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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

Note

This one is easy because I’m a nice pal 😔...unlike "some people" 😶

Sugar Daddy! Bruce Wayne

Or CEO! Thor

Alrighty, maybe I... bent this one a bit?

Where the streets have no name

Summary: A certain vigilante becomes your personal protector.

Character: Bruce Wayne/Batman

Warnings: houselessness, self-hate, power imbalance.

Please, if you might, leave some feedback :) I truly appreciate it because I've not written Bruce outside my Regency AU.

The streets of Gotham are quiet but still awake. No sleep is found in the depths of the grim city, not for the sinister that languish there. Or you.

You lean into the side of the slimy metal, the rust catching on the stained blanket slung around your shoulders, a measly shield against the evening chill. Your breath fogs damply into the air as the stink of trash curdles your stomach. It's the best you'll do for the night and you're too tired to make it to the shelter.

It’s not the worst place you’ve slept. The alley is mostly forgotten if a little grimy. The stink of rot itself is enough to keep away most. You close your eyes and pull down your beanie, your finger catches in the hole around the rolled edge. You’re careful not to tear it further and cross your arms as you settle into the nook of the brick wall and dumpster.

You’re immune to the distant shatter of glass and the greedy squeaking of rats as they swarm into the dumpster. Cars honking against the intrusion of thieving hands and hollers of the unsober and unsavoury.

Soles hammer on the pavement, close, and your ears prick up as they near the mouth of the alley. They’ll pass by.

They don’t.

You hold your breath as the heavy panting and coughs of the sprinter enter the narrow space, shoes crunching gravel and rubble. “Shit, shit, shit…” the man’s coarse whisper drifts towards you. You bend your legs tighter to keep hidden behind the dumpster. “Fucking–”

An odd flap comes from overhead and a sudden crashing impact that shifts the metal bin on its wheels. You swallow a gasp as another set of footsteps scratch on the pavement, the first man whimpering as the wind is knocked from him.

“Was it worth it?” A deep voice grinds in the second’s throat, “an old lady’s purse?”

“Get the fuck off me, you freak,” the other audibly struggles as his last word is crushed from his windpipe.

An unnatural clunk sounds followed by the weight of a body against the ground. The sound of bone on brick makes your stomach churn as you tuck your head down and curl your shoulders. Just go. Just go. I’m not here.

There is only the steady breath of the accoster from the other side of the dumpster. You don’t dare to look. Don’t move an inch.

“Who’s here?” The rocky timbre slices the air.

You cover your head with your arms and huddle down. Please, please, please…

Footsteps scrape across the cracked pavement as you cower. The shadow darkens your existence as it crests the edge of the dumpster. You remain as you are, shaking beneath the man’s presence.

“Hm,” the syllable rolls in his throat.

“Please,” you croak and raise a palm, keeping your head down, “please, I’m just tryna sleep. Please–”

There’s a soft rustle and a click. A cold glove presses to the back of your hand and folds your hand over the cylindrical shape. You whimper and open your eyes, lifting your chin to look at the ominous silhouette shrouded in black. The dark peaks of his cowl draw your eyes. The Batman.

“Hold onto this,” he says, “keep yourself safe.”

You say nothing as he holds your hand around the object until you grip it yourself. He lets you go and stands, his cape sweeping air around his figure.

“Police will be here soon,” he snarls, “you should go.”

You just stare at him. He pauses and peers down at you past his shoulder as he faces the end of the alley.

“I can drop you at a shelter,” he offers and you turn your head side to side slowly.

You push your hand against the wall and stand stiffly. He watches you placidly and you lower the cylinder to your side. It’s light and smooth.

He says nothing as he looks up and lifts his arm. In an instant, he’s repelled upwards and a whir follows him into the sky as he lands on the fire escape with a quaking clatter.

You hear the sirens and peer down the alley. The other man, the criminal, is on the ground, hands cuffed behind his back as he lays unconscious. You cautiously walk down the pavement and peek both ways before emerging. The bridge isn’t too far.

As you walk down the street, passing beneath the cones of light cast from tall poles, you examine the unexpected gift. Your thumb hits a mechanism, barely noticeable to the naked eye and easily hidden in the night.

The club expands and you stop as you hold it out. A night stick. That would definitely keep the goons off, hopefully scare them before you have to use it.

You look up as the moonlight shifts and you see the vigilante in his prowl, hopping across rooftops. A laugh traps in your throat; does he really think he can save Gotham handing out weapons?

🦇

You don’t notice it until days later.

The shelter cot is hard beneath you as you hide the night stick under your pillow, rather your bag full of measly possessions. You’ve learned to sleep with it under your head, whether inside or out. You rub your sore neck as you lean forward, legs bent over the edge as you rest your elbows above your knees.

You groan, sore from days of sleeping in the street. The shelter had one spot left for the night, the rain driving in the itinerant. You unzip your jacket and tug at the sleeve, pausing at the shape hidden along the cuff. You glance around at the drugged out and dozing.

You tilt your chin down as you brush your thumb around the pin, shaped like a bat. You turn out the cuff and check the other side, trying to dislodge the flat circle. As you pick at it, it flashes red. What the fuck?

Why would he do that? What is it? You can’t just toss the jacket, it’s your only one and it's getting colder. Goddamn it, you need a smoke.

You get up and leave your scarf across your cot, hauling up your bag and hiding the club inside. It’s expendable enough to leave as a marker. If anyone even bothers to notice and keep off your bed. You sigh and fumble in the side pocket of your bag, a crumpled carton with one cigarette left.

You go through the rear door and stand under the eaves as they drip, just out of the pouring rain. You fish around and find your pack of matches. You drag one over the rough strip but it bends and snaps in your grasp. You try the next and it curls. They’re wet.

You toss the packet and snarl. God fucking dammit. You lost your lighter days ago.

“Smoking’s bad for you,” the voice startles you as the cigarette dangles from your lips. You take the smoke in your hand and press yourself to the wall as the tall figure emerges from the shadows, “so’s sleeping under the bridge.”

“You’re following me,” you croak out.

“Protecting you,” he asserts as he stands in the rain, the water slaking down his cape, “that’s what I do.”

“There’s hundreds like me,” you put the smoke back between your lips but pull it back out as you recall your lack of flame, “what about them?”

“I protect Gotham,” he insists.

“Mmm,” you hum, “you got a light?”

“Like I said, it’s bad for you.”

You stare at him and huff. You shove the stick back into the carton and bury it in your dingy knapsack.

“Take it off,” you say. He doesn’t react. You hold out your arm and show him the red flash in your sleeve, “please, this is my only coat, I need it.”

Silent, he makes no move, watching you. You don’t understand.

“I kept the cockroaches away last night,” he says, “they like to crawl under the bridge looking for mice like you.”

“What do you–”

“There was a man watching you–”

“Like you?”

“I threw him in the river.”

You’re frustrated by the odd dialogue, not quite sure how to respond, more confused as to why this batty avenger latched onto you. You cross your arms and shiver as the rain adds to the nip of the air.

“Do I say thank you?”

He doesn’t answer. Again. He steps towards you and you flinch, backing up into the wall. He takes your arm and pinches the pin on your cuff. It retracts and he catches it in his gauntlet. He tucks it away in one of the square pouches at his waist, looming over you as he makes no retreat.

“I’ll keep an eye out,” he says as he snaps open another pocket, “get a new jacket.”

He holds out a bundle of bills, folded neatly into an elastic. You frown and shake your head.

“A hot meal,” he continues and hooks his fingers into the loose pocket of your coat, “a hotel room. Get washed up.”

“I can’t–”

“I hear Wayne Continental has soft blankets,” he pats your pocket and shifts back on his heel.

“I don’t want your pity–”

“No, but you have my interest,” he spins and faces the wet street.

Once more, he disappears into the sky, his cape flapping up into the darkness as you stand dumbly against the wall. You can’t stay, not with that much money on you. And how can you resist the promise of a real bed?

🦇

The attendant leaves the tray on the table and you hand them a tip. It feels like wasted money but it’s not your own anyhow. He leaves and the door clicks loudly.

You hug yourself in the fluffy robe, the fresh scent of the hotel soap wafting from your skin. It’s been a while since you’ve been clean, or warm, or safe.

You lift the metal cover from the plate and the smell of the prime rib makes your mouth water. You collapse into your chair, forgetting all reticence as you grab the fork and knife, sliding the tray closer as your stomach whines loudly. You slice into the meat and greedily devour each bite, scooping up the seasoned potatoes just as ravenously.

When you finish, your insides ache from the richness, near bursting at the healthy portions. You cover the remnants with the metal lid and pour the crackling Coke into the tall glass. You gulp it down until it bubbles back up in hot belches.

You set the glass down as your body grows heavy from your sated appetite and you begin to tremble. You rest your elbows on the table and hold your head as you cry, bawling in disbelief.

One night. One night of warmth, of relief. You’ll take it. It’s worth more than any dollar.

Finally, you manage to suck back the onslaught and get up from the table. You shudder as you go to the window and look out over the city. The view is very different from there. It’s almost beautiful.

You press your forehead to the cool glass and sigh. You close your eyes. Just that moment of peace. You want to remember that.

A knock startles you away from the window and you recoil. You cross the room and peer through the peephole, wondering if they’ve realised you don’t belong. If your money is no good. You open the door to the same attendant as before.

“Miss,” he smiles as he stands behind his cart, “your dessert.”

“My– I didn’t order–”

“Mr. Wayne has sent it as a gratuity,” he declares.

“Mr. Wayne?” You swallow.

“He owns the hotel, miss.”

“I know,” you say thinly as you back up and let him enter.

You hover as he clears what’s left of your dinner and replaces it with another platter and a silver bucket of champagne on ice. You rub your cheek as you keep an arm across your chest protectively. You thank him as you follow him to the door. He refuses a second tip.

Alone, again, you’re reluctant to touch the treat. How long has it been since you had dessert? Sometimes the shelter had cookies but they always tasted like chalk. You pace around, looking at the bed longingly. You could just go to sleep but it would be wrong to waste the food.

Another rap on the door, this one softer. You run your sweaty hands down the front of the robe and once more cross to the door. This time, you don’t bother peeking through the hole.

A man awaits you on the other side, the glimmer of a smirk in the line of his lips, a sparkle in his dark eyes. He wears a dark suit that better fits the grandeur of the hotel. You recognise him from the faded prints of newspapers. Bruce Wayne.

“Uh hello,” you murmur blankly, “I think you have the wrong room.”

He says your name and you wince. You knew you should’ve given an alias. Was he hear to kick you out himself? To clear the street rat back to the sewer.

“Did dessert arrive?” He asks in your speechless lull.

“Dessert?” Your heart throbs.

He smooths his tie as he grins. You notice the split in his knuckles though he doesn’t show an ounce of pain. You smile, clueless.

“Um,” you’re entirely confused.

“Can I come in and explain?” He asks.

“It’s your hotel.”

“I suppose,” he shrugs, “but may I?”

You fold your arms over your middle again and back up, “okay, but if you want me to leave you can just ask–”

He chuckles as he steps inside, unhooking the single button on his jacket. “I would if I wanted that.”

He closes the door as he looks around, “we have an executive suite available, I’ll be sure to have them upgrade you in the morning.”

“I… I’m only here for the night,” you say.

“We’ll see, please, sit,” he goes to the table and places his hand on the back of the chair.

You go to him and lower yourself into the chair. You pick at the robe as he uncovers the tray, revealing two delectable slices of cheesecake coated with a berry coulis. Your hand brushes up to your chin and you tap your fingers on your lip.

He puts a plate in front of you and one before his own chair. He uncorks the wine and saves the bubbles with the first flute, filling both before he takes a seat. He drags the chair closer as he sits sideways.

“Please, eat,” he insists.

“I’m kind of… full,” you lift the fork anyway, twirling it nervously.

You look at his hand as it rests on the table top not far from your plate. He balls his fingers to a fist and grunts as he notices. You meet his eyes and he smiles.

“I’ve had worse,” he retracts his hand as he hooks his opposite elbow over the back of the chair.

You cut into the cake with your fork to keep yourself calm. He watches you calmly and you can’t help a hum as you taste it. He nudges the wine closer as you swallow.

“I’m glad you made it, I know the shelter’s a bit far,” he says.

You choke and drop your fork. You touch your throat as you force down the last few crumbs in your mouth. He takes the glass of champagne and holds it out to you. You don’t know what else to do but accept and wash away the grittiness.

“How do you know?” You sputter through the lingering tanginess of wine.

He smirks and tilts his head. You bat your lashes and scoff. He cups his hand as if to say, guess. No, he’s not. He can’t be.

“Like I said,” he sits straight and reaches to the middle of his shirt, undoing a few buttons and pulling apart the fabric to show a black splotch on his stomach, “I’ve had worse. Comes with the territory.”

“You’re not– you can’t be–”

He pokes his tongue against his cheek as he buttons up his shirt, “now you know my secret, you won’t feel so… off balance.”

“Like anyone would believe me,” you shake your head, “you’re telling me because you know that.”

His mouth slants, “maybe, but not entirely.”

You sit back and run your thumbnail along the creases of your palm, “why am I here?”

“Do you not like it?” He wonders and you flick your eyes up derisively. He gives a guilty smile, “alright, I said I’d explain. We both have something to offer the other.”

You shrink back and fold your hands over your chest, “we do?”

“Yes,” he continues, “you don’t belong out there. I can keep you safe, comfortable,” he looks around at the room, “and you can keep me… happy.”

You glare past him at the wall as your eyes well in humiliation, “and you think that’s what I am, because I was on the street?”

“No, and it wouldn’t matter to me if you were,” he says softly, “you have every right to be offended, and it’s your choice. Maybe you only stay one night, sleep with a full belly and go back out there. Or you can say yes and go to bed every night, warm, wanted, with me.”

You clench your jaw and issue a shaky breath. You suck in your cheek and peek over at the window. You think of the stinking alleys, the whispered voices, the restless nights listening for the creep of some stranger.

Out there, it’s dark and dangerous, in here, it’s bright and hopeful. You’re worth nothing out there, but you could find value here. At least, a semblance of dignity.

“Can I think about it?” You ask as you look at him at last.

“We have all night and a whole bottle,” he shifts closer and reaches for your fork, “think about it.”

He cuts through the tender cake and scoops it onto the fork. He holds it before your mouth as he leans forward. You look down at the reddish coulis and your tongue tingles for a taste. You open your mouth and let him slip the fork through.

“If you do go back,” he says as his eyes cling to your lips, “I’ll still keep you safe.”

#bruce wayne #dark bruce wayne #dark!bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #batman #dc #dcu #batman x reader

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pynkgothicka · 2 years

Note

Yandere Bruce Wayne x Criminal Reader x Yandere Nightwing NSFW

Yandere Bruce Wayne x Criminal Reader x Yandere Nightwing

a/n: I'm getting everything that's going to be a headcanon out of the way, so you guys don't expect less from me

Tags/Warnings: NONCON, KIDNAPPING, harsh language

You were a small criminal, usually hired by the bigger villains to aid in heists and whatever weird shit they had in store

So when you are hired for a heist in Bludhaven, you assume it's going to be quick and easy. But Nightwing has other plans

He sees you and instantly becomes attached. He beats up your hirer and locks you, and only you up. Using the lame excuse of "Sorry but you're a repeat offender, doesn't that make locking you up more important than everyone else?"

Dick phones up Bruce and gushes about how he's found another person who he likes and that he feels like this is going to be the one. Bruce was skeptical of this and asked Nightwing to bring them in for questioning. Everyone knew that Dick was noncommittal when it came to relationships

When Dick arrives at the Batcave with you, Bruce sees the appeal and he'll admit it, and falls in love.

"Dick, how about we make a deal?"

Bruce claims that they can share you. It wouldn't be anything like a combative thing. Just that when the other is done with you or is busy, the other would take you. That way both get what they want and you'll never be alone and with all those villains again. They're lucky that they didn't corrupt your mind too much and they could still technically brainwash you.

When you came too, they both posed their deal. And you of course freaked out and started yelling and screaming for them to stay away from you and how they kidnapped you. All you needed was the money to pay off your rent for the month and that you didn't even know who hired you. They wanted you to be some mindless doll for them to pass around and play with.

But both write it off as a bunch of excuses and just start touching you. All while you were tied down and unable to move.

🕸️ NSFW 🕸️

They'd been going at it for hours, filling every hole of yours with cum. Right now Dick was in your mouth while Bruce took your ass after Dick fucked you silly. Dick kept taunting you about how defiant you were before, yet you were such a slut as soon as you got some dick in you.

Dick pulled you by your hair off his cock and leaned down in front of you. "What's my name again?" He spat into your face.

"Master!" You screamed out and Bruce's pace increased, hitting all the right spots. He groaned as you clenched around him, holding him in.

"And whose the guy fucking you name?"

"Daddy-" You gripped onto Dick's shoulders pulling him in, as Bruce was approaching his orgasm.

"Looks like Daddy's gonna fucking fill up that lil hole again. You want Masters cock in that mouth again?" Dick moved your head towards his leaking head as you nodded your head frantically. Dick shoved himself back into your mouth, and started fucking your face at a rapid pace.

Both of them came with a loud groan. Dick brushed your hair out of your fucked out face as the Batalarm resounded. Bruce pulled out of you, scooping up some of the cum that slipped out and pushed it back inside you.

"I have to go take care of this, take care of her while I'm out."

"Trust me she's going to be perfectly fine."

taglist: @animefan3223

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ameidala · 2 years

Text

Misery Business

The reader spirals into the mess of working at Wayne Enterprises. Eventually she grows tired and attempts to find something to hold against her boss. However, the plan backfires when she gets caught sneaking in for confidential files.

tags: smutty, rated 18+ extreme non-consensual themes, somewhat brat taming, bruce is a complete asshole, office fucking, ceo / secretary dynamics, heavy in plot

word count: 6,990+

this was a monster fic i wrote under two days. i would gladly appreciate your comments for this! it will mean the world <3

You remember vividly how you lay in your small apartment unit hoping and praying a job offer finally drops by your email. The makeshift bed wasn't even the most comfortable corner, instead choosing to lay on the uneven wooden flooring than the awkward mattress foam you ought to replace weeks ago.

And getting the notification was the most hopeful your spirit has ever reached. The blip from your phone rang across the room, and you could almost compare it to church bells resonating before a mass gathering. Excitement ran through your veins faster than lightning.

The letter respectfully greeted you with your surname, eyes instantly following the following paragraph— which was probably the highlight of the body as well— that stated:

"Wayne Enterprises is delighted to offer you the full-time position of being a personal assistant, with an anticipated start date of a month after this letter has been sent. Please confirm your acceptance of this offer by signing and returning this email by next week... "

The remaining contents elaborated on other details, such as whom you will be reporting directly to. After writing your confirmation letter, additional information such as where and when would be followed. It wasn't long before your reply, happily pressing the send button and emphasizing your gratitude for acceptance for the company and position.

You have utterly dazed afterward. You remembered long before how blindly you applied for the job like a punch in the moon. It felt like a fever dream now that they had returned the gesture.

A month flew by faster than the wind. You spent the time mentally preparing yourself and maximizing what's left of your savings to buy presentable clothes that made you formally look like a personal assistant. You took the risk of investing what was left of your money in hopes that the company would pay well.

There's no denying that you did expect a lot from the Wayne Enterprises. Owned by the most famous orphan who had a prestigious background of wealth surely would put forth the reputation of his name within Gotham City. Bruce Wayne looked like he did offer the best for the best, and you didn't want to waste the opportunity of a lifetime.

You took a cab, arriving at the entrance of a towering building with the name "Wayne" embossed boldly in front. The exterior looked bustling. You were sure many people were operating this business within a vast building.

However, upon entering, you only noticed a lady in the lobby. There weren't any other workers within the level, so the click of your heels against the marble flooring was particularly noticeable as you approached the front desk.

You barely spoke a word before she had recognized your appearance. “You must be Mr. Wayne’s new assistant.”

You happily nod, introducing your name, followed by an eager smile.

She replies, “Mr. Wayne hasn’t arrived in his office yet, but he usually gets here around this time of day.”

Well aware that you made sure you came to the venue early and prepared, you didn’t mind waiting for several more moments. Not to mention that Bruce Wayne was now your boss, an added detail that would kickstart a great resume.

Eventually, after half an hour of sitting by the lounge, you noticed a man getting out of a fancy vintage dark car. It was only months later when you learned its specific model was called a Black C3 Corvette Stingray.

You didn’t see the face clearly, but you were well aware that that type of dark hair, with a matching fringe cut to one side, belonged. He entered the building seemingly taller than he looked in pictures and media coverage.

His facial expressions were broodingly deadpanned. Any person in their right mind would be hesitant to approach him on the spot. And you were initially one of them.

Bruce Wayne’s figure strode the way to the elevator as if he didn’t care what was surrounding him. His head focused straight in front, arms assertively swinging in sync with his footsteps.

“Mr. Wayne!” You said, rushing to get on your feet after realizing he wouldn’t spare a glance at where you waited.

You practically sprinted, footsteps unmatched by his speed. You had to cope twice faster with the pace he walked, not wanting to let him escape from your sight. Again, you called his name and finally caught his attention.

He stopped in his tracks, just a meter away from extending his hands to press the upwards arrow before the elevator's threshold. He looked back, seeing your figure walking closer to him, yet his face remained unimpressed.

“I’m sorry?” His brows slightly furrowed at your presence.

For the slightest millisecond, you felt offended, but at the same time, you tried not to take it personally. He probably had a lot on his plate and wouldn’t have remembered a new name. Plus, it was probably why he needed personal assistance in the first place.

“I’m the new assistant,” you say, followed by an introduction of your name.

“Oh,” he mumbles, outwardly unimpressed.

“I apologize if my presence came by as a surprise to you today, but—”

“Not at all,” he cuts your sentence midway.

You had to stare at him, awaiting what he would be saying next. But he literally had left the conversation in dead air. The awkward silence was further reprised by the dinging of the elevator, with the light of the button disappearing as it arrived on the ground floor.

The hesitation was strong. You didn’t know if it was a crime to follow him or not but gained the gut to push through. Standing behind him, staring at his oversized dark coat, was more intimidating than before both of you had gotten in the small metal compartment.

And, of course, he had to press the button leading to the topmost floor.

It felt illegal to make a sound. There wasn’t any music playing, and you didn’t know how to create an ice breaker. At this point, you could already just walk back to the entrance and file your resignation.

But maybe you were just overthinking this.

Once the doors had opened, the sight of an entire floor welcomed you both. With the lack of other people, you figured he works here unaccompanied.

The setting was somewhat not how you expected it to be. The corners of the room are definitely dimmer even in broad daylight. It was mostly empty space with a desk. You followed him after he had exited past the doors, his face still focused straight ahead.

“Has Alfred left a call for me yet?” His voice was low and questioning.

You didn’t know who Alfred was! You were internally reciting all the cuss words to make up the information you initially weren’t oriented with. “Uh—”

“Never mind,” he ceases.

You became more and more embarrassed with every interaction you had with him— and admittedly, it just happened twice so far. You were a firm believer of first impressions last, unable to shake the feeling that he probably thinks of your incompetence already.

Mr. Wayne eventually takes his seat behind his desk, taking out a wallet and phone from his coat pocket. He looks up at you unfazed before handing out a paper bill. “Why don’t you finally make yourself useful and get us coffee, alright?”

He adds, “I’ll have a pure black.”

You nod despite his face already glued to the screen of his phone. You turned around, taking apprehensive steps across the room and descending until you were back to the lobby.

You sighed after asking for directions for the nearest coffee shop from Dory, the lady at the desk.

“There is one around fifteen blocks east from here.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, dear.”

“It’s fine. I’m used to walking anyway.” You let out a smile, knowing you’re basically going to walk a mile back and forth just for a cup of coffee. The building was located in a city! Why the hell were coffee shops rarer than arson in this place.

Fortunately, the day after, you didn’t get a call about unemployment, nor were there any hints of you being fired. From then on, you realized you had to work ten times as more challenging. Both in trying to catch up with the crucial details and events of his life as well as learning how to keep up a conversation with Bruce Wayne.

Close to a year had passed, but it admittedly felt like only a month of progress. You familiarized the essential people in Bruce Wayne's life— merely being Alfred Pennyworth, who was definitely kinder than his boss.

In addition, your pride made you competitive in making a good impression. In spite of the huge gap of knowledge, you continued to make your way through it and find tasks, so you could make yourself feel like a functional accessory in the building.

Alfred had assigned tasks to you regarding connections and queries from higher people within Gotham City. You helped Alfred with the burden of taking phone calls and invitations, striving to accommodate any matters asking about Mr. Wayne making an appearance at significant city events.

Since he was a notable figure in the area, he was expected to participate in many gatherings with esteemed and influential icons. Unfortunately, you had to be more creative as days went by. You generally had no idea where your boss goes every day and night unless he was at the headquarters.

He would leave you in his office with his signature, "Just cover for me or ignore them. I'll be heading out," without elaborating when or where to contact him. You tried every trick up your sleeve to build a stronger foundation with your boss, but he was just stubborn as the week you first met him.

Media reporters wouldn’t buy the excuses you continue to make up to cover for him. Rationales such as him being busy with family matters or company meetings could only do so much. The crowd wanted to infiltrate rumors and information, whereas they had no business doing so in the first place.

Word spreads like wildfire in this city. You assumed people would start creating bent truths if your boss neglects the realities. You were concerned enough to help maintain the legacy of his family name, but he seemed to care less.

“Sir, the mayor was asking if you could make an appearance at a gathering this coming Saturday.” You stand alongside the desk, making it a hobby to arrive earlier than him to spare some time preparing his schedule.

“I have a lot on my plate. Wouldn’t be able to accept their invitation.”

“But sir, it features the most influential groups in the city. Your presence would be highly anticipated.”

"These people couldn't care less about me," he says.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, with fingers pinching the skin slightly between brows. "Just do what you're told, and we won't have any problems, alright?"

"Sir, with all due respect, I've been trying to do the same thing for months. It can only last for so long until they become more suspicious about your lack of existence."

"Well, try harder," he scolds. "You're literally doing the easiest job in the world. Show a little effort, yeah?"

You didn't know where that came from, but he was rude to say so. You figured he thought that picking up the phone was all you did the whole day. But throughout these past months, you've been coping with his management style while trying to set up all the critical dates in his calendar— to which all he had disregarded.

"Again, respectfully, I'm just concerned the city might start tainting your reputation if you don't stand up further for it, sir."

"And like I said. Try harder." He doesn't hesitate, nagging, "I've promoted you from my personal coffee apprentice to a desk clerk. Show a little gratitude."

Unaware of where his impudence was coming from, you didn't appreciate where all of this was coming from. It was more apparent than ever how easy he overlooks your role and efforts, barely lending an ear to actually listen to your concerns.

“I understand where you’re coming from, however—”

"Do you actually understand all of it?" He calls for your name tauntingly. He could barely acknowledge your presence on a usual notice, which was why it came as a shock and surprise when he actually remembered your name.

"Yes. I do." The irk in your voice was evident, and you didn't bother hiding it at the arising heat of the argument. "Mr. Wayne, if you could see this in a bigger picture, it's not me who has the right to speak on your company and the family name's behalf."

"Then why did I even bother hiring a personal assistant?" He responds, "If you're going to complain about sitting all day and answering the calls to say that your boss is preoccupied with other agendas, I might as well have Alfred doing it."

Ironically, there wasn’t a hint of gratitude in his voice. No wonder you could explicitly count the employees working for him. He was a complete asshole! Nobody dared to stay long enough to work for this man.

The flare in the back of your head continues to spike up. You were probably going to regret this later on, but you didn’t consider it at that moment.

All these months, you had to accept that being a personal assistant had lesser of a chance of promotional growth— much more working under Bruce Wayne. People involved with higher and underground connections thought highly of themself, exposing you to dealing with these conceited officials. The latter only had a principal goal of bleeding Wayne Enterprises dry.

The man was spoiled and wealthy to even see how destructive the city had become. You bet he could care less than to make an actual gesture and impact.

“Sir, I’ve been doing my best to keep people updated,” you say, “despite the obvious note that you never notify me what you’re doing, I try to cope with the lack of information. I schedule your meetings, which then get cancelled and I would have to accommodate another date.”

Your boss raises a brow, unsure whether it was questioning or threatening. “Isn’t it your job to keep up on my schedule? I’m certain I pay you enough for the job and not for you to whine about it.”

Not really.

“What was that?”

You grit your teeth, heedless of how clouded your thoughts were. This conversation was going in a full circle unless he realized that his participation represented his family name. “I don’t think we’re meeting halfway—”

“Yeah.” This man really has to stop cutting your sentences off.

“...You use that mouth way more than you use your head,” he adds, sending you to the verge of an outburst.

“Yet personally, I don’t think I’m getting paid enough to handle Bruce Wayne’s tantrums,” you retort.

“And you think another company would hire you with that bratty little attitude?”

“I’d rather crawl back to a cave than deal with another day of my boss nagging me for incompetence.”

He slightly pushes back against his desk, allowing space for him to rise on his feet. You stand unwaveringly on the other side, daringly staring back and him obviously taking it as a challenge.

The dynamic and mood of the room completely shift as Bruce tauntingly towers over your head. He seemed less threatening when seated but now had to look down at you with an arrogant scowl. “You never deserved a promotion.”

“I’d rather quit!” You snapped, turning around without hesitation.

Unfortunately, before you could even take a few steps down the room, Bruce had gripped you on the side of your shoulder. He effortlessly pulls you back and spins you around to face him again.

He had tugged your figure closer to him. The evident height difference grew more and more intimidating the lesser the gap was between the two of you.

“And who told you that quitting was an option?” The undertone was soft yet entirely trying to make you fearful.

“I have the right to resign from this job like any other employee.” Your jaw clenches afterward, eyes staring back at his.

One of your hands reached for the one that had held a secure grasp around your shoulder. Your palm presses against the back of his hand, trying to haul it away from you. However, he refused to let down the argument, tightening his hand and squeezing it until you let out a yelp.

“You do realize I can end your career if you dare walk out of this building, right?”

Your face warps into disgust at his prominent power trip.

“You wouldn’t be able to apply for any job in Gotham City once they hear from me. They would definitely choose to believe Bruce Wayne over his former assistant any day.”

“Are you sick in the head?” You impulsively mutter, “you treat me like dirt on your shoe every day at work yet you’re the one who wants anything but for me to quit?”

“I’ll decide what I want to do with you—”

“You’re unbelievably playing god over an innocent girl trying to make a living! What sick game are you trying to play here?”

His hand swiftly moves under your jaw, maintaining a solid grip as he forces you to look straight at him. “I get to decide until I get tired of seeing your whiny ass or make up another plan of what I want to do with you, got that?”

“I’m not an object!”

“Talk back to me and you’ll get what you deserve.” His hand lets go of your face, finally enabling you to suck a breath of relief. “Maybe if you weren’t too self-absorbed with all of this, you’ll finally get some work done and be useful here.”

Your face glowers at him while his increasingly shifts into a smirk. “Let this be a reminder for you to never go against me. It’s never going to end well,” he says.

“Asshole,” you grumble lowly.

And here you are, days later, still stuck at the same job that had spiraled further into a mess which is Bruce Wayne. You've grown used to the nagging, but it has become a toxic foundation between you and your boss. Already wanting to rip out each strand of your hair just by seeing him in the morning.

On this rare occasion, your friend invited you to a club. On your occasional nights off, she took the chance to hit your phone up. You didn't know why you agreed, seeing that resting was way more tempting than drinking. But Selina had her ways with you. And she knew how to make you say yes to a shot or two.

"Why don't you just leave?" Your friend suggests through the blaring sea of partygoers.

"I told you, things are more complicated than that," you groan.

"Are you overworking yourself?" She prods, "I know you can be competitive, but working yourself into exhaustion isn't exactly the dream."

"Believe me, I'm trying my best to care for myself," you scoff, dissociating with your gaze staring straight down the floor.

"Then just dig up some of his dirt and hang it over his face. Bet men like those always have something to hide."

"I can't. That's going to make everything worse."

"Why not? You seem so upset over this job. You really should stand up for yourself sometimes."

You frown. "My situation is just kind of in a dilemma."

"It's either you file your resignation or have something you can blackmail against him. A powerful man like that certainly has something to hide during the daytime."

You hesitate. "Um—"

"I hate seeing you like this, babe. You can't keep letting people walk over you like that."

"Then what? He could get me to disappear," you lean closer to whisper, "or worse, get me killed... and no one would notice that I ever left."

"If he wanted you gone, he would've done it long ago. Assholes like that need to be called out for their behavior. They probably think that just because you're a woman means you can do everything he can't."

You let out a noticeable sigh, dithering on your friend's words.

"Promise me you won't let any man treat you like that further, alright?" She gives an assuring rub over your shoulder, following a smile that somewhat calms your anger.

The line of dead air exhibited your sign of hesitation, internally knowing you didn't want to get on Bruce Wayne's nerves. Ever again. But your friend's rationale did make sense. It wouldn't hurt to just skim over any deeper information you hadn't considered before.

"Promise me." She solemnly calls out for your name.

"Fine." You caved in.

"Good girl," Selina reaches for the back of your hand, which was initially resting on top of your exposed thigh. "Now, let's not waste that beautiful dress, alright? Why don't we take a couple more shots and meet some guys?"

“I— uhm... I need to wake up sober tomorrow, there’s this meeting—”

“Let’s have fun alright? Forget about your boss tonight.”

You give a reluctant gesture to which she adds, “Please. For me?”

Before you could say anything further, a man had emerged alongside you two. You couldn’t make out much of his features, but he definitely had the balls to initiate a conversation. “Hey,” he says, “I thought you girls looked really cute and wanted to come by and say hi.”

“Hey.”

“I’m gonna go dance,” Selina stands up from her seat— implying for the stranger to take her place— with a faint grin present, she winks as her figure fades within the center crowd. “Have fun, catch you on the floor.”

Shortly enough, you also found yourself in front of a new face.

“Enjoying the night so far?”

“Not really—” You paused, instantly regretting how rude and unexciting your sound. “I-I’m sorry. That sounded rude. I mean, I am enjoying the night so far. Just really had a rough day.”

“Friend dragged you to party?”

“No, no,” you answered. “My friend was actually helping me get my mind off of work.”

“Ah, so rough time at work?”

“Yeah.” The affliction in your voice most likely had been evident, though instead of making things awkward, the man tried to continue the conversation more.

“Then let’s help you get your mind off of it, yeah?” You smiled modestly as the man had held out a hand in front of you, “I’m Patrick.”

One thing led to another. The discourse went smoother than you had expected it to be. Despite holding yourself back from getting along, the man’s effort admittedly didn’t exhibit trying too hard, nor did his tone sound self-asserted.

He tried to buy you a drink, though you had to decline. Nonetheless, he didn’t force you any longer instead of enjoying the exchange of narratives between you.

Questions mostly revolved around general information you didn’t mind sharing with strangers. Plus, you did not mention anything related to your work, knowing it was best to keep prominent names out of the topic.

Eventually, after a few giggles and jokes, Patrick attempted to ask you to hit the dance floor. You agreed, realizing your mood had begun to lighten up, and you didn’t mind going along with the night's fun.

He holds your hand, leading the way as he gently tugs you in front. The hot bodies increasingly swayed to the roaring bass of the music.

The room mostly flashed with alternating black and red lights, making it harder for you to find familiar faces such as Selina’s. Nonetheless, you started drifting along to the beat, following Patrick’s steps which casually allows you to enjoy the moment.

You turn your head to look around, the body still swaying to the music, searching for Selina. After a few moments, you spot her across the room, just a few meters away. Other partygoers who had blocked in between created an illusion of her being farther. Still, it would probably take just a few steps to draw her attention.

You smile, seeing her enjoy her time by pressing her back against a taller male figure. Your eyes shift slightly above her, taking a better glimpse of the man she was dancing with.

Like a strike of lightning before the rain, the sudden shift of lighting of the room’s colors from black to red got your smile instantly faltering.

The familiar stoic face you see during the daylight had followed you tonight. The unkempt style of his hair was dark as the shadows of this lounge, yet you could recognize him from a mile away. It was definitely your boss and was staring back.

You tried to convince yourself that your mind was playing tricks on you. Maybe it was the alcohol finally metabolizing in your system. Or perhaps you were growing exhausted from your entire day.

You started getting a headache from all of this. Many questions are coming into mind, but mainly curious about when he found out that you were hanging around at this place.

Did he follow you?

Does he know that he was dancing with someone you know?

Was he even trying to dance? Does he know how to?

Your neck snaps back to the man who had initially asked you out to dance here. He probably hasn’t noticed that your thoughts were occupied with something else. Merely enjoying a little while of being in front of your presence.

At some point, Patrick had tried to get closer, with his hands getting friskier and movements becoming heedless. You felt guilty that you quickly forgot about his company. Yet, you couldn’t wrap your head around or move on about what you had just seen for the most part.

Again, you look back at the same place where you had spotted the two figures.

Bruce already had been looking at you before you could spot him twice. You could feel your heartbeat racing up, unaware of what you were precisely feeling at the turn of events.

Even in the dark, you could make out what was happening between your boss and best friend. His hand effortlessly brushes over her side, ascending from her thigh and up to her shoulder. Simultaneously, Selina’s head cocks to the side, allowing him to lean closer to the skin between her jaw and collar.

It was definitely not the alcohol that was making you sick in the stomach this time. Your mind felt claustrophobic as you watched that scene unfold across the room.

The lightheadedness you were feeling started to increase up your throat. Your lungs felt tighter, unable to breathe through the crowd pushing against each other.

You realized you needed fresh air and needed to get out of the bar.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to excuse myself,” you shout at your dance partner, fingers pointing towards the exit.

“Do you want me to follow?”

“It’s fine.” You turned him down knowingly that he won’t be seeing you again tonight. “You go have an awesome night.”

You didn’t even look back anymore after he nodded. Your legs rushed to the doors, taking your first deep breath after leaving the venue.

Your hands immediately set on top of your chest, bending over, unable to hold back the vomit you tried to restrain inside. You felt sick and sad for puking on the gutter alongside the pavement, still feeling something heavy on your body even after letting it all out.

Afterward, you took a few more breaths, trying to calm yourself down and slip back into soberness. When you finally felt better, you decided not to return to the club and instead started to walk back to your apartment.

You texted Selina along the walk, ensuring she didn’t have to worry.

Fortunately, the following day, you woke up without the pang of a crushing hangover. Yet you still had that unpleasant feeling unwavering over your chest.

You never acted on your thoughts before, but it only took last night to trigger you from actually starting to despise Bruce Wayne. The slight ache in your head probably worsened your thoughts. Still, your emotions began to get the best of you, and you couldn’t think of anything any more than to retaliate.

And so you continued with your regular daily routine, but conscious that today wouldn’t be like most days at work.

Considering that you grew familiar with his schedule and the consistent hours Bruce drops by the building, you took Selina’s advice. You plan to look for files on one of the floors in the building that stored the company data— consisting of any associations with the Wayne family.

And so, as you arrive at work, you expected things to be awkward while waiting for your boss to arrive in his office.

Eventually, as Bruce took the seat behind his desk, he acted how he would on any other typical day. His face was stoic and severe, disinterested with anyone around him, especially you. The room was quiet as ever, but the air was certainly filled with the unseen tension— its silence being way more deafening.

He never shared the same eye contact with you once this morning and afternoon. Unlike how you recalled the way he stared at you last night. It was like two completely different personalities.

Yet you were a hundred percent sure that was your boss, eyes fixed directly to taunt you. Unless he had a twin that everyone in Gotham City was unaware of, your gut was entirely positive that Bruce Wayne dancing against your best friend wasn’t a figment of your imagination.

You know that Bruce doesn’t stay long in his office. Mainly present until late afternoon and always disappearing from sight by then. However, you planned to wait it out further until nightfall was approaching and more employees started to time out.

You continually busied yourself, propping logbooks and clipboards in front until you didn’t realize how fast the hours had passed by.

The sky grew darker from the clear glass window panes. Checking the time by the clock, you were well aware that it was way past your usual dismissal. Other maintenance personnel has walked past, innocently questioning if you were still alright in staying overtime.

“I’m alright,” you played down. “Might just drop by on one of the floors to update some of Mr. Wayne’s documents.”

They unquestioningly nod, letting you pack things up. You held onto a folder as a prop while proceeding to make your way to the elevator and descending a few floors below.

Once arriving in the data storage room, you never realized how colder this place seemed to be. The atmosphere was dark and cold— city lights from the transparent windows were your only light source. What’s worse was that you never familiarized the floor plan in this space, blind to where the light switch was.

You had to use your phone’s flashlight while walking through the dozens of filing cabinets from the closer end of the room to the farthest where you stood.

Admittedly, you didn’t know where to start, nor did you plan to scout each of these cabinets. You’ll probably stay until sunrise if you review each of the folders individually. So you concluded to recourse with random selection.

You started halfway across the room, thinking that the farther you went, the more confidential they were. Initially, the files were mainly just statements of accounts under Wayne’s name dated decades. The amount of wealth was unsurprising, acknowledging the tons of business they constructed.

So you had to probe deeper. You carefully pulled the handles for each cabinet, gently sliding them out as your fingers brushed over the names printed on the heading of the folders and envelopes.

Almost all of them didn’t hold back in concealing any questionable content. As you make your way closer to the farthest end of the room, the spark in your chest grows fainter. You hoped for something, anything, at all, but at the same time, you pondered if your boss would be that dense to leave top secret files this easily accessible.

Approaching the last few cases near the corner of the room, your fingers tug the handle, exposing different disarranged files, unlike the ones you saw just moments ago. The files from the previous storage were generally uniform and organized, utterly opposite to what you were seeing in front now.

There were different types of papers, consisting of scratch and newspapers. Your hands frisked faster, examining the contents of what watch was written, crossed out, and marked within the texts. Some of them included undecipherable symbols and riddles— or gibberish poetry— that you couldn’t entirely solve.

There were also a few pictures and illustrations related to the infamous vigilante running in the night. As some people would gossip, it familiarized you with his figure, the Batman. And you didn’t feel the chill across your skin until you took a closer look at the photographs.

Despite his face covered with a mask, he looks brooding and angry from any angle taken. The man looks like he could knock you out without holding back. Honestly, you didn’t know much about him, but your attention was more focused on why Bruce Wayne seemed like an obsessed stalker.

Did he have a grudge against the man?

What did he have with Gotham’s vigilante?

Was he working with him? For him?

Your curiosity only spiked further. Your breathing races faster as you are eager and nervous to find out more about Bruce Wayne’s recreational hobbies. He definitely used his time searching for the Batman, and now his usual absence slowly made sense.

Maybe Selina was right. Men always had something to hide.

There was a cassette tape tucked beneath the papers. Unfortunately, there weren’t any convenient players nearby that enabled you to watch what might have been recorded it in. So you proceeded to the next case parallel to the one you just searched through.

Your hand impatiently draws the case close to your body, awaiting to discern the next hint. The view opens up with a plain brown folder on top. No labels, titles, or writings at the heading.

Although the thrill that had rushed through your veins only lasted for the shortest moment, your expression immediately replaced with horror. As you spread the the cover open, you expected to find more details about the connection between Batman and Bruce Wayne.

Instead, you were greeting with your own picture. It didn’t even sink in at first, assuming it was another person with the same hairstyle and outfit. But as you stared at it longer, you concluded that it was definitely your face.

The wave of shock washed over your entire body. You couldn’t move your legs nor could your brain process what was and may come to be.

“You’re really a brat, aren’t you?” A voice coincidentally whispers from your back.

“Jesus!” You jolt out of further surprise and accidentally loosing the grip around your phone. It drops to the ground and before your knees could shakily bend over, the looming figure in front of you stepped closer, cornering and backing you up against the array of cabinets.

“You’re looking over my company’s confidential files,” he raps, “and I don’t remember giving you permission to do so.”

“I-I wasn’t—”

The figure lets out a deep chuckle. But it was obvious enough that it was your boss standing right in front who had caught you red handed from snooping. “Don’t lie. You never cease to get on my nerves do you?”

You didn’t know what to reply. His distance was close enough to most likely hear you gulping out of dread.

“W-why was there a picture of me in the file?” You weakly murmur, internally scared of his answer.

However, instead of answering your question right away, you felt his large hand brush over the side of your blouse. And because of the absence of any light, you couldn’t really anticipate or avoid his next move. You stood still, praying to get out of this building in one piece. “You really should know your place,” he whispers back.

“Please don’t kill me,” you softly cry.

You instinctively shut your eyes tight despite the already dark room. You could feel Bruce’s presence tower over you, jaw close to the side of your forehead, just nearby your ear. “You’re that terrified of me, huh?”

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I don’t plan on doing anything like that yet... But I do plan on implementing some reinforcements.”

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t... I don’t—”

You feel his finger press over your lips, hushing your cries, “When will you learn that your actions have consequences.”

Another hand sneaks under the edge of your formal skirt. The fabric swiftly gets pulled up, and you try your best to wriggle out of the situation. Yet your strength was no match to his body alone, and no matter how hard you tried to kick in front, he just wasn’t going to let you go.

“You always loved defying me. Why don’t we start slow tonight, no?”

“Don’t. Please,” you plead while throwing out your arms to make useless attempts to hit him on the torso.

Bruce proceeds to flip your body around, your chest resting against the rigid edge of the cabinet. He couldn’t necessarily see your back, but he surely knew you were bent over for him.

The palm of his hands roughly runs over your ass, tracing the laces of the thin fabric of underwear you wore today. Your feet tense up, exposed and embarrassed in front of a man. “I won’t do it again,” you start whimpering again, knees kicking against the metal, which echoed dull pangs around the room. “I won’t defy you anymore.”

“You’re too late for that.” He steps closer, already feeling his crotch press against your back, before leaning to whisper, “Why do people only recognize their mistakes once they’re stuck in a predicament?”

Then he straightens up. And with one swift tug, he was able to rip apart your panties, feeling the fabric loosen around your skin and exposed to the chill air. “I’ve grown sick with your attitude. Give me a break, yeah?”

You heard the faint sound of a belt unbuckling, further sending you into panic, aware of what he truly wants to do with you now. Your hands strike against any surfaces you could reach for, creating loud banging echoes.

“Nobody’s going to give a shit if you make a noise,” Bruce mutters, pressing his hand on your back and pushing it down, which had inflicted pain on you.

Consequently, every second had lead to him pushing his dick past the entrance of your cunt. With one hard thrust, he made sure his first move was to bury it deep inside your walls. “Nnngh fuck—” he grunts.

Your lips let out a yelp. Your abdomen tenses, exhibiting discomfort on your end; but Bruce didn’t see it that way, further enjoying how you tighten around his size and continuing a torturously slow and deep pace.

“Mmm... I couldn’t get the image of your face at the lounge,” he says in between groans.

You badly wanted to say something. But your mouth was only letting out cries for help while your eyes started to tear up.

“I know you saw me with your friend there.”

His rasps were alternating with his hips bucking forward and backward.

“You looked so terrified seeing me—”

“I’m not sure if you were jealous of her or scared of me... M-maybe both,” he grunts.

“But fuck, that look on your face the only time you fucking looked hot.”

“I knew you were going to finally lose your temper over that— Agh,”

“And it was so, so easy, getting your friend to speak up.” You teared up further, knowing he had all set this up and even included Selina in this. “She was drunk enough before she started dancing on top of me.”

The skin of your ass pressed against the soft fabric of his pants. They didn’t feel like his work clothes, insignificantly assuming it was his casual attire.

It felt like an eternity. Him fucking your almost lifeless body like he was fucking a fist of his hand.

“God, women are so easy.”

His rhythm loses pace, insistent to thrust faster and catch an orgasm. The obvious impatience he exhibited any time of the day had you guessing that he wasn’t going to hold back in this too.

“Oh—god. Oh god,” you hear him suck a sharp breath through his teeth, even making a pained higher-pitched sound in his throat. “I wanna cum inside you. I’m gonna come inside.”

“Please don’t. Sir, please, don’t,” you beg desperately.

He promptly strikes the skin of your ass, feeling it swell and probably bruise in the darkness. “Shh, shh… you’re just making it harder for yourself to enjoy this.”

With one last groan, he buries his cock again like the first time upon slipping inside your cunt. He was hot and pulsing while emptying his load.

Once Bruce finishes and finally withdraws back, he distinctly catches his breaths— loudly inhaling and exhaling— while leaving you a whimpering mess underneath.

Your face was a slobbering mess. Not only were there tears streaming down your face, which definitely had ruined what was left of your make up, but your entire body was still quivering from the impact of what just happened. Your fingers trembled against a surface, unable to push your body up so you could try and stand again.

The weight on your chest rises in distress after feeling the fluids of his cum drip down your inner thighs.

“You deserved every bit of it.” He breathes out, “but I’m not done with you yet.”

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mcuxhp777 · 2 months

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#nygmobblepot #wayleska #bruce wayne #jeremiah valeska #ed nygma #oswald cobblepot #gotham #dark bruce wayne #descendants #song lyrics #i want dark bruce wayne so badly #like imagine bruce was dark #all we got was thomas wayne in flashpoint paradox #we need a dark bruce #we already got dark justice league #dark bruce wayne is very much needed

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nightweb · 1 year

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shameless promo of my jaydick fic too <3 i realized i never properly linked this fic despite it being my most popular fic on my ao3 :0 anyway if u like a freudian exploration to jason’s mommy issues with abusive bruce wayne and jason and dick both thinking of parental figures while sloppily making out well . here’s the fic. please heed the tags.

#jaydick #batcest #hinted unrequited brudick #dark bruce wayne #my woobified dickie being a pathetic meow meow #jason being even more of a pathetic meow meow

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nuvemturquesa · 2 years

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In The Darkness Masterlist

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

(I won't update chapters on Tumblr anymore. The fic continues on my AO3)

#masterlist #bruce wayne x oc #bruce wayne #dark bruce wayne #dark fic #batman 2022 #original character #robert pattinson #the batman 2022

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sinvulkt · 2 years

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Revelations by @frownyalfred (TheResurrectionist)

The Joker does to Batman what he did to Superman in Injustice canon. Bruce watches as his city explodes, with his kids and Gordon and Alfred all in it. He snaps, and kills the Joker - and then he plans.

Because this can never happen again. Ongoing, 15k words.

"Five seconds,"��Alfred said in his ear, "Bruce, you must know, it wasn't your fault. It wasn't, you understand?"

Clark was at his shoulder, tugging him backwards. When had he started moving?

"Bruce, you can't--"

Tim's voice, shaking, struggling to remain calm: "Two seconds."

He struggled against Clark's hold, roaring.

"Nooooooooo!"

The line went dead.

In the distance, Gotham lit up in fire, a shock wave bursting from the city. Clark threw them both down, shielding him from the blast as the ground shook.

When he looked up again, Metropolis was silent. Dust rained down, painting the sky grey.

"Gotham," he said, struggling to his feet. He tapped at his comm, getting nothing but static. "They were--"

Clark was coughing in the rubble, a hand to his throat. He looked up briefly at the ruined skyline, eyes brimming with tears.

"It's gone," he said, choked, "It's gone, Bruce."

[...]

"We need to get him out of here," Diana said, voice low. She grasped his arm. "Now."

"Give him a moment," Clark hissed in disbelief. "Can't you see he's-"

"Not Bruce," Diana pointed at the Joker, eyes narrowed. "Him."

Clark shook his head slowly, unwilling to consider what she was implying. He stepped backwards, putting a hand up in protest. "He wouldn't-"

"You have no idea what he would do," Diana said fiercely, glancing back at Bruce.

[...]

"Move."

"You don't need to do this," Clark said quickly, stepping forward. "Please, Bruce. We don't have to fight."

The other man let out something almost like a laugh. His hand flexed at his side, reaching into the case.

"Funny." he said.

"What?"

Bruce tilted his head.

"You thought this would be a fight."

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lycheeloving · 3 months

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a non-platonic yandere!Bruce thought this time, with some multiverse stuff, because that's all I could think about today.

I imagine this is at a point where you've been with him for some time & have mostly gotten used to your situation (having been kidnapped and forced into a relationship with a billionaire who happens to be Batman)

a small allusion to nsfw stuff, minors dni

You're bored, sitting in the bedroom you share with Bruce (who's currently patrolling, so you can't even annoy him for entertainment), so you decide that you at least want a change of scenery, and what better place for that than the batcave? So you take a book, a drink and a blanket with you as you venture down into the cave.

Bruce doesn't like it when you're down there, especially not while he's out, but it doesn't concern him enough to install anything that would keep you from going down there. If you're lucky, this will piss him off just enough to make the inevitable post-patrol sex with him more interesting tonight, so a win-win situation, really! You sit down in his comfy chair in front of his bat-computer, snuggle into your blanket so you don't freeze to death and start reading.

After some time you stand up to stretch and notice Bruce in the reflection on the computer. Weird, you didn't hear the batmobile returning! Well, you must have just been really immersed in the book.

"Bruce? You're back early, I thought you said you'd take longer today because of some Arkham emergency?"

No response.

"Ok, look, I know you don't like it when I'm down here, but I was getting sick of the manor!"

Still no response.

You turn around to look at him more closely, his expression might look like his usual stony facade, but you've spent enough time with him by now to be able to read him a bit and you're pretty sure he looks... confused?

"Hello? Are you ok? Did you hit your head? Did you drive with a head injury?? Wait, no, of course not, the batmobile can drive home all by itself-"

As you say that, you look at where the batmobile should be. should be, because it's not there. You look back at Bruce. Did his batsuit always look like that? You could swear that the ears are usually a bit smaller, and the color is wrong. Huh. You take a step back. "You're.. not Bruce, are you?"

He finally opens up his mouth to explain that he's from a parallel universe, that he and the Bruce from your universe have been helping each other with cases for a while now, he just came here to see if your Bruce was available, but if he's not here right now he's going to leave again. He gestures to a portal in the wall that you missed because from your angle it just looks like the wall of the cave, but when you take a step forward you can see into what looks like the batcave you're in right now but slightly to the left. A bit uncanny.

"You looked confused earlier, did Bruce not tell you about me? Or did you just not expect to see me down here?"

"...I was not aware that he is in a relationship."

"I mean, yeah, I guess if I was him I wouldn't go around telling people I kidnapped someone and keep them locked in my mansion, either. Even if they looked exactly like me, I mean, you never know if they think exactly like you as well. Um. Anyways, it was nice to meet you?" You wave awkwardly while he looks shocked (in his stoic way).

"...Why didn't you try to escape through the portal, then, if you're kept here against your will?"

"Oh, um, my bracelet is designed to shock me as soon as I leave. Like, really painful electric shocks. I'm not trying that again." More shock and guilt on other-Bruce's face.

"I'm sure I could disable it. Come with me."

"...And then what? Bruce will come after me. He'll attack you and be really, really mad at me for running away. Really mad. He said he'd break my legs if I ever tried to run again, I'm not risking that. And he'll keep me chained up in the bedroom for months." You shudder. "I like my walking around the house privileges, thank you very much."

You feel uncomfortable when he doesn't react and instead keeps staring at you. "I think you should leave. Now. ...Please."

He takes a step towards you. "I can keep you safe. I wouldn't feel right, knowing I left you here. Come with me."

You take a step back. "Look, thank you for offering, but I don't think this will end well for either of us. I'm gonna go now."

You turn to leave, but he's faster than you. He grabs your wrist, stopping you from getting away. You squirm in his hold while he inspects your bracelet. He then pulls something out of his utility belt with which he's able to remove the bracelet without it shocking you, throws you over his shoulder and carries you through the portal, not at all bothered by your kicking and scratching. He puts you down and closes the portal behind him. It all happened faster than you could wrap your head around.

"...I think it would be best if you stayed in the manor until I figure out how to resolve this.", he says, an unnerving glint in his eyes.

Did you just get kidnapped by a second Batman? Will he really let you go? You doubt that, somehow. You think you would have preferred to stay with your Batman, at least with him you knew what to expect...

#idk if any of this makes sense but I can't proofread this again or I'll scream #yandere batman #yandere bruce wayne #batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #x reader #reader insert #yandere!batman #yandere!bruce wayne #yandere dc #yandere #lycheewritings #dark!bruce wayne #dark!batman #dark bruce wayne #dark batman #yandere batfam

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 8 months

Text

Friend

Pairing: Dark Bruce Wayne x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: Your boyfriend can’t stand people hurting your feelings.

WARNING: Toxic/Abusive Relationship.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

“Bruce, did you… do something?” you hesitate, twisting the phone in your hands as Bruce buttons up his shirt. He looks at you through the mirror, eyebrows raising as his lips curl into a slight smirk.

“Why would you think that, my love?” his head tilts to the side with his eyes meeting yours, a mist of arrogance and confidence in them.

You gulp, wondering if you’re wrong to even consider that a possibility. But deep down there’s a submerged certainty that it was Bruce.

It was foolish of you to confide to Bruce about how a close friend of yours was being so mean, almost bitchy towards you. Her name had mindlessly slipped off your tongue and back then you didn’t think much of it.

You were just taking it off your chest, seeking some comforting words and perhaps advice from Bruce, nothing else.

But when said friend suddenly loses her job, her apartment and even her bank account savings, it creates an uneasy feeling in you. Bruce is the only person you had shared your problem with, not to mention he has more than enough resources to make that happen.

“I…Maybe…Just tell me. Did you do something?” you beg. Bruce doesn’t immediately reply, taking his time in fixing his suit returning his attention to the mirror.

When he finally looks up, anxiety has filled your mind and it doesn’t help that Bruce sickly smiles at you, coming closer.

He presses a kiss against your forehead, his hand intertwining with yours. Closing your eyes, your breath stutters, a bad feeling sinking in.

“There’s nothing worth about her, so don’t worry that pretty head of yours with those theories, darling.” Bruce’s voice is nothing but a low whisper.

You were right.

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #dark bruce wayne #dark!fic #dark bruce wayne x reader #dark!bruce wayne #dark!bruce wayne x reader #yandere bruce wayne #yandere bruce wayne x reader #dark dc #bruce wayne x reader #yandere x reader #tw: yandere #tw: toxic relationships

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years

Text

Days of Splendour

Sequel to Marriage of Inconvenience, Acts of Atonement, and Memories of Misdeed

Warnings: this fic includes dark content including rape/noncon, marital discord/neglect, cheating, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You face the fall out of your confession.(Regency AU)

Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne

Note: You can imagine any Bruce you want. I hate Affleck so I went for Christian Bale in my head but to each their own. I pictured Cavill because uhhhh yes, but hey if you wanna go with Brandon Routh that’s chill af, or Tom Welling.

And here’s the unexpected sequel.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Humpty Dumpty love falling off walls. Take care. 💖

Bruce stares at you. The confusion that glimmers in his eyes startles you, dismays you. Your heart clenches tightly as you can hardly stand on your own. You could bear the years of neglect stabbing into you like a dagger but you cannot bear any hurt you could cause him.

“Tell me,” he utters in a brittle tone, Kent’s laughter tapers off into raspy snorts.

You gulp and quiver as you cross your arms, not comforting yourself, bracing yourself. You must tell him. To be done with it. So that you may face his wrath and your fate as a fallen woman.

You sniff and bring a glove up to wipe your nose, your other hand firmly on your elbow. “The night of the fair…”

“Oh go on, regale him with how I thrilled you,” Clark bolsters from below, a smooth strike with the shove snaps his head back. You wince at how his skull hits the floor and he groans into a slurred grumble, “Wayne, you…”

He does not finish as you sway, staring at the silver shovel, almost hoping he swings it at you next. You fold your hands over your chest and shudder as the memories swells in your stomach, threatening to revolt as bile rises up your throat.

“Upon our journey back to this manor, Lord Kent… I… in the carriage we… were unfaithful,” you push the words out with a breath and cannot inhale again, dizzy as you stumble, turning to press your hand to the window and stay upright, “I’m sorry, husband, I am unworthy of you and all you’ve provided me.” You press your hand to your stomach, the tight stay making it hard to take in air, “I only ever want to please you but I have committed a crime which no wife could be forgiven–”

A soft nudge quiets your sobs, you wiggle your nose as you glance over, Bruce stands in smeared hues behind the wall of your tears. He stops your hand as you go to flick away the droplets from your cheeks, instead wrapping your fingers around the shovel. He steps close, so close you can smell the citrusy scent of his cologne.

“Go on,” he urges.

“What–” you quiver as you try to pull away, try to release the shovel but he holds it in your grasp.

“He deserves it, and you should be the one to deliver it upon him,” Bruce’s deep timbre sinks into you. You’ve never heard that tone from him before. It’s dangerous and dark. “So go, lay upon him the wrongs he’s done to you.”

You swallow and sniffle, more tears spring out in your shock. You shake as you reach for his other arm. “Please, husband, I cannot–”

“Why?” It’s a genuine question, as if the thought of violence would be natural.

“I… am not… cannot…hurt him. Or anyone…” you flutter your lashes as you try to see him clearly through your lashes, “it is I that is owed castigation.”

He sighs and turns his face away, blinking long in irritation. He shakes his head as he draws away, taking the shovel as he spins to face Lord Kent. The other man sits dizzily on his knees, gripping his head as his bright blue eyes flash up to face his adversary.

Bruce points at him with the shovel, “I should cave your head in with this, I should stain this carpet with your blood, I should make you beg until no breath can rise from your lifeless chest,” he snarls, “but I shall not. Unlike you, I have honour, so I will allow you your life…” your husband pauses and glances at you, “so long as you are away from my estate at once. So long as you do not tarry and goad me further for I do not know how much longer I can withhold my vengeance upon you, sir.”

He grips the shovel and prods Kent’s chest as he bends to meet his gaze, “go now and never lay eye or hand on my wife again. At the risk of my fury, you will not so much as think upon her. For the next time I shall not think to fetch a shovel but my pistol.”

He shoves Kent with the shovel and takes a steps back, pointing with the long silver handle towards the door. Kent’s eyes wander towards you and the gleam of the shovel quickly deters him. He stands with a stagger, gripping his knees before he can set himself on his own weight. Blood trickles from his nose and the cut along his cheek.

No words pass between the men in the stolid stalemate. Bruce stands unmoving but for his eyes as they follow Lord Kent out the door. Alfred’s voice greets him from the corridor, no doubt the loyal butler has heard it all and is ready to see the man from the premises.

You shiver and your legs buckle and fold. You collapse into a heap and catch yourself on the heel of your hands. You weep freely as all strength abandons you on the cold floor.

“I am so sorry, my lord,” you quaver, “please, I do beg of you to forgive me. I will do whatever you wish. Should you wish me to go–”

Your voice lumps in your throat as the shovel clatters to the floor. You reluctantly look up with a trembling lip as Bruce stands staring at the floor, one foot kicked out as he grips one hip. His face is lost in shadows and sets in you a new fear.

You think for a moment he may do worse to you than Kent. You will not resist if that is as he wishes. What more do you deserve?

He drags his foot around as he turns. You wince as he nears you with heavy steps and bends his knees as he brings himself to your level. He puts his hands on your arms and slowly rises, bringing you up with him. You stand uneasily, legs quaking as he holds you up.

You can’t look at him but suspect he can’t either. He pulls you against him suddenly, you squeak. He holds you there, you hear the beating of his heart, arms tight around you, body stiff. His embrace slackens and at once he is scooping you off your feet.

You latch onto his shoulder as you smother a gasp. He stares ahead, determined, as he turns and carries you across the room. The house is empty and silent as he comes out into the corridor, the staff scattered from the discord.

“Br– Lord Wayne,” you murmur as you place your hand on his chest.

He does not answer as his long strides continue into the foyer and the ascent is slower, jarring you with each step. He proceeds past your door as you squirm in his arms, uncertain and afraid. He is your husband, your master, he may punish you as he sees fit. As his wife, you must heed his will.

He pauses, shifting you as he bends to turn the knob on his bedroom door. You hold your breath, tears dried up with anticipation, with dread. He continues within and kicks shut the door behind him. Your fingers curl into his vest as you steel yourself for what comes next.

He goes to the bed and lays you down gently. You’re surprised as he straightens and tugs at his stock, freeing it from his neck. He works at unbuttoning his high collar, nose flaring with his thoughts as his dark eyes dilate. You stare at him, witless.

He unbuttons his waistcoat and disposes it. His attention drifts away from his own attire as he comes closer to the bed. He bends and reaches around you, pulling at the knot behind you that holds your silk belt in place. The thick ribbon with the opal stone at the front drops into your lap.

“You are my wife still,” he says, looking you in the eyes, “you will ever be my wife. It is I that have failed you,” he retreats and continues to undress, “that I sent you off with that cad, exposed you to his perversions–” he shakes his head at himself, nearly ripping his shirt as he yanks the tails from the top of his breeches, “it will not happen again, ever. I will see that it does not.”

“My lord, it is not your–”

“Not my fault?” He puffs as he faces you again, his chest tense as it peeks out from beneath his open shirt, “do you think it your own?”

You blink at him. You can’t say it aloud but you do.

“No, that… beast, that creature,” he snarls and hits his hand with his fist, “he has preyed upon a married woman, he has defiled my own wife, and– and you are too gentle to hold an ounce of anger for him. So let me, let me carry that flame and let it burn me from the inside. For you deserve better, you deserve vengeance.” He clicks his tongue and shrugs off his shirt, tearing it off in frustration, “you deserve better than I am and better I shall be.”

He nears you again and you barely keep from wilting before him. He takes your hands and urges you to rise. You do, quivering, and he follows your sleeves up your arms and his fingers dance over your shoulders. He tickles your neck and cradles your face, his own body shaking.

“Ready for bed, blossom,” he bids as he hovers his lips over yours, “so that I may hold you close and safe in my arms.”

“My lor–”

“Bruce, your husband,” he insists as his thumb brushes your cheek, “yours, as you are mine.”

He crushes his lips to yours fervently. You let him as his hands frame your jaw firmly, squeezing as he touches you with an intent you’ve never felt in him again. So raw and rabid, all rigidity tossed away. His tongue pokes into your mouth demandingly and he edges you back against the bed.

You fall and he descends with you. He parts as he holds himself over you, his breath washing over you hotly. He pets your face and traces your hairline as he marvels at you, “there has been much excitement, wife, and I wish only to have you in my arms and sleep. So that you may rest, that you may recover.”

Your eyes wet and you wiggle your nose, “m–Bruce,” you caress his bare shoulder, “you are too generous, too forgiving–”

“You needn’t my forgiveness and he shall never have it,” he hisses, “but I will ever have you, until eternity, my blossom, as you swore to me and I to you.”

💔

The warmth is sweltering. Bruce lays flush to your back, his arm snaked around you to keep you close, as if to trap you there. You have no thought of escape as you wake gradually, the chill of the chamber creeping in over the top of the eider.

You pull the blanket closer to your chin as your husband shifts behind you. He grumbles into your hair, the heat of him seeping through the measly layers of linen. Your shift is a poor shield to the early morning cold and the man behind you.

He untucks his hand from under you and drags it up your stomach. He covers one side of your chest, fondling you as he purrs and wiggles against you. His fingers crawl up and pluck at the laces across your chest. He loosens them enough to slip beneath your shift, toying with your nipple as it hardens against his touch.

A ripple flows through you. You could cry again. He wants you still. Even after a night to think, he desires you. He does not blame you, though you cannot say the same. The guilt lingers and nips at the nape of your neck.

He nuzzles the back of your head and hums, edging down the slender sleeves of your shift to bare your chest completely. He gropes you, playing with you, tweaking strings deep inside you. You moan and nestle into him, welcoming him.

His hand trails up to your shoulder and he moves, leaving you cold as he pushes you onto your back. A rush of air flows in beneath the blankets as he lifts himself over you, edging your legs apart with his knee. He bends his arm around your hand and leans in to kiss you.

You breathe into him, letting all the tension, all the worry drifting away. You touch him shyly, fingers fluttering over his side, making him twitch. You feel the strength in him, relish in it, feel safe in it.

His mouth slips across your cheek. He kisses along your jaw and neck, doting on you, exploring as if it’s all new again. His lips make you giggle as they meet your throat and he rolls his thumb over your nipple, stirring another flicker of elation.

Your hand brushes along the top of his short drawers and he groans. He wants it, you want it to. You push down the linen and he shifts his hips to help you. His fingers walk down your stomach and trace the line of your pelvis. He slips between your bodies and along your folds. He rubs you cloyingly as his shorts catch around his thighs.

You moan and twine your hand into his dark hair as he nibbles along your collarbone. He teases your tender bud as his mouth follows the curve of your breast, pinch the skin between his teeth as you squirm. He takes a nipple between his lips and sucks, another strike of pleasure pings up your spine, arching you against him.

“Bruce,” you rasp as you grasp his shoulder, “please…”

He purrs and it rolls through you. His fingers tease your wet folds as he coaxes your body. You bend your legs around him, ready, impatient.

He slips his hand away and his mouth leaves a wet smear up your chest. He raises himself over you, guiding his tip along your cunt. You bite your lip as you bring your hands along the sides of his neck, the tendons straining as he prods along your entrance.

He thrusts into you all at once. You cry out as your hands fall to his shoulders and you dig your nails into his flesh. He does it again, harder, the sudden urgency surprises you. You gasp and press a palm to his chest as he ruts once more.

“Bruce,” you whisper.

He pushes his legs up, shorts stretched between his thighs as you bend your knees around him. He snarls as he snaps his hips again and you curve your spine deeper to take him. He’s never been like this. Before, those few times in the early days of your marriage were dull and dutiful, and since, soft and fond. Now, he’s rough but not unloving. Desperate, almost.

He kisses you, swallowing up any protest you might muster. He rams into you, over and over, flesh slapping loudly between you. The pressure, the friction of his pelvis against yours, tingles over you, coiling within, tight until fraught.

You whine into his mouth and hook your arm around his neck as you cum. You spasm as your walls twitch around him, succumbing to his demands. His lips part from yours as he chuckles, tickling your side as he thrusts as deep as he can.

He frames your chin and turns your head harshly as your arm slips away from his neck. His lips brush against your ear as he whispers, “you will never again be lost, blossom, for you are exactly where you belong.”

He shoves himself up, sitting back on his heels as the bed jostles with the movement. He runs his hands along your thighs and grips your hips, pulling you further onto him. He watches the joining of your bodies as he sinks deeper and you whine.

You reach back to clutch the pillow as you grit your teeth. He rocks, growling as his eyes cling to his long strokes pushing in and out of you. He rams his hips up until you're full and you exclaim. He does it again, just as hard, and you squeal. He smirks, keeping the deliberate tempo.

He drags his hand away from your hip and presses his thumb to your clit. You writhe as he tilts his hips, rubbing you as he fucks faster and faster. All control flies away from him as your voices rise and mingle in the frigid air, now damp and smelly with your sweat.

“Oh, blossom, I know you can do it,” he taunts, “yes, only for me, yes?”

You puff as another climax piques in you, shaking you to your core as you bend your legs around him, begging for more. He grins and slides his hand beneath your knee, then the other, pulling your legs up his torso, spreading his hands across your thighs, fingertips poking into you sharply.

He hangs his head back as his tempo quickens, hammering into you as he growls at the canopy. You moan and sink your nails into the pillow as his needs ripples through you, enthralling you, melting you to a quivering mess.

He snarls and grunts, snapping his hips several times before stopping, holding himself at his limit as his body twitches. He’s breathless as he caresses you from thigh to foot and back down again. He lets your legs fall around him and bends over you, kissing your fiery cheek.

“My wife, my blossom,” he coos as he runs his thumb over your lower lip, “I promise you, there will never again be any other but me for you.”

“Husband,” you exhale wispily, “I–”

He hushes you and pecks your lips, “do not be sorry, ever.”

💔

You can almost forget Lord Kent’s disastrous visit, yet Bruce’s new ardor is a constant reminder. A reassurance almost as he chips away at the guilt still hard as a stone in your chest. His insistent presence and attention are a pendulum between soothing and suffocating. He is your husband, however, and you swore to serve him.

That day, he is in his study. A rare occasion in the weeks since the revelation. He has not gone to the parliament more than once a week and spends much of his time with you, whether it be with your books or his bed. More than his habits, his manner has changed. He is more intense, more insistent. As if he is afraid, and other times, he seems enraged. Not at you, but at some unspoken threat.

You’re at your vanity when the knock comes. Ester helps you with the ribbon you thought to tie around your hair as you call for the visitor. Bruce enters, dressed simply in dove grey and navy, his eyes sparkling as you peek over from the looking glass.

“And what is the occasion?” He wonders as his footsteps pad over the floor.

“Housework,” you chuckle, “I suppose a ribbon isn’t needed.”

“Housework?” He rests his hand on the edge of the vanity, you feel his gaze on you, “is that not what the staff are employed for?”

“I like to help,” you shrug, “I mostly say where to move the furniture when I do not like the arrangement.”

“I did wonder why the settee keeps wandering,” he muses, “but I’m afraid I must put a pin in your plans.”

“Oh?” You look up at him as Ester sighs and lets the ribbon fall limp again.

You know you’ve been moving overly much, your restlessness worse with each day. That cause of which is hard to determine as it befalls you at unsensible times. And the sickness that keeps you from finishing your morning meals, sometimes those later in the day. You wonder if the winter has brought an ague upon you.

“The seamstress has come,” he declares as if you should know why. Your confused look affirms that you don’t, “so that you may have a new dress for the yule celebration.”

You tilt your head at him as Ester pulls back, “forget the ribbon, Ester, apologies,” you wave her away and turn to Bruce, “a new dress?”

“Did I not mention it?” He gives a crooked smirk.

“You know that you did not,” you smile as glee erupts in your stomach. You’ve not had a new outfit since before your marriage, a whole trousseau left neglected in your isolation.

“Consider it a surprise,” he offers his hand, “I’ve come to escort you, lady.”

“Well, aren’t you the gentleman, this day,” you tease as you take his hand and rise.

“As I am every day, though we shall not mention the nights,” he winks and you give a glance to Ester as she barely hides her amusement.

“Husband,” you tap his arm in reprimand.

He laughs and leads you to the door, “you do not counter the point, however.”

“This is not The House, sir, thus I needn’t entertain your debates,” you reproach.

“Oh, how you entertain me in other ways,” he hooks his arm through yours.

“My, you are naughty,” you chide, “what has overcome you, husband?”

“Only your beauty,” he leans over to kiss your hair.

You giggle and shake your head at him. He leads you downstairs to the sunroom, the windows shrouded behind the thick winter curtains as rolls of fine fabric are displayed before them, the fireplace burning amber, as a woman in a plain grey dress stands patiently beside it. You cannot believe the scene.

“Madam,” she greets with a nod from Bruce as he lets you go, “I am Marigold, I am here to take your measurement back to Monsieur Lammeau.”

“Lammeau?” You bat your lashes, “why, he resides in Paris.”

“Monsieur is vacationing in London presently,” Marigold explains, “and is eager for the many commissions he received for the king’s yule ball.”

“Why, I…” you look at Bruce as he strides to a chair and sits smugly, “sir, you are a scamp.”

He smiles over his knuckles as he leans his chin in his hand. You are surprised further that he remains but don’t let it affect you. You are much too excited at the site of silks, brocades, and muslins.

“Shall we review the fabric first, lady? Then I shall close with your measurements,” Marigold directs.

You accede to her suggestion and go to tall rolls. A tailor would often travel with pocket-sized swatches but you suspect the extravagance is at your husband’s insistence.

You peruse the many options before you. The teal and gold brocade is much too springish for the season, the violet muslin too presumptuous for court, and the black silk too drab. You don’t mind the burgundy velvet with small gems set into it in an even pattern but you think of the expense, the plain blue might be preferable in cost, and the emerald satin is simple enough for most patterns.

“Hmm, I cannot decide,” you tap your lip, “I wonder what the other ladies have chosen.”

“The other ladies’ options have been removed from the catalogue, madam,” Marigold says, “they do seem fond of muslin despite the cold however.”

“What about the red velvet?” Bruce offers, “you seemed to linger on that.”

“Yes, but… it seems rather ostentatious, perhaps without the gems,” you mull.

“I think it suits you,” he insists, “wouldn’t you say, Marigold?”

“The red is a fine tone for your complexion and would take only a simple cut,” Marigold offers, “but of course, it is the lady’s preference that matters.”

“I do like it,” you twiddle your fingers, “might I ask the price?”

“You may not,” Bruce interjects, “that is a matter I will attend to, lady.”

You give an abashed, tight-lipped smile, “yes, husband.”

“Is that your decision, madam?” Marigold prompts.

“If I don’t decide on it now, I don’t think I should be able to choose,” you say, “yes, I will have the velvet.”

“Very good,” she takes out a small notebook, “Monsieur will arrange a visit to consult about his designs, but for now, I will take your measurements. It would require, madam, to be done with only your shift.”

“Ah, yes, I suppose, that would be necessary,” you glance at Bruce who is unmoved at the suggestion.

“I’ve seen less than the shift,” he shrugs as he sits back.

You’re taken aback for a moment by his impropriety. It was once that this man seemed averse to anything not stamped into him by years of etiquette. You cannot be displeased by it, though it does confound you.

“Shall we call for Ester?” Bruce wonders, “to assist.”

You agree and wait as the maid is summoned. She helps unlace your layers, secured less than an hour ago, and you stand in only your shift and slippers. It feels odd being in such a state anywhere beyond private chambers.

You raise your arms and stand still as Marigold does her work. You watch the scribbles she makes in her notebook, distracted only by Bruce’s intractable gaze. He squints at you for a moment and you wonder what he is thinking of.

You peek at the numbers again before Marigold closes up the pages. She thanks you and declares her job done. You give her a half-minded courtesy as your mind strays.

The numbers are not as they were at your last fitting. It has been some time and you have noticed your stays are tighter. It isn’t unexpected to gain some weight, especially in the winter months. Still, you can’t help but ponder.

Bruce stands to thank Marigold as you dress. You subtly brush your hand over your stomach as Ester ties your laces. A speckling heat spreads beneath your shift and sweat beads on your scalp. You feel suddenly out of breath.

“Are you well, miss?” Ester asks quietly as you turn to her, your husband’s voice droning as he assures Marigold he will have the staff assist with her carriage.

“Yes, I am only a bit…”

You can’t finish the sentence as you don’t know what you feel. Fear, anxiety, hope? You can’t figure which is the strongest as you try to recall the last time you had your monthly bleeding.

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