hello! I'm frostedpinkicing (she/her), you can call me anything u like! I'm pansexual, chinese-polyglot. english/mandarin are my first languages. ardent batman/bruce wayne lover + beyhive + multishipper/fandom
also on AO3 & SquidgeWorld, trying to cross-post on tumblr (wip)
my inbox is always open, feel free to talk to me about my fic progress etc! i would love to hear your thoughts! your sweet comments will always be my biggest motivator.
masterlist (tbe)
DNI: racist, transphobes, zionist, misogynist, proship/batcest, yumeship/selfship haters, female character haters like selina, talia, or barbara gordon, pro ai etc.
PSA: I will not write Batcest, beastiality, paedophilia, rape fantasy, underage sex, or anything non-consensual. I do not give permission to use my work for any AI-related activities. if you'd like to translate my work, please dm me for permission.
I kindly ask minors dni! My work contains suggestive, nsfw, graphic violence, heavy angst, death themes. If it deeply affects your mental health, please dni! You are responsible for your own consumption!
seeing absolute cass and selina kyle making me sooooo fomo omg like i once talked about an absolute reader x bruce but based on my setting it would be—
like she’s slade’s devoted mentee/right hand person who shares a complicated relationship with him. followed him from military to gotham. like slade, she’d have prosthetic leg and left hand. promoted to head engineer to invent machinery for robins.
i find it funny that the new mayor after gordon was mayor hill (which is her surname too) so he could be her brother/non related.
like for relationships she’s only loyal to the kids/slade. not gotham, she’s neutral about batman’s existence, but she HATES it when he damaged her gears because it meant she’s not skilled enough. and slade might blame her for faulties.
they’re both engineers, so its kinda like a cat and mouse chase, u damaged my gears i’ll make it better, and i’ll steal all ur blueprints to find ur weakness.
scott synder did say only one robin will remained faithful to jack grimm, i wonder if its tim. but if its me, i’d write she shared a special relationship with jason, steph, and duke.
i do think her having some connection with slade is believable. i mean slade can be a heartless psychopath, but she worships him. batman’s existence can threaten that relationship because no matter what she does its not enough for jack grimm and slade.
so much more to come im so excited!!!! my head is constantly churning AUs based on L&FIL, like jack grim purposely keep her close to taunt bruce!!!!!! i love absolute universe
Bruce Wayne is the rare human who could probably withstand almost all modes of torture (and probably has experienced most) while still being uniquely vulnerable to one form of torture, AKA being forced to witness his kids getting tortured instead. Waterboarding? Sure, that’s a walk in the park. Sitting next to Robin!Dick when he’s getting waterboarded? Instant crash out.
This pride, Former Wayne Enterprises CEO Tim Drake and his partner Bernard Dowd sit down for an exclusive interview on their own journeys of self-discovery. Read now!
OMG I think I read your ‘lost and found in love’ till where reader meets Lucius fox’s fam and then I kind of fell off reading on AO3….your writing is sooo good!!!
Can’t wait to catch up and probably reread from the very start!!!
omg heyyyy!!! i ADORE UR NEWEST FIC! it makes me so so giddy to read fluff!!!
thank u so much for your love, i hope you’ll catch up because the next update shall (FINALLY) be their first date chapter :PPPPP
I just read chapter13 of lost and found in love and let me just say it was AMAZING. I mean a man on his KNEES begging her for FORGIVNESS???!!!!! mwha chefs kiss.
also can't wait for the next chapter to see howhe celebrates his BD with her 😆😆😆😆
also i know you are probably super busy but i read your Jason fanfic wherehe dies and its the mothers day and all and an idea just popped up in my head
have you seen the trend on tik tok where a person asks that "would you still love me if i was a rock?" and the other saying "why would you be a rock?"
i was thinking if you could write one for Jason and your OC but ofc if youre free no pressure babe❤
Hello, thank you so much for your kind words!!!! to tell you the truth, the apology scene didnt start that way!
back then, i hit a creative block because idk how else should i make reader accept his apology. which to be fair, if someone ever stood me up, i’d never give them a chance again. so its actually very hard to write.
on the first draft, i wrote him got into an “accident” and hospitalised, where reader was terrified because her mother passed in the hospital too. so she visited him and met alfred and leslie. and bruce apologised and begged for a date.
but after writing it, it just doesn’t make me satisfied. like something was wrong.
i consulted my friends about it and they told me it felt very manipulative on his end, which i didnt want it that way.
so they said maybe bruce should get down on his knees and begged and made him super duper miserable because he cant eat cant sleep like a dummy and i went ahead!
coupled with michael buble’s I’m Your Man, the lyrics made me so giggly like that’s peak yearning!!!! so i channeled it into bruce :))) so yeah that’s the writing process of chapter 13!
excuse me for the long rant, im genuinely passionate abt this fic so i like to talk about my thought process etc!
and for ur request, i’ll try my best to write a short blurb! im currently writing a jason x batmom 5+1 long fic (omg it went over 20k words) since January and writing 4 more projects simultaneously, so i hope u can understand if it took longer than you expected :((
but thank you so much for ur constant love! i really appreciate it, you made my day whenever u left a comment <3
Summary: Tonight is your husband's birthday gala, and what better way to celebrate it than letting you call him a good boy and control his orgasms?
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Fem! Wife Reader (NSFW/MDNI)
Tags & Warnings: femdom, hand feeding, car sex, semi-public sex, cowgirl position, cock warming, birthday sex, submissive bruce wayne, mommy kink, dirty talk, creampie, orgasm control, fluff & smut, aftercare, sexual overstimulation, face slapping, dacryphilia
Word Count: 6.7 K
Music: Partition by Beyoncé
submissive bruce wayne mommy kink lover boy truthers this is for you <3 sub bruce femdom reader? HELL YES! (Also on AO3 with more details!!)
This piece is set right after they got married! So this is Bruce’s first birthday with his wife <3 For the best experience, listen to men whimpering audios as you read along ;)
“Why can’t we just cancel the gala and enjoy our honeymoon instead?”
With a pout on his lips, Bruce interlaced your fingers with his and tugged your left hand lightly on the taupe-coloured armrest, wanting your attention. “Baby, I’d rather we go skiing in St. Moritz by now than to spend my birthday with the snobs.”
You dragged your attention from the streetlights back to him as the onyx Rolls-Royce Phantom blended seamlessly into the night. The bespoke roof lining above you lit up like a starry night sky, projecting a sensual, magical ambience despite your husband’s sour disposition.
“Brucie, your birthday gala is the only event of the year where we can raise fifty million dollars for the foundation,” you mumbled, placing your right hand on top of his, tracing his fingertips. “Which goes directly to the charities and so much more. Isn’t that more important?”
“I know, baby. I know.” Sighing dramatically, he patted his knee in a frantic rhythm to signify his discomfort, left thumb swirling his wedding band. “I know how much this means to you, but I just… wanna spend more alone time with you, especially on my birthday, that’s all.”
“And we’re spending some alone time right now, aren’t we?” You released his hand and grabbed his chin, pulling him in for a kiss. “It’s just a few hours, my love. Be a dear for me tonight and don’t brood in front of them. Then I’m all yours next week for our honeymoon.”
“Okay,” Bruce sighed, enveloping your left hand into his again, thumb tracing the crevices of your fifteen-carat oval-shaped diamond engagement ring. “Happy wife, happy life.”
“You’re the best, baby. You’ll feel better once you see Lucius and Tanya there.” You chuckled and leaned over to kiss his lips again.
Even a blind mouse could tell that Bruce Thomas Wayne hated attending his own galas. Why would he shake their hands, put on a fake smile, and make surface-level small talk with the snobby elites? When he could entangle himself in the silk satin sheets with his wife to bask in her honeyed scent, and abandon his problems just for the week.
But you were devoted to a fault by always putting Gotham first, sometimes even more than him. At parties and galas, you moved effortlessly among the guests, engaging donors, and comforting beneficiaries as if you were the star instead of Bruce.
While they were boisterous and self-congratulatory about their contributions to Gotham, you turned it to your advantage. With a captivating smile and carefully selected questions, you guided the conversation just enough to inflate their egos and keep them invested. By the end of the night, their praises transformed into promises, which then turned into concrete partnerships for the Wayne Foundation.
Which he wasn’t complaining at all, it was marvellous to witness your dedication to philanthropy work, just like his parents’. But it was his birthday, and he yearned for your undivided attention and having you all to himself for the night.
After all, what was the greatest birthday present for Bruce Wayne other than his beloved wife?
On top of that, that ocean-blue silk Versace dress you were wearing with a scallop neckline and a long slit at the hip that accentuated your sinful curves perfectly. Your curls were swept into an updo, soft strands framing your face, his mother’s angel diamond brooch pinned delicately at the bun. Yellow-gold diamond studs glinted in your ears, a diamond tennis necklace resting against your collarbone. It almost thumped the oxygen out of his lungs when he saw you in it.
Your natural beauty was further highlighted by your makeup—mascara-volumnised lashes batting at him like a female bird’s mating call; the gold speckles on your lips made him itch for one more kiss.
God, he loathed how dazzling you looked tonight. He loathed how much he couldn’t ask Miguel to turn around and bring you home to make sweet, passionate love. It took everything in him not to pounce on you like a dog in heat, but he knew better than to defy your orders.
“Brucie…”
He felt your gentle hand caressing his right cheek, luring him back from his exasperation. He took it and pressed a kiss on your knuckles before meeting your eyes.
“Yes, baby?”
“You need to relax, baby. It’s your birthday, I want you to enjoy the last few hours until midnight.”
“I am. I promise.”
“My love, you knew better than to deceive me. Tell me what’s in that pretty head of yours.”
He may be elusive Mr. Wayne at the office, or the charming Bruce Wayne at the glittering parties, or even the terrifying Batman in the shadows at night. Ultimately, you were the boss he listened to back home, secluded away from the public; every word of yours influenced him more than Alfred’s.
Didn’t like the colour of his suit? He would change it immediately. Had a gut feeling he shouldn’t approve that deal? He would shut it down and toss it out of the window. Didn’t like how he conversed with Gordon when he was stressed out? He would apologise to him next time and give him cigars as a peace offering. Dunzo.
He peered at Miguel before leaning toward your ear, his voice growling in hunger. “I just can’t wait to get rid of this dress and make love to you all night.”
You sucked in a ragged breath, astonished by your husband’s newfound bravery, feeling a knot pooling in your core. You were far from innocent; you knew how much he wanted to devour you whole the moment you stepped out of the walk-in closet. You pulled away with a smirk when his hands snaked around your waist a beat too long, unwilling to give in that easily.
Although you relished in the teasing, you knew your husband was just a man. And a man like him could only last that long until you decided to have mercy on his tortured soul.
“I suppose I shall reward the birthday boy tonight.” You whispered in his ear, your voice sultry as you threw a glance at Miguel. He was much more professional than given credit, keeping his eyes strictly on the road.
“Miguel, what’s our ETA to the Wayne Theatre?”
“Fifty minutes, Mrs. Wayne. Apparently, there’s heavy traffic along the way. Should I take the shortcut?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. Just keep driving, circle the block if we arrive early.”
“Yes, ma’am. Anything else I should do for you?”
“Roll up the partition, please.” You turned around and gave Bruce a flirty wink. “Mr. Wayne and I have pressing matters to discuss.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Miguel nodded at you and pressed the button on the dashboard to activate the white partition, effectively blocking him out of view. You pressed another button on the monitor to activate noise-cancelling mode.
“What’re you doing, baby?” Bruce’s eyes widened in surprise, adjusting his posture as you straddled his lap, your legs bracketing around his waist as he gripped your hips. He slid his right hand up into the slit of your dress, memorising each faint stretch mark on your thighs with the tip of his fingers.
Your pupils dilated with desire, the corner of your lips curled into a knowing smirk that made him weak in the knees. It was the same voracious glance you gave in bed, the one before you made him beg for more.
“I have to reward the birthday boy, honey.” Sneaking up to his charcoal chevron-patterned tie, you loosened it enough to make him swallow the bile rising in his throat. “You’ve been tryin’ so hard to make me happy, and I couldn’t let that effort go to waste, right?”
Bruce audibly groaned when you grinded his hardening bulge through his pants, his shoes planted firmly on the ground. He felt all of his senses were on fire. “But Miguel—”
“He won’t hear anything, babe.” You shut him by placing a finger atop his lips, then subsequently tracing down to his chin, then to his collarbone, down to the buttons of his white collared shirt. “It’s just the two of us, alone time, remember? Nothing goes out of this car.”
The atmosphere around you started to heat up when you ripped open his shirt with pure strength, sending the buttons flying around the leather cushioned seats and onto the ground.
“Oh, baby—” he breathed, his bulge jumped under your heated core, startled by your sudden movement. “My shirt—”
“Don’t worry baby, today’s all about you. Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”
You ran your manicured hands down his sculpted body, admiring his bat-shaped chest hair and the pinkish hickeys that were close to fading. No doubt left by you on the wedding night, and the nights after. You clawed red trail marks over his abs, avoiding the bandaged stitches in between.
“Fuck baby, you’re teasing me…” He hissed in pleasure and locked his gaze on you. Bruce gaped as he ran his lustful eyes all over your curves, now inches away from his face.
“Remember the safe word, babe?”
“Yes…”
“What’s the safe word?”
“Tomato.” He whispered.
“Tomato,” you echoed back with a British accent. “Look at you, all needy and pliant for me…”
You tilted his chin and sealed his lips with a fervent kiss, pink gloss and drool smearing an illustrious mess. Your fingers dived into his raven locks as your tongue danced with his like a passionate tango. That coaxed out a moan deep within his chest, and the bruising grip on your hips gradually trailed upwards.
“Baby, please…”
He tried to stifle his moans when you moved on to his left earlobe, tracing each sensitive crevice with your tongue before nibbling it. He bucked his hips, silently begging for more while you savoured his reactions.
“Don’t hold back, baby. Let it out.” You let out a breathy moan before sucking on that weak spot behind his ear that made him see stars.
He threw his head back against the headrest with a desperate whimper, allowing you more access to his neck, his fingernails clenched stiffly against your ass that it might leave crescent dents.
“Ah! Baby— It feels so good, fuck—” he begged, chest rose and fell with each pant. “Please, baby…”
“Use your words, baby. Tell me, what do you want?”
Without missing a beat, your left hand wandered lower to unbuckle his belt, popping open the button of his pants as you zipped it down. Bruce lifted his hips just enough for you to yank down his pants, now pooled around his ankles.
The heat of your palm rested against his boxer-covered bulge, feeling the wetness soaking his boxers. His eyes rolled backwards, you sucked on that spot again as you stroked him through the cloth.
“What. Do. You. Want?”
“Fuck, anything please—Please! Anything! Anything, please—” He gasped, bucking his hips against your grip. Sinful pleasure sparkled around his vision, shooting down his spine and coiling in his core.
You grinned at his reaction, the warmth of your breath tickled around his sensitive skin. But you wanted to push him beyond his usual limits, you wanted him to surrender completely.
“You wanna be a good boy for me?” you cooed against his neck. “Wanna be a good boy for mommy?”
“Yes—yes! Wanna be a good boy for mommy,” he whimpered, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth to stifle the noises leaving him. Heat flushed against his cheeks in quiet shame, and he could feel the tip leaked more precum at your words.
“That’s it, feels good doesn’t it? Whose mommy’s good boy?
“Me me me me me me me! I’m mommy’s good boy!”
“All you want is mommy’s attention, don’t ya?" You traced the rim of his ear with your tongue, melting away the remaining thoughts inside his head. "Hmm? Needy boy sulkin' and whinin' around all day 'cause mommy didn't have time to touch you?”
He nodded frantically. "Yes, yes, yes. I just want mommy to touch me, please..."
You giggled, your hands slid past the hem of his boxers, and Bruce adjusted himself so that it could slip past his ass to settle around his ankles. A happy trail of curled hair led down from his navel, joining the curled patch around his pubic area, as his cock sprang from its confines.
You salivated in awe at the sight of him, his hardened, thick shaft twitching against his pubic hair, slightly curved to the left and laced with veins, the reddish-purple tip leaking beads of precum.
“You want mommy to take care of you? To kiss the tip better?” you said it in a sing-song tone, lowering yourself to your knees on the spacious legroom, careful not to trip on your heels. You leaned closer, tapping the angry tip against your gloss and drool-smothered lips.
“Yes, yes mommy. Please—hnn!”
Bruce could barely finish his sentence when you licked along a vein that caught your eye. The first touch of your silky tongue had him jolting in ecstasy, a choked sob left his throat as the shock of pleasure rippled through his body. His hand shot to the back of your hair, thick fingers careful not to mess with the updo you’ve spent hours perfecting.
“Oh, fuck! Feels so good, mommy—”
Your tongue continued its journey up to the head of his cock, lapping at the salty beads before circling around it, coating your tongue with his precum as you moaned. You balanced yourself between his legs, your left hand palming his thigh. Your right hand fisted his shaft, engulfing the head into your mouth. Bruce whimpered in satisfaction, his cock pulsed helplessly in your callous hand. His fingers flexed against your curls as you hollowed your cheeks to bob with your head.
You took him inch by inch into your mouth, moaning at the girth, teeth softly scraping the skin of his shaft. He fought the urge to buck his hips into your mouth without your permission, eyes rolled back as you took more of him in. Your hand stroked the part of his thick length that you failed to get into your mouth.
“Fuck, mommy… it feels so good. Keep going, please—”
Every moan reverberated from his throat filled the car and went straight to your heated core, making your pussy clench with need around nothing. Satisfied with his responses, you relaxed your jaw and bobbed lower, taking even more until his tip almost touched your throat, his pubic hair tickled your nose.
“Hnn… fuck, feels so good, fuck—” Bruce wheezed for air, his chest slicked with sweat, seeping through his tie and shirt in the process. He bucked his hips, and you choked as his tip nudged the back of your throat.
You gasped, pulling back with a string of spit linking his cock to your lips. He watched you, face darkened with concupiscence as his cock was shiny with your spit against the dim lights of the stars above you.
“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” He wiped your lips clean with his fingers, the right callous of his palm caressing your cheek with tenderness.
You maintained eye contact through your lashes, pressing a kiss to his palms.
“Good boy, did so well for me,” you edged forward, straddling his hips yet again and pressed another sensual kiss to his lips. “You like what mommy did to you?”
“Yes, yes! Please, mommy… I wanna taste you, please.”
“Today’s all about you, baby.” You slipped your matching ocean-blue lace thong to the side, rubbing your slick folds over his length. “I have a better idea.”
Bruce whimpered pathetically at the sensation of your folds gliding over his thick shaft, an amalgamation of your slick and spit coated him as you grinded against him.
What could possibly be better than you sat on his face and let him gobble you up like a famished man?
Your hand glided between your bodies and grasped his cock. The tip brushed your slick folds for a moment, then you slowly lowered yourself on him, letting his girth stretch you wide open. You felt his cock throb inside you as you sank lower.
Bruce groaned, he closed his eyes shut as tears prickled his vision. All of his intrusive thoughts and chagrin about the gala melted away with your alluring pussy.
“Fuck—mommy, feels so good. Hnn—”
“Hmm, so big just for me. Good boy.”
As much as you wanted to bottom him out, you still needed a moment to get used to his size. He was way bigger than anyone you’ve ever taken. Maybe you should’ve just let him finger you first instead of rushing in.
You slipped off the straps of your dress and revealed your pebbled breast to him. You watched his Adam’s apple leap when his gaze clung to your nipples. Caging your arms around his neck, you brought him right to your chest and gave him silent permission to suck it. You watched his mouth latch onto your left nipple, his hand palmed the other and pinched your nipple between his fingers.
“Good boy, doing so good for me,” you moaned, tilting your head upwards as the car passed by another red light. You just loved the feeling of having risky sex with your husband while other cars passed by, oblivious to the tension within.
He whimpered into your breast before latching onto your right nipple with his mouth, lapping and sucking your sensitive flesh, tongue and all.
The dull ache dissipated gradually, replaced by an overwhelming pleasure enough to make your head spin. You settled against his hips as he filled you to the brim, coating his pubic hair and balls with your nectared slick. You blurted out a guttural moan, feeling every veiny inch of him inside your velvety walls, the tip of his cock throbbed in pleasure.
Bruce pulled back, watching your expression for any indication of pain or discomfort.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No, baby. It just feels so good.” You enveloped his lips in a searing kiss while he responded ardently, entangling your tongues in a way that made you clench harder.
Before you could get ahead of yourself and drown in the sea of pleasure, you drew back, staring at the spit connecting his lips to yours once more.
“Remember I said I have a better idea?”
He nodded at you.
“I heard from Alfred that you haven’t had a single slice of birthday cake yet.”
A white square cake container appeared out of nowhere in your hand, which he vaguely remembered you baked early in the morning so that he wouldn’t find out. The car moved smoothly in the street as you slipped off the container, revealing a pre-sliced six-inch strawberry shortcake decorated with whipped cream and topped off with strawberries.
It was clearly homemade, with the uneven shapes of the piping work, and the mellow whiff of sugar swirled in the air. You lowered the cake enough for him to see the birthday wish with Happy Birthday, Bruce.
He stared up at you, trying earnestly not to let his horniness override the moment. “Mommy—”
“I spent a lot of time making this for you, baby. I know you haven’t been eating properly,” you rolled your hips in a torturous pace as he hiccupped a breath. “I’ll let you cum if you eat one slice of cake for me like a good boy.”
Bruce’s mind was overloaded with flashbacks—you were right, he hadn’t been eating properly due to his stressful schedule, even Alfred had trouble convincing him to eat more than wondering what he wanted to have for the day. He would chug down the unappetising green concoction and multi-vitamins every morning. But he couldn’t remember the last time he sat down with you and had a proper meal. And yes, he skipped lunch and dinner altogether today, which explained his particularly sour mood.
Was this your special way to get him to eat?
Before he could even conjure up a question, you steadied yourself with your right hand on the car door and lifted your hips, a white creamy ring coating at the base of his cock. You hovered just at the tip and slammed down your hips, bouncing him out of his daydreams.
“Hnnn—mommy—!” His hands flew back to your hips, gripping you tightly and grunting at the movement.
“Focus,” you breathed, voice stern against his ears. “You listen to me when I’m talking.”
“Yes, mommy.”
“I’m not asking you to finish all of this, but it hurts me to see you not taking care of yourself.” You picked one of the strawberries by the stems with your fingers, hovering it around his lips, ignoring how your slick drenched his pelvis and your thighs.
“Just one slice, then you get to cum as many times as you want.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I promise.” You watched him with a grin. “But you don’t get to move an inch until you finish it. Do you understand?”
He bit the bottom part of his plush lips before nodding at you. Bruce adored how gentle yet dominating you were in bed. It made his heart feel all fuzzy whenever you encouraged him to let loose and surrender to the pleasure. Now you were cock warming and feeding him cake at the same time? He knew he hit the jackpot for being the luckiest man in the world.
In fact, he would even get down on his knees and bark for you, so he could prove that he was wholly yours.
“Yes, mommy.”
“Good, good boy,” you cooed, pressing the strawberry closer to his lips. “Open up for me.”
Without breaking eye contact, Bruce opened his mouth and darted his tongue out, coating it with whipped cream. He adjusted himself further to engulf the strawberry whole, before biting it off the stem, teeth lightly grazing your manicured fingers in the process. The sharp tang of the strawberry filled his taste buds as he chewed, and the syrupy sweetness followed behind.
Yet nothing was sweeter than that beaming smile on your gorgeous face.
You placed the stem back into the box and broke off a bite-sized chunk of cake. “Good boy, have a bite.”
He swallowed after chewing for a few seconds, opening his mouth again to let you place it on his tongue. Before you could pull away, he closed his eyes and sucked your fingers clean, savouring your warmth.
Not wanting him to forget about his needy length inside your folds, you palmed against his taut muscle and raised yourself, before rejoining his hips again. You slammed his cock against your sweet spot when you bottomed, softly mewling from the sensation.
“Ah, mommy! Fuck…” He almost choked from it, rolling his eyes back. “More—more, please…”
“Can’t let you forget about your cock, baby. All warm and snug inside me. Hmmm,” you breathed, breaking off another piece of cake and slipping it into his mouth. “Good boy, just a few more.”
Bruce whimpered desperately. “Mommy, please… it’s too much, can I please move?” He lifted your hips up with his hands, hankering for friction.
But you didn’t budge.
Instead, your right palm slapped against the left side of his cheek, and a pathetic whine escaped from his lips. The head of his cock pulsed as you clamped down your walls, milking him further to ecstasy. The whipped cream on your fingers smeared his cheek, but you couldn’t care less about it.
“You take what I give, boy,” you hissed under your breath, eyes tinged with aggravation. “If you can’t even follow mommy’s orders, then we can stop right now.”
You slid your hips away from his cock with a sinful pop to prove a point. Watching his sensitive length twitched against his lower belly, beads of precum leaked from the angry slit. You held yourself steady at the edge of his knees, pressing a sweaty handprint on the side window.
“No! No! No—!” he panicked, pupils blown wide in terror that it almost deluged the blue irises. His sweaty chest heaved in waves as he arched his back, hot tears threatened to spill.
“Please don’t stop! I’m sorry! I’m sorryyyyy!” He dragged out the last syllabus, his mind scrambled with nothing but the need to feel you again.
You witnessed choked sobs slip through his lips, thighs shivered from the cool air. You also didn’t fail to notice tears started falling freely on his pretty face, lashes clumped beautifully around his blue-greyish eyes.
“Please—please—I’m begging you—please—“
“I thought you had great self-control, baby. Wasssaa matter?” you cooed, revelling at his misery. “I guess I’ll just tuck your pants back up and let you wallow around the gala like this, head filled with nothing but my pussy.”
Sobbing, he shook his head so hard that his whole world dizzied. “No—! No, please—Mommy, please. I’m sorry—sorry! I’ll listen, please!”
“You’ll listen now? Hmm? You’ll be a good boy and finish this cake?
He nodded at you frantically. “Yes, yes! I’ll finish it! I’m sorry! I’ll listen!”
“If only the whole Gotham could see their charming billionaire begging for mommy.” You adjusted yourself into position and slipped his cock back into your folds, moaning at the veiny girth around your walls again. “Or their favourite Batman sobbing for not getting what he wants. But you’re lucky I’m not that cruel, aren’t ya?”
“Ahh—Yes! Yes! Thank you! Thank you, mommy! Thank you!” He squirmed in relief, arching his back as you bottomed out, creamy white rings gathered at the base of his cock, sweat and slick drenched the seat underneath you both. The whole car smelled just like pure sex.
“Good boy. Now finish your cake.”
Bruce inhaled the remaining chunks with newfound fervour after learning from his much-deserved lecture, and the whole slice was gone within seconds. His hands diverted from your hips to your right forearm, sucking off the remaining whipped cream and swirled his tongue around your fingers.
“Awe, what a good boy you are. Making me so proud.” You chirped, closing the container and placing it on the passenger seat. Gripping his chin with your left hand, you tilted him at an angle and leaned in. Licking away the sweetened whipped cream on his cheeks in small stripes, tasting the dried, salty tears in between.
“Thank you, mommy. Hnn…”
The car approached the Wayne Theatre building smoothly, a sea of reporters and passersby crowded densely around the red carpet entrance. Professional cameras flashed around the fully-tinted windows, their incessant hubbubs hardly reached both of you, but you could imagine what they were yelling.
“Mr. Wayne! Mr. Wayne! Over here!”
“Mr. Wayne, is Mrs. Wayne with you tonight?”
“Is Harvey Dent coming tonight, Mr. Wayne?”
But the car glided past the crowd, turning to the corner to make another round. You were aware that Miguel would keep going until you ordered him to stop. Till then, you had to coax your sweet husband to the best orgasm of his life before the party started.
“You did so well, baby. Ready to put on a show for them and cum like a good boy?”
Normally, your husband would’ve freaked out at that idea, but he was so pussy drunk that he just nodded at you with a smile, yearning for his reward.
He just wanted to be the man you liked, and the man you liked was right here with him.
“Yes, mommy.” He moaned sinfully, your left hand snaked behind his head and yanked him to his right, revealing more of his sweaty skin.
“Hmm, gotta let them know who you belong to.” Sucking another fresh hickey onto his neck, he thrusted up his hips into yours, hitting that sweet spot that made you sing.
You knew you couldn’t last any longer like this, so you started grinding back and forth in a smooth motion. His moans blessed your ears, hands slid under your dress to support your hips again, spreading your ass wide while you fuck yourself on his cock.
He rested his head against the valley of your breast as you found a steady pace, grinding your swollen clit against his pubic hair, accruing more euphoric zaps to your core by the second.
“Feels so good, ughhh. Feels so good, more, more—”
“Mhmm, good boy. Fucking me so good, you love being fucked dumb like this don’t ya? Mommy’s pussy is the best birthday gift, isn’t it?”
“Yes—yes! Yes! Best gift ever! Yes!”
You bit your lip watching him surrender himself to you, focusing on nothing but your honeyed praise and chasing his high. Bruce began to breathe harder, his tummy tightened when he tapped your hips to signify he was getting closer. However, you could tell he was still holding back.
The car approached the entrance once again, and white camera flashes filtered through the tinted windows and onto his face. Bruce stifled his whimpers, watching the reporters trying to get a glimpse of what was happening inside, so you took that opportunity to your advantage.
Fastening your movements on his cock, you hit your sweet spot with every pump, feeling your creamy pussy clenched around his veiny girth and sensitive tip, your own climax approaching.
“Let them watch, baby. Let them hear you scream for me.” With the remaining self-control left to not cum before him, you continued your sweet talk, peering at his reflection on the window. “You’re so close, baby. I know you are. Scream for me, let mommy hear you cum like a good boy.”
“Yes! Yes! Thank you! Thank you! Fuckkkkkk—”
Bruce screamed at the top of his lungs as he reached his peak, wrapping his arms firmly around you, tears flowed freely down his cheeks from overstimulation. His pelvis contracted intensely when that spring finally snapped.
“Fuuucckkkkk! Ugggghhhh—!”
Dragging his pathetic sobs out loud, he snapped his hips upwards—shooting hot, thick ropes of cum inside you until it overflowed, making a delicious mess of your already wailing pussy and staining the taupe leather cushioned seat.
Bruce continued his raucous screaming until his throat went raw. Beads of tears and sweat dripped down his face like a work of art, he kept wheezing for the next three minutes, arching his back like a bent plastic ruler.
And you watched it all like a damn proud wife.
You held back your orgasm like a champ despite everything, body shook as it egged for a climax you hadn’t reached. Letting out a guttural groan, lust-filled desires coiled excruciatingly tight in your core, intrusive thoughts screeching at you to keep bouncing for relief.
“Good boy, very good boy.”
Bruce slouched his back, his voice gradually slowed down until his breath evened out, his salty tears parched dry on his face. His sensitive cock twitched with the last wave of his orgasm as the car wheeled for another round again.
Yet through the haze, he remembered that you still hadn’t reach your high yet.
“Thank you, mommy… But you hadn’t cum yet…” he mumbled, voice hoarse.
He peppered kisses into your breast before sniffing in your scent, mingled with your amber-vanilla perfume and sweat, the special blend of aroma soothed his senses.
You let him rest for five minutes until you popped the question.
“One more, baby. Can you do it for mommy?” you murmured into his raven locks. “Just one more, gotta make sure I take good care of my birthday boy.”
He felt his cock pumping in and out of your folds again, your combined fluids made it easier for movement. You slowed just enough for him to feel every drag inside your pussy, riling him up for more.
Bruce wanted to tell you that he was too sensitive, that he wanted to eat you out sloppily, but all that came out was a broken moan. He felt his body taut before he could even conjure up a thought.
“C’mon, baby,” you whispered, eyes blown wide with lust, keeping him pinned to the seat with your weight. “I know, I know. I know you’re sensitive, but you’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for mommy. You can do one more, can’t you?
He buried his face into your chest, but you felt him nodded at you. “Yes, mommy. Use me, use me! Take whatever you want!”
You slammed down to his hips with yours as his thighs shook from the pleasure. You speed up your rhythm, brutally thrusting to chase your high, sending shockwaves throughout his and your nervous system.
“That’s it, baby. Let mommy feel you cum inside again.”
“Yes! Yes—! Ride me mommy. Take all of me, please!”
The car rounded back to the entrance once more, the same disorienting flashes filled your vision again. The sound of skin slapping skin made the heat pool around your core as you bucked him like a mechanical bull. You were so, so close. He was too.
“Cum for me, baby. Let it all out.”
“I’m cuming, I’m cuming—!” Rambling incoherent sentences, his right hand drifted to your swollen nub and began to knead lazy circles. That was when you finally came undone.
Your body went taut as the coil finally snapped, ecstasy shot up your spine so hard that it bordered on pain. You wailed at the top of your lungs against the ceiling, riding out your orgasm as Bruce’s second followed closely behind.
With one last thrust against your hips, he scrunched his bosco brows together, shooting his hot seed deep inside your squelching pussy. Both of you filled the car with wails of the naughty escapade for another five minutes.
Exhausted, you collapsed onto his sweat-slicked chest, face buried into the crook of his neck to inhale his scent. Throwing his arms around you, his body slackened into the seat as tears of relief clung to your lashes.
Bruce sluggishly pulled himself out, both of you whined at the loss. You felt his cum leaking out of you, dripping onto his softening cock. Both of you just embraced each other for a few more minutes, synchronising your breathing pattern with his. Your brain was still dancing in the aftershock of your climax, and his thighs jerked lightly at the overstimulation.
He peppered kisses onto your temple, large palm rubbing soothing circles on your back, giving you some time to find your way back to him again. The warmth of his skin soothed you, purring into his neck in satisfaction.
You pulled yourself up, bedroom eyes found his and dived in for a kiss.
“Happy birthday, Mr. Wayne.”
“Happy… happy birthday… birthday…” He mumbled, head slumping against the headrest.
You fucked him so stupid that he still hadn’t come back to reality.
You chuckled, sneaking your manicured fingers at the side of his scalp and gripping his hair, yanking his head to the side for an opening. He whined as you sucked another hickey where the left part of his neck met the collarbone, biting down and licking his skin like nectar.
“You like your gift, baby?”
“Yes… I love you, mommy…”
“I love you too, baby.”
“I love… you…”
Heat rushed up to his neck and face while he slumped into you, completely boneless from the euphoria of his much-deserved orgasms.
“Now let’s get you cleaned up, wouldn’t want the paps know how much their prince of Gotham loves getting fucked stupid by his mommy in this car, don’t we?”
You popped down the armrest beside him and took out a pack of gentle wipes, dragging the cooling sheet along his neck and travelling down to his body. You used a new sheet to clean between and under his thighs. You took your sweet time with his manhood, making sure his balls were clean from dried slick.
Like a magic trick, Bruce fluttered his eyes open to witness his beloved wife taking good care of him. A comforting warmth nuzzled in his chest like a bowl of chicken soup.
“Thank you, mommy.” He whispered, peeling off a sheet of gentle wipes and cleaning you up. His touch was gentle, cleaning up your breast before wiping away the remnants between your sensitive folds and each crevice of your thighs. You mewled at the cooling sensation against your sore pussy, sighing with relief.
Bruce whipped out a bottle of water from the armrest and tilted it at the right angle for you to drink, while you cleaned up the parched mess on his face.
“You feel better?”
Nodding at his question, you circled your arms around his neck and kissed his lips. Bruce adjusted you until you were slumped on his chest, his left hand caging your shoulder against the window, the other caressing your thighs as you sat atop of him, careful not to ruin your still-intact hairstyle.
“You wanna go home, baby?”
You leaned against him, relishing the skin-to-skin contact. “No, baby. We still have to raise funds for them.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have a spare suit for that, my love.” He chuckled warmly, then you remembered how you ripped off his shirt.
“Oh, baby,” you swatted at his chest. “I had Alfred prepare a spare suit and dress in the car for this occasion.”
“Really?” He looked at you with widened eyes before realisation settled in. “You’ve been plotting this, don’t you?”
“It’s not plotting if I wanna spend some alone time with my husband. Now, let’s get ready. Poor Miguel is gonna buzz us soon if we don’t step out at any moment.”
“Fair point, Mrs. Wayne. Let’s raise some donations for Gotham.” Bruce gripped your chin for another searing kiss.
Oh, how much you loved your precious husband, knowing that he would do anything just to make you smile at him.
Celebrating A Good Cause: Inside Bruce Wayne’s Benefit Birthday Gala That Raised Sixty Million Dollars for Charities, Schools, Hospitals, Soup Kitchens & More
By the next morning, exclusive photographs of you and your husband dominated the front page of the Gotham Gazette. Bruce clung to your side like a bodyguard in nearly every frame, his left arm curved possessively around your waist, and the gold wedding band flashed against the camera as you moved through the crowd.
One photograph, in particular, spread like wildfire across social media and was promptly picked up by Vogue—you were dressed in black, the gown glittered beneath the chandelier lights; Bruce in a razor-sharp onyx suit; the two of you caught mid-kiss as while slicing into a towering five-tier birthday cake. The intricate piping and floral detailing made it look less like a gala dessert and more like something lifted straight from a wedding reception.
That picture garnered fifty million likes in just six hours. He’d expected targeted scrutiny towards you from the public due to your past, but he didn’t expect the reaction to be overwhelmingly positive.
The comment sections flooded faster than anyone could moderate them:
[guesstheriddle9999]: couple of the century!!!!! they’re so precious omggg
[batmansburrgor]: y’all are so gullible, we still didn’t forget what she had done. Get away from my man!
[ilovesup3rman]: love is REAL with the way he looks at her. Manifesting for myself frfr.
[meowmeowlil4a]: Bruce Wayne can't fight all of us idc he dont know what to do with all that
[pampomeloivy]: Her dress is to die for! Vogue get her a front page cover!
Others chimed in with gratitude rather than gossip—students thanking the Wayne Foundation for scholarships, medical professionals praising newly funded hospital wings, and volunteers at soup kitchens would now keep working year-round because of the gala’s proceeds. The funds were already earmarked to public schools in the Narrows, underfunded hospitals on Gotham’s east side, rehabilitation centres, shelters, and more.
True to form, Bruce did what he always did when something mattered to him. He emailed the photographer directly, requesting the original copy of that photograph. By evening, it was printed on museum-grade paper, framed in dark walnut, and hung on the wall beside his parents’ wedding portrait in the living room. Anyone who entered the manor after that would see it immediately.
Bruce had grown fond of sipping his afternoon coffee in the living room since then. After all, you were his beloved wife, and he would move heaven and hell just to make you happy.
Summary: Bruce came home from patrol to find you battling your period cramps alone, and he decided to show you that his lovemaking techniques are better than painkillers. (Also on AO3 - check out the whole series!)
Character(s): Bruce Wayne, Fem! Reader (NSFW/MDNI)
Tags & Warning(s): menstrual sex, body worship, blood kink, cunnilingus, lovemaking, fluff & smut, creampie, vaginal fingering, crying during sex, emotional sex, praise kink, service kink, aftercare, dacryphilia, extreme yearning, possessive bruce wayne
Word Count: 5.3 K
Music: Speechless by Beyoncé
Inspired by this article about menstrual blood and stem cells' healing factors! Special thanks to my love @sakunai for guiding me through this! I'm very rusty on tumblr, so I hope you like it! only bey can inspire me write poetic lovemaking <3
Bracing the wave of cramps that swirled hot in your belly, you curled into a fetal position on the bed, sweat dampening your forehead as you cursed that damn period in the middle of the night.
“Fuck…”
It all started this morning. Awful would be an understatement for it.
You woke to a dull, persistent ache shadowing you at every turn, a telltale sign that your period had begun. Right on schedule from all the tracking you’d been doing.
When your hand drifted across the other side of the bed, the sheets were already cold. Bruce must have taken Tim to Gotham Academy for his parent-teacher meeting that morning. They had plans for a fishing trip later this afternoon, which meant they wouldn’t be back until patrol ended.
Despite his barely recovered state, Bruce had brushed off Leslie’s warnings to take it easy. Months of physiotherapy for his spinal injury had left him restless, and now he was making up for lost time by rearranging his schedule to the brim.
You vaguely remembered the ghost of his lips against your cheek before he left, but sleep had claimed you again before you could respond.
Unfortunately, it was Friday. Which meant dragging yourself to the board meeting at Wayne Enterprises, whether you like it or not. The hearty breakfast Alfred had prepared and the smooth ride Miguel offered did little to dull the relentless ache coiling in your abdomen.
Then again, some of it was your own doing. Stubborn as a mule, you refused to take any anodynes to soothe the cramps due to your history. But God damn it, it felt like someone was twisting a knife into you over and over again.
Your workday didn’t get better either. The board meeting was chaotic—Rowan stood alone in opposing the annual budget again, citing that pouring more funding into the R&D department was the equivalent of feeding a black hole.
On any other day, you would’ve laid out the reports and walked him through every projection. But you barely had it in you today. You vetoed him in your husband’s name and let his passive-aggressive remarks fly by without acknowledgment before Lucius dismissed him. Honestly, Dickie’s worst jokes had more charm than whatever he was trying to pull.
By the time you returned home, Alfred informed you that Bruce and Tim had just left for patrol, missing you by merely five minutes. Chewing dinner alone soured your mood even further; you declined Alfred’s attempt to lift your spirits by serving you a banana split for dessert.
A brisk, almost mechanical shower later, you slipped into a satin nightgown and collapsed onto the bed with a disgruntled huff. Your hair sprawled across the sheets in a tangled mess.
Not even the vanilla-scented candle on the nightstand could pacify you this time. Its delicious fragrance twirled around the room like a ballerina. The flames trembled with each passing draft, and the wicks popped faintly from moisture.
You cursed at yourself for not taking the painkillers and curled into a ball, waiting for your husband to come home for snuggles. Tears pricked your eyes when another merciless wave crashed in, sucking in a ragged breath to ride it out.
Gazing at the digital clock on your nightstand, you watched the minutes drag past in stubborn increments, each one stretching longer than the last.
It was already half past one. Moonlight spilled through the blackout curtains in a pale, silvery wash, fracturing into uneven fragments across the Egyptian cotton sheets and your curled form above them.
Another cramp coiled low in your abdomen, and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for it—
Then came the unmistakable sounds of footsteps pattering in the hallway, followed by Bruce’s deep murmurs with Tim’s soft chatters. The familiar cadence of them unravelled something tight in your chest. You loosened your clenched fists around your belly, and before you could stop it, tears slipped free, trailing silently into your hairline.
The doorknob turned and swung open. Bruce stepped in, already out of the Batman gear and clad only in his worn magenta robe. His obsidian locks clung damply to his forehead, darkened by his mandatory post-patrol shower, and the faint scent of rain followed him into the room.
Even in the dim light, you could hear his sluggish movements etched into every step, mindful of his injuries. He eased the door shut behind him with a faint thud.
“Honey, are you okay?”
His voice dropped to a gentle whisper as he crossed the room in a few quick strides, the mattress dipping as he climbed in beside you. He reached for you immediately, gently coaxing you to turn toward him.
”Alfred said you didn’t eat much today. What happened—”
Bruce visibly winced when you stared back at him—tear-streaked, face flushed with red, and crumpled in a state that made something in his heart lurch painfully tight.
“Talk to me, baby. What’s wrong?”
His brows knitted together as his thumb brushed instinctively beneath your eye, catching the remnants of your tears.
“Where have you been, baby?” you mumbled, cradling his face with tenderness. “Been waitin' for you all day.”
“Patrol, honey. I’m sorry for not coming back sooner. Tell me, what’s in that pretty head of yours?”
You sniffled at the question, touching your belly. “Baby, it hurts so much… I can’t take it anymore.”
Bruce shrugged his robe away, discarding it on the floor before pulling you into his arms. Propping his back against the headboard, he anchored you against his body and gently caressed your hips.
“It’s okay, honey. First day?”
You gave him an audible groan, resting against his shoulder, and breathing in his scent that resembled shea butter and coconut. The dull ache in your abdomen was mitigated slightly from it alone, and your body slackened against him.
“Is there anything I can do to help you, my love?”
You shook your head, thumb tracing idle circles on his chest as your hair draped across his right arm. “Just talk to me, honey. Tell me about your day.”
“Well, Tim’s meeting was great. He’s still at the top of his grade,” he began, kissing your forehead in between. “He had a great time this afternoon, caught the biggest fish I’ve ever seen.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, he has a natural talent for it.”
Bruce pulled your thighs closer, squeezing your calves as you curled further into him.
“How’s patrol?”
“Peaceful. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Did Timmy get hurt? I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to check him.”
“He’s fine, honey. Barely a scratch. Dick trained him well.”
“How about you, Batman? Is your back hurting?”
“No, honey. I was extra careful tonight. It’s okay, the warm-up exercises helped a lot.”
“But—”
The protest dissolved into a sharp intake of breath as the pain surged back without warning. You tensed in his arms, teeth clenched as your body curled instinctively into his, seeking something to ground yourself. This wave hit harder than the rest, stealing the air from your lungs.
“Fuck—” you gasped, your manicured fingers piercing into Bruce’s skin.
Bruce didn’t flinch at the sting, but his body went rigid at the way you trembled against him.
“Honey, are you okay?”
Your words came unevenly, breath ragged as heat flushed your cheeks. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just—just gimme a minute.”
Before you could argue, he leaned in to press a brief, reassuring kiss to your lips. He eased you back against the mattress and propped you up against the pillows.
“That’s it. Let me take care of you.”
“Bruce—” you started, but he was already moving, slipping out of bed before you could stop him.
The faint rush of running water filled the quiet moment, and then he returned with fresh towels in hand. Sliding them carefully beneath your hips, he adjusted them around the bed to keep you comfortable. Then he leaned over you again, brushing another kiss against your lips.
“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice shaking with discomfort.
“Shh, just taking care of you,” he murmured, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. “You know orgasms help with the cramps, right?”
You stilled, fingers curling around his muscular biceps as concern flashed through the haze of pain and need. “Yeah, but your injuries—”
“I’m healed, love. You can feel it, see?”
He guided your hands to his lower back, pressing your palms gently against his sacrum before tracing upward along the length of his spine. Your fingertips followed the path of his surgery scar, where the skin bore the faint ridges of everything he had endured. The once-angry line had softened, though redness loitered where friction met sensitivity.
Your breath hitched, a shudder slipping past your lips as your hands trembled against him.
For months, you had avoided him in that way. Every time he reached for you with that aching want, you pulled back. You redirected him to snuggly embraces, impassioned makeout sessions, to anything that wouldn’t risk nullifying the recovery progress he had fought so hard for.
Honestly, how could you not?
When he was confined to bed rest, every waking moment was clouded by delirium and bone-deep fatigue. He’d call out for you and Jason in broken sobs, disoriented and crushed in spirits. And whenever the spine brace came off, the pain would seize him without mercy, fracturing his composure just enough for it to bleed into his vocal cords.
Your needs had felt insignificant in hindsight. You could barely bring yourself to touch the scar, let alone consider anything beyond his recovery.
And yet, Bruce had never stopped trying. You’d seen it in every gritted breath throughout the gruelling physiotherapy sessions, pushing himself to the limits with nothing but resoluteness to recover.
“See?” Bruce murmured, drawing your attention back as his warm hands settled over yours, pressing them a little more firmly against his spine. “It doesn’t hurt like it used to. You can feel that, right? I’m not that fragile, baby.”
You gulped as his hands slid back to your thighs, giving them a gentle squeeze before easing them apart to settle closer. The cold metal of his gold wedding band glimmered against the moonlight.
“You’ve been taking care of me for so long,” he continued softly, his forehead brushing against yours. “Let me do the same for you.”
The hesitation clung stubbornly to your chest. “But…”
He pulled back to meet your eyes, a pout forming on his lips. His eyes glistened with vulnerability like a wounded puppy.
“You don’t wanna make love to me anymore?” he whined, pairing with that boyish pout just enough to make it impossible to resist.
God, he always did that when he wanted your attention.
If you so much as took longer than five minutes to respond, he would brood around the manor with a ginormous I want attention sign plastered on his forehead, lingering around the doorways and staring at you for hours until you acknowledged him again.
Even the children had grown thoroughly exasperated by his shameless theatrics for you.
Personal space seemed to be a foreign concept to Bruce Wayne, not where you were concerned.
He clung to you like an octopus in the California king-sized bed every night. In the Batcave, he’d hover close while you worked, finding reasons to orbit around, until you allowed him to sit beside you. Even during your evenings, when you sank into a bubble bath to unwind, here came your husband, settling beside the tub as you spoke about your day before he left for patrol.
The last time you were away on a business trip in Paris, he grumbled under his breath about how you’d abandoned him to Alfred while obsessively checking your live location. He paced irritably around the manor, making it painfully obvious how much your absence distressed him.
By nightfall, he flew the Batjet halfway across the world under the meagrest excuse of detective work, only to show up at your penthouse suite. The moment you opened the door, he was already pulling you into him, holding you like a famished man.
He stayed long enough to have you entangled in the sheets, barely letting you out of his arms, reassuring that possessive part of himself that you were coming home to him soon. When morning came, he slipped away before your meetings began, already counting down the hours until your trip ended.
Frankly, you never found it suffocating. If anything, you relished in your husband’s presence too, because you knew how rare it was for both of you to find time together.
You were the first face he searched for in the morning, and the last one he held onto before the night took him.
And neither of you would have traded that for anything in the world.
“I—I do. I really do,” you admitted, grimacing at the thought of your husband yelping in pain from intimacy. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again. Aren’t you tired?”
“I won’t. I know my limits.” His hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your flushed skin until you met his gaze again. “Let me take care of you, please? Wanna make you feel good.”
A pause.
“Okay,” you sighed, feeling his growing erection brush against your core. His tail wagged at your answer as he snaked his hands under your nightgown, trailing upwards to feel every inch of your curves.
Pressing wet kisses on your lips, he swallowed every single whine and pushed you deeper into the pillows, feeling your tensed frame relax on the bed. He tasted just like peppermint mouthwash and coffee. His right hand slid up your waist and cupped your left breast, thumb brushing over your nub until you arched into his touch.
Bruce broke the kiss to catch his breath, leaving a trail of spit connected to you before kissing down your throat and across your collarbone. He darted out his tongue to lick those faded scars around your shoulders, taking in the aromatic smell of your shea butter and vanilla body lotion.
He treasured it to the point that he couldn’t sleep without it. Ever since that shower at your apartment nearly a decade ago, he had memorised every brand you used and requested Alfred to keep them stocked throughout the manor.
He adopted your shampoo, your body wash, lotions, and anything to immerse himself in your honeyed scent. He’d mist your favourite perfume all over his sheets, rolling around it like catnip, clinging to the illusion of your presence beside him.
He worked his way down your chest, licking and kissing your right breast before circling your nipple. His right hand kept kneading until his mouth moved to your left, sucking a bruise beside the nipple. Tangling your fingers into his wet locks, you tugged them slightly with soft mewls. He groaned into your nipple, sending electrical currents down to your core.
“Bruce…”
“It’s okay, honey. Just lie still.”
You leaned against the pillows as his warm mouth continued its journey around your breast. His free hand trailed down to your stomach and hips, gently massaging the dull ache away.
“Oh, Bruce… feels so good,” you moaned, bucking your hips to him.
He kissed his way down your body, pausing to nip gently at the scar tissue on your torso.
“That’s it, baby. I got you.”
“Just st—stop if it’s too gross, okay?”
“Nothing about you is gross, baby. I love every single inch of you, blood and all,” he cooed, gently pulled down your cotton panties, and removed your pad, tossing them on the spare towels around the bed.
You winced at the feeling of something gushing out of your slit, squeezing your knees together in embarrassment.
“Open, honey. Let me taste all of you.”
Bruce settled between your thighs, spreading you wider with his shoulders. His warm breath tickled your sensitive skin before licking a long stripe on your blood-slicked cunt. It was slow at first, savouring your slick honeyed with copper. His stubble made it ticklish against your core.
You whimpered into the pillows, jerking your hips at the pleasure. It felt almost overstimulating after months of neglect. But he caged your thighs with his forearms and pulled you closer with sheer strength. Pinning you still, he flattened his tongue to spread your slick all over your clit, and sucked it gently to make you see stars.
“Bruce—fuck—Bruce—”
Bruce hummed, building up your orgasm by sucking your clit gently, then circling it with his tongue, then humming against it again and again. He pressed his nose bridge against your swollen clit when he worked on your slit, consuming every ounce of blood your body produced to satisfy his appetite.
“Bruce, I’m cumming! Cumming—”
It wasn’t long until that coil inside your belly snapped, and your orgasm crashing through your body in waves, your velvety walls pulsed around nothing as you wept his name, curling your pedicured toes from the intensity of it. He kept going until you rode out your high and evened out your breath. The dull ache in your belly faded slightly from the pleasure.
His entire lower face was painted with your blood like he had just committed cannibalism.
“You like it?” he breathed, hovering over you and kissing you deeply. You could even taste yourself on his tongue—metallic, salty, sweet, and ludicrously addictive.
“Ew, gross,” you chuckled, wrapping your arms around him. “You’re a vampire now.”
“My beautiful wife.” He lay on his side to run his right hand through your slick folds, collecting blood and slick with his fingers, circling your swollen clit just the way you liked it.
“I miss you so, so much. My precious baby. I wanna hear you sing for me.”
You moaned at the sensation, your body was still recovering from the euphoria. His fingers brushed your clit before pressing one long, thick finger into your heated cunt.
“God, Bruce—”
Your velvety walls contracted around his finger, and a loud whimper flew past your lips. Your whole body started to heat up when you tipped your head into the pillows. Sparks flooded through your head as Bruce groaned into your ear. You gushed out even more slick at the sound, coating his hand in a wet mess. His pupils were blown wide from lust.
“That’s it, baby. I got you. All you need is my fingers, don’t you? Sounds so beautiful just like that.”
He began to move, rubbing your clit in small circles with his thumb. Biting your lower lip, his motions sent another wave of pleasure building up in your core when you rocked your hips into his finger. Your right hand searched for his locks and tugged on them.
“Fuck, baby.”
When he added the second finger, your mouth gaped open and squeezed your eyes shut, adjusting to his size.
His chest swelled with pride at the mere sight of it. You had poured so much of yourself into his recovery—tending to him with unwavering care, comforting him through the nightmares, and never leaving his sight for more than ten minutes.
Easing your burdens had always been one of his solemn vows, and the fact that you trusted him enough to let him do so filled him with so much gratitude he could hardly contain it.
Bruce searched for your favourite spot that made you sing by thrusting deeper into you. The wet noise echoed throughout the room along with your breathy moans, coating his fingers more and more with your slick.
He curled his fingers upwards, and you chirped with a high-pitched noise.
“Ahh—! Right there! Right there, Bruce—”
Grabbing onto his right bicep, you left crescent marks on his skin with your fingernails. Sweat gathered at the back of your folded knees and chest. Bruce continued his motions, thrusting his fingers in and out, focusing on that sweet spot to keep you floating. He pinned your hips down with his left hand to hold you still.
“That’s it, baby. Feels good, right? Just like that. Keep singing for me, baby. I wanna hear you.”
“Yes, yes, yes. Feels so good. Yes, baby—” you whimpered, your head filled with nothing but the need to chase your high. That coil in your belly twisted even tighter when he moaned into your ears.
“Cum for me, baby. Please,” Bruce grunted, licking that sensitive spot under your right ear that made you roll your eyes back. “Cum for your good boy. C’mon, cum for me.”
Your walls pulsed around his fingers when he sped up his thrust. Then it hit you—that coil snapped again as your climax hit you like a freight train. Your body went taut around Bruce’s fingers when he worked you through it. You tossed your head back, mouth hung open for a few seconds until you wheezed for air.
He withdrew his fingers with a faint pop the moment you relaxed against the sheets, whining at the loss.
“I love you, baby. Cum so beautiful on my hands,” he whispered, fingers coating his cock with your nectar.
He swiped the precum leaking at the sensitive tip with his thumb, swirling his wrist around his cock to mimic your movements from muscle memory.
You didn’t miss the way his slick-coated, girthy cock bopped against his pelvis, flushed red and begging for attention.
God, your husband’s sweaty, brawny body alone made you yearn for more. You wanted to keep drowning yourself in his love until you couldn’t walk the next day.
“One more?” you asked, catching the way he gazed at you with that rapacious smirk.
He loomed before you, his silhouette carved in silver by the moonlight, every line of him aglow with a divinity that might have put Zeus himself to shame.
“Third time’s the charm?” He lined his cock before you, sliding the sensitive tip between your slick folds and against your clit, pressing in down for extra friction.
“Mhmm,” you hummed, guiding his cock and pushing it into your slit. Bruce kissed you fervently, ingesting your wanton moans as he pushed in, inch by inch, until he gradually bottomed out. The sensation was overwhelming—you felt the tip pulsing with need, every veiny inch of him inside your velvety walls.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, letting your body adjust to his size again. His cock stretched you to the brim, filling you perfectly as you belonged to him, and he to you.
And the two shall become one flesh; let no one separate them.
It felt so intimate, so full inside you, that he got you speechless. Your eyes filled with a desperate shimmer before it finally traced a path down your cheeks.
“Honey…?” Bruce drew back at once, taking in the sight of your lashes clumped with tears as you sobbed against his palm. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
“No.” You shook your head, breath catching as you sniffled. “I just… love you so much. I miss you so much.”
Bruce softened his gaze at your raw confession. His hand came up to brush your hair away from your damp face.
“I love you too, baby.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I love you so much. My beautiful, precious wife.”
The sight of you writhing beneath him in all of your naked glory, vulnerable and confessing your innermost love for him, was almost sufficient for him to come undone inside you, if it weren’t for his ironclad self-restraint. Your skin glistened with a fine sheen of warmth, tears and sweat fusing in a way he knew he’d never forget.
In that moment, he felt untouchable, as if he had reached the very height of something infinite. It was you who had brought him there, and made him believe that he could stay for the rest of his life.
He didn’t even realise he was crying until salt touched his lips. His vision blurred, tears spilling freely down his cheeks until a drop landed softly on your skin, joining with yours.
“... Bruce?” you breathed, your hand rising to cup his cheek.
“I love you so much, my baby.” His throat tightened, emotion catching as he leaned into your touch, nodding through tear-filled eyes. “I love you.”
He slowly pulled out before easing back inside, feeling you pulsed around him with need. He thrusted into you, whispering sweet promises into your ear.
“You’re so perfect for me. So precious to me,” he whispered. “I love you. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, Bruce. I—I love you—”
Everything about you was intoxicatingly irresistible. He ached to bind your body to his permanently, intertwine your lips and devour you whole; to consume you down to the bone marrow and blood vessels as an act of worship; to keep his tormented soul ablaze with the swētnes of your love.
You let your eyes fall shut as he guided you closer to the edge of ecstasy. Your hips moved instinctively against him, chasing your third orgasm as his sweat-slicked frame moulded against yours. Your left fingertips drifted along the length of his spine, tracing the path of his surgery scar, committing every curve and line into memory.
He cupped your jaw and licked away your tears between each deep thrust, and you did the same to his gorgeous face. Your combined drool dripped from the corner of your lips and under your chin.
God, both of you were such a wet, horny mess, he thought.
“I lo—love you so much, Bruce. I love you—”
Like a man possessed, he leaned down to consume the sweat gathered around your neck and collarbone. Sinful bruises bloomed under his lips, and you were confident that no amount of concealer could cover them.
Anchoring your left thigh a bit higher on his waist, he interlaced his left hand with your right and pressed it down on the sheets. His cock hit that sweet spot over and over, causing your body to twitch uncontrollably.
“Nghh! More, more, Bruce. Yes, yes, yes, yes—”
“You’re so beautiful, so, so beautiful—”
The rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin filled the bedroom, blending with the bed creaking, your breathless wails, and his unrestrained moans. The air was dense with the scent of sweat blending with the soft vanilla from the candle you’d lit, wrapping around you both like a haze.
Without breaking the kiss, he slid his right hand between your legs, rubbing your sensitive clit with figures of eight that made you reach your peak.
“Cum for me, baby,” he grunted, speeding up his rhythm into your cunt. “I’ve got you. I love you so much, so perfect for me.”
“Bruce, fuck! I’m—I’m cumming— Fuckkkk—”
Bruce whimpered your name repeatedly the moment you shattered. White stars burst behind your eyes like supernovas, your whole form quivering as you clung to him. He felt your legs tightening on either side of his waist, your cunt seizing up for a moment before releasing the pressure in a rhythmic spasm against his cock.
He followed closely behind, burying himself to the hilt before his orgasm crashed down, shooting hot, thick ropes of cum inside you until it overflowed, making a delectable mess on the stained towels and all over the sheets.
Bruce saw heaven the moment you succumbed to ecstasy, your voice breaking as you brayed his name, over and over like a prayer tailored just for him. The rawness of it, the fondness in every gasping breath, seared itself into his heart.
He witnessed the blood all over his cock, his pelvis, his pubic hair, and even his thighs, leaving only one conclusion in his mind.
Your blood purified his sins, his soul, and his heart was washed de novo.
You were his God, the one he devoted himself to, the one he worshipped on his knees, even beyond the veil.
And that was never going to change.
Exhausted, Bruce languidly pulled himself out, and you whined at the loss on his lips. You glanced down through teary eyes to see crimson blotches all over his body and yours as well. The sight alone made you light-headed.
“You feelin’ better, baby?” Bruce muttered softly, tucking your locks behind your ears.
He pressed his damp forehead to yours, brushing the tip of your nose playfully, gazing at you with lovesick eyes.
“Hmm…”
You whined even further when his cum dribbled out of you, commingling with your blood and honeyed slick onto the towel under your hips, no doubt all over the pristine bedsheets too.
Basking in the fading euphoria, you tipped your head back against the pillows, tears slipping freely down your temples. A soft groan departed your lips, your head spun as a restless flock of birds circled overhead, whirlpooling your thoughts.
Bruce drank in every microexpression of yours, ensuring your satisfaction was his utmost priority tonight.
“Honey, you okay?” He caressed your face, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb, noticing your frame trembled like a leaf. “Honey?”
“Di—dizzy…” you managed, feeling your limbs grow waning from relief. Your breath came in shallow, exhausted pulls. “I… very… dizzy.”
“Breathe with me, baby.”
Bruce nestled in the crook of your neck, pressing his body to yours. His calloused hands roamed from your waist to your thighs, adoring each faint stretch mark with his fingertips. You felt his feather-light kisses across your skin, murmuring fond whispers to coax you back to reality.
“C’mon, honey. Breathe with me,” he cooed. “In… out…”
You synchronised your breathing rhythm to his, your chest rose and fell with each guide. Slowly but surely, you returned from the cloud of exhaustion and euphoria, fluttering your eyes open to see your husband once more.
“I love you, baby,” you laughed weakly, pressing one more kiss on his eye. “I love you so much.”
“You like it?”
“Mhmm. I don’t feel the cramps anymore. Better than any anodynes out there.”
A fond smile curled the corner of your husband’s lips. “Told you.”
He pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek before slipping an arm beneath your knees and another behind your shoulders, lifting you from the bed with ease. Nestled against his chest, you listened to the steady cadence of his heartbeat as he carried you into the bathroom.
The bath he had drawn earlier still held its warmth, steam curling gently in the air. He stepped in first, testing the water before carefully guiding you in with him, easing you both into its soothing embrace.
Enfolding you within his arms, he held you close as you rested against him, the heat wrapping around your body like a second skin, melting the dull ache from your muscles bit by bit.
“You okay, honey?”
“Mhmm.” You traced the jagged scars across his chest with your fingertips. “Let’s hope Alfred won’t freak out at the sheets tomorrow morning.”
“He’ll survive.” Bruce giggled, resting his arms at the edge of the tub. “Or I can do it tomorrow.”
“You? Doing laundry? That must’ve been the eighth wonder of the world.”
“Don’t underestimate me, dear wife of mine. I’m a man with a multitude of expertise.”
“Then can you explain why I found you and Timmy wrestling with the washing machine yesterday? Or the sheer amount of bubbles that flooded the laundry room?”
“Your eyes were playing tricks with you, honey. That didn’t happen at all.”
“Hmm, of course.” You rolled your eyes at his half-assed excuse, feeling his arms around you like a devoted, fearless protector. “I love you so much, Bruce.”
given the current climate this pride especially i feel i must mention that i love my trans friends, i stand with trans people in the fight against transphobic legislation and those who would enforce it, and this blog is not a good place for you to be if you do not vibe with that
