#roe writes

"Do you not have work to do, my dear Lord Husband?"

"Erm… well, yes, I do… It is the Lord of Winterfell's duty to tend to his wife daily, do you not know, dear Lady Wife?"

"Oh I am very aware-"

"-then you see my need to do so now, my sweet."

"Do I?"

He sighs. Sighs and groans and lowers his face into your chest, where it just lies there, for a while until you push your body up - pushing him up with you. He looks back at you with a look that could only convey betrayal. As though you had just twisted a knife into his ribs,

"My sweet dove… how can you…"

"How dramatic!"

"Dramatic? Mine own wife does not wish to be in my embrace…"

"You have work to do, Robb."

"-and she casts me away with little care!"

"Robb!"

"Oh, the treachery! The treason! How will I ever recover…"

It takes you shaking your head, wrapping his cloak back around him as he continues to dramatically sigh and turning to leave for him to finally stop with a grin, calling out your name and waiting for you to turn back to look at him.

Dear Gods, were you a sight to behold. Bright eyes, shimmering with love as they found his. The way your dress bundles itself around you, before falling around your bump. And your bump - your oh, so sweet bump, which you cradled with a gentle hand. He sighs - a happy, non-dramatic sigh this time - and crosses the room towards you, pressing his forehead against yours,

"I love you so very much."

"And I love you so very much."

"Must I work? When all I wish is to tend to you and our babe?"

"Yes, my love. There is time for us later."

"I suppose…"

His hands whisper over your body, resting gently over your bump as you push him away. As you walk away, you can't help but to turn back and blow a kiss, and to watch as he catches it - pressing it against his heart and returning to his duties.

His duties. His boring, dull duties that did not involve you in any way shape or form.

One could practically hear the young Lord's despondent sigh coursing through Winterfell's walls.

As dull as duties were, both you and Robb owed yours to the people. So when Robb had finally finished his work as Lord for the day, he shuffled his cloak back around him and made his way back to your chambers. He knew you'd be there already, given that it was later than usual. His duties had kept him busy, after all, meaning dinner had to be taken in his study for once.

He hated it, and he knew you hated it too - but duty calls first, what can he do?

He grumbles and groans as he pushes the door to your shared chambers - why was it this heavy? What was the need for it to be this heavy? From inside, he can hear your giggling, and he rolls his eyes before pushing hard against the door again.

Too hard, as he goes flying into the room, before turning back and shoving the door closed again,

"Hello lovie… We.. We have got to fix that door."

You only giggle again, and he smiles. He once thought he could never get enough of your sweet melodies. Robb of many moons ago was very correct, as he finds himself still utterly awestruck by you. Enthralled, and entranced by you, immediately beelining for you and resting his head over your shoulder. His hands wrap around you from behind, stroking your bump as small kisses pepper across your neck,

"Robb…"

"'Tis my duty, love. 'Tis the Lord's duty to tend to the Lady, daily."

His lips find yours as he slowly manouvres you around, so now you face him. He pulls your body into his lap, moving your legs around him and allowing his hands to roam around you. You, on the other hand, allow your body to relax into his - stress rippling off your body as his hands tend to you.

Until his hands find your chest.

He's had.. ideas, recently.

Most nights, you'd awaken and find yourself wet. No, not in that manner (though, he wouldn't complain about that). No, you had found yourself with milk - and early. At first you had brushed it off as a one off situation. After all, to be with milk so early is not entirely uncommon, and the Maester had confirmed this for you. But when it happened most nights over the last two weeks, you could not help feeling irritated.

He, however, was elated.

Thoughts had plagued his mind - mostly of how sweet you would taste, with his lips around you. But he hadn't the chance to ask you yet, not when the two of you have been saddled with duty after duty. So when tonight, the two of you finally have time…

"My Love.. can we try something new, tonight?"

"New?"

"Well, not entirely new. Not really, just - changed."

"Changed? Robb what are you on about?"

"Trust me?"

"Always."

You can see how the candlelight falls so softly across his features, and his hands start skimming along your body - freeing you of the restraints you had been stuck in throughout the day. Layers of cloth peel off you, and you see his eyes melt (even more than they already had) as they trail over you.

Slow. He's slow and measured, never rushing. Perhaps Robb of your early marriage would have rushed a little more. He would have sped through this part of the night. But Robb of now is different. This is a Robb who wants nothing but to appreciate and love his dear wife's beautiful body. A Robb who could be content just worshipping you.

You could tell him that all he could do for the remainder of his life is worship and love you, and he'd gladly kneel at your sweet altar.

And the way the candlelight flickers around the room, bouncing off your body and basking you in a warmth that washes over you. You hum and sigh as his lips finally find your neck again, mumbling sweet words against your skin, as you gasp at every touch,

"My sweet, pretty wife.. all mine… so beautiful f'me.."

Each kiss feels like hot fire, dancing across your skin as he works his way down your neck, before pausing just above your collarbone. He pulls away from you, eyes once again dragging over your body as his hands work over your upper body. They rest just below your breasts as his thumbs drag over them - tugging a cold across your nipples as you writhe under his touch, whining,

"Oh, Robb-! You tease…"

He chuckles in response, lips lowering to your neck as he presses a kiss to your skin again, before pulling away again,

"Tease? Me? Never, my love…"

Yet despite his words, he continues to push and pull at you, fingers pinching around your so, so sensitive buds as they pull softly. Each pull tugs out another sigh from your lips, which only drifts up to his ears and straight down to his cock.

Suddenly, he's very aware of how tight his nether regions feel, eyebrows drawing together as he attempts to ignore it. Tonight, he would take care of you, love you before even considering to think of himself. Even if that meant ignoring himself for the time being.

His hands continue to move slowly over your breasts. Though you wish he'd ease your need, heat quickly gathering in your lower belly as you pout and pull a face at him - he does not hasten himself. You can feel small gatherings of milk begin to collect at the very top of your breasts, and your hands raise up to find his. To pull him away and go clean yourself, of course! Except… his hands only leave your chest to lower your own, as he tuts back at you,

"Tsk, tsk.. hiding from me? My sweet, sweet dove - your sweet nectar calls f'me, and you try to hide?"

"R-robb…"

"Not now, my love. Lemme take care of you, yeah?"

You can't deny how his words settle in your stomach, and only hum back. You find yourself unable to pull words together when his voice rumbles through your soul, or when his body works so well against yours. His hands tending ever so sweetly to your incredibly sensitive body. Each reaction he pulls from you is mentally stored as he works for your pleasure.

However, now that your milk begins collecting around your buds, Robb can't help but to lower his face to your chest. He begins with small kisses - pressed along your chest. Small kisses to each part of your skin, before his tongue swipes upwards from under your breast, wrapping around and sucking. Softly first, as he settles his body against yours - careful of the bump between you.

But soon enough, he begins picking up pace, switching from breast to breast as he suck needily at you, moans and groans dropping willfully from his lips as you whine from how sweet he feels.

All whilst he cannot get enough of you. Each droplet feels like- tastes like honeyed ambrosia. A sweetened drink trickling down past his lips and tongue as he eagerly worships you. Every swipe of his tongue is a silent prayer, thankful for his beautiful wife, for your sweet babe and for each and every moment he spends in your loving arms. And every silent prayer has your body arching into his touch, as his hands trek lower along your body - quickly finding your very, very wet folds.

His finger drags along your folds as his lips leave your teased buds. You can feel him smirk at you, before you hear it, and you hear his glee before you even see it,

"Gods above - so wet… so, so wet, all from this?"

And when you whine again, he only chuckles, before moving your body so you sit in front of him.

In front of him, and in front of the mirror.

You remember buying that mirror with him, actually. The two of you had travelled a little, just after your wedding, and found yourselves at a merchants' market. Though there were many, many wares being sold that fine day - only one caught your eye.

A beautifully long mirror, with the most beautifully silver embellishments wrapped around its edges. Not any old silver though - the kind of silver that shone bright and beautiful, reflecting the moon back at you on many late nights.

This truly was one such night, as Robb works to finally free himself. Any and all clothes have finally been entirely removed, as his lips trail across your shoulder, and your eyes track along his body (or rather - what of it you can see, as he sits behind you).

"May I?"

"My Love, has that ever been a question?"

He smiles into your shoulder, pressing another kiss to it as he lifts your body with a well practiced ease. Still, despite said ease, you find yourself gasping every time - hands flying to his arms as you grab on to him. He settles your body against his, as his tip brushes past your folds.

And just the feeling of his tip grazing your folds, has you ready to fold. He slowly pulls your body back down over him - pushing himself up into you as he does. Despite being very… practiced with one another's bodies by now (read: you and Robb really had found yourself making love like rabbits. Anywhere and everywhere he could, he would.), every time still felt like the first time. Every time still felt new, and exciting.

Your walls welcome him back, wrapping around his cock as he thrusts in and out with a lazy, loving pace. Every slowed thrust has your eyes rolling back into your head, gasps stuttering out of your mouth as inches slowly move in and out of you.

All the while, one hand moves over your clit, dragging slick up over you as you moan and whine because dear Gods above - how did it feel so good?

"R-robb-! Fuck, that fee- oh-! Fuck, fuck, Robb, that's-! Yes, oh Gods, Robb, yes-!"

Robb only gasps in response, teasing you with his words as he picks up his pace,

"My, my - the Lady of Winterfell curses? Who would've thought, hmm?"

"Robb! Teasing…"

"Never!"

Yet he's not much better. It's dizzying, honestly, the way your walls wrap around him so tight - tugging him in as he quickens his pace. All whilst you find yourself equally as dizzy - his thick cock continuing to thrust so perfectly in you.

As always, the two of you work in a sweet, sweet symphony - beautifully perfect as his groans match your moans. His gasps match your whines, perfectly accentuated by the rhythmic meeting of skin with the squelching of both your and his slick practically melting together.

Finally, the coil that has only tightened over time finds itself snapping with one particularly perfect thrust. Your walls clench around him as he continues to thrust (only ever so slightly slower, of course), a broken gasp ripping out of your throat as you grip into his arms. He joins you soon after - cumming fast and loud, crying out against your shoulder as he slows his movements to a very, very slow stop.

The two of you remain held together a little longer - his cock buried deep in you as his arms wrap around you. Lips find your skin again, tickling kisses along as you hum quietly, slowly finding your thoughts and voice again,

"Robb, my sweet.."

"Yes, my Dove?"

"I love you - oh, I love you so, so, much. So dearly, my Love."

You can feel his smile against your skin, your eyes closed as you bask in his warmth, his love and his gentle embrace,

"And I love you, so very, very dearly, my sweet Dove."

Eventually, however, he slowly pulls himself out - the two of you hissing quietly when he does, leaving a loving ache between your thighs. He quickly stands and fetches clean water, and a clean cloth, gently wiping you down before cleaning himself. Ever the sweetest, Robb drapes you in blankets and furs before burrowing around you.

And as you fall asleep, head resting on his chest, a small smile finds your face as his his hands rest around your body, with one finding your bump. Cradling his two sweetest loves.

For outside, the winter may be coming. The season may be harsher, as the cold seeps ever closer.

But inside, there is nothing but warmth.

Warmth and love.

xoxo, roe~

guys i can't he's so. oh my god. fine shyte

mind you this is what i see when i write these:

Christmas in Gotham was no joke. This year was no different, as the invitation found its way to your door,

"Christmas at the Dent's: 7:00 pm - late 25052nd Street"

Ah. The usual, then. You roll your eyes and sigh, pains shooting through your heels at just the thought of having to stand around making awkward conversation all night. Still - no one does Christmas quite like Harvey Dent these days, and you weren't about to ruffle feathers by refusing his invitation.

As you walk along the corridor into your penthouse, your doorbell rings. Strange - 8:07 pm wasn't exactly the time for visitors, and you weren't exactly expecting anyone. As you peek through the small window at the top of your door, you see no one out there.

Perhaps a package?

Opening the door, you find your guess validated as a neatly tied box sits in front of your door. Along the sides of the box, the 'Wayne Enterprises' logo sits embellished. Glaring back at you.

What the Hell would Gotham's very own prince - the billionaire playboy himself - want with you?

Naturally, you're wary as you take the package inside, carefully pulling apart each ribbon, one by one. Inside, a small letter addressed to you,

"See you at Dent's Christmas Gala~ P.S. I do hope you'll wear the dress."

The utter nerve! First of all - how on Earth did he know you'd been invited? Second of all - who was he to instruct you to be there? You had half a mind not to attend at all now, as your eyebrows drew together, anger coursing through your veins. Who the Hell was he to be so pushy?

Your eyes now find the cloth, neatly folded into the box. As your hands lift it up, the wine red of the dress rappels down. And despite the anger that had just flooded your soul, you can't help but think just how pretty the dress would look on you.

Gods damn you, Mr Wayne.

On the other side of Gotham, in an awfully comfy (but lonely) bed, Bruce Wayne sat - twiddling his thumbs as he lay there. Thinking. Overthinking.

"I'm sure she'll like the dress, Master Wayne."

"Huh? Oh. Erm. Who, Alfred?"

"Do you think me so dense?"

"Dense? No.."

"I know you better than that."

"..I know, Alfred."

"Now. Dinner?"

Bruce sighed, nodding and groaning as he pushed himself up from his bed, muscles screaming as they ached. Each movement was torture as he pulled over a shirt, trudging down the stairs. Alfred followed behind with a small smile, rolling his eyes as he collected an old mug from the room. Downstairs, the table had already been set. As always, Bruce sat alone, with a beautiful plate of food sat in front of him.

Why did it feel so cold, then?

Cold and lonely?

Time flew by as you tried to ignore both the gala, and the dress that now sat in the corner of your room, still in the Wayne Enterprises box. Everytime you walked into your penthouse, there it was. Taunting you, mocking you and practically begging you to wear it.

So when the day itself came along, you found yourself groaning as you did finally try the dress on.

Dear Gods - how was it that it fit just right? Just perfectly? First of all - how did the Gotham's playboy know your measurements like that? There was no way he had the chance to ever know, considering that you had only really had two conversations together.

Both of which were unfortunately failed conversations, mind you.

In the first, he had accidentally spilled his drink over you - after someone bumped into him. Of course, he wasn't rude about it - but you loved that dress, so very much. You couldn't help the glare you shot at him, before rushing off to the bathroom as you tried you damndest to remove champagne stains from your dress. You had missed the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, or the way they couldn't help but to trail on after you as you rushed away.

And in the second, the two of you found yourselves at the same cafe. What began as a sweet, nice moment quickly became a huge issue, as he had taken your coffee, and you his. So when he ended up at your office, soaked in the rain and very much… unhappy, you were sure that Bruce Wayne hated you.

So why did he have such an interest in you of all people?

With every step in your "getting ready for a silly gala where you'll only stand around looking… well, silly" routine, you couldn't help but smooth your hands over the dress as you stare back at yourself in the mirror.

Despite your initial thoughts, you look hot. Incredibly hot. Your hair falls just right, your make up so perfect and your dres…

How on earth Mr Wayne had gotten such a perfect dress for you - without ever having a proper conversation with you? It must be a trap, you think. Yes, a trap! For what - you have no idea, nor do you have the time to try to understand what it could be, as your doorbell rings. You furrow your eyebrows as you approach the door, carefully opening it to…

"Hey sweetheart. Well aren't you lookin' pretty f'me tonight?"

…well, Bruce Wayne himself - who else would it be?

Your mouth drops for a moment as you try to collect yourself - to no avail. He looked… well, he looked fine as all hell, stood in your doorway. Your last meeting at the cafe must've left quite an impression on him, given how he styles his hair tonight. Gone is the neatly stuck together, slicked back hair that everyone expects of Bruce Wayne. Instead, here he stands. Hair still put together, but not quite as… corporate as usual. It's really nice, actually. And his suit and tie - they're not the usual, horribly business-like suit Mr Wayne often possesses. It's classy, black blazer, white shirt and a deep red tie - matching your dress.

You miss how he practically mirrors your expression, his eyes trailing around your hair. How it falls across your shoulders (how he barely keeps himself from brushing it aside, peppering kisses across your collarbone). The way the dress fits you just perfectly, hugging your curves as he cannot stop himself from imagining just how gorgeous you look underneath. The way your lips fall apart, separating as he imagines just how pretty they'd taste, under his own.

Killer Croc himself could come tumbling through your apartment, and neither you nor him would be any the wiser.

"You look.."

"Wow…"

"…human."

"Human? I look human? Gee, sweetheart, I'd hope so-"

"You know what I meant! You wanna explain what all this is about? I can get to Dent's on my own, you know."

"I know."

"So…?"

"Come on… where's the fun in us showin' up alone, huh? We're both gonna be bored there anyway.. Plus, Harvey'll finally stop tryna shove his weird friend on you.."

"I gue- Wait, what? How did you-?"

"I'm literally Bruce Wayne, sweetheart."

"There it is."

"Come on! I wanna be there before they roll out the appetizers! They're no fun all cold, y'know…"

Which is how you found yourself, decked out in your finest, sat in Bruce's finest. As impressive as the Rolls Royce was on the outside, it was even better on the inside. Smooth, arctic white leather cushioning you as Bruce helps you inside (you note how carefully he tucks your dress in). It's not cold, like other cars usually are. It's weirdly… nice. Yeah, nice. Warm and comfortable as the heating doesn't blast at you, but snakes around you. Welcoming you. He waits patiently for you to adjust yourself, flashing that perfect grin back at you as he closes the door. And once he does, you're given a moment to look up at the roof of the car above you. A beautiful sky of stars sits right above and you can't help but reach a hand out, gently tracing your nails over it. It's a car truly befitting of its owner.

The ride there is smooth. No unnecessary rushing, no joyriding. Bruce drives slow and smooth, letting you enjoy the ride as you find yourself fixed on how pretty Gotham looks at night. The Christmas decorations are already out, glimmering back at you as you both make your way to Harvey Dent's god awful Christmas gala. You don't notice how Bruce steals looks as he drives, using the regular mirror checks as an excuse to drink in the look in your eyes as you stare out of the windows. Nor do you notice the smile creeping onto his face, or how he takes the longer, scenic route to Harvey's gala.

Anything to keep you there just a little longer, huh? But a drive can only go on for so long, and the two of you find yourselves outside Dent's place sooner than later.

"Well.. someone's gone all out this year, huh?"

"He does this every year, Bruce."

"First name basis now?"

"In your dreams, Wayne."

He only chuckles and shakes his head, following you along the red carpet laid out in front of you, within a man made "Winter Wonderland". It seemed Dent really had gone above and beyond this time, somehow even replicating the rosy, warming cold that only snow created. Bruce found himself trailing after you with ease - not even stopping for the cameras and their judgemental flashes, as journalists screamed their questions.

Yet the only thing he could care about was you.

You, and how you commanded their attention with such ease and confidence, as though they were loyal soldiers and you their queen. You and how your giggles tickled his ears, bouncing around in his brain as he attempted to collect himself once more (because how bad would it look - Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, down bad at the annual Dent Christmas Gala?). You and how you turned to him, playfully blowing him a kiss as you sauntered inside, leaving him to shake his head and follow behind you.

He could already imagine the morning's headlines.

The gala was… well, like any other gala. Busy, stifling and awfully boring. Initially, Bruce and you had managed to stick through three conversations together. Easily evading awkward topics, and munching through appetizers as you finally thought you'd be able to actually enjoy a gala, for once.

Until you had been tugged away by one person, and Bruce by another. It was almost poetic, how the two of you searched for one another across the large - shockingly large - building. Unbeknownst to the two of you, there was a moment where you were searching for him (and he for you), stuck on either side of a very large Christmas tree.

Which is how you now find yourself up above. On an old balcony, abandoned and quiet. Where others would probably turn back and rejoin the festivities - busying themselves in conversations and gossips - you much preferred the slight chill in the air for company. Plus, there was something nice about just being alone in the quiet.

Well, actually.

It sure would have been nice to have a… certain playboy up here with you. But who am I kidding, it's not like Bruce Wayne is about to appear out of nowh-

"Well, ain't that a nice surprise, huh?"

My God. Bruce Wayne has appeared out of nowhere. And next they'll be saying he's Batman! Yeahhhh right!

Bruce walks up to you, a hand quickly finding the small of your back - warm, but not uncomfortable - and pulling you slightly closer to him. You let him, resting a hand on his shoulder as you peer back over the balcony. He follows your gaze, looking over the view with you. There's truly something beautiful about how the city lights up at night - especially during Christmas time, as the warm bright golden light only radiates around the streets.

"For all its flaws… Gotham has its own beauty, does it not?"

He can only hum in response, as his eyes break away to find you again. There's something he can't quite put a finger on, a feeling. An emotion. A need for you. When he finally realises it, he's practically kicking himself in the balls in disappointment. How could he not have realised sooner? As his mind races, another idea swims through his brain. Sure, he could just ask you. But where's the fun in that?

"Bored, sweetheart?"

"I suppose… Why? Does the great Bruce Wayne have any suggestions? Cure my boredom f'me?"

Your hand moves up from the balcony railing, as you now position yourself in front of him, your back against the balcony. Your fingers dance up his arm, finding his face as they slowly trace down, and he finally sees That Look in your eyes. Hunger, need and perhaps a secret, third thing. One that he can't quite put his finger on yet,

"There is one idea…"

"Go on..?"

He leans in, and his lips barely brush your ear as his hands begin to move along your body - securing you against him, and against the railing behind you. You let out a soft gasp at his touch, only to snake your own arms around his head - tugging him closer.

"Tell me to stop, sweet girl. Tell me to stop."

Something about the thrill of it all sent an exciting shiver down your spine as you found yourself grinning back at him,

"…I don't think so, Mr Way-"

"No, no. Bruce. None of that Mr Wayne bullshit."

"My, my- first name basis, huh?"

"Somethin' like that."

His lips trail down your neck as his hands slowly pull your dress up higher and higher. One hand hikes your leg up around his waist as his fingers massage the flesh underneath (almost begging for forgiveness from the harsh cold that hits you first). All as his lips dance across your body - warming the flesh they touch and leaving the slightest reddening mark as he builds in confidence, sucking along your skin. When he's pleased, he finally lets go of your leg, unbuckling his pants with a practiced ease as he opens himself up to the harsh airs of the night.

"Do you do this often, then? Find girls on balconies and fuck 'em over Gotham? What will people say...?"

"Only the one's I really like. And you? You seduce billionaires on the balconies of Gotham often?"

"As a noble scholar once said, 'Only the one's I really like,' Bruce.."

That earns a laugh out of him, and a giggle out of you, as he pulls you closer to him. He mutters a soft apology and presses a kiss to your neck as he slowly enters you - the two of you savouring each inch that fills you as you arch your body into his. Soft strings of curses leave your mouth, and he only kisses them away, tutting as he does,

"Tsk, tsk… and you call yourself a Lady, hmm?"

"Oh, you piece of-! Bruce! F-fuck, that's… oh, that's perf-ect-!"

He only chuckles back, shaking his head as he speaks back into your skin,

"Need ya to keep it down f'me, gorgeous... wouldn't wanna be caught so soon, hmm?"

Each and anytime you attempt a retort back at him, he only snaps his hips up into you, thrusting harder (somehow). You learn pretty quick, letting your body fall into his arms as your moans echo around him. His head falls into your neck, peppering kisses along it again as you find your hands tangled in the back of his hair - easily scuffing up the once somewhat neatened hair he had put together.

When he looks back up at you, eyes softened as the warmed Christmas lights reflect back at you, you can't help how your heart tugs for him. Nor can you help the words that tumble out of your mouth, trickling around him as he continues to thrust in and out of you - slowing ever so slightly (just enough to be able to enjoy the moment the two of you share. For if this is your one and only encounter together, he'd much sooner remember it all, than hold on to mere flickers of memories),

"B-Bruce… Fuck, Bruce, I love yo-"

You stop just short of finishing the word, as Bruce slows to a stop, looking back up at you again. It's only then that you realise exactly what it is that you've said out loud, to the cold Gotham (K)night around you, and your eyes widen, your mouth dropping open.

What do you say? You usually don't really fall in love with people after… getting fucked on a balcony?

"Say it again."

"Say what?"

So we play dumb now, do we?

"You know what, sweetheart."

"I don't know what you're on about, Bruc-! Oh, fu-ck! That's just mean-!"

Each thrust is punctuated by your sharp gasps and moans, and for a moment you think he's let you off. Surely he understands it was just a slip of the tongue, right? Except he slows down again, sighing as his hands find your face, angling it to look up at him.

Dear Gods is he a sight to take in. Hair tossed about, suit crumpled and a look of determination scrawled across his face as he collects himself, small pants huffing out into the air,

"Need ya to say it, gorgeous."

"You cannot be serious, Bruce."

"Oh, I am."

"Really?"

"Really. You think I buy dresses for anyone? Drive slow for anyone? Sweetheart…"

And the pieces slowly put themselves together, a jigsaw puzzle coming together in your mind as your eyes widen again. He can't help the smile on his face as you splutter over your words, only to sigh and smile back at him,

"So what - you were gonna ask me out midway through fu-"

"No, no. Not at all. I.. fuck, it sounds stupid as all hell, now. But I was.. I was gonna ask you out quietly. Didn't wanna make a huge deal of it, y'know?"

"Who even are you? Billionaire Bruce Wayne would never!"

"Right. Except I'm just Bruce Wayne here, with you. No fancy titles, no stupid shit. Just Bruce Wayne."

You think it over for a moment - because what do you actually say? Sure, you can't deny the feelings that have risen in your heart, stirring and begging for him, nor can you ignore how you need him - so very much. But you are still at Dent's stupid gala, and you-

Oh, fuck it all! You pull him closer, mouths finally meeting as he melts into your kiss. Tongues swiping against each other as his hands settle around your hips again. Only this time, there's real, recognised emotion behind it all. Behind each and every movement, touch and breath is another sweet confession to one another. When you finally pull away from each other, he only grins back at you, slowly moving himself out of you and redressing the two of you. When you give him a puzzled look in response, he pulls you in for another kiss, before whispering,

"Wanna get back to mine? Much more.. comfortable, I can assure you that."

"Only if I'm not just another one of your flings, Wayne."

"Never, baby. Never just a fling."

He pulls you back through the gala, sneaking through the backdoor of the function and swiftly back into his car. Only this time, the two of you can't hide the giddying excitement between you - grins and chuckles and giggles flying around you as Bruce drives the two of you back to the Manor.

He's never driven this fast, nor with such purpose.

This time, he carries you in his arms, ignoring your giggly protests as he throws you onto his bed. His oh, so soft bed, with the silks and fluffiness that you can only have dreamed of. You kick off your heels, only for him to catch them in his hands, tossing them behind him as he undresses himself once more for you. This time, you get to see all of him, gulping as your eyes drag lazily across his skin. You can't help but to drink it all in under the soft, amber candle light that barely surrounds the room. It's warm and intimate, and has you reaching up to him.

He takes the opportunity to remove your own dress from your body, zipper lowering slowly as his lips find your skin once more. As he undresses you, peeling each layer off you with a reverence rarely found in this corner of the world, you can't help but attempt to cover yourself.

Only for him to hold your arms away from your body, before cradling you up in his own arms,

"No more hiding from me, c'mere.."

He pulls you in, kisses trailing down your neck once more. Except this time, they quickly become bites and nips, tugging and sucking at your skin as he finds your breasts. Each bite accompanied with a soothing kiss, until he wraps his tongue around one bud, with two fingers working on the other.

And as his mouth and hand work on your breasts, teasing each nipple and moving left to right, his other hand presses your thighs open - giving himself space to thrust his cock back into you. Given your risqué rendezvous earlier in the night, you're already soaking wet when he enters - your walls welcoming him back in as they mould themselves around him once more. Each inch that moves within you already has you seeing stars, let alone when he finally speeds up, thrusting faster and harder as your moans tangle with his groans.

The sounds of your skin meeting his, as your walls wrap around him with each thrust and your head falls back onto the pillow, only have you blushing under his body. It's a good thing it's only the two of you around, as you struggle to hold back your cries.

You can feel yourself edging closer and closer to release, as your stomach tightens in on itself, and your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders. He only gasps back in response, before somehow pulling your legs out wider - letting him in deeper. Angles that you had never even felt before suddenly find themselves full with him. Hell's, neither you nor he can pull together a coherent sentence - both drunken on one another as you chase each other's release,

"F-fuck! Bruce, oh, Bru-!"

"Perfect! Fuck, you're so perf-ect f'me, baby, m'gonna cu-!"

And what a release it is. The two of you come crashing together, crying out at the same time as you gush out on him, and he cums over your gummy walls, that only seem to suck him in more. You can feel him everywhere, even as he slows his pace and looks back down at you, lowering his head to press a kiss to your cheek before slowly pulling out. As you whine and protest him leaving you so empty, he moves the two of you around, before lifting your body and lowering you back onto his cock, kisses pressed along your shoulder. He doesn't move this time, letting you come down from your release.

Instead, he lowers the two of you into his bed, wrapping his arms around you, securing you as you fall asleep,

"I've got ya.. get some sleep now, yeah?"

You barely feel a soft kiss pressed to your forehead as you finally drift off.

The morning comes much sooner than you'd want it to. You can barely make out the glimmerings of Gotham's first snow of the year, as birds twitter and tweet their sweet morning song. The Winter Sun's harsh light basks over the room, and you blink away your sleepy haziness as Bruce stirs with you, once again pressing kisses along your skin, before whispering into your ear,

"Mornin' gorgeous."

You can't quite manage a full response back, humming in return as you let your eyes close again. He finally pulls himself out of you, hissing as you whine in return. You take the opportunity to finally turn around, burying your face into his chest and letting yourself fall asleep again,

"Sweetheart.."

"M'sure breakfast can wait.. right, B?"

"For you? The whole world can wait, sweet girl.."

And so as journalists furiously tapped away their headlines ("Billionaire Playboy Bruce Wayne Caught With CEO! Read more on Page 5", "Bruce Wayne Finally Spotted With New Lover!" "Batman: Fact, or Fiction?") in the usual speedy fashion that Gotham is so very used to, the two of you lie lazily, savouring and basking in a slowed warmth rarely found in such a corner of the world.

merry roe-mas ❅.ೃ࿔

And to now think you would be marrying into them?

Terrifying.

Your mother immediately gushed with joy, clasping her hands together as she jumped from her seat. After all, Catelyn Stark had once been a very close friend, before the two were separated by marriage,

"Oh! How wonderful! We must prepare at once!"

"At once, Mother?"

"At once! When do we leave?"

Your father seemed.. bemused by the situation in front of him, a grin tugging at his lips as he nodded, barely holding back a chuckle,

"We leave tomorrow. What objects you own have already been prepared and packe-"

"Tomorrow?! Father…"

Yet no matter what you said, how much you pushed and begged for even one more day, it seemed your fate had already been sealed. A wedding was to be had, and a marriage had been arranged. You can only hope your future husband is as kind and honourable as the rumours you have heard…

Meanwhile, Robb Stark had been saddled by the many preparations that came with such important guests visiting. Merchants, tailors and anyone who had even the smallest service to provide had been bombarding the young Lord with questions, and he hadn't had a moment's rest since.

Not even a moment's rest, and he hadn't even thought of the day itself's preparations. A Lord's wedding (no matter how small he'd want it) was no laughing matter.

"Yes, ensure the banners are the corre- Robb! Here, Robb, take a look at this - do you like it?"

How on Earth his mother stood there rifling through furs as though this were just another normal day, commanding attention and instructing with such precision - one would assume this were some military operation.

It was not.

"I.. I think I do, yes. Does it really matter?"

"Does it really- Robb! Of course it does! Here, you will wear this when you greet the family. Make sure yo-"

"I know, Mother. When will the wedding be?"

"In a week's time. The family arrives tomorrow, and the wedding will be in a week."

A week. Robb knew his duties, and he knew that at the end of the day - this wedding was just that. Another duty. Though it was less than ideal to be marrying for the sake of duty, over love, the situation he found himself in truly was so dire that he had no other real choice. After all, he needed the support, and marriage was an easy way of ensuring that.

And from what he had heard, the Florents' young daughter would make for a fine bride - not that it particularly mattered much to him. Either way, he would treat her with the very same honour and respect he had been raised with - the Stark way.

Time passed quickly when you were rushing to make the most of it. Between packing your items, ensuring you said your farewells to each and every one of your closest friends and family that you could and trying to still the monstrous pit of anxiety that only grew with every passing moment within you - you were incredibly busy.

So busy that you still hadn't really had the chance to think about how on earth you'd adapt to becoming a Lord's wife. Though you had been somewhat prepared throughout your upbringing, that doesn't help the feeling that you were somehow walking into this unprepared. Even as you travel to your own wedding, you find yourself stuck in awful conversations and decisions that quite frankly - made no sense. Velvet or crushed velvet? What did it matter?

Neither would bring you comfort.

When you finally stepped down from the carriage, guided by your father's hand, your eyes cast themselves downwards first. You followed the usual protocol that you had practiced you entire life, following behind your father until his words finally brought you into light,

"…and this is my daughter."

Ahead of you, stood all but the young Lord you were betrothed to. As Lady Catelyn took your hands into hers - her kind eyes trailing over you as she fussed and busied herself with you - you couldn't help but to stand there, overwhelmed.

You could only wonder how Robb felt.

Robb Stark was busy. Very busy. Stuck, actually, in awfully boring meetings as all he could think of is how excitedly his mother whisked herself away to meet you.

How very lucky.

"…and we should concentrate ourselves on the matter of how to handle the Lannisters and their forces. Lord Stark?"

"…"

"Lord Stark???"

A million eyes whipped around towards him, staring as he remained completely lost in his own thoughts. He remained still, unmoving for a few seconds, before shaking his head and rubbing his forehead - attempting to ease off some of the tension,

"Yes, yes. The Lannisters and their forces. Does anyone have any particular suggestions?"

"My Lord - we covered them, mere moments ago."

"Repeat them to me. I wish to understand them better."

"Of course, my Lord."

A lie. But how could he say that his mind was so busy entrapped in its own anxieties instead of paying attention to the war he was fighting? How could he say that the stresses and pressure building within his brain felt as though they'd burst open any time now, rippling across the table in front of him?

Well, he couldn't, really.

So instead, he attempted to pay attention to his various Lords.

(Key word: attempted. After all, there's only so many times one can hear Lord Umber's suggestion to just scale the walls of Casterly Rock and ambush the Lannisters. In fact, the only time Robb finds himself interested once more is when two of the Lords begin fighting again, watching with a small smile tearing at his face before realising he was expected to break them up. And then the pit of stresses and anxieties opened itself again, as he sighed and yelled instructions to his Lords once more.)

And so both yourself and Robb found yourselves incredibly busy. Him, with his war councils and strategising (and petty disputes between Lords), and you with the various decisions a quick wedding requires. What material would you wear? What flowers did you prefer?

The week had continued on the same, leaving no room for either of you to meet. Whilst it would have been nice to meet at least once, the Gods choose what the Gods choose for you, and so you find yourself waking up on your wedding day.

Your wedding day…

The day you'd no longer be just a young girl, from the South. You'd become Robb Stark's wife.

The thought of 'performing' wifely duties made you shudder.

There you stood. The morning had seen each and every person around you fussing over you - ensuring your hair, make up and dress were just perfect. You had given up entirely on attempting to stop anyone, or change anything yourself.

You felt like some strange doll, passed between people to tweak as they liked.

This was not the fun wedding you had imagined as a young girl.

Still, at least you had a brief moment of calm, as your father took your arm with a small tear in his eye. Instinctively, your own hand reached up, and he let you wipe it away from his face as he sniffled,

"My sweet daughter… these are just… oh, you know, allergies."

"Allergies?"

"Yes, of course. Allergies."

It was not the weather for allergies.

Of course you knew better, but what would you say? Instead, you smiled and lowered your hand back to his arm, inhaling and exhaling slowly as he began to lead you down to your betrothed. Each step felt louder as your brain and heart hammered against your body, threatening to lurch out. You felt sick - sick, and nervous, and terrified, as each and every person's eyes locked onto you.

Watching you, like hawks, as you walked down to your betrothed.

You could barely see him, as he stood turned away from you. He was… tall, and had curly hair - but that's all you could say until you got any closer.

Your father finally tapped your arm, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. He whispered quiet words to soothe your nerves as he left you,

"Breathe, sweet girl. Breathe."

Your father then walked to his own seat, a smile thrown in your direction as your betrothed finally turned towards you. As he did, you slowly allowed your eyes to trail up in front of you.

By the Gods - what a gorgeous man. You could only hope he was as kind as he was beautiful. A stern look on his face that only softened when your eyes met his. Was he.. shocked? Awestruck? Disappointed? You weren't quite sure what that look was on his face - much more stuck in how beautiful his eyes were. Snowy blues stared back at you, slightly widened, reflecting back a… strangely welcoming cold. His lips parted slightly before drawing into a smile, and brief images of kissing him softly blinked in your mind.

He did not miss the blush creeping up your neck, and you do not miss the way he grins and looks down bashfully, before meeting your gaze again,

"…"

"…"

What a wonderful first conversation. You tried, in your defence. But everyone's eyes were on the two of you, and any and all conversation found itself stuck in your throat instead. He wasn't much better, a slow breath leaving his lips.

With how close he stood to you, his breath hit the skin of your neck, settling quietly.

"You look nice, by the way."

"S-sorry?"

"Was that inappropriate, my Lady?"

"No! No of course not… You.. you look nice too, my Lord.."

You can see his shoulders physically loosen as you approve of his words. Sat in the audience, both his mother and your parents exchange warm smiles - also approving of the sweet exchange between the two of you.

The wedding goes surprisingly well, actually. No more hiccups, no awkward slips or trips. Of course, this is helped by Robb picking you up in his arms as he carries you to the feast, responding to your gasps and giggles with a grin, and claiming something about 'traditions'.

Ah, traditions. Tradition stated that the two of you must dance, and so you danced. And tradition stated that the two of you must begin the wedding feast, so you began the wedding feast. Sat awkwardly beside each other, as various Lords and Ladies gossiped around you, drinking themselves silly. Robb attempted some conversation, in his defence, and you attempted to respond back. But being in such an overwhelmingly busy hall, surrounded by drunken people as they loudly shouted and danced and giggled and pranced had the two of you in a very uncomfortable position.

Robb leaned in, his voice barely carrying across - almost drowned out by the noise surrounding the two of you,

"Shall we leave? Before Lord Bolton demands a bedding ceremony?"

The bedding ceremony. It had long caused you mental anguish, the idea of it, and you had dreaded just the mention of it. Still, you took some solace in how Robb seemed not to want one either, nodding along as he quietly guided you out of the hall, into the much cooler air of the night,

"Ah, finally. Much nicer outside, hmm?"

"Y-yes, of course, my Lord."

The twittering of evening birds filled your silence, as you heard your heart slow down to a more comfortable pace. Each beat was accentuated by the quiet thrum of tension between the two of you - awkwardness never really dissipating, not even now as he led you to your shared chambers,

"They aren't.. as grand as they will be, back in Winterfell."

"That is okay, my Lord."

"You do not have to- Okay.. come here."

He guides you to your shared bed - your shared bed. Which you shared with him now. For you were now, officially, a married woman.

As you sat next to him, he could feel your body tensing up. Had he done something to make you uncomfortable? He couldn't help thoughts racing through his brain, as he sat there - overthinking. He had spent much of the afternoon and evening staring somewhat lovingly at you, yes, for he was entirely entranced by his gorgeous, stunning wife.

Had that made you feel uncomfortabe, though? That was not his intention…

"You do not have to call me 'Lord'. You are my wife now - you may call me 'Robb'. 'Husband', if you like, and.."

He hesitated, his voice faltering slightly as he looks away. Of course, any young man in his position would want to cockily crack a joke of sorts, but was it too soon? Yet when your face turns to find his, he finds the confidence in his heart swell, red dusting his cheeks under the soft candlelight around you as he turns back to you,

"…'Love', if you choose.."

Your eyes widened first, and for a moment he worried. Had what he said been too crass? He had heard that Southerners were less.. straightforward - preferring gentle terms instead. Yet the way you let out the softest giggle had his heart immediately melting - practically falling into the palms of your hands.

He thinks to himself, that truly you must have been carved by the Gods themselves for him. The way your giggles wrapped around his brain, burrowing themselves in as he locked them away - praying he may never forget how sweet you sound - has him entirely ruined already.

Ruined, already, and just by your sweet giggles.

"My Lo- Robb, you are too kind.."

"And you are too sweet, dear wife.."

Dear wife. The words hit your heart first, tangling themselves within your strings and blooming a softened warmth across your chest and body before lowering to settle into an unfamiliar heat pooling in your stomach.

Though unfamiliar, it was not unkind. Quite the opposite, actually, as a thrill shimmered down your spine. You shifted ever so slightly closer to him, and he to you, as you built up the courage within you to speak first, this time,

"I have never done any of this before.."

He couldn't explain why your words had his eyes widening, or why he felt the need to pull you into his arms all of a sudden, but his hands hovered just around your waist - holding back from actually holding you just yet, until you nod back at him. He takes that as enough permission, his hands gently resting over your skin - still covered by the dress.

He wonders how your skin would feel under the dress, and you do not miss how his cheeks fluster. You wonder what it is that he must have thought of, yet he does not give you much time to dwell over it - pulling you closer as his head rests on your shoulder, lips just hovering past your ear,

"Nor I, love. Will you let me…?"

You lean back for a moment - surprise etched into your eyes. A choice? You had a choice? It was always impressed upon you that on your wedding night, you would perform as your Lord Husband would wish for you to. Yet here you sat, his hands so soft (and dare I say, loving) on your waist as he searched your eyes for an answer. When you nod again, he shakes his head,

"No, no, use your words, sweet thing."

"Y-yes, Robb.. Please?"

He smiles back at you - and your knees feel weak, as his face moves to your neck. His lips press just above your collarbone as his hands find your back, guiding you down onto the bed.

The fears you once had easily wash away, as comfort finds you instead.

"How does.. How does this actually work?"

As you were busy in your thoughts, Robb was busier trying to free you of the awful constraints that had held you as such. His hands fumbled around the front first, before finding the laces at the back, mumbling into the skin of your neck as he worked through each and every one.

When he had finished, leaving you in your shift as the cool air hit your skin, he averted his gaze from you immediately. Your hand reaches out for his own shirt, slowly working down as his face turns back to you,

"You do not need to-"

"But I want to."

"…I see."

He does not stop you, watching you with fascination as you freed him of his own garments.

Soon, the two of you were left in the bare minimum. His eyes raking over your body as your own drank in his. His hands once again found your waist, and his lips trailed up your neck, eliciting the gentlest gasps from you. Sounds you did not recognise as your own, as his legs slowly pushed between yours. Settling himself perfectly against you. His lips paused at your ear again, whispering against your skin before pressing another kiss to you,

"Tell me if anything hurts, or feels wrong, yes?"

You can't find the words, stuck to humming and nodding, and praying he realises. The chuckle vibrating against your neck has you whining as his lips trail further up to your own. His hands find your shift, pulling it off of you, as your own hands fully free him too. Your eyes lock on to.. well, him!

"Love?"

"Will.. will it fit..?"

"Only one way to know, love."

You nod back, letting him reposition you with your legs spread, before quickly realising what that meant. He could see you - all of you - and under the warm, amber candlelight, he could not deny just how gorgeous you looked,

"The Gods truly blessed me.. so pretty, f'me.."

Your legs attempt to close up, attempt to hide away from his eager gaze, but his hands press you open. Not harshly, mind you, but just enough for you to feel them, massaging into your skin. As your eyes trail back down to his cock, you take in just how big he is.

Because big, he is. Big, with a bright red tip, practically throbbing and coated in his own pre cum. You swallow back your fears as he brings you closer to him, and one hand of his finds your sweet pearl, gently thumbing around.

The sensation is… strange. Unfamiliar? Yes, but not unwelcome. Between working soft ministrations over you, his fingers dip down to your folds, and he groans when he finds your slick. His fingers drag back up to your clit, soft circles as you moaned. Moaned, loudly and unfiltered. You gasp immediately after, and he only chuckles, as you giggle back,

"I take it that feels good, then?"

"Yes, Gods, Robb - so goo-!"

His tip touches your folds - dragging through twice and waiting for you to nod again, before slowly working in through your walls. Each pushing inch is hellish - painful and tugging past your walls until he settles himself fully within you. Once he has filled you, he pauses, eyes flickering back up to you.

And whilst it did hurt at first, you can't deny the soft wave of pleasure that hit you. Especially not when his lips find your neck again, humming against your skin,

"Tell me when to move, sweet dove."

"P-please, Robb…"

His hips roll further into you first, before rolling back and forth, slowly picking up pace. Each thrust is accentuated by your sweet moans, a sinful melody that he can only pray to never forget. Meanwhile, you're rolling your eyes back even further and he's rocking slow and sweet. Each movement is simultaneously sheer torture and sheer pleasure, for both of you. Your honey dripped moans mix with his soft gasps, and the slow squelch accompanying each movement only makes you throb and clench round him, which of course, only pushes him to keep going, because you're oh, so tight round him.

He's so big, and each slow thrust has you seeing stars as you barely realise - you're babbling.

Rambling and babbling as Robb makes sweet, sweet love to you,

"P-please, Robb, oh Gods above, I ne-need you-! F-fuck, Robb, ple- Oh, yes! Right the-ere, yes!"

All whilst Robb himself wasn't much better, to be honest,

"So, s-so pretty f'me, pretty girl, fuck! G-gonna fuck a baby into this pretty pussy, fuck, you take me so, fuck! So well-!"

You can feel his balls hitting against you - no, slamming against you - and the realisation only has your nails digging into his skin, gripping onto his shoulders as you try to keep yourself grounded. All whilst the only things repeating in his mind are how pretty you sound, and how desparately he needs to fill you.

Because all he can think of is how gorgeous you'd look filled up with him. Leaking with him, as he'd run his hand lazily across you. And how pretty you'd look, filled with his baby - swollen and full as he'd spend every waking minute caring for you - loving you. He doesn't realise he's been rambling his thoughts out loud, not until you realise and start responding to him,

"F-fuck! Need you, Robb, need you s-so bad-!"

"There she is, my good girl, my pretty girl, yeah?"

"Yes! Fuck, Robb, yes!"

"So, so good f'me. All f'me."

"Always for you."

It's no real surprise then, that the two of you end up releasing together. The coil that had been slowly tightening over time, wrapping in and over itself had finally snapped as you coated him with your cum. He shudders for a moment, as your slick wraps over him, your walls tightening around him as you dig your nails even further into his skin. You can feel the blood dribbling out over his skin, as he ends up releasing too.

Thick, long ropes of cum splatter across your walls - a sweet canvas for him as he stutters and slows against you. Every moment you think he's done, another thickened length of cum fills you. Eventually, though, he slumps against your body, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you hum back lazily. His hands help the two of you roll over as he tugs you over onto him.

His hands roam lazily over your body, small circles rolled into your skin as he presses kisses along your face and neck,

"That wasn't.. too bad, was it?"

You hum back, allowing yourself a moment to breathe before responding properly to him. You use the moment to also look back up into his eyes, and he swears he stops breathing for a minute,

"No, no, perfect. You were perfect, Robb. Was I…?"

"Perfect, my love. So perfect."

You hum back - content with his response, and find exhaustion slowly wash over you. Your eyes begin to drift off, and for a moment you think about cleaning and tidying yourself up - only for Robb to answer your question before you even speak it,

"We'll clean in the morning, dove. Sleep for now, hmm?"

His deep voice rumbles through your body as sleep takes over you. Yet you catch his final words with the slightest consciousness that remains with you,

"Next time, I'll show you more, my sweet dove."

Perhaps the realm would see the arrival of a new Stark sooner than later…

xoxo, roe~

"Mr Wayne? Mr Wayne?"

Dull. Dull was how Bruce would describe the day. Greying clouds circled the skies above as crows cried out their sorrowful tears over the city once more. As always, the doom and gloom of Gotham found him as he slumped over his desk. It's not easy being Gotham's billionaire playboy by day and night stalking vigilante by night, you know? Yet he had an image to maintain.

Of course, the tiredness that came with being the dark knight of the night was easily covered by his laidback, uncaring billionaire persona. And so usually, it was quite easy to catch up on his own fatigue with quick power naps during the day.

Any reasonable person would think that he was just.. well, doing what a billionaire playboy should do. Right?

You were not any reasonable person.

No, instead you were both Mr Wayne's secretary, and someone who had some telling encounters with a certain masked vigilante. Yet everytime you had attempted to connect the dots, something would happen and you'd lose track.

For example, on several occasions you had lost your own boss on a simple shopping trip. Yet there, high up on a building stood Batman. Who looked awfully like he had the exact same physique (…you had time to look~). How strange. Except one time, where your boss was right there, beside you as Batman stood tall above on a building. That one threw you off entirely.

Bruce had none but Alfred to thank for that one. You had gotten far too close to finding out, and he couldn't risk that.

"Mr Wayne? Your 3pm is here..?"

He jolts out of his dull daydream, slaps his face twice and blinks fast, before gesturing with two fingers to send them in. Which of course, you do. You also take the moment to trail your eyes over to your boss (how very inappropriate!), before catching his own gaze. The way he raises his eyebrows, lips drawn thin has you immediately whipping your own head back down to focus on… erm… paperwork, yes.

Paperwork. And the stacks of files you had to sort by the end of the day. Better do that than ogle after your boss, right?

So that's where you find yourself. Buried deep in stacks of papers that all needed filing away. Sneaking glances here and there in your boss' direction (naughty!).

Who appeared to be.. bored..?

Yeah. Bored.

Bruce Wayne was Bored. Capital 'B' Bored. So damn bored that he could practically weave a whole new daydream in his head by the time this meeting was over. But he couldn't exactly send away an investor - especially not a new investor, who wouldn't know how he would usually act. So instead he sits. Nods and hums where required. And from his angle, he has the perfect view of you.

The two of you, unintentionally play this foolish game between you.

Yet it never goes anywhere.

The end of the day finds you sooner than you'd expect, and you step out into the horrible Gotham rain expecting to be entirely drenched. Instead, a shade covers you. As you look up and beside you, there he stands. Bruce Wayne,

"O-oh, Mr Wayne! Really, there's no need!"

"Nonsense. It's raining and there's no benefit to neither you nor me if you're drenched now, is there?"

There's an innuendo that pops across both your mind and his, yet neither of you are quite… brave enough to make it. So you continue normal, regular conversation instead. To both your disappointment, and his,

"No.. I suppose that makes sense.."

"Good." (He holds back from adding "girl" onto the end of that. Just about.)

"Still, I don't want to keep you waiti-"

"No, no. Don't worry yourself on that. My car will be here soon enough. Plus, the fresh air is good for a.. nonsensical, egotistical, megalomaniacal billionaire playboy, hmm?"

He winks at the end, and you barely remember how to laugh. Lucky for you, your cab turns up (finally) and you're able to get in. You take note of how he watches as you drive off, but not of how a sleek black car moves forward only after you've been driven off,

"Master Wayne?"

"Shall we? Thank you for waiting."

"Of course."

His drive home is.. quiet, for the most part. He gets in another nap, eyes shut tight as the car weaves through traffic to get him back to the Manor. And everytime he gets anywhere near a dream, all he sees is you. You, in a pretty pink dress, in the middle of a warm, green field of grass.

Except everytime he gets anywhere even remotely close to you, the driver rushes over a bump, jolting the man from his dream. On one particular occasion, he finds his fingers barely brushing the top of your thigh as you begin to giggle - only to be rudely awakened (quite literally) by a bump on the road.

Each time the driver apologises, and each time Bruce nods and smiles.

Yet each time he finds his eyebrow twitching.

You were right there! So close, yet so far.

Meanwhile, your own cab is a little less calm and serene and more…

"WATCH THE FUCKIN' ROAD DICKHEAD! Sorry there, Miss! These other fuckin' drivers don't even know how to drive - HEY WHERE'D YA GET YA LICENSE FROM? THE DICK SUCKIN' FACTORY? Fuckin' dickwad! Anyway we're a few streets away, right?"

"Y-yeah! Few more streets.."

"Ya know, I've got a nephew round your ag- HEY! FUCKIN'… CAN'T JUST CUT ME OFF LIKE THAT, THE FUCK YOU THINK YOU'RE DOIN' BUDDY? Where was I?"

"Oh, I.. I don't really remember, sorry!"

"Happens to the best of us, Miss. Oh, here ya are! Take care now, Miss. Ya know how Gotham is and all!"

"You too!"

There ends your car ride from Hell, thankfully. Instead, your trudge up to your grim apartment begins. Each step closer has you groaning as you shuffle past each and every person in your way.

It doesn't help the elevator's broken. For the fourth time this year.

Once you finally find yourself up on your sixth floor, in your apartment, you immediately seek out the comfort of your warm, fluffy bed. Actually, you flop onto it, snuggling into your warm blankets without even caring to strip or change. Mr Billiams (your old plushie from many, many years ago) sits in judgement. But hey, who's he to judge? He's still in exile for his many crimes. (exile for him, of course, is a sentence to be carried out on your blankets. Naturally.)

Who knows how long passes? All you know is you find yourself deep in some kind of sleep. Where an.. awfully familiar man stands at one end of a table, dressed in regency era clothing. And you? You stand on the other end, in a long dress that only flows and billows out from you. He extends a hand towards you, gesturing you closer to him. You find yourself drawn to him, and it's only moments before you awaken that you realise that you had been-

"-dreaming about my boss???? Oh dear. No. No, no, no."

Your eyes find Mr Billiams, who only stares back in that judgemental stare. For shame, Mr Billiams. For shame.

"It's just a dream. Just a dream, that's all! Not real, no, never will be either. So. That's that. Yes. Exactly."

…

…

…

"I need food."

Because food will stop you from dreaming about your hot boss, won't it?

Time passes.. as it often does, and you find yourself back in bed in much more comfortable pajamas, watching some show on your tiny, overheating laptop to delay actually falling asleep. That being said, you can't really ignore how your eyes keep threatening to close every few minutes. It's no real shock that you end up shutting your laptop, and then your eyes.

Sleep.. almost…. finds…… you…..…. and ………….. you're……………. so………………… ..close………………………. when…..

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

You jump up in bed. That.. that wasn't at your door. That was you-

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

Window! It's the window! The window right in.. front of you… You hesitantly approach the window, slowly pulling back the curtains to look out onto your balcony.

All that you see is the cowl, slightly lowered, before you take in the silhouette that stands outside your window. You stare back, mouth agape in shock - what the fuck is Batman doing outside your window? The Caped Crusader?? The Dark Knight??? What the fuck is happening?

And why?

A raspy voice pulls you out of your throat - clearly hoarse from a night of.. err.. vigilante-ing..?

"Med… kit…"

"Shit! Uh, fuck! Come in, come in, take a seat! Mr Batman..? Is that right? Fuck, okay, med kit.. oh! First aid! Yes - I have a first aid kit somewhere here, just sit down for a minute, I'll go find it.."

Bruce only then makes the connection of exactly who's apartment he had been knocking at. Truth be told, Killer Croc had been much, much stronger than usual. Even though they had wrangled him back into Arkham, he still found himself bleeding out far too much to be able to make it back to the Manor safely. Nor was he near enough to any of the BatCave network.

He made a mental note to build more of the BatCave network.

He had hoped whatever civilian he had found would be kind enough to let him in. He had not realised which civilian's sleep he had been disturbing, but here he was.

Bleeding out in his employee's apartment.

And you were none the wiser,

"-seriously, Mr Batman - do you not carry medical supplies with you?"

He only grunts in response.

"Wonderful communication skills. At least show me where you're bleeding out the most..?"

He grunts again - shaking his head and stretching out a hand. You sigh and roll your eyes. If Batman wanted to bleed out on your hardwood floor - that was entirely his own choice to make.

Yet when his hand brushed yours, taking the first aid kit from your hands, you can't ignore the jolt that rushes through your skin.

Nor can you ignore how your heart jumps when your eyes meet his.

Oh dear.

"Miss…? Miss..?"

Everything around you seems to pause, slowing down as you stare into that mask of his. Which… well. Very, erm. Shape-y? No, that's not quite it. Sharp? Eh, kinda.. Geometric? It's weird and you find yourself very focused on it. And the eyes… the eyes. Sure, they're just white lights staring back at you from a mask on an unknown, strange man, and sure you should probably be freaked out by the idea of said unknown, strange man being in your apartment.

But that voice…

"Miss??? Are you.. are you well..?"

"H-Huh? Oh, yeah - peachy."

"…"

"…"

"So."

"So…?"

"I.. should go."

"Y-yeah. Uh. Do.. do you need help getting out or-"

You turn briefly, just enough to close the first aid kit, and by the time you turn back around to face Batman - he's gone. Disappeared. Vanished, even. It's as though he was never there (except for the bloodstains on your ru- your brand new rug! Oh dear. And… oh your beautiful white throw! Now coated in stains of red.).

Okay so maybe the signs of Batman being in your apartment weren't so easy to hide away.

Fuck - what were you gonna do about your rug?

You sigh, bundling it up and shoving it into a box. Perhaps if you told the dry cleaners that a strange man somehow bled over it on your way home from buying it they'd believe that? Or your period began.. or something.. like that..? Surely they wouldn't be that shocked, right? It is Gotham, after all…

…yeah, maybe you should just get a new rug.

"Alfred? Alfred… I'm, uh. I'm injured.."

"Of course you are, Master Bruce."

"Can you..?"

"Seems like you found first aid on your way home, hmm?"

"Yeah, somethin' like that."

"Oh?"

"My injuries, Alfre- ow!"

"My apologies, Master Bruce."

"…you did that on purpose."

"I would never!"

Despite Bruce's sighing and dramatic brooding, he couldn't help but smile slightly. Just remembering you was enough for him to sit there like some lovesick fool as Alfred tutted and stitched him back up. Hell's, he couldn't wipe the smile off his face even as he lay in bed later that night, eyes closed as he drifted off to the thought of you.

Now, Bruce Wayne does not sleep through alarms. Nor does he wake up snuggling a pillow.

Yet the dreams he had that night had led to both of these becoming very, very true. Alfred finds him sleeping through the beeping alarm, rattling off his bedside table as he remains curled up in bed - clutching a pillow.

Part of Alfred doesn't want to wake him up.

The other part sighs and takes his job seriously.

"Master Bruce? Master Bruce…?"

"…"

"Come now, Master Bruce."

"…mmph"

"I know. Yet the day awaits you, Master Bruce."

"….no."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes!"

"…fine. But only because I have to."

"Yes, that is often how the world works, Master Bruce."

Given the state of his injuries from the last night, it's no real shock that of course, Bruce stumbles out of bed with groans and moans - muscles screaming as they ache with a pain that almost has him back in the very bed he just left. Yet he has an image to maintain, and finds himself trudging through the slow sludge that is the morning.

Brush teeth. Shower. Dry off and dress up. Suit, tie, slacks. Fancy watch he could really care less for. Cologne, gel hair and get downstairs.

By the time he's finished with his morning routine, Alfred has a full breakfast awaiting him - orange juice included, of course. And on the other side of Gotham, you sit at your own breakfast table - coffee in one hand and phone in the other, doomscrolling,

Playboy Billionaire Bruce Wayne spotted with new fling…?

District Attorney Harvey Dent's reaction to slip up at press conference, "What a fiasco…!"

Gotham crime rates hit an all time high, census reports.

Ah, Gotham.

Never change. (Please, please, please change for the love of GOD, change!)

Nonetheless, your dreary day job awaited you! And whether the caped crusader had recently crashed into your own humble abode or not - Bruce Wayne was not a man that took kindly to lateness. Which is how you found yourself on the subway, crammed between a man stood far too close to you, eating his breakfast and a woman carrying her crying baby.

At least the baby couldn't help it.

When you stumble out of the overpacked train straight out onto the streets of Gotham, the Wayne Industries building stood tall in front of you. Despite having worked here a few months, the building never failed to… shock you? No, no, not shock. Scare you? Not quite… Well, whatever it was, it had you stood in awe. So much so, that you hadn't heard the car pulling up behind you until a certain man (that you of course happened to work for) tapped on your shoulder. Turning around to be face to face with Mr Wayne this early in the morning was not exactly on your agenda today - God forbid a girl get scared and jump a little!

"Mr Wayne!"

"Errm.. yes! I still am, last time I checked!"

The way he winks at you before beckoning you inside has you ever so slightly weak, until you remember the two of you are.. at work.

Professional, right?

"Terrible weather today, hmm?"

"Well, that's Gotham, no?"

"Sure is."

"Oh, speaking of terrible weather - you wouldn't believe it, Mr Wayne-"

Something broke inside Bruce's heart and brain everytime you said 'Mr Wayne'. Something that clung and clawed at him. Why was it he couldn't shake it off? The two of you step into the elevator together as you continue your story, entirely oblivious to the man's internal struggle,

"Oh?"

"-yeah. Last night, Batman crashed into my apartment!"

"Batman???"

"Well. He knocked politely. But still!"

"Well, isn't that something.."

Little did you know…

"Used up my first aid kit and all! And then he bled over my rug. My brand new rug."

"Your brand new rug, huh?"

"My brand new rug! And it's white, and fluffy, and the stains will not come out of it…"

"That so.."

Ah. A capital 'P' Plan was forming in Bruce's mind. The kind that was a little bit risky, but so very worth it.

"That's a shame, truly."

"I'll just get another, I guess.."

You sat at your desk, flashing him a smile as we walked onto his office. And so as you went about your day - filing papers, sorting appointments and the usual administrative work you often trudged through - Bruce found himself staring at rugs.

Why the fuck were there so many rugs?

The more he looked, the more confused he became - unable to make any clear decision.

So he does what any man does.

He picks the fanciest, nicest looking one,

"That.. That'll do.."

"Huh?"

"What?"

"Oh, sorry - I thought you needed something, Mr Wayne."

…

"No, no, no.. just uh.. talking to myself - you know?"

"Ah, of course.. Well.. if that's everything..?"

"Of course, of course."

That small smile - the one where his mouth pulls itself into a short line - probably does fuckall for everyone else. Yet for some bizarre reason, you want nothing more than to run your thumb along his lips, perched up on his desk as he'd stand up above you - towering over you as you look up at him through your eyelashes, and he'd-

Ahem.

You gather your belongings, the work day finally over as you make your way home. It's boring as always (the boredom only enhanced as you attempt to distract yourself by not thinking of your boss. Jesus. Was he always this hot?). You take the subway, cross the roads and find yourself outside your apartment building. After taking a minute to greet Mr Piggles (the cat that of course, owned this area. Of course.), your weary legs drag you upstairs, until you flop onto the bed.

Ahhh, sweet comfort.

Bruce Wayne was not in sweet comfort. If anything, he was suffering. Sweet suffering, even, as he sat alone in his office - slacks feeling awfully tight around his crotch as he tried to forget your pretty smile, and that laugh that wraps around his head (and.. something else too) and squeezes until it hurts.

It's not his fault that his hand finds itself palming over the bulge that only seems to tighten with each and every image of you that flickers past his brain.

Suddenly he's breathing harder, eyes shut tight as his lips part open. Brows furrowing over in extreme concentration - chasing a release he hasn't quite felt in years. Up, down, up and down. Harder and harder as the friction only gets hotter and hotter until he gives up - pulling down his zipper with the rush and need of a teenage boy who had only just heard what masturbation was. As his already throbbing cock finally reveals itself to the air, he hisses. Partly from the shock of the cold air that now hits him, and partly from the image that immediately imprints itself onto his brain.

"F-fuck… need'ya, baby~"

You, in that pretty, baby pink blouse. Slightly unbuttoned as you crawl under the desk to him. That tight pencil skirt - the one that rides up ever so slightly every time you get up and sit back down, and the sheer tights that left very little to his imagination. Black bra that you thought he wouldn't see - fuck, did you really think he was that blind? The way you'd bite your lip, giggling to yourself before your lips would wrap around him.

Fuck.

His hand would have to do for now, fingers wrapping around himself and jerking up and down. It's far too fucking easy to imagine you, how you'd tease him as your hand would work him - slowing down as he gets closer and closer to his finish.

He pictures your face, the way you'd look up at him and bat your eyelashes. How your tongue would dart out, swiping up his cock slowly. Painfully as his head would roll back, staggered moans ripping out from the back of his throat.

When he releases, it's messy and unrestrained, and coats his hand fully. Thick ropes of white scatter across his slacks as he slumps, breathing heavily in an attempt to recover himself. His other hand drags over his face as he realises what he's done. His breathing finally refocuses, and looks down at the mess he's created. Thankfully, it's only his clothes.

How would he explain ruining his desk?

'My bad, jerked off at the thought of my secretary sucking me off. I'm super professional about it, though!'

He sighs, tugging his slacks off. Thank fuck security cameras didn't cover this office, he thinks to himself as he calls down the elevator to the more.. private office upstairs.

The one he never uses, but for emergencies as the caped crusader.

Yes. That one.

Luckily for him, that office has windows that only work from the inside - no prying eyes to stare and look as he pulls a new pair of boxers and slacks over his muscled up legs.

The same muscled legs he wished you'd bounce your pretty, puffed up pussy ove-

That's enough, Mr Wayne!

He sighs again, before groaning as he scrolls through notifications that he really, really tried hard to ignore,

TOMORROW, 13:15 - MEETING WITH DENT. GET HIM FLOWERS

TOMORROW, 15:00 - MEETING WITH FALCONE. DON'T MENTION THE BRUISE.

TOMORROW, 17:00 - MEETING WITH LUCIUS. SORT OUT SUIT.

DING! YOUR DELIVERY FOR 'Brand new, soft, white rug!' WILL BE ARRIVING SHORTLY!

Fuck! The rug! How was he going to get it to you? The buying part was easy, after all the various rugs he stared at. But getting the rug to yours, without rousing suspicion?

Hmm…

Well… he could…

Nah… too risky, right?

Right?

Right, Mr Wayne????

He wouldn't. He wouldn't!

…

Oh, who am I kidding. Of course he would.

Sleep found you far too easy today, as you slumbered away in your bed. Still in your work clothes, heels scattered along the floor - clearly showing just how tired you were today. When you awake from your deep, deep sleep, you're unsure of what year it is, let alone the day and time.

22:06

Huh. Time really did fly when you slept, didn't it? You rub your eyes - definitely shifting mascara around them - as you try to wake up from what could only be described as a soul resetting sleep. Seriously, if a Victorian child were to experience such a sleep, they'd probably start begging for sweet salvation, or something like that.

Yeah, something like that.

Which is why, when you hear a set of knocks on your window again,

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

…yeah, you jump like a cat startled by the sudden appearance of.. well, anything. Your heart begins to beat wildly (but is it fear that drives you here?) as you creep towards the curtains quietly. You recognise the silhouette behind the curtains, eyes widening as you pull them apart to reveal…

…

…

…

A rug?!?!

Yes, there lay a rug. New, still in protective plastic, with a note attached to it. Whatever bat dressed man you had been expecting was clearly not here. You carefully open the window and bring the rug inside, opening the note and reading that first,

Hello.

I hope this rug is good.

Sorry about your rug.

Regards,

Batman.

There was something somewhat endearing about just how short and sweet it was. And how neat his handwriting was, despite how much of a brute he seemed.

And the rug…

Well..

Not just any old rug. The most gorgeous, luxurious rug - practically dripping in wealth, bundled up in plastic that somehow felt more expensive than the apartment you could barely afford. Part of you doesn't want to open it, but the other part of you (much more curious to feel just how soft this rug must be) wins as you pull the rug out carefully.

Good God above.

How could a rug ever be so soft? Like feathers under your fingertips? You bundle the rug up again, pushing it back into the plastic and shoving it into a cupboard.

There was no way in Hell you were letting a rug so fancy sit on your shitty apartment floors.