bruce wayne x wife!reader ⸝⸝⸝ bruce is really, really in love w you <3 fluff, suggestive-ish (wc: 531)
bruce wayne has known you for a long time now. he’s memorized you in every light, every season, every quiet little state of being. still, sometimes, you hit him like something brand new.
one morning, you’re sitting at the kitchen island in one of his shirts, half awake, eating strawberries straight from the carton. bruce stops in the doorway.
you glance up eventually. “what?”
“nothing,” he says.
“you’ve been standing there forever.”
he walks over, bends down, and kisses your temple like that explains anything.
you watch him suspiciously as he pulls away to pour his coffee. “you’re being weird.”
“you’re very beautiful.”
the way he says it is so solemn that you nearly laugh. “you’re just now figuring that out?”
“no.” he looks at you again, softer this time. “but knowing and getting used to it are apparently two very different things.”
you have to look away before he catches your shy smile. which is ridiculous, really. you’re capable of facing gotham’s worst and keeping its best-kept secret, but one painfully sincere compliment from your husband is enough to crack your composure.
♡⸝⸝
at galas, he’s somehow worse.
he’s already seen you get ready. he was the one who zipped up the dress while you fastened your earrings in the mirror. yet halfway through the evening, without fail, he looks up from an important conversation and finds you across the room.
you’re laughing at something he can’t hear, and his attention drifts further from the person in front of him with every second he watches. then your eyes meet his, and he doesn’t stand a chance.
his expression betrays him just enough for you to catch the exact moment he loses the thread of what he’s saying. you give him a second to recover, but he never quite does. taking pity on him, you cross the floor to put him out of his misery.
when you reach him, you adjust his tie. “close your mouth, handsome.”
“it’s not—”
“it was a little,” you correct, entirely too pleased with yourself.
he lets it go, too distracted by your perfume and how close you’re standing to remember whatever excuse he was about to give anyway.
♡⸝⸝
but it’s in bed, with all of his attention fixed on you, that you undo him completely.
you’re tangled together, everything warm and unhurried, when bruce stops mid-breath, his hands going still against your skin.
you open your eyes. “what’s wrong?”
he doesn’t answer. instead, his thumb finds your jaw, tracing it slowly, and the question dies between you. your heart does something stupid because he’s forgotten to be careful with his face. he’s looking at you like he still can’t believe the world made someone like you and then, for reasons he may never understand, let him keep you.
his thumb lingers at the curve of your face before he leans down and presses his mouth to the place where your neck meets your shoulder. you breathe his name into the dark and pull him closer.
afterward, he stays there, his forehead resting against yours while you both catch your breath. when his eyes open again, he’s still looking at you with that same wonder.
Summary: The kids discover Bruce once almost dated the reader (a family friend), and decide to set them up again. Their methods are absurdly over-the-top: fake dinner invites, “accidental” stakeouts, and staged emergencies. Alfred just quietly enables them.
requests are open
dividers by @cafekitsune
It started, as most things in Wayne Manor did, with someone finding something they weren't supposed to.
"Oh my GOD."
Dick looked up from his phone to find Tim staring at a photo in the Manor's library, his expression somewhere between delighted and scandalized.
"What?"
"Look at this." Tim held up a framed photograph that had been hidden behind several books. It showed a much younger Bruce Wayne, pre-Batman, maybe early twenties, with his arm around someone at what looked like a gala. He was smiling. Actually, genuinely smiling.
"Is that... "
"That's them," Tim said. "Bruce's friend. The one who visits sometimes."
Dick took the photo. Bruce wasn't just smiling. He was looking at you like you'd hung the moon and personally appointed him astronomer. "Holy shit. Bruce had a game?"
"Had been the operative word." Tim pulled out his phone and started typing. "Emergency meeting. My room. Twenty minutes."
"For what?"
"We're fixing Bruce's love life."
Twenty minutes later, Dick, Tim, Jason (who'd come in through the window), Damian (who'd been dragged from the Cave), and Duke (who'd brought popcorn) were assembled.
"This is ridiculous," Damian said. "Father's personal life is none of our concern."
"It is when he's been pining for like twenty years," Tim said, pulling up a presentation on his laptop. Yes, he'd made a presentation. "Observe."
The first slide was titled "BRUCE WAYNE: A ROMANTIC TRAGEDY."
Jason snorted. "You made a PowerPoint?"
"I made a case file." Tim clicked to the next slide, which showed a timeline. "They met in college. Dated for approximately two years. Broke up right before Bruce left for his training... "
"Emotional avoidance as self-protection," Dick noted. "Classic Bruce."
"... and they've maintained a friendship for over two decades despite obvious lingering feelings. Exhibit A." Tim pulled up security footage from last month showing you and Bruce in the Manor's garden, talking and laughing. "Notice the body language. The sustained eye contact. The way he actually smiles... "
"Father smiles," Damian protested weakly.
"Not like that," all four of his brothers said in unison.
Duke raised his hand. "So what's the plan?"
"We get them back together."
"Absolutely not." Damian crossed his arms. "We are not meddling in... "
"There's a 73% chance Bruce dies alone, surrounded only by case files and bats," Tim said.
"...I'm listening."
Phase One: Intelligence Gathering
"Master Dick," Alfred said, setting down tea in the Batcave. "Might I ask why you're reviewing security footage from five years ago?"
"Research." Dick didn't look up from the screen showing you and Bruce at a charity gala, dancing and talking like the rest of the world had ceased to exist. "Alfred, be honest. Does Bruce still have feelings for them?"
Alfred was quiet for a moment. "Master Bruce's feelings are his own to discuss."
"That's a yes."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't deny it." Dick turned around. "What happened? Why did they break up?"
Alfred sighed, setting down his tray. "Master Bruce was... younger. More afraid. He'd just begun to understand what he wanted to do with his life, what he needed to become. He believed, incorrectly, in my opinion, that he couldn't be Batman and be with someone he loved."
"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
"Yes, well. Master Bruce has always had a remarkable talent for self-sabotage." Alfred moved toward the stairs, then paused. "If hypothetically, someone were planning to remind Master Bruce what he's been missing... I would recommend Thursday evening. He's invited them to dinner."
"Alfred, are you helping us?"
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Master Dick." But there was a smile in his voice.
Phase Two: The Dinner Setup
Thursday arrived. You showed up at the Manor at seven, dressed nicely but confused.
"Bruce said it was just a casual dinner," you said as Alfred took your coat.
"Ah. Master Bruce may have... misunderstood the nature of this evening."
"What do you... "
You walked into the dining room and stopped. The table was set for two, with candles, flowers, and what was definitely the fancy china.
Bruce appeared in a suit, a nice suit, not a business suit, and froze when he saw the setup.
"Alfred."
"Yes, Master Bruce?" Alfred's voice came from somewhere in the house, innocent as anything.
"Why does this look like... "
"A romantic dinner?" you supplied, trying not to laugh. "Bruce, did you accidentally ask me on a date?"
"No. Maybe. Alfred!" He was already loosening his tie, which you'd learned over the years was his nervous tell. "This was supposed to be just dinner. Regular dinner. Friend dinner."
From behind a door, Tim gave Jason a thumbs-up. Phase Two: Success.
"We could... still have a friend dinner?" you offered, but you were smiling. "The food smells amazing."
Bruce visibly relaxed. "Right. Yes. Just dinner. With a friend. Please ignore the... " he gestured helplessly at the romantic setup, "... everything."
Dinner was actually lovely. You and Bruce fell into easy conversation, talking about everything and nothing. From their hiding spot, the kids watched through the cracked door.
"They're perfect together," Duke whispered.
"This is taking too long," Jason muttered. "We need to escalate."
"Patience," Dick said. "Let them... "
Damian stood up and walked directly into the dining room.
"DAMIAN, NO... "
"Father, there's been an incident at the Gotham Museum. Possible break-in. Your immediate attention is required."
Bruce was already standing. "What kind of... "
"I'll handle it," you said quickly, also standing. "You stay, finish dinner... "
"No, I should... "
"Bruce. Sit. Eat Alfred's cooking. I've got this." You were already heading for the door. "Damian, brief me on the way."
After you left, Bruce sat back down slowly, looking at his half-eaten dinner.
"There is no incident at the museum, is there?" he said quietly.
From the hallway, Damian's voice: "I have no idea what you're referring to, Father."
Phase Three: The Stakeout
"I don't understand why we all need to be here," you said, perched on a rooftop in the Diamond District next to Batman and four Robins.
"Intelligence suggests a potential heist," Bruce said, not looking at you.
"Uh-huh. And you needed your entire team plus me for surveillance?"
"Better safe than sorry," Nightwing said cheerfully. He was way too cheerful.
What followed was possibly the most awkward stakeout in vigilante history. Red Hood kept making comments about "chemistry" and "unresolved tension." Robin was uncharacteristically quiet but kept maneuvering so you and Batman were standing close together. Red Robin had "accidentally" brought only one set of binoculars, which you and Bruce had to share.
"Your kids are not subtle," you murmured to Bruce.
"They're not trying to be." He sounded tired. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's gotten into them."
"Really? You don't?" You looked at him, studied the line of his jaw under the cowl. "Bruce, we need to talk about... "
"FIRE!" Signal shouted. "There's a fire at the, uh, the place! You two should check it out! Alone! Together!"
There was no fire.
There was, however, a very pointed conversation in the Batmobile afterward where Bruce demanded to know what was going on.
"We're helping," Tim said through the comm.
"Helping with what?"
"Your crippling inability to express emotions," Jason added.
"I'm going to ground all of you."
"You can't ground me, I don't even live here anymore."
Phase Four: The Intervention
It all came to a head the following Tuesday when you showed up at the Manor for a completely normal visit and found all four boys plus Duke sitting in the living room like an intervention.
"Okay, what's going on?"
"We need to talk about you and Bruce," Dick said.
"Excuse me?"
"You're in love with him," Tim said bluntly. "He's in love with you. You've both been dancing around it for literally decades. It's painful to watch."
You opened your mouth. Closed it. "I, that's not, we're friends."
"You look at him the way Alfred looks at perfectly organized tea services," Damian said.
"That's... actually really sweet, but... "
"And Father looks at you the way he looks at finally solved cases," Damian continued. "With satisfaction and longing and... "
"Okay, we're not unpacking Bruce's emotional connections to detective work right now," Dick interrupted. "The point is, you both clearly have feelings. Why aren't you together?"
You sat down slowly. "It's... complicated."
"Complicated how?" Duke asked gently.
"Bruce and I dated in college. It was serious. Really serious. And then he left to 'find himself'... " you made air quotes, "... and when he came back, he was different. Closed off. He said he couldn't be what I needed, that his life was too dangerous, too complicated."
"That's the dumbest... " Jason started.
"I know!" You ran a hand through your hair. "But I respected his choice. We stayed friends. And yes, I still have feelings, but Bruce made it clear that he chose his mission over... over us."
"That was before he had us," Dick said quietly. "Before he learned that he could have both. A mission and a family."
"You think he's changed?"
"We know he has," Tim said. "But he's still an idiot about his own feelings. Which is why we're intervening."
"By sabotaging our dinner and creating fake emergencies?"
"The emergencies weren't fake!" Damian protested. "They were... strategically exaggerated."
Despite yourself, you laughed. "You're all insane."
"We learned from the best," Jason said. "So what do you say? Give the old man another chance?"
"I don't know if... "
"What's going on here?"
Everyone turned. Bruce stood in the doorway in his workout clothes, sweaty and confused.
"Oh, good, you're here," Dick said. "Sit down. We're talking about your feelings."
"My what?"
"Your feelings. For them." Tim pointed at you. "And before you deny it, we've seen the photo from college, we've analyzed your body language, and Alfred confirmed it."
"Alfred did what?"
From the kitchen: "I merely provided context, Master Bruce!"
Bruce looked at you. You looked at him. The kids watched like this was the season finale of their favorite show.
"Can we talk?" Bruce said, finally. "Privately?"
"Please."
You ended up in Bruce's study, the door firmly closed on four, no, five- Duke had joined, eavesdropping vigilantes.
"I'm sorry," Bruce said immediately. "About them. About the dinners and the stakeouts and... "
"Bruce." You stepped closer. "Is it true?"
"Is what true?"
"Do you still have feelings for me?"
He was quiet for a long moment. "I never stopped."
Your heart did something complicated in your chest. "Then why... "
"Because I'm Batman." He said it like it explained everything. "My life is dangerous. The people I care about get hurt. I thought, I convinced myself that staying away from you romantically was protecting you."
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
"I'm getting that a lot lately." He almost smiled. "I was young and stupid and scared. And by the time I realized I'd made a mistake, we were friends, and I thought I'd lost my chance."
"Bruce." You took his hands. "I've been in your life for twenty years. I know about Batman. I've patched up your kids, I've helped with cases, I've been here for all of it. I'm already in danger just by knowing you. Being your friend or being your... something more doesn't change that."
"I know. I know that now. But I didn't want to be selfish... "
"It's not selfish to want to be happy." You squeezed his hands. "And for the record? I never moved on either. I dated other people, but no one was ever... you."
Bruce looked at you like he had in that old photo, like you were something precious and rare. "I don't deserve... "
"Stop. Don't finish that sentence." You stepped even closer. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to ask me out. Properly. And we're going to go on a date. A real one, not one orchestrated by your children. And we're going to figure this out together, because that's what we should have done twenty years ago."
"What if something happens? What if you get hurt because of me?"
"Then you'll save me. Or I'll save myself. Or one of your many children will save me. Bruce, you can't protect everyone from everything. You're allowed to have this."
He was quiet, and you could see him processing, recalibrating twenty years of self-imposed isolation.
"Dinner," he said finally. "Tomorrow night. Just us. I'll pick you up at seven."
"That sounds perfect."
"And no interference from... " he raised his voice, "... ANYONE LISTENING AT THE DOOR."
Scrambling sounds. A muffled "abort, abort!"
You laughed, and Bruce, actual Bruce, not Batman, not the mask, smiled at you.
"They mean well," you said.
"They're insufferable."
"They're your kids."
"Unfortunately."
You kissed his cheek, gentle and full of promise. "Seven o'clock. Don't be late."
"I'm never late."
"You're always late."
"That's Batman who's late. Bruce Wayne is very punctual."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
After you left, Bruce opened the study door to find all five of his children plus Alfred trying to look innocent.
"How much did you hear?"
"All of it," Jason said proudly. "You're welcome, by the way."
"I should ground all of you."
"But you won't," Dick said, grinning. "Because we were right and you know it."
"Master Bruce," Alfred said, stepping forward with a small smile. "For what it's worth, I'm very proud of you. It only took you two decades."
"Not you too, Alfred."
"Someone had to ensure you didn't die alone in this manor, surrounded only by case files and emotional repression."
"That's what I said!" Tim high-fived Alfred.
Bruce looked at his family, his ridiculous, meddling, loving family, and sighed.
"If this goes badly, I'm blaming all of you."
"It won't," Damian said with absolute certainty. "We're Waynes. We don't fail."
"Also, they're totally in love with you," Duke added. "Like, painfully obvious."
"Everyone out. Now."
As they filed out, laughing and high-fiving, Alfred lingered.
"The blue suit, Master Bruce. Wear the blue suit tomorrow."
"Alfred... "
"It brings out your eyes. Trust me."
After everyone left, Bruce sat at his desk and pulled out that old photo from college. You and him, young and happy and stupidly in love.
Maybe his kids were right.
Maybe he was allowed to have this.
The Next Night
Bruce showed up at your apartment at exactly 6:58 PM in a blue suit.
You opened the door, saw him standing there with flowers and that soft expression he only wore around people he truly cared about, and smiled.
"You're early."
"I'm on time."
"For you, that's early." You took the flowers. "Let me put these in water, and we can go."
The restaurant was perfect. The conversation was easy. And when Bruce reached across the table to take your hand, it felt like coming home.
Back at the Manor, five vigilantes and one butler watched the tracker they'd definitely-not-secretly placed on Bruce's car.
"They're still at dinner," Tim reported. "Two hours and counting."
"Think he's going to propose tonight?" Jason asked.
"Don't be ridiculous," Dick said. "He'll wait at least three dates."
"I give it one month before he's shopping for rings," Duke said.
"Two weeks," Damian countered.
Alfred just smiled and poured the tea.
"Ten pounds says they're engaged by Christmas," he said calmly.
Everyone stared at him.
"Alfred!" Dick said. "You can't bet on… okay, you're on. I say New Year's."
If you had told Bruce Wayne five years ago that he’d officially be married to the woman of his dreams, he would say there’s no way.
If you were to tell him that not only was he married but he also finally got to experience the baby stage of having children, he’d tell you to get out and stop trying to mess with him. Yet here he is, finally experiencing the stage of a child’s life he never got to with his other children.
Who knew that the best way for Bruce Wayne to settle down was to be nap trapped by a twelve pound three month old. It hasn’t been easy for anyone in the family, it was the biggest adjustment the both of you had to face. Having six children and bypassing the baby stage made it even harder. By the time each child came into your lives, they could already talk, walk, and basically survive without the both of you constantly hovering over them.
However the minute little Martha was conceived, the life you knew was over.
“Bruce I’m telling you, that’s a second a line.”
“It could be a faulty test, an evaporation line.”
“For the world’s greatest detective, your deduction skills need to be brushed up on. You watched me pee on four other tests. All of which confirmed that there’s a fetus,” you sighed and set the last of the pregnancy test on the sink counter before turning to him.
“What’re we going to do? We have no idea how to take care of a baby”
“We will figure it out. We always do.” He replied and pulled you in for a hug.
“A baby.” You say again still in disbelief.
“Our baby,” he confirms and rubs your back.
“What’re you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that this baby is going to be loved and that they’ll have to learn to survive in a house with six older siblings,” he replied softly with a teasing tone. You laughed and hugged him a bit tighter.
Since then the two of you did figure it out. Well… as much as you could. Bruce panicked a bit when you heard the heartbeat for the first time. Instead of talking it out like he knows he should’ve, he used Batman.
“Are you and Bruce fighting?” Dick asked one day as he came to Wayne Enterprises to have lunch with you.
“What? No, why would you say that?” You replied as you shuffled papers around at your desk so he could set the food he brought down.
“He’s been more stressed than usual. Swearing that our patrols haven’t been enough. That we’re not getting enough done.” Dick replies as he flopped in the chair across from you.
You bite the inside of your cheek and sigh. “We’re not fighting but he is stressed. I’ll talk to him about it”
You and Bruce did talk about it later that day. It was honestly more like you chewing him out.
“You’re pushing yourself too hard, you’re pushing the kids too hard.”
“I’m trying to make everything go smoothly so when you’ll need me further in the pregnancy I can be there”
“Gotham’s always going to need you Bruce but it can survive without Batman. It’s not like there’s not at-least six other vigilantes that can keep watch in your place.” You say a bit teasingly.
He grumbles, a sign he’s not impressed.
“We should tell the kids. I’d rather they hear it from us than figure it out on their own”
“You’re barely nine weeks along, we should wait.”
“I’m two months along, and luckily the first trimester has been good to me. I want to tell the kids.”
“Okay”
Cue trying to gather all your children before patrol and trying to make sure everyone is in Gotham for the announcement. This was a much harder task than you thought it’d be but you succeeded.
In front of you and Bruce, all dressed in their uniforms stood Dick, Jason, Cass, Tim, Duke, and Damian.
“Right, so before everyone gets going for patrol. I want to tell you all something important.”
“Are you dying?” The question came from Jason followed by a “Are you sick?” From Tim.
“No and No. I’m pregnant.” You say, figuring the best way to get it over with was just to say it outright.
It was quiet for a bit then the yelling came,
“Pregnant?! You guys are having a baby?” Jason reacted first
“I knew Bruce was acting weird when I went to see you last week!” Dick yelled over Jason.
“Congratulations mom! How far along are you?” Cass, comes up to hug you and then Bruce.
“Congrats you two,” Duke came up next and gave you both a half hug.
“Does this mean we all have to help orrr?” Tim asked next.
After the initial shock went down, the boys gave their congratulations, all except Damian who just stood there silent.
“Dami? You alright?” You asked softly approaching him.
“I’m fine mother, congratulations to you and father,” he says a little harsh before turning away.
It took a lot of encouragement and reassurance for Damian to finally come around to the idea of being a big brother.
The rest of your pregnancy was relatively easy going if you consider always having a bodyguard in the forms of your husband, sons, and daughter, easy going. Everyone hovered but it was out of love.
When you finally went into labor, everyone lost their minds. Bruce, for once lost his cool.
“We need to get you to the hospital. Your water broke.”
“Bruce my contractions aren’t even consistent right now. We have time.” You argued.
That argument didn’t last long as baby Wayne was just as impatient as their father.
Less than three hours later in a private suite at Gotham General, your sweet baby girl Martha Alice Wayne was born. Bruce cried when he heard her cry. He cried again when he cut the umbilical cord and held her for the first time.
“She’s perfect” he whispered as he held her to his chest.
“She is. Bruce Wayne officially a father to two girls now. How’s it feel?”
“Unreal, I don’t have any idea what I’m doing but having her in my arms just feels right”
Since that day in the hospital when Martha was born, Bruce felt like a whole new person. Which is how now, even after the more lack of sleep than usual, the millions of dirty diapers, the tantrums, and spit up, Bruce does his best to enjoy every second of it.
Even if that means being nap trapped and screamed at by a three month old.
A.N: I literally couldn’t get this out of my head since I went on a Batman rereading spree. DC give him a tiny baby now. I can definitely see myself making more fics on this in particular, especially with Bruce and processing his feelings and Damian’s reaction. Hope you guys liked it! Love ya
˗ˏˋ ꒰ summary ꒱ ˎˊ˗ lazy sunday mornings and crosswords with husband!Bruce Wayne ᝰ.ᐟ
The kitchen smells faintly of freshly printed newspaper and coffee, and there, sitting at the table doused in the early morning rays, is your husband in all his glory, broad shoulders wrapped in a pressed cashmere sweater, his usually schooled hair tussled and a very concentrated frown cemented across his handsome face.
“Having trouble with the crossword?” you muse playfully from the doorway, watching as his expression instantly melts into something much more relaxed, tender in his gaze when he turns to you.
“Mm, waiting for you actually.” He grins, leaning back in his chair and tilting his head to really look at you through half-lidded eyes. “Come here, beautiful.”
He reaches out to drag a chair closer to his own, and you plop yourself down beside him where your coffee mug sits, still hot, prepared for your arrival. You lean your elbows against the table, peering down at the crossword as Bruce runs his fingers up and down your spine over the silk of your nightdress— always needing to be touching you in some way, shape or form.
“Hmm, three down, maladroit.” You hum, tapping the page with your chin jutted.
You watch him fill in the empty squares with a sleek ballpoint as you take a sip of your coffee, your foot gently hooking around his ankle underneath the table.
“Clever girl.” Bruce praises, smiling proudly as he reaches out a hand to push your sleep-tussled hair behind your ear, letting his knuckles, slightly banged up from last night's patrol, graze over your warm cheek. “Did you sleep alright?”
“Mhm, I slept better when you got home, though.” You reply honestly, letting him curl his hand around yours and guiding it up towards his face, your palm warm from holding the mug.
“I’ll try to come home earlier tonight.” A part of you doesn’t believe him, but you don’t argue.
Bruce presses a kiss to the softness of your palm, the sweet familiar scent of your hand-cream making him linger for a moment before he turns back to the crossword with a contemplative hum, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly over your wedding ring.
“Mm, melted together as metals…” he already knows the answer; you bet he’s figured out the whole puzzle by now, but he pauses long enough for you to answer.
“Fused.”
“You’re on a roll.”
“You’re letting me win.”
“There’s no winning. It’s a crossword, sweetheart.” He huffs, amused, filling the empty space before reaching out to pull you onto his lap without a struggle just a quiet, “come here.”
His strong arms curl around your plush waist, the sleeves of his sweater pushed up towards his elbows, showing off his forearms and the dark hairs that pepper his skin, his expensive watch glinting in the morning light. You lean back against his broad chest, and he hooks his chin over your shoulder, brushing a feather-light kiss to your jaw as you work slowly on the crossword.
“Are you hungry yet?” He asks, his breath warm against the side of your neck, “I picked up those breakfast muffins you like.”
The sentiment makes you smile, imagining the Batman walking into that family-owned bakery in the early hours of the morning and ordering breakfast muffins of all things— you can’t help but giggle, and when you do, you feel his lips curl into a smile against your shoulder.
“Sounds perfect, my love.” you whisper, and he hums into your neck, pressing a few lazy kisses there— the rasp of his stubble sending a shiver down your spine.
Sum: A rabbit can mistake an open snare as food. You happen to make the same mistake.
Yandere! Bruce Wayne x Reader // 1.9k
Warnings: Yandere, Fem!Reader, age gap, use of daddy, bratty! reader, praise/degradation, spanking, hair pulling, overstimulation, dub-con -> non-con, ignored requests, drugging, implied stalking, condom removal, forced creampie, abuse of power, mdni
a/n: loosely inspired by that new cigarette-smoking anime with the old man. Sorry for any errors. My brain got a little too horny at 3 a.m., nothing screams Bruce Wayne quite like drugging you after ten dates of blue-balling you.
There have to be better things to do with your night. Anything, really, besides pacing your shoebox apartment, cheeks hot, shoving another impulse-buy magazine into the wire basket you turned into a bonfire.
Gotham's Top Playboy
The headline sizzles. White letters blister, then sag into cinders.
If Bruce can so much as fuck half the planet, why can't he fuck you?
Smoke claws at your throat. You bat at it, fling the small bathroom window open and rattle the glass so hard it almost slips out of place. It's just smoke, you convince yourself, swiping at the tears pricking your eyes. The lie works for maybe two seconds.
You march back to the couch, arms folded, kicking off a pair of heels - one bouncing off the coffee table. The red bottoms stare back at you.
Pity party rules: the tenth date entitles you to one tantrum. Ten dinners, ten end-of-night drives, and still nothing but (you shout into the nearest pillow, can't afford another neighbor complaint) a kiss to the forehead, a fond ruffle of your hair, then those maddeningly large, rough fingers tipping your chin for a PG-13 press of lips. No tongue, no teeth, no fingers inside you as your nails scrape down the hard lines of his back.
Old Geezer.
Tonight's trophy blazer hangs across the back of your dining chair, smelling of cologne and leather. You snatch it, spin once, let it slip from your shoulders, and consider flinging it to the fire - except the lining ghosts over your thighs and you picture what you really want: that same cologne mixing with sweat while his cum drips down your legs. Maybe he'd smear it upward with two fingers, plug your weeping hole so nothing goes to waste - charity work at its filthiest.
You clutch the blazer tighter and consider its sacrifice once more, all while melting into the fabric. Its death is pushed back another night.
Right now you need him.
And a phone.
Couch pillows fly until you spot your cell wedged beneath one of them, and you flop onto your belly. Speed-dial 1. A bratty pout settles over your lips; you rub a stockinged toe along the sofa seam as the line rings for two seconds.
He answers before it has the chance to go to voicemail. Good. "Did you forget something, love?" Warm, syrupy amusement.
"You forgot me..." It comes out sugar-sweet, but your free hand is busy drumming a tantrum rhythm onto the floor. The cheap vibrator in your nightstand won't cut it; you want the real thing - want him pinning you to whatever surface he chooses and fucking you until the walls sweat harder than you do.
A lazy chuckle oozes through the speaker. "Is that so? I just dropped you off, sweetheart. How about I pick you up tomorrow and we - "
"No tomorrow." You flip onto your back, legs kicking into the air, socked feet kicking toward the ceiling hard enough to send one pillow tumbling onto the floor. "Tonight. That's orders." You bite the last word so he can hear the pout. You almost tacked on Daddy. But he would pull away. Play smart.
Another laugh, deeper, far more indulgent, "All right, all right. I'll have the boys handle patrol. Give me twenty."
Finally.
You launch yourself toward the bedroom. Overnight bag crashes onto the mattress. Toothbrush. Face wash. Two pairs of panties - one cotton, one lace "souvenir." Condoms, plenty of them; billionaire or not, you've seen the tabloids.
Zipper yanked. You dart back to the bathroom, douse the basket with sink water as steam billows, carrying the last hiss of GOTHAM'S TOP PLAYBOY into silence.
Mirror check: hair a mess, lips puffed from pouting, eyes bright with mischief and the sheen of half-dried tears. Perfect. Let Gotham's richest vigilante try to tell you no.
He doesn't.
Exactly ten minutes later, half the time he promised, his sleek town car noses up to the curb. You fling the passenger door open before Bruce can climb out and circle around to get it for you, sliding inside with his coat still draped over your shoulders. Bruce raises a single brow - amused and far too intrigued.
"Good evening," he offers.
"Clock's ticking, old man," you manage to mutter.
He hums, unruffled, and fills the ride with polite trivia: Tim and Damian argued about patrol routes; Alfred served osso buco ("Did you eat yet?"); a vintage is breathing in the study; fresh linens await in the guest room ("just in case.") He keeps glancing over, one hand removed from the steering wheel to rest on your thigh with a soft squeeze that gets your heart thumping.
The moment the library doors close, you snatch the tumbler of whiskey from his hand. You swallow the last of it like some party girl he probably had two nights ago, drag your tongue along the rim, then set the tumbler back on the bar and press your mouth to his. Your tongue swipes across his lips, tasting oak and dark sugar. As your free hand fists his lapel, steering him backward until his thighs thump the leather chair.
"Easy," he chuckles, settling. "I can call for a nightcap - "
"You're the nightcap." You swing a leg across his lap, knees bracketing his hips.
He lets you. One hand rests on the small of your back - steadying, not steering. The other cups the side of your face, thumb stroking the hinge of your jaw while he parts for your kiss. An ice cube slides from his tongue to yours, melting where your mouths meet.
You grind down on the rigid line of his thigh; the desk lamp throws gold across the silver at his temples. He breaks for a breath first, voice low. "How about we slow down, hm?"
You respond by rocking harder, fingers walking south down his shirtfront - buttons, belt buckle, the thick length pushing at expensive linen.
"Some foreplay?" he teases, nipping your lip.
You pull back just enough to glare, half-lidded, "Afraid you can't keep up?"
"Afraid you'll think I'm taking advantage," he corrects, palm migrating from your spine to a firm squeeze of your ass. "Say stop, and we stop. Say slow, and we slow."
Just what kind of girl does he think you are? God, what an absolute asshole. So you play his game. You lean in, brush your lips over his ear.
"Stop," you whisper; his hands freeze; a small smile curves across his lips; your hips don't stop their grind. "See? Never meant it."
His response is a kiss. Resolve melts away as you both melt into each other. Something in his expression settles, one door quietly closing while another swings open.
Wine, impatience, and raw need carry you down the hall. Clothes scatter like breadcrumbs: your heels on the landing, his cuff links on the runner, your ripped tights halfway to the bedroom. At the foot of the bed he pauses, fingers hooked in his tie.
"Last chance," he coos, offering the silk to you as if it's a pen for a contract that you didn't know you were signing.
You pluck it from his hand. "Hands above the headboard, Mr. Wayne." He obeys, muscles flexing as you tie the knot around the headboard, looping it tight enough on his wrists to bruise. For all the PG kisses.
He keeps checking your face to see if you really want this. You give him no hint of hesitation - only the rasp of a condom wrapper between your teeth and the slick glide of lube as you roll the condom down his thick, leaking cock. Shoving your panties to the side, you straddle him once again.
"You sure," he asks, voice thick, offering the way out one final time.
You ease downward, grateful for whatever lube the condom had - and the whiskey-warm haze in your veins - blunting the initial sting of his tip pushing itself past your entrance. One hand braces against the hard plane of Bruce's chest; your fingertips skim the puckered bullet scar at his sternum, then trace the long knife wound beneath his ribs.
"Positive, Daddy," you breathe, hips rolling to match his subtle upward movement. Each shift of his hips draws a muted gasp from you and a sigh from him. You try to take more, barely making it halfway before you whimper at the blinding stretch that leaves you seeing white.
Foreplay would have helped - not like you'd admit that. Should've sat on his stupid face for making you wait so long.
You start seeing colors when he thrusts once, deep and sure, folding you against the broad warmth of his chest. A calloused palm slides to the curve of your ass, landing a playful smack, then squeezes, anchoring you against him as his thrusts grow more ruthless.
"Wait - " The word spills out sharper than before, stripped of every trace of teasing, a silver thread of drool slipping past your lip while you hunt for a less devastating angle.
Didn't you tie his hands?
You manage to glance up. The charcoal silk hangs shredded from one wrist; the other knot is a frayed ornament on the headboard. Free now, Bruce leverages a forearm against the pillows, every inch of power driving through his frame.
"Keep that grip, love - fuck, yeah, just like that," he groans, Gotham gravel dripping over each word. "You have no idea how long I've dreamed of this." His grip tightens, another harsh spank. "Years, sweetheart."
You only met him a month or two ago.
You don't have time to dwell on the math. Another sharp smack lands, the sting making you squirm with nowhere to go. Heat blooms low in your belly, blinding and sweet, and you pulse around him, gasping against his mouth for a pause he ignores despite his earlier promise.
Apparently, in Bruce Wayne's rulebook, you had already spent your right to change your mind.
"You had your chance," he murmurs. Fingers thread into your hair, tugging gently until your head tilts back so he can watch your face while he moves. Candlelight catches the silver - romantic, some might say - but all you can do is climax again under the weight of those bright blue eyes. "Couldn't wait to crawl into Bruce Wayne's bed, could you?"
"That's not - " you try, but a deep thrust nudges your cervix, forcing his name from your lips loud enough that Alfred could probably hear.
"I know, sweetheart."
His thumb presses something cold against the side of your neck.
A sharp, sudden prick blooms at your pulse.
Your body jolts, but Bruce only tightens his hold, lips brushing away the tears gathering on your cheek as though soothing you through a harmless spasm. Whatever he slipped into your bloodstream moves quickly, warmth spreading beneath your skin and turning your limbs heavy.
Not quite as warm as the release pulsing into the condom between you, thankfully.
"That's why you're going to stay right here, hm?"
You try to form a sentence to ask what that prick was, but your thoughts dissolve before the words can reach your tongue. You wish you could say the same for him.
He pulls out only long enough to strip off the condom before pressing his thick, already hardening length back inside, plugging you full once again.
Guess Gotham's top playboy isn't finished with you yet.
{summary} He thinks he’s slipping. You think he’s hotter. Obviously, you’re right.
{content} bruce wayne x reader, established relationship, fluff, soft intimacy, domestic moment, body image insecurity
You weren’t even supposed to be in the bedroom yet.
You were looking for your phone.
Instead, you stop dead in the doorway.
Bruce is standing in front of the mirror, shirtless, hair still slightly damp like he just got out of the shower. One hand is braced on the dresser, the other… hovering over his stomach, pressing lightly, then pulling away like he doesn’t like what he feels.
His expression?
Critical. Focused. Annoyed.
“…Great,” he mutters.
You raise a brow, leaning against the frame. “Wow. Who pissed you off this time?”
He doesn’t turn around immediately.
“…Me,” he says flatly.
That gets your attention.
You step inside, slower now. “That sounds dramatic. Should I be concerned?”
Now he glances at you through the mirror.
“Probably not,” he says. “Unless you’ve developed strong opinions about poor discipline.”
You snort. “Oh, I have plenty of those. Just not about you.”
He gestures vaguely at himself, like the answer should be obvious.
“This,” he says.
You look.
And look a little longer than necessary, just to make a point.
“…Yeah,” you say.
His jaw tightens. “Yeah.”
You hum, walking closer, circling slightly so you’re not just another reflection behind him.
“Yeah,” you repeat, “you look good.”
He exhales sharply through his nose. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t do that thing where you pretend—”
You reach out and poke his side.
He stops mid-sentence.
“First of all,” you say, completely ignoring his complaint, “rude. Second—what ‘thing’?”
“That,” he gestures again, more annoyed now, “where you act like there’s no difference.”
You tilt your head, considering him.
“There is a difference.”
He nods once, like finally, finally—
“Yeah,” you continue, “you’re hotter.”
Silence.
He turns his head, actually looking at you now.
“…You’re unbelievable.”
“I’ve been told.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
You step right into his space now, no hesitation, your hand sliding lightly across his stomach—not critical, not analyzing, just there.
His breath catches, subtle but there.
“You feel nice,” you say casually.
“…Nice,” he repeats, like the word personally offended him.
“Mhm.” You nod. “Very. Ten out of ten. Would absolutely ignore responsibilities to touch again.”
He lets out a quiet, disbelieving huff. “That’s not helping.”
“It is,” you argue. “You just don’t like the method.”
He shakes his head, stepping back half a pace—until his back nearly hits the dresser.
“I’ve lost definition,” he says. “I’m slower. I should’ve noticed sooner.”
There it is.
You soften—but only a little.
Instead of arguing, you step closer again, closing that half-step distance like it never existed.
“Bruce.”
He doesn’t answer.
Your hand slides up his chest, steady, grounding.
“You know what I see?”
He gives you a look. “Apparently something fictional.”
You roll your eyes and—without warning—lean in and press a kiss to his collarbone.
He freezes.
Another one, just above it.
“I see someone who hasn’t slept properly in weeks,” you murmur.
A kiss to his shoulder.
“Someone who’s been carrying half the city on his back.”
Your fingers curl lightly against his side.
“And someone who still looks—unfairly—good doing it.”
He exhales, slower this time.
You pull back just enough to meet his eyes.
“You’re allowed to change,” you say. “You’re not a statue.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
He hesitates.
And that hesitation says everything.
You sigh softly, but there’s no frustration in it—just understanding.
“C’mere.”
You don’t wait for permission. You take his hand and guide it—gently—back to his own stomach where he was just criticizing himself.
He tenses at first.
“Feel that?” you ask.
“I know what it feels like.”
“Yeah,” you say, your hand covering his, pressing it there just a little more firmly, “but you’re feeling it like it’s a problem.”
You shift closer, your other arm sliding around his waist.
“I’m feeling it like it’s you.”
He goes quiet.
Your thumb brushes lightly over his knuckles.
“And I like you,” you add, softer now.
He watches you for a second—really watches you this time, like he’s trying to decide if he believes you.
“…You’re biased,” he says.
You grin. “Hopelessly.”
That finally cracks something.
A small smile. Barely there, but real.
You take advantage of it immediately, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips—light, teasing.
“Also,” you add, not moving far, “for the record?”
He hums faintly.
“You’re hot.”
He shakes his head, but there’s no heat in it anymore.
“…You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet,” you say, backing him lightly against the dresser now, hands still on him, “you’re smiling.”
He pauses.
Realizes.
And—yeah.
He is.
You soften again, just a little, your forehead brushing his.
“Stop picking fights with yourself,” you murmur. “You’re on my team.”
His hand comes up then, settling at your waist, grounding himself there.
“…Stay?” he asks quietly.
You huff a small laugh. “Wasn’t planning on leaving.”
꒰ content ꒱ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ knight!bruce wayne x princess!reader, fluff, this has nothing to do with dark knights of steel, just loosely inspired bcuz he’s so pretty as a knight
knight!bruce wayne collection
The castle halls are polished and hushed. Sunlight trickles in from the enormous windows, breaking across the mosaic tiles, making it rain color.
Bruce deepens the kiss, his hand cupping your jaw, the other sliding down to your hip slowly as if he’s trying to hold back. Your hands rest against his chest, feeling the muscle that was usually hidden under all the armor he wore. Only you could see him like this.
Well, you and anyone who walks through this hall.
He pulls back, breath coming out in uneven pants. His eyes trace you. Your lips are parted, your eyes wide and eager for more. His thumb brushes your cheek.
"We shouldn't be doing this out here," he mumbles, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.
"We can do whatever we want," you reply with a grin. After all, he's your personal guard.
He steels his face, but you see his lips curling up. "You're the most troublesome princess I've ever had the pleasure of meeting," he says, then, without letting you get another word in, he kisses you again.
"Your highness—
A maid stumbles when she sees you pressed up against the wall. For a moment, she simply stares. Her eyes widen, though, when Bruce's body tenses like he's ready for battle.
"My apologies, my lady," she squeaks, gathering her skirts and fleeing as if her life depended on it.
Bruce's forehead falls against yours.
"She must be new," you offer.
He grunts.
"Still, you didn't have to scare the poor thing," you add, your arms wrapping around his neck.
He tilts his head until his eyes meet yours. To your surprise, there's amusement lingering in them. "I didn't—
Distant voices cut him off. A long-suffering sigh leaves him.
"I heard the king granted the princess a plaything," one of the guards began, his voice carrying through the quiet hall.
Silence.
"It's him, isn't it? Wayne?"
Bruce—already knowing you well enough—puts his hand over your mouth to muffle your incessant giggling.
The other guard speaks up, his voice deeper and older. "Yeah, the bastard probably pissed in the king's goblet."
The other one snorts as their footsteps get louder and louder. Your body shakes, and Bruce tries his very best to keep you quiet, but the guards spot you anyway.
Their steps slow. The older one reaches for his sword as he takes in Bruce's hand over your mouth.
"Sir Bruce," he says carefully. "I think it would be wise for you to remove your hand from her highness."
Bruce closes his eyes.
"Her highness prefers it this way." Is all he gives in return before his hand leaves your mouth, and suddenly you're being lifted into his arms, heat blooming across your cheeks at the improper way he carries you away.
"Next, we shall try the gardens," you tell him, cheek pressed against his chest.
tags — 18+ minors dni | f!reader, oral (f! receiving) fingering, kitchen sex, cum eating? (0.6k wc)
it’s quarter past two in the morning, and bruce is meant to be tired—he should be asleep… not effortlessly lifting you up onto the kitchen counter and sinking to his knees before you. he hooks his fingers into the fabric of your pyjama bottoms and tears them off your body.
“hey!” you whine, already slightly breathless. “they were expensive.”
“i’ll buy you five new pairs,” bruce mutters, sliding your underwear down your legs.
his mouth leaves a blazing path up your thighs, nipping the soft flesh every so often. he takes his time making his way up. its a languid, unhurried journey, his large hands urge your knees apart, exposing you to him fully.
the moment he gets a look at your cunt it’s already glistening, dripping onto the counter beneath you. he drags the pad of his thumb through your folds, spreading your lips open so he could get a full view.
you’re already trembling with need, your cunt clenching around nothing like it’s begging for his mouth. he bows his head in a silent prayer, and gently guides your leg over his shoulder before diving in.
his tongue darts out to give you one long, antagonisingly slow lick from your hole all the way up to your clit, the flat of it dragging through your folds. his lips wrap around your clit as he sucks, tongue flicking over the sensitive bud.
its mortifying how quickly the pleasure builds in your stomach, your back arches as bruce dips his tongue lower, fucking into you. you snake your hands into his hair, tangling through the strands and tug at them roughly.
your voice breaks as you moan his name, hips jerking up into his face. your slick drips down to his chin but bruce pays it no mind. he continues his ministrations before attaching his lips back onto your clit and sliding one thick finger inside your cunt.
it stretches you open and with every moan, every whimper, every curse or breathless gasp you let out, bruce feels it in his cock. it strains against his boxers, soaking the fabric. the ache is almost unbearable, but bruce doesn’t care how hard he is, his only priority is making you fall apart under his fingers and tongue.
and that’s exactly what he does.
your legs are shaking, heels digging into his scarred back. then, without warning, he slides another finger inside you, curling them in tandem with each pump. your hips start to move on their own accord, grinding against his face.
you’re desperate for more, and bruce is more than happy to oblige. your walls flutter around his fingers as he hits that spongy spot inside you. your moans get louder with every passing second.
the sensation of bruce’s fingers and tongue is too much—you can barely breathe, hardly think. you’re right on the edge, your whole body strung tight as your orgasm approaches. bruce glances up, his eyes drinking in every reaction your body gives him.
wet sounds echo in the kitchen, each thrust of his fingers squelching as your arousal drips down to his palm. your head thumps back against the cupboard behind you as a sob slips past your lips.
“c’mon, baby,” he murmurs against you. “wanna see you come…”
your eyes squeeze shut as your orgasm crashes through you. you moan his name as you come, thighs clamping around his head as your body convulses. your hips rock against his face, chasing every last ounce of pleasure.
“fuck, bruce—” you gasp, thighs trembling around his head.
he slowly slips his fingers out of you and your whole body shudders. just when you think he’s going to stand up, bruce leans forward and licks you clean. his tongue drags through your folds, lapping up every last drop of your release.
“delicious,” he mutters, pulling back with the lower half of his face covered in your slick.
