#older!bruce

You perch on Bruce’s lap in the middle of the night humming an unknown tune, scrolling mindlessly through Instagram as Bruce rubs slow circles on your back. His head rests in the crook of your neck, breathing smooth and calm, as if he isn’t fighting the bone-deep exhaustion he desperately needs to give in to.

“Baby, should we sleep now? I’m getting sleepy waiting for your little shopping time,” he murmurs. His hand stills on your back before he lifts his head from your neck, cupping your cheeks gently and tugging your attention away from your phone.

You pout. “I didn’t get what I want yet, Brucey.” With an exaggerated sigh, you fall against him dramatically, one hand on your chest to add to the act—anything to lure him into spending more time with you after patrol. “Still got lots to think about. What to buy. It’s stressing me out.”

“Sweetheart…” Bruce sighs, brows furrowing, lips pressed into a thin line as his body sinks into the leather chair. “I just got home from patrolling… cut me some slack, please, baby. I… really need rest this time.”

That’s new. Bruce is never this desperate for rest, at least not with you. He usually despises stopping even for a moment. After patrol he’d normally head straight down to the Batcave, analyzing Wayne Enterprises data or scanning for new Gotham crime patterns. But now… his eyes are already half-lidded, lips forming that soft pout he gets when he wants attention. His face leans into your small palm before his eyes flutter shut, his body going slack.

That’s when you know—you better be a good girl and not mess with his mood.

So you mumble an “okay,” slipping off his lap. He groans at the loss of warmth, but you quickly grab his hand, pulling him up from the chair and guiding him toward the bed. You push him gently by the shoulders, and he blinks at you in confusion.

“What is this about…? Are you mad at me, baby?”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head as you help him lie down properly, adjusting the pillow under his head before settling beside him with a tired huff. You slide one arm under his chest, the other around his torso, your chin tucked on top of his head.

That’s when he realizes—

“Am I the little spoon today?” he murmurs, amused at your attempt to be the big spoon, even though your arms barely reach halfway around him.

You mumble sleepily, “Yeah… wanna be the big spoon even though I’m clearly the princess one here. But that’s okay. Wanna spoil my man tonight.”

A small smile tugs at his lips, his heartbeat quickening as he feels your hands patting his back—the same way he always does when you fall asleep. You press a soft kiss to his forehead before murmuring a good night.

Bruce’s eyes soften in the dark. He leans in, resting his weight against your chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly as he whispers back, “I love you, baby.”

masterlist ♡

pairing: older!bruce && sugar baby!reader

masterlist

It’s already late when you push into Bruce’s room, arms loaded with branded bags that almost topple out of your grip. Your heels click against the floor until you finally drop everything in a dramatic pile beside the bed. You look up and grin.

Bruce is there—glasses low on his nose, shirtless, reading something on his tablet like the world’s most boring professor. Smelling good enough to eat.

You ditch your heels, crawl into bed, and straight into his lap, stealing the tablet from his hands without hesitation. He hums, big hands gripping your hips automatically. You giggle, kissing him quick.

“Why didn’t you greet me when I came in? Hm? What’s so important that you can’t even look at your pretty sugar baby?” Your fingers play with his hair. He exhales through his nose, shaking his head.

“Crime reports. Gotham needs me, doll. And don’t call yourself that—you know I don’t like it.”

“Okay, then what do you want me to call myself?” Your hand slips higher, fingers grazing up his chest. “A slut?” your palm rests against his throat, light, teasing. “Your fuck toy?” your other arm snakes around his neck, pulling yourself closer. And, you whispered, “Gotham’s playboy’s personal warm hole?” your lips brush against his jaw, breath hot as you hover at the corner of his mouth.

His glare sharpens. “Not funny.”

“And I’m not a comedian.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing like he’s already lost. Batman, defeated by his brat. Instead of scolding, he kisses you once—firm, a warning.

“What’d you buy this time? And why are you home so late?” His eyes flick toward the mountain of bags.

You shrug, arching lazily into his chest. “Just stuff I needed.”

He smirks. “Like the Hermès from last week? Different colors now?”

You clap like he's won a prize. “That’s my boy! You guessed it. Same shopping stuff—but make it pink today.”

Bruce groans, jaw tightening before his palm lands sharp on your ass. You yelp. “Ow! Brucey! What was that for?”

“Who’s supposed to wear all that piling up in my closet?”

You pout, hitting his chest in return. “Me, duh! Why do you always spank so hard…” You rub your sore spot with a whine.

“How much this time?” His voice is low, warning. You squirm. “Mmm… don’t know. Don’t remember.”

“Don’t test me, sweetheart.”

“Fineee. Five hundred....K.”

His sigh is so heavy you’d think he wasn’t the richest man in Gotham. God, Bruce is dramatic.

“Money isn’t the problem. I make that in a minute. What I don’t like is your habit of buying things just to let them rot in my closet.”

He expects you to cry, pout and try to wriggle out like usual. But instead, your arms cross, brows knit, and your legs tighten around his lap. Brat mode fully engaged.

“And who set that system up in the first place, huh?”

“…What?”

“Nu-uh. Shut up.”

His jaw ticks. You smirk.

Fuck. You won. Again.

(Not looked over!!)

Older Bf Bruce spoils you ROTTEN, princess treatment THE MAX, not only with gifts, college payed for, but pampering you too! he loves to give you baths while reading to you. Then washing your hair and body, he gives you kisses on your shoulders, forehead and knees, calves (literally everywhere) as he washes your body. 

Older Bf Bruce loves to brush your hair, actually taking the time to do it. He has you sit down infront of him, after putting the usual hair care products in your hair. He takes out your hairbrush and gently runs the brush through ( if you have curls he’ll ask you how YOU like your hair brushed. he wouldn’t just brush through making your hair a poofy mess. he actually would care.) 

With gifts however..this is where Bruce gets a little overboard, and it can get slightly overwhelming. Like the day you walked into your shared penthouse to see designer handbags, shoes, and dresses, waiting for you by your vanity. You let out a little gasp, walking up to the tokens of his affections for you, running your hands along the fancy fabrics “ B-Bruce..?” You call out. Moments later Bruce comes into your room, smiling from ear to ear as he sees you’ve found your gifts “like them..?” He asks earnestly.

Older Bf Bruce Bruce is extremely protective, and it’s not the usual type were if a guy looks at you wrong he’ll snap..don’t get me wrong, Bruce doesn’t like that other men look at you, but you’re a beautiful woman, people will stare and he trusts you, if he notices a lot of guys staring that day he’ll just have your face pushed into the mattress moaning his name until he’s sure that it’s a mutual understanding of who you belong to.

his usual protectiveness however really shows through when it comes to his work as Batman, Bruce rarely says no to you so, you’re allowed to know he’s Batman, allowed to ask vague questions like “how long will you be out” and “where will you be going” but the questions or should I say answers stop whenever the answers to them..put you in any danger whatsoever, “ why can’t you tell me what you’re doing..? The joker ? What’s that..what’s going on..?” You ask with worried brows as you slam a playing card down on his office desk Bruce only sighs, rubbing his temples before placing a kiss on your cheek “..I’m trying to keep you safe..please don’t go in the cave again ” he says gently

Older Bf Bruce LIVES to have you on his lap, in his office? You’re on his lap. Watching tv? You’re on his lap. In an important meeting? On his lap..only ( much to his dismay..NOT straddling it..that would be unprofessional...) but ANY CHANCE he gets to have you close to him? He takes it.

That’s all for now! haven’t ever written fan fiction before so GRAH hope it’s okay..but I’m very super excited to get to writing. ✧｡٩(ˊᗜˋ )و✧*｡

introducing sugar baby!reader !

𝜗𝜚 𓂃 pink blush. heart shaped lockets. vanilla perfume. pink french tip nails. an actual angel. cupid bow lips. polka dots. fluffy skirts. silver jewelry. slip dresses. pearl drop earrings. a real life barbie doll. big expressive doe eyes. 1960’s updo.

✶ BEST PAIRED WITH BRUCE WAYNE

𖹭 sugar baby!reader . . . she’s the kind of girl who looks expensive without trying, who orders what she wants and never checks the price. she knows how to accept generosity without apologizing for it. she wears silk like armor and confidence like perfume.

Dear Diary.

Wow, feels weird to start it like this. Almost like I am not an old man and gone back to High School. But I have far and few friends these days, I feel YOU are my only one who has stood the test of time.

I am currently in London and something happened. SomeONE happened. I am here as I am looking into Charites around the world I want to help with my fortune now I have the time to travel and see what my work does and I decided to give Great Olmond Street Hospital a very large donation. After looking into it, I am sure it is a place my Mother would love and help if she could.

But as I went in to take my tour and see how much I would give, I met HER. Kit. A bright beautiful young woman who caught my attention as soon as our eyes met. I felt things a man my age has not felt in years. I thought chest pains? Stomach issues? No. She showed me around and the more she spoke, the more I wanted to know about her. Curious, I asked her to dinner and to my surprise, she agreed.

I am at my hotel right now and going over to her home to take her to dinner. I can't remember the last time I was nervous about a dinner date. I am not sure if she would be interested in me as more than a financial benefactor and colleague. But I have fought Gods and been to alternate dimensions so anything is possible.

The crime rate in Gotham is getting worse lately—apparently because of the weather. Yes, it sounds ridiculous to you. But it doesn’t feel ridiculous when a man suddenly jumps out from behind, snatches your jacket from your hands before you can even put it on, and sprints away before you can react.

It completely ruins your day. Mascara streaks stain your cheeks as you perch on Bruce’s lap, sobbing uncontrollably over the stolen jacket.

“It’s the fur jacket I adore so much. Why does he need to do that?” you sob, lips pouty as you wipe your tears on Bruce’s tie. “He could ask me for money and I would gladly give him some.”

The corner of Bruce’s mouth lifts before flattening when he catches your death glare, warning him not to laugh. To him, the situation is funny and cute. You’re crying over something he can replace in a second. But he doesn’t mind. He needs a break from work anyway.

“You want me to buy a new one, baby? You know it’s just a jacket,” he murmurs, voice smooth and soothing as his thumb traces slow circles on your back. It’s his silent gesture whenever you get stressed like this.

You shake your head and whine, lightly hitting his chest. “It’s not just a jacket! It’s Prada, Brucey. You don’t understand.” Your voice hiccups, tiny and desperate.

Bruce chuckles softly. He cups your face, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips before pulling back just enough to whisper against them, “I’ll get the vintage one the moment you wake up from your nap, okay?”

He understands why you’re reacting differently. You haven’t had your pretty nap yet. Normally, you’d brush something like this off and demand a new one without shedding a single tear. But, you barged into his office in the afternoon—cold, sniffling, exhausted from the weather and the moment you flopped on his lap like a needy cat, rubbing your mascara-stained cheek on his Armani suit, he knew this was going to be dramatic… but adorable.

“Okay…” you mumble, coughing lightly as he lifts you and adjusts your position so your legs tuck beneath you. Your chilly body warms instantly when he wraps you in his jacket. All that comfort makes you drowsy. After a few yawns, your eyes flutter closed.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, patting your back and rubbing slow lines up and down as he leans the chair back so you can lie against him comfortably. He presses a soft kiss to your temple, smiling when he hears your breathy little snore.

“Sleep tight, baby.”

And, the moment you opened your eyes there's the exact copy of your stolen vintage Prada jacket—just like he promises. You’re not sure how many kisses you cover his face with afterwards, but one thing is for sure:

Bruce is definitely getting lucky tonight!

masterlist ♡

cr: pinterest! and credit to @/brinawing for the ideas too!

masterlist ♡

“Brucie baby, can we go home?”

Your sudden, sugary voice cuts in, making both Bruce and the businessman pause their conversation. You’re standing at Bruce’s side, Louboutins dangling from your hand, your feet aching from hours in heels.

The black Chanel side-cut, off-shoulder dress hugs your curves just right. A fresh manicure glitters faintly as you fidget, the Cartier necklace at your throat catching the light. But the soft pout on your lips ruins the elegance, it makes you look cute instead.

“Please, baby?” you murmur again, clinging to Bruce’s arm and gazing up at him with doe eyes, the look he can never resist.

Bruce hums, a small smile tugging at his mouth. He nods politely to the businessman, murmurs, “See you again.” and turns, slipping an arm around your waist. With his free hand, he takes your heels from you, carrying them himself.

You lean against his side, sluggish and limp, which makes Bruce chuckle under his breath. His hand rubs your side as he guides you through the crowd, offering greetings here and there. “My baby’s tired, hm?” His voice is low, amused.

“Mmm, yeah,” you mumble, words slurring with exhaustion. “The gala’s boring… and I can’t even scroll because the paparazzi will take pictures and make stupid headlines.” he huffed hearing your words. At least you spoke the truth.

Outside, the doorman opens the passenger door of Bruce’s car. Bruce thanks him softly, settles you into the seat— the passenger princess seat and circles around to the driver’s side. The valet blinks in surprise at the billionaire driving himself but Bruce only slips him a tip before pulling smoothly away from the curb.

You slump back in your seat with a sigh, whining about how the dress is too tight but too pretty to take off. Bruce just shakes his head, his hand patting your thigh. “We’ll be home in thirty minutes, baby. Hold on for daddy, yeah?” He pinches your cheek gently, and you nod, half-asleep.

“Okay, daddy… I just wanna get home quick. ’m too tired.” Your voice is heavy, your eyes already fluttering shut. Your hand drapes lazily across his thigh as he drives.

Bruce glances over, taking in your steady breathing, the pout still resting on your lips, your lipgloss smudged. His chest warms. He laces his fingers through yours, holding your hand as he steers with ease.

For once, his mind is quiet. No patrol. No villains. No cases. Just you—his sleepy, spoiled princess.

A small smirk forms on his lips as he pictures it, carrying you into the mansion, laying you gently on his bed, slipping you into one of his shirts. Maybe he’ll stay up just to watch you sleep, memorizing your features until morning.

masterlist ♡