say thank you?”

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

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

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

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

“I can’t–”

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

“I don’t want your pity–”

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

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

🦇

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My– I didn’t order–”

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

“Mr. Wayne?” You swallow.

“He owns the hotel, miss.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dessert?” Your heart throbs.

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

“Um,” you’re entirely confused.

“Can I come in and explain?” He asks.

“It’s your hotel.”

“I suppose,” he shrugs, “but may I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, eat,” he insists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not– you can’t be–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#bruce wayne #dark bruce wayne #dark!bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #batman #dc #dcu #batman x reader

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dark-fics-4-you · 1 year

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Sophie's Dark Masterlist

All fics contain themes of dubious and/or non consent. This is your warning. Read at your own risk.

Rafe Cameron

Coriolanus Snow

Loki

Bruce Wayne

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 2 years

Text

Darkness of the Heart

Dark!Clark Kent x plus size reader

You can’t help but have a little crush on the handsome star reporter at the Daily Planet, but he wants so much more

Warnings: dark!superman, implied kidnapping, violence, m masturbation, manipulation, sedatives, needles, innocent!reader, age-gap (reader is over 18), naive!reader, blood

WC: 3.5k

A/N: Later parts will have content like non-con, dub-con, forced pregnancy, kidnapping, and Stockholm Syndrome so this is a massive warning now

Minors DNI

Credit: google

Part 1

The First Date

Your feet were constantly sore nowadays but you honestly couldn’t bring yourself to care. Working for the Daily Planet, even if you were just an intern, was a dream come true. 5 days a week for 8 hours everyday, you wore heels and ran around the office floor, delivering coffees, making copies, delivering assignments, and on special occasions, helping to edit articles for the paper.

Sometimes, when everyone was busy and you had no other work to do, you would sneak off to the break room in the back of the office, the one that was barely used, and take off the three inch high monstrosities that gave you leg cramps for days. That’s how you met him.

You sighed in relief as you slipped your stocking covered feet from the black cone heels you bought on sale years ago that you had sitting in the back of your closet. You definitely regretted not breaking them in. The cool tile felt amazing on your sore feet, and you leaned back in the slightly unstable metal chair. Fishing your big thermos from your bag, you poured yourself a small cup of tea into the little mug from the jar.

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was in here.” The deep baritone with a slight southern twang shaking you from your thoughts. The man stood in the doorway, his body so huge that he nearly filled out the wide entryway. His dark hair was unruly, he had obviously been running his fingers through it, his shockingly blue eyes bright behind the thick frames of his glasses. He had on a simple white button with black slacks and a brown tie. “Oh Mr Kent! Sorry, I just- never mind, is there something I can help you with?”

He waved you off, a slight blush spreading across his cheeks. “Please just call me Clark. I was just hoping to escape my ex for a minute but it seems you’ve found my hiding place.” He gave you a cheeky wink which made you squirm in your seat. “Well there isn’t a monopoly on hiding places, so you could join me. But only if you want! You don’t have to.”

The chair legs scrapped the floor as he pulled it out from under the table, taking a seat directly across from you. Even sitting down, Clark was taller than you, his intimidating frame offset by his kind smile. You couldn’t help but let your eyes flick down to his chest where the buttons of his white button-down were straining to contain his muscles. Clearing your throat, you looked away bashfully. “You’re Y/N right?” That caught you off guard. “Um yeah. How did you know?”

He huffed but the smile on his face widened. “Of course I would know the person that has been helping to edit my articles. I have no clue how you make me sound so smart. You must have some kind of magic.” Your cheeks heated and you couldn’t bring yourself to look into those cerulean eyes. “I wouldn’t say that, you’re really intelligent already, just maybe sometimes, your grammar isn’t amazing.”

The reporter threw his head back and gave a deep belly laugh, you smiled shyly, crossing your feet over each other as your hands played with the hem of your black work skirt. “Any other critics I should know about?” He teased, eyes sparkling with mischief. You just shrugged. “Maybe invest in some spelling lessons too.” After another round of chuckles, he settled back into his chair.

You easily settled into a light conversation with the man, surprised by how similar you were. You found yourself relaxing the more you talked, suddenly the huge powerhouse reporter was just a nervous (and slightly cheeky) farm boy that wanted to know everything about you, and by god was it flattering.

There was a brief lull in conversation when you stopped to pour yourself some more tea, which Clark had politely declined when you asked him, and his eyes flicked down to the floor, a cheeky smirk coming over his beautiful face.

“I guess you don’t appreciate the office dress code.” He chuckled, gesturing down to your abandoned shoes. “Ha ha yeah, I’ve never worn heels before so it’s tough getting used to them. But honestly, I’d take this pain any day cause it means I get to work here!” “Oh well I don’t know if you should be sacrificing your health for any job but it’s good to know you’re so dedicated.” A shiver rolled down your spine at his concerned tone. “It’s worth it if I get to meet my heroes!”

Clark leaned forward, propping his head up with his elbow on the table, his massive hand cradling his chilled jaw. “Lemme guess, Perry?” “I’ll say yes to that because I don’t want your head to get any bigger than it already is.” You giggled behind your cup but quickly stopped as the aforementioned man entered the room behind Clark.

“Ms Y/L/N, there you are, I have some assignments I need you to deliver and then you can head home for the day.” You scrambled to clean up your little nook, slipping your heels back on your still sore feet, trying to hide your wince as the pain started again. “Yes of course. I’ll get that done now.” The older man nodded his thanks, handing you a big stack of manilla folders. “Clark, we’ve got a meeting in 15 minutes, don’t forget.”

“I’ll be there. Hey um Y/N could you hang back a second?” His voice suddenly went from confident to nervous boy as he hunched his shoulders to make himself look smaller. Perry gave him a puzzled look before sighing and leaving the room, muttering something about office romances. You turned your body to him, listening intently. “Yeah, um what did you need me for?”

Avoiding eye-contact, Clark rubbed the back of his neck. “I was just wondering if you would like to maybe have dinner with me tonight? There’s this great ramen place only a few blocks from here.” Did the most gorgeous man you had ever met ask you out on a date? Yes he did. And were you just standing there, mouth open in shock like an idiot. Also yes.

“N-nevermind, it was stupid-“ “Yes.” You stopped his rant before it really started. “I would love to go to dinner with you, Clark.” The smile he gave you was absolutely dazzling as he sprung to his feet, vibrating with excitement. “Great! I mean um, that’s good. I should probably get your number so I can let you know where to meet.” You fished a pen and post-it note from your purse, quickly jotting down your cell-phone number with a little heart at the end.

You handed him the note. “I guess I’ll see you tonight Clark.” Your fingers brushing his slightly, he was so warm. You thought you handled that well, stayed cool even if you were screaming and jumping for joy on the inside. As soon as you rounded the corner to where he couldn’t see you, you squealed and did a little happy dance, heart beating wildly in your chest.

You just scored a date with the cutest guy ever! This was so worth the sore feet. You darted through the office, quickly delivering the folders so you could get home and spend the next few hours going through your entire closet in deciding what to wear but definitely no heels.

——————

Clark smirked down at the pink post-it note you handed to him. Of course, he already knew your number, he knew everything about you. He had been infatuated with you since he saw you two months ago when Perry first hired you.

You were so young, incredibly beautiful and naïve. Clark likes that about you, how flustered you get when he smiles at you, the way you squeak in embarrassment when someone makes a dirty joke in front of you. He can only imagine the sounds you make when he claims you.

Fuck, it was so hard coming into work every day just to see your plump body running around everywhere, paying attention to everybody but him. The way your arms and legs jiggled as you moved, your tits bouncing wildly with every step. How your lips separated slightly when you were lost in your own thoughts. He once even caught a glimpse of your little white panties beneath your stockings when your skirt rose up as you bent over to pick something up.

He had practically sprinted to the bathroom to relieve his aching cock. He spilled onto his hand crying your name, nearly crushing the wall to the stall in his firm grip. It was a waste of his cum but he just couldn’t stop himself.

And now, you were practically his. Just a few dates, just a little touching, a bit of hand-holding, some innocent kisses to the cheek, and hugs here and there, and you would fall into his arms, forever.

——————

The restaurant was quaint. Only a few tables that faced the open window kitchen where the divine smells wafted into the rest of the small space. You nervously stepped over the threshold, the hem of your baby blue summer dress swaying around your plump thighs. You paired the spaghetti strap dress with a light wash jean jacket and white converse with little flowers you had embroidered into them.

You were the picture of innocence, standing there fiddling with your fingers, wide eyes scanning the room, a little purse hanging off your shoulder. The only jewelry you had was a little pendant necklace that sat right on your exposed collarbone, enticing Clark’s eyes down to the fat of your breasts which was covered entirely by your dress, showing not even a little hint of cleavage.

Clark waved at you, drawing your attention to the huge man who had somehow fit himself onto one of the small wooden chairs near the back. He preened as your smile grew when you spotted him and you hurried over. The reporter pulled your chair out for you, head dipping down so he could get a whiff of your hair, he really couldn’t help himself. Your natural smell was overpowered by the cheap flowery perfume you had put on.

He’d put a stop to that soon enough, but for now he settled with the faint scent of your honeyed musk that clung to the back of your neck. “I’m glad you picked here, this spot is really cute.” You gushed, picking up the small menu as he sat back down across from you, the dark red of his henley, he had obviously changed before coming here, made his eyes pop even more. “I thought it was a good spot for a first date. The tables are small so I can do this.” He laid his large hand over your smaller one, giving it a little squeeze.

You squeaked but allowed Clark to rest your hands on the table, his palm engulfing yours as he placed his thick fingers on your wrist. “So, what are you thinking of getting?”

You both were smiling like idiots as your orders arrived, too caught up in each other to notice the huge bowls of soup until they were placed directly before you. You tried to pull your hand away, flustered at being caught being so affectionate in a public place. “Can I have my hand back?” Your voice was unexpectedly shaky. But Clark held strong, lifting your knuckles to his plump lips, laying a small kiss to your skin.

“Now you can.” Letting go of your now shaking hand, he winked at you, making your heart leap. “Clark.” You practically whimpered, holding your hand to your chest as if savouring the small kiss he had given you.

“What, it’s not like you’ve never had someone give you a kiss before~” He teased, picking up his chopsticks. “You have kissed someone before right?” He asked after a beat of silence. You shook your head. “This is my first ever date.” You whispered, ashamed of your inexperience compared to the older man. Clark’s blue eyes widened in shock, of course he already knew, Bruce did a real deep dive for him, but you didn’t ever need to know about that.

“Seriously? How? You’re gorgeous!” “Well you’d be the only one to think that then. I was bullied a lot as a kid and I guess people don’t really like the fat girl.” You shrugged, folding in on yourself, suddenly aware of how much food you had ordered. “Oh no no no. Please don’t doubt yourself. You are a beautiful young woman and those people must be fools for not seeing how truly amazing and beautiful you are. But their loss is my gain cause right now, I have the most divine woman in the world sitting across from me, letting me take her on a date.”

Clark was so big that he easily reached across the table and cupped your face, wiping away a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb. You tried to look away but those big glimmering eyes were hypnotising and you couldn’t help but believe what he was saying. “Ok.” You were quiet but that was enough for him. “Good. Now that we’ve got that sorted, I am starving.”

——————

“I had such a wonderful time tonight.” Clark’s right arm was wrapped tightly around your thick waist, his hand resting on your plump stomach. You had, at first, shied away when he wrapped you in a hug after your meal. His face fell into a little frown and he held you closer, bending down to rest his forehead against yours, the little black curls brushing your skin.

“Please don’t run from me.” His voice was so quiet you barely heard him. The pure sadness in his tone made you slump back into his arms, your own winding around his muscular torso to keep him close. “Never.” And his smile returned.

Like a real gentleman, he offered to walk you home, especially considering it was now completely dark out and you didn’t live in a great part of town. He let you ramble on about your day, giving little anecdotes here and there but otherwise remaining quiet. As you reached your door, he drew you back into his huge arms, the heat from his body soaking into you, the smell of his cologne making your knees weak as it enveloped you. “Thank you for letting me take you out kitten.” Your face went hot at the pet name.

“Too much?” You shook your head, thoroughly flustered. “I like it.” “Good. Goodnight kitten.” You panicked as he lowered his face to your eyes level. Oh god, was he going to kiss you? Your body unconsciously jerked back, your door handle digging painfully into your side. Your hands flew up and pressed against his chest, trying to push Clark away. “No.” You whimpered.

He pulled back and you sighed in relief, he obviously got the message. “Did you think I was going to kiss you?” You didn’t bother answering, just turned your head away, fully prepared for him to tell you off and insist you had to give him something in return for paying for your meal. “Oh kitten. I’m sorry. I was just going to kiss your cheek. We’ll go at your pace, no kissing until you’re ready.” A large weight was lifted from your chest.

Clark was good, he would listen to you. He was a good man. You could trust him.

With a quick peck to your still heated cheek, he sent you inside, remaining just long enough for you to lock up. Pulling off your jacket, you went to hang it up, but paused. The woodsy cologne Clark had been wearing had rubbed off onto the course fabric. Taking a deep inhale, you savoured the comforting scent. Maybe next time, you shouldn’t bring a jacket and he’d give you his.

You kicked off your shoes and practically floated into your living room, sinking into your overstuffed couch. “God he’s so dreamy.” You fanned your hot cheeks, completely overwhelmed by the day.

When you closed your eyes, all you could see was his smiling face and the way he bent down so his face was level with yours. How his surprisingly plump lips had opened slightly, how his breathing became heavier. Maybe, just maybe, you should’ve kissed him. You couldn’t imagine how wonderful it would have been.

Knock knock

“Did you forget something?” You giggled, pulling the door back open, fully expecting the muscular body of your date to be standing there, looking sheepish, maybe looking for an excuse to see you one more time. But instead, a frazzled-looking red haired woman who immediately pushed into your apartment as soon as you opened the door. “Ms Lane?”

The renowned reporter, and the ex-fiancée of the man you just went on a date with, was now in your flat, shutting all the windows in the studio apartment and making sure that the curtains and shutters were drawn. “Are you ok? Do you need me to call someone for you?” You slipped your phone out of your jacket pocket, tucking it into your palm and held it behind your back.

You didn’t know much about her, only that she and Clark were engaged for a while and then she just skipped town a couple weeks before you joined the Daily Planet. No one had heard from her until she unexpectedly turned up at the office this morning, collecting her final pay-check and having a shouting match with Perry about seeing Clark for five minutes, which he stoutly denied.

“You have to listen to me.” You tried to scramble away as she came closer but her hands shot out and held you in place, her fingers digging into your shoulders, her unkempt nails digging painfully into your collarbone.

“Just fucking listen!” You nodded but your thumb was now frantically pushing on the power button to your phone, hoping that even with the spotty cell-reception in your home, you could utilise the safety feature and get through to the police. “I-I’m listening.” She seemed to calm down for a moment, then the siren-like alarm went off on your phone, signalling that you were trying to call 9-1-1.

In a split second, her grip lessened and you ripped away from her, turning and sprinting to the door. She launched at you. Your body collided painfully with the hardwood floor, the breath being knocked from your lungs but you kept trying to get away. “Get off me!” Your nails clawed at the floor. Her hand wrapped around the back of your head and slammed your face into the ground, effectively stunning you.

“Stop fighting!” Lois straddled your back and pinned your arms down, pulling the phone from your grasp, cancelling the call. “I’m just trying to help you!” Your eyes were rolling in your head, a throbbing pain building in the base of your skull as blood poured from your nose and a high pitched whine ringing in your ears as you were forced completely flat on the wooden slats. “Stay away from him. He’s not good! Stay away!” A coldness was spreading through your body as she kept you down, having shifted so her knee was digging into your spine.

“S-stop.” You wheezed but couldn’t get any air into your lungs. “I’m protecting you. He’s crazy. I’m just protecting you.” Just as the dark spots in your vision were starting to get bigger as you struggled for air, Lois’s weight was gone from your back, the dulled sound of shattering glass lost in the background of your thoughts. The ground below you shook and there was muffled yelling, the ringing in your ears getting more intense. You rolled over and attempted to pull yourself up, then a wave of nausea suddenly hit you. You doubled over, your vision swimming.

A cold breeze blew over you and dull thuds resonated through your throbbing head. A pair of hands wrapped around your biceps and tried to pull you forward. “Stop please!” You screamed, legs kicking out, landing a solid hit to the figure in front of you. They didn’t even grunt as they pulled you closer, forcing your body into the plastic-like material that covered their chest.

Your nails dug into the chest of your attacker in an attempt to fight them off, but their grip only got tighter, sending a fresh wave of panic through you. “She’s in shock, I’ll have to administer a sedative.” The raspy voice broke through the fog in your mind as huge arms forced you closer, wrapping around your back, pinning you.

“Don’t you dare!” Another voice called out. You cried as your head was yanked to the side and the tell-tale pinch of a needle was pressed into your neck. A warm sensation flooded your body, immediately placating you, the tingling sensation relaxing your limbs so you slumped forward. The arms holding you didn’t feel like they were caging you in, now it was your only anchor as your eyelids became heavy, darkness quickly overtaking you.

“No!”

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thatscapp · 1 year

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Can you imagine Taylor Swift’s Mastermind playing while your favorite character is plotting on how to make you theirs? Cue the plan being carried out and you get together (either willingly or not 😏)

#dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky Barnes #dark!steven grant #dark!avengers #dark!batman #dark!bruce wayne #dark!damian Wayne #dark!batboys #dark!dick grayson #dark!jason todd #dark!timothy drake #dark!cavil!sherlock #dark!tanjiro

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sassylittlecanary · 2 months

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

#batman #bruce wayne #batman dark victory #dc #dcu #dc comics

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redsray · 2 months

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Batfam AU where Jason never dies, so Tim doesn't join the family the standard way. Instead, he continues pouring most of his time and energy into his photography, eventually becoming known as a popular photographer for events and all that. So now, picture this: Tim gets hired to be a photographer for a Wayne gala. Obviously, he's ecstatic, because he can take pictures of Batman, Robin and Nightwing and be in their presence for a whole night. Since Tim is so naturally talented in stealth and taking pictures unnoticed, the second one of the fam realises this they're like: this kid is good. Tim manages to go unnoticed by all 3 of them (all bat-trained, one literally batman) multiple times during the night, and even when he is noticed, he disappears before they can manage to get a good look at him; to the sheer amazement of Dick and Jason.

Jason, (very discreetly putting snacks in his suit pocket): i know you're under the table, kid.

Tim: don't mind me, Mr. Todd-Wayne, sir, just taking a few pictures

Jason: right... Jason's fine, and what pictures were you taking from under the table?!

Tim, showing him perfectly good shots of him: these.

Jason: how did you get that. it looks like you took it from the rafters

Tim, nodding: I did.

Jason, glancing at the ceiling: ...what?

Tim, gone:

Jason: no fucking way.

Dick, hearing a very, very faint camera shutter from behind him:

Dick, turning around and finding no one there: what the actual...

Dick, getting the feeling of being watched and whirling around to find Tim staring at him from across the room: ... huh.

Jason, pulling Dick aside: you see that kid too, right?!

Dick, nodding: the camera kid, yeah?

Jason: who is that.

Dick: he's one of the hired photographers, apparently. one of the best in his field, despite his age.

Jason: he's good. like, really good. snuck up on me 4 times already, the little bastard.

Dick: you too? i swear he's constantly watching. it's creepy how well he can sneak past both of us.

Jason:

Dick:

Jason: you don't think...

Dick: no. B would've told us.

Jason:

Dick:

Dick: did he get another kid and not tell us somehow

Bruce: what do you mean another kid?

Jason: you heard us. did you adopt another kid and not tell us?!

Bruce: no?? how would I even?? ... what's this about?

Dick: one of the photographers has managed to sneak up on both me and Jay multiple times already

Bruce: what.

Jason: he also can't be more than like. 15 or 16. so forgive us for assuming you took another one in.

Bruce: do you know his name?

Dick:

Jason:

Bruce: really?

Dick: in our defence, he's very hard to catch. i wouldn't be surprised if he's snuck up on you, too.

[camera shutter noise]

All of them, whipping their heads toward the sound only to find nothing but air:

Tim, smiling from the other side of the room:

Jason: do you see what we mean?!

Cue an entire night of shenanigans where it's just Dick, Jason and Bruce trying to catch Tim and learn about him. Upon finding out who he is and where he lives, Dick immediately asks to keep him as an honorary member of the family. Jason is hesitant at first but at some point Tim calls Bruce Batman instead of Mr. Wayne on accident and Jason laughs so hard he's basically won over. Bruce can do nothing but watch as Tim proceeds to come over almost every night for sleepovers and is coddled by both of his sons. And he can't deny, the kid's investigation and stealth skills are top tier. By the time Dick and Jason both start referring to Tim as 'their younger brother' Bruce has just accepted his fate.

#batfam #batman #dc comics #tim drake #bruce wayne #jason todd #dick grayson #batfam au #dick: look he's even got the dark hair and blue eyes #jason: he fits the pattern. you gotta #dick to tim: you are ours now #tim who just wanted to spend time with his heroes: oh #they declare him as theirs so he is theirs #bruce does not get a choice #he is THEIR little stalker #when jason finds out that tim follows them as vigilantes too he falls over laughing #dick wiping a tear away: he's perfect

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lycheeloving · 3 months

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

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

a small allusion to nsfw stuff, minors dni

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

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

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

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

No response.

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

Still no response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#idk if any of this makes sense but I can't proofread this again or I'll scream #yandere batman #yandere bruce wayne #batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #x reader #reader insert #yandere!batman #yandere!bruce wayne #yandere dc #yandere #lycheewritings #dark!bruce wayne #dark!batman #dark bruce wayne #dark batman #yandere batfam

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 9 months

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Friend

Pairing: Dark Bruce Wayne x (female) Reader

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

More at Masterlist

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

WARNING: Toxic/Abusive Relationship.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were right.

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #dark bruce wayne #dark!fic #dark bruce wayne x reader #dark!bruce wayne #dark!bruce wayne x reader #yandere bruce wayne #yandere bruce wayne x reader #dark dc #bruce wayne x reader #yandere x reader #tw: yandere #tw: toxic relationships

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deadsetobsessions · 3 months

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Danny used to be a vigilante, firmly on the side of good. Like, illegally, but morally good.

Danny’s 100% sure that whatever he is now, it’s not good.

Is Gotham’s influence just Like That?

He was homeless when he got to this thrice damned city (literally, because Lady Gotham was so cursed) and now he’s… here? In a mid-level penthouse with a rotation of homeless kids going in and out of his kitchen and eating out his pantry??

Danny adjusted the cuffs of his dress shirt, making the conscious decision to ditch the tie. He’s a tall 6ft 4 now, taking after his Dad. His head smarted all of the time, hitting doorframes when he was being a bit clumsier than the normal ghost-like grace he had learned to channel as The Phantom.

The Phantom instead of just Phantom. Why? Because Phantom was the name of a teenage vigilante in another dimension. The Phantom, on the other hand, is an intimidatingly tall, deceptively kind, extremely dangerous kingpin.

Honestly? Danny didn’t even want this life. Like, he had no idea it would snowball like this??

He supposed that it all started when the Penguin was trying to snatch kids off of his block on Crime Alley. Not officially his block, of course, because Danny didn’t actually enter this city to be a crime-shadow thing. But he hadn’t lost enough of Phantom the Vigilante to ignore kids getting hurt. He still hasn’t, if he’s being honest. He flew into a frantic search, tracking down the missing kids to Penguin’s bar. The Iceberg Lounge. Apparently, he wanted the kids to do some menial tasks and what not. Danny, rage flickering through his core, intangibly went in and robbed Penguin of every coin and secret the man kept.

Then? Danny blackmailed the Penguin to guarantee his kids a measure of safety from the Rogue. That began the slippery slope into whatever it is he does now. Penguin was being kept in line by Danny’s threats, the grip he had on the Rogue’s weak points, and a wonderful bit of intimidation.

——

“What, you stinking phantom? I’m stickin’ to yer rules!” Penguin snarled, forced to his knees by invisible blob ghosts.

Danny, salty and pissy from the lack of sleep he’d experienced trying to keep Penguin’s men in line as a result of Penguin trying to test where Danny’s lines were, dropped the temperature to the point where Penguin started shivering. Considering the place was already cold- the Iceberg lounge lived up to its name- it meant that Danny was standing nonchalantly in a room that was negative twenty five degree Celsius in a sweatshirt, Danny was already making good on his natural intimidation factor.

“It’s The Phantom to you, Oswald.” Danny said, in the tone of someone saying “it’s the shit, to you.”

Danny narrowed his blue eyes, letting a tiny tint of ectoplasm make his eyes glow a bit in the suddenly icing over room.

“Your people have been getting on my nerves, Oswald. Roughing up kids is so… uncultured. Are you sure you’re a Cobblepot?”

Penguin snarled, the effect of which was rendered ineffective due to his increasingly violent shivers. Plus, Danny loomed over him without even trying.

Danny, annoyed and asking himself “What Would Dan Do To Intimidate This Guy?”, gripped Penguin’s shoulder and hauled him up one handed. He dragged the mob boss over to one of the booths, avoiding the bodies he’d dropped (non-lethally) when Danny first walked in to ruin Penguin’s night. He shoved Penguin in chair he iced over, because Danny’s petty and if he saw one more bruise on his kids at Penguin’s hands, Danny was gonna go full Dan the Murderer.

He at least allowed to room to warm up before laying into Penguin, though. He stayed standing. Hey, he had the height advantage to use. He could have kept Penguin kneeling, but it was probably god the best that the mob boss got some sense of pride back.

(Danny had no idea that sitting as someone loomed over you to lecture and threaten you was even worse than kneeling. At least with kneeling, you knew where you stood. But sitting? It leaves you horribly off kilter.)

“I told you to keep your people in line. Kids are off limits, Oswald.”

“I kept them in line!”

Never let it be said that Oswald Cobblepot had a normal functioning sense of self preservation.

“Really?” Danny jabbed his pointer finger lightly on top of Penguin’s trachea and allowed his fingernails to sharpen into Phantom’s sharper digits. Penguin tried to lean away. “Then why did they start a gun fight when there were kids visible on the street? Why did I see one of my kids get hit by one of your poor excuses of a bouncer?”

“I-”

“Don’t care much for your excuses, if I’m being honest. I let you mess around with the little projects you have, without even breathing a whisper of your secrets. Sionis would love to know how you double crossed him the last deal, yeah?”

“I- I’ll keep them in line!” Penguin stuttered.

“Well, I believe in second chances,” Danny bullshitted. Ancients, how was this even working? “So I suggest you make an example of the guy that smacked Hailey around before I make an example out of you, Oswald.”

“Fine! Fine!”

——

And with that, he got access to Penguin’s resources and men and more importantly, the corrupt police officers. He made Penguin “boot out” the pedophilic ones (in a very violent way) and kept the rest.

Then? Mr. Freeze froze over the god damn pipes and Danny had to intimidate and make a deal with the Rogue so he and his increasing roster of orphans had access to warm water.

In exchange for Danny’s restorative and, more importantly, unmelting ice, Mr. Freeze was now Danny’s… on-call enforcer?? When he’s not researching cures for his frozen in a pod wife, that is.

Danny was satisfied with that. He was! But then Black Mask happened, with the man trying to engage in a battle of wits with Danny over the control of Crime Alley which, at that point, was firmly Danny’s territory.

The thing is, Danny doesn’t play nice anymore. Why bother with pointless mind games when he could just…

——

“So, you’re The Phantom.”

“And you’re Sionis.”

Black Mask twitched at the name, gloved hands pulling out his guns. Danny sat on the counter, head touching mid cabinet, and sipped out of Sionis’ favorite mug.

Because Danny broke into Black Mask’s safe house and stole his quality coffee. The man’s eyes were wary.

“How did you get in here?”

Danny shrugged. “Walked.”

Danny held the coffee out of the way as Sionis unloaded a clip into his chest and lunged forward to slap a mask onto Danny’s face. After waiting a bit, as Black Mask’s smug triumph bled into shock, Danny laughed and, using a bit of his natural strength, tossed the guy off of him. He casually took the mask off of his face.

“Jeez, I’m trying to be nice, here.”

“So, you’re a Meta.”

Danny grinned. “Eh. And you’re a cult leader with a mask fetish.”

Danny tuned out the rant about the “true face of Gotham” or whatever, already bored, and sipped at Sionis’ coffee. The ass might be a psycho, but his coffee tastes were wonderful. Danny stood up, rinsed his mug, and turned back to Black Mask.

“You’re trafficking people. Kids.” He said, cutting through Sionis’ chatter. He was sly about it too, committing violence and torture in a way that would ensure obedience and fear. Danny probably would have never caught on, Black Mask’s schemes being so ingeniously created and executed, had he not kept a hawk’s eyes on the more vulnerable members of Crime Alley’s community. And the rest of Gotham’s vulnerable communities, of course.

“My, a wonderfully obvious conclusion. Now, Phantom, I have a proposition for you.”

Sionis seemed to have gotten his bearings back. Danny tilted his head at him, looking down.

“You can work for me,” Sionis said, before opening a laptop with video feed to one of his masked men or whatever holding a knife to one of Danny’s more fearless kids. Danny snarled.

“Or, refuse, and your kid will lose a finger for every instance of your defiance.”

“I told you not to touch the kids, Sionis. I don’t allow trafficking either.”

Black Mask chuckled. “Cut off a finger, Sadness.”

“Yes, bos- ARGHHHH!”

Danny watched as Mr. Freeze froze the goon’s arms before breaking them.

“I’ve got her, Phantom.”

Danny nodded at Freeze, keeping an eye on Sionis in case the fool bolts.

“So, what are your cards now, Sionis? You’ve sure pissed me off with nothing to show for it.”

And that was the last night anyone heard from the one that was supposed to be the King of Crime.

But Gotham knew the head mounted on a pike at one of Black Mask’s hastily abandoned bases was a warning, that The Phantom was watching.

——

Then he somehow got a gaggle of more orphans that were undead zombie “Talons?”

From there, he just obtained influence over the crime bosses of Gotham. Because his Talons kept bringing him heads and blackmail and his crime alley kids and Gotham orphans kept bringing him information for food and safety?

But like, Danny never wanted anything in exchange for the safety he provided. His core could give less of a shit whether he got anything in return. But he couldn’t convince his kids of that! They’re putting themselves in danger and ugh-!

Danny checked himself once more in the mirror. Ready, he stepped out into the night to wait for the Bats at his new favorite VIP spots.

On the way, he passed Ivy and Harley, who he waved to. Pamela worked under him because he controlled Gotham’s criminal underground (which also mean the official parts of the city considering the sheer amount of corruption) and influenced them into more plant friendly methods. His dominion over Undergrowth also helped immensely.

Harley? They’re friends. He beat up and crippled her abusive ex. She gave him therapy and stopped torturing people for fun.

Danny stepped into the back door of the Iceberg Lounge. No one stopped him. No one dared to.

He settled onto a velvet couch, nodding respectfully at the server that had immediately and nervously set down his mai tai. He glanced around for cameras and wire taps, before giving up and upping his ectoplasmic output to short any recording devices out.

He sipped his drink as he waited.

“Batman.”

“Phantom.”

“Oh, good. You didn’t bring Robin,” Danny said, watching Batman tense. “Kids shouldn’t be in places like these.”

Batman stayed silent.

“Come on, sit.” Danny gestured to the couch across from him.

“This isn’t a social call. I’ll stop whatever you’re scheming-” Batman growled.

“Oh my god, you’re so dramatic. Is this where Nightwing gets it from?”

Batman snarled.

“Sit, sit.” Danny rolled his eyes.

Batman stayed stubbornly looming. Danny sighed, allowing his voice to slip into velvet danger.

“I told you to sit, Bruce Wayne.”

“You-”

“I won’t repeat myself again, Bruce. You’re testing my patience.”

Bruce sat, wary and hyper vigilant. Danny sighed, settling back in his chair.

“You’ve heard of Red Hood, yes? Don’t answer that, it was hypothetical. I know you’ve heard of him.” Danny waved a hand impatiently. “I don’t really care why he’s setting up shop in my Alley, but he’s upsetting the other crime lords. They’re asking me to interfere.”

“I don’t work for you.”

“No,” Danny acknowledged with a nod. “But I could make you, if you push it. Politeness would serve you much better right now, Bruce, seeing as I am doing you a… favor. And since I’m not shouting to the world who you are under the cowl.”

Danny gave Batman a pointed, patented, mom glare.

“… Apologies.”

“Now, you might be wondering what that favor is.” Danny watched Batman’s cowled face carefully. “I thought you should know that the Red Hood is your “Jason Todd.’”

Batman was still. And then Batman leapt at him, snarling, “How dare you-!”

Danny caught the vigilante by the throat and squeezed.

Batman’s flurry of punches- which, mildly ow, those gauntlets kind of hurt- quickly changed to clawing and maneuvers to get out of the choke hold. Danny held steady, cutting off the vigilante’s air supply until he began to go limp. He’s not Superman. Danny will bruise and kill, if he had to.

“Are you going to listen to me now?” Danny asked mildly, emulating both Black Mask’s drawl and Dan’s effortless psychosis.

Batman gave a weak nod. Danny plopped him unceremoniously back onto his couch. He sipped on his drink once more as he waited for Batman to cough some sweet air back into his lungs.

“I’m telling you to get your little birds in line before I have to go hunting, yeah? Keep your kids out of danger, Bruce, and I won’t have to step in.”

“He- how do you know..?” The growl isn’t there anymore, and Danny felt a smug sense of vindication of having smothered it out of the guy. Woah, no, that thought was too Dan and too little Danny. Danny handed him a cup of water, which Batman didn’t drink.

Danny rolled his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Drink. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now. And as for how I know…”

Danny held up a beat up copy of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, filled with Jason’s writing. He tossed it to Batman, who caught it with blank eyes.

“Water,” Danny reminded him firmly, feeling like a mother hen. Batman gulped down his water, eyes flicking between the pages of Jason’s annotated book. Ancients, Danny couldn’t believe he annotated his book. A crime lord, like that? Well, it’s not like Danny could say anything.

Batman looked up at him, a silent demand- no, plea, because he’s not in a position to make demands- for an answer.

“Broke into his safe house. You should contact your fling, Talia. Seems like she dunked him into these “Lazarus pits” and told him you replaced him with the current Robin.”

Danny could see Batman’s emotional gears hard at work and honestly, he doesn’t have time for that.

“Now, we’re done here. You owe me one for the information. I’ll collect later.” Danny grabbed the Dark Knight, who stayed oddly unresisting (shock, maybe?) , and hauled him up.

“Tell Tim Drake to eat more. He looks too skinny.” With that, Danny dragged the Dark Knight to the window and punted him out. His kids were waiting on hot chocolate night and Danny had to go shopping for quality ingredients.

——

“YOU COULDN’T HAVE TOLD ME THE BIGGEST CRIME LORD OF YOUR CITY WAS THE FUCKING HIGH KING OF THE INFINITE REALMS?!”

“Hn.”

“BLOODY HELL, DON’T YOU GRUNT AT ME, YOU BROODY BASTARD!”

Constantine let out a scream. Shite, the king who held his soul contract was a crime lord. Great.

——

The reason intelligence and convoluted schemes and genius doesn’t work against Danny is because he’s got weird standards of what he’ll tolerate and the fact is that his normal dumbassery and mother hen tendencies cancels out and coherent thoughts or plans he might have had.

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daydreamerwonderkid · 10 months

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Genuinely love the fact that regardless of which Superfam/Batfam pairing (romantic or platonic) you're looking at, it's always some variation of:

Batfam member: They're so lucky I'm the normal one.

Superfam member: Holy shit, every single one of you is fucking insane!!!!

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years

Text

Days of Splendour

Sequel to Marriage of Inconvenience, Acts of Atonement, and Memories of Misdeed

Warnings: this fic includes dark content including rape/noncon, marital discord/neglect, cheating, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You face the fall out of your confession.(Regency AU)

Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne

Note: You can imagine any Bruce you want. I hate Affleck so I went for Christian Bale in my head but to each their own. I pictured Cavill because uhhhh yes, but hey if you wanna go with Brandon Routh that’s chill af, or Tom Welling.

And here’s the unexpected sequel.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Humpty Dumpty love falling off walls. Take care. 💖

Bruce stares at you. The confusion that glimmers in his eyes startles you, dismays you. Your heart clenches tightly as you can hardly stand on your own. You could bear the years of neglect stabbing into you like a dagger but you cannot bear any hurt you could cause him.

“Tell me,” he utters in a brittle tone, Kent’s laughter tapers off into raspy snorts.

You gulp and quiver as you cross your arms, not comforting yourself, bracing yourself. You must tell him. To be done with it. So that you may face his wrath and your fate as a fallen woman.

You sniff and bring a glove up to wipe your nose, your other hand firmly on your elbow. “The night of the fair…”

“Oh go on, regale him with how I thrilled you,” Clark bolsters from below, a smooth strike with the shove snaps his head back. You wince at how his skull hits the floor and he groans into a slurred grumble, “Wayne, you…”

He does not finish as you sway, staring at the silver shovel, almost hoping he swings it at you next. You fold your hands over your chest and shudder as the memories swells in your stomach, threatening to revolt as bile rises up your throat.

“Upon our journey back to this manor, Lord Kent… I… in the carriage we… were unfaithful,” you push the words out with a breath and cannot inhale again, dizzy as you stumble, turning to press your hand to the window and stay upright, “I’m sorry, husband, I am unworthy of you and all you’ve provided me.” You press your hand to your stomach, the tight stay making it hard to take in air, “I only ever want to please you but I have committed a crime which no wife could be forgiven–”

A soft nudge quiets your sobs, you wiggle your nose as you glance over, Bruce stands in smeared hues behind the wall of your tears. He stops your hand as you go to flick away the droplets from your cheeks, instead wrapping your fingers around the shovel. He steps close, so close you can smell the citrusy scent of his cologne.

“Go on,” he urges.

“What–” you quiver as you try to pull away, try to release the shovel but he holds it in your grasp.

“He deserves it, and you should be the one to deliver it upon him,” Bruce’s deep timbre sinks into you. You’ve never heard that tone from him before. It’s dangerous and dark. “So go, lay upon him the wrongs he’s done to you.”

You swallow and sniffle, more tears spring out in your shock. You shake as you reach for his other arm. “Please, husband, I cannot–”

“Why?” It’s a genuine question, as if the thought of violence would be natural.

“I… am not… cannot…hurt him. Or anyone…” you flutter your lashes as you try to see him clearly through your lashes, “it is I that is owed castigation.”

He sighs and turns his face away, blinking long in irritation. He shakes his head as he draws away, taking the shovel as he spins to face Lord Kent. The other man sits dizzily on his knees, gripping his head as his bright blue eyes flash up to face his adversary.

Bruce points at him with the shovel, “I should cave your head in with this, I should stain this carpet with your blood, I should make you beg until no breath can rise from your lifeless chest,” he snarls, “but I shall not. Unlike you, I have honour, so I will allow you your life…” your husband pauses and glances at you, “so long as you are away from my estate at once. So long as you do not tarry and goad me further for I do not know how much longer I can withhold my vengeance upon you, sir.”

He grips the shovel and prods Kent’s chest as he bends to meet his gaze, “go now and never lay eye or hand on my wife again. At the risk of my fury, you will not so much as think upon her. For the next time I shall not think to fetch a shovel but my pistol.”

He shoves Kent with the shovel and takes a steps back, pointing with the long silver handle towards the door. Kent’s eyes wander towards you and the gleam of the shovel quickly deters him. He stands with a stagger, gripping his knees before he can set himself on his own weight. Blood trickles from his nose and the cut along his cheek.

No words pass between the men in the stolid stalemate. Bruce stands unmoving but for his eyes as they follow Lord Kent out the door. Alfred’s voice greets him from the corridor, no doubt the loyal butler has heard it all and is ready to see the man from the premises.

You shiver and your legs buckle and fold. You collapse into a heap and catch yourself on the heel of your hands. You weep freely as all strength abandons you on the cold floor.

“I am so sorry, my lord,” you quaver, “please, I do beg of you to forgive me. I will do whatever you wish. Should you wish me to go–”

Your voice lumps in your throat as the shovel clatters to the floor. You reluctantly look up with a trembling lip as Bruce stands staring at the floor, one foot kicked out as he grips one hip. His face is lost in shadows and sets in you a new fear.

You think for a moment he may do worse to you than Kent. You will not resist if that is as he wishes. What more do you deserve?

He drags his foot around as he turns. You wince as he nears you with heavy steps and bends his knees as he brings himself to your level. He puts his hands on your arms and slowly rises, bringing you up with him. You stand uneasily, legs quaking as he holds you up.

You can’t look at him but suspect he can’t either. He pulls you against him suddenly, you squeak. He holds you there, you hear the beating of his heart, arms tight around you, body stiff. His embrace slackens and at once he is scooping you off your feet.

You latch onto his shoulder as you smother a gasp. He stares ahead, determined, as he turns and carries you across the room. The house is empty and silent as he comes out into the corridor, the staff scattered from the discord.

“Br– Lord Wayne,” you murmur as you place your hand on his chest.

He does not answer as his long strides continue into the foyer and the ascent is slower, jarring you with each step. He proceeds past your door as you squirm in his arms, uncertain and afraid. He is your husband, your master, he may punish you as he sees fit. As his wife, you must heed his will.

He pauses, shifting you as he bends to turn the knob on his bedroom door. You hold your breath, tears dried up with anticipation, with dread. He continues within and kicks shut the door behind him. Your fingers curl into his vest as you steel yourself for what comes next.

He goes to the bed and lays you down gently. You’re surprised as he straightens and tugs at his stock, freeing it from his neck. He works at unbuttoning his high collar, nose flaring with his thoughts as his dark eyes dilate. You stare at him, witless.

He unbuttons his waistcoat and disposes it. His attention drifts away from his own attire as he comes closer to the bed. He bends and reaches around you, pulling at the knot behind you that holds your silk belt in place. The thick ribbon with the opal stone at the front drops into your lap.

“You are my wife still,” he says, looking you in the eyes, “you will ever be my wife. It is I that have failed you,” he retreats and continues to undress, “that I sent you off with that cad, exposed you to his perversions–” he shakes his head at himself, nearly ripping his shirt as he yanks the tails from the top of his breeches, “it will not happen again, ever. I will see that it does not.”

“My lord, it is not your–”

“Not my fault?” He puffs as he faces you again, his chest tense as it peeks out from beneath his open shirt, “do you think it your own?”

You blink at him. You can’t say it aloud but you do.

“No, that… beast, that creature,” he snarls and hits his hand with his fist, “he has preyed upon a married woman, he has defiled my own wife, and– and you are too gentle to hold an ounce of anger for him. So let me, let me carry that flame and let it burn me from the inside. For you deserve better, you deserve vengeance.” He clicks his tongue and shrugs off his shirt, tearing it off in frustration, “you deserve better than I am and better I shall be.”

He nears you again and you barely keep from wilting before him. He takes your hands and urges you to rise. You do, quivering, and he follows your sleeves up your arms and his fingers dance over your shoulders. He tickles your neck and cradles your face, his own body shaking.

“Ready for bed, blossom,” he bids as he hovers his lips over yours, “so that I may hold you close and safe in my arms.”

“My lor–”

“Bruce, your husband,” he insists as his thumb brushes your cheek, “yours, as you are mine.”

He crushes his lips to yours fervently. You let him as his hands frame your jaw firmly, squeezing as he touches you with an intent you’ve never felt in him again. So raw and rabid, all rigidity tossed away. His tongue pokes into your mouth demandingly and he edges you back against the bed.

You fall and he descends with you. He parts as he holds himself over you, his breath washing over you hotly. He pets your face and traces your hairline as he marvels at you, “there has been much excitement, wife, and I wish only to have you in my arms and sleep. So that you may rest, that you may recover.”

Your eyes wet and you wiggle your nose, “m–Bruce,” you caress his bare shoulder, “you are too generous, too forgiving–”

“You needn’t my forgiveness and he shall never have it,” he hisses, “but I will ever have you, until eternity, my blossom, as you swore to me and I to you.”

💔

The warmth is sweltering. Bruce lays flush to your back, his arm snaked around you to keep you close, as if to trap you there. You have no thought of escape as you wake gradually, the chill of the chamber creeping in over the top of the eider.

You pull the blanket closer to your chin as your husband shifts behind you. He grumbles into your hair, the heat of him seeping through the measly layers of linen. Your shift is a poor shield to the early morning cold and the man behind you.

He untucks his hand from under you and drags it up your stomach. He covers one side of your chest, fondling you as he purrs and wiggles against you. His fingers crawl up and pluck at the laces across your chest. He loosens them enough to slip beneath your shift, toying with your nipple as it hardens against his touch.

A ripple flows through you. You could cry again. He wants you still. Even after a night to think, he desires you. He does not blame you, though you cannot say the same. The guilt lingers and nips at the nape of your neck.

He nuzzles the back of your head and hums, edging down the slender sleeves of your shift to bare your chest completely. He gropes you, playing with you, tweaking strings deep inside you. You moan and nestle into him, welcoming him.

His hand trails up to your shoulder and he moves, leaving you cold as he pushes you onto your back. A rush of air flows in beneath the blankets as he lifts himself over you, edging your legs apart with his knee. He bends his arm around your hand and leans in to kiss you.

You breathe into him, letting all the tension, all the worry drifting away. You touch him shyly, fingers fluttering over his side, making him twitch. You feel the strength in him, relish in it, feel safe in it.

His mouth slips across your cheek. He kisses along your jaw and neck, doting on you, exploring as if it’s all new again. His lips make you giggle as they meet your throat and he rolls his thumb over your nipple, stirring another flicker of elation.

Your hand brushes along the top of his short drawers and he groans. He wants it, you want it to. You push down the linen and he shifts his hips to help you. His fingers walk down your stomach and trace the line of your pelvis. He slips between your bodies and along your folds. He rubs you cloyingly as his shorts catch around his thighs.

You moan and twine your hand into his dark hair as he nibbles along your collarbone. He teases your tender bud as his mouth follows the curve of your breast, pinch the skin between his teeth as you squirm. He takes a nipple between his lips and sucks, another strike of pleasure pings up your spine, arching you against him.

“Bruce,” you rasp as you grasp his shoulder, “please…”

He purrs and it rolls through you. His fingers tease your wet folds as he coaxes your body. You bend your legs around him, ready, impatient.

He slips his hand away and his mouth leaves a wet smear up your chest. He raises himself over you, guiding his tip along your cunt. You bite your lip as you bring your hands along the sides of his neck, the tendons straining as he prods along your entrance.

He thrusts into you all at once. You cry out as your hands fall to his shoulders and you dig your nails into his flesh. He does it again, harder, the sudden urgency surprises you. You gasp and press a palm to his chest as he ruts once more.

“Bruce,” you whisper.

He pushes his legs up, shorts stretched between his thighs as you bend your knees around him. He snarls as he snaps his hips again and you curve your spine deeper to take him. He’s never been like this. Before, those few times in the early days of your marriage were dull and dutiful, and since, soft and fond. Now, he’s rough but not unloving. Desperate, almost.

He kisses you, swallowing up any protest you might muster. He rams into you, over and over, flesh slapping loudly between you. The pressure, the friction of his pelvis against yours, tingles over you, coiling within, tight until fraught.

You whine into his mouth and hook your arm around his neck as you cum. You spasm as your walls twitch around him, succumbing to his demands. His lips part from yours as he chuckles, tickling your side as he thrusts as deep as he can.

He frames your chin and turns your head harshly as your arm slips away from his neck. His lips brush against your ear as he whispers, “you will never again be lost, blossom, for you are exactly where you belong.”

He shoves himself up, sitting back on his heels as the bed jostles with the movement. He runs his hands along your thighs and grips your hips, pulling you further onto him. He watches the joining of your bodies as he sinks deeper and you whine.

You reach back to clutch the pillow as you grit your teeth. He rocks, growling as his eyes cling to his long strokes pushing in and out of you. He rams his hips up until you're full and you exclaim. He does it again, just as hard, and you squeal. He smirks, keeping the deliberate tempo.

He drags his hand away from your hip and presses his thumb to your clit. You writhe as he tilts his hips, rubbing you as he fucks faster and faster. All control flies away from him as your voices rise and mingle in the frigid air, now damp and smelly with your sweat.

“Oh, blossom, I know you can do it,” he taunts, “yes, only for me, yes?”

You puff as another climax piques in you, shaking you to your core as you bend your legs around him, begging for more. He grins and slides his hand beneath your knee, then the other, pulling your legs up his torso, spreading his hands across your thighs, fingertips poking into you sharply.

He hangs his head back as his tempo quickens, hammering into you as he growls at the canopy. You moan and sink your nails into the pillow as his needs ripples through you, enthralling you, melting you to a quivering mess.

He snarls and grunts, snapping his hips several times before stopping, holding himself at his limit as his body twitches. He’s breathless as he caresses you from thigh to foot and back down again. He lets your legs fall around him and bends over you, kissing your fiery cheek.

“My wife, my blossom,” he coos as he runs his thumb over your lower lip, “I promise you, there will never again be any other but me for you.”

“Husband,” you exhale wispily, “I–”

He hushes you and pecks your lips, “do not be sorry, ever.”

💔

You can almost forget Lord Kent’s disastrous visit, yet Bruce’s new ardor is a constant reminder. A reassurance almost as he chips away at the guilt still hard as a stone in your chest. His insistent presence and attention are a pendulum between soothing and suffocating. He is your husband, however, and you swore to serve him.

That day, he is in his study. A rare occasion in the weeks since the revelation. He has not gone to the parliament more than once a week and spends much of his time with you, whether it be with your books or his bed. More than his habits, his manner has changed. He is more intense, more insistent. As if he is afraid, and other times, he seems enraged. Not at you, but at some unspoken threat.

You’re at your vanity when the knock comes. Ester helps you with the ribbon you thought to tie around your hair as you call for the visitor. Bruce enters, dressed simply in dove grey and navy, his eyes sparkling as you peek over from the looking glass.

“And what is the occasion?” He wonders as his footsteps pad over the floor.

“Housework,” you chuckle, “I suppose a ribbon isn’t needed.”

“Housework?” He rests his hand on the edge of the vanity, you feel his gaze on you, “is that not what the staff are employed for?”

“I like to help,” you shrug, “I mostly say where to move the furniture when I do not like the arrangement.”

“I did wonder why the settee keeps wandering,” he muses, “but I’m afraid I must put a pin in your plans.”

“Oh?” You look up at him as Ester sighs and lets the ribbon fall limp again.

You know you’ve been moving overly much, your restlessness worse with each day. That cause of which is hard to determine as it befalls you at unsensible times. And the sickness that keeps you from finishing your morning meals, sometimes those later in the day. You wonder if the winter has brought an ague upon you.

“The seamstress has come,” he declares as if you should know why. Your confused look affirms that you don’t, “so that you may have a new dress for the yule celebration.”

You tilt your head at him as Ester pulls back, “forget the ribbon, Ester, apologies,” you wave her away and turn to Bruce, “a new dress?”

“Did I not mention it?” He gives a crooked smirk.

“You know that you did not,” you smile as glee erupts in your stomach. You’ve not had a new outfit since before your marriage, a whole trousseau left neglected in your isolation.

“Consider it a surprise,” he offers his hand, “I’ve come to escort you, lady.”

“Well, aren’t you the gentleman, this day,” you tease as you take his hand and rise.

“As I am every day, though we shall not mention the nights,” he winks and you give a glance to Ester as she barely hides her amusement.

“Husband,” you tap his arm in reprimand.

He laughs and leads you to the door, “you do not counter the point, however.”

“This is not The House, sir, thus I needn’t entertain your debates,” you reproach.

“Oh, how you entertain me in other ways,” he hooks his arm through yours.

“My, you are naughty,” you chide, “what has overcome you, husband?”

“Only your beauty,” he leans over to kiss your hair.

You giggle and shake your head at him. He leads you downstairs to the sunroom, the windows shrouded behind the thick winter curtains as rolls of fine fabric are displayed before them, the fireplace burning amber, as a woman in a plain grey dress stands patiently beside it. You cannot believe the scene.

“Madam,” she greets with a nod from Bruce as he lets you go, “I am Marigold, I am here to take your measurement back to Monsieur Lammeau.”

“Lammeau?” You bat your lashes, “why, he resides in Paris.”

“Monsieur is vacationing in London presently,” Marigold explains, “and is eager for the many commissions he received for the king’s yule ball.”

“Why, I…” you look at Bruce as he strides to a chair and sits smugly, “sir, you are a scamp.”

He smiles over his knuckles as he leans his chin in his hand. You are surprised further that he remains but don’t let it affect you. You are much too excited at the site of silks, brocades, and muslins.

“Shall we review the fabric first, lady? Then I shall close with your measurements,” Marigold directs.

You accede to her suggestion and go to tall rolls. A tailor would often travel with pocket-sized swatches but you suspect the extravagance is at your husband’s insistence.

You peruse the many options before you. The teal and gold brocade is much too springish for the season, the violet muslin too presumptuous for court, and the black silk too drab. You don’t mind the burgundy velvet with small gems set into it in an even pattern but you think of the expense, the plain blue might be preferable in cost, and the emerald satin is simple enough for most patterns.

“Hmm, I cannot decide,” you tap your lip, “I wonder what the other ladies have chosen.”

“The other ladies’ options have been removed from the catalogue, madam,” Marigold says, “they do seem fond of muslin despite the cold however.”

“What about the red velvet?” Bruce offers, “you seemed to linger on that.”

“Yes, but… it seems rather ostentatious, perhaps without the gems,” you mull.

“I think it suits you,” he insists, “wouldn’t you say, Marigold?”

“The red is a fine tone for your complexion and would take only a simple cut,” Marigold offers, “but of course, it is the lady’s preference that matters.”

“I do like it,” you twiddle your fingers, “might I ask the price?”

“You may not,” Bruce interjects, “that is a matter I will attend to, lady.”

You give an abashed, tight-lipped smile, “yes, husband.”

“Is that your decision, madam?” Marigold prompts.

“If I don’t decide on it now, I don’t think I should be able to choose,” you say, “yes, I will have the velvet.”

“Very good,” she takes out a small notebook, “Monsieur will arrange a visit to consult about his designs, but for now, I will take your measurements. It would require, madam, to be done with only your shift.”

“Ah, yes, I suppose, that would be necessary,” you glance at Bruce who is unmoved at the suggestion.

“I’ve seen less than the shift,” he shrugs as he sits back.

You’re taken aback for a moment by his impropriety. It was once that this man seemed averse to anything not stamped into him by years of etiquette. You cannot be displeased by it, though it does confound you.

“Shall we call for Ester?” Bruce wonders, “to assist.”

You agree and wait as the maid is summoned. She helps unlace your layers, secured less than an hour ago, and you stand in only your shift and slippers. It feels odd being in such a state anywhere beyond private chambers.

You raise your arms and stand still as Marigold does her work. You watch the scribbles she makes in her notebook, distracted only by Bruce’s intractable gaze. He squints at you for a moment and you wonder what he is thinking of.

You peek at the numbers again before Marigold closes up the pages. She thanks you and declares her job done. You give her a half-minded courtesy as your mind strays.

The numbers are not as they were at your last fitting. It has been some time and you have noticed your stays are tighter. It isn’t unexpected to gain some weight, especially in the winter months. Still, you can’t help but ponder.

Bruce stands to thank Marigold as you dress. You subtly brush your hand over your stomach as Ester ties your laces. A speckling heat spreads beneath your shift and sweat beads on your scalp. You feel suddenly out of breath.

“Are you well, miss?” Ester asks quietly as you turn to her, your husband’s voice droning as he assures Marigold he will have the staff assist with her carriage.

“Yes, I am only a bit…”

You can’t finish the sentence as you don’t know what you feel. Fear, anxiety, hope? You can’t figure which is the strongest as you try to recall the last time you had your monthly bleeding.

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dark-fics-4-you · 2 years

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Trapped on a Ferris Wheel

dark!Bruce Wayne x reader

TW: noncon !!! , unwanted touching, choking, kissing, fingering

prompt from @darkpromptsyouneveraskedfor

The autumn air was crisp and filled with the cheers of happy fair goers.

The annual Gotham City Fall Fair always brought huge crowds of people looking to escape the bleakness of their everyday city life.

Children ran by candied apples tightly grasped in their fists, with their parents trailing behind lugging around prizes and pumpkins.

You had came to the fair alone, although that didn’t bother you. You enjoyed the fall season and the rides were more fun when you didn’t have friends telling you they were too tipsy to go on them.

You sipped on your warm spiked cider as you waited in line at your favorite ride, the ferris wheel. You loved how high up it got, and seeing the lights of the fair always made you feel happier.

As you approached the front you heard the ride attendant calling out, “minimum of two riders per carriage!”

You frowned to yourself, this was a new rule apparently. Likely an attempt to cut down on line times. Or maybe so the carriages didn’t get unbalanced? Oh well. You wouldn’t be getting your ride partner from the group in front of you, a family a four, so you glanced behind you to scope out the line.

Your heart skipped a beat as you met the eyes of the man standing right behind you. You had never met him but you couldn’t mistake him.

Bruce Wayne.

The billionaire smirked and raised an eyebrow at you. “Looks like we’ll be riding together.”

“Guess so,” you nervously stammered. You couldn’t believe that you were actually meeting Bruce Wayne. He was a Gotham celebrity, and you were just some nobody.

“I’m Y/N,” you say meekly, and hold out your hand in greeting.

Bruce met your eyes and grinned wolfishly. “Bruce Wayne. Pleasure to meet you Y/N.”

“Next!” The attendant called out, and you stepped up to the carriage, Bruce following close behind. He sat opposite of you, still looking at you with a gleam in his eyes you couldn’t quite place.

“So.. what are you doing at the fair, anyways?” You stuttered, flinching at your unsteady voice. “I-I just mean I wouldn’t expect to find you here.”

“I seem to have a habit of showing up at places people don’t expect me to,” he mused, more to himself than you. “But to be honest, I was.. feeling nostalgic, wanted to relive some good memories.”

He leaned closer, and the smell his expensive cologne wafted towards you.

Bruce placed his large hand on your bare knee and you shivered, resisting the urge to pull away.

“Lucky for me, I just happened to find a pretty girl to keep me company,” he chuckled with a wink.

To your utter relief, the carriage jerked and began it’s slow ascent. You leaned back, trying to move his hand off of your leg and relax. He scoffed, taking your hint and removed his hand, but didn’t break his eye contact.

“Interesting. Most women would be thrilled to have my attention.” Bruce’s tone was darker than before, almost threatening.

“I guess I’m not most women,” you nervously laugh, in a desperate attempt to relieve the tension and turn his attention elsewhere.

“It’s okay,” he glanced down at your legs before meeting your eyes with a growl, “I like a challenge.”

“Wha-“ your question was cut off when he surged forward and roughly pressed his lips to yours.

You exclaimed in shock and tried to push him off of you, but he had your arms gripped in a vice. You struggled against him, but you were no match for his strength. His mouth smothered yours and he released one of your wrists to bring a wandering hand to your chest, groping and pulling at the thin material of your shirt.

You were shocked, unable to speak. Why was this happening? Why you? He could have anyone, but here he was with his lips on your neck in a cramped ferris wheel carriage.

Bruce brutishly pushed your shirt up and grinned wickedly at seeing your bare chest. His large hands roamed over your breasts, and you squeaked as he tweaked your nipples.

“St-stop!” You weakly tried to shove him off of you. The billionaire rolled his eyes in annoyance and covered your mouth with his hand.

His fingers trail down your body to your skirt, bunching the material up and pushing it up out of his way. He shoved his fingers against your clothed heat and rubbed your clit. You protested against his palm, but he just pushed your head back against the wall of the carriage.

“If you keep making this much noise we’ll be caught,” he tutted sarcastically. “We wouldn’t want that.”

Bruce traced the edge of your panties before pushing them aside and rubbing his thumb against your clit. The friction made you whine again, and you could feel the hot tears that had been burning in your eyes begin to fall against your cheeks and Bruce’s hand.

He brought the hand that was covering your mouth to your throat and squeezed hard, until your vision got black around the edges, before releasing the pressure, a silent threat of what he could do if you screamed.

The dark haired man continued the quick circles with his thumb against your clit as he roughly pushed his middle finger into your cunt, smothering your squeak with the hard press of his lips to yours. Bruce slowly curled his finger in a come hither motion, applying more pressure to your clit with his thumb. You tried desperately to clamp your knees together, but he just pushed his knee in between yours with an annoyed glare.

Your back arched involuntarily as you ground your hips against his intrusion, both intensely hating and somehow enjoying the feelings he was eliciting with his unwanted touch.

Bruce forced a second finger into you and you gasped. His feverish lips found your neck, and he greedily nipped and bit at the tender flesh. Your stomach rolled as his lips found your again and he pushed his tongue into your mouth.

You could feel the fire of desire being stoked between your legs and the shock of your situation mixed with the overstimulation of his touch was pushing you towards the edge.

The ride suddenly jolted to a stop, and you realized you were at the top of the ferris wheel and they were letting more people on.

He met your eyes with a glare, anticipating your next move, but he was too slow to stop you.

You screamed, “HELP! HELP M-“ and Bruce’s large hand covered your throat, this time showing less mercy as he slammed you against the carriage.

“What the fuck did I say about being loud, Y/N?” Bruce growled at you, fingers tightening their grip around your throat until your vision got fuzzy.

His thumb pressed harder against your clit, two fingers still curling in you and the overstimulation finally sent you over the edge. You came with a strangled moan, burning tears falling past your lashes.

The ride kicked back to life and finally began it’s descent. Bruce slowly pulled his fingers out of your burning cunt, looking you in the eyes as he placed them in his mouth, licking your juices off his fingers with a mocking sneer.

He leaned back into his own seat, legs spread, and he stroked his clothes erection, now painfully obvious.

You turned away from him, angling your body into the corner as much as you could, sniffling and pulling your skirt back into place.

“Fuck you!” You hissed at him, smearing your tears across your face with the back of your arm. “I-I’m gonna tell someone what y-you did.”

Bruce scoffed, rolling his eyes.

The carriage reached the bottom of the wheel, and stopped. Bruce stood up, sneering at you.

“No you won’t.” The billionaire chuckled before leaning close and hissing in your ear. “I can do whatever the fuck I want. I’m Bruce Wayne. Who the hell are you?”

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