Bruce Wayne Fic - Blog Posts

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.

MANIC.

Bruce Wayne × criminal!Reader.

WARNINGS: OOC!Batman, dubcon, chains, cunnilingus, anal penetration, pussy slapping, toxic fucking, masturbation (f).

A/N: this isn't proofread so there might be grammatical errors. Writer's block hit hard with this one.

Bored. That's all you felt in your cell in Arkham. Everything was so plain. Nothing excited you in here, not even riling up Scarecrow. The only thing that excited you was him.

You loved his visits, he'd bring you real food and you'd only give him the right amount of information required but not too much. You wanted him to come back, he was your only source of entertainment. The only colour in the beige and plain life you had inside Arkham.

You wanted to fuck him too. You couldn't deny how wet you'd gotten before when he used to chase you. Sometimes you'd run into the most predictable places instead of disappearing just so he'd continue the chase.

Sometimes in your cell, you fingerfucked your cunt to the thought of him fucking you in a dirty alleyway, using you like a fleshlight which he'd inevitably throw away.

He visited again on Halloween and you were overjoyed. You looked at him expectantly for your usual Big Mac meal.

"Well? Where is it?"

You couldn't help but demand.

He gave you the usual staredown and then he spoke.

"I have a proposition for you. I want you to ride along with me today, you're the only one who knows where Joker's bunker is."

"What do I get in return?"

You asked.

"You'll see."

He said and so you agreed to his proposition.

The Batmobile was surprisingly comfortable to sit in, regardless of how much it looked like a tank from the outside. You had handcuffs and a bellychain which made you uncomfortable but you decided not to throw a fit, considering what you were going to do.

The raid was a bust and he knew you'd led him to the wrong bunker.

He dragged you back to the Batmobile.

"THIS could've been your ticket to freedom. You're going to pay now."

He sounded so angry and that made you so wet. He was finally going to 'punish' you.

There was a ripping sound as he ripped off your orange Arkham issued pants, your panties followed suit.

He had you bent over his knee.

THWACK

His large gloved hand came down onto your left asscheek, hard. Again on your right. This continued until he got bored.

Your poor ass was red and raw from the spanking and your cunt had drooled all over this knees.

"Insane whore."

He mumbled as he shoved you onto your back.

Soon, his lips were on your cunt and his tongue was fucking in and out of your drenched hole. He made sure to grind the nose of his cowl into your swollen clit, he wasn't going to let you completely enjoy this. Your moans were strangled and you felt like you were going to melt from all the painful pleasure.

You whined as you felt your peak approaching and he completely stilled his tongue. He continued this for a bit until your clit was painfully hard and swollen. He was relishing your pained moans and whines.

He lubed up his fingers with your slick and started working open your tight pucker.

You could tell he was getting impatient, his breathing was erratic and his cock was rock hard.

He quickly opened his zipper and took out his cock. Your mouth went dry as you glanced down at it, the tip looked red and it was leaking copious amounts of pre. He had a few prominent veins at the base of his cock and one running upto his tip. His cock was so heavy, it bent slightly to the left. His balls looked equally heavy, so full of cum.

He lifted up your thighs and positioned his thick tip against your clenched pucker.

"Relax"

He grumbled as he pushed in, knocking the wind out of your lungs. You tried to squirm but he held you down tightly.

Each inch felt agonizing as he slipped into your tight ass, you couldn't help but whimper pathetically. As soon as he was in, he started thrusting into you as hard as he could.

One hand wrapped around your throat to quieten your sobs as he fucked you into painful yet blissful oblivion. His grunts got louder as he neared his climax, his hips snapping into you more erratically.

Soon, he shot his huge load into your ass. You could feel it's feverish heat pumping into your guts. As he pulled out, a few thick globs of his spend leaked out of your gaping asshole. He gave your swollen pussy a hard slap as he tucked himself back into his trousers.

Thankfully, he got you new trousers before dropping you back at Arkham.

You were his little cumdump now and you both knew he was going to use you till you broke.

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.

Stepdad!Bruce.

Warnings: stepcest, age gap (reader is 19, Bruce is in his early 40s), nasty fantasies, stealing of underwear, masturbation (f and m), reader being lowkey obsessed w Bruce, daddy issues, voyeurism.

A/N: This is my first smut piece, I hope y'all enjoy!

Bruce had married your mother a year ago. At first, you did not want to interact with him at all. Just avoided him everytime, shut him down anytime he tried to talk to you, barely tolerated him at the dinner table.

But slowly, he kind of managed to break that wall you had put up. You weren't used to a father figure being so nice to you. So kind, thoughtful, helpful. You started to like him.

Soon, you didn't know how or when but that liking turned into something depraved. You wanted to fuck him. Maybe it was your daddy issues making you think like that but you weren't in the mood to psychoanalyse yourself.

Sometimes when you were horny, you fingered yourself, imagining his thick fingers plunging in and out of your drooling hole. You imagined how he'd coo at you, calling you his little slut, how shameless it was for you to want him. He'd have his other arm around your torso, pinning you to his lap, he'd make you orgasm until you'd cry.

Then, your obsession furthered a bit, you started stealing his boxers. You stole the kind of old ones, so he wouldn't notice. You'd wear them and rub your pussy through them. Make yourself squirt into them and then you'd conspicuously drop them off in the laundry hamper to not get caught.

What you didn't know was that sometimes someone would be watching you through that tiny crack in your doorway, jacking off as quietly as possible while you mewl his name in your bed.

❝honeymoon❞

V. sins of the mother.

parts: previously plot: alfred finds yours and bruce's old yearbook. you reminisce on how you lost him... and how he came back to you all those years later. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: arranged marriage, friends to enemies to (fake) lovers, implied history between reader and bruce, LOTS of angst, eventual fluff, TW for depictions of brief physical child abuse (specifically to the reader), sorry but your fictional mom SUCKS, sweet ending though. words: 3.5k. a/n: I apologize to any british readers for inaccuracies with the whole yearbook thing. from what I gather, the american concept of yearbooks has gotten popular in the uk in the last 14-ish years but if it doesn't make sense, I'm hiding behind the fact that it's a posh boarding school and also- *runs away before I can think of a better excuse*

The rapping at your door is too gentle to be Bruce, and you're proven right when Alfred peeks into your room, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Bruce's guest room had steadily become your home over the course of your engagement. You still had your own place, paying the rent in case all of this fell through in one fell swoop (and it would, you couldn't escape the nagging feeling that it would), but you found yourself feeling some semblance of ownership over the tower. You hadn't even gotten the chance to put your desk up before Bruce was offering you his study—his father's study. He insisted it was because you were CEO, like his father. You dared to think it was because he was starting to see you as family.

The tower felt even more yours when Alfred stopped by like this, checking in on you, making sure you wanted him here. You set the papers in your lap to the side with a tired smile, "What's up, Alfred?"

It turns out he was hiding something behind the door. At first, you think it's a folder, perhaps some work that Bruce needed you to do for the company or some files Alfred kept from his time managing Wayne Enterprises. But when he comes round to your bedside, you realize it's a photo album. A yearbook, to be exact.

The green leather is embellished with the sparkling emblem of Silverstone Academy. It makes your heart jump up into your throat, "Where... where'd you find that?"

"After Bruce graduated, he had me put all of his old yearbooks away in storage. Kept this one, though. Would you like to see?" He turns the book to you with a well-meaning smile, and whether he notices your discomfort and chooses to ignore it is... debatable.

Still, your hands reach for it.

The spine crackles, unopened for many years by the looks of it. You thumb through the pages, flipping past pictures of the palatial school grounds and fellow classmates in freshly-pressed regalia. You're about to turn the page on the extracurriculars when Alfred places a hand on the page to stop you, pointing to a rather large group photo, "This was Bruce's favorite, if I recall."

There are rows of you, each one standing on the bleachers of a court, all of you awkward and fourteen and just wanting the whole thing over with. And then there, amongst the rows of smiling teenagers, is Bruce and you.

"Eyes front, students! I will not say this again. We want to look good for our parents, yes? We want them to see how smart and well-behaved you are, yes? Okay, then. Eyes forward. Shoulders back. Smiles on! This is your last chance. There will be no retakes!" Is what your headmaster probably said, but you were far too distracted by Bruce's fingers tugging on the tail of your un-tucked shirt to know for sure.

You bat away his hand but can't suppress the giggle that bubbles out of you. One of your classmates turns to glare, but the heat of it doesn't reach you when Bruce is whispering, "Last one to dining hall does the loser's chores."

"I'm faster than you and you know it."

"Hey, I beat Wilbur in the race on Saturday."

"That's cause Wilbur hit puberty and can't control his body anymore."

Your headmaster's shrill call draws your attention forward, "And three, two..."

You turn and smile. You feel Bruce's eyes still on you. Just as the shutter goes off, Bruce tugs your hand instead. And, even with all your teenage obstinacy wanting to make him work for your attention, make him fight for it, you can't help it.

You turn to look at him and the flash goes off.

"I remember being quite upset with this one," Alfred disperses your memory, gently calling you back to the present, "Bruce always hated taking pictures, but pictures were all I had of him while he was away. But... can't really hate that smile he's giving you, can I?"

You feel breathless at the image of younger Bruce and the look of... adoration he wears. Everyone else is focused on the camera, some eyes closed and some smiles skewed, but Bruce is focused on you and you him. Like you are the only two people in the world. Arguing over chores and who's faster than who. Like best friends.

You don't realize you're holding your breath until your body takes in one big deep inhale for you, "He wouldn't stop bothering me."

"It's funny how we couldn't get you two to talk to each other when you first met, and then years later you were inseparable."

You remembered that. Barely in second grade and being touted around by your parents at galas. You remembered Bruce hiding behind his mother's dress, and your mother guiding you by the scruff to say hello, "British boarding school will do that to you."

Alfred snorts, "I think he just liked that someone was treating him like a person."

You glance up at Alfred's soft expression, fatherly and proud. You've never seen him look any other way with Bruce. "Will you be Bruce's best man?"

Alfred seems to startle at that question, "Oh... well, he hasn't asked, but I suppose I will. Not sure who else he'd ask."

"I don't think he'd want to," you admit, and Alfred looks confused, "ask anyone else, I mean. You're it for him."

Bruce looks just like how you remember his father, but sometimes, when the light hits Alfred's eyes just right (that same color you've come to love and mourn), you think Bruce looks just like him too. You supposed they were always meant to be family, in that inexplicable way.

Alfred watches you for a moment, struck by your statement, and then softens like the teddy bear you know him to be. "And you as well. I'm glad you both found your way back to each other."

You can tell he means it in the heartwarming way, the way you meant it, but it doesn't fill you with warmth. There are no fuzzy feelings in your stomach. There is a whirlpool.

This time, there is no doubt Alfred senses your discomfort. He seizes up. He goes to say something, something no doubt kind and thoughtful, but you beat him to the punch, "Can I keep this? I want to... show it to Bruce later, maybe. Might make him laugh."

Alfred stops in his tracks. Then, as if used to such stonewalling, stands to his full height and begins his trek back to your bedroom door, "'Course you can. I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight."

He waits for your affirmative, then shuts the door behind him.

july, seventeen years ago.

The banging on your door fills you with dread the second you recognize it for what it is.

You are tangled in sheets and limbs—warm limbs, arms and legs and hands wrapped around your body in the witching hour—while the heavy oak door of your dorm room shakes with each knock. You don't know how long they've been knocking, but you fear you have very little time left to answer before you end up in worse trouble than you seemingly already are.

You shove at Bruce and he flounders, half-asleep. He almost doesn't want to let you go until he becomes aware of the banging on the door himself and presses his back to the wall behind your bed, "He snitched."

"He wouldn't! Coulson would never," you grumble, pulling on a hoodie discarded on the floor, too tired to recognize it as Bruce's, "just... get under the bed."

He does as he's told, though he looks rather peeved to do so. You grab the back of your desk chair and twist it out from beneath the door knob, and almost immediately it is thrown open by the headmaster.

Your first feeling is shock. Your second feeling is, undoubtedly, ice cold fear. You never thought you and Bruce would get away with this forever, but to be caught by the headmaster is... way worse than you could've imagined.

Headmaster Collins was a spidery man. What he lacked in muscle, he made up for in menace. His features were all gaunt and shadowy in the dark of your room, and with only the light from the hallway to capture his silhouette.

Before you can speak, he raises a single finger to cut you off, "I will discuss you blocking doors later. You have a guest."

You frown. "I..." You stammer. Even with your hand caught in the cookie jar, you don't yet want to give yourself away. Maybe he had no idea it was Bruce that kept sneaking into your dorm. Perhaps Coulson hadn't divulged that much. You and Bruce had paid him in many ways to keep that part secret above all.

You just make out the narrowing of the headmaster's eyes, "Your mother. She flew in from Gotham. She says she's worried about you."

Your stomach drops. Perhaps Bruce being found under your bed would've been better.

To the headmaster's chagrin, you corral him back out into the hall and shut the door behind you, "What? I wasn't... she didn't..."

"She failed to let us know either. I only received the call minutes ago when she arrived outside. We don't want to keep her waiting, do we?" Now, in the light of the hallway, Headmaster Collins loses some of that menace. He almost looks... just as concerned as you.

He leads you to the library in complete silence.

When you push open one of the double doors, you see there are a few candles lit, the rest of the lights dimmed low, and your mother standing with her back to you in the center of the room.

She doesn't turn around until you hear the door click shut behind you and, just like that, the headmaster has left you to fend for yourself.

Everyone always said you looked just like her. A spitting image, and one day, "if you're lucky", you'd grow up to be just as powerful. As the eldest of your siblings, it was unavoidable. Your fate had been sealed long before you were born.

She opens her mouth to speak and whether out of fear or anger, your next words come tumbling out before she can, "I already know what you're going to say."

She clasps her lips together. Then, after a moment, smiles down at you, "Well, that saves me some breath. Tell me, darling mine: what was I going to say?"

"That you know why I told you so late. And that you're angry with me for not running it by you sooner... so you could be in control of it."

"I was angry eight hours ago. Not anymore. It was almost clever of you."

Almost. A smarter, more clever you wouldn't have run it by her at all. You would've quietly disappeared off to the Waynes' vacation house in Barcelona and, inevitably, when you got the call, you'd have told your mother you wouldn't be back for the rest of summer break.

But she had her claws in you, and try as you might to defy her, you always felt those fingers curling around your conscience, drawing out of you what little truth you aimed to keep to yourself.

"So you flew all this way to yell at me?"

"To join you."

You blanch. "You... can't." There is nothing else you can say. No argument, no temper tantrum. Nothing.

But your mother is smart. The plane ride over would have given her ample time to cancel her duties for the next six weeks, offload them onto someone else because what was more important than joining the future heir of Wayne Enterprises on a summer abroad in Spain? Most people on the board would kill for that kind of opportunity. That kind of favoritism.

She's smart too in that it's only her. You imagined your siblings had been left to the nannies, and if Bruce questioned her presence, she could argue that leaving Alfred to chaperone two teenagers all by himself would be just cruel. Her presence wouldn't tip the scales too far into dangerous territory. In fact, it would be nothing if not practical.

She takes a step toward you, then another, and then another until she is looming over you. Half her face is lit by the fireplace roaring in the corner of the room, casting a shadow on the other side. Like this, she no longer looks like you. She looks something far colder, "You didn't think I'd let you run off to another country and ruin this for our family, did you?"

"What? Wh... ruin what? Bruce is my boyfriend."

"Your boyfriend is Bruce Wayne. There is a very real difference."

You feel your eyebrow twitch at that, "What's your point?"

But your attitude is nasty. Far too nasty for a child. The residual sting of her hand colliding with your cheek nearly sends you back into a chair but you manage to catch yourself after a few steps, staring at the rug beneath you in disbelief.

"My point is," her attitude is much harsher, and as you wipe away the bit of spit that dribbled down your lip, she blocks your view once more, "he is not just another boy, a peer, a boyfriend. Bruce is the heir to the company, and unlike his father, he has no foresight. Under him, this company will crumble. His family's legacy will cease to exist. That is why I am here, darling mine. Why you exist. Legacies must be upheld."

You hiss in pain when she takes you by the chin and forces you to look her dead on. At this angle, you can see her whole face lit up by the fire. Through gritted teeth, you whisper in horror, "What are you asking me?"

"I'm telling you that I'm coming along, or you will not go at all."

Your heart breaks a little more than it already has. This is what you'd thought of all week, what kept you up at night and got you up in the morning. And now your mother was going to ruin it all. A tear slips down your cheek and over your mother's fingers, and she releases you to wipe her hand clean, "Please."

"You would only find some way to make him hate you, and all my hard work for the past twenty-five years would be all for naught."

"Mom."

"I've already let the butler know."

"Please let me have this."

"Tell me you understand." You remain silent, teeth almost chattering from the chill her voice gives you. Her eyes harden, "Tell me you understand why I let you have him at all."

"He's my friend."

"He's your future. Tell me." Another tear rolls down your cheek. Your mother grabs you by the arm and pulls you to her, shaking you as more tears fall. You're doing your damnedest not to sob but you're failing spectacularly, "Tell me!"

"He's my future." You gasp out.

"And why do I allow you to be friends with him?"

"Because..." You blubber, fiercely wiping away the tears, "...to uphold our family legacy."

"And?"

"To keep you on his good side."

"Keep us," she taps your chin with her finger, making you flinch, "us, darling mine. Wayne Enterprises will end with him, but it'll begin again with us. With you. Say it."

"With me."

"So we'll go together. And you will do anything he tells you to. And you will make him very happy because he is not your friend. He is our ticket to owning Gotham City."

You would've done anything Bruce asked of you because you loved him, because you trusted him. The way your mother talked about what he might ask of you made you feel sick to your stomach. She shakes you again, expecting you to say it back.

Your lips part to release a shaky exhale meant to be a word, but behind your mother, you stare past the cracked library door and into the eyes of your best friend. The only word you can get out is, "Bruce?"

Your mother drops you completely. She swings around but the door is shutting before she can catch a glimpse, and you're shoving her out of your way before he can get too far.

You throw the door open and find him rushing back down the hall, a flummoxed headmaster lingering by as you run after Bruce. You shout his name but he doesn't slow for you at all, even as your voice echoes off the old school halls. "Bruce! Bruce, please! Let me explain."

It takes more energy than you have in you to catch up with him, but you eventually slide to a stop in front of him, stopping him before he could ascend the stairs and return to the dorm rooms. You expect to see anger clear on his face, or sadness, betrayal even. Instead, he is cold. He looks right through you.

The emptiness of which he looks at you catches you completely off guard. Anger, you could stomach. But this?

"How much did you hear?"

Those eyes that used to look at you so sweetly hold nothing in them at all. He stares you down as if you should already know.

When he tries to side-step you for the stairs, you grasp desperately for his hand but he yanks away from you like you've burned him, sending you collapsing to your knees against the bottom step, "Bruce, please... I don't feel that way about you. I've never felt that way about you. You... you're my best friend. This is exactly why I shouldn't have told her about the trip, I should've just kept my mouth shut-"

"What trip?"

You look up at him and see a wave of something sharp cross his face before smoothing back over completely. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. He sees the question in you, the thing you fear to ask when it hits you.

Bruce turns his face away from you, "I'll see you in September."

You sit on those steps until sunrise.

The elevator stutters to a stop at cave level, letting you out into Bruce's sanctuary. He's standing at his desk and staring at you, as if he had expected Alfred instead.

"Hey," you start, timidly approaching him with yearbook in hand, "Are you busy?"

He watches you get closer and slowly shakes his head, eyes falling to the book clutched to your chest. They widen some with recognition, a cloudy look overtaking them once you're within arm's length of him. You set the book down on his desk, careful not to disrupt his work. You go to flip open the cover but his hand comes down on the Silverstone emblem, forcing you to draw back your hand in surprise, "Where'd you get this?"

"Alfred kept it." At that, Bruce groans. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

You watch as he slides the book closer to himself, nudging away the files he'd been poring over before you'd arrived, making quiet noises of recognition here and there. When he inevitably lands on the class picture Alfred had shown you, he hesitates. You wait for him to say something, anything, but after a moment of silence, he presses on.

It isn't until he gets to the individual headshots from that year that you notice something odd. On your page, where your headshot and name should be, is a hole cut into the paper. Your heart sinks.

Your mind goes for the worst thing first (that perhaps he had hated you so much that putting away the yearbooks wasn't enough, that he had to cut you out of them too), but Bruce simply traces the neatly cut edges where your face should be.

Then he flips to the page where his picture should be, and his picture is cut out in the same fashion.

You look to Bruce for answers, but his expression is... guarded. He almost looks like he doesn't want to entertain it, almost looks like he's about to tell you to leave him to his work for the rest of the night.

Instead, he pushes the book back to you, "I kept yours in my wallet. I was going to give you mine."

You don't know what to say first, but it finds you in the lull in conversation, "You were going to?"

Bruce's mouth twists in discomfort, still not looking at you. He reaches over and shuts the cover to the book, "I thought... you might tease me about it." For a brief second, he looks at you, "Dunno where they are now."

That brief second is, of course, his tell. It was a shame. Bruce had become such a good liar since he left you on those stairs. He had to have been to get where he is now. And yet, you know in an instant that he's not being honest with you. It feels good this time.

Fleeting Moments ✢ Bruce Wayne

Synopsis: Y/N and Bruce Wayne share quiet moments of love amidst the chaos of Gotham. In rare stolen hours between nightfall and dawn, she clings to the man behind the mask, not aware of the double life he leads. She watches as bruises form across his skin and holds him through his restless nights, grateful that, for once, he is by her side. Bruce Wayne x Reader, female pronouns. This piece is not plot-specific, so any iteration of Bruce will work. Though, I wrote it with Christian Bale in mind.

Warnings: A sprinkle of angst. Masterlist

Disclaimer: This is essentially a prequel to another Bruce Wayne one-shot I wrote (here is the link if you're interested), though you by no means have to read it; this works as a stand-alone, too. However, the other one-shot goes into detail on how their relationship progressed from here. Words: 1,726k

Rain pattered softly against the glass, a rhythmic rap that filled the quiet, ornate expanse of Wayne Manor. It was late, too late for her to be awake, but Bruce lay beside her, his breath steady and deep, his warm frame pressed snug against her side. Y/N could not sleep, her mind restless despite the calming comfort of his presence, a presence that so often eluded her. Absently, her fingers traced the ridges of his knuckles, ghosting over the faint scars that marred his otherwise perfect skin.

She wondered, as she always did, where they had come from. He never spoke of them. Never told her of the fights, the injuries, the pain that lingered and simmered beneath the surface of his carefully constructed mask. He was Bruce Wayne, the prince of Gotham, a man of charm and effortless grace. But in the silence of the night when, in his solitude, this façade was brought down, Bruce was something else entirely. Something weary, something worn.

He stirred slightly under her touch, his fingers twitching before they caught hers, enclosing them within his grasp. A small, lazy smile flickered across his lips as he blinked away his stupor.

‘You're awake,’ he murmured, voice thick with lassitude.

Y/N hummed in response, shifting closer, her head nestling against his shoulder. 

‘Couldn't sleep.’

He exhaled slowly, his free hand coming up to stroke along the curve of her spine, soothing and unhurried. 

‘Bad dreams?’ She shook her head against him.

‘No dreams at all,’ she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘Just thoughts.’

Bruce did not push her to divulge in what kind. He never did. He knew her well enough to understand that sometimes, silence was safer, preferred. 

Instead, he pressed a kiss to her temple, lingering there for a moment before pulling her impossibly closer. ‘Get some rest. I'm right here.’

But that was the problem he was blind to; he was here. She could not convince her mind to rest when there was the impending, almost certain possibility that he would leave again, that a time was coming when he would not be around; when he would not be anywhere.

But for now, he was right; he was here. He was with her when this night was still, when the city outside could wait. But Y/N knew, deep down, that the nights like these were borrowed moments, fleeting and precious. They existed in the spaces between his concealed duty and sacrifice, in the hours when he let himself be nothing more than a man who loved her.

She did not ask him to stay awake with her. She did not ask him about the bruises forming on his frame. She simply closed her eyes and let the sound of his heartbeat lull her back to sleep.

Morning came with a soft glow of dawn seeping through the sheer curtains; it cast a golden hue over their space and a warm, rouge gleam through her closed eyelids. Bruce was already awake, as he often was, standing by the window with a cup of coffee in hand. He was bare from the waist up, the morning light tracing the contours of his back and highlighting the scars that stood scattered across his physique.

Y/N opened her eyes and watched him for a moment, drinking in the quiet beauty before her. Though, eventually, she was compelled to speak. 

‘What catches your eye?’ Y/N got up from their bed and moved to stand behind him. She looked past him to the sprawling murk of the Gotham City skyline, the view that held his gaze. She draped her arms around his waist and rested her chin upon his shoulder.

His head tilted ever so slightly in responce, until his cheek made light contact with her forehead. She could feel the smile that played at the corners of his lips. ‘This city… It never sleeps.’

‘Neither do you,’ she murmured sardonically, shifting so her face nuzzled into the base of his throat. 

‘You should, Bruce. You need to.’ He felt her words hum against his skin.

He said nothing, taking another slow sip of his coffee. He yearned to explain, to tell her why he was always unaccounted for, he felt the words swell at the edge of his tongue; he swallowed them back, and they burned in their descent. Y/N sighed, she sensed his hesitation, his unwillingness to speak, to disclose his worries. She gently pushed away and returned to the bed to sit amongst the ruffled sheets. 

‘Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we left? If we went somewhere far away, at least for a little while?’ Y/N did not know everything, but she knew this: it was Gotham that kept him tethered here. 

She did not know why that was; she could not understand it. Was he clinging to the memory of his parents taken too soon? She stared begrudgingly at the Metropolitan cesspool before her and concluded that must be the case; she could not see why else he would want to stay. There was beauty here; Y/N was not blind to it, she saw the Gothic architecture, the intricate ironwork and the towering cathedrals. There was beauty in its darkness, haunted yet elegant. 

But Gotham’s old-world charm stood in vast juxtaposition to its modern decay; the underbelly was a twisted mirage of its grandeur. Every crevice held murmurs of brutality and corruption, from alleyways to corporations. In Gotham, shadows were not merely cast by the towering buildings but by the weight of its crime, greed, and betrayal. Murk clung to its surfaces like a second skin, and the light, if it ever shone through, felt fleeting.

Bruce turned to face her fully, leaning against the windowsill; his face contorted, if she did not know him better, she would have thought he was in pain. 

‘I can’t.’

‘I know,’ she whispered, nodding slightly. ‘But I wish you could.’

He strode over, set his coffee down on the bedside table and sunk into the mattress beside her. His hands found her face, thumbs grazing her cheekbones as he studied her, his eyes unreadable. 

‘Would you? Leave Gotham? Leave all this?’

She swallowed. ‘I would be leaving something behind, something I couldn’t live without.’

Bruce knew she spoke of him; he considered this fact, felt the way it twisted his stomach and burnt like acid in his throat. She would be better off without him, safer. Maybe he should send her away; she should live in sunlight, not his shadow. Instead, he pulled her to him, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that spoke of everything he left unsaid, everything he kept shrouded behind his distasteful second life. Y/N melted into it, her fingers threading through his hair, anchoring herself to this sporadic moment.

Then he pulled away, his forehead resting against hers. ‘I can’t leave. Just know that I love you. That, I’m sure of.’

And for now, it was enough.

There were nights when the world felt too heavy, when the weight of his self-inflicted responsibility bore down upon him until he was engulfed by it, until it pulled him under. These were the times when he came to her in the dead of night, his body weary, his hands unsteady as they reached for her, craving her embrace.

She never asked where he had been. She never asked why his knuckles were raw. She never asked why an affliction lingered behind his gaze, a torment that refused to leave. Instead, she took him in, let him press his forehead against her shoulder, let him expel his unspoken burdens into the quiet space between them.

‘I hate this city,’ he once confessed, voice muffled against her skin. ‘I hate what it does to people. What it does to me.’

She carded her fingers through his dark hair, a soothing motion meant to ease the tension in his shoulders. His declaration had stunned her, he never spoke of these worries, never gave too much away.

‘Then leave.’ She tried to keep her tone light, unburdened. 

He let out a hollow laugh. ‘You know I can’t.'

‘I know,’ she whispered. But the truth was, she did not know; she did not understand.

Bruce lifted his head and searched her face as if trying to memorise it, commit it to his memory. 

‘I don't want to lose you.’

‘Then don’t,’ she whispered, a smile turning her lips as her fingers continued to pass through his hair. ‘Stay. At least for tonight. Stay for me; I’m not going anywhere, you know?’

They perpetually followed the same cycle: love, longing, and the insatiable pull of his unwavering, cumbersome duty. The few, yet treasured, nights they spent wrapped in each other’s arms, the stolen kisses in the dimly lit atrium of Wayne Manor, the whispered exchanges in the wake of the morning.

And then there were the other nights, the dreaded junctures. The ones where she woke to find the space beside her cold, sheets untouched. The vestige of his presence an aching reminder of the life he led, the life she was not acquainted with.

She told herself she could live with it. That as long as he came back to her, she could endure the waiting, the worrying, the never-ceasing fear that one day, he would not return at all, that he would be reduced to a memory, a phantasm of her past.

Though deep within her, Y/N knew. She knew that love and hope alone could not fix the fractures and fissures forming between them. That try as she might, one day, the burden of it all would become too much, and it would crumble under the pressure.

However, in the fleeting moments of his caress, she could not allow herself to fret this fact. She pressed herself even closer, savouring the way his arm tightened around her waist in his sleep, how his breath fanned, warm against her neck.

For now, she would seize these tranquil moments. The transient seconds in which the world outside ceased to exist, where Bruce was merely Bruce, and she was simply the woman he loved.

Because Y/N knew that, when all was said and done, the night would beckon him once more and draw him from her grasp.

Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3