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nouearth · 4 months

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Imagine getting used as a walking fleshlight by Bruce (Bale) and Clark (Corenswet) at the same time. Both high five'ing each other with dark lust filled eyes while Eiffel tower'ing you. Bruce's cock fulls your mouth so well, he then rubs his cock all over your face. Clark's thrusts are the strongest you've ever experienced, his balls slap against you as if they were a force of nature; you're holding onto ass and pulling him deeper inside you while Bruce rams into your throat like it's a fleshlight.

💌 : ugh, anon. my main men! (although i love pattinson just as much, bale just screams... daddy for me.) also, i—for some reason—love it when guys are showcasing douchey behavior when they're fucking, urgh.

for bruce, his cock had never felt so full and warm down your throat before. you could barely take him, but he was constantly peppering you in toe-curling praises so you tried your best to sheathe more of him inside of your mouth because you didn't want to disappoint him, or even clark for that matter.

the thick of his cock pushed all the saliva out of your mouth, drool dripping from either corners of your stretched lips, and as much as bruce loved seeing how much of a mess you'd become, reducing your identity to merely a flesh-light, he would pull his cock out and slide it over your lips to feed the saliva you'd dribbled back into your cock-addicted mouth.

you'd lap him up like you were a fiend for his cock, and bruce recognized that, exploiting your addiction when he'd pull himself out at times to hear you whine—to see your eyes widen with a plea that would drive him mad because they became so glossy. your brows etched with worry and agony as it seemed like he was stripping you away from a necessity to living.

the simple thought that you lived and breathed for his cock turned him on, fed his ego, and then fed yours because only you could make him feel so good like this. he would rub his cock all over your face, slap it across your cheek and nose occasionally, before jerking himself off to the scene of clark fucking you, his balls heavily rolling over your pretty features in midst. he'd then hold your cheeks, rough hands at the underside of your jaw, before he began fucking gloriously into your mouth because he was close. so fucking close.

for clark, the sounds of your gagging and gargling was enough to send him over the edge. with his heightened senses, he could hear every intricate noise that you'd deliciously graced him with; the small gasps you would inhale to recover your breath, only for you to gag and cough on them when bruce shoved his cock back inside of your mouth; the sloppy and wet squelches from the lube dripping from your hole as clark fucked his large cock madly into you; the nasal pitch of the bed creaking, a noisy proof of the men's absolute destruction on your body as they intend to break you.

sex with you was an exception to clark's habitual gentlemanly spirit as you drove him mad, teased him for being a goody two-shoes, for being too vanilla for your liking, and he wanted to prove you wrong. he wanted to prove to you that he could be both sides of the same coin, and if he went far enough, you'd beg for him to be easier on you next time.

he would pull your arms back and hold your two wrists together in one strong grip, allowing the position to contort your body in a way that emphasized the shape of your body. you felt your muscles flex, throb apprehensively because they've never been stretched like this before—stretched past their limits. and clark would maintain this position because he was addicted to seeing how the sweat collected at the dips of your back muscles, then rolled off the hill of your ass when your body struggled uncomfortably to meet his cock.

he was too big for you, much bigger than you'd taken before, and clark would make you remember that. he would instill a sense of fear within you—that you might completely break if he were to completely shove his large cock inside of you if he wasn't kind enough to control himself—restrain himself from filling you to the brim.

and he would also instill a craving within you—one that you'd find yourself thinking about his cock for hours, days, months—because you'll never find someone with a cock, a fuck like him. ramming into you hard yet steady, powerfully yet pacing, large and uncomfortable yet deliciously enthralling as clark would make every stretch soar to your senses, soar to make your throat hollow and dry—at least for the moment before bruce was shoving himself back inside of you. they'd chuckle, sometimes laugh not because you were embarrassing, but because you were so impressive to them that they didn't know how else to react other than with affection and laughter. they'd coo at you, pet at your head, tell you what a good boy you were, and fist bump whenever you deep-throated bruce and/or pushed yourself back into clark until he was balls-deep, until he pressed into a golden spot.

and they'd continue with you for hours, fucking you repeatedly, taking their turns with your mouth and ass, sometimes two cocks in one, and you'd never felt happier than being fucked in this moment. elated when bruce filled your mouth with his own cum; warm and creamy as it sat and spread thick on your tongue—your throat as you swallowed like the good boy you were. then full, when clark came into your ass. he held you close, pressing close to you until you were practically glued to him, and his balls jolted, twitched, and throbbed as he dumped his load in you. you can feel clark's cum seeping deeper into when he doesn't stop fucking into your hole, churning his cum into you until you memorized the shape of his cock, the way his cum spread thick inside of you. then finally leaking when he pulled out to see you push out his thick cum loads on instinct.

hehe, thank you for the imagine, anon! 💗 and now, i'm gonna pretend as if i didn't write all of that and create the illusion that i, in fact, am an innocent man.

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not-another-robin · 2 years

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I just think this pic has their vibes you know

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sorryiwasasleep · 5 months

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Screwed Up: A SuperBat One-Shot

“Look, Kent, the only way you’re getting out of writing this article is if you’re screwing one of them, so unless you tell me you and the Amazoni—“ Clark can’t help the honest-to-god snort of a laugh that pulls from him.

God, Diana will get a kick out of that too when he tells her.

Still laughing, Clark doesn’t even think about it.

He just answers, “I mean, I’d say B’s screwing me.”

And then he freezes as he realizes what he actually said.

And so does the rest of the newsroom.

And it’s like he can see the air swell in front of his eyes as his face flushes red and the group takes what feels like a collective inhale before nearly everyone in the newsroom starts talking at once.

In a move that probably makes him look even guiltier, Clark instinctually claps a hand over his mouth as if to take back the words.

Oh no.

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r4ins · 1 year

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Bruce Wayne x Top Male Reader

cw. bottom bruce x dom male reader

He notices the smell first. He notices the smell immediately, because Bruce catalogues changes in his surroundings with infamous paranoia. It’s not a bad smell. It smells...filling. Like noodles, with a hint of fish.

Bruce takes his coat off, but not his suit jacket, and goes to the kitchen, footsteps carefully quiet. It’s highly unlikely anyone besides Alfred would be cooking in the kitchen, and he’d be alerted in the case of any kind of house breach, but still. It never pays to assume safety.

He edges towards his kitchen, ready to launch a defence, and then stops dead. Because Y/N is in his kitchen, setting the table.

Y/N looks up from his plating. He’s not wearing his mask, but not wearing the suit either.. “Hey,” he says with a not-quite smile. It’s wrong on Y/N’s face.

Bruce is left standing, dumbfounded and wrong-footed, watching Y/N garnish two bowls of noodles with parsley. Alfred nowhere in sight. Never a good sign. “What is this, Y/N?”

“Linguini,” Y/N says. He glances back at the stove. “And clams. White clam sauce. Simple enough, although Alfred was pretty strict on timing when he taught me the recipe.”

“Alfred...taught you the recipe,” Bruce repeats. The dumbfounded feeling grew stronger.

Y/N glances up at him, something soft on his face for a moment before he smooths it out. “You look good. But you don’t have to wear a suit tonight. Go put on something comfortable if you want.”

You don’t have to wear a suit. The words strike him hard, harder, he suspects, than Y/N meant them.

Bruce does retreat, and finds himself staring at his closet. He doesn’t really do casual, doesn’t really do being neither tabloid Bruce Wayne nor Batman, but he pulls out a t-shirt and a soft gray sweater anyway. He double-checks with Alfred that yes, Y/N’s presence is intentional, no, he’s not under any kind of influence, no spores, no alien mind control, no weird chemicals. Just Y/N. In his kitchen. Feeding him.

Alfred also takes a moment to explicitly inform him that he “approves of Master Y/N’s plans, sir” and then hangs up on him. Hangs up on him. Bruce walks back into the kitchen, because there’s nothing else to do. He takes a seat across from Y/N, who smiles at him, a real one this time.

It’s weird. There’s no other word for it. But Bruce was raised to be polite, so he swirls a mouthful of linguini around his fork and tastes it. Y/N watches as he swallows. Bruce clears his throat, says, “It’s delicious, thank you.”

“Compliments to Alfred, as I said,” Y/N deflects, modest as ever, looking a little sheepish. It’s that that makes Bruce start to unwind, his shoulders coming down, his stomach loosening. He’s still wary, he’s always wary. But it’s Y/N. Y/N is loose-limbed, relaxed, in a casual green sweater much the same as Bruce is in grey. It wasn’t intentional, Bruce thinks, wryly, but they do never seem to get away from their chosen colors.

“What’s so funny?” Y/N asks. His eyes light up, ready to tease.

Bruce shrugs, elegantly. He’s regained some of his equilibrium. It’s not the first time he’s had dinner alone with Y/N, after all, just the first time in his house, and with no warning. “Your sweater is green. Mine is grey. I assume it wasn’t intentional.”

Y/N glances down at himself as if surprised. “I guess not. I certainly didn’t want us to be in uniform for this conversation.”

Bruce zeroes in on that last part. “And what is this conversation, Y/N?” He lifts another forkful to his mouth, refusing to break eye contact.

Y/N doesn’t say anything for a moment, his cheeks growing a little red. “Ah,” he fumbles.

Bruce steps in, ruthless now that he’s found a weak spot. “A simple seduction? Blowing off some steam with someone else who knows the secret? The idea has some appeal, I have to admit.”

Y/N looks offended, opens his mouth. Bruce pushes on. “Or perhaps the rest of the League has decided they’ve had enough of me and are kicking me off the team?”

“No, Bruce—” Y/N says, outraged on Batman’s behalf.

“Or perhaps, Y/N, you’re here to tell me I’ve contracted some alien disease or other. Or maybe it’s that you’ve contracted some alien disease or other.”

Y/N has closed his mouth by now, and weathers it all with restraint, if not with stoicism.

“Are you finished?” he asks, deliberately mild, taking a sip of his wine.

Bruce arches an eyebrow at him. “Am I ever?”

Y/N laughs, completely tension free. “I guess then the Bat wouldn’t exist.” He puts down his glass of wine, stands up, and strides purposefully around the table to Bruce, all his careful presentation forgotten.

“I assume we’ve come to the point,” Bruce says, because he’s a bastard sometimes and Y/N knows that.

Y/N does know that. “You’re cruel when you’re confused or worried. Especially with me,” he says, and that takes the wind out of Bruce’s sails, some. He refuses to get up, though, to grant Y/N that victory. Y/N’s shoulders tighten, and he takes a deep breath. “All this is, is: I love you, and I want to spend the night with you. Just one.”

Bruce is on his feet before he can process it, snarling and putting his back toward the wall. “You don’t,” he says, gritting it out through his teeth. “You don’t.”

Y/N doesn’t bother responding, just walks towards him, slowly and deliberately. Bruce’s back hits the wall. If it were anyone else, he would keep moving, find any of the numerous weapons he keeps concealed on the property, but Y/N could break him in half in an instant, and Y/N keeps his eyes on his and Bruce can’t seem to make himself do anything except flinch into stillness when Y/N’s hand lands on his face.

“Look, it’s—it’s tactical.” Y/N’s thumb strokes his cheekbone with unbearable tenderness. How many hours of training did this take? Bruce knows that a man like Y/N could crush him without a thought, it’s not just softness, it’s discipline, and that, more than anything, makes Bruce’s breath catch. Y/N’s eyes hover at the base of his throat. Not ashamed, but resigned. “You and I know that—that there’s something between us. Something deep, something permanent. And we also know that you won’t let this be permanent, not in a real way, not in a vulnerable way, so…” Y/N stops, takes a deep breath. Raises his chin to look Bruce right in the eyes. “One night, Bruce. That’s all. One night to acknowledge this and then we let it be.”

“That’s—it won’t work.” Bruce’s heart is hammering and Y/N’s thumb is stroking right over his pulse point under his jaw. “It’ll just make it worse.”

“We all know your self-control.” Y/N’s thumb moves in a smooth line down until it stops right under the point where Bruce’s sternum ends―a perfect, vulnerable path to his heart. “And I know mine.” It’s enormous, this trust, the way Bruce’s body trembles beneath Y/N’s touch—light, so light, lighter than Bruce can even truly quantify because of the power that thrums through every one of Y/N’s cells. There is gentle, and then there is careful, and Y/N is both. Every action he takes is so measured—how did he not realize before?

Y/N leans in, pausing right before their lips touch. Bruce makes no move to meet him. Y/N’s mouth curves upward into a smile. “Please?” he murmurs, the warm air from his mouth brushing Bruce’s skin.

Bruce is only a man, and Y/N is more-than, and—

He leans forward just enough to meet Y/N. Y/N, who melts a little, like this chaste press of lips is a heady, passionate rush. Well, Bruce can do one better than that; he tilts his head and licks into Y/N’s mouth, sliding his fingers into his hair to draw him closer, and suddenly there’s a feeling of air rushing past him and they’re in his bedroom. Bruce can’t even bring himself to be angry about it. He lets Y/N swallow his inevitable gasp, scrapes his teeth against Y/N’s pulse point, slides his hands beneath Y/N’s undershirt, tugging it up from his belt. Y/N lifts his arms obligingly.

He really is beautiful, Bruce can’t deny that. Especially right now, all that lush, seamless golden skin on display, literally saturated in sunshine. Bruce, by contrast, is covered in scars, no matter how well-healed, and he’s not body-shy, but he keenly feels the contrast between them, and the awareness that Y/N can map out the differences between the textures of his skin very nearly to the microscopic. He rubs his thumbs across Y/N’s nipples, a little rough, but Y/N—

Y/N is smiling again, a little helplessly this time. Like he’s really happy to be doing this. Like there’s joy in this for him. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he says, sinking to his knees, fingers hooked on Bruce’s belt loops. Bruce lets him draw his pants and underwear down, divest him of socks and shoes and watches as Y/N does the same for himself before sliding his hands and mouth up Bruce’s thighs.

As arousing and arresting as it is—and it is, the heat coursing through Bruce’s body is of an intensity unlike he’s felt in years—to see the most powerful man in the world on his knees, ready to suck Bruce’s cock, he stops Y/N with a hand in his hair.

“No,” he says, surprising them both. He swallows. “If we’re doing this, if we’re laying all cards on the table, then—I want you inside me.” It’s been a long time since he was shy about sex, shy about asking for what he wanted, but Y/N is just so sincere in everything he does that Bruce feels how the words rattle on their way out of his throat.

Y/N inhales a shaky, sharp breath, stands, and moves to kiss him like this is too much to bear. He walks Bruce backward to the bed, sucking on his tongue, cradles his head as they hit the mattress as though he’s afraid of hurting him.

Y/N takes a while opening him up. He’s gentle about it. He acts like they have time. Bruce wants to snarl, to buck his hips, to force Y/N to get on with it so it can be over and a memory he can look back on with frenzied, punishing, aching regret he can press like a bruise over and over again, but Y/N knows Bruce, Y/N keeps a hand on him, right below his ribs, applying just the barest fraction of that incalculable strength, and keeps moving at his slow, safe pace.

Bruce flings an arm over his eyes. He shudders.

“Show me what you like,” Y/N says. He kisses the inside of Bruce’s thighs, mouths at his balls and the soft place next to his hipbone. “I can’t read your mind, Bruce. Never could. Talk to me. Tell me.”

“More,” is all Bruce says.

Y/N listens, he knows when and how to push, in words, in silences. He does ease a third finger in, carefully, snugly, rubbing the tips of his fingers against Bruce’s walls in slow, maddening circles. Despite himself, Bruce finds his hips trying to bear down just the slightest amount, his muscles twitching in an effort not to squeeze.

It’s only partially because he’s resisting, still. Part of him just wants this to last as long as it can. If he doesn’t chase, if he just takes what Y/N gives—

And oh, how Y/N gives. He’s beginning to pump his wrist at a building pace, sending sparks flying outward down to Bruce’s toes, but his mouth, his mouth is everywhere, reverence evident in Y/N’s eyes fluttering half-closed, then snapping open again as if he’s forcing himself to watch, forcing himself to remember, because he knows he won’t get another chance.

Because he knows Bruce won’t give him one.

Y/N’s fingers stretch just a little wider, pump just a little faster, curl just the right way, and Bruce’s back arches off the bed.

“Christ, you’ve had practice with this, haven’t you?” Bruce asks, laughing a little, breathless. He only sounds a little wrecked, although the effect is ruined by the way his thighs keep shaking. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Y/N grins and twists his fingers again, making Bruce bite back a curse. “Not all of us can be billionaire playboys, but that doesn’t mean I’m inexperienced, either,” he teases. And oh, he is a tease, moving his hand fast with almost just enough pressure, almost at the right spot, and Bruce can’t help it, he chases and lets his muscles squeeze just once to get maximum friction—and then Y/N pulls out. Of course.

Bruce groans and sits up on his elbows, panting. He hadn’t even realized he’s been breathing so hard, or that there’s a sheen of sweat on his chest. He feels a little drunk, actually, and he’s not sure how long he’s been here, how long Y/N has been tirelessly pushing and pulling him to and from the edge. It’s disorienting. He normally is so strict about awareness of time in his body. He’s about to panic a little, to lash out, if only with words, when he’s arrested by Y/N’s soft eyes.

“Stay with me,” Y/N says, and god, where else would Bruce go? The vulnerability of this thought makes him angry, makes him frightened, and Bruce lunges over to Y/N, intent to bruise, and bites along his collarbone, his Adam’s apple, under his ear. Y/N moans and moves with it, holding onto Bruce’s shoulders. “Do what you need to do,” he says. “Do what you want.”

He lets out a cry when Bruce fists his cock, when he hooks an ankle around Y/N’s thigh and pulls him down.

Y/N is big, not especially long but solid and wide, and if he’s as good with his cock as he is with his fingers—Bruce growls when Y/N places one hand on his ribs and the other on top of Bruce’s hand so they can slick up his cock together and start sliding it in.

Y/N goes slow—too slow, for Bruce. Bruce presses his hands to Y/N’s cheekbones, surprising himself by brushing a lock of Y/N’s hair out of his eyes automatically, as if it’s something he does every day. “Y/N,” he says, voice caught between raw and growling, “I’m not going to break.”

Y/N shakes his head, kisses one of Bruce’s palms, then his wrist. Bruce trembles under the weight of it, that emotion, before he can stop himself. “I’m not being careful,” Y/N says, rocking his hips in with tiny motions, brushing a thumb under Bruce’s eye, as if there were tears there. “I’m savouring you.”

It’s a while later when he’s finally fully seated and Bruce almost doesn’t even notice because Y/N has been sucking and licking at his neck, his mouth, his shoulder, and Bruce has been running his hands over every bit of Y/N’s skin he could reach, tugging at his hair and feeling Y/N arch against him and lifting his hips to meet him, feeling like he can just sink into this, like they can just sink into each other and disappear. And then Y/N starts moving.

It’s torture, perfect torture, and Bruce can’t remember being fucked like this, ever, not with the way Y/N brushes perfectly against his walls with every roll of his hips, not with the way he circles and makes his every nerve ending spark. Maybe it has to do with the way it feels less like he’s just fucking Bruce in and out and more like they’ve gone under some kind of tide, or maybe it has to do with the way Y/N has placed them eye to eye, resting their foreheads together, because Bruce doesn’t have to be a detective to know exactly what that means.

Y/N wants to remember this. Y/N wants to watch. It’s awful. It’s exquisite.

“You really love me, don’t you?” Bruce asks, breathless, trailing a finger over Y/N’s cheekbone, letting out a little unh or two, or five, as Y/N moves a little harder, a little faster at Bruce’s question. Like he can’t help it.

“So much more than you’ll let me,” Y/N says, and he looks helpless with it, like he’s the one being fucked, not the other way around, and Bruce hadn’t thought he would feel more liquid desire rush through him at those words, but he hooks his ankles around Y/N’s back anyway, to tell him I’m asking for more now, I’m letting you now without having to say it. Y/N keeps the faster pace, and Bruce starts to feel his stomach grow taut and heat build in his belly, and he can’t stop letting out little pants and moans at every motion of Y/N’s cock against what feels like every part of him.

“I can’t—I don’t think I can live without this now,” Bruce gasps, feeling like the words are torn from him, from that oh-so-vulnerable place under his ribs where Y/N’s hand still rests. If he wanted to—if he wanted to tear them, or anything else out of Bruce, he could. But he wouldn’t. That was Y/N. He locks his arms behind Y/N’s neck, pulling him down to hide his face in Y/N’s shoulder, muffle his own gasping breaths.

And this was Y/N, too, that Bruce knew he knew Bruce meant— I don’t think I can live without you, now

“Look at me,” Y/N murmurs, coaxing Bruce out, gently pulling away just enough to look Bruce in the eye. He’s smiling that not-quite smile again, and rolling his hips in such a slowed, gorgeous, inexorable rhythm that Bruce really thinks for a moment he might die, just like this, just from Y/N’s skin against his, Y/N inside him, Y/N’s eyes not letting him look away. “You won’t have to,” Y/N says, like it’s a certainty, like he really is utterly invulnerable and timeless. “And I’ll live with that, if you’ll have me.”

It’s too much, it’s all too much, Y/N’s naked, unashamed and earnest adoration, and the way he filled Bruce, sheltered him, with his arms and his eyes and this tiding, exquisite rhythm. The human body was so fragile, and the sheets and the mattress under it, and Bruce could feel all of it, in Y/N’s gentleness—and the heat of him, so tight against his walls and spreading to his stomach, his thighs, his chest—

Bruce squirms, fitful, in a way he hasn’t been for years during sex, needing more and less and never-stop-forever and lets out a high, breathy moan that’s nearly a sob. “Y/N. Y/N—”

“Bruce,” Y/N gasps, and they clutch at each other, Bruce clawing at Y/N’s back because it’s suddenly important, so important, that even if they only last a moment that there are marks, and then he remembers he can ask—

“Kiss me. God, please—” His gasp is swallowed up by Y/N’s mouth crushing to his, their tongues mapping each others’ mouths, pants from Bruce’s mouth meeting soft-growing-louder groans from Y/N. He digs his heels into Y/N’s lower back, lifting his hips to meet his pace as best he can, and Y/N shifts the angle slightly, so slightly, but it’s enough. Bruce cries out, completely surrendering, and is gone, gone, gone. His orgasm seems to go on forever, bursting out to his fingers and toes, and settles in liquid and electric to the aftershocks. Y/N fucks him through it and he feels more than hears Y/N groan and stutter his hips, spilling into him, and then they’re still.

Y/N is careful not to rest too much weight on him, but hasn’t moved, letting his cock soften inside Bruce, and Bruce hasn’t made him move. They catch their breath, still mingling.

Bruce still can’t look him in the eye, but he cards a hand through Y/N’s hair and murmurs, “Stay. Please, stay.”

Y/N sighs. “Anything for you.”

#dc comics #gay #top male reader #x male reader #bottom bruce wayne #bruce wayne #battinson #bruce wayne x male reader #dom male reader #dc universe

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bottombrucetober · 2 months

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The event is on!

And therefore, it's time to gather prompts! If you want to see some particular prompt on our event, please send them to us using this form (No longer active due to the end of prompt-taking period)

We will be accepting prompts up to March 15th!

#bottom bruce #bottom batman #bruce wayne #batman event #batfam event #bbwtober2024

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colorfulstarlight27 · 1 month

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#superbat #superman #batman #dc fanfic #dc comics #dc universe #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom #superman x batman #bruce wayne #clark kent #power bottom Wayne #top Superman #bottom Bruce Wayne #bottom Batman

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bruciemilf · 2 months

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Hii!

I was wondering if you had any n.sfw type of headcanons for Harvey vs Two Face when they're being intimate? 🤭

Because of the Jason Dent AU fic, part of me thinks TwoFace might be a pillow princess for Matches 😅

I mean, I try to assume couples are versatile but was also curious if you felt either would be more or less likely to enjoy something over the other. Or if they'd be pretty much the same in their wants/desires. Hope this makes sense!

Really like your blog. Your post with Batfam Twitter about Harvey breaking out of Arkham to take Bruce out on dates is part of what got me into them 😍🥹

HOOOO. NSFW ahead!!! Minors don’t interact, please and thank you!!

—

I’m so goddam thirsty for this man. No, — it’s unhealthy. I’m like a feral Resident Evil nightmare that escaped confinement and I’m in need of emergency euthanasia.

In my heart I can’t imagine Harvey or TF bottoming. But it also really depends on!! I could maybe see Harvey, whimpering like a goddam mess, Bruce bounces on his dick like a fucking horny rabbit, and TF snarling, “Fuckin’ wimp.” (He loves it)

One thing’s for sure thought; These mfs are So Nasty.

Two-Face is big on degradation; Bruce’s pleasure is extremely important for him, and while he prioritizes his baby doll getting the best treatment possible, you can catch him shoving Batman on his knees anytime, anywhere.

“C’mon, sweet boy. Use that smart ass mouth for something useful. “

And Bruce can’t ever say no 😔 He has them memorized down to the veins

Also you bet Harvey’s hung as hell. 10 inches. Bruce has higher chances of ending up in the ER after fucking than fighting.

DADDY KINK DADDY KINK DADDY KINK DADDY KINK DADDY KINK DADDY KINK DADDY-

I just know for a fact Two-Face always has Bruce on his lap when he’s playing poker.

Either when Bruce is disguised, or just normal. Besides, Brucie Wayne is basically Harvey’s glorified blow up doll. So what if he’s around the room while talking essential business? So what if he’s witness to it?

Black Mask makes that comment exactly once and Harvey paints his brass knuckles red <333 “Tsk. Fucker got blood on my watch.”

God help you if Bruce wears red lipstick around this bastard. They’ll make out so messily. Everywhere. At any time. Cause Harvey’s not stopping until Bruce begs him to let him breathe.

SCAR WORSHIP.

MUTUAL

SCAR WORSHIP

Harvey will call Bruce princes while fucking him doggy style, his belt tightly snaked around his neck. He makes the prettiest noises, punched out moans and tiny little gasps. “Ah, heh— you came? Again? You’re making a mess, sweetheart.”

I genuinely do think rough sex is their go to, but like. Loving rough sex? Nevertheless, when one or both have an off day, when Gotham’s nightshade hand punches just a little too hard, they find sanctuary in each other’s softness.

Sometimes Bruce gets fucked with Harvey between his legs, spread like a last meal on his WE office, his smaller hands sinking in his man’s broad shoulders. And he’ll say nothing except his name, like a mantra.

“Harvey. I love you.”

“I know.”

“Bastard,” Bruce laughs rarely, and when he does, it feels like a prize, “Say it back. Both of you.”

“Tch. Brat. We love you. Happy?”

“Always.”

#ANYWAY THEM #bruharvey #nsft #1 8 0 - HORNYHOURS #bruce wayne #dc #dc comics #harvey dent #two face #dc two face #twobats #batman #bottom bruce wayne #text #text post #asks

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cantsayidont · 12 days

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March 1984. Poor Jason. Everyone knows it, but you can't just say it.

#comics #detective comics #doug moench #pat broderick #bob smith #batman #bruce wayne #robin #jason todd #pre crisis #catwoman #selina kyle #batcat #batromance #this is a very funny scene but broderick's faces kind of ruin it #i removed the bottom part of the panel at the upper right #which is the end of a different scene but couldn't be trimmed neatly because of the panel shapes #batman close-ups

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catandb · 1 year

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love how she holds him so possessively

#batman x catwoman #batman catwoman #catbat #selina kyle #bruce wayne #bottom bruce

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syresdcthings · 1 month

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Staring at my "unknown enemies with benefits" slash "identity porn" batjokes fic where they fuck around as Bruce Wayne and Jacques (joker disguise) ALOT (and its lowkey becoming a little romantic) but neither of them know the others secret identity and only figure it out when they finally decide to tiptoe past the line as Batman and Joker and Bruce recognises that citrusy musk covered with a Jardin Nocturne scent.

Now. What's a better plot to this? Instead of finding out when they fuck as Batman and Joker, Bruce realises as soon as his first time with Jacques because he recognised the scent THEN but never says anything because he's been wanting this so bad for so long and sooo WHAT if he needs to tell a few lies to get it???

#dc #batman #joker #bruce wayne #batjokes #fic #i havent even started it #sorry #this would be more fluff than gore #im sorry toxic yaoi nation #sitting out for this one #also 100% rather sub bottom Bruce #or #experienced top Bruce who is so obsessed and shaky Jacques thinks he's actually a crushing virgin #no other way about it.

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introspectivememories · 1 year

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damian to tim: everybody knows

tim: what?

damian pointing to bernard: everybody knows that he fucks you

#tim comes out and the whole family is like *lord faarquad pointing meme* bottom #bruce gives him a very awkward talk on what he calls 'recieving'#tim hopes that there is another interglobal conflict #damian wayne #tim drake #bernard dowd #timber #timbernard #dc #god this is so funny to think about #bernard laughing in the background: babe he's kinda right #tim indignant at being clocked so easily: do Not encourage him

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r4ins · 1 year

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Bruce Wayne x Male Reader

cw. bottom bruce x dom male reader

“Y/N, I need you here, right now,” was all Bruce said before he looked at his watch and waited. Bruce hadn’t seen him in any non-League capacity for the past few months, and he was horny enough to want to make the most of this brief twenty-minute reprieve between meetings.

Y/N showed up in a blur of wind in his full hero costume in about two minutes, looking worried.

“B?” He asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Bruce answered as he shrugged off his suit coat. “Except I haven’t touched you in nine weeks, five hours, and twenty-three minutes.”

The worry immediately melted off Y/N’s face and was replaced with a smirk. “You missed me that much?”

Instead of responding to that he simply gave Y/N a heated look and said, “Take off the suit and sit on the couch.”

The high points on Y/N’s cheeks brightened but he did as he was told, and, in a blur, he was on the couch in nothing but his underwear looking slightly bemused. Bruce loosened his tie and pulled a tube out of his desk before he stalked over to Y/N like the other was a feast and Bruce had been starving all week.

“You couldn’t wait until you got home?” Y/N asked when Bruce got on his knees and pulled down Y/N’s jockstrap.

“I haven’t had a moment’s peace in ages and I’ve been so horny today, I feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind.” Bruce glanced at his watch before he pulled off his own clothing.

“We have seventeen minutes left, I plan to make the most of it.”

Y/N opened his mouth to be the voice of reason (they hadn’t even locked the door for Rao’s sake!) but what actually came out was a strangled moan when Bruce sucked down most of his cock in one swift motion.

“Holy shit, B,” Y/N choked out and Bruce looked up at him under his eyelashes with his reddening lips stretched wide over Y/N’s dick. He looked positively sinful, and that moment was probably the quickest it had ever taken Y/N to get fully hard. He nearly felt dizzy with the force of his arousal. Bruce made a noise in his throat as Y/N hardened, a choking sound, and Y/N put his fist against his mouth to muffle his whimper.

Bruce relaxed his gag reflex and kept going until Y/N was completely down his throat. It was no easy feat, but it was something that Bruce had dreamed about doing for several weeks now. He was already fully hard against his own thigh, loving the weight and taste of his lover.

In the meantime, he squeezed some lube on his fingers and pushed one into his asshole. He was already so ready for it there was hardly any resistance, so he pushed in another to stretch himself as quickly as possible.

Y/N groaned again, face flushed, as he watched Bruce do this, and had to bite his knuckle by the time Bruce had three fingers inside of him and moaned around Y/N’s cock. If they weren’t under a time constraint, and if Y/N’s brain wasn’t being blown out through his dick, Y/N would try to take back some control and play a little. When they had time, Y/N would take the other apart and praise and simultaneously slutshame him until Bruce was begging to come.

As it were, Y/N knocked his head back against the wall and stifled another moan when Bruce began to work up a rhythm, bobbing his head up and down Y/N’s cock inch by inch. Drool dribbled down his chin. It was obscene and gorgeous, and Y/N scarcely wanted it to end. At the very least, Y/N wanted to come like this. Bruce had other ideas though, and Y/N made a noise of disappointment when Bruce pulled away with swollen, wet lips. Bruce leaned in and licked up a bead of precum forming on his tip and Y/N couldn’t help but bite his lip, completely turned on. The moment was ruined when Bruce glanced at his watch and muttered,

“thirteen minutes.”

Bruce squeezed lube on Y/N’s cock, which twitched in response, and stroked Y/N once or twice before standing. With little preamble, Bruce climbed onto Y/N’a lap and angled Y/N’s dick to go into his hole. It was a little overwhelming with how quickly they were going.

“Do you want a condom?” Y/N grunted out when Bruce held him still.

“No,” Bruce answered simply and sank down slowly on Y/N cock. It was slow going because of how big he was, and Y/N’s hands went to hold Bruce’s hips automatically, even if he felt like his participation in this scenario hardly mattered. Even if Y/N was a little annoyed at how Bruce had reduced him to his dick, the billionaire felt wonderful around him. He was hot and tight, and Y/N memorized every little twitch on Bruce’s face while Bruce stilled to adjust to Y/N’s size.

There was a hot flush on the billionaire’s chest running up his neck to his cheeks and a bead of sweat forming at his grey temples. Y/N didn’t have much time to admire all these little facets because Bruce soon became comfortable enough and lifted himself up to slam back down on Y/N’s cock.

Y/N moaned. Bruce felt so good and Y/N knew Bruce knew it because even with his pupils blown wide and the flush on his cheeks, Bruce had on that little self-satisfied smirk. It drove Y/N wild, and he held Bruce’s hips to fuck up into him as Bruce pounded down, and Bruce lost his rhythm, moaning openly for the other to hear. Y/N kissed him solidly and swallowed down those moans as their tongues entwined and Y/N kept fucking.

Bruce took it so wonderfully. Y/N was like a firebrand inside of him, stretching him deep and wide, and Bruce wasn’t quite sure how he had survived without this. Y/N had the thickest real dick he had ever taken; even Bruce’s toys hardly compared. Bruce had spent several nights, when the adrenaline of a patrol hadn’t quite worn off, fucking himself on his biggest toy imagining it was Y/N. He had literally fantasized of this exact moment, on his knees on his bed, moaning into his pillow, imagining it was Y/N that was really pounding him. The real thing couldn’t compare.

Bruce’s rhythm was now thoroughly off as Y/N took complete control and kept Bruce suspended above his knees. Bruce guessed that they had about five minutes left, and he could feel his orgasm approaching, just out of his reach.

Y/N sensed this and changed angles, so he glanced right against Bruce’s prostate and was a little smug at Bruce’s sudden shout. Bruce panted in Y/N’s ear as he grappled for purchase against him when Y/N didn’t let up against his prostate. Electricity sparked from his toes to his eyes and he shook, closer than he thought.

“Fuck,” Bruce rasped and repeated it like a mantra when Y/N sped up, hitting that spot directly, making him spasm with pleasure. It only took a moment and then, Bruce was coming with a yell. His cum spurted on both of their abs and Y/N kept fucking him through it until he was pushed over the edge himself by Bruce squeezing and twitching around him.

Bruce looked wrecked when he pushed back his sweat slicked hair and stood on wobbly legs. Anyone who looked at him would be able to tell he had just had sex, if they couldn’t smell it on him. It was a minor miracle that Bruce had had his office soundproofed a long time ago. He looked completely unconcerned when he glanced at his watch and bent down to pick up his trousers. Y/N couldn’t help but stare; Bruce had a fantastic ass and when cum dribbled down the back of Bruce’s thigh, Y/N had to stop himself from pushing Bruce over his desk to fuck him again.

“You aren’t going to wear underwear?” Y/N asked when he remembered to speak again. It was an odd decision, considering what had just happened.

“I wanna feel your cum drip out of me,” Bruce murmured, as if it were normal thing to say, and Y/N sucked in a breath, completely aroused.

“You can’t just say stuff like that, B,” he complained.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Why, what are you going to do about it?”

Before Y/N could respond to that, Bruce’s intercom beeped, and his secretary said,

“Mr. Wayne, your three o'clock is here.”

Bruce pressed a button and answered, “I’ll be there in a minute, Holly.”

It was amazing how easily he disguised how raw his throat must have been.

To Y/N, Bruce said, “Be at the manor at five thirty.”

And Y/N knew he’d be right on time.

#bruce wayne #batman #the batman #bottom bruce #bottom bruce wayne #x male y/n #x male top reader #x male reader #top male reader #gay #dc comics

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