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kimjun · 1 year

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Y/N: We need to get through this locked door. Bruce, give me your credit card.

Bruce: Here.

Y/N, pocketing it: Thanks. Jason kick down the door.

#reader insert #x reader #incorrect quotes #dc x y/n #jason todd x reader #dcu #dick grayson #bruce wayne x fem!reader #damian wayne #dc incorrect quotes #jason todd x y/n #jason x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #dick grayson x reader #batfamily #batfam x reader #damian wayne x reader #damian x reader

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arkhamslvts · 11 days

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size kinks and jason todd laying you flat on your stomach, your bed faces the mirror and one of his hands keeps your hands pressed flat against your back while the other is pressed against the back of your neck. the position doesn't help considering jason was already huge, it felt like he was bruising every part of you and he knew it "c'mon baby.. take it all" " 's too big sir.. slower" "nuh uh, you like mouthing off so much, you're so big and strong right baby? stay still and fucking take it"

with bruce wayne i feel like it's a little different, it's more subtle. he doesn't mock you the way that jason does, its simply something that's in the air. it's on display whenever he holds you up with one arm firmly wrapped around your neck and the other wrapped around your torso. your back pressed against his chest and he completely dwarfs you, and he knows you like it "that's it... such a pretty girl, taking me so well. fuck, fits like a glove."

#. . . curated by mara #late night thinking.#size knk goes crazy.#black!fem!reader #jason todd x black!reader #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader smut #bruce wayne smut #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x black!reader #bruce wayne x reader

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visionsofmagic · 8 months

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day 10: bruce wayne [car sex]

࿓ synopsis • bats fucks you in his batmobile to teach you a lesson after you disobey his order.

―❦ nsfw, autonomous driving, one has clothes on one hasn’t, suited!bats, batmobile, markings, car riding, possessiveness, jeaolusy, pet names, swearing, master kink, rude!bats, identity dilemma, inner toughts, spanking, begging, brat taming, clothes full on/off, kissing, ‘is all I guess. • 1.9k • thought comic bats while writing but you can imagine this with any version of batman as you like of course. enjoy the beginning of the second week of kinktober event, hope you will like this week too! [kinktober m.]

“bats – please –“ as the gotham’s city’s night lights pass behind the black windows of the batmobile you’re in, your own voice gets silent by the loud sound of the road, yet, they reach to his ears that are covered with his black batman mask. “it’s too much –“

the man under you stays still even when his actions don’t stop – fingering your clit, he seems like he doesn’t care about how you’re sitting on his lap, soaking onto his black bat suit, getting wetter each passing time – having no dress on you makes the situation more sinful, especially when he has his own armored suit on, even the mask is still covering his face and ears – his bat ears is a source of balance for you to hold onto while taking his fingers as if it’s the first time he does this.

you have no idea how this man makes you feel stranger to being fucked by him whenever he has you like this – weak yet so powerful because of the whole situation.

it should’ve been a peaceful night, a simple mission – yet, it turned into something more, and you were the one to blame the moment you began to flirt with one of the guests to distract him. you were doing what he told you to from the other line of the call, giving instructions one by one with the help of the device on your ear. it was going all right until the man got interested in you, buying you drinks, joking around, and asking if you would like to follow him to do upstairs.

you didn’t yet you had to act close to the man to get rid of him because bats told you to leave his side immediately. your mistake was taking that decision; putting one of your hands on the man’s shoulder, raising on your feet, and whispering something into his ear before leaving. apparently, this made bruce go mad – causing him to give you a lesson that you had to learn right away.

the moment you entered the batmobile, he took you onto his lap, taking all your clothes from one to another, looking darker than ever – hands fast, lips kissing yours so passionately that you believe your lips begin to bleed, the suit remains on as he begins to finger you – he just opens the zipper of his armored pants, leaving his hardened cock visible to your eyes.

wanting to touch him, your hand goes to his cock, yet, it is stopped in mid-air. he doesn’t waste any more seconds, slapping your clit, he adds, “you had to earn it. you will not get it until you beg for it.”

now here you are; already cum for one time, its hints still on your thighs and his pants, however, he doesn’t stop – you know he waits for you to beg – you try not to beg, stubborn, believing you did nothing wrong, but, it’s too much – he knows every point to make you beg – the vigilante know your own body more than you do.

when he hits your g-spot with only his gloved fingers, again and again, you cry out loud, “bruuuce – aggh – please -!” the words go out of your parted lips on their own as your hands grip his bat ears strongly, bouncing on his fingers when he doesn’t move them. the knowledge of making a mess out of you doesn’t reach into your brain, so, you continue fucking his fingers – his dark-colored eyes look up, a smirk position on his attractive masked face, mocking you. “please! I need youu – aggh!”

“pathetic,” he remarks, “bouncing on my fingers as if they’re my dick,” a chuckle breaks the lewd sounds – the outworld out of the batmobile is long forgotten. “want it so much? want me to bend you over, fuck you in this car?”

without thinking, you nod rapidly, eyes half-closed, your second cum drips onto his fingers, high hits the body, feeling a bit exhausted yet ready to take his thick cock now.

your mind can’t comprehend what he’s doing but in a moment you find him lowering his seat, opening enough gap between your bodies and the batmobile’s front.

afraid of falling into the surface, you try to hold his shoulders – still can’t believe you fucked yourself on his fingers and cum onto them when he talked dirty. the power – the effect he has on you is incredible! the mind is so dizzy because of him that you realize what he has done after a moment, your widening eyes look at the front mirrors of the car, seeing the road in front of you – the scene changes faster than you think – you swear the car moves like a lightning.

the reality hits your face similar to the feeling of cold water washing your body over on a hot day. however, you can’t focus on it when bruce’s gloved and wet hands position on your waist, highering your ass up, pulling your body closer to his face.

when you hold onto the wheel to stay still, excitement and shock blurring the last cramps of your mind, fear of going in an extremely fast batmobile makes your blood boil – yet the trust you have for bruce is there, strongly holding you. his low voice reaches your ears after a while, and his hot breaths wash your pussy and ass holes that clench around nothing, making you jump in pure pleasure. “you disappointed me,” he says, “you disobeyed a direct order from me. that man meant nothin’ to me but disobeying – oh – what a bad choice y/n.”

you couldn’t wait any longer, knowing his one step away from licking you, lust takes control of you, and you begin to say how sorry you’re – how you didn’t mean to – both you and bruce know you did mean to, to get his attention, to get this side of him, because you’re a brat of him who he will tame.

“keep your begs for forgiveness for later. you have to prove to me that you’re capable of obeying me, you pretty brat.”

“anything, I will do anything for you bru -!” a slap to the ass, a slap to the pussy – scream escapes from your lips. “bats! just give me an order, will do it – just please – please fuck me already!”

“in that case,” he says, not licking you, making you pout in disappointment but when he lowers down your body, his cock’s tip meets with your aching pussy’s folds, he clicks a button, the engine slows down a little bit, the wheel of the car gets closer to you. “hold the wheel.”

you try to understand what’s going on, “what are you doin – aggh!”

his left-hand grips your neck, holding it tightly, closing the gap between your face and his, he points to the wheel that stands right in front of you. “hold the fucking wheel if you want to be fucked, y/n.”

swearing lowly, your shaking hand finds the wheel, holding it strongly, waiting for bruce to push a button – when he does, the engine starts moving faster than before. unlike the previous situation, this time, it’s you who drives the batmobile.

“bruce – how – “ your words are cut off by his deep voice.

“don’t take your eyes off the road. you will take us to the home without an accident. if you turn even a little bit, I will stop fucking you my love.” the difference in his words and voice make you go crazy, and that craziness doubles up when he lowers your body down enough to make him thrust his thick cock into your pussy, filling you up.

screaming with sudden pain and pleasure, your eyes roll over for a second before looking right at the road in front of you – gotham city still stays under the darkness of the night, the only voice that world excepts is the powerful sound of the batmobile riding on the endless looking road, the moans coming from you and swears from bats mixing with the flesh hitting the flesh can be heard by only you and bruce – the sin you commit cannot be known by another.

the focus you put on the road gets distracted whenever bruce shoves his dick into your wet clit. back of your thighs hitting his clothed thighs sends pain through your body, leaving red marks on your flesh – the balls that meet with your ass cheeks increase the sensitivity you have, making you cry as you clean them rapidly to see the road.

his name comes out of you over and over again, the brain is too occupied to drive, the mind is too crazy to function, and the body is too full of him, the man who wants to devour you, and doing it right now – using your body as he pleases, not moving his hips greatly, instead, he makes use of your body by lifting it up, then, pulling it down until his dick fills your walls deeper, harder and rougher.

“fucking brat,” he says, a poison that his voice holds captures you – you feel so pathetic as if you’re his fucktoy now. then why do you feel so high like the most powerful drug in the whole world gets into your veins with the maximum level, you ask yourself, then the answer travels to your mind after he adds, “can’t obey her master? what a pretty yet mindless girl you are, don’t you think?” oh, right, he’s the most powerful drug on the whole world, and now, you’re at his mercy.

“u-huh – agghh – oh myy – bats! please, please, please –“ you have no idea what you’re pleasing for, but he knows – he chuckles lowly, having fuck great entertainment thanks to you that you feel a kind of pride in an instant.

“u-huh?” he mocks, fucks you still, close to the edge, just waiting for the right moment. “too cockdumbed to even understand what I’m saying. but you do good my good girl, keep going, we’re close to the cave.”

the new information makes you happy, smiling widely, and looking outside clearly, seeing the cave’s entering. with the relief, you begin to drive the car more carefully than before, hands getting stronger, losing yourself in the pleasure of being fucked by bruce in his damn batmobile.

finally reaching your destination, you slow down the engine, the cave’s front door opens, and pushing a button, bruce hugs you from behind, making you sit down on his cock with an instantaneous speed, earning the loudest moan out of you.

the mouth standing beside your ear says, “cum. cum on my cock.” and you who doesn’t know she’s waiting for him to allow her – to order, do what he tells, cum on his cock as his hot semen hit the deep inside of you in sync.

kissing your shoulder, he holds your shaking body because of both the coldness of the cave you have entered and the opposite sense of warmness that bruce gives – the smell of highness on the air, chests getting up and down, breaths rapid and low, lust ends – its place gets completed with the affection of love.

“did so good,” the car’s door opens, bruce takes your body in bridal style after wrapping it with his cape. his gentle lips put kisses on your face as he walks into the bathroom of his room, watching your soft features, eyes closed to sleep. he smiles fondly, proud of you. “let me take care of my pretty girl now.”

❦ tagging: @lilvampirina & @snowprincesa1 & @dookiemeshibear *lots of kisses!*

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hanasnx · 6 months

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BRUCE WAYNE was in the hot seat. Well, more appropriately, Batman was in the hot seat. Which meant it was time for the billionaire playboy to make a public appearance so controversial, any press worth their tacks would cover his televised blunder rather than some depressing masked vigilante’s dealings. People prefer gossip over politics, and Bruce knows how to work an angle.

You’re a fresh adult, but the people already know you. A perfect Gotham sweetheart: a little darling on the front cover of lingerie magazines, starring as a bombshell in motion pictures, named the honor of the Ice Princess last month. You wore your little feathery outfit, next to nothing in the freezing cold, and turned on the city's giant Christmas tree lights just as the Ice Princess does every year. Known for your youth and beauty, Bruce knew you were the perfect candidate to take all the attention away from where it shouldn't be. Tabloids couldn't decide whether to praise the seasoned billionaire for landing a nineteen-year-old catch, or condemn him for having a mid-life crisis.

"Bruce Wayne seen with Gotham's Ice Princess." was everywhere anyone looked. It seemed the city had taken quite a protective role over you, which is exactly what Bruce needed.

Now that he's got you, he flaunts you. He lets you lug him around town, any local events that could be televised are his priorities. There, he makes a big show of touching you in ways only a lover is allowed to. Things that make you pat his huge bicep scoldingly. "Brucie!" you chide with a gasp, "You're so shameless." you say, but you fucking love it. How he openly mouths at your neck, lapping and sucking on your pulse point enough for lewd pretty sounds to slew from your parted lips. Little whimpers that any onlookers eat up.

He'll grope you unabashedly, big hand grabbing at your ass or giving it a swat. He needs those cameras to see how gross he is, how crazy he is about his nineteen-year-old situationship. If you get kissed, it's fucking sloppy. Mostly tongue, tongue outside the mouth as much as he can appropriately get away with. His "dirty sense of humor" will bleed into the public scene as well, hugging you from behind only to jokingly engulf your neck with his hand to fake a choke.

Every single one of these things he does for attention, leaves you hot and bothered. Frustrated from his treatment of you that's so warm when there are prying eyes, but so cold when you're finally alone together. You want Bruce Wayne to fuck the ever-loving shit out of you, but when doors are closed suddenly it's: "Something's come up." or "The sushi hit me wrong." Or the worst one of all: the polite, civilized, but uninterested act. You're all over him, begging for him to finally fuck you after stringing you along and teasing you so ardently all day, and he treats you as if you are an acquainted business associate who has overstayed her welcome. You don't get it. An hour ago he was pulling your neckline towards him for a peek down your dress, and now he's showing you the door with a smile on his face.

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kuromitos · 11 months

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Bruce: Honey? Are you still mad?

Batmom: *gives him the silent treatment*

Bruce: Come on now, sweetheart. I know you're upset-

Batmom: UPSET!?! Upset doesn't even scratch the surface on how I'm feeling!

Bruce: and I understand that but I think you overreacting about what hap-

Batmom: DICK HAS A BROKEN ARM AND WAS BLEEDING EARLIER! YOU REALLY THINK IM OVERREACTING!!!

Dick,watching batmom tear Bruce a new one,: is Bruce sleeping on the couch again Alfred?

Alfred: I believe so,master Richard

Dick:does that also mean I got to be careful for awhile til she calms down?

Alfred: I believe so, master Richard.

#batman #batmom #batfamily #batfam x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #dick grayson

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nouearth · 5 months

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sweet surrender.

bruce wayne x male reader headcanon.

summary: there's nothing better than taking your anger out on someone you hate (and fucked).

wc: 2.3k. genre: smut. warnings: bale!bruce, top!bruce, bottom!reader, bigdick!bruce, bratty!reader breeding, mouth-fucking, rough!sex, hate!sex, choking, drooling, spitting, mentions of pain slash pleasure, bruce has a dick that won't quit.

notes: lowkey on a roll with these bruce smuts!!! enjoy, m'loves!

hate sex with bruce included kissing you with a sense of urgency. he overwhelmed you with the intrusion of his tongue. you resisted, but the wet muscle parted your lips so easily despite your efforts, and all you could do was fight back with a stronger force.

he held you against the wall, pinned you, but you utilized a surprising strength to push against his hold and bit down on his tongue in midst. an accidental move on your part, but you hated him. it made your chest swell hearing him cuss you out, and so you did it again, across his bottom lip where he'd groan again, before licking the insides of his mouth as if you were the potion to soothe his wounds.

fuck you. he'd grumble, breathing hot into your mouth after he slammed back into the wall. he speared a glare at you, into the fervent display of your eyes, and forced his lips back onto you. he hated kissing you. he hated the way your lips perfectly fit into his. he hated how your breath mixed sweetly with the scent of roasted coffee beans of his. he hated the sound of your moans when he pressed his body into yours. he hated the fact that he was pressing so close to you, practically attached to your hip.

and he hated the fact that there was not a single moment where he wanted to pull away.

fuck you. you spat at him, leered at the way his hair sweatily yet perfectly hung over his eyes as if it was a protective barrier that prevented you from dissecting his current feelings and emotion.

bruce vied for control—a dominance—that was proclaimed triumphant when he put his hands on you.

one strong hand of his laced over your hair, thick bundles at his grip, and he pulled your head back in one swift yank. your eyes opened in shock followed by a rattled groan, and a somewhat unnerving fear that you didn't want to admit led you to avoid his eyes.

bruce took his time eyeing your throat, the slow bob of your adam's apple as you thickly swallowed the ghost of coffee beans down, awaiting his next move. was he going to kiss you again? mark hickies all over you? bite hickies into you until you bled? looking beneath your eyelashes, his eyes sharpened, and for some reason, you suddenly felt smaller.

the silence around you fell to a quiet, menacing drone when he raised his free hand and one-by-one, slowly wrapped his fingers around your throat. everything was precise with him. he made sure the protrusion in your throat was centered at the space between his thumb and index. he made sure to let go of your hair so he could press you flat against the wall again, restricting your movements. and he made sure to squeeze, triggering a defiance in you, beating and pushing at his chest that only made him squeeze harder, harder, and harder.

your breath was vaulted in the back of your throat with staggers of profanity managing to slip out. you pretended it didn't affect you. despite your losing grasp in reality as bruce gradually stripped you of air, you powered through and wore a glare that crowned you a champion. he groaned. a warrior. he clenched his jaw. a king. he squeezed. and your crown shattered in a million pieces when your vision blurs, when your eyes gloss like varnish on wood, and when you shut them and a tear rolled down the flush of your cheeks.

and bruce knew he'd won when he let go, and you were gasping desperately for air. heaving as you rubbed at your neck, wincing because the muscle fibers were signaling in thrums that you were going to be bruising the morning after. though, it wouldn't be long until you found your breath completely stripped away from you again.

hate sex with bruce included forcing you down on your knees before finding a perfect grasp on the back of your head and pushing your mouth down his cock. you hated how thick he was, making you look even more meek because it was a struggle to even take in the first few inches. you coughed when he pushed lower, then gagged when the girth of his cock weighed down on your tongue and pushed air back down your throat, blocking your air passage.

open your mouth. he wasn't satisfied, mocking in his tone as he yanked your head back, and you'd use the few seconds to catch your breath as you drew your tongue out, hanging your mouth open. it was intimidating to see him in this position, towering over you as if you were a peasant to his kingdom, or like an animal as your pants were akin to one, but you'd never admit that as you glared upwards. he extended your head further back, yanked again, before thickly spitting into your mouth. or in bruce's own words, lubing your mouth.

as much control he had over you, you weren't going to take it—not like this. you scrunched your face before spitting up back at him, a few speckles landing at his cheek. it was a daring move, one that silenced the room until you could hear your heartbeat resonating through the stereos in his house.

do that again, i dare you. bruce warned—demanded—as his grasp only tightened, his cock hardening before you as it pulsed with anger. and instead of spitting, you let your saliva completely spill out, pushing it out in bubbly sputters as your tongue hung out, a move to mock him and his demands.

or what? going to fuck my mouth or something? despite his grip on you, it was loose enough for you to allow you to extend your neck and lick a stride at the underside of his meaty cock. he watched you in silence, his bare chest gradually heaving more with irritation. he was breathing through his nose, an obvious attempt to control the flame you ignited him, while you continued lazily tonguing at his cock at the plump head. you added to the glorious sheen his pre-cum had bestowed upon the pink flesh over time, lapping the thick musk up in several licks.

you'd get your answer when bruce threw you over the bed and onto your stomach. your cock found pleasurable refuge in the tousled duvet beneath you and you rocked your hips into the pocket of fabric as you waited for him, hearing him uncapping a bottle of some sort and the sounds of sticky lathers after.

jesus, what's taking so— without warning, bruce intruded into your tight hole with a slow, yet unbearable push. you pushed away, or attempted to escape from the sheer amount of pain beneath you, but he reeled you back by taking your shoulders and pinning them down to the mattress. it knocked the breath out of you. his cock, spreading you open so vividly painful, you could feel every stretch of muscle being pried open despite your natural will to enclose around him.

you opened your mouth, thinking your whimpers would come out, but your throat constricted instead, locking them back in until bruce delivered one hard snap of his strong hips, dispelling the gate to which your groans poured out in staggered and bitter pants. your toes curled at the stinging sensation, and your hands fisted into whatever fabric was in your had, but why did you love it? why did you love feeling like a doll with absolute no use in the world... except for fucking? for bruce's fucking?

think you can still run your mouth? bruce asked with no expectations of a coherent answer from you. he squeezed hard at every flesh and bone he'd come across. the back of your neck, your shoulders, your arms, your waist, bruising while the driving of his hips seemed to have been at competition with his own physical touch to see which could make you break first.

his hand ran over your back muscles, the dip of your spine, before traveling back upwards to shove your face into the mattress, once again restricting your way to life, to living, to breathing. his thick cock fucked into you while a glorious amount of lube creamed out of your violated hole, squelching and squishing with every thrust bruce would deliver in strong and heavy rhythms. he hated you. his bruising touch was evidence of that, already blooming beautiful against your skin, and he hated that he made the mistake of marking you because now you're marked as his.

you'd whine for him to keep fucking you, only because his movements rocked you into the duvet, making you fuck into the pocket of fabric. soft yet fuzzy against your skin, it was uncomfortable but you knew bruce wouldn't make you cum through his own touch. it was up to you, and you were selfish, needed to be selfish to achieve your own desires and pleasures.

you'd gotten used to the pain, soon turning into bittersweet, eye-rolling pleasure, finding yourself fucking your ass back into his thrusts, back into his meaty and throbbing cock. your ass rippled every time your skin met his, slapped loudly in the lust-driven air, and the sweat on your kindled bodies only made it more inviting as it stuck and glued you two together in a sticky mess, intertwined and passionate.

bruce held you by the hips, his fingers digging to the bone, bringing your ass back into him while he thrusted forward, ramming into you as hard as he could muster the power to in quick bursts before pacing back down into long and steady thrusts. he loved doing that. he loved hearing your moans ratter with the quickness of his thrusts. your long and drawn out hiss when he pulled out almost completely. you'd desperately wish for him to put it back in, and bruce wouldn't absolutely comply until you began whining, begging for him like a whore in heat.

please, please, please. i need it. you desperately cried out, the rim of your hole clinging onto for sanity—the very tip of his cock that you could feel bruce teasingly swirl around your hole.

you need what? bruce asked for clarification, a strong emphasis on what, and he'd pull his cock out to sheathe it in between your ass cheeks. his palms spanked you once, then again when you wouldn't answer, before groping your two soft globes and firmly kneading them until he could visibly see his handprints imprinted on your flesh. he'd fuck himself in between your cheeks, groaning at the lack of tightness compared to your pretty asshole. he felt himself coming close, and if he wanted to, he could come just like this, selfishly watching himself pour his spunk all over your back.

your cock, please. i need your big cock in me, fuck. i need you to fuck me until i'm thinking about that cock for weeks, fuck me like you hate me— fuck! your words croaked into the bed sheets, and you were apprehensive if it was enough for bruce. it was embarrassing because of how quickly submissive you became all because of his cock. you hated bruce, but not his cock. you could never. you needed him more than ever because you were close and you needed to come so bad, so fucking bad. you humped into the blanket, your hole quivering at the loss of girth, desperately enticing back bruce with multiple puckers.

like i hate you..? i despise you. bruce breathed out his final words near the shell of your ear before sheathing himself completely inside of you with one push, then proceeded to fucking you without caring that his full weight was toppled on you. without caring that the neighbors could hear your grunts and his mixing like a choir. the sloppy sounds of skin-to-skin contact turning it into a symphony of delectable sounds that he could simply get off to if he wanted to.

you kicked your feet, the immense pleasure quickly building up as if bruce hadn't taken a pause with you prior, and you were back to fucking into the blanket again. over and over, your cock slid into the soft fabric deeper until you were practically fucking a pile of fabric rather than a pocket.

and you came. your cock released your desires in thick, full shots that would stain the material for a lifetime, and you'd cream into them because bruce continued fucking you. continued fucking your ass, churning his cock in and out of you wildly until he felt his own release coming in heavy marches, like soldiers preparing for battle.

you could hear him pant, breathe a little harder and quicker than before, and his grasp tightens around your hips when he pulled his weight off of you. he loved using like this. not fucking you, but using your body to fuck him. he used his remaining strength to maneuver your hips—your body—almost lifting you as he fucked his thick cock, utilizing your hole like a fleshlight until he felt his balls startle, then twitch, then pumped in several course as his cock swelled with a desire to fill.

with a guttural moan, he slammed you back into his cock once more before his balls dumped his cum into you. thick and heavy, you can feel it coating every inch of your walls, then creamy as bruce pursued an ambition to milk himself. his fucking sounded sloppier than before as he churned himself inside of you, over-filling you with passionate hate, and you could feel it dripping out of you, down your thighs and legs and an unfortunate waste as it most likely stained the bed, the longer he used you like an abused toy.

once his cock went limp, bruce pulled out and watched with undeniable admiration as your loose hole squeezed his cum out in thick dribbles, unable to hold his warm loads for any longer because you were deservingly well-fucked and bred.

god, i hate you.

hate you more.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

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blackcupidangel · 1 month

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Things Batmom has said:

“Keep your father out of the kitchen, I’ll be back by morning.”

“We’ll if it isn’t the consequences of your own actions”

“It means you can either drive yourself home or I’ll have Alfred come get you.”

“Look at my handsome boys growing into fine gentlemen.”

“Stay safe, I love you”

“Eyes open, baby birds.”

“Alfred and I made food for the week, it’s in the fridge” *punch* “Your running shoes are on the left side of the closet” *kicks* “Make sure his project is done tonight, it’s due tomorrow.”

“I’m going to let you fix it, because if I fix it I’m going to jail.”

“It’s called,” she raises one fist “fuck around,” then she raises her other fist, “and find out.”

“You don’t even know me, you don’t even know my real name…” she leans in with harden eyes yet calm features, “I’m the fuckin boogie man”

“Do not play with me, I am not the one, two, or the three.”

“Don’t kill him.” //“I’m sorry but who’s the one tied up here?” //“Darling—��// “Because the way I see it, it’ll be in self defense.”

“Just one leg.” “No” “Both legs?” “No!” “You’re right….I’ll go for their kneecap.”

“So…you’ve chosen to disobey me.”

“Alright now…don’t write a check you can’t cash.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say? I couldn’t hear you because of your tone of voice.” She leans in with a hand cupping her ear to encourage a second chance.

“Do I look like booboo the fool?!”

“Brilliant.”

“As mad as I am, I can’t let you shoot him.”// “Just this once?” //“No.” //“I’ll go for the knees. Nothing vital.” //“Hhgh.”

“You really hit the nail on the head with that one Batman.”

“And WHO do you think you’re taking to?”

“Don’t tell your father.”

“Be home by 10, or I start looking windows.”

“I’m so very proud of you!”

“A girl’s gotta be prepared.”

“You know…about the whole guns thing, I’m still not so sure I feel as strongly as you do.”

“Way to go, Bruce.”

“Touch my child, I dare you. Make my day.”

“Ahh…Motherhood.”

—————————————————————————

Heyyyyyyy hotties I’m backkkkkkk. Send me asks and requests as I’m easing my way back into things. It might take me a while to find my flow and writing style so bear with me please. I missed you all so much honestly.

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gay-dorito-dust · 3 months

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‘Damian.’ You called over your shoulder, eyes firmly locked on the thing that currently held your undivided attention.

‘Yeah?’ You heard him call back from another room.

‘Why the fuck is there a cow in your kitchen?’ Damian’s brow was immediately raised upon hearing this. Cow? There’s no way Bat-Cow could’ve- Damian then closed his eyes and took a couple deep breaths before joining you in the kitchen, where he could clearly see that the white and brown Bovine cow was indeed in the kitchen, just like you had said.

Now the question of how the cow had gotten into the manor -undetected no less- was a mystery entirely because surly someone would’ve noticed a 610kg, white and brown cow mindlessly clopping down the corridor from rooms away. But none of that mattered anymore as it was irrelevant to the current situation you and Damian both found yourselves in.

‘This day was bound to happen sooner or later, y/n this is Bat-Cow, the family…well cow.’ Damian said as though it were nothing new but for you, everything was made even more confusing. ‘And why do you have a pet cow? is Wayne Enterprises expanding into the farming business is it?’ You asked and Damian felt a headache about to come on.

‘Tt. No, me and father saved Bat-Cow from going to a slaughterhouse and have kept them ever since.’ He explained as he then moved past you to gently pet the cow on the muzzle, smiling softly when Bat-Cow made a noise of content. ‘Besides, this is nothing in comparison to Goliath.’

You made a face at this. ‘I’m sorry but Goliath who?’ You asked and Damian only continued to amuse himself as he petted Bat-Cow. ‘Exactly.’ He couldn’t wait to see your reaction firsthand.

Bruce tends to overwork himself to death most of the time, much to yours and Alfred’s disappointment.

You understood why he does what he does but did he necessarily have to neglect his own health and well-being to do so?

Gotham was a piece of work that is always under continuous construction, never in the hopes of being made better, but instead to be pushed to the side and left to slowly corrode and rot. Gotham was an ever developing plot hole that was bound to become even more than an issue then first assumed.

Gotham wasn’t a place worth saving for it always found a way to relapse back into old harmful habits, much so to the point where it’s own civilians didn’t care whether the city would survive another day, with all the chaos and destruction that seemed to be happening on the daily.

In Gotham it was easy as piss for one to lose all sense of empathy, humility and humanity.

Expect for one man. Bruce Wayne aka Batman. A shining beacon of hope for the future of Gotham in your eyes, a person who looked at the piss, shit and grime that flooded the streets and thought; I could help make this a better place, not by much, but just enough so that the civilians could rest easy knowing they’re looked out for. No matter if I get beaten down again and again, I’ll always get back up because if I don’t, then who will if not me? And you loved him for that and loved even more when he first brought Dick home, followed shortly by Jason, Tim and Damian with the inclusions of Stephenie, Cassandra and Duke respectively.

So nowadays whenever you wanted Bruce to rest, you’d call upon the help of the kids -now grown ass adults with lives of their own- and Alfred to help you drag Bruce away from the screens of the bat-computer.

‘You could’ve just asked nicely.’ Bruce said as he walked with the likes of you, Tim, Dick, Jason and Barbra out of the bat cave after successfully getting Bruce to join you and the remainder of the family- whom were waiting for you all in the dinner room- for dinner that Alfred made.

‘We did, multiple times.’ Jason replied.

‘Well if you consider pulling back his chair from under him asking then yes, yes we did.’ Tim then said as Dick butted himself in the conversation. ‘I mean, it did work in our favour in getting the old man out of the bat cave.’ Murmurs of agreement followed as you leaned against Bruce, staring at your gaggle of kids with nostalgia, chuckling.

‘What’re you laughing to yourself about?’ Bruce asks and you shrug.

‘Nothing, it’s just nice to see that your soft spot for them hasn’t changed after all this time.’ You replied, holding onto his arm as he pressed a small kiss to your head and hums in agreement.

‘They happen to take after you, and you’re hard to say no to in any capacity.’ Bruce answers and you couldn’t help but squint your eyes at him. ‘Liar.’ You tell him with a grin. ‘You just don’t want to admit that I’m right.’

Bruce chuckles and kisses your cheek. ‘Okay, maybe you’re right about one thing.’ He concedes and allows you to drag him down the hallway, happy to be able to see his family all in one place.

Jason who might as well make his apartment a makeshift animal shelter because of how many strays he brings in from off of the street and dangerous living situations.

The pattern in this being that the strays he brings in were dogs that were heavily stereotyped as dangerous and aggressive, hurt, or missing a limb in some capacity. So there would be days where you’d come home to find Jason bathing an XL bully and a Pit bull, whom had some scarring left from when they were used as an illegal fighting dog, and you wouldn’t even bat an eye as you discarded your coat and went to help Jason in drying them off.

‘Where’d you find this one then Jason?’ You asked as you ran a hand through the Pit bulls short fur as it fell asleep on his lap while the XL bully fell asleep in yours.

‘In an alleyway where I was just about finishing up my patrol, tucked away in a darkened corner in a rotting cardboard box where I could heard them whimpering as clear as day.’ He responded. You could hear the anger in his voice towards the mistreatment of the poor dogs and reached over to hold his hand, stroking the back of it with your thumb.

‘You saved them Jason. You’ve given them much more than what their previous owner did tenfold.’ You reassured him, letting him know that the good he’s done will stick with the dogs for a long, long time. ‘Are you planning to give them to Damian to look after before finding them a good home?’ You then asked, having dawn to terms a long time ago that you nor Jason would have the time to properly take care of them yourselves, no matter how much you wanted to but you knew in this instance you couldn’t be selfish.

‘I would but Damian already has his hands full with the Doberman and Staffy we found last time,’ Jason sifted in his seat to look at you, ‘apparently Titus, Alfred and Ace have grown attached to them and refuse to the idea of them leaving. So Bruce is in the process of legally having the dogs be put under his care.’

You visibly perk up as you cuddled the XL bully to your chest. ‘Does that mean?’ Jason couldn’t help but laugh at your inherent cuteness as he pecked your lips. ‘Yes, we get to shelter them a little while longer chipmunk.’ He murmurs against your lips and you couldn’t help but steal a kiss from his lips out of happiness.

‘Have I told you how much I love you lately?’ You asked.

Jason hums. ‘You have but once more couldn’t hurt now would it?’ He teases.

Not even a week later and you and Jason decided to keep Riley the XL bully and Roy the Pit bull and you both love them dearly.

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ynscrazylife · 7 months

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THE BAT IN THE SHADOWS 🦇🕸️

— CHAPTER TWO

Summary: Bruce Wayne is the happiest he’s ever been in a while. He has a beautiful wife, amazing children, and is stopping crime left and right as Batman. All that shatters when you, his wife, mysteriously disappears.

Pairings: Bruce Wayne x Wife!Reader, Batfamily x Batman!Reader, Avengers x Reader (Platonic)

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Having to wait until morning to pull the security cam footage from nearby stores was hell. In the meantime, Bruce filled out a missing persons report (and nearly broke down whilst doing it). The worst part of it all was having to come home, alone, and face his family.

His kids and Alfred were exactly where he left them, all in the living room.

“Where’s Mom?” Dick was the first to ask, arms crossed. Neither he nor his brothers could hide the worry flickering across his face. Not even Alfred, who was usually so composed.

“I believe,” Bruce began, wanting to be strong for them. The image of your smiling face flashed in his mind and he slammed his hand against the nearby wall to steady himself. Get it together, he told himself. The weight of your shattered phone in his pocket felt like tons of bricks. “She’s been taken.”

He hated that that was all he could say on it. That was all he knew. He hated that he had to say it at all.

Five rounds of “What?!” echoed around the room. Bruce forced himself to look at Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian. At their pain. Their shock.

“I only found her phone, broken. But we will bring her home,” Bruce said, knowing that there was no keeping his children out of this investigation. “I will take the lead. I’m going to go downstairs and start working. Anyone is free to join me, but I’d also suggest trying to sleep. If you can.”

He started towards the stairs. Then, half-way there, he stopped and turned around, opening up his arms. It took a second, but the boys came to him, and Bruce tucked them in his arms with a strong, tight hug. Alfred watched for a moment, then walked around and put his hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

“We will find her,” Bruce vowed.

And, he thought, if you were harmed in anyway, if a single hair was out of place, he’d destroy whoever had enough nerve to do this.

Standing by Commissioner Gordon’s side, Bruce peered over the employee sitting at his desk, who was starting up the footage on his computer. They found the closest store to the spot where your phone was found and as soon as the sign switched from closed to open, they walked in.

“Here you go,” the employee murmured, pressing play.

The footage was grainy and dark but with narrowed eyes, Bruce was determined to take in all that he could. As soon as you walked into frame, Bruce couldn’t help but tense up, nervous about what they were going to see.

Your pace started slowing as you took out your phone. Then, a jolt of electricity — where it was coming from was off-screen — hit your in the back. Bruce fixed his jaw, trying not to lash out or yell or even cry as he saw you fall. The thought of you, limp on the hard, dirty sidewalk . . .

Then, two figures came into frame, lean builds and wearing all black. Bruce watched how one stomped on your phone screen and he took a breath. They were saying something to each other, but the footage didn’t have audio. It was impossible to make out. He curled his fingers into a fist when they each took one of your arms, starting to drag you away. They didn’t seem to care at all that your head was bouncing off the ground and Bruce wanted to smash the screen.

He’d make them fucking pay, that was for sure.

Gordon did the talking, thanking the employee and whatnot. Bruce was in a daze, the footage playing over and over again in his head. He hadn’t even realized that Gordon wrapped up the conversation until he was pulled outside. They went a few stores down, trying to find more security camera footage of where they took you.

When they did, Gordon and Bruce watched as the kidnappers haphazardly tossed you into the car. As if you were nothing. As if you weren’t the most precious thing in Bruce’s life. He made fists again. They drove away and the one good thing was that the footage captured the license plate.

Gordon drove them to the police station and Bruce practically forced him to speed. A goddamn license plate, that was their only clue. Bruce’s only hope. He was pacing back and forth while the police actually ran the plate, never staying still for even a millisecond.

Finally, Gordon emerged. “They must’ve stolen the car. We’ll start sending patrol units out, contact other local departments . . . We will find this car. We’ll find them,” he said confidently.

While patrol units drove all around the city and beyond, Bruce did the same in his Batmobile. He spent every minute of every hour on the road, only returning for food and a couple hours of sleep after numerous calls from Alfred. It was the second time when he came home that he saw how much this was affecting his children. A wave of guilt hit, he knew that he hadn’t been paying as much attention to them as he should’ve.

You would’ve told Bruce to leave it to your fellow detectives, who were hellbent on getting you home. You would’ve told Bruce that he didn’t have to be Batman. He had to be home. God, you were so good, it sometimes hurt.

Bruce sat with his four boys on the couch, his arms wrapped around them. He updated them on the case, told them everything he knew. Of course, they asked to join him on patrol, but Bruce told them there was no need. He was going to take a few days off to spend with them.

It was after those few days that Bruce received a call from Gordon. They were in the middle of a somber dinner when his phone rang and the vigilante sprang up from his seat, nearly knocking his chair over. Everyone paused their eating.

“Gordon?” Bruce asked. The last few times, Gordon had nothing big to tell him, but Bruce answered his phone the same way every time.

“We got the car. It’s abandoned, but they drove out of the city. Parked near the woods.”

Dick, Tim, Jason, and Damian all wanted to go search with their father, but Alfred assured Bruce that he’d have them finish their dinners. Bruce gave each one of them a kiss on the head and promised to be home at a reasonable hour (which Alfred would hold him to, bless the man) before he rushed off.

It took a little while to get to the coordinates that Gordon sent, but when he did, he found detectives and cops and even civilian-organized search parties. It warmed Bruce’s heart, how much the city adored you. They knew you as Mrs Wayne, the kind and brave detective.

He joined the search as Batman, looking high and low. He got deep into the woods when finally, he found something. A group of costumed people all looking around, some confused, some awed. Bruce could tell they didn’t belong.

“Identify yourself,” he growled, coming out of the shadows and approaching them.

They all turned to him suddenly. No one moved or said anything for a second, until a redheaded woman came forward. She looked to be around your age, maybe a couple years older.

“This is probably going to come as a shock, but please, hear me out,” the woman began.

“I don’t ‘hear’ people out. Identify yourself, now,” Bruce demanded, in no mood for games.

The woman sighed softly. “Fine. You can call me te Black Widow. Back home, I — we — are known as the Avengers. We’re looking for someone named Y/N,” she told him.

#bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne angst #bruce x you #bruce x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x batmom #batfamily x reader #dc batman #batman fic #batman fluff #batmom #batmobile #avengers x reader #mcu avengers #dc marvel crossover

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dayasusays · 1 month

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could you write a degradation dirty talk type bruce!! i imagine him to have the BEST dirty talk

oh, anon, he has the best dirty talk.

bruce is experienced, mature and i can tell he knows how to treat a woman.

warnings ! — SMUT, headcanons, fem!reader, husband!bruce wayne, dirty talk, cunnilingus, maledom, praise, compliments

summary ? — bruce has the best dirty talk.

౿ . . ` ౨ৎ ENJOY 🦇

husband!bruce wayne, who knows what his words do to you and uses them skillfully.

husband!bruce wayne, who only needs to open his mouth and talk to make you wet.

husband!bruce wayne, who massages your clit through the fabric of your underwear and whispers “so wet for me, yes? yes, princess, just for me?”

husband!bruce wayne, who will occasionally take a break from your clit just to talk; sure, he doesn't look like the kind of man who would be distracted by conversation in the middle of his favorite business, but my god, your face when you moan disappointedly is worth it, “are you okay, love? should i stop?” and he says it all with a satisfied soft smile, as if he doesn't realize at all what a mess you're becoming after him.

husband!bruce wayne, who's just admiring you and the way you're watching his movements. “that's it, love. my wife is so delicious,” he straddles your thighs and spreads them a little wider, not forgetting to look you straight in the eyes, “i could stay between those thighs all day. you're so beautiful from this angle,” he's so good with his words that you want to cum right now.

husband!bruce wayne, who knows where to push and where to kiss; with each movement of his tongue, your legs tense up more and more, and your hands reach for his hair, pulling him closer, closer, closer...

“so impatient,” bruce continues to murmur, “let me enjoy, princess, don't be so unfair,” he leaves a kiss on your clit, making you clench around his fingers. you lean back and try to relax, but it's almost impossible when the rough pads of his fingers press against the tender walls, “good girl,” he whispers and still continues to suck on your clit, “look at you. so beautiful when you cum.”

husband!bruce wayne, who fucks you so deep and slow that with each thrust you seem to see stars. “you were enthusiastic when we started,” bruce pulls back your hair a little, leaning over and whispering right into your lips, “look at you. cumming on my cock for the second time,” he speeds up a little as his fingers find your clit; it takes you a couple seconds to cum again, “good girl, so good.”

husband!bruce wayne, who continues to whisper short “my beautiful girl”, “that big cock makes you cum again, doesn't it, love?” and “you're so fucking tight”.

husband!bruce wayne, who wants another orgasm from you. he wants to empty you; to fuck your brain, to make you forget everything that might be in your pretty head. he pushes deep into you, unbearably slow and sensual, so that you want to scream out how good it feels, ”are you okay, my love?” bruce strokes your hair, twisting a strand on his finger as you mutter positively in response, “great, because i’m not going to stop until i fill you with my cum.” ୨♡୧

sorry for delay ! still having a little rest :)

like, comment & reblog? <3

�� abt me | m.list

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delusionsofgrandeur13 · 6 days

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girl, i wanna see you undo it

i wanna see you but you’re not mine.

how the other batboys react to a breakup

18+, mdni !!!!!!

readers can expect: a fem reader, lotttta angst, cursing, mentions of violence, sexually explicit scenes including mentions of penetration, oral, and masturbation. also tim drake being a creep via e-stalking but reader is aware of it and more or less okay with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

your ex boyfriend, bruce wayne, was avoiding alfred.

his butler was insisting on signing him up for therapy, and bruce was dodging him, hard. he didn’t have it in him. he wouldn’t go pay a professional to hear how pathetic he was over the lack of you in his life. couldn’t. he’s found a much more effective way to get out his emotions.

one that involves his fists and a goon’s face.

it was probably cruel, these poor goons were just trying to feed their families, or something, but batman was indifferent.

he was now always nearing dangerously close to breaking his no-kill rule. almost always teetering over that edge. even with his own life. he’d head out in the batsuit, prowling the seediest streets of gotham, hoping, practically praying, for someone to do something illegal. he would put himself in the most deadly situations just to feel alive. wasn’t the healthiest solution, but.

did he care? no.

bruce was numb, unfeeling to those around him. he couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror, not at the stupid fuck who’d lost the love of his life. he’d lagged behind in his case solving, gordon was growing increasingly more concerned. he was rude to the paparazzi asking after you, almost able to hear your voice in his ear, telling him to be nicer to them, whacking him on the bicep. he’d throw his usual charity galas, sure, but would send dick or jason in his place to showboat. he didn’t have the patience to talk to reporters. didn’t want to show face if you weren’t there on his arm. you always made the social aspect much more bearable. would always help him relieve the stress of it all after the event had ended.

but did he still care about you? yes.

just like when you were dating, bruce taking care of you was second nature.

he wouldn’t dare cancel the flower deliveries he’d set up when the two of you were together. they appeared at your apartment door every week and a half, always something different, but always in your favorite colors. you couldn’t stay mad at them either, the flowers brightened up your kitchen so nicely. when you and bruce were dating, he’d merged your calendars, just so scheduling was easier. you’d since deleted the connection, but he somehow still knows when you have appointments, as you’ll come out of your building’s lobby to a sleek black wayne enterprises car. the chauffeur opening the car door for you silently. you’d take it over the subway every time, even if it was a little awkward.

the dating app you’d downloaded after the breakup kept glitching, never letting you text any of your matches back. if you cared more, you’d contact support, but it was so odd. everything else on your phone works perfectly fine! but you had a gut feeling it had something to do with your ex boyfriend.

bruce might’ve slipped oracle a few bills for her silence over that favor.

he tried not to think about the fact you were already willing to start dating again. he couldn’t fathom being with anyone else. could not possibly wrap his head around it. why would he want anyone when he could have you? when he had already had you? everyone else seemed..lackluster.

it’s the same reason he’d been celibate since the breakup. after you, he was tainted. he didn’t think he’d ever be able to have sex again without thinking of you. especially in his own house. the two of you had fucked on every surface possible, seriously. tried every position.

it’d been difficult just sleeping in his own bed when he used to share it with you. used to make your legs shake as you gripped at the sheets. would never make you beg for anything, eating you out until you couldn’t take it anymore. that’s when bruce would press you up against him, holding you up with his huge arms as he pounded into you, his balls slapping against your clit as you whined, barely able to form words.

he’d never been with anyone the way he had with you. so obviously he wasn’t even able to finish with his own hand. it was nothing, nothing compared to the way you felt. his imagination would never have him moaning the way you could. could never make him melt the way you oh so easily were able to, with just a look.

so he was numb. and bruce just figured that’s how he’d stay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

your ex boyfriend, jason todd, throws his book across the room, flinching when it thuds against the wall opposite.

annoyed at the surprise romantic subplot, he huffs out a breath from behind his hands. he has to get over his sudden aversion to romance, but it feels impossible after losing you. he can’t watch any of his favorite movies, can only read a select few of his favorite books.

he barely even goes out anymore, mostly to avoid seeing couples on dates. the two of you loved going out together, loved going out to community events like concerts in the park, fairs in the summer. he missed accompanying you to your nephew’s t-ball games, watching you cheer and beam up at him in one of his old baseball hats.

so he barely goes out. he doesn’t have you with him!

he saw an elderly couple strolling in the park the other day. jason had promptly turned in the opposite direction, to avoid crumpling into a ball and sobbing or throwing up into the nearest trash can.

he’d gotten back onto his bike and rode home, going way over the speed limit. he didn’t care about being safe on it anymore, not when you weren’t there to ask him to or be his backpack. he missed the way you’d hold on to him, your thighs bracketing his torso as the bike roared. how at stoplights you’d rub your palms over his chest, grabbing his pecs with your gloved hands. your resulting giggle was muffled through your motorcycle helmet, but it was still the sweetest sound in the world to him.

but jason stopped bothering trying to function out in public after that, only ever really leaving his place for missions and to train at wayne manor.

and boy, had he been training. ever since the two of you had broken up, he’d been working out to the point of exhaustion.

barely peeling himself off of the floor after each workout, always heading straight to the shower to rinse the sweat off while he zoned out into the steam. after his workouts was the only time he would relieve himself. he’d hunch over with one hand propping him up opposite the tiled wall, the other fisted around his cock as he thought of your pretty smile, your gorgeous eyes, the meat of your thighs, the curve of your ass. how you’d clench around his cock with yet another orgasm, moaning his name into the mattress.

he’d finish, hard, his body shuddering, leaving him to be ashamed with himself.

he wasn’t allowed to do this, he wasn’t allowed to think of you like you were still his. all this and yet the pain in his muscles still didn’t ease the pain in his heart, the pain seeping into his bones whenever he thought about you.

jason was still hesitant to be around his siblings.

you had left your perfume in his bathroom, and while he knows it sounds crazy, he's been spraying it on his clothes. he misses the way they would smell like you after you’d borrow them. he still hadn’t touched one of his flannels, the one you loved to steal and loved to see him in. he didn’t see the point in wearing it if you weren’t there to see it.

the last time he’d seen damian, his little brother had loudly asked him why he “smelled girly.”

jason had turned bright red and mumbled something probably unintelligible before briskly walking away, bumping into the doorframe on his way out.

he’s been spraying your perfume on the pillow you’d always use too, snuggling it close to his chest like he used to with you while he fell asleep.

it’s definitely not the same, but it’s the closest jason has to the real thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tim drake, your ex boyfriend, swiveled in his desk chair, spinning back and forth. the monitors covering the wall above his desk were alive with various video feeds and social media websites.

@user892548276 was viewing your instagram story, a gorgeous selfie of you that tim had already screenshotted. he had plans for that later. @gothamite69 was liking your latest tweet, while @ilovedoggiess couldn’t get enough of your latest tiktok.

he knew he had to switch up the users so you’d think it was bots. you’d figure it out otherwise. too bad he had a thing for smart people.

he nodded, satisfied at the cctv feed of the street your apartment building was on, before throwing a hoodie on over his bare chest. tim strolled into the kitchen, his sweats slung low on his hips. he ran a hand through his hair, using the other to grab the coffee pot to refill his mug.

“hey, tim. whatcha up to?” jason leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed.

tim jumped, turning around.

“just some surveillance, nothing much.” he replied, hoping he sounded nonchalant.

“ohh, that case for bats?”

“mmhm.” tim cracked his knuckles, something of a nervous habit he’d developed after the breakup. and his serious lack of sleep.

“well, i won’t keep you. tell y/n i said hi!”

tim flinched at the mention of you as jason left in the direction of the garage. it’s not his brother’s fault. jay had been really busy with the outlaws lately, never home long enough to realize tim hadn’t brought you over in weeks. tim scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. maybe it was the exhaustion muddling things, but tim can’t remember the last time he’d had a full night’s sleep. it was already difficult falling asleep. it only made it worse that every time he did fall asleep he dreamed about you.

but dick had noticed. he had slowly transitioned tim’s assignments to mainly desk work. his older brother was probably worried about him being too tired on the field and getting hurt. but he hadn’t told bruce. tim preferred it that way. he didn’t need a big fuss about if he was okay or his performance level as a hero.

tim grabbed his mug, making his way back to his bedroom. he caught a glimpse of a dark figure in the window, spooking himself. he was on edge so much worse than usual. his reflection stared back at him, his face skinny and his eyebags dark against the pale skin of his cheeks.

tim shook his head, heading into his bedroom. he swayed a little, locking the door behind him. he set his mug on his desk, sitting down in his chair just in time to see you heading down the street.

he stood up so fast his chair rocketed back, hitting the wall. you usually don’t go out on thursday nights. is everything okay??

he types frantically, finding different angles to effectively follow you down the street, physically recoiling to see you stop at a restaurant. just another date.

you stopped, looking around, waving when you spot a blond guy walking towards you. tim enhances the best he can, zooming in on this asshole who thinks he’s good enough for you. tim scoffs out loud at the wrinkled shirt your date has on, looking ridiculous in comparison to your beauty.

the sundress you’re in is one of his favorites, red and white and flowery. he gulps down a sip of coffee at his screen when you turn around, the fabric hugging your body. he blinks, snapping out of it as your date ushers you into the restaurant. tim cracks his knuckles. he reaches for his phone, pulling up your contact. he itches to call you, to pull you out of the date you’re on, to make you think about him instead of that tool you’re with.

but he can’t. he shouldn’t.

he pulls up the screenshot of your story instead, staring at the selfie of you in his favorite sundress. his cock twitches against the fabric of his sweats. he can’t even count how many times he’s had you rutting against him with that dress hiked up to your waist.

he tosses his phone onto his bed, sitting back in his desk chair as he palms his cock, his brain full of thoughts of you.

you pressed up against him in a slinky dress as you slow dance at a wayne gala. waking up in your bed how the two of you fell asleep, naked, limbs intertwined. dancing in a gotham nightclub together, your hair in your face as you throw your arms up and swivel your hips in his direction in your shortest dress. the texts and pictures you’d been sending back and forth after the breakup, unable to let each other go.

tim throws his head back as he finishes, your name on his lips. his body rigid, the warm liquid all over his hands. he cleans himself off, staring into nothing until his computer dings at the motion detected on your street. you’re strutting down the sidewalk, the street empty. before you head inside your building, you stare into the cctv camera across the street. you wave, smiling coyly. tim sits up straighter, holding his breath. you hold up your thumb, and tim groans. that guy??

but you flip your thumb down at the camera, shaking your head. bad date.

tim whoops, beaming.

he shuts down his computer before flopping onto his bed, burrowing under the covers. five minutes later, he’s fast asleep as his coffee grows cold where it sits on his desk.

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pinkhoodi · 23 days

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bat dads or girl dads ? girl dads !

✎ᝰ — bat boys as girl dads !

♡⃕ — bruce wayne, dick grayson, jason todd x reader

♡⃕ — genre + warnings: fluff + children ??

♡⃕ — a/n: dick as a father would make me- nvm that !

꒰ BRUCE WAYNE ꒱

Ꮺ “no” rarely exists and he realized that a while ago. when his beautiful daughter was first born, he would be stern (still loving) and make sure to deny any of his daughter’s requests. as years go and his daughter gets older, it becomes harder to say no to his precious child

Ꮺ he won’t admit it but it’s something about her adorable features that make it harder and harder to say no. even if it’s the most wildest request, he’ll try to accomplish it or tell her “I’ll think about it”. the cute pout, the ways her eyes widen, and her adorable going please please please dad. how can he say no :(

Ꮺ BUT if he can’t obtain that request, his favorite excuse is “I’ll think about it”. even when his daughter catches onto his games, he’ll continue use it and just throw on an extra lie to help out

Ꮺ bruce is the dilf that everyone flirts with and it’s exhausting for him. he tries to avoid pta meetings at all costs but can’t cause his daughter loves those meetings. while the women flirt, the daughter gets free cookies ;p

Ꮺ this man bruce is studying long and gruesome hours on how to raise a girl. raising his eldest son at ten years old is the closest thing he had and it wasn’t helping. prepare yourself for the “am I doing this right?” “is this good for her?” “are you sure this is what we should give her?”

Ꮺ surprisingly, he became quickly accustomed to his bat cave and his office being glittered and glammed. the buttons on the monitor have stickers and his batmobile having a bow on it

Ꮺ learning from his mistakes from his other children, he will try to leave little to no detail about his night activities to his daughter. she knows about the bat cave (due to exploring and being bored in the mansion) but he refuses to take her on missions and don’t allow her to be in the bat cave if the mission is extremely dangerous

Ꮺ daddy-daughter days is something bruce prioritizes! he doesn’t care what is planned before or after that, he’ll make one day every month to spend time with his daughter. whether it be going to the mall, the movies, spending the day at a kids play center, or even napping. that day in his calendar is meant for his daughter and his daughter only

꒰ JASON TODD ꒱

Ꮺ the most laidback father you could ever meet BUT he knows when it’s time to be concerning and when it’s time to be the fun dad

Ꮺ the man almost passed out when his gorgeous daughter was born. he couldn’t take how adorable his lil girl was in the room, he had to step out and started crying. he couldn’t believe he’s a father now :(

Ꮺ it does take jason time to adjust being a father. his patience isn’t the best but he is learning ! he tries as much as he can to unpack all his bad qualities and become better for his daughter before she was born

Ꮺ as much as he is laidback, he is also very cautious and makes sure to have all his weapons away and locked up from his daughter. he refuses to let ANY incident happen just cause he was being careless

Ꮺ he is one to always allow his daughter to decorate his face, no matter how ridiculous he looks. he’ll gladly pose with stickers on his eyelids, three bows on his head and one tied on his wrist, and heart glasses on if it makes his daughter happy

Ꮺ his daughter is lowkey his mood maker. he won’t admit but however his daughter feels is how HE feels. but he won’t take it out on her, absolutely not ! if she’s grumpy, he’s grumpy with her. she’s hungry ? he’s hungry as well. even if he’s feeling fine, he’ll play along with her so she can get what she want from YOU (mischievous mfs mmcht)

꒰ DICK GRAYSON ꒱

Ꮺ the most girliest dads of all girl dads <333. he’s there for any and everything and is NEVER one to say no to his dad. though sometimes he doesn’t realize when to be a disciplined dad and a fun dad

Ꮺ he’ll make sure to never, and I mean never, have his daughter follow into the life that he is in. as much he enjoys saving gotham and bludhaven, he refuses to let his daughter lead into a life of danger and being unsure of whether or not he’ll be home soon

Ꮺ he has an endless amount of pics of him and his daughter. his lockscreen is you and him holding her at six months old, his homescreen being his daughter at one years old, and even his voicemail is him and his daughter saying hi and sorry to miss your call

Ꮺ being a dad is something dick cherishes so much and he’ll gift everything his child wants and more. he’ll do any and everything to have his daughter be happy, even if he can’t get it

Ꮺ between him and his daughter, the exchanges of “I love you dad” and “I love you more” happen more on his side. many “I love yous” as the two of them giggle and he kisses her forehead. they’re so cute :(

Ꮺ unlike bruce, he loves going to pta meetings. he does get uncomfortable with the flirting from other moms but he’s really only there for the free treats and how to better improve his daughter’s education

Ꮺ the biggest gift giving dad as well ! he likes coming home with a surprise in his hand and hearing his daughter gasp and smile at the gift in his hand. it warms his heart when she says thank you and hugs his leg tightly, nearly squeezing it with the gift in her hand

Ꮺ the two nap a lot together. it’s one of dick’s favorite pastime when he’s relaxing with crime fighting

♡⃕ the bat boys as girl dads ☹️🫶🏽. it would be uber cute seeing jason walk into his helmet decorated in barbie stickers

𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐏 💗: 2 thessalonians 3:3

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allysunny · 6 months

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Pls pls pls friends to lovers with an ass load of pining!!! I love the trope where literally everyone but her can see that he’s in love with her and they’re basically dating without the title. She’s in love with him too but a little more guarded/scared. They have fun traditions like a book club, and Bruce gives her the princess treatment. Pls pls pls, I’d literally love you forever if you wrote this

Obliviously in Love | Bale!Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Words: 15k words

Warnings: Friends to lovers, pining, two idiots in love but way too blind to see it, Alfred being a very sassy butler (I love Michael Cane sm), possibly OOC Bruce (I've never written for him before), some angst, love confessions, Christmas! and mistletoe, eventual romance of course! Not beta, we die like Harvey Dent.

A/N: Hey everyone!!! Sorry for the delay, but as I told you, uni was kicking my ass. I'm back now, and hopefully I'll be able to write a lot!

So, this is my first Bale!Bruce request, and I'm so excited, but at the same time I'm super, super nervous because I've never written for this man in my entire life? I love this trilogy so bad and even rewatched all the movies as I was doing this, because I wanted to make sure I got him right. Sure, he's a vigilante and a billionaire and a supposed playboy, but he's also just a man, and I sort of wanted to explore that.

There's so many layers to this man, it is insane. If there's anything OOC about him, please do let me know. I swear to god I tried my best, and I hope you like the finished result.

This is my longest word so far - I'm so sorry! It was supposed to be kinda short and sweet but I just ran with it! I don't know if it was for the better or worst, but I hope you guys like it nevertheless. Again, I'm sorry if it's somewhat OOC, I tried to get everyone's personalities just right. I'm scared of not doing these movies justice. I also took some liberties with this - Bruce and Rachel don't have feelings for each other, Bruce often goes to charity galas, etc. Small things.

Also, it's set somewhat in between Batman Begins and The Dark Knight!

Anyways, enjoy!

Bruce Wayne was a lonely man.

Not that he minded, really.

Ever since he was a child, he knew most people were after him and his family for the money. Family friends cashing in favours done ages ago, things as small as having once lent his father an umbrella, women pretending to befriend his mother to accompany her whenever she went shopping, kids at school getting closer to him only to get a peek at the famed Wayne Manor and all the wonders it hid inside.

He'd rather be alone than have such leeches around him, surrounding him like vultures, waiting for an opening.

Kids who'd mocked him would apologise profusely days later, having learned about his family, offering their friendship. Once Bruce made it clear he had no intentions of inviting anyone to his place (he was just shy, really), they'd take back their so called “friendship”.

He was better off without such people.

They were few, the people he could trust. And even those he called his “friends”, he didn't trust completely. His childhood best friend, Rachel, had grown up and busied herself at the DA’s office. She reached out to him after he’d returned after all those years in training, but she was a busy woman, and Bruce had found a new passion himself – patrolling the streets of Gotham dressed up as a bat. They would talk often, but it simply wasn’t the same. They were still friends of course – childhood could link two people – but he’d changed, and so had she. No matter how well they got along, they were changed people.

So, he was back to square one, with no people to truly confide in.

There was, after all, a reason only Alfred knew of his secret identity.

No, Bruce Wayne wasn't a stranger to loneliness.

He preferred the peace and quiet of his home office to the loud ambiences of the parties thrown by pretentious people who wanted to pass by as charitable, and found that sometimes, being by himself was a better option.

Bruce Wayne could count with his hands how many “friends” he had, and how many were simply greedy bloodsuckers trying to get to his fortune.

All but you, though.

Never you.

Bruce met you a few years ago, at the bakery you used to work at.

He wasn't a regular - hell, he didn't usually eat at places like those. Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham, dined at the best restaurants - a truth universally acknowledged.

But after being stuck in traffic for about thirty minutes (he'd sent Alfred on a makeshift vacation, having miraculously been able to convince the old man to take some time for himself), he decided to exit the cab and go for a stroll.

It'd been a stressing day, with about a hundred reports coming in for him to sign at Wayne Enterprises, the prototypes for his new motorcycle had proved to be a failure, and he was simply exhausted. A walk would do him good, clear his head.

That's when he walked by the bakery, noticing the colourfully decorated cupcakes and pastries on the shelves. The pastel-coloured frostings seemed far too pretty to eat, and curiosity got the best of him, compelling him to go inside and purchase one.

That's when he first saw you.

You took a while to take his order, quickly informing him you were working all by yourself. One of your coworkers was in labour, the other on vacation. You were baking, cleaning and waitressing on your own.

Bruce was surprised, to say the least. You were taking over each station, keeping calm even under pressure and tending to each task diligently.

When asked who baked the frosted treats, you smiled and told him you baked those yourself. Apparently, it was your first time exposing them, the owner of the bakery finally giving you some leeway to try your own cakes and sweets.

“No one's tried them yet, though,” you said, sheepishly. “People don’t really want to try anything new. They’re scared my food is going to suck. I keep telling myself they’re just scared of change, you know. To keep my spirits high.”

“I hear that,” Bruce replied. If he knew anything about people, it was that they were all terrified of the unknown. “It’s Gotham – what can you do? You bump into lunatics every other day. I’ll have the one on the shop window, the one with the pink frosting.”

Your eyes sparkled then, and Bruce swore he’d do anything to see them shine again and again.

“Really?” you asked, a hopeful smile playing in your lips.

“Absolutely. It looks good.”

You gave him an enthusiastic nod and went to retrieve the cupcake, placing it on top of a small place along with a fork. He paid for the treat along with a cup of coffee and sat down on a nearby table.

Unlocking his phone, he found a few messages from Alfred, asking him if he hadn't burnt down the Manor yet. Sure, maybe he couldn't cook nor clean nor take care of himself that well, but that didn't warrant a fire brigade to go check up on him, now did it?

Burned to the ground, he texted back in a joking manner. All that's left are the red slippers I gave to you last Christmas. Hadn't you lost them? It's a miracle.

Alfred replied just as quickly.

Should've let them burn too. Hideous things.

Bruce chuckled, assuring his trusted butler all was well, and locking his phone once again.

If he looked from the corner of his eye, he could see you, nervously chewing on your lip while you looked at his plate expectantly.

Right, he thought. The cupcake.

Bruce tasted the coffee first, deciding it was far better than whatever he was drinking at his office, and slowly cut the cupcake with his fork (because why would he use his hands). HIs eyes widened once he finally bit into it.

It was good, really good. It tasted like strawberries - not that artificial strawberry flavoured crap he was sure was in most of the food out there - actual strawberries.

The frosting was sugary, but not too much that it became nauseous, and the mix of flavours melted in his mouth.

You’d approached him, breath hitched as you awaited his verdict.

“So?” You asked, after a while, giving him an apologetic smile. “How is it?”

“It’s good.”

“Really?” You graced him with the brightest of smiles, holding onto your little notepad. “You think so?”

“I know so.” Way to go, Bruce. Not corny at all. You’re the man.

Pulling the chair next to him, you sighed in relief and sat down.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me. I was so scared no one was gonna like them.”

“The people of Gotham are idiots if they don’t want to try these.” He took another bite of his cupcake and your smile only got bigger.

“Well, you said it. It’s Gotham. Even something as simple as a different coffee order will get their panties in a twist. Look at how everyone reacted to that Bat guy. He takes out a few criminals and cleans the streets, and suddenly he’s the bad guy?” you inquire.

“Bat guy?” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you know! Bat guy! They’re calling him the Batman. You’ve probably seen him on TV. Black cape, black cowl, black, well, clothes?”

“Ah,” he nodded, “The Batman, yes. I might have heard of him.” Might have. “What’s his deal anyway? I think the police are calling the guy a criminal.”

You scoffed, placing a strand of hair behind your ear. “A criminal? The guy’s doing a better job than most cops. I think they’re just jealous. And pissed that someone’s not up for briberies.”

Bruce nodded, before turning to his cupcake. You thought what Batman did was right. He brimmed with pride.

“I don’t know – he sounds like your typical Arkham resident to me. Dressed like a bat, running around with a black cape?” It was practically wired into his brain by now, the way he attempted to detach his Bruce Wayne persona from his Batman one. Even if he’d just met you, even if you seemed genuine, he couldn’t help but keep up the façade. “They should probably lock him up.”

“That’s nonsense!” you exclaimed. “He’s the only one willing to do something right for this city. The only one who’s not being compensated by turning a blind eye to criminals like half of the GCPD are. The streets are safer with him around.”

So, he made you feel safe.

Well, not him – Batman did.

Bottom line was, he made you feel safe.

And wasn’t that the reason for all of this? To make Gotham a better place? To clean the streets, to give people some hope in amidst all the chaos and darkness? Wasn’t that his goal – to give Gotham citizens their city back to them, and allow them to live unruled by fear?

“Anyway - I’m sorry, here I am, sitting next to you while you probably want to eat by yourself. Gosh, I’m so sorry. Taking care of the shop by myself makes me feel a tad lonely.” You gave him another apologetic smile (although this one did not reach your eyes), and got up, hurrying behind the counter.

For a few moments, Bruce sat in silence, eating his cupcake, and sipping from his coffee. Good stuff – nothing like the ones Alfred prepared for him, but still good.

When he glanced back up, he watched as you quickly washed some dishes, brow furrowed in concentration. He took you all in, the way you carefully rinsed every dish, ensuring it was stable on the tray nearby before moving onto the next one. Once or twice, you looked up, observing the city through the windows. He saw you sigh softly and get back to work.

To say he was intrigued was an understatement. A big one.

It wasn’t only that you were strikingly beautiful – that helped too, quite a lot – but there was something more to you that Bruce couldn’t really pinpoint and wanted to get to know more of. He was tired of fake people. Of all the fake smiles and fake laughter and fake parties and having to pretend he was someone he simply wasn’t. It was all for the greater good, sure, but hiding behind a mask was draining. No one knew that better than Bruce Wayne.

Before he realised it, he’d stood up, placing his plate and cup on top of the counter. The soft “clack” of it made you turn around and your eyes widened slightly.

“Oh – “ you mumbled. “It’s okay, I usually just do that.”

“Lifting a cup and a plate won’t kill me, I assure you.”

You chuckled and took the dishes, turning to the sink.

“You’re not at all like what people say.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not like they describe you,” you said with a small shrug. A strand of hair fell from behind your ear and Bruce’s hand twitched slightly, perhaps wishing to tuck it back himself.

“So you know who I am?” he asked, a curious smile forming in his lips. He wasn’t expecting to be completely ignorant of him – hell, it’s impossible to be unaware of his existence when you live in Gotham.

“I have a television and friends who love gossip magazines. It’s preposterous to think of a person who hasn’t come across your face, considering it’s slapped in nearly every tabloid ever.” You chuckled, soaking his plate. “And there was the matter of your credit card – I thought American Express was a myth.”

Bruce remained silent, which prompted you to go on.

“Everyone says you’re an arrogant jerk – “ The words come out of your mouth before you can process them, and he chuckles mentally, finding the way you stumbled over your words quite amusing. “I mean, that’s what they say – I’m not saying that you’re one, I just – I’m just repeating what’s been told to me. Anyway, yeah. You don’t seem like that at all.”

“And what makes you say that? We’ve spoken for all but five minutes,” he cocked an eyebrow, eagerly awaiting your answer.

You think for a while, gripping the towel at your hands and shrug again.

“I don’t know.” You turn to him. “Call it intuition, but I just felt like you were being genuine. I mean, you don’t have a bazillion models hanging off your arms – and it looked like you walked all the way here. No fancy sports car like the ones in the magazines either.” Another shrug. “You just seemed like a random guy when you walked in. No fancy titles whatsoever.”

Just a random guy.

Sometimes it felt like such a thing was unattainable for Bruce.

In front of the cameras, he had to be spoiled, rich, reckless playboy Bruce who bought hotels on a whim, hung around with hot models and spent his money on useless luxuries such as cars and yachts. When no one was watching, he had the weight of Gotham in his shoulders as Batman, sacrificing his mind and body every night just to make sure his people were safe.

It was impossible for Bruce to be just a random guy, no matter how much he wanted to.

But the way you said it – like you truly believed it – made him think twice about it.

You weren’t grovelling at his feet. Nor were you pretending not to know him as many others had done, in order to appear mysterious and different, and therefore catch his attention. No, you were just being you – or what he hoped was you. You knew who he was, admitted to seeing his face and knowing of his affairs, but that didn’t stop you from treating him like a normal person.

Just a random guy.

“Or maybe I’m just biased because you liked my cupcakes.” There it was again, that lovely smile of yours.

And you were funny too.

“I’ll admit, that was my tactic all along.” Bruce allowed a hint of playfulness to tint his voice, and your smile widened at that.

“Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Wayne.”

“Please, just Bruce.”

“Alright then. Your secret is safe with me, Bruce.” You smiled and went back to cleaning the counter. (You half expected him to leave without saying a word – why’d a billionaire entertain your company for more than a few minutes? – and were surprised when he stayed.)

“I’m sorry if I’m crossing a line here, but,” he started, “Would you like to join me for lunch one of these days?”

You eyed him curiously and cocked your head to the side, giving him a cheeky smile.

“Me? Really?”

“Exactly you.”

“Why? I don’t exactly belong with your people, Bruce – whoever they might be.”

“I was actually just hoping I’d get some free cupcakes.”

At this, you snorted out loud, covering your mouth with your hand. The other clients in the bakery looked at you with a slightly disgusted face, and it only made you laugh louder.

Once you stopped giggling (and after having wiped some tears from your eyes), you nodded and turned to him.

“Alright, fine. Lunch sounds great. Although – I’m sure you’re followed everywhere. And I don’t really want to be the latest gossip magazine cover.” You crossed your arms. Bruce nodded in understanding. After all, he knew how troublesome the media could be, especially when they were looking for any crumbs that might get them any insight into someone’s life.

(Un)fortunately for him, they couldn’t see past the playboy persona.

“I’ll take care of that – don’t worry.” Was his honest response. “Let’s say it’s easy for me to… become invisible.”

You leaned against the counter, smile ever so present.

“And how are you going to do that? Gonna wear a cap and sunglasses? A wig? Do we get to wear disguises? Maybe you could wear a mask!” Funny.

“I’ll just leave the American Express at home. Do you think that new Pizza place everyone’s been talking about accepts hundreds?” Bruce joked.

Your snort resonated through the bakery again, and the couple that had glanced at you earlier left, shaking their heads and muttering something about “decorum”.

The rest was history.

You and Bruce had become inseparable from that day onward.

Turns out that around you, he could be just a random guy, like he always wanted.

He started going to your bakery more and more, and convinced your boss to let you experiment with your cupcakes however you wanted.

“How the hell did you manage that?” you asked him, mouth open in wonder. “She told me I had full control of the menu! Two weeks ago, she said she didn’t want to try my sweets!”

“I’m very persuasive,” he replied, biting into a banana flavoured muffin – one of your more recent experiments. “It’s a bit chunky. Kind of bland, doesn’t melt on your mouth like the others do.”

“Yeah, I think I went overboard with the flour…” you mumble, writing something down on your notepad. “Anyways, how persuasive can you be? This woman has drunk the same cup of coffee for like, 40 years. She hates change.”

“Let’s just say I worked my regular Wayne charm.”

At that, you rolled your eyes and hit him with your towel but couldn’t hide the smile that graced your lips.

He’d stop by every day after work, eager to try out your new recipes and have a nice chat. It was freeing to have someone he could call his friend, with whom he could have conversations that weren’t about his job, his money, or his other affairs. It felt nice to be able to share things with you, things he couldn’t find it in himself to share with other people.

It took him a while, but he eventually told you things about himself. Slowly.

He told you about his parents, how much he looked up to his father and how he adored his mother. He told you about his childhood, playing in the gardens of his Manor or watching his father fiddle with the stethoscope, hoping one day he could make a difference just like him. He told you how sometimes he would just watch his mother apply makeup in her face, marvelling at how beautiful she looked. Other women of the high society always looked like they had this world and the next worth of makeup on their faces, but his mother was able to enhance all her natural features with a simple eye pencil or some lipstick.

“Makeup shouldn’t be used to turn yourself into something new,” she’d once told him, applying some sort of clear powder on her face. “Just to complement the beauty you already have.”

He found it easy to relate to that. Not the makeup, necessarily, but the whole “turning into a new person”. Batman was no different than him, nor was he someone different. He just brought out Bruce’s biggest desires, to keep Gotham safe.

In return, you told him about your childhood. About your first years in school, your friends and family. You told him about your passions, your wishes. How you wanted to travel the world and read as many books as possible. How you liked to laze around some Saturdays but couldn’t stay home and just had to get up and leave in others.

Bruce found the duality in you quite entrancing.

Some days, you’d be running around the Manor, goofing around with Alfred, and whipping up new recipes with him, the both of you jamming to old jazz that played on the radio – Alfred had been teaching you swing, and you enjoyed spinning around the room with him as lively tunes played.

(In fact, Bruce had walked in on you and him dancing a few times, and couldn’t help but lean against the doorway, watching and you laughed loudly and tried not to fall whenever his butler spun you around.)

It also went without saying that Alfred was over the moon now that his master no longer seemed to be alone. You might only be one person, but the Manor came alive whenever you were in it, and he relished in knowing Bruce finally had someone he could trust besides himself.

At first, Bruce thought of you as a friend. Someone he could confide in, someone to have a good time with and relax. But as weeks turned to months, he found himself developing stronger feelings. It wasn’t about “having fun” and relaxing anymore, it was now about seeing you, making sure you were alright, listening to your every thought and feelings.

He thought it was normal, though. After all, aren’t friends supposed to care for each other and be eager to spend time together? After all, it had been a while since he had friends. At least ones that spoke to him on the regular, that were there for him. This whole thing was new to him. So, he kept these feelings hidden, convinced they were nothing but the norm, enjoying whatever silly activities you engaged in.

You two had, after all, your own little rituals.

You loved reading – always had, and believed to continue doing so until you were dead and buried. And despite not having a lot of time to do so, Bruce did too. So, it wasn’t long before you two created your own little book club along with Alfred.

You would prepare a batch of cookies, Alfred would make some tea, and Bruce would wait by the fireplace in the living room, since there was really nothing he could contribute with but his insight on the books you were reading.

“So, what’d you think?” he asked, taking a sip from his tea, and placing the mug on the coffee table by his feet.

“I think it was terrible.” You replied.

Bruce nearly spat the drink in his mouth.

“Excuse me?!”

“I said what I said – it was a terrible book.”

“I think you’re the first person ever to call The Great Gatsby a ‘terrible book’.” He raised an eyebrow and looked at Alfred, who was intent on hearing whatever you were going to say next. He too was quite curious, but he had an inkling he knew where you were going with this.

You just shrugged your shoulders and brought your legs to your chair, sitting on top of them. You felt at home in Wayne Manor. Bruce had told you to make yourself comfortable after the third time you visited, and you wasted no time in doing so.

“Jay Gatsby is one pretentious motherfucker,” you say.

“Language!” Alfred tutted.

“Sorry – I meant; Jay Gatsby is one pretentious douchebag.” You bowed your head towards Alfred and the butler nodded in acknowledgment.

“Wait – why?”

“Are you kidding me?” All you could do was scoff. “Gatsby is an obsessive narcissist, an egocentric pathological liar who cares about no one else other than himself, and much probably, a psychopath.”

Bruce was perplexed. Very much so.

“I – I – well. I see.”

“And the way he objectifies Daisy throughout the whole book – he doesn’t even love her! He loves the idea of her. He’s a jerk.”

Bruce couldn’t even interrupt you, because you were on a spree, gesticulating with your arms and talking fast.

“But let’s be honest here, it’s not like she loves him either.”

“She doesn’t?”

“Of course not! She’s a shallow, materialistic, spoiled brat and I can’t stand her!” You finished your little speech by taking a bite out of a cookie and crossing your arms.

“Huh. Right.” Bruce said, grabbing his copy of the book. “Well, I thought it was a great book. And I don’t think Gatsby is any of the things you said.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really. I think he is a misunderstood soul.”

You scoffed. Again.

“He’s a misunderstood ass – “

“Language – “

“He is Alfred!”

“Yes, but you aren’t, and I would like to keep this household clean, for dear Master and Missus Wayne’s sake.” He replied casually, giving you that look you’d learn to interpret as “do not test me you silly little baker, for I am British and have the high ground”, and to which you just stuck your tongue out.

Bruce ignored the both of you and continued.

“And, well, I think he truly did love Daisy.”

“That’s impossible.”

“No, no, and here’s why, he did everything for her.”

“Name one thing.”

“Well, he waited five whole years for her. I think that’s rather romantic. He went great lengths to impress Daisy and win her love. The parties, the money, his whole persona – it wasn’t him, but he did it all for Daisy.” Bruce explained calmly. Alfred looked at him with raised eyebrows and just sipped from his teacup quietly.

“Bruce, the whole thing was a circus.” You reached in front of you to grab another cookie and took a bite out of it, missing the way your friend’s gaze dropped to your lips and then returned to your eyes in just a millisecond. “He was just showing off.”

“Perhaps,” Bruce said, “But perhaps he was just trying to be someone worthy of her. I’m sure love can make people do crazy things.” He wasn’t one to talk. It’s not like he knew what “love” was. He’d crushed on Rachel as kids, but that’s all it was, a silly childhood crush.

Perhaps the love he had for his city could count. He did do crazy things for it. Dressing up as a bat was an example.

You nodded your head a few times, pondering his answer.

“Maybe, yeah. But I don’t think so. If he loved her, he should’ve just said it. There was no need for all the show.”

Alfred raised his eyebrows once again. A very you-ish reply. He was enjoying this immensely.

Bruce replayed her words in his head. He should’ve said it. Surely, it wasn’t that easy. Jay Gatsby wasn’t your average man. He was a mystery. He had secrets and things he needed to hide. It wasn’t as easy as just walking up to Daisy and telling her “I love you”. It wasn’t that simple. “You think so?” he asked.

“Well, yeah! Absolutely – I mean, why complicate things?” you replied. “He should’ve just dropped the luxuries, the parties, he should’ve just stopped with all of the eccentric millionaire thing, looked her in the eyes and say, ‘I love you’. Simple.”

"Absolutely! I mean, why complicate things? Just look someone in the eyes and say, ‘I love you.’ Simple.”

“Simple, huh?”

You nodded, taking another sip from your tea – you drank it sickeningly sweet, with lots of honey, while he preferred one or two spoons of sugar.

“Yeah. Simple. No need for the fancy parties, and mysterious acts. Just be genuine.”

“That’s an interesting perspective,” he mumbled. “But sometimes people have reasons for not saying what’s in their hearts. Sometimes they must hide their feelings.” It was true. You didn’t know he was Batman – you couldn’t. He needed to keep you safe. All you knew was that he worked a lot, plenty of times exhausting himself and arriving home super late. It was for the best.

Alfred hummed thoughtfully, which earned him a curious look from the both of you.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. Please, do continue,” he said, gesturing for you to go on.

You gave him a weird look but simply turned to face Bruce once again.

“Reasons? Like what?”

Bruce couldn’t look you in the eye now. He shrugged and got suddenly very interested by the coffee table by his feet.

“Fear, maybe. Fear of what might happen if they open up. Fear of losing someone precious.”

You hummed, “Well, in my book, it’s always better to be honest and take the risk. Life’s too short for illusions. If Gatsby had just said it, maybe things would’ve been different. Who knows? But I still think he was one pompous son of a bitch.” You leaned back in your chair with a smug grin and finished the rest of your tea.

Alfred just excused himself and made his way towards the kitchen.

You certainly did bring some life into this once empty house.

You were lazing around in a Sunday afternoon, mindlessly scrolling your phone as a rerun of a show you liked played on TV. Even after a few years, it could still get some laughs out of you, and you’d look at the screen and smile.

All of a sudden, the couch dipped next to you.

Bruce had jumped over it, and landed next to you, sitting down comfortably, as if parkouring around Wayne Manor was something he did on the regular.

“Shit! Holy – Bruce!” You nearly jumped out of your seat, clutching your chest. Sometimes you wondered if Bruce wasn’t some sort of ninja. Being able to hide himself and be so silent wasn’t normal, and at times, to be frank, a little bit creepy.

He acted as if nothing was wrong and turned to you.

“Friday night, charity gala, you and me,” he said, matter-of-factly, as if he’d simply asked you what the weather was like outside.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, the Carringtons are throwing a big party this Friday. It’s supposed to be this big fundraiser. The profits will go for new police facilities. As if those corrupt idiots needed them…” He sighed. “And clearly, Bruce Wayne must attend. And, as expected, he has to bring someone.”

You whined and threw your head back in frustration. You’d been to a couple of galas with Bruce. Most of them were dreadfully boring, filled with fake people whose only purpose there was to flaunt their money and pretend to care about whatever topics seemed most controversial. You hated them. The fake smiles, the gross men leering on you, the women shamelessly throwing themselves at Bruce (not that you minded. After all, you two were just friends. It just made you uncomfortable that they were so forward about his advances. Clearly, he wasn’t alone. He had you. Could they not see it? But of course, you two were just friends. Which meant you weren’t jealous. You just felt sorry for them, and extremely uncomfortable whenever they looked at, spoke to, or touched him. Duh.)

“I can’t go.”

Bruce grimaced.

“Why?”

“I’m busy. Sorry Bruce, I have plans.” What a liar.

Your friend smirked and nudged his head towards the kitchen.

“Alfred checked your schedule – you’re free for the next two weeks.”

Your jaw dropped and you looked back at the kitchen, where Alfred innocently prepared a few sandwiches.

“Damn him! I swear that man must’ve been a British spy!” you muttered, shaking your head.

“So, are you coming with me?” Bruce pressed on.

“I can’t – I have to return some videotapes.” You replied smugly.

Bruce gave you a dry laugh and threw a pillow in your direction, which you failed to dodge.

“Very funny. I’m serious – I can’t go by myself. Look, I know what this is going to sound like, but the Carringtons are only doing this to show off. They don’t care about the police; they want to show Gotham just how rich their grandfather’s money has made them. They’ve been around for years and never once donated – why now?”

“Just because you have to go, doesn’t mean that I have!” you too threw a pillow at him, but as always, his reflexes were on point, and he managed to catch it mid-air.

“Look, you’d be doing me a huge favour.”

“I have literally nothing to wear.”

Bruce gave you a blank stare – that excuse did not stick anymore, not after he’d bought you a different dress for each party he had taken you to (“Think of it as a thank you gift”, he said).

“Just take a model. Or an actress. Or some other celebrity. You know me Bruce, I don’t belong with those people. They’re not my crowd.” You grabbed another pillow and prepared to throw it at him.

“I can’t stand another night of pretending to spend my free time buying hotels and yachts.” Bruce said your name softly and you let your guard down, lowering your arm. “It’s not me, and you know it.” You looked into those chocolate brown eyes that seemed to have soften – those eyes of his always made you melt, and you often found yourself saying yes to his every whim.

You pondered your choices.

He could take a model or an actress. The headlines would love speculating who the hell was Bruce Wayne messing around with this time. He’d have to pretend to be someone he was not for a whole evening – though you didn’t know why; only that, for some reason, he had a reputation to upkeep – and the next morning you’d wake up and seethe as you watched the shots paparazzi got of your best friend and some random floozy slobbering on top of him.

Or, you could go with him. It’d be a pain in the ass to pretend to like all of those people and to interact with those phony idiots who thought money was worth anything and would try their best to snake their ways in Bruce’s close circle. But you’d spend a nice evening with your friend, wear a pretty dress, drink some expensive champagne and be able to laugh at everyone else with him. There were worse fates than that, you were sure.

“Fine,” you sighed, “I’ll come with you.”

Bruce did a small “yes” gesture with his arm, and then grabbed a nearby pillow. “Now, where were we?”

“Oh – OH don’t you dare, Bruce Wayne!” You lifted your arm once again, but before you could throw the pillow in his direction, he’d grabbed your arm and pulled you to him. You fell on top of his body, hands on either side of his head as they bore the weight of your body. Your face was inches away from his, and all you could do was stare into those brown eyes that had you so weak.

You blinked repeatedly, before quickly getting up. Your cheeks were flaring up and you grabbed your phone, standing up from the couch.

Bruce, on his end, was speechless. He watched as you stood up, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“I – I should go. I need to… yeah, I gotta – I gotta do something. I’ll see you later.” You mumbled, and within seconds, you were out the door.

When you were gone, Alfred left the kitchen and walked towards the couch where Bruce was sitting, still silently staring at the wall.

“Is everything alright, Master Wayne?” he asked, although he didn’t really need an answer. He knew exactly what was going on with him. After all, he’d raised this boy like his own son for years.

“Yes,” Bruce cleared his throat, nodding. “Yes, yes, I am. Everything’s fine. How about those sandwiches you were making?” He tried changing the topic, but it was too late.

As Alfred walked back to the kitchen, he couldn’t help but think that he should probably schedule an optometrist appointment for his master. After all, one can’t help but be concerned when such a smart, capable man was so blind to matters of the heart. Almost as blind as a bat, one could say. He’d keep this joke for later. Bruce would hate it. Even better.

Funnily enough, Alfred wasn’t the only one who thought Bruce was blind to his feelings.

In fact, it seemed like everyone could see how smitten the Wayne billionaire was with you.

When you two went out, he would look at you with this sparkle in his eyes, looking at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

You walked into the party, arm linked with his, and it was as if the whole world stopped to look at you two.

Everyone knew about your existence – it wasn’t the first time you accompanied Bruce to parties – Bruce Wayne and his close friend. Friend. Yeah, sure. If the glances he stole were any indication, the Wayne heir was nothing but completely enamoured with you. In fact, it was incredible how much he’d changed. His whole attitude changed when he was accompanied by you. No longer was he the reckless billionaire who drank too much and humiliated himself, but the elegant man who liked to engage in conversations (as long as the topics were interesting) and had a heart of gold.

Yes, everyone seemed to spot the change in demeanour whenever you two were together.

“Bruce!” A voice could be heard from the distance, and Rachel Dawes made her way towards the both of you. She smiled and spoke your name once she noticed you were the one accompanying her childhood friend, before hugging you. “Oh, it’s so nice to see you here!”

You hugged her back and gave her a genuine smile. You’d met Rachel before more than a few times – she was a lovely young woman with a great sense of justice, and you were sure she was going to do great things for Gotham’s wellbeing. You also enjoyed her company greatly, since she had once told you all of the embarrassing stories about Bruce’s childhood. “I had no idea you were going to be here!”

“Yeah, well,” she looked around and smiled, seemingly looking for someone. “I was just as surprised as you were.”

Then, a very familiar face emerged from the crowd, calling out “Rachel!” and walking to her side.

“There you were – you left so abruptly; I thought something was wrong.” The man said, before turning to look at you and Bruce. You took him in. Dirty blond hair and a familiar cleft chin. You furrowed your eyebrows, before it finally clicked in.

“You’re Harvey Dent – I’ve seen you on TV before,” you said, and he smiled in acknowledgement.

“That would be me, yes.” He put forward his hand, and you shook it, introducing yourself.

Harvey then turned to look at Bruce, extending his hand to him.

“And you must be Bruce Wayne. Rachel talks about you a lot.”

Bruce shook it and nodded.

“Hopefully she hasn’t disclosed everything about me, otherwise I’d be ruined.”

The two men chuckled, and you took that opportunity to look at Rachel. You looked from her to Harvey, opened your mouth and wiggled your eyebrows, earning a laugh from her. Rachel moved to your side as Bruce and Harvey spoke about Gotham and took your arm.

“Well, well, Miss Dawes. Is there anything you’d like to tell us?” you asked in a hushed tone, still wiggling your eyebrows up and down. “How’d you meet?”

“At work. Harvey is running for district attorney. One thing led to another, and…” she trailed off, and you nudged her torso with your arm.

“And now you’re shagging future attorney Harvey Dent. Look at you go!”

Rachel covered her mouth with her hands and supressed a scoff.

“You’re unbelievable, and I never want to hear those words coming from your mouth ever! It’s just a casual thing, we’ve only gone on a few dates. Besides, you’re the one attending a charity gala with Gotham’s most eligible bachelor. I think every woman in this room has you on a death list.”

“Pftt,” you waved your hand dismissively, “You know we’re just friends. Nothing for those women to be jealous about.”

“Ah, I see. You’re just friends.” Rachel nodded, feigning seriousness in her voice.

“Yes, we are. Stop with that face!”

“What face?”

“That face you always do,” you motioned towards her face, nearly pouting. “We are! And that’s the end of the discussion! I don’t even know why we’re talking about my non-existent relationship with Bruce when you’re probably going to be First Lady someday – this is huge.”

Rachel swatted you with her purse and returned to Harvey’s side before giving you a cheeky smile – it felt nice to have a girl friend you could talk to in these scenarios. Usually, it was just you and Bruce, which, however pleasant, wasn’t the same thing as having a girl in there. You were happy to catch her off work – Rachel seemed like a different person at the office. While there, she maintained a strong and serious attitude, you were happy to see her when she had no work business to worry about and could simply be a girl with you.

“Well, I’m afraid I’ve wasted too much of your time, Mr. Wayne,” Harvey said, shaking Bruce’s hand again. “It was a pleasure to meet Rachel’s oldest friend.” He then turned to you, “And a pleasure to meet you too, Miss.” “Likewise,” you replied.

Bruce nodded.

“Of course. I’ll be sure to send you a nice bottle of Chardonnay when you’re elected district attorney,” he said in his best careless billionaire voice, and nodded at Rachel before the two walked away. “Who would’ve thought,” he muttered to you, beckoning a butler who was carrying a tray of champagne glasses close to him.

“Well, I think they’re lovely together,” you smiled and grabbed a glass, smiling once the liquid hit your lips. Champagne was always welcome.

“Well, you think everyone looks lovely together. You’re a sap.” You laugh at Bruce’s comment and hold onto his arm. He brings you close, absentmindedly, and the two of you walk around the party, occasionally being stopped by the average donor.

After eating some entrees and mingling with the guests, soft music started to play and ring throughout the room. You looked up, pleasantly surprised, and tugged at Bruce’s arm.

“Come on,”

You didn’t have to tell him twice – he was growing tired of pretending to share the same interests as these vile people. He wanted a respite from keeping the charade up, so he gladly took your hand and led you to the middle of what had become the dancefloor. You two weren’t the only ones in there, a couple more pairs having decided to dance.

Bruce gently held your waist and pulled you close to him, his other hand coming to lift yours.

“Thank you,” he spoke, ignoring the way everyone’s eyes glued onto the two of you.

“I could see you were about to actually punch that man right in the face,” you chuckled, looking at the person in question. He was a middle-aged man who could probably stand to lose a few pounds for the sake of his health, who was trying to talk Bruce into introducing him a couple of models. You just had to come to the rescue, because Bruce actually looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. Thankfully, he was a good actor and simply promised the man he would surely hook him up with the woman of his dreams.

“I think it goes without saying I’m not introducing jack shit to him. I’m pretty sure he’s assaulted his female employers. I should have someone investigate it.”

“My, my. Bruce Wayne, ever the White Knight.” You smiled, and you could swear that for some minutes, the entire world faded away as the soft melodies of Camille Saint-Saëns filled the air.

He snorted at that but did not say anything.

The two of you kept dancing. You found looking into his eyes extremely hard, so you avoided his gaze, looking straight ahead at behind his shoulder continuously.

“I still haven’t told you how beautiful you look tonight,” Bruce finally broke the silence between you two, and you returned his gaze. He’d bought you a floor-length black John Galliano gown with delicate lace trim and a bias cut, and you had actually screamed into your pillow once you saw it – it was far too pretty.

“Thank you,” you reply, brushing some invisible dust from his shoulders. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Bruce lowered his voice and looked you in the eyes, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“I mean it. You do look stunning.”

The two of you stopped dancing for a few moments, and you were unable to look away from his almost magnetic gaze. Time seemed to stand still, and you gripped his shoulder tighter, to make sure you were real, and he was real, and this whole ordeal was real.

He was just about to speak again, when you were interrupted by a loud, shrill voice.

“Mr. Wayne! Oh, what a pleasure to have you here!”

You quickly pulled away from him as Catherine Carrington, a woman in her mid-40s with long, blonde hair approached the both of you and placed two loud kisses on either side of his cheeks. You looked away, trying to figure out how to properly breathe again, and fanned yourself with your hands.

Harrold Carrington, Catherine’s husband walked to her side and shook Bruce’s hand, far too interested in talking to you. You stifled a laugh – whoever was in charge of his wig had tone a terrible job, because it was clear as day his hairline was receding, and the hair he had on was fake.

“Ah, you must be the mysterious friend everyone has been talking about. We’ve seen you around a few times, haven’t we Miss? But I don’t think we’ve properly met – I’m Harrold Carrington. And may I say, you look splendid this evening.”

None of the Carringtons seemed interested in their spouses. Catherine was fawning over Bruce, and Harrold’s eyes lingered far too long on your exposed collarbone and cleavage. So much so, that you turned from him uncomfortably. Bruce was quick to notice your discomfort, and pulled you next to him once again, wrapping a protective arm around your waist.

“I’d appreciate it if you could keep your eyes on the lady’s face, as opposed to her chest, Mr. Carrington,” he said with a smile that you could only identify as fake, and that smug voice he used when he was feeling particularly cocky.

All of the colour drained from Harrold’s face, and he stuttered, trying to form a coherent sentence – which he failed miserably. “I – I, well – I wasn’t – I would never! I – I was just –“

Bruce faced Catherine once again and gave her another fake smile.

“Lovely party Mrs. Carrington. Very nice of you to raise money for the Gotham Police Department. Very charitable, indeed. And the champagne is just splendid. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I heard someone was eating caviar, and it’s not a real party without it, now is it?”

Effortlessly, he brought you away from the couple.

Once you were out of sight, he looked at you with a worried expression.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah – he was just creepy. Shit, I hate galas.”

“Tell me about it,” Bruce sighed, before shaking his head. “How long have we been here for?”

“About two hours.”

“How about we ditch at three? I think it’d be a crime to abandon this party now. Especially when you look this dazzling.”

He was giving you that look once again, the one you couldn’t quite decipher, and you felt butterflies in your stomach.

Bruce, on the other hand, was freaking out. You looked lovely, even more so than usual. He’d been dancing with you, and all was perfect, and then that hag Catherine had to go and ruin everything.

Was it too much to ask for a quiet dance with his friend?

Friend.

The word tasted wrong in his mouth.

No, you weren’t his friend. At least not anymore.

He thought about your dance moments earlier. How you’d held onto him, far too shy to look him in the eye, lips slightly parted and eyes sparkly. He thought of how easily you leaned into his touch and how he liked having you by his side.

He thought of how much he enjoyed spending time with you, how much he laughed in your presence, how free he felt when he was with you. He could be himself, something that he felt he couldn’t be anywhere else. You were his safe haven. You were everything.

It was that night Bruce Wayne realised he was in love with you.

One time the both of you went out to do some Christmas shopping.

(“In November?” Bruce had asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Christmas sales have already started! And I bet everyone’s going to start super soon, so we need to get to it!” Was your reply. Bruce could only sigh and agree, like he always did when it came to you.)

Besides, it was the first Christmas you’d be able to spend together after 2 years of friendship. The last two had Bruce way too busy with his company (at least that’s what he told you. In reality, he had been tracking down a few criminals who’d been wreaking havoc days before.

The main point was: after two years of being friends, you would finally get to spend Christmas together. It’s not that you’d suffered those Christmases without him; you had friends and family. But you wanted to spend the holidays with who you now considered to be your closest friend.

Bruce, however, wanted to spend Christmas with the woman he was in love with. He hadn’t found the courage to tell you – not yet. He was afraid of ruining things, of hurting you. So he kept silent, relishing in the friendship the both of you had.

Approaching the mall, you had a small list in your hand, filled with names of everyone you wanted to buy a gift for. He had around five people in mind, so he did not need all those preparations.

Once you were in the crowded mall, Bruce would hold you close to him, shielding you from everyone who might bump into you. His hand would respectfully be in the small of your back, and if he needed you to get out of someone’s way (people who refused to look up from their phones were the worst), he would slide it to your waist and gently pull you towards him.

You’d stopped at a beauty store, wanting to buy a new skin care package for your closest friend at work – heavens knew how badly you needed her to keep you sane – so you’d asked Bruce for his opinion on a myriad of perfumes.

“See, I like this one, but I think the smell is a bit too strong,” you mumbled, squeezing some of the hand lotion’s sample on your hand and applying it there. “Here,” you reached your hand to him, and nearly all the air was sucked out of your lungs when Bruce carefully reached for it, holding your pulse in his and bringing it to his face. His lips nearly brushed against your skin as he took the smell of the lotion in, and at least a dozen of women who were shopping nearby swooned.

Bruce let go of your hand just as gently and you blinked a few times, trying to wake up from your little trance.

“It is a bit strong, yeah. You mentioned she’s got a sensitive nose, so maybe something less floral?”

You were quick to nod and walk away, afraid he’d notice the way your cheeks heat up and your pupils dilated.

Once you turned away from him, focusing on the other hand lotions, he sighed, still feeling a buzzing sensation in his hand. It was as if he could still feel your skin against his, and he had to shake his head to return to the task at hand. Control yourself.

At a clothing store, you held up different sweatshirts next to him, asking for his opinion on a gift to your father. He gave you his earnest opinion, and insisted on carrying all your bags once you were done.

“Bruce – come on, I can carry them. I’m not a baby,” you’d told him, sighing in exasperation.

“Just allow me. You’re still picking up things left and right, it’s better if I carry these for you.”

You two checked out a jewellery shop – you’d been saving up to buy your mom a pair of earrings, and while you busied yourself looking through rows and rows of pairs, looking for the one you had your eyes on, Bruce quickly excused himself, and turned to a shop helper.

Approaching the counter, he placed the delicate pair of pearl earrings next to the cashier, glancing around just to make sure you weren’t paying attention to him.

“Would you like these to be gift wrapped?” The cashier asked.

“Yes please.”

Bruce continued glancing around. You too were speaking to a shop helper, pointing to the delicate pair of gold earrings you wanted to get.

“A gift for a special someone?” The cashier asked once again with a polite smile. Bruce wasn’t dumb. If he were anyone else, this would be a regular, standard question asked by shop clerks to keep a friendly conversation going. But he’s not just anyone else. He’d noticed the way the woman had glanced him up and down with a wishful expression and could bet all his money that if he were to reveal more than necessary, then she would turn to any gossip magazine as soon as he was out the door and spill whatever nonsense she thought it was going on.

He gave her a curt nod, paid for the earrings (now neatly placed inside of a box and wrapped with a pretty red ribbon), and returned to your side, hiding the box inside his jacket’s pocket.

“Did you find them?” he asked once he got to your side, and if it were anyone else, you would’ve jumped, but by now you were used to Bruce. You seemed to lean into his side and smiled, looking at the pair of hoops the shop helper brought to the counter.

“Yeah – she’s gonna love them! I was super scared they’d be sold out Bruce, I’ve been working my ass off to get these. I’m so proud of myself,” your smile was contagious, and Bruce found himself bringing you closer to him by the waist and giving you one of his super rare smiles. Once again, every woman within a five-mile radio sighed, basically eating him up with their eyes. It was no secret Bruce Wayne was a handsome man – not to mention Gotham’s most eligible bachelor – but to see him act so affectionate in public was a completely different thing, and it was clear more than woman had gotten jealous just looking at you.

(Their boyfriends were not happy with the way said women ogled Bruce up and down.)

“I’m proud of you too.” Bruce replied. It was true. You were a hardworking woman, and he beamed with pride at your accomplishments.

Of course he didn’t tell you he bribed the store to keep the earrings stored until you came along to buy them – he wasn’t about to let someone snatch the thing you’d been working so hard to get – but it didn’t matter. You’d earned it.

You grinned at him and reluctantly broke free from his hold.

“I’m gonna go pay for these, meet me outside?”

He nodded and walked outside of the store, hand coming to pat the box inside of his pocket. They’d look incredible with his mother’s pearl necklace, that’s for sure.

He carried your things to the limo, and upon arriving to the Manor, he distracted you with promises of hot chocolate and marshmallows, before handing Alfred the little white box and telling him to keep it a secret. The rest of the evening was spent with the two of you discussing presents, drinking your hot chocolate, and watching some Christmas movies as the wood in the fireplaced cracked piece by piece, enveloping you both in a cozy warmth.

Later that month, the two of you were sitting at an expensive café, having a few treats, and talking about your Christmas shopping. Although the place was very fancy and its prices had shocked you, so had the quality of their food.

“This is garbage,” you said, eyeing the cupcake on your plate. “Holy shit, who baked these? It feels like I’m chewing on a brick!”

“Yours are much better, yes,” Bruce agreed, taking his own cupcake, and looking at it carefully. “And that’s this awful taste?”

“I think she added lemon juice, but it doesn’t work in this recipe, not at all. You’ll see, it’ll basically nullify the sweetness of it, and the whole thing is just gonna taste like one sour cupcake. Gosh, people pay their rent’s worth of money for these?”

Bruce could listen to you talk for hours on end. The way your eyes lit up when you found a topic you were interested in, and how genuinely passionate you were about your hobbies. Your genuineness was something he praised and found himself looking for more and more. In fact, one of the reasons he’d taken you to this specific café was because he knew the cupcakes sucked – he’d eaten there before. He just wanted to hear you talk about them.

An old woman approached your table, wearing a Santa Claus had on top of her head, and a few Christmas related pins on her waitress apron.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” she asked with a smile.

“Oh, no thank you, we’re fine.” You replied, returning it «.

“I see. Well, I’d just like to say, it’s a real gift to see such precious young love.” The woman gestured at the both of you, and your cheeks flared up. “This city can be so dark and gloomy sometimes; it warms my heart to know that love still prevails on top of all. You two are such a lovely couple.”

“We’re –“ you coughed, trying to clear your throat. “We’re not – we’re not a couple.”

“Oh!”

“Yeah, we’re just – we’re just friends!” you were quick to correct her and refused to meet Bruce in the eye.

Oh, right. Bruce. He was staring at the old woman, completely lost in thought. This woman thought you two were a couple. Did you look like it? And why had you shut her down so quickly? Did you hate the idea that much? Would it be so terrible if the two of you were to date?

“Oh, I am so sorry then, my apologies!” the waitress was quick to apologise. “It’s just – you two look rather lovely together. I’m sorry for the intrusion.” She walked away and you covered your cheeks with your hands, trying to mask the sudden blush that had overcome you.

Bruce, on his end, was still staring at where the woman had been. Did you two look like a couple that much? He wouldn’t mind it. No, not really, he wouldn’t mind being a couple with you. He could finally drop that stupid playboy persona, be one step closer to his real self. He could protect you and always keep you safe and closer to him. He wondered what it would be like to wake up to you every morning and be greeted with that dazzling smile of yours. Would you ask him for five more minutes in bed? Act all grumpy until you had your morning coffee? Would you drag him out of his bedroom to start the day and be productive?

“Shall we go?” you interrupted his thoughts, placing your now empty mug on top of your plate. “It’s gonna get dark soon, and I wanted to see the Christmas lights.” Your voice was lower, still tinted with some nervousness. Bruce snapped out of it and nodded, walking towards the counter to pay the bill.

While he was gone, you made your way to the bathroom and splashed some water on your face, to wake yourself up and hopefully cool down.

Once you were ready, you walked out of the café, strolling the streets of Gotham.

Sometimes it surprised you how pretty your city could be. Sure, there was chaos and corruption, and most of the times it was a fucking shithole, but it was still home, and the tall buildings and bright lights could still take your breath away.

You and Bruce walked side by side. You were still far too nervous to look at him, so you kept your distance. Bruce, respectful as ever, remained by your side, refusing to touch you until you gave him permission. As you were looking at the prettily decorated shop windows and houses, he could see the way your body shivered and trembled.

That’s what you got for refusing to bring a jacket because, “your outfit looked far too pretty to be hidden behind a coat”.

“Cold?” he asked.

“N-no. Not at all. I’m fine. I told you; these tights are really warm.” Your voice was trembling, and your teeth were close to chattering. A part of Bruce wanted to see you fight for your case just a bit longer, while the other just longed to envelop you in his arms and keep the cold away.

“Oh, really? Because I’m pretty sure the tips of your fingers are turning blue.” He said with a smug expression.

“No, I’m fine.” You replied, nodding eagerly. “I told you; I wouldn’t be cold. I’m not.”

Bruce just nodded and kept walking by your side.

After a few minutes, it was far too obvious you were freezing. Your body was trembling, your teeth were chattering, and he was sure he could see your lips becoming a dark shade of purple.

Wordlessly, Bruce began to remove his jacket.

“What are you doing?” you asked, turning to him in confusion.

“Preventing you from catching pneumonia,” he replied, handing it to you.

“N-no, T-that’s not n-necessary, Bruce. I’m fine. I’m n-not cold. I’m f-fine! See? Just p-peachy.”

Bruce had faced criminals and villains and corrupt cops, and they’d all lied to him at one point or another. None was as bad as you.

He gave you one of his “I told you so” looks, and you nearly pouted, spreading your arms as he helped you put the jacket on. Almost instantly, you felt warmth spread through your body and sighed in relief. Bruce also removed his scarf, and carefully wrapped around your neck, hands lingering on your face for longer than necessary when he brushed a few strands away from it.

“Better?” he murmured.

You looked at him through your lashes. He was close. Very close. So close, that you could hear your heartbeat hammering on your chest. You gave him a soft “mhm” and he returned to your side, keeping a respectful distance from you.

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked him. It made you feel terrible – it was freezing in Gotham, and you’d taken his only sources of comfort.

“I’m fine – believe me. I’d much rather have you not freezing on me.” He replied.

“Are you sure? It’s very cold.”

“I promise.”

You nodded and continued your silent stroll.

Suddenly, while crossing the street, some careless motorbike showed up out of nowhere. You shrieked in surprise, and froze in your place, closing your eyes in fear. A pair of strong arms pulled you away, and you collided with a strong figure. Bruce was holding you close, cursing the driver under his breath. Once you looked up to you look at him, he turned to you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking all over your face to make sure you were unharmed.

“Yeah – just – that dickhead –“

“I know. It’s like you can’t trust anyone with a license these days.” He muttered. It hurt to part from you. It was like you were made to stand next to him, body slotting perfectly with his. Reluctantly, he pulled away from you, giving you space, but was surprised when you held onto his arm, like you usually do.

You looked at him, silently asking for permission, which he granted. You scooted closer to him, and he smiled.

The two of you continued walking through the streets of Gotham, making comments on the architecture, the lighting, the people. There were small stalls selling all sorts of trinkets and goods, a sort of small Christmas market, and you smiled as you saw kids running around with balloons or cups of hot chocolate. It was dark and gloomy, but once again, Gotham could be so very beautiful.

“A pretty flower for a pretty lady?” An old vendor asked, extending a pretty rose in your direction.

“Oh, no thank you – “ you mumbled, shaking your head, but Bruce was quicker.

“Thank you.” He nodded, taking the flower in his hands. He handed the man a bill (and surely a big one at that, because the man’s eyes widened, and he stared at it for quite a while before thanking Bruce profusely.)

Bruce turned to you and handed you the flower.

You weren’t sure if it was from his jacket, or if your whole body had simply decided to set itself on fire. You took the flower and brought it up to your nose, the intoxicating smell of it filling your senses.

“Thank you,” you said, still looking at it. No one had ever bought you flowers.

“A pretty flower for a pretty lady,” he repeated the old man’s words, and continued walking with you by his side, but not without hearing the old man say something about how “beautiful it was to see love bringing people together”. You didn’t seem to have heard it, but Bruce did, and he smiled.

It was Christmas Eve, and you were in Wayne Manor, having dinner with Bruce and Alfred (whom he begged to take a seat at the table with the two of you). There was wine and plenty of food, and the three of you had a great time, sharing funny stories and anecdotes and just enjoying each other’s companies.

You had promised your family to visit them the day after and were dead set on spending the Eve with Bruce.

After dinner, you sat near the fireplace, talking about books, movies, and whatever silly topic that came to mind. You, with your legs comfortably spread on the couch, Alfred on the big chair, and Bruce on the floor, by your feet. To him, that was the closest he had to spending Christmas with his family, and wondered if his parents would’ve enjoyed your company. Of course they’d have, he thought, you’re perfect.

After the three of you had played a few games (Alfred had won at charades, his Batman impression making you laugh for five minutes straight), you stood up announcing that, since it was almost midnight, you wanted everyone to open their gifts. It was more about you giving yours away than opening them, really – you were quite proud of the gifts you’d bought and wanted Bruce’s and Alfred’s reactions as soon as possible.

“Alright, alright, alright, me first! Here – Alfred, these are for you!” You handed him about five different packages, and he looked at you with a fond expression in his eyes.

“You didn’t have to, Miss.”

“Well, but I did. I need to spoil my swing partner, don’t I?”

He smiled at your antics and slowly opened the packages, one by one. Inside, there were a few woollen sweaters with matching-coloured ties.

“They’re really warm, you know. And it’s real wool – the quality of these is amazing! And you can even wear them without the ties, for a more casual look. What do you think? Do you like them?” you asked eagerly, hoping to get the response you wanted.

“I do, Miss. Thank you. These are lovely.”

You beamed and hugged him tightly. “Promise? There’s a receipt somewhere if you don’t like them – but I just thought they looked so cool and they were so pretty and the fabric is so soft, and – “

“Yes, Miss. I promise. Thank you. These are splendid.”

“Well, since we’re spoiling Alfred, I don’t really want to get left out.” Bruce joked, before reaching for an envelope sitting on top of the Christmas tree (decorated by the both of you on the first of December, thank you very much.) He handed his butler the envelope and sat back, awaiting his reply.

“So, you’ve finally decided to get rid of me.” Alfred said, looking at the contents of the envelope intently.

“Don’t be so dramatic, it’s just a few weeks.” Bruce replied smugly. “If anyone deserves a vacation in this house, it’s you.”

When Alfred didn’t reply, Bruce raised an eyebrow, worry starting to pool in his stomach.

“Alfred? Is everything okay?”

Alfred sighed and shook the envelope in his head.

“A ticket to the Maldives, Master Wayne? You’ve outdone yourself this time.”

Bruce grinned, nodding. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I do indeed, but, if I may express a tiny complaint…”

“Of course, Alfred. You can always speak your mind.”

“You’re a bit of a cheapskate, Master Wayne.”

You burst out laughing, nodding along with Alfred.

“A cheapskate. I see. And why is that?”

“After all I’ve done for you, three weeks of vacation seems a bit stingy, don’t you think?” Although he was saying this, he had a smile playing in his lips. Clearly none of it was serious.

“It’s not like I can function without you Alfred. Can’t have you enjoying too much time off, now, can we? You might remember just how fantastic life is outside this place and never return. You’ll be here forever. You’ve changed my diapers when I was born, and you’ll change them when I’m old and gray.”

“I knew I should’ve never accepted Thomas Wayne’s job offer back then.” He muttered. But he then turned to Bruce and gave him an earnest smile. “Thank you, sir. This is very thoughtful of you.”

After that, it was his turn to give you your presents. He gave Bruce a (very expensive) bottle of wine, that he expressed “wanted it to be opened on a very special occasion” with a wink – which made Bruce clear his throat and change the subject. You received a burgundy scarf he’d brought from his latest trip to England, from a shop you’ve expressed your admiration for a few times.

“Holy – oh my god! This is incredible, I mean, look at it!” You hugged him tightly and wrapped the scarf around your neck, not caring that it was far too warm inside the Manor for you to require a scarf.

“Well, now, it seems to be getting rather late for me,” he announced, standing up.

“Oh? You don’t wanna stay here until midnight?”

Alfred shook his head.

“I’m afraid not, Miss. I’m quite tired. I’ll be retiring for the night.”

“Alright, Alfred. Goodnight.” Bruce said with a curt nod.

“Goodnight, sir. Goodnight, Miss.”

You’d turned away to investigate your scarf once again, you missed the look Alfred gave his master, which made him sigh and look at you fondly.

“Alright – now it’s my turn! I need to go get your gift, just wait in here!” You were quick to stand up and disappear into the hallway. You’d been gone for a few minutes, so Bruce went after you, wondering if everything was alright. He bumped into you near the grand staircase at the entrance, and you jumped.

“Christ – you need to stop scaring me like that!” you reprimanded him.

Bruce chuckled, and you shook your head.

“Anyway,” you mumbled, presenting him with a small black box. “This is for you. I know it’s not nearly as fancy as the ones you already have but – well, it’s Christmas and it’s the thought that counts, is it not?” There was a certain nervousness in your voice, Bruce could feel it.

He gently took the box from you, and opened it, revealing a fancy looking black Hugo Boss watch. His fingers trailed the screen and the expensive leather strap.

“I know you have a ton of those, but I thought, hey, this one’s special, this one’s from me!” Before you could keep on with your nervous ramblings, Bruce brought you close, hugging you tightly. You smiled against his chest and wrapped your hands around his torso. This was nice. This was comfortable and familiar and nice.

“Thank you,” he whispered into your hair, and you almost melted at the cadence of his voice.

“You’re welcome.” You replied.

When you two pulled away, something caught his eye. Looking up, he realised the both of you were standing right underneath a few branches of mistletoe. You followed his eyes and blushed furiously, your whole body heating up.

Bruce said your name and you turned to look at him, feeling as light as a feather.

“Look, I – there’s something I would like to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Bruce thought of all you’d been through together. Laughter, tears, giggles, and scowls. You’d had great times, reading books, walking around, spending time together, and bad times, when he blew you off, choosing Gotham city at night over you. He thought of all he told you, all he trusted you with.

“I just wanted to say that I really enjoy spending time with you,” he began.

“I enjoy spending time with you too.” You inched closer to him, hands still on his chest.

“You’re amazing, and I’m so glad to have you in my life. You see through my charade. I can be myself when I’m around you.”

He thought back on the charity gala, on you wearing that lovely black dress, dancing with him. He thought of holding your hand and pulling you close to him to keep you safe. He thought of your sparkly eyes and delicate lips, and how much he could stare into the former and how badly he wanted to kiss the later.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me. I guess what I’m trying to say is…”

He thought about how badly he wanted to always be with you. How much he’d love to wake up next to you, feel your skin against his, be able to shout from the rooftops that you’re his and his alone. He thought about dropping to one knee and seeing you walking down an aisle wearing the prettiest of white dresses. He saw a lifetime with you, side by side.

“What I’m trying to say is…”

He thought about Batman.

How he’d have to cancel date after date after date, prioritising the black suit over your relationship. He thought of you getting worried sick when he got home late, frowning as you looked at his scars and bruises. He could see it vividly, how you’d cry and beg him not to leave you, to choose you over the city for once in his life, and how he’d leave you to cry all of your tears as he put the cowl on.

“Is…”

“Is…?” You pressed further, eyes dropping to his lips.

He saw argument after argument, saw you screaming at him, accusing him of not loving you. He saw nights spent in the couch, because you were far too angry to let him in your bed. He saw your sad eyes welling up with tears in the middle of romantic dates after he’d told you he had to go because the bat signal was shining in the night sky. He thought about someone finding his identity and going after you first and foremost. He saw you tied up in some random chair, mouth gagged and tears running down your streak as some criminal tortured you to get to him.

He saw your lifeless body inside a coffin, skin devoid of colour, eyes closed, to never open again, and how he’d spend the rest of his life hating both himself and his mask.

He thought about Bruce Wayne, and Batman.

And he realised you couldn’t possibly love both.

“Is… You’re a great friend. Thank you.” He squeezed your arms in a comforting manner and walked away, leaving you wide eyed and speechless under the mistletoe.

Later, he’d gift you the first edition of your favourite classic novel and wish you goodnight with a polite nod of his head, going up to his bedroom.

Before he went to sleep, he locked the pearl earrings and his mother’s necklace inside his drawer.

Things were awkward between you two. Your friendship with Bruce was still there, but he was sort of distant. Your weekly book club meetings still happened, and he still dropped by your café to drink coffee and try new cupcake recipes, but everything seemed to have changed after Christmas Eve.

So, you tried to move on with your life.

A few weeks after Christmas, your bakery started to work with a new supplier, and you quickly befriended the delivery guy, Tom. While you started to look forward to his visits more and more, it still did not feel the same as when you were with Bruce, and you felt guilty for hanging out with him.

One day, Bruce came in for his regular cup of coffee and a cupcake and found you smiling and giggling at a guy at the counter. His first reaction was to punch the guy to next Sunday, but thankfully he calmed down and approached you with a polite smile on his face.

“Hey there,” he greeted you, not sparing Tom a single glance.

“Oh! Hey Bruce – this is Tom. He’s the delivery guy from the new supplier.” Tom’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he realised the Bruce Wayne was standing in front of him and tried his best to shake his hand nonchalantly.

“I’ll be right with you,” you told him, and continued your conversation with Tom.

Fucking Tom. Who even was this guy?

And why were you smiling so much? What the fuck did he have that Bruce didn’t?

Most likely, it was what Bruce didn’t have that make a difference – a mask, a secret identity, a promise made to Gotham.

After you were done chatting with the delivery guy, you placed a cupcake and a cup of coffee in front of Bruce, but instead of sitting down with him, you returned to the counter and resumed your conversation.

Bruce cursed himself mentally.

On Christmas day, after you’d left, Alfred had asked what happened.

Bruce told him everything. How he couldn’t be with you because of Batman, how he couldn’t risk your safety and life, how he pushed you away.

Alfred lectured him, telling his master that his mask was going to be the end of him, but Bruce refused to listen and went to the batcave to busy himself and get his mind off you.

As he looked at you now, radiant and smiling at someone else, he realised that he might’ve made a big, big mistake.

It wasn’t long until you two started dating. It was casual, nothing too serious, but Bruce still seethed on the inside. He found himself staring at you for longer, hands lingering on yours whenever he touched you, and his heart ached more and more whenever he saw you with Tom.

You seemed so happy with him.

Seemed.

Because the truth was, you weren’t doing as well as Bruce thought you were. Tom was a nice man, yeah, but there was something off about the whole thing. He was good looking, yes, and very kind. He listened to you and made you, his priority. He was a dream. But there was just one problem, he wasn’t Bruce.

When you two went out, you often found yourself wishing it was Bruce’s arms wrapped around you. When you two went shopping and you decided to go try on a few hand lotions, Tom simply bent over to sniff your hand, and you were brought back to that time last November when Bruce held you with such gentleness, you nearly melted.

Tom always reminded you to bring a jacket, and you did so diligently, unconsciously put off by the idea of wearing his. He’d once given it to you, and it just wasn’t the same. He didn’t wrap it around you securely, he didn’t brush the hair away from your face, he didn’t look at you the way Bruce did. He was an amazing guy, and you liked him.

But that was it.

Still, you kept your relationship going, hoping your feelings would change.

After all, it’s not like you had ever felt anything for Bruce, right?

He was just a good friend.

You enjoyed spending time with him, sure, but that was it.

So, you looked forward to every time the two of you hung out. And your heartbeat quickened every time he was near. You couldn’t get your eyes off him. You easily got angry or upset whenever other women looked at him, and even more so when he entertained their advances. You longed to have him hold you in your arms.

But that was all normal, right? It just meant you were great friends.

You mind goes back to Christmas Eve, and the way he hugged you. Standing under that mistletoe, there was nothing you wanted more than to kiss him. You remember looking at him and wishing so bad that he would lean down and press his lips against yours. Just friends don’t kiss.

And that’s what you were to him – just a friend. He’d say that himself.

So why were you so heartbroken?

Looking at an empty coffee mug, it suddenly hit you like a train.

You were in love with Bruce Wayne.

And he didn’t love you back.

So there was no need to feel guilty over going out with Tom, right? Even if you didn’t particularly want to kiss him and didn’t want his hands around you when you two went out. Even if you were reluctant to introduce you as “your boyfriend” and had more than once ditched him to stay home and rethink your life decisions.

Even if when the two of you went out on dates, you barely paid any attention to him, focusing on the times you’d sat down with Bruce over a drink and just laughed your asses off and spoke until the crack of dawn.

Even if you didn’t really love Tom.

Yeah. No need at all.

On a lovely April afternoon, you were helping Bruce do some spring cleaning. You were both wearing some casual, old clothes, and helping Alfred to make sure the Manor ended up spotless.

You were currently in charge of the spacious living room, carefully placing picture frames on top of the coffee table so you could clean the fireplace. You looked at the framed memories. Pictures of Bruce as a child, or with his parents. There was one with a young Bruce standing on his father’s shoulders, and another one of him hugging Alfred.

You smiled to yourself. What a cute kid, he was. He seemed so happy.

There were pictures of him with Rachel, knees scraped and clothes dirty from the mud, and some with you. Your gaze lingered on those.

There was one framed selfie with the two of you, faces full of flour and whipped cream. You’d been teaching him how to bake, but the whole ordeal ended up in a small food fight – which he’d won. You chuckled at the memories of trying to teach Mr. “I’m far too rich to cook because I have people to do it for me” how to measure cups of flour, and break eggs. You’d held onto his arms and guided him to make sure he got the measurements just right.

Something inside of you flared up the memory.

The other picture in your hand had been taken at the Carrington gala.

You were wearing your pretty (and extremely expensive) black dress and were smiling at the camera. You were leaning into Bruce’s touch, who was holding you close by the waist. Instead of looking at the camera, he was instead looking at you.

Somehow, tears had clouded your vision.

How you had loved dancing with him. Being held by him as if you were the only person in the world he cared about. Your fingers traced his figure in the picture, and a tear fell down your cheek, falling on top of the glass.

“Hey, are you done with the fireplace?” You jumped at the voice behind you, and dropped the frame, which fell on the floor and broke into a million little pieces.

“Shit!” you mumbled, quick to crouch and try to pick up each glass shard. Bruce was quicker though, and made his way towards you, pulling you away from the soiled floor.

“No, get away from this, you might get hurt. I’ll call Alfred and – “ he looked at you and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Tears were streaming down your face, and you couldn’t look away from the mess you had made. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” you choked back a sob. “I’m so sorry – I broke it.”

“No, no. It’s okay, we’ll just get a new frame.” Bruce assured you, hands resting on your shoulders.

“No – fuck – it’s not okay! None of this is okay!” You cried, and he pulled you against his chest, running his fingers through your hair.

“It’s just a frame. We’ll get a new one. And we’ll clean the floor.”

You cried in his arms for a while, until your sobs subsided into quiet sniffs. Bruce didn’t really know what to do, so he stood there, holding you tight. He’d never let you go.

After a while, you broke the silence.

“I – “ sniff, “ – I broke up with Tom,” you mumbled.

Bruce’s expression was one of surprise. Really? Why would you though? You two seemed happy.

“I… I don’t really think I liked him…” you continued; voice muffled by his chest. “I think I was dating him simply because I wanted to forget you…”

What?

He looked at you, but you refused to face him, face pressing harder against his chest.

“I’m such an idiot, Bruce… Everything was fine, and then I went and fell for you… And now our friendship is going to be ruined, and I broke your picture frame…”

Bruce held you tighter. You fell for him?

“I’m sorry, Bruce… I’m so sorry – I promise I’ll fix this. I – I’ll stop loving you and we can go back to being friends, and – “

Bruce used his thumb to lift your face up and looked straight into your eyes. There was nowhere to run. You were trapped, and so was he.

“You love me?” he asked, voice as soft as you’d ever heard it.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say those words out loud, so you opted for nodding.

“But – Tom –“

“Tom was a distraction,” you sniffled, “And I feel terrible about it. But I didn’t really like him. I just wanted to forget about you.”

“You love me,” Bruce repeated, using the same thumb to rub circles on the skin of your cheek. His gaze fell on your lips.

He had two choices. He could let you go once again. He could walk away from you, tell you he didn’t love you back. He could watch as you eventually moved on with your life (this time for real) and protect you from having to choose between Bruce Wayne and Batman.

He could give up the love of his life forever.

Or he could kiss you. He could tell you how he felt. He could trust you with that darker side of him, and you two could figure it out along the way. He could take it easy. He could bare his heart and finally tell you how you felt.

Two sides of him fought against each other, but ultimately, one was stronger.

He bent down and took your lips in his, sliding his hands up to your face to cradle it.

You were surprised to say the least, but pleasantly so. You wrapped your arms around him and kissed him back with vigour, tears of happiness falling down your cheeks. How you’d wanted this. And now, it was finally happening.

When you two parted for air, Bruce refused to let you go, standing mere inches away from you. His nose nuzzled yours, and he whispered a quiet, “I love you.”

You don’t know wat surprised you more. That he’d say it, or that you said it back.

“I love you too,” you smiled, pressing yourself against him and kissing him once again.

Bruce wrapped his arms around you, attempting to convey all his feelings for you in a simple kiss. All the longing, the love, the desire, the friendship. Everything he couldn’t find the words to say, he poured into that kiss. And you smiled, accepting all his confessions, all his words.

“Well, it was about time, don’t you two think?” Alfred said from across the room.

You jumped and just stared at him, embarrassment overtaking you.

“Yes, I’m talking about you two. Do you know how bothersome it was to see you moping around and sulking because you hadn’t kissed her on Christmas Eve, sir?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“I – You wanted to kiss me on Christmas Eve?” you turned to Bruce and gave him a soft smile.

“I did. I really did. I’m so sorry I didn’t.” he replied, before looking at Alfred. “Could you please leave us alone now? I don’t really recall paying you to mind my business.”

“You don’t pay me enough not to, sir.” The butler replied with a cheeky grin and that “I have the high ground, for I am British and old and wise” smug look of his. “I am glad to see the both of you are finally getting along. If you need me, I’ll be cleaning the Manor, since no one in this house does it.”

You laughed and faced Bruce once again, cupping his cheek.

“I thought you didn’t even like me. I mean, on Christmas…”

“I’m sorry about Christmas. I really did want to kiss you, it’s just… There are things about me – things you don’t know. And I’m afraid of telling you because I don’t want you to get hurt.” He replied, hand coming up to touch yours.

“You can tell me anything Bruce, you know it. Right?”

He nodded, and hugged you close one more time.

“I do. And I love you. I really mean it.”

Bruce could hear the smile in your voice when you replied.

“I love you too.”

For once in his life, Bruce Wayne did not feel completely alone. On the next room, he had his trusted butler, who had raised him as his own and acted like a parental figure all these years. And in his arms, he had you. The love of his life, the woman he loved the most in the world.

Holding you close to him, he knew he could trust you, no matter what. He knew you’d accept him, because if anyone would, it was you. And he would cherish that forever.

Later that night, a small white box was taken out of a locked drawer and placed inside of his pocket.

Bruce led you to the same spot you’d been on Christmas Eve, handed you the small box, and after carefully placing the necklace around your neck, finally kissed you.

There was no way he was ever letting go of you.

A/N: And that's it! I hope I was able to do both this trilogy and this request justice, I was really worried about it. I wrote most of it in one sitting, you have no idea, I just kept on writing and writing and writing and when I realised it, it'd gotten kinda long and out of hand.

I also hope this Tom character wasn't useless? I mean, he sorta was, he was just a plot device, but I hope he didn't feel rushed or whatever.

Anyways, I hope you guys liked it! I really do!

Have an amazing day, everyone! <3

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #bale!bruce wayne #bale!batman x reader #bale!batman #bale!bruce wayne x reader #the dark knight #the dark knight trilogy #nolanverse #the dark knight fanfiction #the dark knight fanfic #nolanverse fanfiction #bruce wayne fanfiction #batman fanfiction #batman x fem!reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader

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visionsofmagic · 8 months

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day 16: bruce wayne [power play]

࿓ synopsis • the game you play takes a different route in which you try to dominate him, but, he doesn’t allow you.

―❦ nsfw, dominance/submission, roughness, licking, marking, wrist holding, short, f!reader, brat!reader, riding, begging, pet names, ‘is all I guess? • 0.7k • he's my favorite dc character and the idea popped into my mind because he's looking so dom! enjoy! [kinktober m.]

“who’s in control now, love?” he asks as he pounds into you, hands holding yours above your head as your back arches onto his bare chest, filthy voices leaving you one by one since it’s too much to keep silent – he’s trying to gain it from you after all, wanting to make you scream his name louder with each of his deep, hungry thrusts that hit the exact spot that drives you crazy in every time.

the question is a reference to what you said before being in this situation; leaning down on the mattress, wrists inside his palms, breasts bouncing shamelessly and even hitting his chest from time to time, legs wide open, pussy soaking wet enough to make the white color of the sheets goes grey because of how much it is, legs shaking yet still having the strength to stay on his back, hugging him from there only to bring his body closer to yours as if it’s possible – as if he’s not already deep buried inside you, fucking you roughly because he has something to prove to you – to dig it into your pathetic mind as he said before.

he’s angry – a little bit, with the lust that flows inside his veins until it reaches the tip of his thick cock – using it to shove it into you mercilessly.

the feelings are there due to you – being a little brat and trying to take control while riding him a while ago, teasing about how his dick dripping, pale face is full of redness, breathtaking with a rapid way, and even sweating – only you can make the vigilante sweat like this – the reasons why he is rough now.

with the power you had at that moment, your body moved without your mind acknowledging it, making you look down at him, taking control, riding him so slowly to make him beg for you to move, to fuck him, yet, bruce who knows you better than anyone else, including you, understood what you were trying to do, especially when your hand tried to hold his neck – with sudden movement, he gripped your wrists, turning your body over, hovering above you as he mocked you – showing the dominance he has on you – not yours – his.

power play ended when he began to fuck you ruthlessly.

his question remains unanswered – he doesn’t seek one either, he just enjoys watching how messy you’re getting under him, ready to beg more when his hips slow down – and nearly stops as he fucks you leisurely, taking his time, and even having a ghost smirk on his face.

and when you look at him, your vision is blurry yet witnessing his lustful expression, representing of the dominant side he has on you, you know he waits for you to beg – to cry. weren’t it for your aching pussy that is in need to be fucked by bruce, you would stay still, yet, you have no brain at all – only a greedy wet pussy and passion mixed with love.

“bruce –“ his name comes out of your parted lips on its own – pure instinct. “ohh – bruce!”

“yes, my pretty slut, what’s wrong?”

“move – aghh – please, move already! nee – ohh – need you to move!”

leaving your wrists free, his hands positioned on your hips, holding it strongly, ready to bounce into you with all his strength, his weight can be felt on you, sending a different sense of both pain and pleasure at the same time.

“look who’s begging now –“ he teases, kneeling down until his lips touch your neck, biting it – licking it so that he can leave marks on you- bigger and more efficient ones than yours that you left on his entire body before he took control. he enjoyed being under you, yet, the delight of having you under him is far greater than it. “tell me – that I am the one who is in control over you, not you over me,” he lowers down, licking and kissing your exposed body gladly, reaching until its tongue travels on your hardened breasts.

pushing you against his hot tongue, you answer, feeling his cock leaving your pussy slowly, “you! bruce – ohh – you!” “good girl.” he says lastly, then, pushing his hip further, the cock fills your warm walls entirely with a powerful thrust and he doesn’t stop – he thrusts into you with a great pace and power that you no longer remember the power play – letting him do whatever he wants to do with you until he’s satisfied.

❦ tagging: @lilvampirina & @snowprincesa1 & @dookiemeshibear & @chloee0x0 *lots of kisses!*

#🔥 kinktober 2023 second week #kinktober 2023 #dc #dc comics #dc x reader #dc smut #batman #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman x you #batman x f!reader #batman x y/n #batman smut #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x f!reader #bruce wayne smut #THANKS FOR READING!!#power play with him hits different ^^

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hanasnx · 4 months

Text

thinking about how big BRUCE WAYNE is compared to you. a tank of pure muscle and meat. brutish. imposing. fills a room. when his massive hands grab on your ass like a handle, bouncing you on his dick in reverse cowgirl. when he brings your back to his chest and pins your head with a palm over your mouth that spans the width of your face, fucking into you at a bruising pace while you sob into his hand. he makes you feel like nothing, using you like a little toy he picked out for himself. it’s like you’re part of his work-out routine, or his warm-up at least, being picked up by the waist while he fucks up into you.

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