Pairing: Bruce Wayne x younger!reader
Synopsis: When you started dating Bruce Wayne you’d assumed that his older age meant he would be more mature and reliable than the assholes you’ve dated in the past. Turns out he’s the biggest man child of them all.
CW: established relationship, mature content(18+), age gap(readers about 21-22, bruce is in his 40s), alcohol consumption, light angst, poorly written smut, fem!reader, missionary, premature ejaculation, bruce cums way too quickly, sort of a sugar baby/sugar daddy dynamic, bruce is a bad boyfriend, toxic relationship dynamic, slight dub-con(not really but i’ll tag it anyway)
Series taglist: @starfiremylove, @dodenzox
A/N: Hii! sorry this too so long but here it is :) I’m so grateful for everyone’s support and I can’t wait to get the next fic of the series out!
Man’s Best Friend Series Masterlist
A night out with my friends was meant to be fun and relaxing. We had gone out to some new rooftop bar, decked out in brand new clothes, with our hair styled perfectly, and full faces of expertly applied makeup. We planned to have some drinks, talk about everything under the sun, maybe do some dancing, and then head home to our respective lives.
Tonight was the perfect setup for a good time, but each of us had been put in a sour mood.
For Danielle, it was her boss skipping her over for a promotion once again.
For Liana, it was a stressful family lunch with her “utterly perfect” twin brother’s return from his “life-changing” tour of Europe.
And for me, it was Bruce Thomas Wayne.
“Ugh, fine I’ll crack…” I sigh, picking up the lone vodka shot on the table. I bring the glass to my lips and throw my head back, downing the liquid. I grimace at the taste of it before setting it down on the glass table with a clink.
“Oh, I knew you’d be the first to break! You’ve been sending me I hate my boyfriend reels all week!” Liana laughs.
Every time we went out for drinks after a rough day or week ,we’d play the shot game. Creatively named, I know. The first person to start talking about their problems had to take a shot of whatever the bartender graced us with, and tonight it was a simple shot of top-shelf vodka… thanks for letting me use your card tonight, Brucie.
“Lucky I just get the depressing ones, not the funny ones…” Dani shook her head with an overdramatic pout.
I glared at them both, trying to hide my grin, “Hey, so I hate you both.”
“You do not!” Liana gasped, wrapping her arms around me. “You love us. Now go on…”
Dani nodded as she took a sip of her drink, “Yeah, spill what’s going on with your billionaire boyfriend?”
“Why do you insist on calling him that…” I groan as I lean into Liana's hold, my head resting on top of where hers lies on my shoulder.
“What? It's not like my best friend dating one of the richest men in the world is a normal, regular thing,” Dani explained with her hands.
“Hey!” Liana gasped, offended by the singularity in her statement.
“One of my best friends,” corrected Danielle before both girls focused back on our conversation.
“It’s weird… he’s not some big shot billionaire when it’s just us, he’s-“ I started, my lips pursing together as I tried to find the right word.
Danielle gasped loudly as if she had solved some impossible case, “Oh my god, no! Y’know what he is? He’s a manchild!”
“Honestly, yeah… I’m not even gonna bother arguing with that,” I nodded in agreement, my lips pursed.
“Okay, okay, but are you going to elaborate?”
“Where do I even start? He’s always late… like literally always. I don’t think he’s ever been on time to anything in his life! He’ll make dinner reservations, and I'll obviously spend the day shopping or at the spa getting ready, and then I’ll come home to a note. It’s always a fucking note! Saying he’ll be late and that I should go ahead without him! You made the reservation! You picked the time, so why can’t you just be there!” I ranted.
Dani’s eyes widened as if suddenly putting everything together. “Oh my god, is that why you were so pissed about that Gotham Daily article about you being fashionably late or whatever?”
“Yes! That was all him! I was ready to go on time but that stupid, poorly written, gossipy article made me out to be this shallow princess!”
“At least they got the princess part right…” Dani grinned.
I shoot her a glare but can’t keep the corners of my mouth from turning up into a grin, “Oh shut up won’t you?”
“What even happened? Did he say why he was late?” asked liana.
My freshly blown-out hair bounced as I strutted into the manor's foyer, the sound of my heels echoing against the cold marble floor. My arms were full of shopping bags that I tried to keep tucked behind me, out of sight. The last thing I wanted was for Alfred to feel like he needed to grab them from me and bring them up to Bruce and I’s shared room.
The house was clean. Too clean. Every surface was perfectly polished to the point of reflection, the faint smell of cleaner was masked with the scent of sandalwood and aged leather. It was beautiful, of course, but eerily sterile. Not even Alfred's version of “lived in” could manage to make the manor feel warm.
My body tensed up the moment I stepped inside, leaving me feeling as if the Swedish massage I’d just had was a complete waste of time.
But this is just how Bruce liked it: silent, pristine, untouched. Staying in the manor was like stepping into a museum. It was utterly beautiful and perfectly staged but the risk of breaking something or putting something out of place never allowed you to fully relax.
“Miss y/l/n? Is that you?” Alfred’s familiar accent sounds from just outside the foyer.
“Yes Alfred, it’s me… is Bruce home yet?” I ask with a polite smile as he enters the space.
The friendly expression on his face faded as the words left my lips and was replaced with a more apologetic one. “About that miss… he left you a note…”
“he left it in your room Miss Parker… Do you need help bringing your bags up there?”
“No thank you… I'll see you later Alfred…” I let out a sigh.
I shifted the shopping bags onto my arms rather than my hands so I could grab the rail of the grand staircase. Alfred’s words lingered in my mind, he left you a note. That simple statement made a pit begin to form in my stomach as my thoughts raced with different ideas of the notes’ contents as I ascended the stairs.
When I reached our shared room the note immediately caught my eye. It was set where they always were: on my bedside table on top of a piece of carefully picked out jewelry. I set my bags down on the bed before reaching for the note.
I picked it up, the note weighing down on me more than any piece of paper should. The handwriting was impossibly neat yet somehow completely effortless. Of course it’s perfect, I thought, it’s Bruce. Even his neglect held a kind of curated elegance.
Something came up. Go ahead without me. Sorry, sweetheart - B
My eye twitched as I threw the note down onto the bed before grabbing the jewelry box. If he was going to act like this after I spent hours shopping and pampering myself then I'd at least make sure I got something good out of it.
My irritation was apparent as I flipped open the box aggressively. My face lit up just slightly at the sight of the silver Cartier love bracelet. I set the box back down and grab the bracelet to try it on. I slipped it onto my wrist and jangled it happily. This is definitely a step up from the Tiffany bracelet I got last time.
As I admired the jewelry it almost made me forget the pit of irritation brewing in my stomach from the note, Bruce's absence, and the reason for this gift. Almost.
I jangled the bracelet once again before slipping it off and placing it back in its box. I looked down at the note and then at my shopping bags before shaking my head with a groan.
“Might as well start getting ready…”
It took me two and a half hours to get ready. I’ve been home for four. The rest of that time has been spent lounging around waiting for Bruce. He had told me to go ahead without him but I couldn't help but wait for him. Being surrounded by a bunch of snotty rich people who knew I didn't fit in sounded like hell without him.
My gaze shifted to my phone for the millionth time that night. 9:46 PM. The gala had started at eight and still nothing from Bruce.
I sighed before taking a sip of my half-finished glass of wine before setting it back down on the vanity with a soft clink. I checked my makeup once more making sure it was still perfect. I shivered slightly as I pushed a strand of my hair back into place.
I frowned, turning towards the doorway to the bedroom. “Brucie?” I called out a little louder this time.
I just shrugged before going back to admiring myself in the mirror. I noticed my bangs were looking a bit flat so I plugged my straightener back in to redo them. Once it had heated up I brought the tool to my hair and began messing with them until they were as pretty and bouncy as I liked them. As I set my straightener down on my vanity a large hand placed itself onto my shoulder. It clanked against the surface as I jumped my head snapping behind me.
He looked down at me apologetically. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you, sweetheart…”
Sweetheart. The term usually made me feel all warm inside but tonight it just irritated me. It was the same thing he called me in his note and it suddenly felt rehearsed, mechanical even.
“You cannot just sneak up on people like that! I could have burned myself!” I glare up at him.
He raised his hands in surrender. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“You seem to be sorry about a lot lately…” I frown referring to the note he had left me.
His mouth gaped open for a moment as he stared down at me as if shocked by my words. His gaze shifted to the floor as he tried to find the right words. The silence between us dragged on, but somehow it held more comfort than the lonely manor.
“Typical… You couldn’t have at least called instead of leaving some stupid note?” I scoffed with a shake of my head.
“My phone's broken…” he confessed.
He looked almost sheepish as if my scolding was actually making him feel bad… as if it would actually change things. It wouldn't.
I looked up at him, one of my eyebrows raised, “Are you sure you didn’t just forget to charge it again?”
Without a word, he fishes his phone out of his pocket and places it in my hands.
I gasp at the utterly fucked state of the device. It looks as if it had been mangled, the screen had been completely shattered almost as if it had been dropped off a tall building. The most appalling/distressing was the plethora of holes that looked like they had been shot into the phone.
“How- how does that even happen?” I asked, absolutely bewildered by the piece of metal and glass in my hand. “What happened? Are you okay?”
He hesitated before answering, pulling at his tie to loosen it. “I’m fine. Just… rough night.”
I finally looked at him, really looked at him. His knuckles were red and scuffed. The lapels of his suit weren’t laid flat, his collar was slightly askew, and there was a small bruise forming along his hairline which was poorly hidden by his unusually mussed hair.
“Rough night,” I repeated slowly, my eyes narrowing at him. “Doing what?”
“Business?” I look at him unimpressed.
“Business,” he confirmed.
I turned my nose up at him and raised one of my brows at the ridiculousness of his claim, “Since when did business involve getting your ass kicked and being shot at?”
“Then what happened?” I pressed.
He ran a hand through his hair, his tie hanging loosely now. He was clearly exhausted and trying his best not to get frustrated with me. His gaze shifted to the floor then back to me, that signature mask of coolness he wore cracking slightly at the edges.
“Something came up,” he said with finality in his tone as if that explained everything.
I breathed out a laugh, shaking my head. “Something came up? That’s your go-to for everything isn’t it? Something always comes up with you…”
He didn’t answer, he just stood there exhausted and still evidently frustrated but somehow still infuriatingly composed.
His lips parted slightly, probably attempting to utter out another apology, or possibly even an excuse I'd yet to hear. I just shook my head at him not wanting to hear any of it. Anything he said would just frustrate me further so I was appreciative when he shut his mouth.
“Just go get ready, okay? We’re already late…” My tone full of resignation and exhaustion after the back and forth. “I laid out your tux already, so all you need to worry about is your cufflinks, watch, and shoes. And make sure you fix your hair…”
Bruce’s gaze lingered on me for a moment, searching my face for any semblance of forgiveness but found none. His shoulders fell slightly and he let out a sigh before turning away. The sound of rustling fabric could be heard as he walked into our bedroom where I had laid out his tux. I was thankful for my use of extra starch when ironing the suit as the methodically ironed fabric would still look perfect, even though it had been sitting there untouched for hours.
I listened to the familiar sounds of him getting ready: drawers opening and closing, the clinking of metal cufflinks, the soft creak of the floorboards under each deliberate step. The bathroom door creaks open and closed again and Bruce passes by me, moving in front of the mirror.
I watched as he fixed his brown, slightly greying hair, slicking it back in that perfect Bruce Wayne manner. He then reached for a bottle of cologne that cost more than a week's worth of pampering. The way he sprayed it was precise and calculated as if his life depended on spraying it in the correct spot. The scent filled the room immediately, it was warm, musky, and undeniably him.
He adjusted his bow tie and collar with a level of care and delicacy that I wished he would offer me once in a while.
Then he moved over to me.
He stood behind me, his hands finding my shoulders as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the side of my head.
“You look gorgeous,” he murmured, his voice soft and cautious as if just speaking might earn him a glare.
I stiffened for a moment, caught off guard, but the warmth of the action and his words got to me and I relaxed into his touch. He always made it impossible to stay upset with him, always easing the tension with simple touches and sweet words.
I turn around allowing myself to fully take him in, “Thank you… You look nice.”
A small almost victorious smile flickers across his lips. His eyes soften slightly as they meet mine and he bends down to press his lips to mine in a chaste kiss.
My heart skipped a beat betraying the last bit of irritation I still felt towards the man as I allowed it all to slip away. I pull away slightly, my eyes flickering open to find him already looking down at me.
“We should probably get going…” I breathe out, not breaking eye contact.
Bruce nodded, pulling away fully before grabbing my hand and helping me out of my vanity chair. His hand moved from mine to the small of my back as he guided me out of the bathroom and all the way outside the manor where the car was already waiting.
The drive to the gala was silent, the kind of silence that wasn’t quite uncomfortable but not quite peaceful either. The city lights streamed through the windows, as we made our way through town. Bruce’s hand held mine, his thumb brushing back and forth in soft comforting movements as if he was still attempting to apologize without really saying it.
Oh, how I wish he would just say it…
His grip tightened slightly almost protectively as the car came to a stop in front of Gotham's Natural History Museum. Bright lights flashed incessantly as a worker opened the car's door. I watched him as he slid out of the car with ease. His once tensed shoulders and rigidly set jaw had relaxed into that perfectly calm Playboy demeanor. He turned towards the cameras with that perfect smile of his, allowing them to capture his flawlessness for a few seconds before he turned to me and assisted me out of the car.
I adjusted my gown and hair once I was on the pavement. I internally cursed the photographers taking my picture as I did so knowing that if I looked bad in even one of them it would be all over every news outlet and magazine.
“Caught up at the office or was the misses taking too long?”
“Miss y/l/n who are you wearing?”
“Late night for you two?”
I tried my hardest to keep my eyes from twitching or my jaw from tightening at the invasive questions and the reporters’ demanding tones.
Of course, they would blame it on me.
The billionaire prince of Gotham can do no wrong in these people’s eyes.
Bruce’s large hand settled once again on the small of my back, this time as a silent reminder to relax and breathe. His smile didn’t falter once as he ignored every single invasive question and guided me up the steps, occasionally stopping for pictures.
He looked perfect of course. Effortlessly so.
Meanwhile, for me, every camera flash in my direction stung with judgment and scrutiny.
Bruce leaned down and whispered into my ear, his breath warm against my skin, “Just a few more, sweetheart.”
The familiar endearment did little to ease the tension in my shoulders, but I appreciated it nonetheless. He straightened again, hand steady and comforting on my back as we paused for another round of photos. His smile held in that pristine, practiced way while I struggled to keep mine from slipping into a disinterested frown.
The cameras flashed at us, taking what felt like millions of the same exact photo. Bruce stood tall next to me, completely at ease amongst the chaos of blinding lights and shouted questions. Meanwhile, for me, every camera click felt like it came with a new rumor about me readying itself to be printed in every paper and magazine in Gotham City.
I kept my posture perfect, my smile just how I had practiced despite being a tad more strained than I liked, and every inch of my body posed in the most flattering manner I could manage. I knew how this worked. One wrong angle, a badly timed blink, and suddenly I'd be Gotham's latest pariah.
So when Alfred handed me the paper during breakfast the next morning, his expression grim and unreadable, I immediately assumed the picture they'd used had been awful. My eyes darted towards the photo my brows furrowed in concentration as I analyzed it.
My hair was perfectly curled, each strand looking glossy and bouncy despite the humidity in the Gotham City air. My smile looked effortlessly natural and the lipstick I wore made my teeth look impeccably white. And my body fit into Bruce's hold with ease caught me off guard. It looked as if he held me like this all the time, not just when paparazzi were watching.
The photo looked amazing. I looked amazing so what could possibly be the cause for Alfred's reaction?
That’s when my gaze shifted to the headline.
My eyes widened and a gasp left my lips at the sight.
“Pampering More Important Than Charity? Bruce Wayne’s Girlfriend Keeps Gala Waiting.”
The words were sharp, snarky, and deliberately humiliating.
My hand flew to cover my mouth as I struggled to suppress a disbelieving laugh. The headline was absurd and slandering it almost didn’t feel real. Me? Late? Because I was too busy pampering myself? Give me a break.
I sank into my chair with a huff as I read the article. My eyes scanned over each sentence, each one worse than the last. There wasn't a shred of fact in the entire article, just gossip and speculation. But of course, they blamed me… Bruce was Mister Perfect and I was just his girlfriend.
“Oh, you know ‘something came up’” I rolled my eyes with a huff. I slumped back into the booth before adding, “Something always comes up”
“except you apparently…” Danielle muttered.
I nodded as I let out a groan of frustration, “Exactly! Well… Unless he wants mediocre sex.”
“What!?” Both of my friends shouted at the same time, their faces morphing into identical expressions of shock and disbelief.
"Yeah honestly, for a known Playboy, he's not very good in bed... I mean he’s not bad or anything, it's just he'll tell me he's finished and I didn't even know we'd started…” I ranted, popping the cherry garnish from my drink into my mouth.
“Okay wait, pause. You’re seriously telling me that Bruce Wayne isn’t a good lay…” Danielle’s eyes widened as if what I said was impossible to fathom.
“I mean he at least makes you finish right? He can't be that-” Liana starts, but the exhausted, disappointed look I send her tells her everything she needs to know. “Oh… I see.”
“holy shit, this is like blasphemy…” Dani gasps.
“Right? Like Gotham's big shot can’t even…” Liana pauses her fingers strumming against her glass as she tries to find the right word, “…perform.”
“God, I wish he were actually a big shot…” I mutter under my breath with a disappointed shake of my head.
Liana chokes on her drink as she sputters out a laugh, not missing the innuendo. “I guess I owe you 5 bucks then Dani…”
I let out a gasp as I looked between the both of them with betrayal, “You two were betting on my sex life behind my back?”
I tilt my head back as I let out a groan, “You’re both dead to me.”
“What? I had hope that it would be good for you…” Liana defended herself, before calling a waitress over for another round of drinks.
“I just feel like people hyped him up too much for all the rumors to be true…” Danielle shrugged.
“I can’t believe my best friends are betting on my pain and suffering…” I let out a long dramatic sigh as I shook my head disappointingly.
“Oh, c’mon! It cannot be that bad…” Danielle leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table.
“Yeah! I feel like you’re downplaying this too much because he’s being a shitty boyfriend…” Liana added, a mischievous expression gracing her features.
“You fake bitches…I can't believe you’re taking his side,” I cried.
“Fine! Give us a play-by-play then…” Liana suggested with a shrug.
I looked at them like they had just suggested I get on the table and start dancing for ones. My mouth hung open for a full 5 seconds before I managed to shut it.
“Tell us exactly what happens in that big expensive bed of his…” Dani leaned in, intrigued. “Does he have nice sheets?”
“Stop fantasizing about my boyfriend, you freak,” I teased, pointing my straw at her like a weapon.
“I’m not fantasizing about him… I'm fantasizing about his bed,” she says as if it were the most obvious thing.
“'Cause that’s so much better…” Liana rolls her eyes. She taps my arm as if egging me on, “Anyway, c'mon give us all the deets.”
I looked between my two friends who were leaning in expectantly. They looked so intrigued that someone might assume I was telling them classified information. And in a way I was. Their drinks had been forgotten, their eyes wide with anticipation. It was almost insulting how excited they looked to hear about the mess that is my sex life.
I opened the fridge, reached inside, and grabbed the pitcher of lemon water. I poured myself a glass of water, the clear liquid streaming into the cup.
I jump as the kitchen door opens, not expecting anyone to be home. I spill some of the water onto the counter as I grip the pitcher with careful hands. I set the pitcher down as I bring my gaze to the doorway finding Bruce standing there.
“You’re home early…what are you doing here?” I smiled at him softly, as I grabbed a towel to clean up my mess.
He approached me from behind, his arms wrapping around my middle as his lips found my neck. “Came to see my girl…” he admitted.
I laughed softly as his kisses tickled my neck, “Brucie not in the kitchen…”
He ignored my protest and continued against my throat as his hands slid underneath my thin top. My hands gripped the counter in frustration.
“Hm?” he muttered unconcerned.
“Not in the kitchen… Alfred could walk in on us,” I breathe out as he squeezes my breasts with rough uncaring hands.
He pauses his movements before bringing his hands back down to my waist guiding me away from the kitchen counter. “Let's take this to the bedroom then, hm?”
“Okay…” I mutter, allowing him to lead me upstairs and into our room.
He shuts the bedroom door behind him as light flickers through the curtains and onto his sculpted face. His lips find mine as he pushes me onto the bed, his weight settling over me before I can even catch my breath.
This kiss is forceful and hungry but it’s not me he’s hungry for. It’s the contact, the release, the distraction. His hands roam my body with the kind of impatience you’d expect from a virgin, not a grown man with more notches in his belt than half of Gotham combined. His hands tug at my clothes hurriedly, not caring about stretching the seams or tearing the fabric.
“Brucie slow down…” I gasp, but he just swallows the words with another kiss, messy, rushed, and uncaring.
He pulls away temporarily to yank my top off before returning his attention back to my lips. His hands ran over my chest and torso in a frenzy not taking a moment to linger anywhere. My hands fumble at his biceps trying to ground him and get him to slow down some but he’s already moving to pull off my shorts, skipping right over any intimacy.
I let out a soft frustrated whine as Bruce gripped my hip too hard, “Brucie please…”
My words just spurred him on further, taking my plea as a request for more rather than to slow down.
Before I knew it my shorts and panties had been yanked off and thrown across the room. One of his rough hands dipped between my thighs as the other loosened the tie around his neck. His fingers rubbed against the bundle of nerves between my legs quick and uncaring before he dipped two fingers inside causing me to let out a yelp.
“Bruce!” I scolded as his fingers continued inside of me. While the action wasn’t necessarily unwanted the intrusion and lack of time to adjust were.
He paused momentarily looking up at me instead of my growing wetness, “Hm?”
“Would you slow down a bit? I'm not going anywhere…” I scoffed, annoyed by his rushing.
He looked at me with a barely there glint of disdain, as if my words were some kind of burden rather than a plea. He let out a sigh before continuing his movements this time more slowly. I allowed myself to relax into his touch as I enjoyed the buildup from his more gentle handling.
That was until he picked his pace back up this time rougher than before. My body tensed once more, a groan escaping my lips at the intensity of Bruce's fingers. “Slow… Slow down please-”
He let out a huff as he pulled his fingers out completely. I open my mouth to object but stop once I notice him undoing his belt.
His movements were brisk and careless as he pulled off his pants and boxers and let them pool at his feet. I swallowed hard as I took him in, feeling a mix of both anticipation and irritation. The soft light that peeked through the curtains hit him just right making his body look especially defined. From the curves of his biceps to the lines of his sculpted abs, and all the way down to his aching, flushed length.
He didn’t give me much time to admire him or to prepare myself.
Bruce climbed onto the bed settling between my thighs silently. One hand held my thigh and the other gripped his cock as he lined himself up with the same urgency he’d had in the kitchen. My breath hitched as I felt him against me, my stomach twisting with that uneasy mix of want and dread.
He pressed his lips back against mine, messy and distracted, as he shoved himself inside me in one rough thrust. I gasped, back arching involuntarily as he pounded into me, not allowing me a single second to adjust to his large size. My hands flew to the nape of his neck, desperately trying to ground myself from Bruce’s brutal pace.
He thrusts into me once more with a loud groan and then suddenly his movements stilled completely. His sharp breaths shook against my cheek.
Before I could even process it he pulled out and rolled onto the bed beside me. He sat there for a moment catching his breath, before getting up and heading straight to the bathroom without a word.
I just lay there for a second, staring up at the ceiling as the bathroom door clicked shut behind him. I shut my eyes and pursed my lips as I tried to swallow down the frustration that was trying to crawl its way out of me.
The more I tried to calm myself down the angrier I became. He couldn’t even look at me. Couldn’t spare me the decency of acknowledgement. He just took what he wanted and walked off like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.
A bitter laughter escaped me before I could stop it. God, the audacity of this man. The absolute arrogance. He just discarded me once I was no longer useful. Like I wasn't still trying to catch my breath. Like I wasn’t still aching from his forceful behavior. As if his cum wasn’t dripping out of me as we speak. To him, I was just something he could walk away from when convenient.
I barely had time to reel my thoughts in before the bathroom door clicked open. Bruce came out of the bathroom his hair damp, the towel he was wearing hanging low on his hips, and his body and expression in a more relaxed state than earlier. The scent of expensive soaps and cologne followed him as he headed straight for the closet, still not sparing me a glance.
“That was great, thanks, sweetheart,” he said from the closet.
That’s it? That's all he had to say… My hands curled into fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palms as I tried to remain cool and collected.
“Anyway I’ve got to go,” he added casually, adjusting his tie as he came out of the closet.
I blinked at him, my mouth gaping as I tried to come up with anything to say to him but the words caught in my throat. Any protest or argument died on my tongue as I watched him leave me alone and naked in our shared bedroom.
The table was silent as I finished my rant, the three of us nursing another round of drinks.
Danielle blinked once, and then twice before finding her words.
“That’s… disappointing.” Liana shook her head slowly.
“I know, right?” I scoff, slumping into my seat. “And he acts like I’ve just had the best time of my life… Like, is it me? Does what he does usually work on women or like does he truly just suck?”
Danielle shifts in her seat, crossing her legs as she leans in, “It’s definitely not you… I mean he sounds more like a shitty one-time hookup than a boyfriend…”
“Right?!” I huff out, taking a sip of my drink. “I can’t even tell if he knows or not… sometimes I think he just doesn’t care and other times I'm convinced he doesn’t even realize he never makes me finish…”
“It’s a good thing he’s pretty and has money…” Liana mutters as she swirls around the cocktail straw in her drink.
“That’s not even the worst part…” I groan.
Both of their heads snapped towards me.
“It can get worse?” Dani asked, setting her drink down with a clink.
Liana nudges my side, motioning me to continue. “Don't keep us in suspense, do tell…”
“He's like incapable of doing anything for himself… Alfred and I have to take care of him because he won’t! I feel like I'm mothering a man like twice my age…” I complain further.
“Oh, that’s definitely worse…” Liana winced.
Danielle shrugged as she took another sip of her drink. “I mean honestly I’m not surprised…like what did you expect from a guy with a butler?”
“Common knowledge?” I lift a brow.
“That was your first mistake…” She points out with a disappointed shake of her head.
“You're not helpful…” I mutter, sliding my empty glass onto the table. “And to make matters worse he’s been throwing money at me all week like I'm some sugar baby just because I'm mad at him…”
Liana perks up immediately, sitting straighter. “Why is that bad? I’d love it if a guy I was seeing gave me gifts to apologize”
“It would be nice if it were accompanied by an actual apology…” I grumble. “Plus he already gets me a ton of things so it just feels like he’s not even putting in any effort…”
“What kind of things?” Danielle asks intrigued.
“Birkins, Cartier bracelets, designer gowns…” I list off. “He got me a custom Vivienne Westwood to wear to the Wayne Foundation gala this weekend…the one he left me to plan all by myself…” I scoffed at the last part.
Liana nods understandingly, “So that's why you're so mad…”
“I mean who does that?” I flail my arms around frustrated. “What experience do I have planning galas? None! So why would you leave that to me? He easily could have hired someone…”
“or he could have done it himself…” Dani adds, sipping on her drink.
“Exactly!” I said, grabbing the fresh round the waitress had just set down. “But instead I've been coordinating with florists, caterers, and decorators day and night for the past two weeks!”
“Oh, babe…why didn’t you hire someone to help?” Liana asked.
“or ask Alfred? or one of Bruce's millions of secretaries and assistants?” Danielle added.
“Because I'm not an incapable manchild like B is. I can actually handle things by myself…” I point out, crossing my arms.
“Handle things? Hun, you’re about a phone call away from a breakdown…” Liana says, concern evident in her voice.
Dani lets out a scoff, “More like a breakup.”
My head snaps towards the girl, my mouth gaping. “What no! I'm not breaking up with B!”
“Why not?” Liana challenges, pointing her straw at me like a tiny judgmental sword.
“Because what?” Danielle presses, leaning closer.
I let out a loud overdramatic sigh as I lean my head back against the couch, “Maybe I have a thing for men who don’t know what the hell they’re doing… Incompetent, emotionally unavailable, play hard to get… Y’know the type.”
“Oh trust me we know…” Liana says, biting back a laugh.
“Yeah I think every guy you’ve dated has been that type,” Dani agrees.
“It’s like I'm cursed…” I groan into my hands.
Liana looked at me as if I'd just said something ridiculous, “or maybe you’re just picking the wrong guys…”
“I swear they choose me, I'm not choosing them.”
Danielle lifts a brow, “Yeah right if that were true you wouldn’t still be dating Bruce Wayne.”
“That is so not fair!” I gasp.
“No! He just like fell into my lap…” I explained matter-of-factly.
“more like you fell into his…” Danielle muttered into her drink.
“That was an accident! And he’s the one who asked me out!” I defend.
“Yeah, and now here you are planning charity galas, babysitting him, and defending him to us every single weekend…” Liana says.
I shook my head in my hands as I let out a groan, “god when you put it like that it does sound like I’m choosing him…”
“You are!” they say in unison.
“Ugh don’t say that… I cannot consciously be choosing this…”
“Sorry babe but you totally are…” Liana rubs my back comfortingly.
“You have full control over your suffering…” Dani adds, leaning back in her chair with a grin.
“Shh don’t say that let me blame the man baby,” I cover my pursed lips with a finger as I shush them.
“And I always will,” I confirm. “Anyway, enough about me and my emotionally stunted billionaire. Who's next?”
“Me,” Danielle says with a lift of her hand. “I’m still not over my mom calling my brother a vision of success for seeing the Eiffel Tower. God and he brought his new girlfriend with him…”
Heart boarder by @saradika-graphics
Lace boarder by @priestboy
© d4rlin 2025 [do not copy, translate or repost]
