#bale!bruce wayne fluff

[motelbabyydoll]

Older Bf!Bruce Wayne x fem!reader ⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚ mdni (18+)˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆

part 1 | part 2

cw: dd/lg, age gap, smut under the cut (p in v, unprotected sex, choking, creampie, dacryphilia, praise kink), fluff. a/n: Can be read as a standalone. Hadn't written outright dirty smut in a while, lowkey missed it. summary: after your more than eventful dinner date for your birthday Bruce makes it up to you.

You stood in front of the full length mirror in your walk-in closet, assessing your reflection in the mirror. You couldn't help but think back to the night you'd had, to Bruce's honest smile as he wished you a happy birthday and took photos of you, to the way the older women at the restaurant had looked at you like you didn't belong there, like you shouldn't be there; to the way Bruce had known exactly how to cheer you up: by getting you to tell him off. He always seemed to know exactly what to say to get you to stop overthinking, knew exactly how to cheer you up.

You turned and twisted your body in front of the mirror, lifted your arms and dropped them, smoothed the babydoll top on your waist. Bruce had bought the tiny lacy set especially for you, he had seen bows and frills and thought of you. You smiled at the thought of your big, stoic man walking into a lingerie store and getting something for you. You wondered if he had browsed the store, if he had told the sales assistant about you.

He had, with blushing cheeks and shaking hands and a demeanor that was completely uncommon for a man like him, but you would never know that, he'd never tell you how you were breaking down the too high walls he'd built around his heart.

A knock on the door. His voice was deep and steady, muffled by the door. "Are you ready, sweetheart?"

You stammered out a nervous reply, a failed attempt at keeping him away. Bruce opened the door slowly, and had his hands on your waist before you registered he was there.

"You look beautiful," He pressed his lips to the side of your neck, felt the warm blood rush beneath the surface, felt it beat to the rhythm of your heart. "none of the women at the restaurant could ever hold a candle to you."

"Yeah...Well, let's put a pin in that for about ten years, it's an unfair advantage if we're not even close in age." You huffed out, pouting at his reflection.

Bruce chuckled. "I'm sure I'll still be head over heels for you in ten years," He kissed your neck, "and twenty," he kissed your shoulder. "and a lot longer than that."

"Forever?" You smiled, fidgeting with the hem of your top.

"If you want me for that long." He met your gaze in the mirror, a smile creeping up his face.

"Don't know...might get tired of you. You know, because of your old age." Your soft smile turned into a devilish smirk, you knew exactly what you were getting into, and so did Bruce.

He spun you around, a hand at the small of your waist pressing you against him, the other on your cheek, brushing your soft skin.The press of his body sent a shiver through you, and you felt the flutter of your pulse quicken at the closeness, the nearness of him that was almost unbearable.

"Ouch." He pouted dramatically, making you giggle.

He paused, took a moment to brush the hair out of your face, to gaze in your eyes. God, you really were beautiful. His hands moved under your top, grazing the underside of your breasts, gaze still fixed on your wide eyes. His touch wasn't lewd, it was reverent, like he really wanted you to believe him, like he wanted you to know how much he loved you.

"I meant it." He whispered, low, almost like he didn't want you to hear it.

"What part?" Your eyes widened. You knew exactly what he meant.

"That I would be more than happy to do this forever, with you." His mouth twitched upward, the ghost of a smile on his lips. It would've been imperceptible if it hadn't reached his eyes.

"Bruce Wayne, are you flirting with me?" You grinned up at him, cheeks red and eyes wide.

"Maybe. Seems to be working. Huh, little one?" He sucked his teeth, looking smug. He'd got you right where he wanted you.

"In a very emotionally constipated way, yes." You giggled.

"I'm not good with words, you know that."

You arched a brow at him, smirking. “That’s an understatement.”

His hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you even closer. Your breath caught, not because of the boldness of his actions, but because of how careful he was being about it, how calculated. He wanted you to beg, wanted you to make a move, wanted you to take a risk. His fingers slipped under the waistband of your panties, barely caressing the curve of your ass.

His chest pressed against yours, and the simple warmth of him against you made the tension of the night slip away in slow, flowing waves. Your chest rose and fell against him, each inhale carrying the remnants of stress, each exhale letting them go, letting Bruce take the lead for you.

It was easy to let go around him, to let yourself rest against the hard planes of his chest, to put your heavy heart in his hands and feel light for a little while. It felt good to have someone who was able to turn your brain off with gentle caresses and kisses.

Bruce tilted your chin up with a gentle flick of his fingers, and he quickly locked your lips with his, hungry and devoted. He wanted to show you all that he wasn't able to tell you, he wanted to prove he was worthy of your love and affection. You kissed him back, hungrily, wrapping your arms around his neck and whining softly against his lips.

He chuckled at your impatience, but he didn’t have it in him to make you wait much longer, it was your birthday and you had had such a stressful evening. Poor thing. He slid a hand in between your bodies, slipped it between your thighs, over the thin fabric of your panties, the panties you had put on less than twenty minutes earlier, the panties that now stuck to your heat with moisture.

“Poor little girl,” he breathed, “had such a stressful evening, didn’t you baby?” His ring and middke fingers grazed your slit, barely applying pressure.

You wanted to speak, yes, you wanted to say. You had had such a shitty evening, the women at the restaurant made your skin burn, they made you belive your clothes were ill-fitting and your face mangled. The men that sat with them stared at you with a hunger you hadn’t even seen in your lover. You opened your mouth to speak but only a breathy whine came out when Bruce’s canines caught on the soft flesh of your shoulder.

“I know, I’m sorry…Pretty girl shouldn’t be feeling like this on her birthday. You want daddy to make it better?”

You nodded your head, fingernails digging into his muscled forearms ti brace yourself. Bruce didn’t waste any time, after your confirmation he pressed a kiss to your temple and pushed your panties to the side, letting his fingers dip in your cunt. His thumb rubbed slow, tight circles on your clit, gradually increasing the pressure and speed, until you were whining loudly enough for him to enjoy. His fingers pumped in and out of you with urgency, Bruce had a mission: to make you forget all the things that had happened earlier, to get you to let go, to let him take control.

Your first orgasm crashed over you like a wave, and you held onto Bruce like he was your lifeline. He kissed your lips as you came on his fingers, grinding his clothed bulge against your hip.

Bruce picked you up bridal style and carried you to the bedroom, your tongue, warm and wet, darted out to lick at his throat, canines scraping the skin softly. Bruce groaned darkly and threw you on the bed unceremoniously. You bounced on the matress, giggling. The sheer fabric of your babydoll top pooler around your waist and hips, the fat of your preasts threatened to spill from the small cups of the top. You looked beautiful like that, with your face flushed and glowing after an orgasm, heavy breathing in his bed.

He made quick work of taking off his clothes, discarding them on the marble floors of the master bedroom, and lined himself up with your entrance. If it was any other day, if he had any patience left in his body he would have kissed his way down your body and lapped at your cunt until tears pooled in your eyes and all you could do was spew out broken sobs, but today he lacked the patience, and frankly so did you.

You let out a gasp at the initial sting, he had only fingered you once, hadn’t worked you open thoroughly, and his size made you bite your lip and hold your breath for a moment. Bruce noticed how you tensed, walls fluttering around his bulbous tip, shoulders coming up to your ears, eyes shut.

“Sweet thing, you’ve got to relax. Can you do that for me?”

You opened your eyes slowly to meet his gaze, your face was stuck in that adorable frown that made Bruce’s heart flutter, and he grinned when you made eye contact. It was easy to relax when you were being looked at like you were the most precious thing in the universe, you mirrored his relaxed smile and, once Bruce assessed you were ready, he pushed in until he bottomed out.

Tears welled in your eyes at the intrusion, prickling at your lash line, breaching it and sliding down your hot cheeks. Bruce would catch them with a swipe of his thumb or a flick of his tongue, before pressing a kiss to your temple as an apology for the pain he was causing you. Truly, Bruce loved to see you cry on his cock, and for it, and because of it. There was something so arousing in being able to cause the tears and sobs as well as make them stop, replace them with soft giggles and whiny breaths.

"Bruce...slow down." You cried against his collarbone. Your pussy fluttered around his length like it was annoyed at the intrusion.

Bruce shushed you by kissing your lips, brushing his tongue along your lips until it met no resistance. His hands were once again slipping under your top, the fabric glowing under the moonlight. Calloused hands palmed at your breaths, your moans got louder and his thrusts faster and harder, hips snapping together.

You giggled, eyes glossy and vacant, gasping each time his tip brushed your cervix. "Careful, daddy, wouldn't want you breaking a hip."

You knew what you were doing, you were forcing his hand.

Bruce narrowed his eyes at you, his rhythm never faltering. "You've got a real smart mouth tonight, don't you?" He panted, smirking.

One of his hands moved from your breast up to your throat, fingers tightening around your neck in such a way you were sure there'd be marks in the morning. You gasped out in pleasure, grinning. He was so easy to rile up, you thought.

"Always so bratty." He breathed, smiling at the tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

His grip tightened just enough to make your breath hitch, his thumb pressing into the delicate pulse point under your jaw as he leaned down, lips brushing yours in a mockery of a kiss. Tears flowed freely down your face from the lack of air you were getting and from the way his thick cock was buried in you.

"Look at you," he rasps, voice thick with arousal. "So fucking perfect for me—taking my cock like this, crying pretty tears." His free hand brushed the curve of your hip, before gripping it hard enough to leave marks. "You love being ruined by me, don't you? Even if it hurts... even when you cry."

A particularly brutal thrust punches another sob out of you—and Bruce groans in approval at the way your walls clench around him desperately. You were close again and he knew it, all he had to do was push you over the edge.

The hand that was holding your hip snaked down to your thigh, pushing it up and over his shoulder, his cock getting that much deeper inside you. You moaned loudly, nails raking down his back.

"That's it...such a good little slut for me, huh?" He grinned, proud of himself. He was the only one who ever saw you like this, the only person you trusted enough to treat you this way, and he cherished it.

"for you, only for you, Brucie." You blabbered, cockdrunk and dazed as he fucked into you. You were staring up at him like he'd hung the moon and stars, moaning his name so prettily his cock twitched inside you and his thrusts became erratic.

He let go of your throat and kissed the side of your neck, his hand snaking between your bodies to rub at your clit. When you spasmed and tightened around him, on the verge of your second orgasm, Bruce couldn't hold it anymore, and he coated your insides with his hot, sticky, release.

As Bruce pulled out of you, his eyes roamed over your face, taking in the aftermath: face flushed and eyes shiny with tears. He gently wiped away the wetness on your cheeks, his thumb tracing your bottom lip.

"Gorgeous," he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. "You're so beautiful when you cry for me." He kissed your forehead and whispered praises into your ear as you trembled in the aftermath of the overwhelming pleasure. "My sweet girl, did such a good job for me."

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taglist: @waynedoll @cherrycolaheartss @laceyfaeryy @blv3rd

[motelbabyydoll]

Bruce wayne and dry humping, I beg of you‼️‼️

Bale Bruce Wayne x fem!reader ˚。⋆୨୧˚ mdni (18+)˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆ warnings: established relationship, dry humping, praise, age gap (reader in her early 20s, Bruce in his 40s) a/n: I meant to post this this morning but there was a power outage ALL OVER MY COUNTRY, so you get it now.

It started out slow, almost involuntary; he'd been locked in his study for hours, you missed him, craved his attention, his touch. You needed him to look at you, wide eyed and attentive, his hands on your waist, steadying you, as you talked his ear off about your day— pilates class in the morning, then a lecture, then...coffee with a girlfriend...— and you needed him to smile and nod and shut you up with a kiss and some stupid sarcastic comment; but he wouldn't, because he was busy.

So you took matters into your own hands, and you walked into the room, uncaring, not listening to his half-hearted complaints and grumbles. Bruce pushed his chair back, allowing you to sit on his lap, a routine you’ve done before.

He sighed when you finally settled atop his thighs, pressing a kiss to his cheek. His eyes were set on the screen in front of him, hands periodically moving from the keyboard to caress your waist, your thighs, your stomach, your back.

You just wanted to sit with him, but the way he held your waist and sporadically kissed the top of your head was making you wetter by the second.

Feeling bold, you shifted your position slightly, leaning into him and letting your hips move forward just a bit. It started slowly, almost innocently, as you pressed against his leg, testing the waters to see if he would notice.

As the friction intensified, you found a steady rhythm, rocking your hips against him. The sensation of his thigh against your damp cunt sent shivers through your body, and you couldn't suppress a soft sigh.

Bruce's focus shifted from the screen to your face for a moment, a soft smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. “What’s my pretty girl up to?” he asked, gently petting your head.

"Nothin', just bored..." You punctuated your words with a roll of your hips.

He was focused, eyebrows knit in concentration as he stared at the screen in front of him, his study was quiet save for the click-clacks of the keyboard and your whines when he bounced his leg— a nervous tic of his you were thankful for in times like these— rubbing the rough fabric of his pants against your aching clit.

"Right. Well, I appreciate the company, but I can't have you here distracting me. You think you can keep yourself busy, sweet thing?"

You nodded eagerly, biting your bottom lip to suppress a smile as you pressed your clothed cunt against his crotch. His usually steady breathing became ragged, a low moan escaping him as the bulge in his slacks pushed against your aching heat.

Despite his labored breathing and obviously hard cock, he stayed focused, his hands clicking away at the keyboard while he mumbled to himself, occasionally kissing your hair.

Sure, he could've stopped working for half an hour and fucked you to sleep, but he was good at multitasking, plus, he loved the way his girl looked when she worked for what she wanted.

As the minutes passed, you found yourself lost in the rhythm, grinding against him with increasing urgency. Your nails dug into his shoulders for leverage as you pushed yourself against Bruce. His breathing grew heavier, but he still didn’t shift his focus from the screen.

“Come on, sweet thing,” he said, his voice sweet but firm. “You know I can’t help you if you don’t put in the effort.”

You huffed at his words, irritation cursing through you. The wetness of your cunt was leaving a damp patch on both your panties and his slacks as you bounced on his thighs.  

Each movement was a silent plea for him to acknowledge you, but he remained focused on his computer screen, a smirk on his face as if he enjoyed your growing impatience.

You let out a soft whine, the heat pooling in your core becoming almost unbearable. “Please,” you murmured, hoping he’d finally look up, but he just chuckled softly, still typing away.

"Just a little longer, pretty girl. I'm almost done here." He tapped your hip with compassion, his gaze set on the screen before him.

With every grind against him, the pressure built until you couldn't hold back any longer. A soft moan escaped your lips as you finally reached your peak, your body trembling with the release.

"So desperate, I barely even touched you, sweetheart." His voice was sweet, but you could catch the mockery in his tone, making your cheeks go red.

You looked down, feeling a rush of embarrassment at his words. “Well, I couldn’t help it,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper, face scrunched in a frown.

He paused his typing, finally looking at you with a sympathetic smile. “I know. You really needed that, didn’t you?”

You chuckled and slumped forward, resting your head on his chest. Bruce's arms wrapped around your waist, holding you against him.

His expression softened, and he reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and caring.

"Yeah, just a bit overwhelmed." You nodded, leaning into his touch. "But I liked it," You assured him.

"Good. That's good." He leaned in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his warmth enveloping you like a blanket.

After a moment of silence he tilted your chin up with one finger, his eyes focused on yours. "How was your day, beautiful?"

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I am currently working on a LOT of requests, but my inbox is still open!! Just be mindful they might take a bit, I'm a girl, not a machine.

[motelbabyydoll]

Omg can you please please do older bf/sugar daddy Bruce I absolutely love ur work

Older bf Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

a/n: Sorry for my absence, life has been beating me up (quite literally), but I am back in full swing. As always, the age gap is legal, I feel the need to mention it. cw: fluff, age gap, insecurities (?), smut in part 2 summary: Bruce takes you out on a date for your birthday, but when people begin to look at you wrong he takes matters into his own hands.

part 1 | part 2

You weren’t completely sure how your arrangement with Bruce had begun, but somewhere between flirty conversations at events and muttered hellos in passing, the two of you had fallen into a steady rhythm. What started as a simple acquaintance had blossomed into a relationship.

So now there you were, standing on the street outside of your apartment, phone in hand, carelessly scrolling as you waited for his car to show up. You heard it first, roaring from down the street, and then you saw it— saw him, as he rolled the window down to greet you— park in front of you.

He got out of the car and jogged towards you, embracing you once he got to you.

"How's the birthday girl doing?" He spoke into your hair, breathing you in.

"Better now that you're here." You mutter, face smushed against his shirt.

He led you back to the car, opened the door and helped you settle against the seat before jogging back to the driver's seat.

You rested your head against the car window, watching the city streets, the night lights, the traffic go by. Bruce's hand laid steadily atop your thigh, his touch warm and grounding. He squeezed your flesh periodically, as if to remind you he was there.

"I got you something, but you'll have to see it later, 'kay?" He mumbled, looking over at you, the red light of the stoplight made his sharp features stand out, his gaze almost aggressive.

"Then why tell me now?"

"Because I don't want my girl thinking I'm not spoiling her. I'd just...rather do it somewhere private." He winked at you before hitting the throttle again once the lights went green.

The first thing you noticed when you walked into the restaurant was the low lights and the soft jazz music playing. Then, you noticed the people—couples having dinner, just like you and Bruce—except they didn't look like you, not really. The women were middle-aged, dressed in classy pearl-colored dresses with tastefully painted nails, their skin pulled taut and diamonds adorning their wrists. Their husbands looked just like your boyfriend.

Bruce had assured you many times you belonged there, but standing there, waiting for the maitre'd to come over, in your high heels, red dress on hugging your waist, you couldn't have felt more out of place.

He squeezed your hand arrhythmically, brought it up to his lips, kissed your knuckles. When you did nothing in response he looked over at you, one brow raised in concern. You didn't meet his gaze, to engrossed in a staring contest with a woman in some other table. Way to spend your birthday.

Once the maitre'd got back to where you stood he excused his absence and led you to your table, in a secluded booth, away from prying eyes. Bruce had always valued privacy, more so when he started dating you, the backlash came almost instantly after your first public appearance together, and then never really stopped; you'd learned to ignore it, Bruce did the best he could to help you avoid it.

Throughout the dinner you felt their eyes on you, like phantoms poking at your skin, vipers biting at your flesh. You knew the looks you were getting without even having to turn your head.

Bruce held your hand on the table, his fingers, curious, played with your rings, your acrylics, your bracelets. He failed to notice the way your heart sped up and your eyes found solace in your lap, the way your palms began to sweat and your cheeks reddened. At least you weren't fucking crying, you thought, but then the waiter brought a birthday cake, and more eyes were on you, and you swore you were happy but god could people mind their business?

Bruce noticed after taking a photo of you, trying your hardest to smile for him, he was so happy, smiling softly under the low lights of the restaurant, his gaze sticky and thick like caramel— and then he noticed, your smile faltered for a second, your brows knit with discomfort as you tugged on your clothes, your hair, the stupid napkin on your lap that wasn't smooth enough, why wasn't it smooth enough.

"Hey," His deep voice broke you out of your worries, "let's leave. I'll get the check, you wait in the car, how does that sound?"

"Yeah, fine. Sorry, I just—"

"—got overwhelmed, I know. I know you." His voice was authoritative and sweet, in a way that made you feel protected, safe, like you could just let him take the lead and you'd get to where you needed because he always looked out for you.

You got up from your chair, gathered your stuff and exited the restaurant, trying your hardest not to break in there. The tears came as you sat in the car waiting for Bruce. You saw him move around the establishment, talking to servers and the maitre'd, from the stern look on his face it seemed like he was arguing. He always did that, got into passive aggressive arguments to defend you.

And then he walked out, winking at you, smirk on his face.

"Bought the place. We'll do some...staff rearrangements, change some of the rules...ban a few people, maybe next time we'll be able to actually enjoy our dinner in there."

Your tears dried down almost instantly, sobs replaced by giggles. "B, that's so reckless! You can't just buy a restaurant because someone in there looked at me wrong." "Yes, I can," He hummed. "It's your birthday." He argued.

Bruce had never been one for bold displays of affection— you sometimes swore he had the emotional range of a wet wipe— and he found that spending his money was a way for him to demonstrate he loved without having to risk anything. That's why you'd learned moments like this mattered, where he bought a restaurant out of spite for all of the clientele, threatening to ban them if you wanted to dine there again.

But what you liked the most was when he wasn't trying to prove he could love, when he simply did it. When he took pictures of you when you were sleeping or eating, or sitting in the yard drinking coffee in the morning, pictures he took to remember how his heart had done a little flip when he saw you like that.

When he struggled trying to post them on social media, because you looked so beautiful the whole world had to know. His usually deft fingers, so smooth when it came to Batman technology, felt too big, too heavy for instagram.

The car ride back to the manor was quiet, his hand traced small circles on the flesh of your thigh all the way. He was at your side, picking you up into his arms immediately after parking the car and killing the engine, apologetic look on his face.

"I really wanted it to be a good birthday for you, sweet thing, I'm sorry." He pressed a kiss to the side of your neck as he carried you upstairs.

"B, don't say that, it wasn't bad. I was with you."

Once he got to the bedroom he set you down on the bed, beside a pink box with black bows on it— your birthday present, lingerie. How on brand for him— but his gaze was stuck on you.

His hands caressed your ankles before he helped you kick off your shoes, finally looking away from you, offering the pink box to you by setting it on your lap.

"You don't have to wear it tonight, we can just put you to bed and leave it for tomorrow, but I thought you'd look beautiful in that." He whispered on your ear from over your shoulder.

You nodded silently and undid the bows, opening the box to reveal a black lace matching set, pretty soft pink bow at the front of the panties.

"I'll go put it on."

"Okay." He kissed the exposed skin of your back, and tapped you in the ass once you'd gotten up from the bed.

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co-written with @cherrycolaheartss tags: @laceyfaeryy, @resting-confused-face

[motelbabyydoll]

Omg Bruce Wayne after he comes home from patrol/business trip… and they missed each other… leading to…. 🫣🫣🤭

˖ ࣪ ⊹ Older bf Bale!Bruce x Bambi!reader ⊹ ࣪ ˖ mdni 18+

Warnings: female reader, age gap, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), vaginal sex, somno (whoops?? dubcon??).

a/n: Took literal ages to finish this, I'm soo sorryyyy!! But I lovedd writing it!

When Bruce got home in the early hours of the morning— before the sun came up and the birds sang, when the fog was still low on the ground and the rain pattered against car windows— he had only one thing in mind, his pretty little girl, waiting in his bed for him wearing that old Princeton crewneck he'd given you.

You had laughed when he said he'd once wanted to be a doctor, like his father. You'd asked him what happened and he'd mumbled something about uni "not being his thing". So, you wore that crewneck to bed every night, it no longer smelled like Bruce but you felt as if a part of his heart was with you while he was on patrol.

Bruce went straight to the cave, finishing up reports in front of the computer light, eyes bloodshot and tired, mind hazy. He typed almost automatically, his thoughts all revolved around you, your eyes, your smile, your hair; the soft rhythmic beating of your heart, your slow breathing as you slept. He finished up the reports and sauntered over to the shower, pulling off his cowl and taking off his suit before getting under the spray. His mind drifted to you again, his sweet girl, with plush lips that wrapped around his cock so perfectly; soft, milky thighs he could spend hours between, the soft whines coming out of your lips when his thick fingers fucked into you, harshly— Fuck. He leaned his head back in the shower, the water cascading over the hard planes of his abs.

He needed you, needed your wet cunt wrapped tightly around him, needed your hands on his shoulders, your soft moans on his ear. He needed to bury his head on your hair and smell the sweet shampoo you'd made him buy, feel your hair tickle him as he rammed into you harder.

Without even thinking about it twice he left the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist— he couldn't be bothered with clothes, not even with a robe, his mind was reeling, warmth spreading lower down his abdomen.

When he saw you, lying on his bed— duvet covers wrapped messily around your waist, one leg up over the bedcovers, thighs spread beautifully for him, as if you'd wanted him to see— he had to do a double take. In the darkness of the room he could make out the outline of your bare cunt, dripping with arousal, your inner thighs wet and sticky.

He felt his cock throb under the towel as he strode over to you. You looked so inviting, and he couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and touch you. Kneeling beside the bed, he let the towel fall away, the cool air brushing against his skin as he leaned closer.

His hands found your thighs, fingers gliding through the slickness that had gathered in between them. He reveled in the way your body instinctively responded, a soft sigh escaping your lips in your sleep.

"Shhh, just relax, sweetheart." He whispered, more to himself than to you.

He spread your thighs wider, exposing your glistening cunt to him. His fingers moved expertly through your wetness, teasing you as he leaned in, his mouth brushing against you.

His tongue flicked out to taste you and he groaned at the feeling. Fuck, He had missed you so much. Your warm cunt, sucking his tongue and fingers in so prettily.

You stirred, your body arching with need as he focused on your sensitive clit, swirling his tongue around it. You still weren't awake, not as you chased your release grinding on his face, soft, breathy moans escaping your lips.

With every flick of his tongue and every gentle suck, he pushed you closer to the edge, intent on making you cum before you awoke. He could feel the urgency in your movements, your body responding instinctively to his every touch.

As he increased the pressure, he felt your thighs tighten around his head, your moans growing louder and more desperate—you were awake, gripping onto his dark strands, pulling and pushing him wherever you needed, and he obliged.

Your hips moved in rhythm with his mouth, and when he slipped a finger inside you, curling it just right, it sent you over the edge. You gasped, your body trembling as waves of ecstasy washed over you, the release washing through you came to your senses. Bruce fucked his fingers into you, helping you ride out your orgasm.

"Bruce...need you." You rasped out, voice hoarse with sleep, as you pulled him up to lay on top of you.

"Can't say no to my pretty girl," He brushed your sweat damp bangs out of your face and kissed your lips before he positioned himself at your entrance, his cock throbbing with need. With a firm thrust, he filled you completely, the feeling sending a rush of pleasure through both of you. You moaned at the sensation, legs wrapping around his waist and hands clawing at his back.

"God you're so tight." He groaned, breath warm against your ear as he moved to kiss your temple. His rhythm became quicker, his thrusts harsher and more erratic. You could hear him groaning in pleasure as you arched your back against him, letting him het that much deeper.

Your grip on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, combined with your breathy moans in his ear—little “ah, ah, ah’s" in rhythm with his thrusts—were driving him closer to the edge quicker than he’d like to admit.

You reached your second orgasm with a particularly deep thrust, his fingers expertly working your throbbing clit. With a loud moan, you threw your head back, falling limp against the bed.

He continued to thrust into your sensitive cunt, grinding against your hips, the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix as he finally came inside you.

You felt it drip down your ass and onto the bed when he pulled out and got up to grab a wet rag.

“Bedsheets...” you called out as he walked over to the en-suite bathroom.

“We’ll deal with them in the morning,” he mumbled, returning with a warm, wet towel to clean your sensitive thighs and cunt.

He carefully wiped you down, his touch gentle as he made sure to be as soft as possible on your sensitive skin. 

“You okay?” he asked, glancing up at you with a warm smile.

“Yeah, sleepy." You replied, "But nice, relaxed."

He tossed the towel aside and crawled back into bed beside you, pulling you close. “Good. You deserve it, did so good for me.” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you.

"I tried to wait up for you, I just...was too tired." You mumbled sleepily against his chest.

"You don't have to wait up for me, sweetheart," He toyed with the hem of your sweater.

"I like to."

Truth was, you worried, and you liked knowing he'd come home to you, knowing how he'd looked and felt when he settled against you. Bruce knew that, you could only hide so much from the world's greatest detective. But he didn't say anything, he just tightened his hold on you, planting a soft kiss on your forehead as a silent thank you.

The sun began to rise outside your window, the fog dissipating and birds chirping as you drifted off to sleep in your boyfriend's strong arms. You weren't certain about many things—his whereabouts or his safety—but you knew one thing: to him, you came before anything else, and that knowledge helped you sleep at night.

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[motelbabyydoll]

Bruce renting out a whole restaurant because he knows you hate the wandering eyes and the paparazzi when you go out. He takes you to the nicest place in all of gotham as an apology for being such a workaholic in the day and batman at night😔😔

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •Husband!Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

Summary/contents: pure fluff; Bruce takes you out on a date to make up for lost time.

a/n: I loveee when you guys send me asks and requests, omggg!! Also love writing Bale!Bruce so much, he's the love of my life. Also, it took me like three days to write this I feel like all the fluff I write sounds impersonal, but you girls eat it up so...here you go!!

When you got a phone call from Bruce at four p.m. on a friday you fully expected him to call bearing bad news— delayed flights, injuries, unprecedented ammounts of work— and muttering apologies. You were pleasantly surprised when his voice did not come out strained, instead it dripped sweet like honey in a way that made your cheeks flush.

"Hello, pretty girl," His voice was slightly muffled by the electronic static of the telephone.

"Hi, Brucie. Is everything okay?" You tried to sound calm but worry etched itself in between your words like like veins.

He exhaled into the microphone and the speaker of your device crackled slightly. Your heart clenched in your chest for a second before he spoke again.

"Yeah, just tired. I'm on the plane home, though." You could feel the smile on his face from the way he spoke. He sounded calm, but there was something in his tone that unnerved you, you could feel there was something he was withholding from you.

"What are you not telling me?" You asked, your tone wasn't accusatory, it was supportive, curious.

"Huh— I'm not—" He chuckled and sighed. "I'm sorry, darling."

"About?" You knew exactly what about, he hated prioritizing anything but you, but he had to do it. You'd tried to make him see how hypocritical he sounded but relented when he wouldn't budge.

"I've been busy for so long, I practically ignored you for weeks...I just...am sorry."

"Bruce, I know you're busy, it's kind of your thing." You chuckled.

The speaker crackled again. "What I was getting at...are you free tonight?"

"Are you?" you retorted.

"I'm your man until eleven p.m. baby." He exclaimed.

"Got anything planned?"

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You were getting ready when you heard the familiar beeping and screeching sounds of the gates opening, and you rushed down the stairs— heels clicking furiously against the hardwood stairs— to meet him. As soon as Bruce stepped foot in the manor his bags were on the ground and you in his arms. He held onto the nearby furniture to steady himself.

"Careful, you could get hurt." His words were serious but his tone soft.

"No, how would I get hurt?" You perked up.

"What if I hadn't caught you?" He brushed your bangs out of your face.

"Don't be stupid."

The idea that Bruce would let you slip, let alone fall on the ground when he was around was nothing short of ridiculous, since when you walked on the street with him he'd take the side closest to the road, when you wore heels he'd keep a steadying hand on the small of your back. It was obvious he'd always be there to catch you when you fell.

He pulled away from the embrace and looked you over, his finger came up to brush your bangs away from your face again, lingering against your cheek.

"Are you ready to go?" He asked. His eyes holding your gaze hostage.

You hummed in confirmation and he steered you over to the garage.

On the phone he'd mentioned a reservation for dinner, and you'd groaned, said you didn't want cameras and prying eyes around for your date, not when you hadn't done this in so long.

You'd gotten used to the attention— you'd had to learn to deal with it if you wanted to be with Bruce— but that didn't mean the hungry stares and flashes everywhere didn't annoy you. But he had assured you everything would be fine and nobody would be watching you.

You eyed him as you got in the car and he looked at you before backing out of the driveway and onto the road. His hand rested on your thigh tracing little shapes absentmindedly as you sped through the city in his car. He noticed your unwavering stare and chuckled.

"Stop staring." He warned, a smile pulling at his lips.

"I just want to know what you did this time." You narrowed your eyes at him.

His arm flexed when he squeezed the flesh of your thigh and let out a chuckle.

"You'll see in—" he lifted up his watch to his face and looked back at you. "five minutes, hopefully. Forgot it was a friday."

City traffic was always bad in the weekends, especially at night. The Gotham city streets were flooded with cabs and ubers (filled with young people eager to get into whatever club they could) and couples going out to dinner— much like Bruce and you.

You got off the car in front of an upscale restaurant you'd talked to Bruce about before, and you were shocked to see there wasn't a line outside, in fact, it was empty inside.

You were about to protest, tell Bruce maybe you should go somewhere else if this was closed, but he got out of the car quickly and jogged over to your side, opening the door and helping you out. That's when you saw the Maitre'd was outside, welcoming the both of you in with a smile.

"Did you book the entire place?" You asked, leaning closer to him as the Maitre'd, a short, thin blond man, ushered you to your table.

You sat in a table near the bar, away from all doors and windows. It felt oddly calm, like all that existed in that momen was your husband and the food before you.

You listened as he talked about business deals, nodding along as if you understood— you didn't, but it was really hot when he went into detail about the things he cared about.

After dinner you drove back home, tipsy on the wine you'd had during your meal and fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

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Next morning you awoke to a sight you hadn't witnessed in a long time, Bruce was laying in bed beside you, the covers were wrapped around his waist lazily. The saturday morning sun filtered through the curtains and cast a soft glow on his features. His eyes were closed, long lashes brushing his cheeks. You could see some yellow and purple-ish marks on his arms and chest, and a stitched up cut on his side that, judging by the look of it, he'd sewn himself.

You rested your head on Bruce's chest and brushed the hair away from his face. He looked so peaceful in this light, so calm, you could almost forget the life you were leading. Because as much as you were aware that Bruce was an heir to a fortune and a vigilante, he was just your husband to you.

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requests are open!!

[motelbabyydoll]

* ⊹₊⟡⋆ Bruce Wayne and casual acts of dominance * ⊹₊⟡⋆

warnings: established relationship, age gap, fluff

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Bruce was orphaned as a child, taken in by his butler. He’d never learned how to love, never had a role model to follow, so all his relationships fell apart with disinterest. But then you came into his life, pretty young thing, always so obedient— and he found a way to express his feelings.

It’s not that he was controlling or obsessive; he just wanted to be a part of your life. So, little by little, in order not to scare you away—Bruce was incredibly self-conscious about this habit, a desire he had never experienced before, but with you, it consumed him—he made his presence known in your life through control.

It all started when you had been together for about five months. You didn’t—couldn’t—know he was Batman. It’s not that he didn’t trust you; it’s that he had to protect you. He let you lean on him, trusting him completely to take care of you.

Anytime you were out in public together, his hands were on you—protectively at the small of your back, holding your waist or the back of your neck. You’d stopped paying attention to stoplights when you walked with him, most of the time too entranced in conversation to make a move in time, because he’d press his fingers on the side of your neck, holding it from the back, and you’d halt—automatic.

When you went out on your own, he’d make suggestions about your outfit, the jewelry you picked, your hair—anything. They weren’t critiques; there was no bite to the comments, just adoration.

When you told him, frustrated, that you couldn’t decide which top to wear, he practically salivated. He enjoyed choosing things for you, offering that helping hand.

“Bruce, black or red top?” you asked, already annoyed at how late you’d be.

“Black; it brings out your eyes,” he replied quickly, shooting you a million-dollar smile.

You never argued, never complained. At first, he felt like such an asshole for wanting to have his hands on everything you did, but you liked it as much as he did.

When you went out to a restaurant and settled at your table, making light conversation after ordering drinks, you’d always ask him to order for you. He was older, wiser, and you just didn’t want the hassle of choosing what pasta dish to eat. But that wasn’t all of it; you liked being able to let go. He took the lead when you were together, and you could just relax.

Most of all, Bruce liked feeling useful. He liked having a reason to be around you. He didn’t feel deserving of your affection when you two started dating—although he never said that to you—and he believed that having a purpose in your life would grant him a ticket to stay there with you. His purpose was to protect you, even if sometimes that behavior came off as controlling.

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Requests are open 🫶🏻

masterlist

saw my queen @fear-is-truth posted smthn about Bruce and casual acts of dominance too, hadn’t seen it before I wrote this and I’m in no way plagiarizing it, but check out her post anyway!!

[motelbabyydoll]

aftercare with bruce😻

a/n: I'm finally back and getting to my inbox, I missed you all so much! SOSOSO SORRY FOR MY ABSENCE and thank you so muchhh for 800 followers wowzas that is a shit ton of people! cw: established relationship, age gap, mentions of sex, fluff

⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚ mdni (18+)˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆

There's a couple ways this can go:

The first one is after lazy morning sex, on a Sunday morning, the sunlight filtered in through the windows as you caught your breath, panting against Bruce's bare chest. You were still dazed from the sex, cheeks flushed and hair messy, so you failed to notice him untangling from your grasp and getting up, you only realized when the cold morning air hit your body.

"Brucie?" You croaked, stretching on the bed, sleep still clinging to your limbs like plastic wrap.

"I'll be right back. Just going to get water and something to clean you up with. Need anything?" He turned around to face you, his hair was messy and damp with sweat and his eyes softened in the sunlight when he looked at you.

"Just water. And a kiss, maybe."

"As many kisses as you wish, darling." He winked at you and left the room. His sweatpants were low on his hips, exposing his toned back, littered with scars and bruises, moles and freckles. After years of being together you still found yourself blushing and giggling like a schoolgirl at every little thing he did, it was like you were completely dazed.

In that short period of time when he left the room you basked it all in, the sunlight, the love, the trust. It was comforting, lulling you to sleep.

A steady hand on your shoulder and a whisper of your name woke you up. A kiss on your forehead and a glass of water in your hand. Bruce dipped between your sensitive thighs and wiped the mess with a warm cloth, the friction made you shiver. When he was done he kissed his way up your body and laid beside you, waiting for you to curl up against him.

You laid together in silence that was only broken by the birds chirping outside your window and the faint but constant noise of cars driving by. The steady rise and fall of his chest when he breathed made you fall asleep, and this time he didn't wake you, he brushed the hair out of your face and kissed your forehead.

The second one is after patrol, heart thumping in his chest and adrenaline cursing through his veins. In those times, he wasn't your sweet but commanding Brucie— he was still batman when he fucked you hard and fast into the mattress, pulling you every which way he needed, gripping you hard enough to bruise, pulling and slapping hard enough for tears to fill your eyes and your stomach to coil in the sweetest way.

He was quiet as he caught his breath, languid and slow when he pulled out of you, kissed your lips and cheeks and pulled you against him.

He grabbed your face softly, his icy blue eyes scanning your face for any sense of discomfort but he didn't find any, all he found was your sweet smile and tired eyes, he found love in your gaze and that scared him because he could have hurt you, and you had liked it.

"What?" You whispered, not daring to raise your voice, as if the volume would scare him away.

He didn't reply, he shrugged and kissed you again. He wanted to say things, that he was sorry, that he loved you; he wanted to thank you for putting up with him, with batman, but the words caught in his throat and all he did was grunt softly and murmur 'good night' before burrowing close to you like a cat.

Neither of you got up, neither of you cleaned up, you both fell asleep in the damp bedsheets, pressed against each other. His skin was warm, hot like a furnace, and you practically purred when he hugged you closer. You'd shower in the morning, as he whispered apologies and pressed soft kisses on your bruised skin.

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taglist:@resting-confused-face @laceyfaeryy @cherrycolaheartss

[motelbabyydoll]

what are some bruce headcanons u have? i mean like what do u think he smells like? music he likes? his favourite food etc.

a/n: Hiii!! Omg yes! There’s so many iterations of Bruce, and I think they’re all veryyy different so I’ll write specifically about (my man) Bale!Bruce Wayne. Warnings: none, these are all sfw (my nsfw Bruce headcanons are here)

warnings: established relationship, age gap (legal), fluff— really the same thing as always.

Bruce smells really good and he prides himself on the fact. He likes colognes and perfumes that smell fresh, clean, notes of jasmine or talc because he subconsciously associates them with family, with comfort, since his parents' scents smelled like that.

On another note, I don’t think he’d be into woody or very sweet scents because he finds them overwhelming.

He’s perfectly fit and healthy but will let out an over exaggerated groan whenever he sits down on the couch. And then he’ll sigh as if that was pure exertion. Same thing whenever he leans down to pick something up, whenever he carries something heavy, when he crouches or gets on his knees.

But he will never do that when he’s on patrol, when he’s in the suit he could very well be twenty years old. (he does it for attention)

He will NEVER ask for help with anything. He grew up practically alone, with only Alfred to guide him, and he feels entitled to get his butler’s help with anything he needs (obviously so), but he’d never willingly go seeking for help.

I think it’s also a kind of I don’t need help, I’m so independent type mindset.

HOWEVER, when you offer your help he will quickly (although begrudgingly) accept your help, not before telling you how little he needs it. Really, he is fine, you needn’t worry. But, fine, if you’re offering so nicely. Will tell you he does it so you shut up, totally doing it because he likes spending time with you, and kind of actually needed help.

He’s always busy, wether it’s for Wayne Enterprises stuff or Batman stuff doesn’t matter, he always has something to do, some deadline breathing down his neck, which in turn means he spends most of his time at the cave or locked up in his study.

That’s why he loves mornings. Waking up to you in his arms, fast asleep. He’ll bask in the quiet early morning sunshine for a few minutes, brush your hair back from your face, trace the slope of your nose with one finger, softly, as if to not wake you up.

When you wake up, meet his eyes through your lashes, he’ll kiss the top of your head and go shower.

He’ll have coffee with you every morning, listening to you sleepily chat about anything and everything. It’s your time to catch up every morning, you’ll barely see him for the rest of the day, so he tells you (as little as he can) about his nightly escapades.

He’ll talk about hating memes and internet culture and how it rots your brain but he’ll laugh at the cat videos you send him.

If you send him memes he won’t understand a single one, and he’ll feel so bad if you call him old because of it because he feels so guilty about your age gap.

A reporter once called him a cradle robber and his face went so white you could’ve sworn he saw a ghost.

He likes calm music that will slow his heartbeat, listens to frank sinatra, Sade and jazz. Owns a record player but will play his music through his phone and speakers, he’s the type of guy who will ask you why you’d want a cd or record if you can just use apple music. YES, HE IS AN APPLE MUSIC MAN, DON’T PLAY WITH ME.

Doesn’t really get the value of money and loves giving gifts so he’ll shower you in little presents. You’ll be walking down the street, make an offhand comment about how a dress or a top in a shop window is so pretty and he will pull you inside the store, a hand firmly resting on the small of your back.

He will gift you random presents throughout the year, mostly jewelry and clothes— things he can see you in; however, when it comes to birthday presents or christmas presents he is extremely thoughtful. A book you mentioned in passing one time, the concert you’d been talking about dying to go to, a weekend trip for you and your friends.

Bruce is kind of old fashioned when it comes to his moral values (it happens when an old british man is your butler) in the sense that he prides himself on the fact that he is the one who takes care of you, who loves you. He’ll get you flowers for every date, send flowers to your house if he can’t make it to dinner, and always send a bouquet to your door at the start of the week (with a little note, sometimes an attempt at a joke, sometimes more romantic things).

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tags: @laceyfaeryy @cherrycolaheartss @resting-confused-face