CocktaleSlut (NSFW)

Here’s to monsters who’ll pin you down, ruin you right, and make you beg for more. Hope your holiday’s full of claws, teeth, and all the sinful fun your filthy hearts need.

Notes: I don't usually write smut so bare with me please! I hope you enjoy and its not cringy lol if you do enjoy please reblog and comment i get way too excited to see what yall think! Kisses 💋

If you celebrate Thanksgiving, happy Thanksgiving! If youre seeing family I hope it goes smoothly for you and if youre celebrating solo I hope you have such a fun time ♥️

Jason never thought twice about you being quiet during sex. You were quiet— not silent, not emotionless, just shy. You were soft. And he loved the Breath hitching, fingers clenching, thighs trembling. He could feel everything you felt, even if you didn’t moan like someone in a cheap Gotham porno.

It never bothered him.

At least it didnt until Roy opened his damn mouth.

They were cleaning guns in the garage when Roy snorted, “Man, does she even like it? You’re quieter than a nun’s class when you two—”

Jason threw a wrench at him. Roy dodged it, cackling.

“Bro, I’m just saying! Girl’s quieter than a library. You must be doing something wrong.”

Jason hated that all he did was punch Roy for talking about you like that. He hated how the words stuck with him. How they followed him home. How they echoed in his head the next time you kissed him and tugged him toward the bedroom.

So now?

Now Jason is on a fucking mission.

To hear you moan. Loudly. Preferably loud enough to make Roy eat his damn words. Maybe loud enough to make the neighbors file a noise complaint.

He starts subtle the first night. Kissing you deeper, kissinf you slower. Touching you like he’s reading you, cataloging every micro-reaction. You’re already panting lightly, lashes fluttering.

“Y’know,” he murmurs against your throat, “I’ve been thinking about something.” Your breath sticks in your chest. “hm?”

“You've been hold back.” His mouth drags hotly along your neck. “You always sound like you’re trying to not make a sound.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair. “Jason…”

“I want the real thing,” he whispers.

Not angry. Not demanding. Hungry.

You don’t answer; but you don’t have to. Your body gives him all the permission he needs.

He gets bolder the next time. And the next.

He learns you moan when he kisses your spine. That you whimper when he bites your shoulder. That you gasp loudest when he praises you, voice low and rough like he’s losing his mind over you.

But he wants more.

So one night, with you under him — hair a mess, lips parted and swollen, eyes completely clouded over—he cages your wrists above your head and leans close enough that you feel every word against your mouth.

“Baby,” he rasps, “I want you to let go. I want everyone to know how good I make you feel. God i need it doll.”

You shiver. “i-I can’t. It’s embarrassing.”

Jason’s expression softens, then darkens in the hottest way. “Embarrassing?” He kisses you slow, deep, filthy. “Sweetheart, your sounds are the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

His hand slips between your thighs, teasing, tempting, controlling.

“You wanna know what embarrasses me?” he whispers. “That Roy thinks I can’t get you to make a single noise. That Roy thinks I don't know how to make my girl feel good.” he growled after saying the words out loud.

Your breath catches — louder this time. He grins.

“There it is,” he murmurs, proud and turned on as hell. “Give me more angel. ”

It becomes a game, a game that he loves.

Jason finds every sound your body makes. Every trigger. Every angle. Every word that pulls a noise out of you even when you try to smother it with your hand — which he always grabs and pins away.

“No hiding,” he tells you. “I want it all.”

And the first time you really lose it — a loud, helpless moan drawn out of you by a combination of praise, his hands, and his cock hitting you just right — Jason freezes.

Not in shock but in absolute triumph.

“That’s it,” he breathes, almost moaning himself. “Fuuuuuck baby, that’s what I want. You're fucking beautiful when you’re not holding back.” He couldn't control his hips as he continued thrust into you until you both exploded.

You’re flushed, shaky, trying to catch your breath. Jason kisses you everywhere — cheeks, throat, chest — like he’s worshipping the noise you just made.

“You know what this means?” he murmurs against your ear. You blink at him, dazed. “W-what?”

He smirks, wicked.

“I’m calling Roy. Right. Now.”

You smack his chest. He laughs, drops the phone, and goes right back to finding ways to make you moan even louder;; purely for “research.”

And maybe its for bragging rights. But mostly its because Jason Todd is now completely addicted to every single sound you make.

Tagging:

@lush-escape

@happilyninjamaze

@littlebirdygirlywriting

@givemefinganame

@indigoscribe

@jasontoddsthunderthigh

@miss-miwmew

@fresh-brown-leaf

@starfiremylove

@theonlysakura

@janie57

@casiiopea2

@ladyperceval

@senatorpadmeamidala

@laurelofsilverfall

@batfambat

@itzmeme

@arimari81-70

@joyfulmusicwatercolorcookies

@nerdyphantomlady

❝word count!❞ 2,063

❝content warnings!❞ jason in his late 50s, fem!afab!reader in early 30s, reader and jason are gym buddies teehee, bit of a slow build up, BREEDING KINK, MATING PRESS!, overstimulation, titty suckin, squirting, praise praise praise praise, jason's got a bit of a confidence problem, reader is flirty and confident

can we talk about dilf!jason todd? im going to talk about dilf!jason todd.

let’s talk about dilf!jason todd. we’ve all seen him. the silver strands that seem to speckle like stars in his undercut, the stern perpetual frown, the crow’s feet whenever he squints slightly, and oh god, the perpetual 5 o’clock shadow. no matter the lingering looks cast by people who walk past him on the street, no matter the batting eyelashes, no matter the amount of flirting will get him to understand that he is attractive.

what is there to be attracted to him anyway? he’d always argue with that same rationale with dick every time. he’s well into his 50’s, he’s nearing his 60’s, and he’s not exactly built like most men his age. sure, he’s still muscled and maintaining himself, but he’s got a bit of a belly that tells everyone he’s never going to lay off on sweet treats.

being a personal trainer at the gym, one of his favourite parts is learning about people.

you’re a little less than half his age, a gorgeous specimen of a human being who doesn’t look a day over your late 20's. jason’s already memorised your schedule like the back of his hand.

Jason was pounding merciless into you after making you cum two times already. "Jay! slow down" your poor cunt was sore and you were about to cry from the mixed feelings.

"one more? please baby, just one more I just need to feel you cum around me one more time" he was pleading, his hand reaching at your clit as he slapped it softly. "ngh- fuck, you gonna cum?" you nodded frenetically as your walls get tighter, milking every drop of his cum, but guess what, Jason didn't stop.

he started thrusting again, you couldn't understand how can this man continue to fuck you after cumming so many times. and any time you go at it again he cums faster. his short nails digged into the soft of your hips, your back hurting but trying your best to arch it, you could literally feel him in your stomach.

sitting on dick's face while he's jerking off 18+

dick grayson always made a big thing of eating you out. he could spend whole day between your legs, taking care of you and your needs. but being between your thighs wasn't enough for him anymore. he needed you as close as possible.

"c'mon, sweetheart" he whimpered. "it's gonna be so good for both of us." his hands already tugging you closer, bringing your hips to his face. your body hovering over his face, thighs locking around his head as you slowly sink down, pressing your weight onto him. you feel his greedy mouth attaching to your pussy immediately, his tongue pressing flat and eager against your clit.

one hand on your waist, holding you steady, the other one going to wrap around his hard, throbbing cock. he gives himself a few fast strokes, precum already dripping from his tip, sticking to his hand and stomach.

you grind your hips against his face, so close to falling apart at his touch. thighs squeezing tighter against his head, when his tongue dives deeper inside you. his hips jerking slightly, fucking himself more into his hand, the coil in his belly tightening more with every second, bringing him closer to his orgasm. he doesn't need a lot of time to finish when it comes to you.

you both finish at the same time. a string of curses leaving your mouth. your pussy clenching around nothing, and dick's tongue lapping up your juices eagerly. his cock twitching, hot, thick ropes of cum covering his hand when he hits his climax with a loud moan against your swollen clit.

ৎׅ ׄ 🌲 december ₊  ֹ ˖

ノ🧸 ⬞ ׄ christmas eve doesn’t go as planned, leaving you alone in dick grayson’s childhood bedroom and mildly regretting dating a vigilante, but everything softens when he finally slips into bed hours later, cold hands, warm apologies, and a promise to make the whole night yours. (18+)

nightwing is so fucking good with his tongue ! (+18)

Dick Grayson finds you on one of the rooftops in Blüdhaven. It’s midnight, and the wind brushes softly against your skin, sending a slight shiver through you. However, when his hands—gloved in the latex of his suit—caress your arms, you know you’ll soon start to warm up, and that feeling is reassuring.

And, just like last time, he has you pinned against the wall. He’s on his knees in front of you, with your skirt hiked up and bunched around your waist. Your panties have vanished; you only hope the wind hasn’t carried them away. His face buries itself between your thighs while his hands firmly hold your legs, draped over his shoulders, to keep you from collapsing.

He licks you with absolute talent, his expert tongue exploring every fold as you arch against the wall. He doesn’t care in the slightest that you’re practically on an exposed rooftop, where any curious neighbor could see how he devours your pussy greedily—because he hasn’t even bothered to take off his suit or the mask that covers those intense blue eyes.

Your hands tangle in his black strands as you feel his tongue exploring your entrance, tracing slow and deep curves that make you clench around it. Then, he replaces it with two fingers, sliding them (still covered in the latex of the suit) inside you with ease, and moves up to your lips to gently lick your clit. You feel like you could explode at any moment if he allowed it.

“Dick, oh my God, fuck, fuck… I’m gonna come, please…!” you practically scream as you arch hard. You feel your clit pulsing under his tongue, your entrance clenching and spasming around his fingers, sucking them in like it wants to swallow them whole. Pure pleasure tears stream down your cheeks.

“Come on, baby… You can take this,” he murmurs in a playful voice, pulling back for just a second. A thin thread of saliva glistens between his lips and your pussy. His blue eyes pin you from beneath the mask, and he flutters his lashes with shameless teasing that completely disarms you. You’re lost.

“There’s nothing I like more than having you as my helper on patrols,” he whispers, his voice husky and laced with amusement. “Spending the whole night eating this pretty little pussy until you come on my face… But you have to be quieter, yeah? I don’t think you want the whole neighborhood to find out that you’re letting me devour you up here on the rooftops… or do you?”

dick grayson x reader

work can be hard sometimes, Dick is here to fix that

Your hands run over your scalp, fingers slipping into the wet hair. Shampoo sticking to your locks and running down the expanse of your back, warm water carrying it down and into the drain. The door to the bathroom creaked open, hinges squealing in a loud reminder to replace them. Any other day, you'd panic. Today? You turn and great the man slipping in behind you. Tan hands finding your hips and playing with the flesh there. Dark lashes beating against cheek bones as he smiled and leaned in to kiss you. Lips pulling into a smile as he did so, plush meeting plush. " There's my pretty girl. " He murmured against you, pulling away to look you over. " Have a good day? " Dick switched places with you, water coating sore shoulders and clinging to his skin. " Mmm, it was a day " You answer, the soft tension between you thrummed with an awakened emotion at your answer. A day, not a direct answer, a silent one. Your job had been killer, bosses too cocky to care, work stacking up and waiting for you at 9 AM tomorrow. For now? You have Dick Grayson all to yourself. He frowned at your answer, black hair dripping leftover water. " I'm sorry, baby " He murmured the nickname, sweet and tender. It made your belly do a few flips at it. Despite being together for years, he never fails to make you all giddy. A relationship lacking that constant thrumming need for energy and lust, days spent cuddling without a necessary for anything more. Past the puppy love, long past the honeymoon stage. Now? just content.

Today though? Today was one of those sweet days where you both thrum with a need under your skin. He leaned in again, letting you return to the water and have the water carry away the shampoo. His hands gently assist yours. Letting the water rinse away the suds of shampoo. He leaned forwards, chest against your shoulders as he smiled and hummed into your neck. " Let me make it better? " He murmured, hands lowering over your ribs and resting against your lower hips. Your head tips back so he can kiss against your larynx, lips pulled into a gentle smile once more. You glance over at him, body turning so you face him once more. Hands finding his chest as you smiled. " Alright, Grayson. " You answer, weight shifting between your legs, stepping forwards so the water was carrying down your back instead of most of you.

He smiled that giddy, excited look before leaning in close and kissing sweetly against your collarbones. His teeth gently nipping the skin there before he kissed down between the crevice of your cleavage, lips pausing as he licked over your nipple and kissed it sweetly. His weight lowering as he kissed down your stomach, past your navel and to your pelvis. His lips paused at your folds, gaze gently flicking up to look at you as he rested his head against your thigh. A beg for permission, you respond by letting your legs part and fall open. Hand bracing against the shelf in the shower as Dick pressed a gentle kiss to your clit, taking his sweet time working you open. His tongue pressed against your folds as he started to gently lap against you, nose bumping your clit. His hands bracing against your thigh as he worked you. " So pretty f' me. " Dick muttered, vibrations causing your head to crane back and a moan tumble from your lips. His hips jut up a bit, the action causing your attention as he sucks against your clit. Dick's tongue curled in you, prodding in all the right places as he groaned quietly. Your body shivered despite the warmth against your back, ectasty building in your bones. A cursed whine dragging from your throat. " Fuck— Dick, right there! " Your leg adjusted into the air a bit, foot prodding his V-line as he ate you out like a man starved. His blue eyes shifting to stare up at you, a low moan echoing against your cunt. It only pushed you closer to the edge. He whined against your folds when you fisted at his hair, urging him forwards. Leading him with a desperation. Your walls fluttered and cunt sobbed as your moans turned towards breathy. Moaning his name in warning, his hands moving up to your hips. His hands splaying and pulling you downwards to grind against his tongue and nose. That tight coil in your stomach snapped, building all at once and dropping off that edge just as fast, a moan leaving him as you gushed on his tongue. His own release had long since passed, his slick coated lips pressing a kiss into your inner thigh as you came down. Bones tired and body building static. " Feeling better? " He asked with a smile, tilting into the space he just kissed.

dick grayson x bruce's secretary!reader

summary: dick grayson can't seem to make you swoon, no matter how hard he tries, until he finally does!

tags: 18+ mdni, kissing, smallest argument with comfort, fluff, not proofread!

2843 words

based off this request -- thank you for sending it in! once again, I cannot write anything short. i'm working on it!!

read part two here!

You hated Dick Grayson. 

He was disgustingly charming, holding a brightness in his eyes that paralleled the beauty of the galaxy. He knew how to wield that power. He was gorgeous, devastatingly so. His face was a perfect canvas of symmetrical visage. 

You knew it, and he knew it. 

You could see it in the way that other women in the office treated him – the fluttery lashes, the lip bites, the attempts at small, lingering touches – and how he smirked right back, giving them a false sense of hope. You refused to be a part of his roster, refused to be another person that was hypnotized by his charm. Your resistance didn’t deter his efforts, much to your dismay. Yet, despite your annoyance towards his presence, you knew he was anything but malicious. You knew he was harmless in his actions, simply just having fun. 

Bruce Wayne was unpredictable in his office appearances. Oftentimes, you were left there alone to pick up the slack alongside Lucius Fox. You had no prior business experience that had prepared you for this role, so you were surprised when you were offered the position. 

Today, in particular, was a harder day for you. Being Bruce’s assistant was challenging, despite all the perks that came with the job. December was the hardest month at the company – meetings, preparations for the new year, securing deals, galas – it was a constant weight on your shoulders that you weren’t able to leave at the office. 

Neither Lucius, nor Bruce were in office today. Neither had been all week, leaving you to take on the brunt of the work in their absence. Dick, for the most part, was the one filling in for what you couldn’t do. 

You hated how easy he made it seem. He came in, handled the meetings, handled whatever paperwork or phone call required of him, and did his work as if it was the easiest thing in your world. 

You, on the other hand, were drowning. Your head was already under the water and you were losing air quickly. No matter how much you tried to claw to the surface, to break even on the amount of work you had to get done, several more tasks were added to your to-do list. Each task took you longer than you would like to admit, simply because you were afraid of ruining things. You had to teach yourself how to complete the tasks to the same standard of Bruce, Lucius, or Dick, as none of this was originally in your job description. Dealing with Dick wasn’t in your job description either. 

“There’s my favourite girl! How are we doing today, beautiful?” Dick’s voice cut through the quiet space as he planted himself on your desk. He flashed a bright, charming smile down at you as he lounged comfortably on your desk. His arms crossed over his chest, the fabric of his shirt stretching against the bulging of his muscles. He could sense the tension radiating off your body, all he wanted was to see that pretty smile that you always tried to hide from him. 

You were too engrossed in reading the file by one of Wayne’s Enterprise’s partners to acknowledge Dick. One monitor had the file pulled up, while you used the other to research terms and proper practices. Your brow was furrowed as you attempted to make sense of the words in the file. 

His finger came up and gently twisted a strand of your hair around his finger, “nearing quitting time, sweetheart, you gonna let me take you out for dinner?” he rumbled smoothly, his head ducking in an attempt to enter your line of vision. His finger carefully untwisted your hair and gently smoothed the strand back against your head. 

“Busy,” you mumbled back, letting out a puff of breath as you squinted at your notes, attempting to make sense of the numbers that were being listed in the file. His touch began to overwhelm you, invading your mind and derailing your train of thought. 

“Come on,” he whined softly, his thumb coming up to your forehead in an attempt to smooth out the tense skin between your brows. “Gotta make sure you’re eating, yeah? I know a good spot over on-”

“Can you stop-” you snapped at him, slapping his hand away. Your eyes were fire, red with anger. He had never seen this side of you before, never seen you even raise your voice, despite how much he knew he toyed with you. “I’m busy. I don’t want to get dinner with you. I don’t want to do anything with you. Go ask one of your other playthings,” 

He said there quietly for a moment, stunned by your sudden outburst. “Sweetheart, I-”

“I’m not your ‘sweetheart’, Dick. I have had a horrible week because I’ve been too busy trying to pick up your shit, and I have a lot to get done still. So, please, leave me alone. I’m sure you have 14 other girls on your list that you can take to dinner right now,” you seethed out again, cutting off his attempt at a response. The office went dead quiet, though you couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed. There was too much to get done, too much on your mind, you didn’t need his shallow flirting to make things worse. You didn’t need empty promises, you didn’t need to be a game for Dick to win. 

He sat there quietly again, still stunned by your words. A glob of spit pooled in his mouth, practically choking him as he forgot how to work his motor functions for a moment. He made you mad. He was trying to make you smile, but he did the opposite?

“Right, yeah…” he murmured softly, standing up quietly from your desk. You turned back immediately to the file, immersing yourself back into the work at hand. He lingered behind you, his gaze roving over your form one last time. He didn’t want to leave you like this. He knew that you were under an immense amount of pressure this week. He had done everything he could to alleviate the workload on your shoulders. He did paperwork, responded to emails, took calls before you could get to them – yet your workload never ceased to decrease. 

“You have a meeting in 20 minutes, Richard, I emailed you the notes,” you snapped out quietly, not turning to look at him. Your clipped tone paired with the formality halted him in his tracks. Richard?  You hadn’t called him that since your first week as Bruce’s secretary. 

He remained in a slight daze as he walked into Bruce’s office and planted himself in the chair. Was it something he said? He thought he was making progress in charming you, making you see that he was serious about his feelings for you, and he was planning to say it explicitly for you if you had agreed to dinner with him. But then again, you had said you had a hard week. It was a hard week. For everyone. The company. Gotham’s crime rate had skyrocketed and required all hands on deck. Everyone was being stretched thin. 

Dick, however, was used to this chaos. He thrived in the bustle of stepping in for Bruce at the company when needed, and patrolling into the early hours of the night. His entire life was a masquerade, a show. 

He knew you did not share that same lifestyle – obviously. He had watched you on numerous occasions, scaled the rooftops on your journey home to ensure you made it home safe. Patrol had conveniently situated him across from your apartment window, allowing him to keep an eye on the neighbourhood and over you at the same time. You were quiet, a steady calm in the tornado of his life. His heart, once impenetrable, was consumed by you.

God, he felt like an asshole now. He could make it up to you? right?

The sharp ring of the phone interrupted his thoughts. He leaned back in his seat, taking a breath, before a smile plastered on his face. “Michael Holt! Pleasure to hear from you-”

────୨ৎ────

You successfully avoided Dick for the rest of the work day. Whatever correspondence that was needed between the two of you was done over email. You managed to slip out of the building without being cornered by anyone. Your breath had been caught in your chest all day. There was no amount of air that was able to fill your lungs enough to give you the satisfaction of a proper breath. You felt like you were in a daze until you got home. 

You dreaded stepping into the office building the next morning. You knew people were going to be whispering about your encounter with Dick. Perhaps about the lack of professionalism that you displayed. You didn’t care. 

There were a few of your coworkers in the office, the early birds getting a head start on their workday. Each give you a small nod of greeting as you passed by. The room was quiet, the low energy of all the staff affecting the atmosphere on the floor. 

You had expected to be met with a mountainous pile of paperwork on your desk, like everyday of the past week. To your surprise, there was a singular note. 

Come into the office.

R.G.

Stepping into Bruce’s office was nerve-wracking. You didn’t want to face Dick. The way his face had fallen after your outburst caused a crack to split down your chest – seeping with guilt and tar. 

The office was empty, cold with the lack of Dick’s presence. The only sign of life was a small basket placed on top of the coffee table that was situated in the lounge area of Bruce’s office. The brown, woven basket’s lid was closed, sealing off the contents from your view. Another note with Dick’s elegant scrawl was placed on top. The note began with your name, and you tried not to acknowledge his usual pet name for you missing from the note. 

I know you’ve had a hard week. We would be lost here without you. I got you a little something as a token of my (our?) no, MY appreciation. Please accept it. And accept my apology for angering you, I thought I was doing the opposite. Don’t worry about your to-do list, I took care of it already. Take a half day today – think of it as an early weekend! Yay! Enjoy. 

R.G. 

You sat down on the chair, reading over the words quietly. Your fingers quietly lifted the lid of the basket. The crack in your chest deepened as you gazed at the contents of the basket. 

At the very back was a fluffy blue pyjama set, soft and warm under the tips of your fingers. Stuffed beside it was a small box of calming tea, surrounded by some of your favourite snacks – how did he know?. There were facemasks, cozy socks, a candle, a card to some ridiculously expensive spa, and… a small, homemade coupon book?

He did all of this for you? All the hard work you had put into keeping him out of your heart had crumbled by this gesture. Your heart was singing at the effort put into this basket.

You opened the coupon and immediately rolled your eyes at the contents. Though, you had to fight to keep the smile of amusement from breaking onto your face. You hated how he made you feel, how the thoughts of him always seemed to infiltrate your mind. 

Of course, Dick would make a homemade coupon book. 

“Good for: one free kiss”

“Good for: one dinner date”

“Good for: one free slap”

“Good for: one free kiss!!”

“Good for: pass off your to-do list onto Dick”

"Good for: ONE FREE KISS!!!!!!”

You rolled your eyes again and moved to flip to the next coupon when the door swung open. Dick’s large frame stopped in the doorway. His eyes roved over you in momentary shock. Your heart lurched as you stood up quickly.

“You’re here early. You usually aren’t here until 9,” he breathed out, shutting the door quietly and stepping closer. He left distance so as to not startle you, afraid you would bolt out of the office once given the chance. 

“Had a lot that needed to be done… um.. Thank you for taking care of it,” you responded back, your flickering between the basket and him. He smiled softly and stopped beside you. His delicate walk never failed to amaze you – the way he moved with grace, always sure of his body’s movements, and with perfect motor symmetry. 

“Happy to, Swe-” he coughed, cutting himself off. His fingers fidgeted as if he didn’t know what to do with them – something you had never seen from him before. 

“I was just leaving. Was hoping to be out of your way when you got here so that you could focus. Use the spa giftcard today,” his tone was gentle, a quiet murmur in the dimly lit office. The rain had cast a prominent gloom in the already present darkness of Gotham.  

“Thank you for the basket,” you whispered in return, your eyes flickering up to meet him. 

“Of course,” he murmured, the knuckle of his finger gently brushing the underside of your jaw. “You’re wearing the same outfit as yesterday?” 

You looked down at your clothes, your hands smoothing over the top. Embarrassment flooded your cheeks in the form of heat. “Yeah…” 

“I love this outfit on you,” he added softly, nudging your chin back up to face him. You pressed your lips together in response. 

“Dick, I’m…”

“I know, don’t worry. It’s okay,” he whispered back, the tiniest hint of a smile breaking through his lips. “There’s… there are no other girls, by the way. You said yesterday that I have 14 girls. I see why you think I would, but I don't. I only want one.”

“Can I use one of these coupons right now?” you asked softly, your fingers sliding the cardstock material back and forth. He nodded slightly, leaning closer. His nose gently nudged against yours. The warmth of his hands slowly slid up the back of your waist, hooking into the fabric of your top. 

The quiet rip of the paper echoed softly in the space between you as you gave him a soft smile. 

“Close your eyes,” you whispered, slipping the coupon into his pocket. You waited until he shut his eyes before a small smile spread onto your lips. You took a moment to admire the beauty of his features. Strong features, angular jaw. The definition of perfect. Beautiful. 

The crack of your hand meeting his cheek left him silently stunned. His eyes flew open in shock as he blinked down at you. “I deserved that… but what the fuck?” 

Your laugh immediately filled the space, pulling the coupon out of his pocket to show which one you had chosen to cash in – “Good for: One free slap”. 

A pout formed on his plump lips, his eyes filling with betrayal. “There were FOUR free kiss coupons for you to choose from!” he whined, pulling you in by the waist again. “FOUR!”

You continued to laugh, your hand coming up to gently soothe the skin of his cheek. You were both aware that the slap did not hurt him. His cheek had barely reddened in colour. 

“One of them even has extra emphasis on the fact that it’s a free-”

You cut him off by pressing your lips softly to his. Your hands gently pulled him close by the black hairs on the nape of his neck, silencing his whining. His mouth was warm and sugary with the taste of sweetened coffee. He let out a soft breath of relief into your mouth, immediately relaxing into the kiss. His strong arms wrapped around you completely, pulling you into the hard planes of his body. 

“Fuck, you’re so… fuck,” he mumbled into your mouth, his lips turning ravenous against yours as a sudden desperation filled the room. He pulled you closer, his lips devouring yours in a way that left you dizzy. You let out another soft giggle into his mouth, gently biting down on the pillowly skin of his bottom lip. 

He ripped himself back, forcing his forehead against yours. His breathing was ragged, his lips wet with spit. He looked utterly destroyed, disheveled, with half-lidded eyes. His hands cupped over your cheeks, holding you close to his face. 

“Again, please. Please let me kiss you again, I-”  he breathed out softly, his nose nudging against yours again. Every fibre of his being was pleading, you could sense it in his breaths, in his grip on your voice, and the lower frequencies of his voice. “You’re so beautiful, taste so good, can I, please?”

“Yes, but first…” you smiled softly, leaning back fractionally. The sound of paper ripping filled his ears again before you held up another coupon in the space between the two of you.

“Good for: one dinner date”

an: I don't know if this is exactly what the request asked for??? but I had fun writing it anyways. THANK YOU FOR SENDING IT IN!!! I would make this into a universe if I have enough ideas, or if you do. thoughts are being thunk

“you can’t be serious,” he says, but he’s already lifting his hips so you can tug his sweats down. so, clearly, he also can’t stop you.

you mutter something about it being “for educational purposes,” which only makes him smile harder—this slow, dangerous curl of his mouth that absolutely does not belong on your best friend’s face.

“sure,” he says. “educational.”

he’s already halfway hard, and you hate that you notice. or maybe you hate that he notices you noticing, because his eyebrows raise the tiniest bit like, yeah, sweetheart, this is what you signed up for.

the first time you put your mouth on him, he exhales fast, like he didn’t expect you to actually do it. his hand lands on the back of your neck—not guiding, just a light touch that makes your stomach drop in a very inconvenient, very not-friendly way.

“okay,” he murmurs, voice doing that low gravelly thing he never uses around you unless he’s half-asleep or pissed. “rule number one: go slow at first. guys lose their minds when you act all innocent about it.”

innocent. right. so funny.

you try it anyway—slow, soft, letting him slide over your tongue like you’re figuring him out. and oh, he reacts immediately. his hips twitch, his breath stutters, he tilts his head back like he’s trying very hard not to grab you.

“yeah. yeah, like that,” he says, and his voice breaks in the middle of the sentence, which is honestly kind of satisfying.

you pull back just enough to smirk, and he narrows his eyes at you like he wants to lecture you but his dick is winning the argument.

“hand at the base,” he says, tapping your wrist because he’s a control freak about literally everything, even this. “twist a little when you come up—gentle, though, not like you’re wringing out a towel.”

you snort around him. he groans, actually groans, and mutters, “jesus, don’t laugh with your mouth full—i’m trying to be professional here.”

professional? okay.

but you follow his instructions, and it works way too well. he’s already breathing like he ran a mile, thighs tense under your hands. every time you take him deeper, his fingers flex at your neck like he’s pretending he’s not two seconds from losing it.

“if you do this on your date,” he gets out, voice rough, “he’s gonna embarrass himself. like—badly.”

you don’t know what possesses you—maybe curiosity, maybe spite, maybe the way he keeps swearing under his breath—but you take him a little deeper, hollowing your cheeks, and his whole body jolts.

“shit—okay—okay, sweetheart—slow down or i’m gonna—”

you absolutely do not slow down.

he swears, chokes, grabs the sheets like they personally offended him. his stomach tightens, his breath catches, and you feel him lose it—sharp, fast, like he had zero chance the moment you opened your mouth.

when he finally gets his soul back, he looks down at you with this dazed, horrified affection, like wow, my best friend just ruined me and i might have a crisis about it later.

“congratulations,” he says, trying to sound casual but still out of breath. “you’re definitely ready for your date.”

and then, after a beat, quieter, eyes flicking to your mouth:

“…probably more ready than you should be.”

roommate!dick who always knocks—even if your door’s cracked open, even if you called his name. he’s polite, almost too polite, like he’s afraid of crossing a line, even though you’ve known for weeks now that he looks at your mouth too long when you’re talking and his eyes always drop to your thighs when you’re wearing those tiny little sleep shorts.

roommate!dick who makes you tea at night without asking. his voice is sleepy when he passes you the mug—barely more than a mumble. “this one helps with cramps, right?” he says, like he hasn’t memorized your whole cycle just from the days you get extra quiet and hug your knees on the couch.

roommate!dick who accidentally folds your underwear when doing the laundry and immediately goes red when he realizes it. “i didn’t look—i mean, i wasn’t trying to—shit, i just threw it in with the rest—” he looks so flustered, and you almost believe he’s innocent until you catch him glancing at your panties again the next week with that same look in his eye.

roommate!dick who gets too used to sharing space. too used to hearing you moan softly through the wall when you think you’re alone. too used to the sound of your bed creaking at night, to the soft gasps you try to muffle into your pillow. he jerks off to it once. maybe twice. then hates himself for it, swearing it won’t happen again.

but it does. he can’t help it—your voice drives him crazy. you sound so pretty when you think no one’s listening. and maybe he’s gotten bolder now. maybe he listens with his forehead pressed to the wall, hand stroking his cock slow while he imagines it’s his name you’re whispering into the dark.

roommate!dick who catches you bent over the bathroom sink in just your towel and loses his mind a little. he doesn’t mean to stare, but god—your thighs, the curve of your ass, the way water droplets trace down the dip of your back—he’s hard in seconds, trying to bite back a groan before he slips out and locks himself in his room to handle it.

and when roommate!dick finally gets his hands on you, he’s gentle the first time. you climb into his bed after a rough day, and it starts with soft touches—his hand on your hip, your face buried in his neck, your fingers bunching the fabric of his t-shirt.

it doesn’t stay innocent for very long.

his voice is hoarse when he asks, “you sure?” and when you nod, he exhales shakily, rolling you beneath him and hovering on top of you like you're his prey. turns out your roommate isn't as innocent as you thought.

──── mlist. OLDER BOYFRIEND BRUCE WAYNE .ᐟ and his terrible tendency to baby you and fix your issues. he turns into an overprotective figure every single time he gets the chance to. it’s in his nature, he can’t help himself but look after you. why did you skip dinner? how is your college assignment going? do you need his help? he can definitely proofread your work. can’t pick your clothes? he’ll do it. need a lift? he’ll pick you up himself in his lamborghini and make everyone’s head turn because, oh, your boyfriend so happens to be the bruce wayne.

this time, bruce finds you in his office, sleeping heavy with your head perched on the desk, surrounded by countless pages and a laptop. he finds some sort of comfort in watching you sleep— it’s simple. you’re at the wayne manor, awfully tired from a long day, but at least you’re safe and so, the dangers of gotham city won’t get their dirty claws on you.

this isn’t the first time he finds you asleep, struggling to keep up with the horrible amount of college work you’ve been received. you’re a smart girl and he’s proud of you.

so, bruce pulls the chair back and he picks you up in his arms with so much ease. the sudden movement forces you awake and you look at him with confusion stuck all over your face. with sleepy eyes, you try to focus on your surroundings and you become aware you fell asleep while studying.

older!brucewayne x fem!reader

The moment Bruce saw you walk in for your interview, he knew he was fucked.

And now, here you are—standing in front of his desk in that unmistakable pink skirt, twirling a lock of hair around your finger as if you’re unaware of the effect you have on the room.

“So… the café said they were actually out of your cappuccino,” you say nervously, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

Bruce can’t help it but a slow smile pulls at his mouth.

“No worries, sweetheart,” he replies, voice warm and low in a way he doesn’t entirely mean to let slip.

You relax, offering him a shy smile before turning to leave, pink fabric swaying in your wake.

Later that night, long after the office has gone quiet, Bruce sits alone at his desk. He tries to focus on paperwork, on deadlines, on anything else—but his mind drifts back to you. Your nervous voice. Your skirt. The way you looked at him like his opinion mattered.

And that pink skirt keeps replaying in his mind like a problem he’s already losing control of.

Late that night Bruce would stroke his cock thinking of his pretty little assistant in her pink skirts.

Soon after, you found yourself staying late at the office, buried under clutter and stacks of disorganized paperwork. The building felt different after hours—quiet, cold, the long hallway of Wayne Enterprises stretching ahead of you like a tunnel of shadows.

As you walked past the executive suites, you noticed Bruce’s office door slightly ajar. A thin sliver of light spilled into the hallway.

You paused.

“Mr. Wayne?” you called softly.

No answer.

You pushed the door open a little more and stepped inside. The office was empty—dim, orderly, untouched, exactly the way he always kept it. You hesitated before moving around the desk, your eyes drifting over the neatly arranged papers and the personal items he rarely let anyone see.

A small picture frame caught your attention.

You picked it up carefully. It was a photograph of a much younger Bruce sitting between his parents on a sun-lit bench—his smile open, uncomplicated, the world clearly different for him then.

A sudden, low throat-clearing behind you made you jump.

The frame slipped from your hands, clattering loudly against the desk.

You gasped and spun around.

Bruce stood in the doorway, shadowed by the dim light of the hall.

“M–Mr. Wayne…” you stammered, your face burning with embarrassment.

He stepped into the room slowly and pushed the door closed behind him, the soft click sounding far too loud in the quiet office.

The quiet stretched until it felt like the air itself was vibrating.

You opened your mouth to speak, but your voice came out thin.

“I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to intrude.”

The room suddenly felt smaller.

Or maybe he just took up all the space in it.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he said, his voice was low, controlled—too controlled. Like he was holding something back with both hands.

Your breath slipped out unevenly.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just—your door was open and—”

“And you came in.”

He wasn’t accusing you.

He was stating it like a fact he didn’t know what to do with.

Bruce moved closer, slow, deliberate, like you were something he was afraid to startle… or something he wasn’t sure he trusted himself around.

When he reached the desk, the space between you was barely a few feet.

Close enough to feel the warmth of him.

Close enough that it made your skin prickle.

He picked up the fallen frame, turning it over in his hand. His jaw tightened once, sharply. Then his eyes lifted to yours.

Whatever was in them made your breath stop.

Bruce leaned over you, his presence suddenly enormous, his shadow falling over the desk. The air between you felt impossibly tight, charged.

“Don’t you know,” he said, his voice low, controlled, yet laced with something dangerous, “not to touch things that don’t belong to you?”

You froze, heart hammering, heat pooling in your chest. His gaze was fixed on you, dark and unreadable, and for the first time you noticed how close he had leaned over, the faint brush of his shoulder against yours, the intensity in his eyes that made your knees feel weak.

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, unable to look away.

He didn’t move back. Instead, he leaned slightly closer, the faint scent of him wrapping around you. His hand rested on the desk, just inches from yours, and the tension between you crackled like electricity.

“You really have no idea,” he murmured, voice rougher now, almost a growl.

Your pulse spiked. Your fingers itched to pull away, but you couldn’t. The heat in his gaze pinned you to the spot, every instinct in your body screaming that you should leave—but every part of you wanting to stay.

His eyes softened for just a fraction of a second, and then darkened again. “You shouldn’t be here this late. Not alone. Not like this. And yet…” He exhaled sharply, the restraint in his voice making the tension almost unbearable. “You keep testing me.”

You swallowed, chest tight. “I… I wasn’t trying to—”

“You don’t have to try,” he interrupted, leaning just slightly closer, enough that you felt the faint brush of his breath against your neck. “I notice everything.”

The words lingered between you, heavy and sharp. You could feel the heat, the desire, the restraint all coiling tight between you like a spring ready to snap—and neither of you could look away.

The room was impossibly quiet, except for the faint hum of the city outside. You could feel Bruce’s thigh between your legs, close enough that the warmth of him pressed against you made you shake yet not close enough to satisfy the ache building in your core.

you didn’t move. You couldn’t. Every instinct screamed to step back, but every nerve in your body was alive, aware of him, drawn to him like a magnet.

“Bruce…” you whispered, breath uneven.

He didn’t answer with words this time. Instead, he leaned just a fraction closer, his lips hovering near your ear, and you shivered at the proximity, every hair on your arms standing on end.

Your heart hammered. You could feel the heat of him, the tension coiling in the small space between you. He tilted his head slightly, giving you a look that made your knees weak, your fingers clenching involuntarily.

And then he was closer still—closer than he should be. Your breath caught when his lips brushed against the side of your neck, light and teasing.

“I can’t… I can’t ignore this anymore,” he admitted, voice low, raw, full of restraint and something unspoken. “You make it impossible.”

Before you could respond, the words, the heat, the pull between you snapped. His lips were on yours—soft at first, testing, seeking, and then insistent, desperate, desperate enough to take your breath away.

You melted into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the tension beneath the fabric, the warmth radiating off him. He deepened the kiss, pressing closer, but not too close—enough to make every nerve in your body hum, every thought blur, and every rule you’d tried to follow vanish.

When you finally broke apart for air, both of you were panting slightly, foreheads pressed together, eyes locked. Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to. The tension lingered, heavy and sweet, a promise that neither of you would forget this moment—nor each other—anytime soon.

“I…” you whispered, unable to finish, and he pressed his lips to yours again, softer this time, almost gentle, as if to soothe the storm raging between you.

“You’re mine,” he said against your lips, almost a warning, almost a plea.

He pushed you back onto the polished mahogany desk, the cascade of papers and pens hitting the floor like a declaration of war on restraint.

Now, he leaned over you, his broad shoulders blocked out the world, hands planted firmly on either side of your head, caging you in. His breath was hot against your neck as he kissed down the column of your throat, teeth grazing the pulse point that raced under his touch.

Each unbuttoning of your blouse was methodical, his long fingers deft from years of handling boardroom deals, but here they trembled with barely contained hunger.

The silk blouse fell open, exposing the delicate black lace bra that cupped your breasts, nipples already pebbled and straining against the fabric.

Bruce's growl rumbled deep in his chest, a primal sound that sent shivers racing down your spine. He latched onto the spot just above your left breast, sucking with possessive force, his tongue swirling over the skin until a blooming red mark testified to his claim. You arched up, the cool wood of the desk pressing into your spine, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body.

His hands, calloused from late-night patrols in the shadows of Gotham, slid down your sides, tracing the curve of your waist before gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

“You're mine right now,” he murmured, voice a low timbre laced with authority, the same tone he used in board meetings but infinitely more intoxicating. “No distractions, no escape. Not from this.”

His mouth claimed your breast fully, shoving the lace aside to expose the flushed skin. Teeth closed around your nipple, biting down with just enough pressure to make you cry out, the sharp sting melting into liquid pleasure that pooled hot and insistent in your core.

Your pussy throbbed, slick arousal soaking through your panties as he lavished attention on the sensitive peak, tongue lashing before soothing with wet, open-mouthed kisses.

Bruce's other hand ventured lower, bunching your skirt up your thighs, the fabric whispering against your stockings. He pressed his hips forward, the rigid length of his cock—thick and unyielding—grinding against your inner thigh through his tailored slacks. The friction made you whimper, imagining how it would feel stretching you open.

“Feel that?” he rasped, switching to your other nipple, nipping the underside before sucking it deep into his mouth. “That's the effect you have on me every damn day, watching you bend over files, your ass teasing me from across the room.”

Your fingers twisted in the crisp fabric of his white dress shirt, pulling him closer as desperation clawed at you. He hooked a finger into your panties, the damp cotton yielding easily, and pulled it aside. Without preamble, two fingers thrust into your wet heat, curling against that spot inside that made stars burst behind your eyelids.

He fucked you with them steadily, thumb pressing firm circles over your swollen clit, the dual assault building pressure until your thighs quivered

“Good girl,” he praised, the words vibrating against your skin as he trailed bites up to your jaw. He added a third finger, stretching your walls, the lewd sounds of your arousal filling the quiet office. The city hummed faintly beyond the glass, but it was drowned out by your gasps and the slick rhythm of his hand owning you.

Suddenly, he pulled free, leaving you clenching around nothing, a whine escaping your lips. Bruce's eyes locked on yours, dark and stormy, as he unzipped his pants.

His cock sprang out, veined and heavy, the head slick with pre-cum that beaded at the slit. He gripped your thighs, spreading them wide, Positioning himself, he dragged the tip along your folds, coating himself in your wetness, bumping your clit with each teasing stroke.

“Beg for it,” he demanded, voice rough as gravel, his free hand tangling in your hair to tilt your head back, exposing your throat.

“Please, Mr. Wayne... fuck me. I need you inside me,” you pleaded, the formal title slipping out from habit, making his gaze darken further.

That broke him. With a guttural groan, he slammed into you, burying every inch in one brutal thrust. Your pussy stretched around him, the burn exquisite as he filled you to the hilt.

He didn't give you time to adjust, hips snapping forward in a punishing rhythm, the desk groaning under the onslaught. Each plunge drove deeper, his balls slapping against your ass, the angle hitting your g-spot relentlessly.

Your nails raked down his back, tearing at his shirt as pleasure coiled tight in your belly. Bruce's hand came up, wrapping around your throat—not choking, but a firm anchor, his thumb stroking your pulse. He captured your mouth in a fierce kiss, tongue invading like his cock below, dominating every sense.

“Cum for me, Princess,' he growled against your lips, the word a filthy twist on your professional role.

The command shattered you. Your orgasm ripped through, walls fluttering and squeezing him in rhythmic pulses, juices gushing around his pistoning length. Bruce thrust erratically, chasing his release, before yanking out at the last second. Hot ropes of cum painted your stomach and the underside of your breasts, marking you in the dim glow of the desk lamp.

| aka: You catch Bruce trying to sneak a peek at his gifts, so you punish him accordingly. (Smut) | Bruce Wayne x wife!reader | 1.3k words | CW: [18+] mdni. smut, dryhumping, blindfolds, restraints, unprotected, pinv, cowgirl position. Alfred is an instigator.

| A/N: First ever smut with the big old bat. How'd I do?🤭 Ongoing masterlist can be found here

Gift in hand, red-handed, guilty. That’s how you caught him.

Now, the Batman was not someone who gets ‘caught’ doing things he isn’t supposed to be doing. The notion was laughable- no one catches the bat.

He didn’t get caught by the GCPD in his first night out, or by all the different mercenaries who called for his head. He doesn't get caught when he breaks into the homes of enemies and crimelords alike, search for evidence where everyone is too scared to look. Simply, Batman didn’t get ‘caught’. By anyone.

But you weren’t just anyone. You, were his wife.

“And what, pray tell, are you doing, Bruce?” Your voice is clipped, accusatory, and you have a hand rested on your hip like you’re scolding a small child.

With the scene in front of you, you might as well have been; crouching right in front of the Christmas tree was Bruce, shamelessly attempting to peak past the wrapping paper of one of his presents. Had you not chosen to walk around the corner at that moment, lead fully by your gut intuition, he would have gotten away with it.

He looks up, almost sheepish. He offers you a charming grin- a Wayne classic- and puts the gift down.

“Oh! Sorry, I thought this was the one I got for you,” he starts, smooth like honey, but the blatant lie does little to impress you. “Guess my eyesight isn’t what it used to be.”

“Bruce. Wayne.” You punctuate every syllable, “Are you lying to your wife?”

And to that he has no words.

“I tried to tell him,” you hear Alfred sigh from behind you, the mirth in his singsong voice loud and clear, “but Master Bruce just would not listen.”

No worries, you think to yourself, looking at your husband in a way that promised nothing but trouble. You had plans for him.

He notices your change in demeanor instantly.

---

“When I tell you, 'no peaking',” you say, adjusting the handcuffs and blindfold, “I mean, no peaking”.

Even fully restrained, Bruce is the picture of calm. Laying back on the bed in nothing but his underwear, he bites back a lazy grin.

"My apologies, darling. Had I known such... discipline would await me, I would have been more careful." Even with his eyes covered, you can imagine them shining playfully.

"Liar." You whisper at him and he laughs, but his joy is short-lived.

In the next moment, you move to straddle his lap, the softness of your bare thighs rubbing against him scandalously. Your wet slick has already begun soaking through the fabric of his boxers, and when you begin to rock your hips, he's a done man.

He sighs roughly as his head lolls back against the pillows, handcuffs clinking against the wooden bedframe. Hoping the cheap metal holds, you begin to grind harder into him.

“You like that, honey?” You purr, and his responding groan sends shivers down your spine.

With the practice and expertise that came with pleasuring him for so many years, you know how to angle your hips just the way he likes, causing his breath to hitch. On instinct his hands reach for you, but the handcuffs are successful in doing their little job, and they scrape against the frame as if taunting him.

He grunts out, brooding, and even without his vision he just knows you’re smiling.

"Enjoying the view?" He guesses, voice low.

"Unfathomably so," you coo at him, squealing when he ruts his hips up to meet you halfway.

You smack his chest, tutting.

"I'm in charge right now, Bruce." You reprimand, and the tone of your voice sends delicious goosebumps over his skin.

To prove your point, you lift yourself up and slide off the last piece of cloth between you. Long, and thick, and curved in all its glory, his cock springs free. You gasp, the vision of it bobbing against his abdomen shooting heat directly into your stomach. Almost as if in a trance, you trace the length with a soft finger, following the trail of a particularly throbbing vein all the way up to the tip. No matter how many night you spend with him, you’ll never get enough.

Bruce says your name then, low and promising, and you snap out of your reverie. Below you, your husband’s chest is moving up and down with hardened breaths, arms taut against his restraints. The sight was sin, wrapped up sweetly just for you. The blindfolds for his crime of peeking, the handcuffs for touching… you mentally give yourself a pat on the back as you take him in.

Jaw clenched, he calls your name again, the sound impatient and- dare you say- desperate.

Rolling your shoulders back, you readjust yourself to position him right at your entrance. You don’t waste another second.

With a sensual cry, you slide him inside you all the way in. The way your walls clench around him, the way he stretches you out just so… your moans fill up the large space of the bedroom with ease.

Once again, you hear the jingling of metal as Bruce tries to reach for you. He snarls at the resistance, suddenly despising the object that was keeping him from touching his wife. You chuckle softly, nails scratching teasingly over his chest.

“The point of punishment is to punish, Bruce.” You muse, and then you’re moving.

It doesn’t take long to get a momentum going— not with how achingly good it feels to ride him. Hands on his chest and knees positioned just right, you’re able to take him with ease, your pace picking up every time your clit touches back down to the hilt. In minutes, the bed is creaking and banging against the headboard with every rock of your hips, the feeling of his heavy balls slapping against your ass with every bounce.

He tries to jerk his hips up to meet you halfway, but with the speed you’re going (and his lack of hand-eye coordination) he quickly resigns to just laying there and taking it.

Cursing under his breath, he grips the bed frame in his hands. How it doesn’t splinter under the pressure is beyond you. Just watching the way his strong fingers wrap around the thick wood… that familiar coil begins to tighten faster than usual.

“Oh, Bruce-” you gasp, on of your hands moving to touch yourself, and he lets out a guttural groan when he feels your cunt clench around him even tighter.

He doesn’t have to see you to know you’re seconds away from coming undone. With the speed in which you’re pleasuring your clit and the now stuttered bucking of your hips, all you needed was one more push.

“That’s it, darling, that’s it. Cum for me, cum for your husband,” he murmurs, and that final command is all you need to finally unravel.

With a loud cry that echoes off the walls, your eyes roll back as your orgasm washes over you. Fast and hot, you tighten desperately around him as stars blind your vision. It’s a pleasure that takes all your other senses away, which is how you miss the displeased frown that twitches across your lover’s lips. To Bruce, not being able to see you right now was the greatest punishment of all.

He hides it by the time you come to, and you open your eyes to see nothing less than a patient smile. Too out of it to notice, you reach forward to finally peel the blindfold off his face. His blue eyes give away nothing, shining even in the dimness of the night. You press a gentle kiss to his lips- one that he softly returns- and finally lift your hips up to slide him out.

You both sigh at the loss.

“Are you satisfied with your punishment then, Mrs. Wayne?” His voice rumbles, and you just nod in a daze.

“Excellent.”

He sits up, and in one motion so quick you almost miss it, snaps his hands on either side of his head. You can only watch in shock as the cheap metal links break in half, freeing him.

“My turn,” he says, and then he lunges.

The world knew Bruce Wayne as Gotham’s golden billionaire, all charm and composure. But when the doors to the penthouse locked behind you, all that control burned into something far darker, far hungrier.

You barely had time to set down your purse before his large hands wrapped around your waist, tugging you against his chest. His lips claimed yours without warning hot, rough, desperate as if he’d been holding back all night. The taste of whiskey lingered on his tongue, making you melt as he walked you backwards until your back hit the wall with a soft thud.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he growled against your mouth, his voice low, gravelly, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

Before you could answer, his hand slid beneath your dress, finding the thin lace between your thighs already damp. His thumb pressed down hard against your clit through the fabric, earning him a strangled moan.

“Already wet for me,” he murmured, smirking against your lips, “and I’ve barely touched you.”

You whimpered his name as he tugged your panties down and off in one swift motion, leaving you bare under the hem of your dress. He dropped to his knees without hesitation, spreading your thighs open with his palms, and buried his mouth against your cunt.

The sudden heat of his tongue made your legs shake, his growl vibrating against you as he licked long and slow from your entrance up to your clit before sucking it between his lips. You fisted his dark hair, pulling him closer, and he let you let you grind against his face as though his mouth existed just to serve you.

“Bruce—f-fuck,” you gasped, your head falling back against the wall. He only groaned in response, his tongue plunging into you, curling deep until your knees nearly buckled.

Just as you were about to unravel, he pulled back, wiping his slicked chin with the back of his hand, eyes dark and predatory.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

The tone left no room for disobedience. Heart racing, you pressed your palms against the wall, arching your back, ass pushed out toward him. You felt the hard length of him pressing through his slacks as he stepped up behind you. With practiced ease, he freed himself, the heavy weight of his cock sliding between your slick folds before pushing in with one deep thrust that had you crying out.

“Fuck- Bruce!”

He pressed his hand flat between your shoulder blades, holding you down as he set a brutal pace. Every thrust drove you against the wall, filling you to the hilt, his hips slamming against your ass. He grunted low in your ear, lips brushing your temple as he muttered filth only you could hear.

“You take me so well… dripping down my cock like you were made for it.”

Your moans filled the room, every cry swallowed by the sound of his body claiming yours. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back so your ear was pressed to his lips.

“Say my name.”

“B-Bruce—”

“Louder.”

“BRUCE!”

That was all it took. His thrusts grew erratic, his grip on your waist bruising as he buried himself deep and came with a guttural growl, spilling into you until you felt it leaking down your thighs.

He held you there, pinned against the wall, panting hard. His lips pressed against the back of your neck, softer now, lingering.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your damp skin, as if it were a fact as absolute as gravity.

A BABY ( Bruce wayne ! )

Summary: Bruce really wants to see you carrying his baby.

pairing: Bruce wayne x fem reader

open request - dc masterlist

The days Bruce gave Alfred free nights were something they enjoyed as a couple, what could be better than having the whole mansion to themselves?

They were the only times they could go through all the rooms. The library, the gym, the study, literally everything.

His hips thrust slowly, deeply. He knows what he's doing. He knows you're on the verge after a third consecutive round, feeling him drip from your tight hole. Each thrust drags his own seed back inside, as if your body can no longer escape him.

"Bruce..." you say, but it's barely a whisper. Your fingers grip his back, marking his skin, needing him more.

“That’s it…” he growls against your ear, his hands gripping your hips tightly. “Take it all. Don’t stop squeezing me like that, my love. You’re so fucking good for me…”

Every word stings like a pulse inside you. And he's still hard. He's still inside. Sweat trickles down his neck. Your legs tremble, leaving you completely dumbfounded by the pleasure he gave you as he whispered the dirtiest things anyone could ever say.

"I want you to walk around this house feeling me squirt between your legs." You arch, your body convulsing with pleasure. He feels it. He seeks it. He punishes you with every thrust. "You're going to be the mother of my child," he whispers against your ear, his words choked with pleasure. "I'm going to fill you every night if I have to... until it happens."

The wet smack, the sound of his pelvis colliding with yours, your unfiltered moans echoed throughout the room.

"You're going to wear something of mine," he whispers, barely touching your ear with his lips. "Everyone's going to know that I filled you so well with my cock."

Your legs are shaking, your body is burning. You're surrendered, open to him, body and soul. And Bruce knows it. He looks at you like you're a miracle he needs to secure, mark, claim.

His eyes, fixed on yours, are not only darkened by desire, but by a deeper, older, wilder need: that of belonging. He doesn't just love you. He wants you to be his in every possible way.

You're perfect like this... open for me, trembling for me. There's nothing more beautiful than this," he murmurs, moving a hand down to your abdomen, where his fingers rest reverently, as if he's already imagining you different, full. "What I want most... is to see you carry my baby."

so it goes (bruce wayne x assistant!reader)

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It's an open secret amongst certain Gotham circles that Bruce Wayne is sleeping with his assistant. Truthfully, the rumours had begun almost as soon as he set his eyes on you for the first time.

It just made sense. Gotham's most eligible bachelor, spending lots of one-on-one time with a pretty girl fifteen years his junior.

You're at his beck and call, armed with his diary, aspirin, and whatever else he may need at any given time. It's become almost impressive, the way you can predict his needs before Bruce even becomes aware of them himself.

And initially, that's all it had been. You were an excellent assistant, and he paid you handsomely for it. But as time went on, the gazes started to linger, touches growing bolder with each passing day, finally culminating in a heated kiss one night after everybody else had left.

Embarrassed by his lack of control, your relationship had stalled, turning purely professional as Bruce tried to keep you out of his head.

Until he turned up at your apartment door, bruised and bloodied, and had fucked you until you couldn't remember your name.

Things were different from then on. It went entirely unspoken, but you knew the drill. Bruce needed release, and he needed it from somebody he trusted. In his office, after meetings - when he called, you came.

It was a situation you were more than happy with. Dating in Gotham was tough at the best of times - you're not sure you'll ever be able to look at another man again after seeing Bruce Wayne with his head buried between your thighs.

After the sex came the gifts. Starting small, flowers soon morphed to jewellery and clothes that cost more than your whole apartment.

Now, when he keeps you late, Bruce has started taking you to dinner as an apology. Of course, the entire place is rented out, and each staff member signs an ironclad NDA to keep their mouths shut, but it feels dangerous nonetheless.