Warnings: not proofread, dark smut.., multiple rounds, PinV, spanking, Face-Fucking, hair pulling, light choking, degradation, forced positions, manhandaling, reader crying, obsession, borderline non-consensual themes. First time writing something like this, really longer than what I usually write so there will be a part 2!
It had started as a quiet evening at the Wayne Gala. The city lights glittered aginst your dress like tiny stars, but you weren't here for the accolades or the small talk. You wanted to escape- a moment alone.
For the first time, you weren’t sure if this arrangement—being Bruce Wayne’s wife—was truly a prison, or if it was something far worse.
The tension between you had always been a slow burn, but tonight it felt like a live wire, crackling in the air.
By the time you slipped away toward the study, hoping Alfred hadn't seen, the door clicked behind you, locking with a soft authority. He was there, dark silhouette in the dim light, eyes preadatory.
But Bruce noticed. He always noticed.
He was there, dark silhouette in the dim light, eyes preadatory.
He didn’t say a word as he approached, just that familiar, suffocating presence pressing down on you like the weight of the Gotham skyline itself.
"You humiliated me tonight," he said, voice calm but dangerous. "Slipping away from the gala like some ungrateful little wife. Do you think people didn't notice?"
“You think you can just walk around, live your life, and pretend none of this is mine, live in my house, wear my name, and still pretend you're not mine.” His voice was low, deliberate, and dangerous, each word dripping with ownership.
You swallowed, heart hammering, trapped between fear and something darker, more thrilling. You wanted to run, you wanted to hide. But some twisted part of you- dark and ashamed- wanted him more than anything.
You tried a nervous smile, a small excuse, but his hand was already around your throat, pressing you to the desk.
Bruce’s hand found the nape of your neck, tilting your head back, his thumb brushing over your pulse. Every touch, every subtle movement, was a claim, and you could feel it in your bones.
The heat pooling inside you was chaotic and desperate, a storm he had no intention of letting calm. With a firm grip at your waist, he pulled you closer, pressing you against him. The world outside—the city, the party, the expectations—faded into nothing. All that existed was the sound of your own ragged breathing and the dark, relentless control in his eyes.
“Good,” he whispered, his lips now at the hollow of your throat. “Because I don’t… do gentle. Not with you. Not ever.”
Your knees threatened to give out, but he caught you with ease. Every inch of him was in control, power, and dominance. Your body betraying you, craving the ownership, the danger, the dark devotion.
Hands slid under your clothes, but it wasn't tenderness. It was calculated, consuming, designed to break you down and pull every shiver, every gasp, ever whimper from you.
You were trapped, overwhelmed, addicted. Every touch burned, every command drove you higher into the haze of desire and fear.
"Tell me you want this," he growled, voice a low rumble in your ear. "Tell me you belong to me."
"I... I-" your words stumbled, but the truth burned hotter than shame. "I... want you."
"Good girl," he murmured, voice smooth and dangerous. "Because you are mine. Every inch. Every thought. And I will take everything, wether you fight me or not."
The line between fear and desire blurred until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Every inch of him, every shadowed intention, promised both pain and release, and somewhere deep down, you knew you would surrender, completely, without hesitation.
The first strike of his hand against your ass was sharp, echoing, leaving you breathless. Then another. Harder. Each one blurred pain into heat until you legs trembled beneath you. Hid grip was iron, his presence all consuming, his voice dripping with contempt.
"Pathetic," he snarled. "Shaking for me already."
He shoved your legs apart, fingers sliding inside you without warning. The stretch as immediate, brutal. You whimpered, nails clawing at the desk as he pushed deeper, knuckles pressing, unyielding.
"You can take more," he murmured against your ear, teeth biting your neck. "You'll take everything I give you. Because that's what you're for."
The burn made you sob, tears spilling, but your body beytrayed you, clenching, wet, hungry for him. He laughed low in your ear, cruel and satisfied.
"Look at you," Bruce spat, yanking your hair back so your ruined reflection stared back at you in the window. "Crying like a little whore, but your body's begging for me. You think anyone else could handle you? No. Only me. Always me."
He pushed you until you sobbed, the pressure unbearable, yet soick heat betrayed you. His laugh was cruel, mocking.
He then bent you back over the desk and drove into you in one brutal thrust. You screamed, but his hand clamped around your mouth, muffling the sound. His rhythm was merciless- each thrust deep, hard, punishing, rattling the desk behind you.
"Say it," he demanded. "Say you're mine."
"I-I'm yours," you sobbed into his palm.
"Good girl." He growled, hips snapping faster. His hand fisted in your hair, fragging you upright, your back arched painfully against his chest as he slammed into you over and over.
When your legs gave out, he didn't slow. He spun you onto your knees, cock shoving into your mouth before you could breathe. His grip tightened in your hair, forcing you down, using your throat ruthlessly. You gagged, tears spiling freely, spit dripping down your chin.
"Take it," He snarled. "Every inch. Gag on it. That's what this mouth is for."
He held you down until your vision blurred, then yanked you up, spit and tears smeared across your face. He kissed you then- rough, consuming, suffocating- before throwing you back on the desk.
This time, he spread your thighs wide, forcing himself inside again, deeper, harder, his pace brutal. One hand pinned your wrists above your head, the other pressing on your throat.
"You'll never escape me," Bruce whispered, voice a dark promise. "I'll ruin you until you can't remember life before me. Until you crave the pain. Until you understand you exist for me."
You shattered beneath him, body breaking, rebuilt only in his image. He didn't stop when you came undone, trembling, begging. He used you until you were sobbing, ruined, boneless beneath him- until you were sobbing, ruined, boneless beneath him- until your voice broke on his name and your body gave him everything he demanded.
He then pushed you against the wall, hands roaming, rough and percise, pinning you as if you couldn't escape even if you tried. Your knees buckled slightly under him, and he caught you effortlessly, holding you in place.
"Trying to run?" His voice was cruel now, teasing, possessive. "That's not going to end very well for you."
Your legs trembled, your body beytraying you with desire. He kissed you roughly, one hand traveling lower while the other gripped your hair. You gasped arching into him, and he smirked against your lips pulling back just enough to watch you struggle.
"Such a desperate little thing," he murmured. "Always trying to resist."
And yet when you tried to step back again, the pull of him was too strong. He held you firmly, eyes dark, lips hobering over yours as he whispered, "You're mine tonight."
