bad dog. — bruce wayne
tags: pup hybrid!reader, suggestive !!, references to porn/bdsm/punishment dynamics, pet/owner dynamics, references to spanking, hardcore sub!reader (very very obedient usually), "innocent" or naive reader (like doesnt know what porn is/watches it w/o realizing), second person pov (1.0k words)
authors note: guys i almost forgot to post for a second week in a rowww im sorry i js forget what day it is sometimes lol. so here pls take a draft i wasnt expecting to ever post cuz its so out of my comfort zone plsss be nice lol
After a long day of work, there was only one sight Bruce Wayne could even fathom wanting to come home and see: his sweet pup hybrid waiting for him by the front door, tail wagging and waiting for all the love he had to give.
After raising countless kids, saving Gotham from total annihilation nightly, and running a multi-trillion dollar company daily? Yeah, he was fucking exhausted. Hence the reason he opted for such a well behaved, gentle, and easily trainable breed: a simple golden retriever hybrid. A little sweetheart you were, couldn’t even think about acting out.
All of which is why Bruce was so baffled and, honestly, concerned when he got home and you were nowhere to be found. Not waiting by the door, not having crated yourself, not even waiting in your bed under his at-home desk (a behaviour he was working on training out of you, though he was worried because you only really went there when your separation anxiety was rising).
He continued to look around, desperate to find his pup, until he heard a faint sniffling from the bedroom. Assuming it was just Damian hiding in his dads room for some sense of comfort (even the best school money could buy couldn’t mitigate the interpersonal drama of eleven-year-olds), he cracked the door open to see what the matter was.
However, he wasn’t met with Damian’s stoic face staring off into the distance as he choked back tears. No—all he saw was you, where you very much should not have been. “What’s going on?” he huffed, closing the door behind him and walking into the room. If this was any other hybrid, he would have been annoyed, maybe even angry. Shouting. But you? Disobeying was so unlike you it was honestly worrying.
One of your many rules was simply as follows: no being on the bed unless given express permission from Bruce (not Dick, not Damian, Bruce).
Another: no playing with hard plastic toys outside of your crate, only soft toys.
Two of which you had very clearly broken as you kneeled by the side of the bed, paws up and kneaded the duvet, a bone-shaped, hard plastic toy between your gnawing teeth. However, another difference between you and other hybrids in this situation, your tail wasn’t wagging. If anything, it seemed low, distressed.
“Speak, pup,” he commanded when you didn’t answer his first question. You didn’t need permission to speak (most of the time), but sometimes you got lost in your pretty little head and completely forgot to answer out loud.
You dropped the bone toy out of your mouth, eliciting a grimace at the wet patch immediately formed when the plastic you drooled over hit the soft and absorbent blanket stretched over his bed. “I’m disobeying,” you said, smiling proudly with your canine teeth bared.
God, this was almost hysterical!
Now far less worried than he was two seconds ago, Bruce couldn’t help but crack a seldom-seen smile. “Disobeying, huh? And where’d you learn that, princess?”
“Videos,” you mumbled nervously, nudging at the toy with your nose as if distracting yourself from Bruce’s condescending tone. “I found some of Dick’s videos in his room and I was bored, I had just woken up from my nap, and so I played some. And in some of them he was with hybrids, he talked about liking giving them punishments. And I felt bad, ‘cuz I never disobey, and I don’t wanna deprive you of punishing me. So I’m disobeying!”
Your tail began to pick up speed, wagging gently back and forth: it was clear you didn’t enjoy breaking the rules, but the idea of him having fun punishing you outweighed the cons of having to be a brat.
Oh Lord, Bruce thought, my son has a homemade porn stash and my pet hybrid fuckin’ found it?
“Oh, princess, no,” he pouted, walking around to brush a hand under your chin to tilt your head up further and look into his sharp, glaring, sea-blue eyes. He swiped a thumb over your lip, feeling at the drool that had accumulated against the hard chew toy—the reason you weren’t allowed to have it outside of your designated space. “If I wanted a bratty pup I would’ve got one. I love you just as you are, especially what a sweet and obedient girl you are, okay?”
“Okay…” you agreed nervously, tail tucking between your legs at the idea that your little plan didn’t work, that you disappointed him (little did you know he was very far from disappointed—if anything, he was amused).
“I still have to punish you, though, okay?” he said, hand moving up to brush through your soft fluffs of fur, well aware of the spit coating the pad of his thumb brushing through it.
You nodded, a little “mm hm” whined out as your ears pinned back in anticipation.
He scooped you up, putting you down on your feet and watching as he made you wash and change his sheets to clean up the dirt from your paws and drool you’d got on it. You’d never had to lift a finger, do a single chore since moving into the Manor, so he had to be very specific with his little instructions of how to run a load of laundry. To make up for the fact that, at that point, it was more of a punishment for him than for you, he made you sit on the cold tile and watch as the sheets spun around and around in the washing machine and dryer.
Whenever he stopped by, he’d see your little tail and bum wiggling with soreness as the hardness of the floor pressed up against your lower half since he gave you no cushion to sit on. His poor baby, he didn’t want to have to put you through this, but he had to stay consistent and give fair punishments that matched the crime, right?
He was planning on spanking you a little too, but you were already so red and sore, he settled for a night of cuddles and kisses instead.
authors note p2: yeah idk 90% chance i archive this