Bruce Wayne Imagine - Blog Posts

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I’ve been thinking about Batman a lot recently (no shit) and if the Riddler had live streams, do you think there’s a Reddit for Gotham and Bats? Bruce?

r/brucewayne

Posted by u/firepuma_142 1 day ago

I accidentally bumped into Bruce Wayne while he was wearing eyeshadow at 4 AM

• • •

r/brucewayne

Posted by u/saltshakerr 5 hours ago

I watched Bruce Wayne get the wrong order at the local Starbucks and he was too polite to tell them they got it wrong

• • •

r/Batman

Posted by u/ohnonki 14 days ago

I survived the mass flooding after Batman pulled me from the water and visited me in the hospital

• • •

r/Gotham

Posted by u/wastingmylife 30 minutes ago

How I was almost *unknowingly* recruited by The Riddler

MDNI

Warnings: arranged marriage au, not proofread, sexual frustration, masturbation (f), fingering, Bruce being neglectful, piv sex, slight intoxication, creampie, pussy eating and wholesome fucking.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated!!

Having Bruce as your husband was almost like a dream come true. Even if the marriage was technically a business deal, you had everything you could dream of.

The shopping sprees with his black card, the ridiculously expensive tasting menus, the most extravagant vacations. You loved it all.

But the only thing which bothered you was the lack of attention from him, to be particular, his lack of sexual interest in you.

Sure, you two had nearly fucked on your honeymoon in Italy. It was a frustrating yet toe curling memory.

The way his mouth had latched onto your nipple after what felt like an eternity of kissing, hov his fingers had disappeared underneath your lace panties to tease your clit. You were practically dripping for him, your brain felt like it was melting as soon as his lips had latched onto your clit, sucking and licking with fervor which was unlike him.

You could feel how hard he was through his shorts. You had been giddy with joy, knowing that he was about to fuck you silly. That was until he received an unavoidable voice call.

You still fumed at the memory of him just leaving you high and wet dry for some stupid business call.

Soon, the frustration took a toll on you. Your self control had been admirable; even you were amazed at how long you'd held off on touching yourself. After one night of drinking a little too much of Montrachet Grand Cru, you'd ended up in your bed with your hands working furiously in between your thighs.

Your whines and whimpers were muffled by the pillow you had buried your face into as you rubbed tight circles around your throbbing clit. The pleasure was a welcome sensation, making your toes curl. You were so lost in your wanton need for pleasure that you had failed to register the sound of footsteps, his footsteps, nearing your room.

The door quietly opened and your husband was met with the sight of you with your legs spread, fingering your cunt like there was no tomorrow while your face was buried in the sea of pillows on your bed.

Bruce froze at the sight, shocked to see you trying to get off in such a desperate state. His cock twitched at the sight of you.

Hesitation was the only thing holding him back from joining you on the bed and fucking you into oblivion. He didn't even know if that was what you wanted.

So he took a chance, he cleared his throat to make you aware of his presence. You snapped out of your haze of self- inflicted pleasure as soon as you heard him. It was as if God had finally answered your desperate, frustrated prayers.

He could see the eagerness in your eyes, the barely hidden joy in them at his presence. Your heart skipped a beat as he slowly climbed into the bed.

His hand slowly took ahold of your chin as his eyes looked into yours, silently asking for your permission. You gave a slight imperceptible nod.

A flicker of relief crossed his face before he leaned in, pressing a soft, tentative kiss to your lips. His touch was gentle at first, almost hesitant, as if savoring the moment before fully giving in. You could feel his lips moving gently against yours as if he was afraid of hurting you.

His tongue could taste the wine you'd drunk, along with the lingering taste of you. His hand moved from your chin to your breasts, gently gliding across them.

He continued to kiss you as his cold fingers found your nipples, twisting and pinching them. When he broke the kiss, both of you were left panting, a string of saliva still connecting your lips.

He started kissing from your neck to your collarbones, licking sucking and savoring the taste of your skin. His mouth moved lower, trailing kisses to your breasts, then your stomach, before finally reaching your mound.

You felt his hot breath ghosting against your cunt as he threw your legs over his shoulders, spreading them slightly farther apart in the process.

He spread your folds apart and licked a tentative stripe from your clit down to your leaking hole, gathering the wetness on his tongue. Your light whimper egged him on.

He started lapping at your cunt, savoring the taste of you, engraving it into his memory. His tongue circled your throbbing clit before latching onto it, suckling as your moans grew louder and more desperate.

The pleasure made your mind go hazy, which in turn made you feel hotter and hotter. Your hips bucked against his face as your peak approached.

You let out a strangled moan of his name as your peak hit you like the waves of a tsunami, your juices dripping down his chin as he rode you through your high.

He pulled his face from between your legs as he sat up; he could still see the burning need in your eyes. His hands made quick work of his trousers and boxers, freeing his hard cock.

Your pupils dilated at the sight of his cock, something which you had wanted for so long. He gripped your hips as he positioned his cock at your dripping entrance.

Slowly, he pushed in, making sure to minimize any pain you might've felt. He started with shallow thrusts, giving you an inch with each movement until he was fully seated within your warm, tight and wet confines.

Both of your pants filled the room as he stilled, trying to catching his breath. He started to fuck you at a hard yet pleasurable pace, his cock bumping against that spongy spot that made your wanton moans grow louder in volume as each second passed.

The electric heat of pleasure made you feel like your spine was melting as his thrusts became more erratic. His fingers found your clit, rubbing it as if his life depended on it.

Your second peak crashed over you, making you scream his name in pleasure as his thrusts grew more erratic -until his hips finally stilled as he came inside you.

Both of you were spent and satisfied. Bruce collapsed beside you, not bothering to pull out his softened cock from inside you.

It was safe to say that your husband had made up for his neglect that night. The evidence of it was clear the next morning in the form of hickeys littering your throat and the limp in your gait.

MDNI

Warnings: arranged marriage au, not proofread, sexual frustration, masturbation (f), fingering, Bruce being neglectful, piv sex, slight intoxication, creampie, pussy eating and wholesome fucking.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated!!

Having Bruce as your husband was almost like a dream come true. Even if the marriage was technically a business deal, you had everything you could dream of.

The shopping sprees with his black card, the ridiculously expensive tasting menus, the most extravagant vacations. You loved it all.

But the only thing which bothered you was the lack of attention from him, to be particular, his lack of sexual interest in you.

Sure, you two had nearly fucked on your honeymoon in Italy. It was a frustrating yet toe curling memory.

The way his mouth had latched onto your nipple after what felt like an eternity of kissing, hov his fingers had disappeared underneath your lace panties to tease your clit. You were practically dripping for him, your brain felt like it was melting as soon as his lips had latched onto your clit, sucking and licking with fervor which was unlike him.

You could feel how hard he was through his shorts. You had been giddy with joy, knowing that he was about to fuck you silly. That was until he received an unavoidable voice call.

You still fumed at the memory of him just leaving you high and wet dry for some stupid business call.

Soon, the frustration took a toll on you. Your self control had been admirable; even you were amazed at how long you'd held off on touching yourself. After one night of drinking a little too much of Montrachet Grand Cru, you'd ended up in your bed with your hands working furiously in between your thighs.

Your whines and whimpers were muffled by the pillow you had buried your face into as you rubbed tight circles around your throbbing clit. The pleasure was a welcome sensation, making your toes curl. You were so lost in your wanton need for pleasure that you had failed to register the sound of footsteps, his footsteps, nearing your room.

The door quietly opened and your husband was met with the sight of you with your legs spread, fingering your cunt like there was no tomorrow while your face was buried in the sea of pillows on your bed.

Bruce froze at the sight, shocked to see you trying to get off in such a desperate state. His cock twitched at the sight of you.

Hesitation was the only thing holding him back from joining you on the bed and fucking you into oblivion. He didn't even know if that was what you wanted.

So he took a chance, he cleared his throat to make you aware of his presence. You snapped out of your haze of self- inflicted pleasure as soon as you heard him. It was as if God had finally answered your desperate, frustrated prayers.

He could see the eagerness in your eyes, the barely hidden joy in them at his presence. Your heart skipped a beat as he slowly climbed into the bed.

His hand slowly took ahold of your chin as his eyes looked into yours, silently asking for your permission. You gave a slight imperceptible nod.

A flicker of relief crossed his face before he leaned in, pressing a soft, tentative kiss to your lips. His touch was gentle at first, almost hesitant, as if savoring the moment before fully giving in. You could feel his lips moving gently against yours as if he was afraid of hurting you.

His tongue could taste the wine you'd drunk, along with the lingering taste of you. His hand moved from your chin to your breasts, gently gliding across them.

He continued to kiss you as his cold fingers found your nipples, twisting and pinching them. When he broke the kiss, both of you were left panting, a string of saliva still connecting your lips.

He started kissing from your neck to your collarbones, licking sucking and savoring the taste of your skin. His mouth moved lower, trailing kisses to your breasts, then your stomach, before finally reaching your mound.

You felt his hot breath ghosting against your cunt as he threw your legs over his shoulders, spreading them slightly farther apart in the process.

He spread your folds apart and licked a tentative stripe from your clit down to your leaking hole, gathering the wetness on his tongue. Your light whimper egged him on.

He started lapping at your cunt, savoring the taste of you, engraving it into his memory. His tongue circled your throbbing clit before latching onto it, suckling as your moans grew louder and more desperate.

The pleasure made your mind go hazy, which in turn made you feel hotter and hotter. Your hips bucked against his face as your peak approached.

You let out a strangled moan of his name as your peak hit you like the waves of a tsunami, your juices dripping down his chin as he rode you through your high.

He pulled his face from between your legs as he sat up; he could still see the burning need in your eyes. His hands made quick work of his trousers and boxers, freeing his hard cock.

Your pupils dilated at the sight of his cock, something which you had wanted for so long. He gripped your hips as he positioned his cock at your dripping entrance.

Slowly, he pushed in, making sure to minimize any pain you might've felt. He started with shallow thrusts, giving you an inch with each movement until he was fully seated within your warm, tight and wet confines.

Both of your pants filled the room as he stilled, trying to catching his breath. He started to fuck you at a hard yet pleasurable pace, his cock bumping against that spongy spot that made your wanton moans grow louder in volume as each second passed.

The electric heat of pleasure made you feel like your spine was melting as his thrusts became more erratic. His fingers found your clit, rubbing it as if his life depended on it.

Your second peak crashed over you, making you scream his name in pleasure as his thrusts grew more erratic -until his hips finally stilled as he came inside you.

Both of you were spent and satisfied. Bruce collapsed beside you, not bothering to pull out his softened cock from inside you.

It was safe to say that your husband had made up for his neglect that night. The evidence of it was clear the next morning in the form of hickeys littering your throat and the limp in your gait.

MDNI

Warnings: arranged marriage au, not proofread, sexual frustration, masturbation (f), fingering, Bruce being neglectful, piv sex, slight intoxication, creampie, pussy eating and wholesome fucking.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated!!

Having Bruce as your husband was almost like a dream come true. Even if the marriage was technically a business deal, you had everything you could dream of.

The shopping sprees with his black card, the ridiculously expensive tasting menus, the most extravagant vacations. You loved it all.

But the only thing which bothered you was the lack of attention from him, to be particular, his lack of sexual interest in you.

Sure, you two had nearly fucked on your honeymoon in Italy. It was a frustrating yet toe curling memory.

The way his mouth had latched onto your nipple after what felt like an eternity of kissing, hov his fingers had disappeared underneath your lace panties to tease your clit. You were practically dripping for him, your brain felt like it was melting as soon as his lips had latched onto your clit, sucking and licking with fervor which was unlike him.

You could feel how hard he was through his shorts. You had been giddy with joy, knowing that he was about to fuck you silly. That was until he received an unavoidable voice call.

You still fumed at the memory of him just leaving you high and wet dry for some stupid business call.

Soon, the frustration took a toll on you. Your self control had been admirable; even you were amazed at how long you'd held off on touching yourself. After one night of drinking a little too much of Montrachet Grand Cru, you'd ended up in your bed with your hands working furiously in between your thighs.

Your whines and whimpers were muffled by the pillow you had buried your face into as you rubbed tight circles around your throbbing clit. The pleasure was a welcome sensation, making your toes curl. You were so lost in your wanton need for pleasure that you had failed to register the sound of footsteps, his footsteps, nearing your room.

The door quietly opened and your husband was met with the sight of you with your legs spread, fingering your cunt like there was no tomorrow while your face was buried in the sea of pillows on your bed.

Bruce froze at the sight, shocked to see you trying to get off in such a desperate state. His cock twitched at the sight of you.

Hesitation was the only thing holding him back from joining you on the bed and fucking you into oblivion. He didn't even know if that was what you wanted.

So he took a chance, he cleared his throat to make you aware of his presence. You snapped out of your haze of self- inflicted pleasure as soon as you heard him. It was as if God had finally answered your desperate, frustrated prayers.

He could see the eagerness in your eyes, the barely hidden joy in them at his presence. Your heart skipped a beat as he slowly climbed into the bed.

His hand slowly took ahold of your chin as his eyes looked into yours, silently asking for your permission. You gave a slight imperceptible nod.

A flicker of relief crossed his face before he leaned in, pressing a soft, tentative kiss to your lips. His touch was gentle at first, almost hesitant, as if savoring the moment before fully giving in. You could feel his lips moving gently against yours as if he was afraid of hurting you.

His tongue could taste the wine you'd drunk, along with the lingering taste of you. His hand moved from your chin to your breasts, gently gliding across them.

He continued to kiss you as his cold fingers found your nipples, twisting and pinching them. When he broke the kiss, both of you were left panting, a string of saliva still connecting your lips.

He started kissing from your neck to your collarbones, licking sucking and savoring the taste of your skin. His mouth moved lower, trailing kisses to your breasts, then your stomach, before finally reaching your mound.

You felt his hot breath ghosting against your cunt as he threw your legs over his shoulders, spreading them slightly farther apart in the process.

He spread your folds apart and licked a tentative stripe from your clit down to your leaking hole, gathering the wetness on his tongue. Your light whimper egged him on.

He started lapping at your cunt, savoring the taste of you, engraving it into his memory. His tongue circled your throbbing clit before latching onto it, suckling as your moans grew louder and more desperate.

The pleasure made your mind go hazy, which in turn made you feel hotter and hotter. Your hips bucked against his face as your peak approached.

You let out a strangled moan of his name as your peak hit you like the waves of a tsunami, your juices dripping down his chin as he rode you through your high.

He pulled his face from between your legs as he sat up; he could still see the burning need in your eyes. His hands made quick work of his trousers and boxers, freeing his hard cock.

Your pupils dilated at the sight of his cock, something which you had wanted for so long. He gripped your hips as he positioned his cock at your dripping entrance.

Slowly, he pushed in, making sure to minimize any pain you might've felt. He started with shallow thrusts, giving you an inch with each movement until he was fully seated within your warm, tight and wet confines.

Both of your pants filled the room as he stilled, trying to catching his breath. He started to fuck you at a hard yet pleasurable pace, his cock bumping against that spongy spot that made your wanton moans grow louder in volume as each second passed.

The electric heat of pleasure made you feel like your spine was melting as his thrusts became more erratic. His fingers found your clit, rubbing it as if his life depended on it.

Your second peak crashed over you, making you scream his name in pleasure as his thrusts grew more erratic -until his hips finally stilled as he came inside you.

Both of you were spent and satisfied. Bruce collapsed beside you, not bothering to pull out his softened cock from inside you.

It was safe to say that your husband had made up for his neglect that night. The evidence of it was clear the next morning in the form of hickeys littering your throat and the limp in your gait.

MDNI

Warnings: arranged marriage au, not proofread, sexual frustration, masturbation (f), fingering, Bruce being neglectful, piv sex, slight intoxication, creampie, pussy eating and wholesome fucking.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated!!

Having Bruce as your husband was almost like a dream come true. Even if the marriage was technically a business deal, you had everything you could dream of.

The shopping sprees with his black card, the ridiculously expensive tasting menus, the most extravagant vacations. You loved it all.

But the only thing which bothered you was the lack of attention from him, to be particular, his lack of sexual interest in you.

Sure, you two had nearly fucked on your honeymoon in Italy. It was a frustrating yet toe curling memory.

The way his mouth had latched onto your nipple after what felt like an eternity of kissing, hov his fingers had disappeared underneath your lace panties to tease your clit. You were practically dripping for him, your brain felt like it was melting as soon as his lips had latched onto your clit, sucking and licking with fervor which was unlike him.

You could feel how hard he was through his shorts. You had been giddy with joy, knowing that he was about to fuck you silly. That was until he received an unavoidable voice call.

You still fumed at the memory of him just leaving you high and wet dry for some stupid business call.

Soon, the frustration took a toll on you. Your self control had been admirable; even you were amazed at how long you'd held off on touching yourself. After one night of drinking a little too much of Montrachet Grand Cru, you'd ended up in your bed with your hands working furiously in between your thighs.

Your whines and whimpers were muffled by the pillow you had buried your face into as you rubbed tight circles around your throbbing clit. The pleasure was a welcome sensation, making your toes curl. You were so lost in your wanton need for pleasure that you had failed to register the sound of footsteps, his footsteps, nearing your room.

The door quietly opened and your husband was met with the sight of you with your legs spread, fingering your cunt like there was no tomorrow while your face was buried in the sea of pillows on your bed.

Bruce froze at the sight, shocked to see you trying to get off in such a desperate state. His cock twitched at the sight of you.

Hesitation was the only thing holding him back from joining you on the bed and fucking you into oblivion. He didn't even know if that was what you wanted.

So he took a chance, he cleared his throat to make you aware of his presence. You snapped out of your haze of self- inflicted pleasure as soon as you heard him. It was as if God had finally answered your desperate, frustrated prayers.

He could see the eagerness in your eyes, the barely hidden joy in them at his presence. Your heart skipped a beat as he slowly climbed into the bed.

His hand slowly took ahold of your chin as his eyes looked into yours, silently asking for your permission. You gave a slight imperceptible nod.

A flicker of relief crossed his face before he leaned in, pressing a soft, tentative kiss to your lips. His touch was gentle at first, almost hesitant, as if savoring the moment before fully giving in. You could feel his lips moving gently against yours as if he was afraid of hurting you.

His tongue could taste the wine you'd drunk, along with the lingering taste of you. His hand moved from your chin to your breasts, gently gliding across them.

He continued to kiss you as his cold fingers found your nipples, twisting and pinching them. When he broke the kiss, both of you were left panting, a string of saliva still connecting your lips.

He started kissing from your neck to your collarbones, licking sucking and savoring the taste of your skin. His mouth moved lower, trailing kisses to your breasts, then your stomach, before finally reaching your mound.

You felt his hot breath ghosting against your cunt as he threw your legs over his shoulders, spreading them slightly farther apart in the process.

He spread your folds apart and licked a tentative stripe from your clit down to your leaking hole, gathering the wetness on his tongue. Your light whimper egged him on.

He started lapping at your cunt, savoring the taste of you, engraving it into his memory. His tongue circled your throbbing clit before latching onto it, suckling as your moans grew louder and more desperate.

The pleasure made your mind go hazy, which in turn made you feel hotter and hotter. Your hips bucked against his face as your peak approached.

You let out a strangled moan of his name as your peak hit you like the waves of a tsunami, your juices dripping down his chin as he rode you through your high.

He pulled his face from between your legs as he sat up; he could still see the burning need in your eyes. His hands made quick work of his trousers and boxers, freeing his hard cock.

Your pupils dilated at the sight of his cock, something which you had wanted for so long. He gripped your hips as he positioned his cock at your dripping entrance.

Slowly, he pushed in, making sure to minimize any pain you might've felt. He started with shallow thrusts, giving you an inch with each movement until he was fully seated within your warm, tight and wet confines.

Both of your pants filled the room as he stilled, trying to catching his breath. He started to fuck you at a hard yet pleasurable pace, his cock bumping against that spongy spot that made your wanton moans grow louder in volume as each second passed.

The electric heat of pleasure made you feel like your spine was melting as his thrusts became more erratic. His fingers found your clit, rubbing it as if his life depended on it.

Your second peak crashed over you, making you scream his name in pleasure as his thrusts grew more erratic -until his hips finally stilled as he came inside you.

Both of you were spent and satisfied. Bruce collapsed beside you, not bothering to pull out his softened cock from inside you.

It was safe to say that your husband had made up for his neglect that night. The evidence of it was clear the next morning in the form of hickeys littering your throat and the limp in your gait.

MDNI

Warnings: arranged marriage au, not proofread, sexual frustration, masturbation (f), fingering, Bruce being neglectful, piv sex, slight intoxication, creampie, pussy eating and wholesome fucking.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated!!

Having Bruce as your husband was almost like a dream come true. Even if the marriage was technically a business deal, you had everything you could dream of.

The shopping sprees with his black card, the ridiculously expensive tasting menus, the most extravagant vacations. You loved it all.

But the only thing which bothered you was the lack of attention from him, to be particular, his lack of sexual interest in you.

Sure, you two had nearly fucked on your honeymoon in Italy. It was a frustrating yet toe curling memory.

The way his mouth had latched onto your nipple after what felt like an eternity of kissing, hov his fingers had disappeared underneath your lace panties to tease your clit. You were practically dripping for him, your brain felt like it was melting as soon as his lips had latched onto your clit, sucking and licking with fervor which was unlike him.

You could feel how hard he was through his shorts. You had been giddy with joy, knowing that he was about to fuck you silly. That was until he received an unavoidable voice call.

You still fumed at the memory of him just leaving you high and wet dry for some stupid business call.

Soon, the frustration took a toll on you. Your self control had been admirable; even you were amazed at how long you'd held off on touching yourself. After one night of drinking a little too much of Montrachet Grand Cru, you'd ended up in your bed with your hands working furiously in between your thighs.

Your whines and whimpers were muffled by the pillow you had buried your face into as you rubbed tight circles around your throbbing clit. The pleasure was a welcome sensation, making your toes curl. You were so lost in your wanton need for pleasure that you had failed to register the sound of footsteps, his footsteps, nearing your room.

The door quietly opened and your husband was met with the sight of you with your legs spread, fingering your cunt like there was no tomorrow while your face was buried in the sea of pillows on your bed.

Bruce froze at the sight, shocked to see you trying to get off in such a desperate state. His cock twitched at the sight of you.

Hesitation was the only thing holding him back from joining you on the bed and fucking you into oblivion. He didn't even know if that was what you wanted.

So he took a chance, he cleared his throat to make you aware of his presence. You snapped out of your haze of self- inflicted pleasure as soon as you heard him. It was as if God had finally answered your desperate, frustrated prayers.

He could see the eagerness in your eyes, the barely hidden joy in them at his presence. Your heart skipped a beat as he slowly climbed into the bed.

His hand slowly took ahold of your chin as his eyes looked into yours, silently asking for your permission. You gave a slight imperceptible nod.

A flicker of relief crossed his face before he leaned in, pressing a soft, tentative kiss to your lips. His touch was gentle at first, almost hesitant, as if savoring the moment before fully giving in. You could feel his lips moving gently against yours as if he was afraid of hurting you.

His tongue could taste the wine you'd drunk, along with the lingering taste of you. His hand moved from your chin to your breasts, gently gliding across them.

He continued to kiss you as his cold fingers found your nipples, twisting and pinching them. When he broke the kiss, both of you were left panting, a string of saliva still connecting your lips.

He started kissing from your neck to your collarbones, licking sucking and savoring the taste of your skin. His mouth moved lower, trailing kisses to your breasts, then your stomach, before finally reaching your mound.

You felt his hot breath ghosting against your cunt as he threw your legs over his shoulders, spreading them slightly farther apart in the process.

He spread your folds apart and licked a tentative stripe from your clit down to your leaking hole, gathering the wetness on his tongue. Your light whimper egged him on.

He started lapping at your cunt, savoring the taste of you, engraving it into his memory. His tongue circled your throbbing clit before latching onto it, suckling as your moans grew louder and more desperate.

The pleasure made your mind go hazy, which in turn made you feel hotter and hotter. Your hips bucked against his face as your peak approached.

You let out a strangled moan of his name as your peak hit you like the waves of a tsunami, your juices dripping down his chin as he rode you through your high.

He pulled his face from between your legs as he sat up; he could still see the burning need in your eyes. His hands made quick work of his trousers and boxers, freeing his hard cock.

Your pupils dilated at the sight of his cock, something which you had wanted for so long. He gripped your hips as he positioned his cock at your dripping entrance.

Slowly, he pushed in, making sure to minimize any pain you might've felt. He started with shallow thrusts, giving you an inch with each movement until he was fully seated within your warm, tight and wet confines.

Both of your pants filled the room as he stilled, trying to catching his breath. He started to fuck you at a hard yet pleasurable pace, his cock bumping against that spongy spot that made your wanton moans grow louder in volume as each second passed.

The electric heat of pleasure made you feel like your spine was melting as his thrusts became more erratic. His fingers found your clit, rubbing it as if his life depended on it.

Your second peak crashed over you, making you scream his name in pleasure as his thrusts grew more erratic -until his hips finally stilled as he came inside you.

Both of you were spent and satisfied. Bruce collapsed beside you, not bothering to pull out his softened cock from inside you.

It was safe to say that your husband had made up for his neglect that night. The evidence of it was clear the next morning in the form of hickeys littering your throat and the limp in your gait.

MDNI

Warnings: filthy pussy eating, Bruce being an absolute munch.

Bruce eats pussy so good when he's stressed. It could be after a high risk mission or his kids had just gotten on his nerves a little too much. He wouldn't even ask before he'd start, he'd just slide your panties to the side and start making out with your pussy.

He'd suck on your folds, slurp all your juices up. He'd be aggressive with it too. Sometimes he'd stick a finger or two into your hole just to destress himself further, feeling your gummy walls clenching around his fingers was a feeling like no other. He'd suckle on your clit like his life depended on it, like it was the only thing that existed or mattered in the world.

Your incoherent begging for him to stop after your 3rd or 4th orgasm would most likely be ignored or he'd just look up and tell you to behave.

He'd eat it like it was his first meal in months and he'd just been given the nectar of the gods.

By the time he'd stop, your pussy would be all swollen, your legs would be shaking uncontrollably and any coherent thought would take at least a while before forming and he would look pleased and satisfied with your slick running down his chin.

MDNI

Warnings: cockwarming, slight smut, fluff.

Bruce making you sit on his cock while he's working on a case because you both miss each other but are too tired to fully fuck.

Feeling his cock inside you and him feeling your cunt clenching around him is enough to satisfy you both for the time being because it conveys that you two are content doing anything as long as y'all do it together. Also he gives you little smooches on your forehead every time you get a bit too restless.

Creep.

Warnings: cunnilingus, manhandling, impact play, facefucking, dubcon, Bruce and reader are both unhealthily obsessed with each other.

A/N: Didn't really proofread this.

He already had too much on his plate, his kids, Gotham and then you came along. You were absolutely infuriating, even if you were a civilian.

You'd always put yourself in danger, just to see him. It was ridiculous. Even Dick teased him about the fact that he was always saving you. He wasn't the one who was obsessed, you were. Or at least that's what he told himself.

He totally didn't know where you lived or what your morning routine was or how you'd get off every Wednesday night while moaning his name.

One night, he'd barely managed to save people from an apartment fire. Magically, you were there too. He was seething, that was his limit. He cornered you down in that alleyway you thought you could hide in.

Your doe eyes blinked up at him, fear and lust swirling in them. He didn't let you speak, he simply hauled you up against the wall and ripped out your panties from underneath your skirt. He could see your pussy glinting with wetness because of the crappy streetlight.

"You're really a shameless whore, aren't you? Already wet."

He murmured before he started to lap at your cunt. He was merciless. He sucked and nipped on your clit like his life depended on it, your strangled moans just acting as encouragement.

After you came on his tongue for the third time, he finally removed his face from inbetween your folds and hauled you up his shoulder and carried you to the Batmobile. Now, it was his turn to do what he wanted and he knew you'd like it.

After depositing you into the backseat, he climbed in as well. He unbuckled his belt in a hurry, his cock already throbbing uncontrollably. Your eyes widened at the sight of his meaty cock.

Your eyes met his.

"Don't worry, I'll make it fit."

He said before he shoved his cock down your throat. He fucked your face like he owned it as if your mouth was his personal fleshlight.

Slapping you lightly when you'd scratch on his thighs too hard, he knew you liked every bit of it. His leather seats had a pool of your slick gathered on them. That'd be a pain to explain to Alfred.

After coming all over your face, he decided to be nice and clean you up. The car ride was silent, you didn't seem upset. In fact, you almost seemed giddy. He dropped you off at your apartment and before you could say anything, he spoke.

"Next week, Wednesday."

And he drove off.

Sugar on the Rim vol. II

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

part one

warnings: heavily implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), smut, oral fem!receiving, nervous but enthusiastically consenting reader

You’d tried to calm your nerves but they couldn’t be helped.

You’re anxious about everything, all of it. What he wants you to do, what he’s expecting you do, whether it’ll hurt, whether you’re ready.

You think you trust Bruce, but you also know that these things are different for men and women. You don’t necessarily expect that he’ll have a mind for what you’ll need, but honestly, neither do you. You don’t know what to do to make this easier for yourself—you don’t know what to do at all. 

You bought the lingerie, you’ve got it on under your clothes and it feels like a costume. You can’t tell if that aids or worsens the anxiety. 

You’re fidgeting with the hem of your skirt and you wish you could quit it, you’re radiating enough nervous energy as it is, you don’t need to be sending him visual cues on top of it. 

Bruce holds your free hand in his as he guides you through the manor, you think it’s a different section than you’ve seen before. His hand engulfs yours unfairly as he leads, but the touch of his skin is so warm and inviting that you can’t tell if your hand is still shaking under it. If it is, he pretends not to notice.

He guides you up the stairs and into a corridor and then another before you arrive at a set of double doors. You’ve never seen double doors on the inside of a house before.

He lets you in ahead of him, and you have a distinct thought that you’re glad he can’t see the look of awe on your face as you walk in. His bedroom has an entire living room inside of it, and altogether it’s bigger than your whole apartment. A maroon couch and matching chairs surround a grand fireplace at the front of the room and the resulting glow from the active embers has the area shrouded in a warm light ahead of the shadows filling the rest.

You glance past the seating at his bed; large and proud. It’s definitely bigger than a king sized, with an overhead canopy and streams of dark burgundy curtains draping down from the corners. There’s another set of closed double doors past the bed, you imagine leading to the bathroom.

The end of the room displays a large window seat that looks like it’s never been used, and vast tinted windows. You look up to find the ceiling higher than you’ve ever seen in a bedroom with a very expensive chandelier hanging over it all.

He takes your arm, steering you out of your wonderment and leads you towards the couch rather than the bed, gesturing for you to sit down with him. You do, quietly glad when he positions himself so that you’re close to each other but not pressed right up against you. He’s able to relax his body more than you’re able to fake it on yourself, and you think your thoughts must be vibrating out of you by now.    

One hand comes to rest on your thigh as his other nudges your cheek towards him. “Hey, nothing’s happening right now. No need to be nervous.”

You nod blankly, but your thoughts are running wild with everything that you very much are nervous about.

He takes your hand in his, rubbing circles with his thumb. 

“You’ve got to relax,” he coos, “Remember what I said?”

You take a breath, “You’re not going to throw me in the deep end.”

“Exactly,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Just wanna make you feel good, right?”

You nod, easing your posture.

He looks you in the eye, “You gonna let me?”

You hum, nodding again.

“Good girl,” he purrs, pulling away.

You quickly find that the distance is not at all what you want, and you decide to push forward—as forward as you can—sitting up again to peel your jacket off. He watches you move with a look in his eyes, you take it for intrigue but it may just as well be something akin to pride. Pride in you? He’s openly flirted, kissed you, and straight up propositioned you for sex—but sure, he’s proud of you for taking your jacket off.

Your nerves transition into insecurity before you can catch them, and you’re starting to feel a little stupid, like a child playing pretend.

You watch tentatively as he tilts his head at you, running his own assessments of your actions. 

“Will you come sit on my lap?” he asks you after a moment. 

You suddenly become acutely aware of the amount of air in your lungs. This feels like a big request and you’re not even sure how to take his meaning. Does he want you to sit sideways? Your back to his front? Or fully straddle him? 

He wants whatever you want, he’d said. What do you want?

You glance down at his thighs, covered by fabric more expensive than you can imagine. Positive confirmation rings through your head immediately, willing you to push yourself forward a little more. 

You reposition yourself over him, straddling his lap in spite of your nerves.

Again, he looks pleased. Happy even. One of his hands comes to stroke soothing patterns across your lower back, the other resting on your waist. 

He makes sure to catch your gaze, “You’ll tell me if you want to stop.” 

He follows when your eyes stray, “Yes?”

“Yes.”

He places a tender kiss on your cheekbone, “How did shopping go?”

“Um, good. It was good. One of the sales girls helped me,” your breath is shaky as he kisses your jawline.

“Yeah? Tell me about it.”

“I, uh, I just went to this little boutique up on third street,” he places another kiss on the column of your throat as you talk. “Um, it took longer than I thought it would. There were so many choices.”

His hands come up to soothe over your ribs, pulling you a little closer as they do. He hums for you to keep talking, his kisses continuing to lower until they’re down to your collarbone, though they remain relatively chaste.

“I—I didn’t really know what to look for,” you admit, breath shaky as you exhale. 

“But you like it?”

“Yeah, I—I do.”

He hums, smiling against your skin. His fingers inch under the seam of your shirt, caressing your waist. “Can I take this off?”

You nod timidly, trying not to seem so on edge with anticipation. You’re not confident that he can’t see right through you.  

He presses another chaste kiss to your neck upon receival of the permission, and your shirt begins to come off slowly, his hands skimming every new bit of skin revealed. As he pulls it over your head, he glances down at the baby pink bralette you’d picked out for yourself.

He groans quietly as he takes in the sight, “Oh, pretty girl. Beautiful girl,” He noses at your chest, leaving little kisses where his lips make contact with your skin, “Look at you. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your stomach flutters as his hair tickles your cheek. His hands roam up your sides, stopping to stroke placid circles along the sides of your breasts.

His touch makes its way around your back, expertly undoing your bra clasp without a second thought. Your bra hangs forward a bit off your shoulders, but he leaves the work of entirely removing it to you. And you do, with more confidence than you’d imagined yourself mustering.

He immediately shows his appreciation, kissing and caressing your chest with lover-like admiration. Your head falls back involuntarily as he noses at your soft skin.

He’s breathing heavy when he pulls back, humming low and deep before lifting you up off his lap to stand. The sudden shift has you a bit thrown off, working to catch up as he kneels down in front of you and repeats his earlier process with your skirt—kissing your thighs and tugging the fabric down bit by bit.

When it’s discarded on the floor you stand only left in your underwear, the lace practically illuminated against your skin.

He looks up at you from his place on the floor and smiles as he takes in the sight of your body. His hands find your hips as he asks you, “Has anyone ever seen you like this before?”

You hesitate for half a second before answering truthfully.

His smile grows, “No, you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s nodding, “Yeah, I know.”

As he rises to stand he scoops you up by the back of your thighs and lifts you in the air with no discernable effort. Now at face level with him, you get a bit bolder and lean in to kiss him. He kisses you back, pleased, beginning to walk the two of you over towards the bed.

He sets you down gently atop the soft mattress, kisses pushing you backwards to lie back on the bed. He scoops your wrists up and leisurely moves your arms up above your head. His grip is benign as he releases one hand in favor of holding your jaw. Your kiss is deep and controlled on his part, but in a way that makes you feel light in the head. You like the cloudy-sensation very much.

After a while, he pulls back to look at you with clouded eyes. 

He practically purrs, “You’re such a kind girl. So sweet to everyone, all the time. Will you let me be sweet to you?”

Your breath is shaky as you nod, attempts at hiding your anticipation failing.

He nods back at you with a faux-sympathy across his face. “Let me hear you say it.”

You force air into your lungs, giving you the willpower to speak the words. “Will you touch me? Please?”

The corners of his lips turn up, “Of course, sweet girl.”

He nips at your jaw as his hands travel down, petting the inside of your thighs with a touch so feather light it almost tickles.

Your knee jerks inward towards his hand, your body desperately seeking out more of this new sensation. He obliges, tracing his touch back up, up, up until his hand dips under the lace trim of your panties, skimming over your clit. Your hips flinch back away from him momentarily in surprise, only to press back forward a second later.

He actually laughs at the action, like it’s endearing. You feel a little silly for it, but you’re not given much time to dwell as he persists, brushing against you with a bit more pressure.

He tilts his head, watching your expression carefully with a remarkably pleased look on his own face. “How’s that, sweet girl?”

You nod, beside yourself. “Feels good,” you whimper. “Feels really good..”

You don’t necessarily mean to, but your hips grind up against his touch, your body too mesmerized with the sensation to remember to be embarrassed.

He’s certainly not complaining about it though, his quiet coos encouraging you to chase the feeling. 

He lets you grind up against his hand, taking in the needy look on your face with contentment.

“Poor girl,” he tuts. “Just need somebody to take care of you, huh?”

That makes your cheeks burn, but your attention finds itself more concerned with the urge to squeeze your thighs together.

You whine when he pulls his hand back out of your underwear, only for him to stand resolute in his actions. 

“Not yet, sweet thing,” he hums, pressing you back down to the bed with a light but firm touch when you try to sit up. 

He hushes you gently, murmuring for you to be patient as he shifts his position over you. 

He starts to move down your body, leaving kisses in his wake. The sensation of his lips tracing down your stomach has you feeling butterflies.

By the time he reaches your waistline you’re borderline dizzy from the anticipation, squeezing your legs together in an attempt to alleviate the ache.

He pauses there for a moment, torturously, and noses at the seam of your panties. A whine from you has him chuckling and finally moving to where you need him.

He kisses your clit over your underwear and you’re fighting thoughts of embarrassment over how sure you are he can taste how wet you are over the fabric.

It doesn’t seem to be enough for him though, as he tugs your panties down slowly, kissing your thighs as he goes.

Bruce’s hands hold onto your waist as he eats you out, holding you in place with an easy grip. 

You squirm against the feel of his tongue and you can’t quite figure out what to do with your hands. You almost wish he’d made you keep them above your head but really you’re not sure you’d be able to keep it together if he had. You’re not sure you’re keeping it together now.

He groans against your pussy, and one of your hands flies to grip his hair without permission from your brain. If you’re being honest with yourself though, your brain isn’t really the one calling the shots anymore.

You gasp when he licks a bold stripe, “Bruce—”

He groans again, briefly breaking away from you. “Oh, say that again.”

You sigh out, “Bruce, please.” 

He makes a pleased hum. “Good girl,” he murmurs before diving back in. 

He complies with your pleas generously, giving you more. He’s gradual but resolute as he inserts two fingers into you, giving you the time to adjust. But he’d evidently done a very thorough job prepping you for it, you’re so wet that the initial entry doesn’t sting like you’d expected. No, rather the first thing you register is closer to pleasure. A lot closer.

He begins to pump in and out of you at he continues to suck at your clit, and somewhere during you have a distinct thought of “oh this is it.”

You let out a little gasp and for once, you break out of your own head and just relish in the way his fingers curl inside you.

The way your thighs squeeze around him as you come, doesn’t hinder him one bit, only has him applying his ministrations with more intent. It doesn’t take long for the trembling of your body to give way to full on shaking, your body stuttering beneath him.

He continues working at you the entire way through your orgasm, until you’re flinching from overstimulation. 

He gives you one more lick before looking up at you with hooded eyes. “Y’taste sweet too, you know that?”

You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks as he starts to move back up to face-level, kissing the high point of your cheekbone.  

He pulls down on your bottom lip, your slick wet against your mouth.

You open without question, a clouding urge to please him the only thing running through your mind. 

He grumbles a low, pleased sound as you do, moving his hand only to provide room for him to kiss you again.

He sits back up over you and starts unbuttoning his shirt and you realize only now that he’s still fully dressed. 

He glances down to his belt as he undoes the buttons. 

“Will you help me out, sweet girl?”

You blink a couple times before registering the request, still overwhelmed by how quickly and skillfully he’d made you come. 

You struggle a bit to push yourself up into a sitting position, but he supports you by your waist, nipping along your jaw as encouragement.

Your hands shake as you undo the clasp, and while you’re still very much eager, if not moreso, you’re suddenly confronted with the very real possibility that you’re about to have your limits pushed. He ate you out and did a damn good job, stands to reason that he’d want you to return the favor.

So it takes you by surprise when he’s nudging you back against the pillows, removing his pants himself.

He keeps you occupied with an intense kiss as he does, and the distraction so smooth it’s almost like it’s rehearsed. 

You follow his lead easily, though surprised by his lack of desire to get his fill too.

He drapes himself over you nicely, his size easily dwarfing you out. He’s quick to block your chin from tilting down, gently bringing your face back up to meet his. 

He shakes his head lightly, murmuring, “Don’t worry about that. I got you.”

You are worried about it, but you trust Bruce, you know you do now.

You feel the weight of his cock against your stomach, at this exact moment, feeling like not much more than a daunting task.

“S’alright, sweet girl,” he lulls, brushing your hair back. “Okay?”

As heavy as the simple question is, you don’t need to think about it before you’re nodding and moving your hand to hold onto his bicep.

He peppers kisses all over your face as he starts to push in, effectively starting to distract you from the pain of the stretch. He hushes your whines soothingly and kneads at your waist with confident hands.

Your arms lock around his shoulders on instinct, your eyes squeezing shut as you try to convince yourself he’s almost all the way in, but you know you’ve got aways to go.

He pauses halfway, imploring you to open your eyes so he can check up on you properly.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he softly urges.

You will yourself to blink up at him and try to take on the challenge of both him and his gaze. Surely, an impossible task.

But you manage shaky eye contact that occasionally gives way to glancing down at his lips. 

It doesn’t feel good yet, but it only makes you more eager to keep going.

“I’m okay,” you nod, taking a breath. “You can keep going.”

He waits to find that reassurance in your eyes before he continues to push in, bestowing you a deep kiss in reward for your bravery.

Once he’s nearly bottomed out he waits a moment, then begins to rock in and out slowly, letting you get used to a starter of the sensation.

He brushes your hair back, weaving through the strands. “There we go,” he coos as you look down between you. “Doing so good.”

Your gasp is louder than they had been before, and closer to a sigh now. 

He’s fucking you gently, with a decorum that exceeds what you’d earlier told yourself you were stupid for hoping for.

It doesn’t take long at all for his movement to start to feel really good and your grip around his shoulders comes around to a different kind of intensity.

He noses against your jaw, applying kisses whenever  convenient. “‘S that feel good, sweet girl? Hm?”

He hits a particularly deep spot in you immediately after and it makes you borderline squeak. He huffs out a laugh that’s nothing short of affectionate. 

“Yeah?”

He then attacks that spot with extra intention, hitting it absolutely expertly every time. He speeds up a little, lips latched onto your neck as he fucks you nice and deep.

He drops a hand down between you and starts rubbing circles onto your clit with a pace that makes you want to scream.

You can’t help the moan you release when he teeths at your neck, clearly aiming to drive you crazy. But damn if he isn’t going about it the right way.

His circles pick up pace and you can be sure you’re leaving nail marks on his back. He seems to only get more encouraged by your sounds, working you closer and closer to the edge with every whimper.

He finally lets you over after a minute of shamelessly relishing in your moans, himself following close after.

He continues moving in and out of you until you’ve both completely finished, slowly coming to a stop. 

You get a moment to catch your breath before he pulls out delicately. You don’t even realize he’s moved before he’s got his boxers back on and is halfway to the bathroom.

You’re a little alarmed by the sudden shift in proximity, though you guess that’s the playboy experience, isn’t it? After a second you hear water running and assume he’s taking a shower.

You push yourself to sit up fully, minding your achy thighs, and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You glance at the foot of the bed where your underwear lies, then back over by the couch where the rest of your clothes lay discarded. You briefly contemplate how quickly you can get your clothes back on when the bathroom doors open again.

You glance up at Bruce, dazed, who looks surprised himself to see you sitting up. As he makes his way back to the bed you notice the supplies he has in tow and your brain begins to slowly start turning its gears again.

You don’t realize the glass of water in his hand is for you until he’s pushed it into your palm. 

His other hand carries a wet wash cloth that you, again, aren’t able to register the purpose for until it’s in action. 

“Drink,” he tells you as he spreads your knees apart gently, wiping away the mess between your legs with a notable amount of compassion for your sensitivity.

You do, gulping a few as he finishes, tossing the rag in a hamper before setting your glass down on the side table.

Your eyes return to the end of the bed and you nearly decide to get up, but he’s still standing so close to you, you’re not sure this is the right time.

You seem caught halfway between decisions now, you know you do. You’d honestly preferred when you thought he’d just ditched you for a shower because at least then this part wouldn’t be so awkward.

He watches you closely as you deliberate and seems to draw a conclusion about your hesitation rather quickly. His brow pinches as he processes, tilting his head at you. 

“You’ve got to be joking,” he says, bewildered. “Right?”

“I—” you falter, looking to the couch and back to him again. “No?”

He stares at you for a moment with an expression you can’t define.

“Lay down.”

You don’t have a second to process before he’s climbing back in bed too, pulling you down to lay your head on the pillow.

He pulls the covers over you and splays an arm over your waist, clearly firm in his decision for you to stay.

Your eyes are heavy and his bed is so comfortable, it’s difficult for you to even consider either of you wanting you to leave now.

Maybe you’ll just sleep for a little while, get some of your energy back. 

The way he traces soft patterns across your stomach certainly encourages the idea and doesn’t give you much power to resist.

You let your eyes flutter shut to the feather-light touch and listen to the steady deepness of his breaths.

Well, this isn’t so bad either.

🐲 reblogging is an ancient art form, only the strong may master it 🐲

Sugar on the Rim vol. I

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

warnings: implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), mentions of sex, smut in next part

You twist the stem of the wine glass around between your fingers slowly. Your chin rests atop your knees as you stare vacantly at the tiny puddle left of the drink. You could go refill it, but then you’d have to go back out to the main room and man…you really do not want to do that. So you’ll sit here, swiping your tongue across the bumps of the roof of your mouth as if it's a fascinating new discovery.

The creak of hinges has you shooting upright, your back thumping against the stair step behind you. You’re not immediately sure how to act as though it’s normal that you’re sitting in the stairwell outside the fundraiser rather than in it, fraternizing with old and new money alike. You freeze, trying to relax your posture so it doesn’t look like you’re alarmed at the sight of another person, but not so relaxed that you look as bored as you are.

Your neutrality stutters when you glance up to find the host of the fundraiser. The billionaire host of the fundraiser. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire host of the fundraiser. Your posture straightens right back up and your mouth snaps shut as you make eye contact.

Should you stand up? 

No, he’s rich, not royalty. 

You are in his house though—

He looks you over contemplatively, “I don’t know you,” It’s not accusatory, rather he says it like it’s something interesting.

You perk up at that, immediately formulating reasons to justify your presence. “Oh, uh, no—” the words nearly spill out of your mouth all at once. You clear your throat, “I’m just a plus one for my boss—”

“Who’s your boss?” he asks, relaxed. 

“Arthur Mullins.”

He looks to the side, squinting, “Mullins…he’s the executive at Williamson Industries, yes?”

You nod and he returns the gesture, slower, like he’s processing through something. “I’m Bruce,” he says warmly after a moment, holding his hand out to you.

You nod before you can even think to get any words to come out, “I—yeah, I know,” you accept his hand, shaking it as you tell him your name.

There’s a slight glint in his eye when he hears your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. “A pretty name.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Just your name. But rather than fill him in on that fascinating tidbit, you let the sentence die off.

He smiles kindly anyway, “What are you doing in here? Party’s out there, or so they tell me.”

“I…I’m hiding in here,” you admit sheepishly.

He leans in towards you slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret—so am I,” he smiles at you like it’s easy.

Your grin matches his, “It’s your party,”

“That’s why I need to hide.” He tilts his head, “Doesn’t give you much of an excuse though, does it?”

“I don’t know anybody here.”

He puckers his bottom lip contemplatively, “Your boss.”

You shake your head, “I’m just his assistant. I’m pretty sure he just brought me as a precaution in case he needed a designated driver.”

He laughs at that, “Based on the way I’ve seen Mullins’ attempts to operate, his assistant would have to be a hell of a lot more important than just a designated driver.”

Well, he’s certainly right about that. Your boss doesn’t exactly “have it together” per se. He’s an unorganized man with little to justify his importance in Gotham, so he tends to insist on taking on more responsibility than he has any business having. Not to mention, he’s a bit of a try-hard and you’re constantly left to sweep up the pieces of his reputation that he shattered himself. Not to say he’s necessarily unprofessional, he just will do anything and everything to prove he belongs in any given space. It’s honestly a bit exhausting to watch. It’s more exhausting to try and convince him that the exchange went well afterwards.

You nod slowly, eyes on his shoes. “Mr. Mullins has…a unique approach to business. It does usually leave me fairly busy, I’ll give you that.” You take a quick deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “But that means I occasionally get to go to fancy parties where I don’t know anyone, so..”

“Well then it sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” he ribs, “Or don’t you agree?”

You smile coyly, “I would never be so bold.”

“I don’t mind boldness. For example, the reason I came in here is because he spotted me.”

You laugh at that, “Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Mr. Wayne,” you suppress your smile as you pause, choosing your words carefully. “I think he’s just networking.” He doesn’t have the money to give.

He nods surely, “He’s definitely just networking.” He really doesn’t have the money to give. You allow just the faintest wisp of a smile to adorn your face as you look down again.

You check the time and realize that you’ve been hiding away for too long and that if he hasn’t already, your boss will notice soon. You sigh quietly to yourself, “I should..”

He turns his head to the closed door where the chatter can be heard from beyond, sighing in defeat as he shakes his head looking back at you. “So should I.”

You feel a bit insecure as you stand, the gown you’re wearing is pretty but it is very much affordable and you’re sure someone as wealthy as Bruce Wayne would know the difference.

If he does notice he makes no deal of it, motioning you forward gallantly to walk ahead of him.

He follows after you, hands behind his back. “Would it be rude of me to ask you to distract him while I run for the bar?”

It’s busy, even for a Sunday afternoon, and you have to sidestep past someone nearly every step you take. You stick next to the windows of the line of boutiques down the road, trying to balance window shopping and not bumping into other pedestrians.

You're in a nicer district of Gotham, truthfully an area you don't quite belong in. So far you’ve only managed to find a couple shops that weren’t several ranges above your budget. 

A call of your name has you blinking rapidly and turning around as if you’re lost. It doesn’t take long for you to pick the six foot two billionaire out of the crowd and it’s only half a second longer before you realize he’s walking towards you. A few people collide shoulders with you as they move past thoughtlessly, no regard for the personal space of the idiot that stopped in the flow of traffic.

You let him approach a couple feet closer before you ask him, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?” The presence of his figure in front of you allows for a break from being bumped into, as he seemingly makes for a far more easily seen and intentionally avoided target.

He sways a bit, “Bruce. I’m not sure yet,” he looks down to the couple of bags you’re holding, extending his hand out. “May I?”

It takes you just a moment to move past your surprise at the request, allowing him to hold them for you. “Are you in a rush?”

You shake your head quicker than you meant to, “No, I—not at all,” he gestures his head forward, allowing you to walk before him.

You traipse ahead in silence for a moment before deciding against biting your tongue, “What exactly is it you’re not sure about?”

He raises his voice a bit so you can hear him over the crowd, “Whether or not you’ve got plans on the 19th.”

You look back at him, “What’s on the 19th?”

He stops with you as you admire a set of jewelry inside a window display, “We’re hosting a gala for something or something else, hopefully less boring than the fundraiser.”

You blink, “You’re inviting me?” He nods. “Why?”

“I could use someone who wants to be there even less than I do.”

He said it so casually it takes you a second to even register his meaning. You blink, face contorting defensively, “That’s not—” you can barely make out the smile on his face as he continues on walking.

You shake your composure back together and trail after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t think Mr. Mullins would be very happy to hear that I’m attending a business gala without him.”

He shakes his head as he scans over the crowd, “He can’t fire you for that.”

“He’ll try.” He would. A petty little man, he is. 

He scans across the rows of clothes leisurely. “Well, then he can speak to me about it. Besides, it wouldn’t be for business.” And then he just lets that sentence linger.

It takes you a moment to recover from those words and begin to start processing the world around you again. After a few more feet down the sidewalk he pulls you gently to the side by your lower arm, out of the rush of traffic, and looks at you dead on, “What do you think?”

You try not to waver under the weight of the eye contact, “I don’t…uh, I don’t really have…” you look down, hoping to get the message across without actually having to say the words.

He glances into the store window next to you and raises his eyebrows, “Well then I’d say we’re in the right place.”

You can’t manage to tell him that this store is definitely far too expensive for you, walking through the door as he opens it for you, albeit apprehensively.

Well. Up close window shopping is more fun anyways. 

The spotless white of the floors and walls has you intimidated, and just as much so by less by the no doubt designer clothes lining the walls. The saleswomen all look pretty highbrow themselves, hair up in tight buns and uniforms chic.

You only break from gawking at the store to look behind you at Bruce. You note the way his eyes roam around blindly, looking for something and clearly having no means to narrow down where it might be. You take one more glance around, immediately finding the women's section with no such difficulty. 

“This way.” You say, nodding your head over to the left. He recovers nicely and lets you lead the way towards the section of dresses. You peer back at him, “You don’t seem like someone that does much of his own shopping.”

Thankfully, he laughs at that. “Well, special occasions.”

You keep your gaze ahead this time, asking as casually as you can, “Is this a special occasion?”

He hums in consideration, “I’d say so.”

You stop upon approaching the dress section, taking in the immediately stunning display of options. 

“What are you doing up here anyways?” you ask, hand brushing across a particularly plush dress.

“Ah, I was headed to a meeting.”

“Oh,” you frown, looking at him. “Don’t you need to go?”

He shakes his head with a puckered lower lip, “No.”

A few seemingly heiresses roam down the aisle mindlessly, not caring much that you’re in their path. 

Bruce sees them before you do, knowing well that they were not going to excuse themselves. “Sweetheart,” he nudges you gently to the side, closer to him as the group passes. His hand remained open-palmed and flat as he guided you to the side, seemingly very careful not to touch you with uninvited boldness. Though you’re quite shaken by the chivalry of the gesture, a brazen touch wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.

As your arm brushes against a rack of clothing your gaze follows, met with something rather appealing.

Bruce is quick to notice you admiring the sleek black dress that looks like something you’d see a model wearing on a runway. “You like that one?”

“It’s nice, yeah,” you murmur, not really thinking. You flip the price tag over and your face drops. “It’s $800.”

He nods thoughtfully, “We can find a nicer one,” he says, though it’s clear he knows exactly what your problem with the price tag was.

“I can’t—” you restart, “I would never have a reason to wear something this nice again.”

He shakes his head coolly, “That’s alright.”

Your shoulders drop and your head tilts seriously, “It’s not, though.”

“You like it?” He looks you in the eyes, his own searching for a truthful answer.

“I mean, of course, but it—”

He nods affirmatively, “Then we’ll get it. Problem solved.” He turns his back to the rack, casually observing the rest of the store goers. “Pick your size.”

Apparently not one to argue, you thumb through the row until you find one that should fit. 

You sigh, realizing that you’re running out of time to mention that you don’t have $800 to spend on a dress. “I can’t—”

“You don’t need to,” he says simply as he takes the dress off the rack and drapes it across his arm, making his way towards the salescounter.

You try to stop your mouth from hanging open as you follow, “It really is okay, I don’t need—”

His grin cuts you off, just in time for you to hear him mutter, “Sweet girl..” to himself. You stop right in your tracks, feeling very thankful that he’s not looking at you right now because you’re certain the look on your face would give you away.

He still doesn’t face you as he calls out, “Come on,” as he continues on.

Obviously you’re not stupid. You know what type of intentions a billionaire playboy must have with a younger girl that he doesn’t even really know. However, if said billionaire is offering to buy you a pretty dress…no, you’re not sleeping with him because he bought you a dress—of course not—and you’ve made absolutely no promises to do so, so what’s the harm in letting him? Really?

And yeah, maybe it’s a plus that he’s not bad looking, but how is that your fault?

You stand a bit awkwardly next to him as he puts his card in the machine, not even glancing at the outrageous number, and declines the offer for the receipt.

As you exit the store together and stand at the doors as he hands your original two bags back to you along with the new shiny black one that on its own looks like something people would pay for.

“You will be there?” he asks, eyes more hopeful than you were prepared for. 

You nod, gesturing the bag up, “Well you just bought me the dress.”

He shrugs that off, “I would’ve bought you the dress anyways.”

You linger in the midst of the ado wearing a dress that you feel far too overshadowed by, fidgeting with the half empty wine glass in your hand. Unfortunately, this time around you were invited by the host of the event and it would be extra rude to run away and hide. That doesn’t stop you from considering it, though.

A hand sliding across your lower back has you momentarily startled, and for reasons you couldn’t quite verbalize, you’d naturally assumed it was Bruce. The disappointment rings strong when you turn around to be met with the sight of an even older man, who looks considerably wine drunk. 

“Hello there, Miss.,” The words themselves are polite but the salacious smile on his face and the way his eyes have no trouble roaming your body gives you a solid idea of what this conversation is going to entail.

“Hello,” you fake a polite, tight smile and shift your attention to the rest of the room. 

This does nothing to deter him, as he takes a sizable step back into your line of sight. “Having a nice time?” 

The man is clearly from money, if his attire didn’t give it away his attitude sure did. There’s an heir of entitlement around him, like he’s inherently deservant of your attention—a quality you were notably surprised to not have found in Bruce. 

You give him your faux-smile again, this time tighter but half a second longer for the sake of politeness. A rookie mistake.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, gesturing to the bar.

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say, gesturing your wine glass up.

A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face, but to his credit, he does a better job recovering from it than you would have expected. Though, that’s not really saying much. “Well, pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone here,”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Both of your heads snap to the side, finding a much more welcome surprise than you’d previously received. 

Your counterpart's posture straightens immediately, “Mr. Wayne,” he fawns, “What a lovely event you’ve thrown. I’m sure the Bernsteins will be appreciative.”

Bruce hums, eyes narrowed slightly. “You are…”

The man startles and rushes to finish off his sentence, “Alexander Watson, senior executive to the accounting department for the research wing of the company.”

He nods slowly, no recognition actually present in his eyes. “Ah. The research wing of the company that just blew fifteen million dollars on prototype self-operating cell phones.”

You’re trying hard to fight the smile creeping up on your face.

“What exactly is a self-operating cell phone?”

Watson’s face drops, hurrying to justify his approval of the proposal’s funding. As he rambles, Bruce’s gaze lowers to where Watson has once again placed his hand on your hip, though he’s not close enough to you for it to rest fully or naturally. You don’t know him well but you can say confidently that he doesn’t look pleased. 

He looks back up to Watson, attitude challenging. “Surely you’re not poking around where you’re unwelcome?”

Watson stutters at that, blinking and shaking his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! I was just hoping to provide the young lady with some company. That’s all.”

“And so you have.”

“I—,” about two steps behind in this conversation, Watson finally decides to retreat, “Yes, good evening, Mr. Wayne.” He bows his head and shuffles away back into the crowd.

“Mr. Wayne,” you smile knowingly, turning to him. “How are you?”

The hardness of his gaze fades quickly as he takes in your appearance, quite liking how you wear the dress you’d picked out.

“Things are looking up,” he smiles, “You look lovely.”

 “Thank you,” you glance over to where Watson has made his way to the bar, likely about to down an entire glass. “Mr., uh, Mr. Watson makes quite the impression.”

His smile turns a bit sullen, “You know last year he tried to convince the board that battery-powered battery chargers were going to be the next big thing?”

You blink, tilting your head, “Thought you didn’t know who he was.”

His eyes are fixed on the wall as he tugs the corner of his lip down, knowing he’s been caught but not really caring. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long, it seems everyone needs my attention at these things.”

“At the gala that you threw? I’d imagine so.”

He rolls past that smoothly, “You’re having a good time?”

“I am,” you say with a confirming head bob.

He regards the room with a numb expression, “You know, I think I’m getting bored with all of this.”

You smile at him, brow furrowed, “It’s only been an hour.”

He looks at you, eyes wide. “It’s only been an hour?” He’s exaggerating his surprise to make you smile, and it works.

“I think we should go,” he says lower.

You stare at him, bemused. “You still have a whole room full of guests.” 

He shrugs, “They’ll filter out on their own eventually.” 

He clocks your hesitation easily, accurately noting it to be more out of politeness than actually wanting to stay at the party. “What, you’re not ready to leave?”

You look around at all the mostly old, posh guests, disinterested small talk evident all across the room. You take a breath, “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

He smiles and leads you out a side door and through a corridor that’s significantly longer than you’d expected. 

“Do you always ditch your parties this early?” you ask, following closely.

He makes a sharp right at the next doorway, “If I can manage it.”

You look around at the high wooden ceilings and grand furniture. “Aren’t some of them friends of yours?”

He shakes his head, “My friends aren’t here.”

You frown at that, “Then why do you throw them at all?”

“Why did you show up last weekend?”

You nod slowly, understanding. “It’s your job.”

He returns the nod, adding, “Only difference is, there’s not a chance in hell you get paid enough for the work you do for Mullins.”

For the sake of maintaining your wishful facade of professionalism, you’re going to not acknowledge that incredibly accurate statement. Instead you smile politely and continue on walking. He seems to get the implication, returning it with an even brighter adornment.

“Well, money’s money,” you say wryly.

His smile fades a bit, “You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that.” 

You shrug, “A day in the life,”

He looks sullen upon hearing that, with more sympathy than you’d have expected from someone of his stature. He’s done nothing if not surprise you, though.

“Here,” he says, taking hold of the handle of a glass door. It opens to a garden, lit up beautifully by the moon and outdoor light. A fountain sits in the middle, water rhythmically gushing out of the top and trickling down the sides. The bite of the Gotham night air burns at your cheeks a bit and you find yourself thankful the dress you’d chosen is so long.

Bruce leads the way to an expensive marble bench positioned nicely in front of it, allowing you to sit first before following suit. Your hands find a place in your lap, clasped together awkwardly in an attempt to find warmth through contact.

It takes Bruce less than ten seconds to stand, remove his suit jacket, and drape it over your shoulders before sitting back down. The material is thicker and warmer than you would’ve expected, surely reminiscent of the perks of being owned by a billionaire.

He doesn’t look at you to acknowledge the grateful expression on your face, simply carrying on like it didn’t happen. “Was hoping it was warmer,” he murmurs.

Your focus momentarily goes to the icy cold stone of the bench under your thighs, initially finding it uncomfortable before deciding the coolness actually felt quite soothing. You remove your gaze from the gray stone and turn your head to find Bruce already focused on you.

You start to say something, though you’re not sure what it would’ve been, when he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down.

Well, he certainly knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

His eyes stay on your lower lip as he murmurs, “You’re a pretty girl, you know that?” 

God, he’s a professional.

You look up at him and refrain from saying anything, waiting to see if he follows it up with something that will make you regret agreeing to coming out here with him.

He doesn’t.

You shift, moving your hands off your lap to rest on the stone under you. “You can’t just do this—”

He smiles and lowers his chin to look you in the eyes, “Then what can I do for you?”

“You—” you blink rapidly, “Stop it.”

His coy beam persists, “Stop what?”

You raise your gaze up to him ever so slightly, a pouty expression across your face that you’re trying to sell as serious. “You’re trying to make me nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head down further, a ghost of a smile echoing on his lips, “I don’t mean to, sweet girl.”

Your eyes drop to the ground, biting your tongue. “Yeah.”

His simper grows, “I’m serious. I’d hate to scare away a new friend.”

You laugh at that and he perks up a bit at the sound, “What? We’re not friends?”

You cock your head to the side, “You’re the one who said none of your friends are here.”

He hums, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

“You think so?” You should probably stop flirting so much. 

“Yeah,” he leans in a bit closer, “I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Maybe I want to be your friend,” his hand finds a place atop yours. 

Your eyes flicker across his face as he closes in, “What if I don’t want to be yours?”

His eyes are on your lips, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

You take a slow deep breath, “Your intentions are blurry.”

He smiles lightly, amused. “We’ll have to clear that up then, won’t we?” His lips are inches away and his voice is soft as he says, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

You look up at him eyes wide, barely processing his words as you nod. He gently grasps your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up. His other hand finds the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you with intention. Your hands hover in the air for a second before holding onto his forearms. 

He breaks the kiss only to give you another sweet one right after. Your mouths remain close when it’s over, eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. You stay like that for a moment until he kisses you once more on your cheekbone before pulling away. His hands drop to rest on your knees, the weight of them gentle.

He hums lowly, “Sweet thing..”

Being under the heaviness of his gaze leaves you feeling vulnerable. It’s starting to get you concerned with the potential levity and implications of kissing him. The expectations.

“You…” you stare down at where his hands meet your skin, not quite sure that you actually meant to start that sentence. 

“What?” he frowns, brow pinched. Your chin lowers further as your mouth forms a tight line. He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. What is it?” he asks gently.

It takes a surge of willpower for you to get the sentence out, “You just want to sleep with me..”

He frowns harder at that, pulling back a bit. “No. I’m…” he sighs, “I’m not trying to lure you in just to toss you out right after.”

That makes you look up again. His voice has a sincerity to it that you weren’t prepared for. 

He continues, “I would like to, yes. Yeah. You’re beautiful, of course I would, but..” he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you, “No, that’s not the most important thing to me.”

You break eye contact again, thinking over his words. If that’s not the most important thing to him, what is? You can’t think of what else he could possibly want from you, a billionaire who could have anything he wants..the only thing you could have to offer in his eyes is sex. 

Right?

He exhales, “If you want to leave, I’ll call you a car. No hard feelings.” He nudges your chin up gently so you’ll look at him, but he gives you the freedom to fight against it if you wanted to.

You let him move you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you tell him, looking into his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” he says it like it’s automatic. You physically can’t help but roll your eyes at the corniness of it. He doubles down, though, “Seriously. Anything.”

You smile in disbelief, shaking your head.

“Alright,” he returns your smile, straightening, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Do you need a ride home?”

You blink at him, “I’m going home?”

“You are,” he nods softly, “Do you need a ride?”

“No.”

He nods again, more like he’s working through something in his head. “Okay. You’re going to go home and think through what you want. If you decide you want to, come back here next Saturday.” he stands up, extending his hand out to you, “Then you can let me know what else you want and we can get to work on that too.”

You start to shake your head, “I can—” 

He drops his chin seriously, “Think on it.”

You relent easily, taking his hand and coming to a stand.

“Alright?” Again, his question is genuine. He does really want to know if you’re on board with this plan. 

Already going against his request, you agree without a thought, “Okay.”

He starts to lead you back over to the garden door with a head nod and a kind smile.

It ultimately was not a decision you had to think very hard on.

You’d considered every scenario of how this could play out and none of them ended with regret as far as you could guess.

You’ll still admit though, there was one scenario you had missed, apparently, which is why you were immeasurably confused when you showed up and he invited you to play chess.

He’s not wearing a fancy three piece suit this time, but his clothes are still very nice. With the sunlight peeking through the windows, you’re able to see the manor more clearly than you had been the other night. It really is a beautiful home, clearly very old and charmed, but there’s a lot of little details of character and history scattered around. There’s portraits and photographs of his parents from when he was young and furniture decorated with trinkets all throughout, kept absolutely spotless and dust free. Everything is neat and tidy but there’s still traces of the house being lived in with the patched throw pillows and worn carpets. Still, it’s very, very placid.

You’ve met new money plenty of times over the course of dealing with countless businessmen for Mr. Mullins but old money is something entirely different. You don’t really have a frame of reference here. New money is almost always brash and demanding, they like things done quickly and correctly the first time around. They’re usually not very interested in hearing what you have to say (even if it would save them a lot of trouble) and prefer it when the assistants women keep their mouths shut. Bruce has proven to be very different from these standards already and you’re not sure where to begin with placing new ones.

You’re about halfway through a second game, and while you’re not awful at chess, you get the impression that he’s easing up on you considerably.

You sit on the floor in front of a short coffee table, the game having no clear lead so far.

“I think this is stressing me,” you mumble, no actual weight behind your words.

“It’s just chess,” he says, not looking up from the board.

You watch him move his knight forward as you ask, “And that’s all we’re doing?”

“As it stands, yes,” he looks up at you, though you don’t return his gaze.

“Yeah,” you sigh, sliding your rook, “But later?”

“Later?”

“Well, you said...” you meet his eyes, “You said you wanted to sleep with me.”

He nods slowly, “I do. Is that alright?”

You consider it for a moment. You already knew that, if you really weren’t okay with it you wouldn’t have come here. And yeah, the idea makes you a little shaky, but in a good way.

“Yes,” you tell him, moving your queen forward two spaces.

“Are you sure?” he presses, moving to sit on the side of the table rather than behind it.

You do the same, sitting on your knees. “Yeah, I just..” you shift your weight, eyes wandering. “I’m not…overly experienced.”

He just smiles at that, like it’s endearing. Your words didn’t quite convey your meaning but your tone did. In any case, he understands the implication. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not going to throw you in the deep end.”

You nod, looking down again.

“You’re nervous,” he comments.

“No, I’m—I mean, maybe,” your voice is barely a murmur by the end of the sentence.

He’s quiet for a moment, observing the way you fiddle with your rings. “What if we get you something pretty to wear? Something that makes you feel pretty. Whatever you want.”

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, opening and pulling out a lump of cash without even looking. He holds the money out to you wordlessly and you can see from the bill on the outside that it’s at least a couple hundred dollars.

You shake your head instantly, “I can’t take that.”

He doesn’t put the money down but his eyes turn to begging. “Please. I just want you to feel good.”

“Bruce—”

He wavers a bit at that but it’s more of a falter than you’ve seen from him before so it’s easy to take notice of. “What?”

He shrugs barely, “I like when you say my name.”

Your eye contact holds for a moment and your resolve starts to shake almost instantly.

You exhale, “I’m not taking more than a hundred.”

“Two hundred.”

“Bruce.”

He smiles and picks out some of the cash and pockets it, handing you the rest. You don’t comment on the fact that it’s a hundred and fifty more than you’d agreed on.

You look down at the money in your hand like it’s a foreign object, shaking your head. “I don’t even know what to get.”

His thumbs start to rub reassuring circles by the bend of your knees, “Anything you want,” he tells you. “What do you like? Silk, lace, cotton, anything.”

You look up, tilting your head at him with a furrowed brow. “It doesn’t matter what I like, th—”

“It only matters what you like,” He says seriously, lowering himself to meet your gaze. “I’ll love it, no matter what you pick. Don’t worry about that.”

You lean forward a bit instinctually, “Okay.”

His eyes scan across your face in something that you can only recognize as awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.

“I want to kiss you again,” he says, voice even quieter.

Your eyes go to his mouth and you can only manage a nod, lips already parted.

He moves forward not a second later, kissing you with more fire than you’d gotten to see the other night. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing lightly as you hook one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

You hear the clatter of chess pieces falling over as he moves nearer to you, large frame leaning over you. You push up on your knees, meeting his lips up at his level. His hands caress around your hips as the kiss gets deeper.

You just start to fumble with the hem of his shirt when he takes your hands in his, pulling them away before breaking the kiss.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he smiles, nudging you back with little force.

You groan, “Why?”

He barks out a laugh at that, stroking your hips again. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on the floor.”

“Then let's go somewhere else,” you nod up towards the stairs.

He shakes his head, that soft smile still playing on his lips. “Not tonight.”

You sit back on your heels again, frowning.

He brushes your hair back, murmuring, “No. But for now, I'll kiss you ‘til you can’t think if that’s what you want.”

You really hope you didn’t perk up at that as much as you think you did.

part two

🌾🌽 i heard a rumor that if you like without reblogging your crops will be cursed but hey what do i know 🌾🌽

Save Me

IMAGINE: You and Bruce had always had your ups and downs, but hey, if you were dating Batman, wouldn’t you? But, the two of you hit a major rough patch, one that forced you to leave. It’s difficult to get over him, but hey, Rome wasn’t built in a day. How hard could it be? WORD COUNT: 2.7k

Batman.

Everyone knew who he was. The Dark Knight of Gotham City. He was their official/unofficial protector. He was loved by some and hated by others.

Bruce Wayne.

He was almost just as popular as the dark crusader. But just as hated. To some, he was just as heartless as the devil.

Combined, you knew them as your boyfriend. Yeah, your boyfriend. You knew the billionaire's habit of dressing up at night and fighting criminals. Nothing about it really bothered you. Only the nights he came home with awful looking wounds.

Other than his dark counterpart and his billionaire persona, you loved Bruce just the same. Underneath that tough exterior was a man in need of love. And you were the perfect person to supply it.

Or so you thought.

It all ended on a cloudy night. Gotham was quiet, as if it too knew what was to come. That didn't stop a handful of idiots attempting to break into Wayne Industries. As Bruce left to deal with them, you had given him a kiss for luck.

That would be the last kiss you would have given him in a long time.

"Hey Bruce," you greet the billionaire as he entered the kitchen. You quickly grabbed a mug of coffee you prepared for your boyfriend and held it out. "How did it go?"

Ignoring your offering, Bruce carefully made his way around you. "That bad?" With a small grunt, you watch him slink down the hallway. Setting the cup down and follow him. "What happened?" You ask him again, walking into your shared bedroom.

Another damn grunt. Whatever happened definitely reached a sore spot.

With a small huff, you sit down next to Bruce on the bed. He flinches at the closeness. Hiding your hurt, you grab his hand. As you run your thumb across his calloused palm, you lean against him.

"Don't do this to me," you plead quietly.

Bruce had a thing. Sometimes when being Batman got too rough, he would shut everything out to control himself. You would be pushed away until he dealt with whatever problem he had.

"I have no choice," Bruce replied roughly, surprising you. He would never talk to you during his moods.

"We always have a choice," you tell him. "They're not always the best, but we all have decisions to make."

"You're right," your boyfriend agreed. He stood silent, seeming almost content being with you. The silence of the room is almost soothing.

"I can't do this anymore," Bruce suddenly stated.

The words made you freeze. What was he talking about? You had an idea, but kept your mouth shut.

"I thought I could keep this up," he went on. "I don't know what I was thinking when this started, but now I know what to do."

Bruce gently pushes your hand off of his and stands up. You don't even bother to look up as he sighs. "We both knew this day was going to come," he said.

When you don't reply, he sighs louder. "With you in my life, I won't have time to be Batman. This is for the best."

"Is it?" You suddenly ask. Momentarily taken aback by your shaky voice, you steel yourself. "Is it best for you or the people?"

"Don't do this Y/N," Bruce quietly pleaded. It was bad enough he waited this long to tell you. "Let's not make this harder than it should be."

"I'm not the one making this harder. It's you!" You claimed standing up. "Stop lying to me and tell the truth!"

"What more do you want me to say?" Bruce demanded. "What do I need to say that hasn't already been said?"

"Tell me why you want me to leave," you responded, your tone matching his. "You've had other opportunities to get rid of me, but you never did. So why now? What broke you?"

Nothing. He said nothing.

You spent hours, days even, crying over the billionaire as you wondered if he would come back home safe. Sometimes Bruce would return and be surprised that you were even there to greet him. He wanted you to go so badly so you wouldn't have to see him like this, but he was glad you hadn't left.

What changed?

Deciding you didn't want an answer, you turn to the closet and start rummaging through it. Seconds later, you emerge with a large duffel bag. It's filled to the brim with clothes you had packed beforehand.

Storming to the bathroom, you grab another bag from underneath the sink and fill it with your things. "So you've prepared for this?" Bruce asked quietly. It broke his heart when you refused to look at him. But he knew it was for the best.

"Not for this scenario, no," you quickly reply. "But I'm glad I had it, anyway."

The soft sound of clinking metal caught the billionaire's attention quickly. He saw you slipping off the necklace you wore.

"It's yours. Take it," Bruce told you. It shocked him when you shook your head.

"It'll only make it worse."

You gave the chain one last squeeze before you placed it on the dresser. The ring resting on the metal links glistened in the soft light as you tried fighting back your tears.

"Goodbye Bruce," you tell him. It hurts, but you know it's what you have to say. It was for the best.

The hero watches as you leave the room but says nothing. He knows that if he utters a single word, he'd start begging you to stay. But it doesn't stop him from taking a last look.

A Few Months Later...

"How are you holding up Y/N?"

Whoever asked had to repeat it several more times before you snapped out of your daze.

"Did you say something?" You ask your friend. (Male Friend's Name) shakes his head as he takes the crystal flute from your hand and replaced it with a full glass.

"I thought you weren't drinking," he jested quietly as a waiter calmly took the cup from him. Nodding his head in thanks, he (Male Friend) pulled you closer.

"You're not all here, are you?" He asked you softly. He knew the pain you were going through. He sat there by your side as you cried out for the man who left you. It broke (Friend) to see you so out of it.

"Not exactly," you reply quietly. You fiddle with your bracelets as you keep your eyes on the floor. "How did I let you convince me to come to this... Thing?"

(Male Friend) had begged you to join him to a charity ball that was being held in the heart of Gotham City. Since he was an officer of the law, he was officially invited with the rest of his brethren. They also gave him an extra invitation, and he passed it on to you.

(Male Friend) practically got on his knees just to get you to come with him. He knew that you had gone to events like these in the past with Bruce. If it wasn't for the billionaire, you wouldn't have even wasted a thought on a ball.

But since the breakup, you didn't really go out much. (Male Friend) jumped at the opportunity of the charity event, seeing it would get you out of the house. You reluctantly agreed after your friend promised that he'd buy you the next 15 hero movies that came out.

"You never could resist superheroes," (Male Friend) joked, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

'You have no idea,' you thought.

An hour slipped by as your friend dragged you around the large ballroom. He insisted that you meet all of his coworkers and friends that he met over the years.

From previous experiences, you learned to keep a conversation going and to pretend to care what they talked about.

Things were going well until the shooting began.

All over the room, waiters and other banquet servers dropped their things and pulled out hidden automatic weapons. A few near the main doors fired randomly into the air, causing a stir in the crowd.

Immediately, all the officers reached for their guns until one of them reached for a human shield.

Lucky you.

He wrapped an arm around your throat while he rapidly swung the gun around. "Anyone of you pigs even thinks about firing your weapons and this bitch gets it."

To prove his point, he let his gun hang by his side and pulled out his knife. Pressing it to your throat, he dug it into your skin. (Male Friend) instantly lowered his gun and ordered his comrades to do the same.

"Good to see you know how to follow commands," the man commented. Keeping his word, he lowered the knife.

Your captor yelled at the other shooters in a foreign language. They ran around the place, corralling the people into groups. You watched as they focused on the politicians and other public officials.

Terrorists. They had to be. The mob would've focused on the wealthy and police officials.

Helping Bruce had its pros. Denying his request that you learn self-defense was not one of them.

As the lower terrorists work, the man holding on to you struck up a conversation.

"You know," he crooned into your ear, dragging his nose up and down the side of your neck. "After we're done here, I can take you back to my place and... Get to know each other better?"

"Over my dead body!" You hissed at him. 

With a growl, he raised his knife to your throat once more. "Don't make me mad," the man warned. "I can slit your throat this second and not blink an eye."

Just as you go to say something else, one window to your right shatters as a dark figure comes barreling through. Most of the civilians duck to avoid the flying glass, along with the terrorists.

The lights flicker as the silhouette weaves through the people, quickly picking off the radicals. As it nears you and your captor, it freezes. For once, you can see the face of the Dark Knight.

Your Dark Knight.

Getting over his moment of weakness, he pulled out a famous Batarang and prepared to fire. Just as he did, your captor pressed the knife into your throat. "Try it bat freak," the terrorist hissed. "Or you'll get this poor girl killed."

Bruce looked to you, unable to hold back the emotions threatening to overcome him. He opened his mouth to call your name, but you silently pleaded that he wouldn't.

"JuSt LeT hEr Go AnD yOu AnD I CaN sEtTlE tHiS," Bruce demanded, his distorted voice just as you remembered it.

Shaking his head, the man dragged you over to the window the hero barged into. He glanced over the edge and grinned when he noticed how far you were up.

Sending a wicked smirk towards the vigilante, the radical tilted you over the side. "Still want me to let her go?" The man taunted.

Bruce took a step forward. "Do It, AnD I'Ll MaKe YoU rEgReT iT!" He screamed menacingly.

"Is that so?"

As he prepared to throw you out the window, you saw Bruce run towards your direction. But even he wasn't fast enough to save you.

You can't hear your quick cry over the rushing wind flooding your ears. The broken window grew farther and farther away as you fell.

Have you ever heard about people who like to freefall from planes? The daredevils who like to plummet to the ground and don't release their parachutes until it's almost too late.

They talk about the rush that they get from feeling the air swishing through their hair as the scenery flashes past them. Their hearts practically burst out of their chests once they realize that this is real.

You felt all of that. But it wasn't beautiful.

You wouldn't fall safely to the ground without a parachute. You wouldn't land on the pavement with just a scratch or two. Your heart, along with other things, would explode out of your torso the second you splattered on the sidewalk.

A blurry object shoots towards you from the way you came. You blink slowly as it grows closer and closer like a speeding bullet.

Wanting him to be the last thing you see, you close your eyes with only a prayer echoing through your mind. He wouldn't hear it, but it made you feel better.

Save me, Bruce.

Darkness quickly overtook you as the air left your lungs.

"(NaMe)?" A gruff voice whispered. "(NaMe)? CaN yOu HeAr Me?"

A covered hand gently takes your chin and tilts it side to side. Your muscles seemed to scream as you slowly open your eyes.

Things are dark as you stare into nothingness. It isn't until hazel eyes meet yours do you realize who's calling for you.

Bruce looks worried as you stare at him with a blank face. He goes to ask if you're all right when you capture him in a hug. "Thank you," you whisper in his covered ear, gently pressing a kiss to his cheek.

As you go to pull away, the hero pulls you closer and presses his lips to yours. Shocked by the action, it only takes you seconds to eagerly respond. And just as quickly the kiss ends.

Bruce pulled back, carefully cupping your face with his gloved hands. Rubbing his thumbs over your reddened cheeks, he shook his head.

"I aLmOsT lOsT yOu ToNiGhT," he murmured. "I tHoUgHt I wAs KeEpInG yOu SaFe By PuShInG yOu AwAy bUt I wAs WrOnG."

You laugh quietly as you shake your head. "I could've told you that, you dumbass." Giving him another kiss, you suddenly look around your surroundings.

"I think you should take me back now," you told the undercover superhero. "(Male Friend) might get worried if I don't show up back at the gala."

"ThAt... ThAt'S a GoOd IdEa. HoLd On."

He gently took you into his arms, quietly instructing you to wrap your arms around his neck before he jumped off the side of the building. The wind whooshed past your face, reminding you of your almost deadly fall, causing you to bury your face into Bruce's neck.

It tempted the billionaire to chuckle but decided against it, seeing you were so fragile at the moment. With skilled movements, the hero hurled a Batarang towards the nearest building, shooting a strand of rope that swung the two of you through the air.

It wasn't long before you approached the gala building. Police swarmed the area as they rounded up the dumbasses who even dared to step into Gotham City.

Bruce gracefully landed on top of shattered glass as he entered the almost emptied gala room. He carefully set you down as he checked you over one last time for any other injuries.

"WiLl I sEe YoU aT hOmE?" He asked you shyly, keeping his voice low so only you could hear. Keeping your gaze on your shoes, you feel your lips form into a small smile.

"Only if you pick me up at my place and get my things," you tell him.

Somewhere near the entrance, (Male Friend) noticed your reappearance and caught your attention. "Y/N!" He shouted, catching your attention as suddenly fought to get to your side.

"I'Ll Be ThErE oNcE tHiS bLoWs OvEr," Bruce commented before jumping out of the broken window.

Watching your lover swing into the night made your once broken heart skip a beat as you realized Bruce came back for you.

"Woah, you all right Y/N?" (Male Friend) demanded as he pulled you into a hug, quickly pushing you away to check your skin for visible gashes.

"Yeah, I'm uh... I'm fine," you told him assuredly.

Snapping out of your daze, you look up to your friend who still held his worried gaze. Realizing that you were too calm, you took a fresh approach.

"Hey, I just met Batman. As you said, I never could resist superheroes!"

Rolling his eyes, (Male Friend) pulled you into another hug. He kept you in a tight grip as if to reassure himself you were safe and sighed.

"Let's just hope this kept your mind off of Mr. Playboy," he teased. Sharing a chuckle, you glance nervously to the side as you recalled the promise you made to Bruce.

"Sure it did..." You say uneasily, thinking of a way to explain to your friend how you were getting back together with your ex.

Money cant buy everything

A/N: this is base on a movie i watched on netflix the title was ‘Indecent Proposal’

Warning: swearing

You and Bruce decided to attend a gala thats been hosted by Vincent Beaumont basically a rich guy who wanted to surround himself with even more rich people and who better more to invite than the famous bruce wayne oh and it doesnt stop from there oh no he also invited the 'crown jewel of gotham' a nickname the press started calling you the very day you and bruce got married anyway normally you and bruce wouldnt go to these events or we would just leave early if the kids were with you and just use them for a reason you really did not want to go to the gala but bruce has been offered a deal and apparently he needed to 'take a look at it' honestly you dont know what wayne enterprises needed more than we already had well to make this 'less' boring you decided to bring the boys with you.

So here you are now in yours and bruce's room getting ready and still deciding on what dress would suit you more, although your hair and makeup was done you just couldnt choose between the dresses

"Hey hot stuff" a nickname you call bruce sometimes, women would just fawn over him billionaire bruce wayne former playboy, shrugging of the image is harder than it looks like i mean women are still fawning over him but ofcourse you would never let them take your brucey away (not that he would ever be fawned over)

"Red or blue?" You told him holding up the dress in both hands he turned to look at me he was already in his suit looking as handsome as ever jeez honestly he could be in his pajamas and would still look handsome.

He started to walk towards you as he looked at both dress then smiled "you know you can wear either of these and you'd still look as gorgeous as ever"

You laughed as you lay down the dress at the bed then wore the dress that you picked "oo you smooth talker" you told him as you smirked then went to look at yourself at the mirror smoothing out the dress.

"Only for you" bruce said as he hugged you from behind his chest at you back and placed his head at your shoulder it was small moments like this that would make you fall more in love with bruce if that was even possible 

You smiled then turned around fixing his tie "Lets get this over with you and the boys still have patrol later and i wouldnt want my favorite people in the world to get too tired" you looked him in the eyes then pecked his cheek while you get your purse then walked towards the door

"Ill just check on the boys" you told him as you give him one last glance before exiting the room .

You walk down the stairs to already hear shouting from tim and damian

"DAMIAN GIVE ME MY TIE" you heard tim yell as they chase each other around the house

"NOT UNTIL YOU GIVE ME BACK MY COAT" you heard damian yell back ahh these kids will be the death of you one day when they finally saw you coming down damian threw tims tie at his face as tim also threw the coat at damians face

"HE STARTED IT" you hear both of them yell  at the same time you laugh as you fix their clothes then hugged them.

"I swear i cant be mad at you two when your acting all cute" they both rolled their eyes neither admitting that it makes them happy when their mom babies them

"I WANT A HUG TOO" you hear someone scream from the stairs you look at the stairs and see dick running down the stairs then joining the hug

"Hello to you too dickie" you tell him as you ruffle his hair then kiss his head you let go of the boys to look around only to find baby #2 missing.

"Wheres jaybird?" You told them as you suddenly hear footsteps walking down

"Im here im here" you saw him go down the stairs

"Looking as handsome as ever i see" you told him as you also kiss his forehead then patting his chest, well the handsomeness does run in the wayne family i guess i mean look at those little cuties!

"Ok your dad is most probably waiting outside already lets go" we walked  to leave the manor then finally see bruce's loving gaze you smiled at him then pecked him on the lips before going inside the limo followed by the boys

The ride going to the gala was quiet a comfortable slience no one talked most probably getting ready to whatever chaos the paparazzi will do, once you finally arrived you sighed then exited the car  the boys were already blocking the flashes of the camera for you while bruce offered his hand to you while smilling.

"Such a gentleman Mr wayne" 

"Only for you Mrs Wayne"It brings you back in the day when you and bruce got married you guys couldnt stop calling each other 'Mr wayne' and 'Mrs wayne'!

You take his arms as you finally entered the gala you swear you saw the eyes of the women in the room become a dollar sign and the men glance at your body while the younger women glanced at baby #1 and #2 then dick giving them a wink the girls almost fainted when he did !

"Ah Bruce Wayne pleasure to see you here!"

"And to you Vincent" the man wasnt that old maybe just around bruce's age he switched his gaze from bruce to you the boys who was behind you already glaring at the man

"Mrs Wayne your even more beautifull in personal" he had that look in his eyes that any men had when they lay their eyes on a woman of their liking, lust

Bruce  tightened his grip on your arm ooooo Jealousbat is showing again it wasnt often that bruce would get jealous usually its when men are around or eyeing you like crazy.

"Come join me at the casino table Ive been losing all night maybe you would bring me luck Mrs Wayne" 

"Oh id rather stay with my husband and boys"

"Just for one game? Ill make sure its worth your time" 

"......one game i guess but i bet my husband would like to join" this guy was just very off, bruce would surely understand why your dragging him into the situation 

"Boys you can go around a bit in the gala but dont cause trouble im looking at you dick if i see another woman crying in front of our house i swear to god" 

"Yes mom" they all said in unison glaring at vincent before going around the event

"Come come the casino is this way" he ushered you trying to get a hold of you but bruce holds you closer and feeling comfort beside him

Once you reached the casino table the man hands you the dices you let go of bruce for a moment (he doesnt like admitting it but he always mentally whines when you arent beside him) as vincent betted 100 million 

"Just like that?" 

"Just like that"

Vincent smirked as he heard the numbers that was needed to win, jeez what a show off  you and bruce didnt really like bragging about your money you also taught your kids not to brag or how luck they are and that  they should also use their advantages to help other people

"Ok 9 or 11 get it the money is all yours" the man said the crowd was suddenly forming around the table interested on if you really were luck, as you were about to throw the dice vincent stopped your hand as he looks at you

"Arent you forgetting something?" He told me i held the dice in my hand kissed it then threw it on the table once i looked what number i got the crowd started roaring with suprisement

"See you are luck" vincent said to you, you didnt pay any mind to him as you frantically look for bruce around the table once you saw him you went to him then embraced him

"You know Bruce you have something i dont” Vincent said as he approached the two of you 

“and that would be?” 

“well you see both of us are very rich but you have her”

Vincent said as he looked at you once again there was lust in his eyes and desperation if you will man this guy really doesnt get the clue

“you cant buy Love” 

“oh really?” vincent told you as he smirked then turned his attention to bruce who was holding my hand tightly

“Bruce what if i told you id give you my entire company”

“But in return......” 

“one night with your wife, just pretend its real”

he smirked obviously it IS real he just wants to see what bruce will say to him obviously he thinks bruce is another man that can be wooed with power and not knowing your bond with Bruce is invincible and that nothing could break it.

“He would tell you to go fuck yourself” you told vincent before bruce can even get a response.

“i didnt hear that from him” he turns to Bruce obviously not believing that he would actually say that, you see Bruce’s hand clench as he glares at him 

“i would tell you to go fuck yourself” Bruce told him Vincents eyes widened in shock obviously expecting him to say ‘deal’ or ’sure’ since Bruce did have a reputation of being a playboy Vincent thought Bruce would just get another wife and that all he wanted was power

“w-what? come on man surely you can find another whore out there to fuck let me have her” he told him Bruce lets go of my arm as he grabbed the man by the collar gaining attention from the people around you

“listen here you scum i wouldnt give up my wife for the world and i dont really appreciate you calling her such word and need i remind you if we are talking about power the wayne enterprises is far more powerfull than you company” 

“o-okay man pl-please let me go” Bruce lets him go as he inhales deeply suddenly you here a scream going towards you 

“ YOU BASTARD” you see damian going through the crowd then punching the vincent face repeatedly until he got knocked out since he was on the floor it was easier for damian to reach him

“Oh my god dami stop!” you tell him as you grab him then pulled him towards you hugging him in reflex as he calms down 

Suddenly the rest of the boys join you and looks at the man knocked out on the floor as the screams of other party goers were loud

“What happened!?” Dick asked as he looked at the man on the ffloor with a broken nose Damian told the boys what happened and you can also see the anger in their eyes How dare this guy call their mom such a name!

“oh” Dick said as he turned his attention to the man at the floor then kicked him

“there now he also has a broken rib” Dick said as he laughed join by the other boys it wasnt often that any of them would laugh like that but here they are, you sigh a little embarrased on what happened, you turn you attention to bruce as he walked toward you and the boys

“i think we should go home” Bruce told you guys as he held your hand and turned his loving gaze at you and mouths an ‘i love you’ all the boys agreed to go home 

once you got home you treated Damian’s bruised hand and helped alfred make the boys’s favorite dish

“Im sorry for losing control” Bruce told you as you changed into your sleepwear and the boys get ready for their patrol you turn to him then walked towards him and gave him a kiss

“to be honest i already expected it to happen i couldve done it myself but suddenly Dami goes running to this man” you laugh as you remember the scenario its cute how the boys are also protective like their father you gave him a last hug as you finally let go

“now go out there and kick some asses” i told him he smirked then walked out the room

Sure enough the news next day were all about ‘not to mess with the wayne family’ since then no one ever even dared to make a move on you

Sugar on the Rim vol. II

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

part one

warnings: heavily implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), smut, oral fem!receiving, nervous but enthusiastically consenting reader

You’d tried to calm your nerves but they couldn’t be helped.

You’re anxious about everything, all of it. What he wants you to do, what he’s expecting you do, whether it’ll hurt, whether you’re ready.

You think you trust Bruce, but you also know that these things are different for men and women. You don’t necessarily expect that he’ll have a mind for what you’ll need, but honestly, neither do you. You don’t know what to do to make this easier for yourself—you don’t know what to do at all. 

You bought the lingerie, you’ve got it on under your clothes and it feels like a costume. You can’t tell if that aids or worsens the anxiety. 

You’re fidgeting with the hem of your skirt and you wish you could quit it, you’re radiating enough nervous energy as it is, you don’t need to be sending him visual cues on top of it. 

Bruce holds your free hand in his as he guides you through the manor, you think it’s a different section than you’ve seen before. His hand engulfs yours unfairly as he leads, but the touch of his skin is so warm and inviting that you can’t tell if your hand is still shaking under it. If it is, he pretends not to notice.

He guides you up the stairs and into a corridor and then another before you arrive at a set of double doors. You’ve never seen double doors on the inside of a house before.

He lets you in ahead of him, and you have a distinct thought that you’re glad he can’t see the look of awe on your face as you walk in. His bedroom has an entire living room inside of it, and altogether it’s bigger than your whole apartment. A maroon couch and matching chairs surround a grand fireplace at the front of the room and the resulting glow from the active embers has the area shrouded in a warm light ahead of the shadows filling the rest.

You glance past the seating at his bed; large and proud. It’s definitely bigger than a king sized, with an overhead canopy and streams of dark burgundy curtains draping down from the corners. There’s another set of closed double doors past the bed, you imagine leading to the bathroom.

The end of the room displays a large window seat that looks like it’s never been used, and vast tinted windows. You look up to find the ceiling higher than you’ve ever seen in a bedroom with a very expensive chandelier hanging over it all.

He takes your arm, steering you out of your wonderment and leads you towards the couch rather than the bed, gesturing for you to sit down with him. You do, quietly glad when he positions himself so that you’re close to each other but not pressed right up against you. He’s able to relax his body more than you’re able to fake it on yourself, and you think your thoughts must be vibrating out of you by now.    

One hand comes to rest on your thigh as his other nudges your cheek towards him. “Hey, nothing’s happening right now. No need to be nervous.”

You nod blankly, but your thoughts are running wild with everything that you very much are nervous about.

He takes your hand in his, rubbing circles with his thumb. 

“You’ve got to relax,” he coos, “Remember what I said?”

You take a breath, “You’re not going to throw me in the deep end.”

“Exactly,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Just wanna make you feel good, right?”

You nod, easing your posture.

He looks you in the eye, “You gonna let me?”

You hum, nodding again.

“Good girl,” he purrs, pulling away.

You quickly find that the distance is not at all what you want, and you decide to push forward—as forward as you can—sitting up again to peel your jacket off. He watches you move with a look in his eyes, you take it for intrigue but it may just as well be something akin to pride. Pride in you? He’s openly flirted, kissed you, and straight up propositioned you for sex—but sure, he’s proud of you for taking your jacket off.

Your nerves transition into insecurity before you can catch them, and you’re starting to feel a little stupid, like a child playing pretend.

You watch tentatively as he tilts his head at you, running his own assessments of your actions. 

“Will you come sit on my lap?” he asks you after a moment. 

You suddenly become acutely aware of the amount of air in your lungs. This feels like a big request and you’re not even sure how to take his meaning. Does he want you to sit sideways? Your back to his front? Or fully straddle him? 

He wants whatever you want, he’d said. What do you want?

You glance down at his thighs, covered by fabric more expensive than you can imagine. Positive confirmation rings through your head immediately, willing you to push yourself forward a little more. 

You reposition yourself over him, straddling his lap in spite of your nerves.

Again, he looks pleased. Happy even. One of his hands comes to stroke soothing patterns across your lower back, the other resting on your waist. 

He makes sure to catch your gaze, “You’ll tell me if you want to stop.” 

He follows when your eyes stray, “Yes?”

“Yes.”

He places a tender kiss on your cheekbone, “How did shopping go?”

“Um, good. It was good. One of the sales girls helped me,” your breath is shaky as he kisses your jawline.

“Yeah? Tell me about it.”

“I, uh, I just went to this little boutique up on third street,” he places another kiss on the column of your throat as you talk. “Um, it took longer than I thought it would. There were so many choices.”

His hands come up to soothe over your ribs, pulling you a little closer as they do. He hums for you to keep talking, his kisses continuing to lower until they’re down to your collarbone, though they remain relatively chaste.

“I—I didn’t really know what to look for,” you admit, breath shaky as you exhale. 

“But you like it?”

“Yeah, I—I do.”

He hums, smiling against your skin. His fingers inch under the seam of your shirt, caressing your waist. “Can I take this off?”

You nod timidly, trying not to seem so on edge with anticipation. You’re not confident that he can’t see right through you.  

He presses another chaste kiss to your neck upon receival of the permission, and your shirt begins to come off slowly, his hands skimming every new bit of skin revealed. As he pulls it over your head, he glances down at the baby pink bralette you’d picked out for yourself.

He groans quietly as he takes in the sight, “Oh, pretty girl. Beautiful girl,” He noses at your chest, leaving little kisses where his lips make contact with your skin, “Look at you. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your stomach flutters as his hair tickles your cheek. His hands roam up your sides, stopping to stroke placid circles along the sides of your breasts.

His touch makes its way around your back, expertly undoing your bra clasp without a second thought. Your bra hangs forward a bit off your shoulders, but he leaves the work of entirely removing it to you. And you do, with more confidence than you’d imagined yourself mustering.

He immediately shows his appreciation, kissing and caressing your chest with lover-like admiration. Your head falls back involuntarily as he noses at your soft skin.

He’s breathing heavy when he pulls back, humming low and deep before lifting you up off his lap to stand. The sudden shift has you a bit thrown off, working to catch up as he kneels down in front of you and repeats his earlier process with your skirt—kissing your thighs and tugging the fabric down bit by bit.

When it’s discarded on the floor you stand only left in your underwear, the lace practically illuminated against your skin.

He looks up at you from his place on the floor and smiles as he takes in the sight of your body. His hands find your hips as he asks you, “Has anyone ever seen you like this before?”

You hesitate for half a second before answering truthfully.

His smile grows, “No, you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s nodding, “Yeah, I know.”

As he rises to stand he scoops you up by the back of your thighs and lifts you in the air with no discernable effort. Now at face level with him, you get a bit bolder and lean in to kiss him. He kisses you back, pleased, beginning to walk the two of you over towards the bed.

He sets you down gently atop the soft mattress, kisses pushing you backwards to lie back on the bed. He scoops your wrists up and leisurely moves your arms up above your head. His grip is benign as he releases one hand in favor of holding your jaw. Your kiss is deep and controlled on his part, but in a way that makes you feel light in the head. You like the cloudy-sensation very much.

After a while, he pulls back to look at you with clouded eyes. 

He practically purrs, “You’re such a kind girl. So sweet to everyone, all the time. Will you let me be sweet to you?”

Your breath is shaky as you nod, attempts at hiding your anticipation failing.

He nods back at you with a faux-sympathy across his face. “Let me hear you say it.”

You force air into your lungs, giving you the willpower to speak the words. “Will you touch me? Please?”

The corners of his lips turn up, “Of course, sweet girl.”

He nips at your jaw as his hands travel down, petting the inside of your thighs with a touch so feather light it almost tickles.

Your knee jerks inward towards his hand, your body desperately seeking out more of this new sensation. He obliges, tracing his touch back up, up, up until his hand dips under the lace trim of your panties, skimming over your clit. Your hips flinch back away from him momentarily in surprise, only to press back forward a second later.

He actually laughs at the action, like it’s endearing. You feel a little silly for it, but you’re not given much time to dwell as he persists, brushing against you with a bit more pressure.

He tilts his head, watching your expression carefully with a remarkably pleased look on his own face. “How’s that, sweet girl?”

You nod, beside yourself. “Feels good,” you whimper. “Feels really good..”

You don’t necessarily mean to, but your hips grind up against his touch, your body too mesmerized with the sensation to remember to be embarrassed.

He’s certainly not complaining about it though, his quiet coos encouraging you to chase the feeling. 

He lets you grind up against his hand, taking in the needy look on your face with contentment.

“Poor girl,” he tuts. “Just need somebody to take care of you, huh?”

That makes your cheeks burn, but your attention finds itself more concerned with the urge to squeeze your thighs together.

You whine when he pulls his hand back out of your underwear, only for him to stand resolute in his actions. 

“Not yet, sweet thing,” he hums, pressing you back down to the bed with a light but firm touch when you try to sit up. 

He hushes you gently, murmuring for you to be patient as he shifts his position over you. 

He starts to move down your body, leaving kisses in his wake. The sensation of his lips tracing down your stomach has you feeling butterflies.

By the time he reaches your waistline you’re borderline dizzy from the anticipation, squeezing your legs together in an attempt to alleviate the ache.

He pauses there for a moment, torturously, and noses at the seam of your panties. A whine from you has him chuckling and finally moving to where you need him.

He kisses your clit over your underwear and you’re fighting thoughts of embarrassment over how sure you are he can taste how wet you are over the fabric.

It doesn’t seem to be enough for him though, as he tugs your panties down slowly, kissing your thighs as he goes.

Bruce’s hands hold onto your waist as he eats you out, holding you in place with an easy grip. 

You squirm against the feel of his tongue and you can’t quite figure out what to do with your hands. You almost wish he’d made you keep them above your head but really you’re not sure you’d be able to keep it together if he had. You’re not sure you’re keeping it together now.

He groans against your pussy, and one of your hands flies to grip his hair without permission from your brain. If you’re being honest with yourself though, your brain isn’t really the one calling the shots anymore.

You gasp when he licks a bold stripe, “Bruce—”

He groans again, briefly breaking away from you. “Oh, say that again.”

You sigh out, “Bruce, please.” 

He makes a pleased hum. “Good girl,” he murmurs before diving back in. 

He complies with your pleas generously, giving you more. He’s gradual but resolute as he inserts two fingers into you, giving you the time to adjust. But he’d evidently done a very thorough job prepping you for it, you’re so wet that the initial entry doesn’t sting like you’d expected. No, rather the first thing you register is closer to pleasure. A lot closer.

He begins to pump in and out of you at he continues to suck at your clit, and somewhere during you have a distinct thought of “oh this is it.”

You let out a little gasp and for once, you break out of your own head and just relish in the way his fingers curl inside you.

The way your thighs squeeze around him as you come, doesn’t hinder him one bit, only has him applying his ministrations with more intent. It doesn’t take long for the trembling of your body to give way to full on shaking, your body stuttering beneath him.

He continues working at you the entire way through your orgasm, until you’re flinching from overstimulation. 

He gives you one more lick before looking up at you with hooded eyes. “Y’taste sweet too, you know that?”

You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks as he starts to move back up to face-level, kissing the high point of your cheekbone.  

He pulls down on your bottom lip, your slick wet against your mouth.

You open without question, a clouding urge to please him the only thing running through your mind. 

He grumbles a low, pleased sound as you do, moving his hand only to provide room for him to kiss you again.

He sits back up over you and starts unbuttoning his shirt and you realize only now that he’s still fully dressed. 

He glances down to his belt as he undoes the buttons. 

“Will you help me out, sweet girl?”

You blink a couple times before registering the request, still overwhelmed by how quickly and skillfully he’d made you come. 

You struggle a bit to push yourself up into a sitting position, but he supports you by your waist, nipping along your jaw as encouragement.

Your hands shake as you undo the clasp, and while you’re still very much eager, if not moreso, you’re suddenly confronted with the very real possibility that you’re about to have your limits pushed. He ate you out and did a damn good job, stands to reason that he’d want you to return the favor.

So it takes you by surprise when he’s nudging you back against the pillows, removing his pants himself.

He keeps you occupied with an intense kiss as he does, and the distraction so smooth it’s almost like it’s rehearsed. 

You follow his lead easily, though surprised by his lack of desire to get his fill too.

He drapes himself over you nicely, his size easily dwarfing you out. He’s quick to block your chin from tilting down, gently bringing your face back up to meet his. 

He shakes his head lightly, murmuring, “Don’t worry about that. I got you.”

You are worried about it, but you trust Bruce, you know you do now.

You feel the weight of his cock against your stomach, at this exact moment, feeling like not much more than a daunting task.

“S’alright, sweet girl,” he lulls, brushing your hair back. “Okay?”

As heavy as the simple question is, you don’t need to think about it before you’re nodding and moving your hand to hold onto his bicep.

He peppers kisses all over your face as he starts to push in, effectively starting to distract you from the pain of the stretch. He hushes your whines soothingly and kneads at your waist with confident hands.

Your arms lock around his shoulders on instinct, your eyes squeezing shut as you try to convince yourself he’s almost all the way in, but you know you’ve got aways to go.

He pauses halfway, imploring you to open your eyes so he can check up on you properly.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he softly urges.

You will yourself to blink up at him and try to take on the challenge of both him and his gaze. Surely, an impossible task.

But you manage shaky eye contact that occasionally gives way to glancing down at his lips. 

It doesn’t feel good yet, but it only makes you more eager to keep going.

“I’m okay,” you nod, taking a breath. “You can keep going.”

He waits to find that reassurance in your eyes before he continues to push in, bestowing you a deep kiss in reward for your bravery.

Once he’s nearly bottomed out he waits a moment, then begins to rock in and out slowly, letting you get used to a starter of the sensation.

He brushes your hair back, weaving through the strands. “There we go,” he coos as you look down between you. “Doing so good.”

Your gasp is louder than they had been before, and closer to a sigh now. 

He’s fucking you gently, with a decorum that exceeds what you’d earlier told yourself you were stupid for hoping for.

It doesn’t take long at all for his movement to start to feel really good and your grip around his shoulders comes around to a different kind of intensity.

He noses against your jaw, applying kisses whenever  convenient. “‘S that feel good, sweet girl? Hm?”

He hits a particularly deep spot in you immediately after and it makes you borderline squeak. He huffs out a laugh that’s nothing short of affectionate. 

“Yeah?”

He then attacks that spot with extra intention, hitting it absolutely expertly every time. He speeds up a little, lips latched onto your neck as he fucks you nice and deep.

He drops a hand down between you and starts rubbing circles onto your clit with a pace that makes you want to scream.

You can’t help the moan you release when he teeths at your neck, clearly aiming to drive you crazy. But damn if he isn’t going about it the right way.

His circles pick up pace and you can be sure you’re leaving nail marks on his back. He seems to only get more encouraged by your sounds, working you closer and closer to the edge with every whimper.

He finally lets you over after a minute of shamelessly relishing in your moans, himself following close after.

He continues moving in and out of you until you’ve both completely finished, slowly coming to a stop. 

You get a moment to catch your breath before he pulls out delicately. You don’t even realize he’s moved before he’s got his boxers back on and is halfway to the bathroom.

You’re a little alarmed by the sudden shift in proximity, though you guess that’s the playboy experience, isn’t it? After a second you hear water running and assume he’s taking a shower.

You push yourself to sit up fully, minding your achy thighs, and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You glance at the foot of the bed where your underwear lies, then back over by the couch where the rest of your clothes lay discarded. You briefly contemplate how quickly you can get your clothes back on when the bathroom doors open again.

You glance up at Bruce, dazed, who looks surprised himself to see you sitting up. As he makes his way back to the bed you notice the supplies he has in tow and your brain begins to slowly start turning its gears again.

You don’t realize the glass of water in his hand is for you until he’s pushed it into your palm. 

His other hand carries a wet wash cloth that you, again, aren’t able to register the purpose for until it’s in action. 

“Drink,” he tells you as he spreads your knees apart gently, wiping away the mess between your legs with a notable amount of compassion for your sensitivity.

You do, gulping a few as he finishes, tossing the rag in a hamper before setting your glass down on the side table.

Your eyes return to the end of the bed and you nearly decide to get up, but he’s still standing so close to you, you’re not sure this is the right time.

You seem caught halfway between decisions now, you know you do. You’d honestly preferred when you thought he’d just ditched you for a shower because at least then this part wouldn’t be so awkward.

He watches you closely as you deliberate and seems to draw a conclusion about your hesitation rather quickly. His brow pinches as he processes, tilting his head at you. 

“You’ve got to be joking,” he says, bewildered. “Right?”

“I—” you falter, looking to the couch and back to him again. “No?”

He stares at you for a moment with an expression you can’t define.

“Lay down.”

You don’t have a second to process before he’s climbing back in bed too, pulling you down to lay your head on the pillow.

He pulls the covers over you and splays an arm over your waist, clearly firm in his decision for you to stay.

Your eyes are heavy and his bed is so comfortable, it’s difficult for you to even consider either of you wanting you to leave now.

Maybe you’ll just sleep for a little while, get some of your energy back. 

The way he traces soft patterns across your stomach certainly encourages the idea and doesn’t give you much power to resist.

You let your eyes flutter shut to the feather-light touch and listen to the steady deepness of his breaths.

Well, this isn’t so bad either.

🐲 reblogging is an ancient art form, only the strong may master it 🐲

Sugar on the Rim I

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

warnings: implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), mentions of sex, smut in next part

You twist the stem of the wine glass around between your fingers slowly. Your chin rests atop your knees as you stare vacantly at the tiny puddle left of the drink. You could go refill it, but then you’d have to go back out to the main room and man…you really do not want to do that. So you’ll sit here, swiping your tongue across the bumps of the roof of your mouth as if it's a fascinating new discovery.

The creak of hinges has you shooting upright, your back thumping against the stair step behind you. You’re not immediately sure how to act as though it’s normal that you’re sitting in the stairwell outside the gala rather than in it, fraternizing with old and new money alike. You freeze, trying to relax your posture so it doesn’t look like you’re alarmed at the sight of another person, but not so relaxed that you look as bored as you are.

Your neutrality stutters when you glance up to find the host of the fundraiser. The billionaire host of the fundraiser. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire host of the fundraiser. Your posture straightens right back up and your mouth snaps shut as you make eye contact.

Should you stand up? 

No, he’s rich, not royalty. 

You are in his house though—

He looks you over contemplatively, “I don’t know you,” It’s not accusatory, rather he says it like it’s something interesting.

You perk up at that, immediately formulating reasons to justify your presence. “Oh, uh, no—” the words nearly spill out of your mouth all at once. You clear your throat, “I’m just a plus one for my boss—”

“Who’s your boss?” he asks, relaxed. 

“Arthur Mullins.”

He looks to the side, squinting, “Mullins…he’s the executive at Williamson Industries, yes?”

You nod and he returns the gesture, slower, like he’s processing through something. “I’m Bruce,” he says warmly after a moment, holding his hand out to you.

You nod before you can even think to get any words to come out, “I—yeah, I know,” you accept his hand, shaking it as you tell him your name.

There’s a slight glint in his eye when he hears your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. “A pretty name.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Just your name. But rather than fill him in on that fascinating tidbit, you let the sentence die off.

He smiles kindly anyway, “What are you doing in here? Party’s out there, or so they tell me.”

“I…I’m hiding in here,” you admit sheepishly.

He leans in towards you slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret—so am I,” he smiles at you like it’s easy.

Your grin matches his, “It’s your party,”

“That’s why I need to hide.” He tilts his head, “Doesn’t give you much of an excuse though, does it?”

“I don’t know anybody here.”

He puckers his bottom lip contemplatively, “Your boss.”

You shake your head, “I’m just his assistant. I’m pretty sure he just brought me as a precaution in case he needed a designated driver.”

He laughs at that, “Based on the way I’ve seen Mullins’ attempts to operate, his assistant would have to be a hell of a lot more important than just a designated driver.”

Well, he’s certainly right about that. Your boss doesn’t exactly “have it together” per se. He’s an unorganized man with little to justify his importance in Gotham, so he tends to insist on taking on more responsibility than he has any business having. Not to mention, he’s a bit of a try-hard and you’re constantly left to sweep up the pieces of his reputation that he shattered himself. Not to say he’s necessarily unprofessional, he just will do anything and everything to prove he belongs in any given space. It’s honestly a bit exhausting to watch. It’s more exhausting to try and convince him that the exchange went well afterwards.

You nod slowly, eyes on his shoes. “Mr. Mullins has…a unique approach to business. It does usually leave me fairly busy, I’ll give you that.” You take a quick deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “But that means I occasionally get to go to fancy parties where I don’t know anyone, so..”

“Well then it sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” he ribs, “Or don’t you agree?”

You smile coyly, “I would never be so bold.”

“I don’t mind boldness. For example, the reason I came in here is because he spotted me.”

You laugh at that, “Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Mr. Wayne,” you suppress your smile as you pause, choosing your words carefully. “I think he’s just networking.” He doesn’t have the money to give.

He nods surely, “He’s definitely just networking.” He really doesn’t have the money to give. You allow just the faintest wisp of a smile to adorn your face as you look down again.

You check the time and realize that you’ve been hiding away for too long and that if he hasn’t already, your boss will notice soon. You sigh quietly to yourself, “I should..”

He turns his head to the closed door where the chatter can be heard from beyond, sighing in defeat as he shakes his head looking back at you. “So should I.”

You feel a bit insecure as you stand, the gown you’re wearing is pretty but it is very much affordable and you’re sure someone as wealthy as Bruce Wayne would know the difference.

If he does notice he makes no deal of it, motioning you forward gallantly to walk ahead of him.

He follows after you, hands behind his back. “Would it be rude of me to ask you to distract him while I run for the bar?”

It’s busy, even for a Sunday afternoon, and you have to sidestep past someone nearly every step you take. You stick next to the windows of the line of boutiques down the road, trying to balance window shopping and not bumping into other pedestrians.

You're in a nicer district of Gotham, truthfully an area you don't quite belong in. So far you’ve only managed to find a couple shops that weren’t several ranges above your budget. 

A call of your name has you blinking rapidly and turning around as if you’re lost. It doesn’t take long for you to pick the six foot two billionaire out of the crowd and it’s only half a second longer before you realize he’s walking towards you. A few people collide shoulders with you as they move past thoughtlessly, no regard for the personal space of the idiot that stopped in the flow of traffic.

You let him approach a couple feet closer before you ask him, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?” The presence of his figure in front of you allows for a break from being bumped into, as he seemingly makes for a far more easily seen and intentionally avoided target.

He sways a bit, “Bruce. I’m not sure yet,” he looks down to the couple of bags you’re holding, extending his hand out. “May I?”

It takes you just a moment to move past your surprise at the request, allowing him to hold them for you. “Are you in a rush?”

You shake your head quicker than you meant to, “No, I—not at all,” he gestures his head forward, allowing you to walk before him.

You traipse ahead in silence for a moment before deciding against biting your tongue, “What exactly is it you’re not sure about?”

He raises his voice a bit so you can hear him over the crowd, “Whether or not you’ve got plans on the 19th.”

You look back at him, “What’s on the 19th?”

He stops with you as you admire a set of jewelry inside a window display, “We’re hosting a gala for something or something else, hopefully less boring than the fundraiser.”

You blink, “You’re inviting me?” He nods. “Why?”

“I could use someone who wants to be there even less than I do.”

He said it so casually it takes you a second to even register his meaning. You blink, face contorting defensively, “That’s not—” you can barely make out the smile on his face as he continues on walking.

You shake your composure back together and trail after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t think Mr. Mullins would be very happy to hear that I’m attending a business gala without him.”

He shakes his head as he scans over the crowd, “He can’t fire you for that.”

“He’ll try.” He would. A petty little man, he is. 

He scans across the rows of clothes leisurely. “Well, then he can speak to me about it. Besides, it wouldn’t be for business.” And then he just lets that sentence linger.

It takes you a moment to recover from those words and begin to start processing the world around you again. After a few more feet down the sidewalk he pulls you gently to the side by your lower arm, out of the rush of traffic, and looks at you dead on, “What do you think?”

You try not to waver under the weight of the eye contact, “I don’t…uh, I don’t really have…” you look down, hoping to get the message across without actually having to say the words.

He glances into the store window next to you and raises his eyebrows, “Well then I’d say we’re in the right place.”

You can’t manage to tell him that this store is definitely far too expensive for you, walking through the door as he opens it for you, albeit apprehensively.

Well. Up close window shopping is more fun anyways. 

The spotless white of the floors and walls has you intimidated, and just as much so by less by the no doubt designer clothes lining the walls. The saleswomen all look pretty highbrow themselves, hair up in tight buns and uniforms chic.

You only break from gawking at the store to look behind you at Bruce. You note the way his eyes roam around blindly, looking for something and clearly having no means to narrow down where it might be. You take one more glance around, immediately finding the women's section with no such difficulty. 

“This way.” You say, nodding your head over to the left. He recovers nicely and lets you lead the way towards the section of dresses. You peer back at him, “You don’t seem like someone that does much of his own shopping.”

Thankfully, he laughs at that. “Well, special occasions.”

You keep your gaze ahead this time, asking as casually as you can, “Is this a special occasion?”

He hums in consideration, “I’d say so.”

You stop upon approaching the dress section, taking in the immediately stunning display of options. 

“What are you doing up here anyways?” you ask, hand brushing across a particularly plush dress.

“Ah, I was headed to a meeting.”

“Oh,” you frown, looking at him. “Don’t you need to go?”

He shakes his head with a puckered lower lip, “No.”

A few seemingly heiresses roam down the aisle mindlessly, not caring much that you’re in their path. 

Bruce sees them before you do, knowing well that they were not going to excuse themselves. “Sweetheart,” he nudges you gently to the side, closer to him as the group passes. His hand remained open-palmed and flat as he guided you to the side, seemingly very careful not to touch you with uninvited boldness. Though you’re quite shaken by the chivalry of the gesture, a brazen touch wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.

As your arm brushes against a rack of clothing your gaze follows, met with something rather appealing.

Bruce is quick to notice you admiring the sleek black dress that looks like something you’d see a model wearing on a runway. “You like that one?”

“It’s nice, yeah,” you murmur, not really thinking. You flip the price tag over and your face drops. “It’s $800.”

He nods thoughtfully, “We can find a nicer one,” he says, though it’s clear he knows exactly what your problem with the price tag was.

“I can’t—” you restart, “I would never have a reason to wear something this nice again.”

He shakes his head coolly, “That’s alright.”

Your shoulders drop and your head tilts seriously, “It’s not, though.”

“You like it?” He looks you in the eyes, his own searching for a truthful answer.

“I mean, of course, but it—”

He nods affirmatively, “Then we’ll get it. Problem solved.” He turns his back to the rack, casually observing the rest of the store goers. “Pick your size.”

Apparently not one to argue, you thumb through the row until you find one that should fit. 

You sigh, realizing that you’re running out of time to mention that you don’t have $800 to spend on a dress. “I can’t—”

“You don’t need to,” he says simply as he takes the dress off the rack and drapes it across his arm, making his way towards the salescounter.

You try to stop your mouth from hanging open as you follow, “It really is okay, I don’t need—”

His grin cuts you off, just in time for you to hear him mutter, “Sweet girl..” to himself. You stop right in your tracks, feeling very thankful that he’s not looking at you right now because you’re certain the look on your face would give you away.

He still doesn’t face you as he calls out, “Come on,” as he continues on.

Obviously you’re not stupid. You know what type of intentions a billionaire playboy must have with a younger girl that he doesn’t even really know. However, if said billionaire is offering to buy you a pretty dress…no, you’re not sleeping with him because he bought you a dress—of course not—and you’ve made absolutely no promises to do so, so what’s the harm in letting him? Really?

And yeah, maybe it’s a plus that he’s not bad looking, but how is that your fault?

You stand a bit awkwardly next to him as he puts his card in the machine, not even glancing at the outrageous number, and declines the offer for the receipt.

As you exit the store together and stand at the doors as he hands your original two bags back to you along with the new shiny black one that on its own looks like something people would pay for.

“You will be there?” he asks, eyes more hopeful than you were prepared for. 

You nod, gesturing the bag up, “Well you just bought me the dress.”

He shrugs that off, “I would’ve bought you the dress anyways.”

You linger in the midst of the ado wearing a dress that you feel far too overshadowed by, fidgeting with the half empty wine glass in your hand. Unfortunately, this time around you were invited by the host of the event and it would be extra rude to run away and hide. That doesn’t stop you from considering it, though.

A hand sliding across your lower back has you momentarily startled, and for reasons you couldn’t quite verbalize, you’d naturally assumed it was Bruce. The disappointment rings strong when you turn around to be met with the sight of an even older man, who looks considerably wine drunk. 

“Hello there, Miss.,” The words themselves are polite but the salacious smile on his face and the way his eyes have no trouble roaming your body gives you a solid idea of what this conversation is going to entail.

“Hello,” you fake a polite, tight smile and shift your attention to the rest of the room. 

This does nothing to deter him, as he takes a sizable step back into your line of sight. “Having a nice time?” 

The man is clearly from money, if his attire didn’t give it away his attitude sure did. There’s an heir of entitlement around him, like he’s inherently deservant of your attention—a quality you were notably surprised to not have found in Bruce. 

You give him your faux-smile again, this time tighter but half a second longer for the sake of politeness. A rookie mistake.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, gesturing to the bar.

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say, gesturing your wine glass up.

A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face, but to his credit, he does a better job recovering from it than you would have expected. Though, that’s not really saying much. “Well, pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone here,”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Both of your heads snap to the side, finding a much more welcome surprise than you’d previously received. 

Your counterpart's posture straightens immediately, “Mr. Wayne,” he fawns, “What a lovely event you’ve thrown. I’m sure the Bernsteins will be appreciative.”

Bruce hums, eyes narrowed slightly. “You are…”

The man startles and rushes to finish off his sentence, “Alexander Watson, senior executive to the accounting department for the research wing of the company.”

He nods slowly, no recognition actually present in his eyes. “Ah. The research wing of the company that just blew fifteen million dollars on prototype self-operating computers.”

You’re trying hard to fight the smile creeping up on your face.

“What exactly is a self-operating computer?”

Watson’s face drops, hurrying to justify his approval of the proposal’s funding. As he rambles, Bruce’s gaze lowers to where Watson has once again placed his hand on your hip, though he’s not close enough to you for it to rest fully or naturally. You don’t know him well but you can say confidently that he doesn’t look pleased. 

He looks back up to Watson, attitude challenging. “Surely you’re not poking around where you’re unwelcome?”

Watson stutters at that, blinking and shaking his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! I was just hoping to provide the young lady with some company. That’s all.”

“And so you have.”

“I—,” about two steps behind in this conversation, Watson finally decides to retreat, “Yes, good evening, Mr. Wayne.” He bows his head and shuffles away back into the crowd.

“Mr. Wayne,” you smile knowingly, turning to him. “How are you?”

The hardness of his gaze fades quickly as he takes in your appearance, quite liking how you wear the dress you’d picked out.

“Things are looking up,” he smiles, “You look lovely.”

 “Thank you,” you glance over to where Watson has made his way to the bar, likely about to down an entire glass. “Mr., uh, Mr. Watson makes quite the impression.”

His smile turns a bit sullen, “You know last year he tried to convince the board that battery-powered battery chargers were going to be the next big thing?”

You blink, tilting your head, “Thought you didn’t know who he was.”

His eyes are fixed on the wall as he tugs the corner of his lip down, knowing he’s been caught but not really caring. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long, it seems everyone needs my attention at these things.”

“At the gala that you threw? I’d imagine so.”

He rolls past that smoothly, “You’re having a good time?”

“I am,” you say with a confirming head bob.

He regards the room with a numb expression, “You know, I think I’m getting bored with all of this.”

You smile at him, brow furrowed, “It’s only been an hour.”

He looks at you, eyes wide. “It’s only been an hour?” He’s exaggerating his surprise to make you smile, and it works.

“I think we should go,” he says lower.

You stare at him, bemused. “You still have a whole room full of guests.” 

He shrugs, “They’ll filter out on their own eventually.” 

He clocks your hesitation easily, accurately noting it to be more out of politeness than actually wanting to stay at the party. “What, you’re not ready to leave?”

You look around at all the mostly old, posh guests, disinterested small talk evident all across the room. You take a breath, “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

He smiles and leads you out a side door and through a corridor that’s significantly longer than you’d expected. 

“Do you always ditch your parties this early?” you ask, following closely.

He makes a sharp right at the next doorway, “If I can manage it.”

You look around at the high wooden ceilings and grand furniture. “Aren’t some of them friends of yours?”

He shakes his head, “My friends aren’t here.”

You frown at that, “Then why do you throw them at all?”

“Why did you show up last weekend?”

You nod slowly, understanding. “It’s your job.”

He returns the nod, adding, “Only difference is, there’s not a chance in hell you get paid enough for the work you do for Mullins.”

For the sake of maintaining your wishful facade of professionalism, you’re going to not acknowledge that incredibly accurate statement. Instead you smile politely and continue on walking. He seems to get the implication, returning it with an even brighter adornment.

“Well, money’s money,” you say wryly.

His smile fades a bit, “You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that.” 

You shrug, “A day in the life,”

He looks sullen upon hearing that, with more sympathy than you’d have expected from someone of his stature. He’s done nothing if not surprise you, though.

“Here,” he says, taking hold of the handle of a glass door. It opens to a garden, lit up beautifully by the moon and outdoor light. A fountain sits in the middle, water rhythmically gushing out of the top and trickling down the sides. The bite of the Gotham night air burns at your cheeks a bit and you find yourself thankful the dress you’d chosen is so long.

Bruce leads the way to an expensive marble bench positioned nicely in front of it, allowing you to sit first before following suit. Your hands find a place in your lap, clasped together awkwardly in an attempt to find warmth through contact.

It takes Bruce less than ten seconds to stand, remove his suit jacket, and drape it over your shoulders before sitting back down. The material is thicker and warmer than you would’ve expected, surely reminiscent of the perks of being owned by a billionaire.

He doesn’t look at you to acknowledge the grateful expression on your face, simply carrying on like it didn’t happen. “Was hoping it was warmer,” he murmurs.

Your focus momentarily goes to the icy cold stone of the bench under your thighs, initially finding it uncomfortable before deciding the coolness actually felt quite soothing. You remove your gaze from the gray stone and turn your head to find Bruce already focused on you.

You start to say something, though you’re not sure what it would’ve been, when he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down.

Well, he certainly knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

His eyes stay on your lower lip as he murmurs, “You’re a pretty girl, you know that?” 

God, he’s a professional.

You look up at him and refrain from saying anything, waiting to see if he follows it up with something that will make you regret agreeing to coming out here with him.

He doesn’t.

You shift, moving your hands off your lap to rest on the stone under you. “You can’t just do this—”

He smiles and lowers his chin to look you in the eyes, “Then what can I do for you?”

“You—” you blink rapidly, “Stop it.”

His coy beam persists, “Stop what?”

You raise your gaze up to him ever so slightly, a pouty expression across your face that you’re trying to sell as serious. “You’re trying to make me nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head down further, a ghost of a smile echoing on his lips, “I don’t mean to, sweet girl.”

Your eyes drop to the ground, biting your tongue. “Yeah.”

His simper grows, “I’m serious. I’d hate to scare away a new friend.”

You laugh at that and he perks up a bit at the sound, “What? We’re not friends?”

You cock your head to the side, “You’re the one who said none of your friends are here.”

He hums, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

“You think so?” You should probably stop flirting so much. 

“Yeah,” he leans in a bit closer, “I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Maybe I want to be your friend,” his hand finds a place atop yours. 

Your eyes flicker across his face as he closes in, “What if I don’t want to be yours?”

His eyes are on your lips, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

You take a slow deep breath, “Your intentions are blurry.”

He smiles lightly, amused. “We’ll have to clear that up then, won’t we?” His lips are inches away and his voice is soft as he says, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

You look up at him eyes wide, barely processing his words as you nod. He gently grasps your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up. His other hand finds the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you with intention. Your hands hover in the air for a second before holding onto his forearms. 

He breaks the kiss only to give you another sweet one right after. Your mouths remain close when it’s over, eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. You stay like that for a moment until he kisses you once more on your cheekbone before pulling away. His hands drop to rest on your knees, the weight of them gentle.

He hums lowly, “Sweet thing..”

Being under the heaviness of his gaze leaves you feeling vulnerable. It’s starting to get you concerned with the potential levity and implications of kissing him. The expectations.

“You…” you stare down at where his hands meet your skin, not quite sure that you actually meant to start that sentence. 

“What?” he frowns, brow pinched. Your chin lowers further as your mouth forms a tight line. He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. What is it?” he asks gently.

It takes a surge of willpower for you to get the sentence out, “You just want to sleep with me..”

He frowns harder at that, pulling back a bit. “No. I’m…” he sighs, “I’m not trying to lure you in just to toss you out right after.”

That makes you look up again. His voice has a sincerity to it that you weren’t prepared for. 

He continues, “I would like to, yes. Yeah. You’re beautiful, of course I would, but..” he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you, “No, that’s not the most important thing to me.”

You break eye contact again, thinking over his words. If that’s not the most important thing to him, what is? You can’t think of what else he could possibly want from you, a billionaire who could have anything he wants..the only thing you could have to offer in his eyes is sex. 

Right?

He exhales, “If you want to leave, I’ll call you a car. No hard feelings.” He nudges your chin up gently so you’ll look at him, but he gives you the freedom to fight against it if you wanted to.

You let him move you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you tell him, looking into his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” he says it like it’s automatic. You physically can’t help but roll your eyes at the corniness of it. He doubles down, though, “Seriously. Anything.”

You smile in disbelief, shaking your head.

“Alright,” he returns your smile, straightening, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Do you need a ride home?”

You blink at him, “I’m going home?”

“You are,” he nods softly, “Do you need a ride?”

“No.”

He nods again, more like he’s working through something in his head. “Okay. You’re going to go home and think through what you want. If you decide you want to, come back here next Saturday.” he stands up, extending his hand out to you, “Then you can let me know what else you want and we can get to work on that too.”

You start to shake your head, “I can—” 

He drops his chin seriously, “Think on it.”

You relent easily, taking his hand and coming to a stand.

“Alright?” Again, his question is genuine. He does really want to know if you’re on board with this plan. 

Already going against his request, you agree without a thought, “Okay.”

He starts to lead you back over to the garden door with a head nod and a kind smile.

It ultimately was not a decision you had to think very hard on.

You’d considered every scenario of how this could play out and none of them ended with regret as far as you could guess.

You’ll still admit though, there was one scenario you had missed, apparently, which is why you were immeasurably confused when you showed up and he invited you to play chess.

He’s not wearing a fancy three piece suit this time, but his clothes are still very nice. With the sunlight peeking through the windows, you’re able to see the manor more clearly than you had been the other night. It really is a beautiful home, clearly very old and charmed, but there’s a lot of little details of character and history scattered around. There’s portraits and photographs of his parents from when he was young and furniture decorated with trinkets all throughout, kept absolutely spotless and dust free. Everything is neat and tidy but there’s still traces of the house being lived in with the patched throw pillows and worn carpets. Still, it’s very, very placid.

You’ve met new money plenty of times over the course of dealing with countless businessmen for Mr. Mullins but old money is something entirely different. You don’t really have a frame of reference here. New money is almost always brash and demanding, they like things done quickly and correctly the first time around. They’re usually not very interested in hearing what you have to say (even if it would save them a lot of trouble) and prefer it when the assistants women keep their mouths shut. Bruce has proven to be very different from these standards already and you’re not sure where to begin with placing new ones.

You’re about halfway through a second game, and while you’re not awful at chess, you get the impression that he’s easing up on you considerably.

You sit on the floor in front of a short coffee table, the game having no clear lead so far.

“I think this is stressing me,” you mumble, no actual weight behind your words.

“It’s just chess,” he says, not looking up from the board.

You watch him move his knight forward as you ask, “And that’s all we’re doing?”

“As it stands, yes,” he looks up at you, though you don’t return his gaze.

“Yeah,” you sigh, sliding your rook, “But later?”

“Later?”

“Well, you said...” you meet his eyes, “You said you wanted to sleep with me.”

He nods slowly, “I do. Is that alright?”

You consider it for a moment. You already knew that, if you really weren’t okay with it you wouldn’t have come here. And yeah, the idea makes you a little shaky, but in a good way.

“Yes,” you tell him, moving your queen forward two spaces.

“Are you sure?” he presses, moving to sit on the side of the table rather than behind it.

You do the same, sitting on your knees. “Yeah, I just..” you shift your weight, eyes wandering. “I’m not…overly experienced.”

He just smiles at that, like it’s endearing. Your words didn’t quite convey your meaning but your tone did. In any case, he understands the implication. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not going to throw you in the deep end.”

You nod, looking down again.

“You’re nervous,” he comments.

“No, I’m—I mean, maybe,” your voice is barely a murmur by the end of the sentence.

He’s quiet for a moment, observing the way you fiddle with your rings. “What if we get you something pretty to wear? Something that makes you feel pretty. Whatever you want.”

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, opening and pulling out a lump of cash without even looking. He holds the money out to you wordlessly and you can see from the bill on the outside that it’s at least a couple hundred dollars.

You shake your head instantly, “I can’t take that.”

He doesn’t put the money down but his eyes turn to begging. “Please. I just want you to feel good.”

“Bruce—”

He wavers a bit at that but it’s more of a falter than you’ve seen from him before so it’s easy to take notice of. “What?”

He shrugs barely, “I like when you say my name.”

Your eye contact holds for a moment and your resolve starts to waver almost instantly.

You exhale, “I’m not taking more than a hundred.”

“Two hundred.”

“Bruce.”

He smiles and picks out some of the cash and pockets it, handing you the rest. You don’t comment on the fact that it’s a hundred and fifty more than you’d agreed on.

You look down at the money in your hand like it’s a foreign object, shaking your head. “I don’t even know what to get.”

His thumbs start to rub reassuring circles by the bend of your knees, “Anything you want,” he tells you. “What do you like? Silk, lace, cotton, anything.”

You look up, tilting your head at him with a furrowed brow. “It doesn’t matter what I like, th—”

“It only matters what you like,” He says seriously, lowering himself to meet your gaze. “I’ll love it, no matter what you pick. Don’t worry about that.”

You lean forward a bit instinctually, “Okay.”

His eyes scan across your face in something that you can only recognize as awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.

“I want to kiss you again,” he says, voice even quieter.

Your eyes go to his mouth and you can only manage a nod, lips already parted.

He moves forward not a second later, kissing you with more fire than you’d gotten to see the other night. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing lightly as you hook one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

You hear the clatter of chess pieces falling over as he moves nearer to you, large frame leaning over you. You push up on your knees, meeting his lips up at his level. His hands caress around your hips as the kiss gets deeper.

You just start to fumble with the hem of his shirt when he takes your hands in his, pulling them away before breaking the kiss.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he smiles, nudging you back with little force.

You groan, “Why?”

He barks out a laugh at that, stroking your hips again. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on the floor.”

“Then let's go somewhere else,” you nod up towards the stairs.

He shakes his head, that soft smile still playing on his lips. “Not tonight.”

You sit back on your heels again, frowning.

He brushes your hair back, murmuring, “No. But for now, I'll kiss you ‘til you can’t think if that’s what you want.”

You really hope you didn’t perk up at that as much as you think you did.

🌾🌽 i heard a rumor that if you like without reblogging your crops will be cursed but hey what do i know 🌾🌽

thantophobia(b.wayne)

(n.) fear of losing someone you love

🎶: Loneliness by Adrian Von Ziegler

warning: fem!reader, fluffy, sad, almost made me weep hearing with the music.

"You didn't wanna lose me so you pushed me away to keep me safe."

"To protect you from the dangers that come with knowing me."

"Did your plan work?"

Bruce stepped closer towards her, taking hold of her hands, running his thumb across the back, "Yeah, it did…until it didn't."

"What?"

"I couldn't protect you from my heart. You gave me all the love one could only dream of. You showed me that there is some kindness, some good still left in this grim world. I pushed you away to protect that. But the further you were the more my heart wanted you. I wanted you. I craved you. I still do."

He placed her hands on his face, holding them there with his own, losing himself in their warmness. Nothing had changed, it was just as soft as it had always been. Bruce couldn't help but close his eyes and relax. He hadn't slept the night before, and her hands were so delicate he almost fell asleep. With her palms going damp, Bruce could sense Natasha was nervous. He was too, realising his words only after they were spoken but, to be honest, he didn't care. He had been suppressing his feelings for thirteen years, believing it was for her sake. But with the Riddler kidnapping her, and the Batman coming to an end he cannot go without letting her know.

Natasha felt her face and ears go intensely warm. Her heart fluttered at his every word. She was stunned, to say the least. She kept opening her mouth but her words escaped her due to the huge lump in her throat. She felt like screaming and crying. She wanted to tell him everything, about how she felt, how angry she was at him, and tell him how incredibly she was in love with him. The frustration of it all made her vision go blurry, she wasn't aware until drops of salty water trickled down her face. It was all just too much.

Hearing tiny sniffles, Bruce opened to an upset Natasha, tears dripping down one after the other. So he did the one thing his mother always did for him whenever he was upset. He dropped her hands gently, stood chest to chest, and held her face between his. He was holding her so delicately, so cautiously, like a cloud that he didn't wanna let go and that only made her weep even more. He gazed at her, running his thumb under her eyes before pulling her in.

He felt her relax after freezing for a second, tucking her head in between the broad planes of his chest and throwing her arms around him, adjusting herself to be more comfortable in his warm, tight embrace. Still sobbing, Natasha gripped his shirt, clutching onto it like it is the only thing that is keeping her from breaking into shards. He felt his shirt dampen but he didn't dare stop her. It was too much for him too, confessing his devotion to the only girl he ever loved knowing that this might be his last chance.

Bruce loves Natasha; he would die for her, he would kill for her. His love for her is limitless, eternal. His heart will always belong to her even when he is gone. With Natasha in his arms, nothing else mattered.

Not the Riddler,

Not the Penguin,

Not Gotham,

Not his family's legacy,

Not Batman.

comment, like, reblog💙

p.s took the liberty to give the reader a name cuz tbh im not on board the 'y/n' idea, so please excuse me😊