#bruce wayne x reader
Request: I was wondering, if it’s alright with you then could you please write a oneshot where Yn & Bruce tease each other about where Grace was conceived? It could be anywhere like the kitchen/ on the floor, in front of the fire place in the study or library/ batmobile, I leave it up to your imagination. And then flashback smut ensues! 😬😬
Pairing: Bruce Wayne x F!Reader
Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, oral F and M receiving, fingering, the batsuit stays on
Word Count: 1343
A/N: Not sure how I feel about this one. It ended up being a bunch of flashback scenes, and I’m trying something different. Anyway, I hope you like it!!
Series Masterlist
Headcanon Requests Open!
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“What are you thinking about?” Bruce’s voice was rough with sleep as his nose nudged along Y/N’s jaw and he pressed his lips against the bare skin there.
“Nothing.” She said, just a bit too quickly.
He raised his head so he could look at her, raising his eyebrows.
“You’ll make fun of me.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” He smiled, his hand moving to rest over the small bump that was forming in her abdomen.
She huffed out a breath. “I was trying to figure out where the most likely place I got pregnant was.”
“Why?” He was still smiling
“I don’t know. I thought I might just be nice to know.” She shrugged.
He hummed. “Okay, so this was what, ten weeks ago now?”
“We fucked in the kitchen that week didn’t we?” He asked.
Her face got warm. “Not exactly.”
“Oh.” He said, realising what she meant as his cheeks turned pink.
She had been making herself a very early morning snack and had not even heard him come in. Not until he rested his hands on her hips and attached his lips to her neck. She knew it had been a bad night by the way he did not say anything, even as he turned her around and kissed her like he needed it to survive. He moved her towards the table, shifting her until she was lying flat on her back on top of it. He ignored her worries about Alfred walking in and stripped her of her leggings and panties in one movement. Then he had gone down on her like a starved man. He had edged her within an inch of her life as she bit on her own fist to stop herself from screaming. He brought her to the edge over and over again, but never let her fall off. Not until there were tears streaming down her face and she was begging him to let her cum. It had been one of the most powerful orgasms of her life, the kind that left her completely boneless and exhausted. So, they had not gone any further that night. He had carried her to bed and she had passed out almost immediately.
“Okay, so not the kitchen.” He said, a proud smile on his face as he remembered what had occurred.
“No, not the kitchen.” She laughed, threading her fingers through his hair.
“Bedroom?” He suggested.
She thought back. “No, we never got that far then either.”
It had been two days after the kitchen incident and she was already in bed for a change by the time he got home. He had woken her accidently as he climbed into bed with her and it had been hard to ignore just how hard he had been when he was pressed against her back. She knew he would rather be uncomfortable than ask for help. So, she pushed him onto his back and disappeared beneath the sheets. He groaned when he realised what she was doing, his breath catching as she pulled down his sweatpants and kissed her way up his length. His hand buried in her hair as she took him into her mouth. It took all his self-restraint not to buck his hips into her throat. She wanted to tease him to return the favour, but they both knew she did not have his patience. So, she had not let up and he had spilled himself down her throat. He pulled her up for a kiss and then she fell asleep again, lying completely on top of him.
“Did we fuck in the library that week?” She asked, pressing her thighs together to try and alleviate the pressure as she remembered everything that had happened.
“I think so.” He pinched his eyebrows together. “Actually, no, we tried to, but-”
“Oh god, don’t remind me.” She cut him off, covering her face with her hands.
Trying to fuck in one of the main rooms was never a good idea in the middle of the afternoon. But they had been teasing each other all day and they just happened to be in the library when the tension eventually snapped. Y/N had been lying on her back on the rug in front of the fire place, her fingers buried in Bruce’s hair, with Bruce’s head resting on her chest as he watched his fingers disappear in and out of her. His thumb caught her clit, completing bypassing her hood, and she had been so close to falling off the edge when Alfred had walked in, completely unaware, asking them what they wanted for dinner. Bruce had ripped his fingers from her, grabbing a blanket from the sofa to cover her, as she resisted the urge to sob in frustration of her orgasm being ripped away. Alfred had practically bolted out of the room, but it had ruined the mood none the less.
“Fuck.” Y/N muttered, finally realising where the only place they had actually gone all the way that week.
“What?” He asked, his lips ghosting over her throat.
“We only fucked properly once that week. On the charger.”
“Fuck.” He agreed, knowing exactly what she meant.
It had been the night of the library incident, she was down in the station working on the charger’s engine when he got back. He had wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against the hard plates of the suit as he slammed the bonnet shut. She did not have time to say anything to him as he spun her around and crashed his lips into hers. His hands had dropped to her knees and he hoisted her onto the charger’s bonnet. The suit had dug into her thighs as she wrapped her legs around him. She pulled the cowl free, needing to tangle her fingers in his hair, but he kept the rest of the suit on as he rid her of all of her own clothes. There was something about being completely bare beneath him while he was wearing the suit and lying on the hood of the charger that made her keen for him. His gloves were the only other part of the suit he ditched, checking she was still ready from earlier before he slipped his trousers down, just enough to free his cock. He pinned her hands to the metal beneath her as he slammed his hips to hers, seating himself completely to the hilt. She had screamed at the feeling as his lips attached to her breasts. He fucked her hard and fast, only releasing her hands when he slipped a hand between them to push her off the edge. He was not far behind her, and he had left her there, his cum leaking out of her, as he finally stripped out of the suit. He carried her to bed completely naked, but she felt so fucked out that she did not care.
“I don’t think we’re ever going to be able to tell people that story if they ask where the baby was conceived.” Bruce said, his cheeks pinker than before.
“You think.” Y/N laughed, pulling him up to her lips and kissing him deeply. “Wouldn’t mind recreating it now though.”
He smirked at her and slipped the hand that was on her stomach between her legs.
Taglist: (here as it’s a queued post)
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darkmoviesquotespizza · 2 days ago
Can I request yandere batman x reader yandere older damian smut please
Sure ❤
My father's girlfriend
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Pairing: Yandere Older!Damian Wayne X Reader; Bruce Wayne X girlfriend!Reader
Warnings: slightly smut, jealousy
Words: 328
Summary: Damian wants something that Bruce has.
Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. (All characters are of age).
Even though Damian was more than of age he had not yet left Wayne Manor, he was still living there while he continued his life and watched his father's life go on, looking at all the galas he attended the women who surrounded Bruce each time, he was not jealous he did not care much or so it was before the arrival of Y/n Y/l/n, the most recent of his father's girlfriends.
A young woman, with beautiful y/h/c hair, eyes that could attract anyone of a y/e/c color and y/s/c skin, she was like an angel to Damian's eyes, an angel that was not his but his father's.
She wasn't the kind of person who tried to be with him just for the money, she seemed genuinely interested, accepting his gifts but telling him she didn't need them, happily reciprocating affection in public, private kisses exchanged, little touches that didn't go unnoticed by the boy.
For the first time in his life he wanted to have someone like Y/n for himself, or rather he wanted Y/n for himself; he wanted to be the one disturbing his father's sleep as he exchanged passionate kisses with the young woman while throwing his clothes around the room or the manor before he reached a surface to finally start pleasuring HIS Y/n, touching her body and having her touch his as he snapped his hips against hers hearing the loud angelic moans coming from her swollen lips from the kisses.
It was just what he craved while he gazed with his now all too famous expression at Bruce and his girlfriend cuddling on the couch as they watched a movie together.
If he was going to go so far as to have to call her mommy he would have done that for other reasons, not because she had become his father's official girlfriend, and he was sure about that.
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drifterbruce · a day ago
Hi! What about Bruce (Battinson, because I love the emo boy vibes) and the Reader asking him to find time for her (Maybe she’s a little tired of his night activities and wants their relationship to grow, but he’s to busy) and Alfred having a rough talk with Bruce, so he’ll take a day off to make her happy? 💗
Cherish You (Bruce Wayne x Reader)
As soon as I posted "Bump in the Road" I went 👁👁 because I remembered this request and-
so some things from the request are tweaked to fit the story but I do hope you enjoy!
warnings: fluff, hospitals, not edited- if I’m missing any please let me know!
summary: cherish: definition: protect and care for (someone) lovingly. synonyms: adore, love. (Alfred makes Bruce realize something.) continuation of "A Bump in the Road"
Thank you for reading, feedback is highly welcomed! (it motivates me to continue writing <3)
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(not my gif)
“Where are you going?”
Bruce tilted his head to the side to get a better look at you from where he was sitting on the bed. Your head was resting on your pillow, and at first glance, it seemed like you were still asleep, but he noticed your eyes, glinting in the moonlight that peeked through the curtains.
“I have to go take care of something.” He replied, his voice raspy from sleep.
“But you haven’t gotten much sleep.” You protested. Bruce didn’t say anything.
Sighing softly, you sat up and scooted closer to him, wrapping your arms around him so that your hands rested on his chest.
“I can’t stop you. Just be safe.” You murmured as you pressed a soft kiss on his shoulder and then rested your cheek against his back, not wanting to start another argument.
“I will. Get some sleep.” He nodded before lifting one of your hands to his lips, much like earlier that night in the car. Your hands slipped from his torso as he stood up, and started to walk off.
You watched as he suddenly stopped, and turned around.
“What is it?” You whispered as Bruce stopped in front of you and leaned down, cupping your cheek softly in his hand. He hummed and brushed his lips against yours before giving you a tender kiss. His breath mingled with yours as he pulled away, your noses brushing together.
“I love you.” He said, giving you another kiss before he began to make his way out of the bedroom.
“I love you too.”
You watched as he turned back at the doorway, glancing at you. You raised an eyebrow at him, and he gave you a small smile, closing the door behind him as he left.
Later that afternoon, you were at the hospital, seated in the chair next to Alfred’s bed. You were talking to him softly - not sure if he was able to hear you or not, in order to fill the silence in room.
“Bruce and I had an argument the night before. About him spending too much time out, among other things.” You said, after telling him what Dory and you had been up to in the morning. “I think we both said some things we didn’t mean.”
You sighed, running your hands through your hair as you thought that night.
“I know that he’s busy with the Gotham Project, but I do wish that he would find some time to spend with me. Is that needy of me or..?”
No response.
“We haven’t talked about it yet. But we will, soon I hope.” You continued, resting your hand on top of Alfred’s hand. “We left the hospital last night, got home and went to sleep.”
He had parked the car in the garage, letting go of your hand to put the car in park. Turning to look at you, Bruce tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.
“We should go inside.” You whispered, breaking the silence between you.
He swallowed.
“I’m sorry about last night.” He murmured.
“I am too. But we do need to talk about it.” You replied.
Bruce opened his mouth to say something, but you stopped him by pressing a finger to his lips.
“Not tonight. We need to get some sleep.”
He nodded, seeing the tired look on your face. He admitted that some sleep sounded good at that point, and hoped that you would let him sleep in the bed with you… which you did.
“Anyways, I’m sure he should be arriving soon. He texted me earlier that he needed to go do something before heading to the Tower then here.” You took out your phone to see if you had any messages from your husband.
The door opened and the nurse in charge walked in, holding a clipboard.
“Mrs Wayne, hello.” He greeted. “I am here to check on how Mr. Pennyworth is doing. The doctor says that he should be waking up soon.”
“Hello.” You greeted, standing up. “Let me get out of your way. I’m going to go find something to eat.”
You grabbed your bag and patted Alfred’s hand.
“I’ll be back, Alfred.” You murmured, before giving the nurse a smile and heading out of the room.
You ran into Bruce at the elevators. He was stepping out, while you were waiting for the doors to open.
“Darling, hey.” You greeted, which caused him to look up at you. He looked defeated and upset. You frowned upon seeing his face.
“Bruce.” You reached out to him, pulling him with you away from the elevator doors. Brushing away some of his hair from his face, you rested your hand against his lower cheek, as his eyes fluttered closed. “What’s wrong?”
“I-” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Not here.”
“Okay.” You murmured, looking around. You knew that there was a waiting room at the end of the hall that no one really frequented, something that you found out while you were on the phone last night. “Come on.”
You pulled Bruce with you by the hand to the waiting room, which was empty as you predicted. The two of you sat down, and you grabbed his hand to offer him comfort. It was silent for a while as Bruce collected his thoughts.
“I-” He started, taking a deep sigh. “I found out that my father had a deal with Falcone during his mayoral campaign.”
Your eyebrows furrowed at the revelation.
“Who told you this?” You asked, trying to process the information.
“I saw it on the news. The Riddler leaked it, and then I went to the Iceberg Lounge as myself to talk to Falcone. He confirmed it.”
“Oh darling.” You murmured, leaning forward and pressing a kiss on his forehead. “I am so sorry.”
“Alfred must have known about this.” Bruce whispered, then he looked at you. “Why would he keep this from me?”
“Bruce, you don’t know if that is the truth. Even if it is, then Alfred must have wanted to protect you.” You replied, your heart hurting at seeing Bruce like this.
Bruce stayed silent, deep in thought.
“I need to talk to Alfred. I need to know why.” He finally said.
“At least hear Alfred out before you make a decision or start accusing him.” You countered.
“Okay.” He agreed. You smiled.
“Were you going somewhere?” Bruce then asked, referring to when you ran into him at the elevator.
“I was going to get something to eat. The nurse went in to check on Alfred, and I didn’t want to be in the way. He said Alfred should be waking up soon. Did you want to come with me?”
Bruce shook his head as the two of you stood up and made your way out of the waiting room.
“I’ll go sit with Alfred.” He said.
“I’ll get you something. I’m pretty sure you haven’t eaten anything.”
He didn’t reply, making eye contact with the floor. You snorted.
The two of you stopped in front of the elevator, and Bruce turned to you and pulled you into a hug, burrowing his face in your neck, ignoring the people around you - mostly doctors and nurses.
“Thank you.” He murmured, looking up and giving you a kiss on the forehead.
“Anytime.” You smiled at him. “I’ll be back, okay?”
“Okay.” With that, you pressed the button to the elevator, and got in as soon as the doors opened.
It had taken you some time to get your food and return to the room, seeing as you got lost in the maze of the hospital hallways on your way to the cafeteria, and the long line ahead of you once you found it.
“Bruce, I got you a sandwich and some water.” You announced as you opened the door to the room, “I got a burrito for me, but if you don’t want the sandwich we can-”
You stopped talking as you took in the scene in front of you.
Alfred was awake, talking to Bruce, and most importantly-
Holding hands with Bruce.
“Alfred! You’re awake!” You smiled happily. He chuckled.
“Y/N, hello dear.”
You placed your food on the chair against the wall, then raced to the bed to give Alfred a kiss on the forehead.
“I’m glad you’re okay.” You whispered, tears in your eyes.
“Thank you dear.” Alfred smiled at you.
“Do the doctors know you’re awake?” You wondered, straightening up.
“I was waiting for you to come back in order to tell them.” Bruce piped up as he stood from his chair. He gave Alfred’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll be back.”
Bruce left, and you took a seat in the chair he left, forgetting about your food for a moment.
“How are you feeling Alfred?”
“In pain, but I’ll live.” Alfred said. “You and Dory okay?”
“We’re fine. I’ll let Dory know you’re awake, she’ll be so happy. You gave us quite a scare.” You couldn’t stop smiling, relieved that Alfred was okay.
“Well, I hope the Batman can give this Riddler a few punches for me.” Alfred joked, and you laughed.
“I’m sure he will.” You shook your head fondly, as Bruce, the doctor, and a nurse walked in.
“Mr. Pennyworth, glad to see you’re awake.” The doctor greeted. “Mr. and Mrs. Wayne, if you don’t mind, could you give us the room? We want to run some tests now that Mr. Pennyworth is awake.”
You nodded, and turned to Bruce, who grabbed your food and drinks.
“We’ll be back Alfred.”
“Go on.” Was his reply. “Bruce?”
Bruce paused at the doorway, and glanced back at Alfred. They shared a look, and Bruce nodded, leading you out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
You found yourself sitting on one of the benches outside, eating quietly with Bruce. There were very few people outside, for which you were grateful for.
“Y/N.” You looked at Bruce, who had spoken. His blue eyes bore into yours. “We need to talk.”
“Right here? Right now?”
“Yes. I promised Alfred I would as soon as possible.” Suddenly, the look they had shared before you left the room made sense.
“I-” Bruce didn’t know where to start, and he took a deep breath as he looked away, then looked back. “I just wanted to apologize again for everything.”
“Bruce-” He lifted a finger to your lips, stopping you in your tracks.
“Alfred got onto me, and he made me realize that if I didn’t do something, I was going to end up losing you. I don’t want that.”
“Bruce, think of your relationship as a flower. If you don’t water it, it will wilt and die. You will end up losing the flower.” Alfred explained. “Do you understand what I’m saying? You married Y/N because you cherish her and love her. Just because the two of you are married, doesn’t mean the relationship stops growing there. You need to work on it and communicate with each other for it to continue growing. If you don’t, you may end up losing her.”
“Yeah,” Bruce said softly, looking at the ring on his finger and thinking back to the argument. “I understand.”
“I love you.” He said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I want to live my life with you, I want to grow old with you. And I’m sorry for making you feel like you don’t matter to me. Because you do.”
Your eyes filled with tears.
“I’m sorry too. I know that Gotham is important to you, and I-”
“If you want me to, I can-”
“No!” You whispered fiercely. “No, I can’t make you do that. Gotham is your home, and I understand that you want to fight for it.”
Bruce kissed you, and as he pulled away he murmured, “I promise to do better. I will be the husband you deserve. I’ll take a night off every week if I have to.”
“I’d like that. I promise to do better too.” You snuggled against him, leaning your head against his shoulder. The two of you stayed like that for a while, in content silence, until he spoke.
“Let’s take a vacation.”
“But Gotham-”
“I want to spend some time with you. Away from Gotham. After this case is finished.”
“Are you sure?” You raised an eyebrow.
“Positive.” Bruce titled your chin up with his fingers. “What do you say?”
You could only smile at him, and the corner of his lips tilted upwards, and he leaned in for another kiss.
As you pulled away, you noticed the Batsignal lighting up the sky.
“Duty calls.” You whispered, and he glanced up.
“Think about where you want to go.” He said as he stood up, giving you a kiss on the forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” You watched as he walked off.
Shaking your head fondly, you stood up, collecting the trash and throwing it away, before making your way back to Alfred’s room.
(Alfred deserved to know about Bruce’s and your plans, after all.)
Thank you for reading! I appreciate you all <3
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neutron-stars-collision · 2 days ago
Waiting for the Night
Bruce Wayne x F!Reader
Chapter 9 - Heart Attack
Masterlist; Chapter 8 Summary: "I didn't know where else to go", or an eventful night increases its intensity. Warnings: Mentions of bruising and other wounds; suggestive content (this is where the 18+ content begins to creep in... slowly though 😌); swearing. Author's Notes: You know how sometimes you get inspired and then a scene haunts you for at least a month before you can write it down? That's what happened here. It's the first moment of those that nagged me since I started outlining the story. And it came out alright, me thinks.... Originally this was meant to be only the first half of the chapter but I want to offer it sooner, because I'm a little excited. Canon wise, we're on Saturday night, 2nd of October before the memorial ✨ Hope you'll enjoy and let me know what you think? Taglist: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy, @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary, @nicklet94, @mcrmarvelloki, @shimmeringgrim
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Everything felt like a hazy dream as Bruce led you inside the elevator and closed the metal door, pressing to button to one of the upper floors without as much as a glance in your direction. But you still felt watched, observed with caution as if he was worried that another breakdown was just around the corner. The wave has passed, leaving you somehow more drained than before and equally numb.
There was a hint of something else there, too, hidden underneath the surface of your empty stare and motionless body. It was the warmth of his hand holding yours. The proximity of him so close to you in the cramped space. It was everything you tried to escape but never could ignore for long. Everything you had told him and everything you were worried you one day could.
The consciousness only caught up as you registered that Bruce began leading you outside the cabin into a corridor that was not the study. Erratically, your eyes swept over the surroundings, desperate to remember that initial tour Alfred gave you days before. And then it clicked. Just as he stopped by dark, closed doors and reached out for the handle:
“Wait… this is your room” the words pieced themselves together before you knew you had spoken.
Because it seemed almost impossible. Maybe, he, too, had lost his mind?
The look you received seemed far from insanity. Bruce eyed you closely, judging what response to offer before he nodded once and replied:
“Yes. Is that a problem?” the question was genuine; you could tell as much.
As if he was willing to change whatever the plan he envisioned if only to make you more comfortable. Your heart squeezed in embarrassment as your cheeks flushed with warmth. It was a shame that made you drop the gaze, focusing on the floorboards underneath your feet as you fumbled for the answer.
“No, I’ve just never expected you to-” luckily, reason stepped in before you said too much, changing the subject with an apologetic note “No matter, I’m sorry” raising your head, you attempted a quick smile only to end up with a pathetic grimace.
Bruce was not as merciful. With a surprise, you noticed a shadow of an authentic smile grace his face as he finished the sentence with an arched eyebrow:
“Never expected me to show you my bedroom?” the hint of cockiness was new.
Your eyes widened as you took it in, already overwhelmed with feelings and emotions you would rather pretend never existed. But judging by the intensity of the blue eyes fixed on your face, there was no way out but to answer. So, you averted the gaze once again and lowered your voice to a whisper. Anything to preserve the illusion.
“Let’s just say… No, no, I didn’t” the truth at last.
Bruce did not reply, instead, he pressed down the handle, opening the door and gently beckoning you to step inside. After a final moment of hesitation, you took that first step, eyes, open wide to take in whatever the sight would await you.
“Sorry for the mess, by the way. I’m not used to having girls around” as he threw in the remark with that cheeky tone, Bruce reached to press the light switch.
It took you a beat to understand the allusion; a bashful blush spread over the cheeks for the second time in barely a few minutes.
“Aren’t you, really?” muttering the reply with a sceptical tint, you took another step inside the room.
With the lights on, you could finally have a proper look at what your curious heart desired to see for quite a while. The heavy curtains were drawn, bathing the room in a permanent dusk. The large bed was unmade, the sight quirking your lips inadvertently. The comment about the mess was not exactly unnecessary. You could see the books piled up on the nightstand and the floor right next to it, each started going by the bookmarks, yet none finished. Atop the desk by the wall, you could see stacks of papers, arranged but not neatly. There was a small photograph there, too, of young Bruce with his parents as far as you could tell. As if responding to an emotion you could not name, your heart let out a painful pang, and you averted the gaze.
The dark, antique wardrobe was half-closed with a black suit jacket sleeve poking through the gap. So, he did wear smart clothes too… Behind your back, Bruce quietly closed the door and eyed you with interest. As though your blatant study was not anything unexpected but a fascinating sight for him as well. Another blush, damn it. As if sensing your embarrassment, he spoke up:
“I figured it’s better I took you here to deal with everything” following the explanation, Bruce scanned you from head to toe again as if assessing the damage, “Alfred and Dory are definitely asleep by now” you had a feeling the addition served only as means of calming you further.
And it did work, admittedly. Because at least that way, you only had to worry about being honest with him and telling the story just once. Everyone else might not even have to know it happened.
Or that you visited Bruce Wayne in his bedroom at an ungodly hour. That, too, was a questionable choice on your part. Ignoring the increase in doubts, you nodded:
“Yeah, of course,” there was nothing else to say as you located the doors leading to the bathroom.
Without waiting for Bruce to invite you, you slowly limped inside, perching on the edge of the bathtub. Even here, there was no order, only closed cupboards, and a full laundry basket. Despite the curiosity ever so present, you denied yourself the pleasure of snooping around. After all, Bruce seemed surprisingly open, and you have crossed the unwritten lines multiple times during the night. Bruce joined you in the bathroom, wordlessly opening the cupboard to take out a disinfectant and a nondescript ointment, which you expected to be arnica. Once he was armed with a fresh cloth and a bowl of water, he faced you with that nervous frown on his face:
“I want to have a look… Is that okay?” judging by the sheepish tone, the tension caught up with him too, forcing Bruce to face the reality you had suffered since stepping inside his house.
Because it was new. No matter the intimate kisses you had shared or the conversations you initiated, this level of vulnerability was something else entirely. And for the first time in your life, there was no shred of confidence as you tried to strengthen the back and prepare to reveal the wounds.
“Yes,” another nod, the word coming out in a whisper as Bruce closed the gap and gently tipped your head up to see the cheek where you received the slap.
Judging by how the crease between his brows deepened, the damage received was evident. His fingers brushed your cheek carefully, dabbing the wet cloth with the other hand to wash away the tears and remains of the make-up. Up this close, with your head tilted upwards and eyes fixed on the sharpness of his jawline, clenched tightly, as he leaned over you with a focused gaze, it was difficult to breathe. Or to think. So, you closed your eyes, leaning into his touch and feeling how his fingers danced over your skin, caution exhibited with each move. After cleaning the bruise, Bruce rubbed arnica into the spot over your cheekbone where you expected the purple flower to bloom the most. Then, as if reading your mind, his hand wandered lower, the pad of the thumb running over the bottom lip and forcing you to gasp quietly, unable to keep yourself from looking at him. Your gazes met as Bruce made sure to wipe the dried blood from your lips. Only he did not stop there, taking an additional moment to trace the outline of your mouth as if eager to steal your breath away and to put you under a spell. Pity was that you were already entranced, staring at him speechless. Because before you even realised, he crossed an invisible line himself. One that divided the passionate kisses from the tender caress. One that made sure you never dared entertain the idea that what was going on could evolve into something else. Unless….
Bruce took a decisive step back before you could finish the dangerous thought, his eyes already trained on your scrapped knee. You had no time to react as he kneeled in front of you, the cloth in hand, face closed off as if the last minute never happened. A sigh was all you could manage as you allowed him to tear the remains of the tights a bit more and wipe away the dirt from the wound.
“So, when are you going to ask what happened?” desperate not to lose your sanity all too soon, you asked quietly, watching him with interest.
There was a strange sense of ease in his movement as if it was not the first time he had to patch someone up after an accident. Or a fight, at that.
Upon your question, Bruce glanced up, the blue eyes staring at you with terrifying understanding within:
“When you’ll want to tell me,” and, just like that, he went back to the task, leaving you gaping.
Cursing his tone, you let out another loud sigh:
“Wish you’d stop being so diplomatic” first, merely a mutter before you settled in for an answer; better now or never, right? “I went to Inferno to do some… research. Guess I wasn’t too believable on my own, so they showed me where my place is” you shrugged even though he was not looking and tentatively patted your stomach, feeling the sore spots.
Not too believable, aka pathetic. But he need not hear that one.
“Who did?” Bruce spoke quietly yet with a sense of urgency.
As if you had no choice but to give him names. For a moment, your rebellious heart was keen to go along with it. To let yourself believe that he would be bothered, that he would care. But it was only a moment.
“Some bouncers… I don’t even know” unable to let go of the vicious commentary from your brain, you added quickly, “I’m sorry,”
Hoping he would not ask. You really should have known better.
“For?” Bruce raised his head again, eyebrow arched in question.
Without waiting for an answer, he touched the scrape with a cotton pad soaked in disinfectant, making you hiss at the sting. The pain acting as a trigger to get the words out just like you wanted:
“I don’t know… everything. Getting into your house at 1 in the morning, making you fuss over me in your bathroom” the bitter tone seeped into the sentence as the transgressions came back to haunt you.
There was so much wrong with what you did. So much that could make him reject you for good. This time Bruce did not look away as you shyly met his gaze and kept staring, allowing the blue to pull you further. With the current vantage point, you were still nearly head-to-head. An observation made when your eyes glanced at his lips and found them dangerously close. Too close.
“There’s nothing worth apologizing for” the thoughts got cut short by Bruce’s opposition and the depth of certainty you found in his gaze.
You were pretty sure he was wrong, but it was impossible to argue. Not in this situation. Not with him so close and so gentle. The feeling only persisted as he asked another question:
“Where else did they hit you?” he eyed you coolly as if eager to find a fault.
Only underneath the superficial analysis, you could see a tint of hunger. As if, despite the steely composure and evident desire to keep things civil, Bruce did see you. As more than a partner needing a patch up. More than a victim, turning to a friendly soul when in need. The realization made the breath catch in your throat as you slowly raised the hem of the shirt to show him the torso. You did not even look, choosing to observe him instead.
The clue was given instantly as Bruce let out a quiet gasp, inching closer to you so that he could gingerly trace his fingers over your ribcage. His eyes darkened, another flash of anger in the irises. But why? You did not dare let yourself answer that question. Feeling the familiar pain resonate through your system upon his ministrations, you closed your eyes, hands digging into the edge of the old-fashioned bathtub to keep yourself from whimpering. After all, he did not need a disobedient patient or one that cannot take the pain that was partially a result of stupidity. Your stupidity, no one else’s.
“Why did you go there alone?” the quiet question cut through the vicious thoughts, making you focus back on him.
This time you did not want to see whether he was looking at you. Let alone how he was looking. Keeping your eyes screwed shut, you forced out a bitter voice:
“You mean why was I dumb enough?” there was no sound from Bruce, letting you pour out the feelings without a pause, “I just wanted to feel useful. To have something to do when you’re busy with your informant” tinting the word with excess venom, you went quiet.
If he had no clue before, he did now. Warmth flushed your cheeks as the embarrassment dawned. Not only stupid but also jealous. Over someone, you had no right to. He wasn’t yours.
Spiralling into the hateful thoughts, you did not notice when Bruce finished applying the arnica over the bruises. What you did notice was a kiss he pressed to the spot, the lingering touch of his lips to your reddened skin. Your eyes flew open. Brain rendered useless by a blue screen of death. Alternatively, the utter shock of something so simple yet so unexpected. And so desired.
Bruce pulled back without another second wasted; he gave you a final searching look and stood up. One glance at him was enough to assure you the moment was over. Maybe for the better. There were no cheeky comments to be found as you watched him leave the bathroom and rummage in the wardrobe, only to come back with a set of clothes in the next minute.
“Here, have something for change” giving out the simple instruction, Bruce barely looked at you.
His gaze stayed fixed on the floor as you nodded quickly, whispering thanks. It seemed that whatever possessed him minutes before had truly passed. You were back to normal: awkward, uncertain, and bereft of words and wisdom.
“I’ll be outside” with that, he was gone, shutting the bathroom door without making a noise.
A long sigh was the first reaction as you hid your face in your hands, cursing everything and everyone. For the whole evening. For the way, he was acting. For the power, he had over you without ever reaching for it. He just did. And it seemed like he did not cherish it either. Fuck.
Sometimes it felt like you could implode from everything you felt inside but could not express. The aching, longing, needing something that was outside of your reach. And would always stay right there. Close enough to tempt you into madness, but never to be yours. Another sigh escaped your lips as you stood up and quickly stripped, averting the reflection in the mirror. The clothes Bruce gave you consisted of one of his trademark black t-shirts with the washed-out logo and sweatpants. Too big, naturally. But as soon as you put them on and felt his scent envelop you whole, there was a fleeting feeling of comfort. Of knowing that although he was not yours, you had a part of him. No matter how unimportant.
Once you checked that your face was clean of the residual make-up, nothing was holding you back from reemerging from the bathroom. Apart from maybe the fear itself. Swallowing down the anxious bile in your throat, you pushed the door open, slowly peeking around the frame to locate Bruce. It did not take long as he stood with his back turned, staring at the photograph on the desk. You cleared your throat quietly to grab his attention and smiled shyly once he turned towards you. The air felt electric with awkward tension that had taken all your words and rendered them useless. So far that all you felt capable of was staring at him and waiting for cues towards the next step in the complex game. Bruce must have noticed your paralysis, for he took a step closer and spoke:
“You can stay here and get some sleep” following his gesture towards the bed, you realised he had made it up when you were in the bathroom and smoothed out the covers.
Feeling the overwhelming flush of gratitude and something else, unnameable still, you quickly interjected, the feelings tying up your tongue and rushing the words:
“Oh, no, I can go to the room Alfred gave me,” the turndown coming out weak and making you curse internally.
Because agreeing seemed like yet another boundary overstepped in an hour. The idea alone was enough to bring a darker shade of embarrassment onto your cheeks and plunge your mind into the depthless pit of inescapable thoughts. One look at Bruce told you he did not care about your refusal as he bounced back the reply with a tone that left no room for discussion:
“There’s no need. I don’t sleep much” following the comment with a thin smile, he took a step towards the door, evidently eager to escape, “I’ll be in the library if you need anything,”
“Thank you” there was nothing else to do but whisper the courtesy and stare at him, hoping to convey even a half of your feelings through the act.
It did not matter what he saw as he met your gaze. Whether it was the confusion, longing, or appreciation because you knew they were all true, all present. There was curiosity there, too, unsatisfied and ever-growing. Unable to let go and settle down until you understood him, his mind, and his heart.
As if prodded by a similar stream of thoughts, Bruce started speaking again with a quiet, measured tone that betrayed the nerves underneath:
“And- If you’re worried about her, about Selina, don’t. Whatever I have with her it’s nothing compared to this, to us” you noticed a shade of pink on his cheeks just as he turned away, opened the door, and disappeared in the corridor.
Between one beat and the next, you were alone with the sentence still ringing in your ears. Selina. The name rolled over your tongue silently with a frown on your face. Us. The pronoun sticking to your consciousness like a most intrusive of ideas, spinning faster through the mind. You knew he meant it as a reassurance, clearing out the air between you before it got entangled further. It was a welcomed change as you still felt a dangerous thrill of desire wash through upon the reminder about the kiss he lay on your ribcage. But it did not solve anything, only making the incessant hopes harder to discard and daydreams impossible to ignore. Especially, when you could still smell his scent, clinging to the clothes you borrowed. A frustrated groan tore at your throat as you approached the desk, hoping to take your mind off enough to lie down.
Refusing to glance at the family photo for the fear of awakening grief, you directed your attention to the stacks of mysterious papers and notebooks. One glance at the pages told you that they mostly consisted of his private writing; the discovery was enough to make you drop the paper as though you had been burned. Your presence alone in his bedroom seemed like a betrayal even though he was the one who let you in. With the mind busy with frustrating thoughts, you flipped through the piles mindlessly, unable to tell what you were looking for. Suddenly, a familiar sketch caught your attention, the page falling from your hands onto the desk like an omen. The bat symbol, very much like the knife welded into the breastplate of Vengeance’s armour, only here not perfected. As if it was one of the practice sketches, the blueprint of the object before it had been created. But it made no sense. Absolutely no fucking sense.
Quite like Bruce Wayne made no fucking sense. Because if he- But he couldn’t be. Why would he? Why would he go undercover to fight crime? Why? The simple question reverberated in your head, the echo creating a blooming headache at your temples. You dropped the page again, letting it fall between the papers. Perhaps it was just the tiredness and the trauma taking its toll. Perhaps, perhaps.
With shaking hands, you collected the pages and rearranged them back in stacks, checking twice if the faithful sketch was lost in between. It would be best to forget it even happened. To wipe the discovery from your mind and never mention it to anyone. Because, surely, it was just a coincidence. Right?
Eager to get rid of the growing unease, you slipped between the silky covers, letting your head bury in the soft pillow. It was a mistake as soon the smell engulfed you again, tearing at the purulent wound in your chest. His smell. A reminder that all this could crumble, leaving you alone and rejected. Again. The parting remark flew back into the forefront of your mind as if called back upon by the delusional heart unwilling to let him go. Just for a little longer. Just for the night, perhaps. Reaching for the switch by the bedside light, you allowed the darkness to envelop the room. In the dark, there were no shadows to disturb your blissful ignorance. There you could rest, even if for a short while.
When you woke up next, the room was still pitch dark with no light coming in through the gaps in the curtains. At once, everything came back, helping you identify the unfamiliar bed and the clothes smelling like someone else. The headache had eased, becoming a throbbing discomfort at the back of your head. As you slowly sunk back into reality, the mind acknowledged something else that was different, something new.
Someone was lying right next to you on the bed. Bruce. The name left your throat with a gasp of air as you shifted on your side to look at him. He was sound asleep, the measured breaths coming out through the parted lips and the face relaxed. The breath caught in your chest as you watched him, unable to process what it meant. There was a dilemma now, beginning to form in your thoughts. Whether to go back to sleep as if nothing happened and bet on the likelihood that he would be gone by morning? Or to act on what you knew could destroy everything yet was so hard to deny? It would have been easy to reach out towards him, get closer and wrap your arms around his body. To let him decide the next step.
Frustration boiled in your veins as you felt the heat bloom across the cheeks, making you fist the duvet to keep yourself from making a noise. That is when you registered the change in Bruce’s breathing, the calm cadence disturbed and ragged. His hands moved restlessly, and his forehead creased in a sign of distress. When he released a first quiet whimper, you knew the nightmare was not passing on its own. The anxiety kicked in as the adrenaline helped you act with bravery you did not know you had. First, slowly moving towards Bruce, letting your hand touch his arm with a featherweight. It did not work. His face tensed as the fears raged on, keeping him locked within their steel cage and far from you. Sitting up, you leaned over him slightly to press your palm to his cheek, feeling the warmth of the skin:
“Bruce, wake up,” a whisper, laced with urgency upon seeing the struggle rise in strength, “It’s just a nightmare” you took hold of one of his hands, squeezing tightly to keep it steady.
It was difficult to tell when he woke up or whether it was any of your actions or some external trigger. Only, before another word of reassurance could leave your lips, his eyes snapped open. In a flash, Bruce rolled over, pinning you to the bed with your locked hands over your head. You gasped sharply, feeling a wave of shock pass through the system as you gazed up at him. His eyes were wide with fear; heavy breaths came through the parted mouth at irregular intervals as though he was struggling with it. There was no question of what to do next.
With your palm still pressed to his face, you resumed the gentle caress, waiting for him to return fully. Two sharp blinks, and it downed. The recognition flashed through the troubled blue eyes as Bruce’s face contorted with remorse and shame. His lips opened as if to offer an apology, but you were quicker, using the proximity to press a kiss to the crease between his eyebrows. Then another one over the forehead, letting your touch linger with each to ground him. Bruce let out a long exhale, relaxing the grip over your hand yet not moving away.
With the heart racing in your chest, you felt your body acknowledge how close he was, sensing the warmth of his skin pressed against yours. The knee lodged between your thighs as if to taunt you. His chest flush against yours, feeling the beat of his heart through the fabric. There was no chance of getting out of it sane. And you stopped hoping you could, letting go of the restraint and allowing the emotions to reign free. The inherent yearning made you lay another kiss, this time, on his cheek and lean back to meet his gaze. The fear gave way to boundless gratitude and longing, pulling you in and bringing a soft smile to your face.
Your hand kept stroking his face, allowing Bruce to relax and decide for himself. With his body so close and enveloping you, it was impossible to think or find logic. There was only hunger and fascination, burning in your veins and making you lean closer again, nudging his nose with yours as if to remind him of the potential. It was enough. Bruce took a deep breath as if diving deep underwater and covered your mouth with his in a soft kiss. A tentative peck, as though it was the very first time, and then reaching out for more and prodding your mouth open. You deepened the contact with a sigh that he swallowed and slid your hand to the back of his neck, toying with the hair ends and bringing him closer. As your tongue entangled with his, Bruce let his teeth graze over your bottom lip. The hand that has held onto yours letting go and trailing down your arm to venture underneath the shirt. Upon the touch of his fingers over your bare skin, you made sure to up the tempo, kissing him with a need that could not be easily satisfied. If only because once he was there and willing, you could not hold back. No matter the pain that could await in the morning. No matter the regrets that would surely follow. Bruce was there, and that was enough.
His hand wandered up your torso with a torturous pace, as if desperate to learn the texture of your skin by heart. As if you were a canvas, he wanted to memorise through his fingertips. A frustrated whine got caught in your throat as Bruce cupped your breast, showing impatience of his own. He broke the kiss and met your fevered gaze with wide blue eyes. As if it was too much to take in, as if he never expected the situation to go that far. An unasked question waited for you in the depths of his stare.
“It’s okay,” the answering whisper was laid to rest on the corner of his mouth, urging him to continue.
After a beat, he nodded, swallowing down the uncertainty and slowly caressing your breast to bring out another gasp. It was too easy to get lost and see what he would do next. Eager to retaliate any way you could, you trailed your hands down his back, hoisting the t-shirt over the stomach and allowing your fingers to explore the territory. The jagged scarred tissue underneath your fingertips, the warmth of his flesh and the gentle rise and fall of his stomach all persuading you to continue and increase your curiosity. It was the anchor grounding the desire you could feel building up in your system, threatening to overwhelm soon if you were not careful.
As if aware of the chaos unfolding in your body, Bruce dragged a hand down your thigh, bringing out goosebumps in its wake and leaned in to trail pecks from the edge of your jaw. Before you could foresee his next move, it was too late. A first, slow kiss placed on the side of your neck acted like a harsh reminder. A jolt passed through your body, warmth pooling in the lower stomach as if anticipating it could only get worse. Or better. Emboldened by your shivers, Bruce increased the intensity of the kisses, taking his time with each. Every kiss spiced with his teeth, catching your skin to find that tipping point of madness. Fuck. Soon enough, all you could do was bite back the moans and dig your fingernails into the flesh of his toned stomach, undoubtedly marking him just like he marked you. A gasp for a gasp. A scar for a scar. Nothing measured, nothing held back but in perfect balance. The promise of so much more waiting just within your reach.
The idea alone made you realise how wet you were getting. The fabric of the underwear sticking to the skin and making you clench your thighs in anticipation. Only his knee was the obstacle, forcing you to hoist your leg over his hip, bringing him closer. The telling reaction, a deep-throated groan and a possessive grasp at your thigh were the payback. You could feel the impatience in the way Bruce ravished your neck, peppering your skin with kisses and tasting it with his tongue. As if you were an object he wanted to study, a case to crack with meticulous detail and devotion. Enough to make you hungrier, clinging to his hips and hooking the fingers around the band of the sweatpants to feel the v bones and abdomen beneath your fingertips.
That is when you crossed the line, unaware yet very soon to discover it. Bruce finished the exploration of your neck with a gentle kiss over the pulse point and leaned back to look at you. The sight of his flushed cheeks and swollen lips with the pupils blown wide made you gasp quietly, reaching back to cup his face and trace the shape of his mouth. The darkened eyes told the tale that he never would, a story of want and desire consuming the senses. And, at the centre of the narrative was your place. Yours, and no one else’s. Between one heartbeat and the next, you knew that no matter what happened tomorrow or the day after, you had this. His body beneath your hands. The taste of his tongue on yours. And it was good enough.
Good enough to survive the following disappointment. His brow furrowed as you gazed at each other, suspended in the state of hesitation, the desperation had not reached its peak just yet. Before you could find the necessary words, Bruce spoke with regret hazing the husky tone of his voice:
“I’m sorry, I can’t… do this” as if highlighting the meaning, he let go of you without a warning and rolled back onto his back.
The breath you did not know you had been holding left your lips with a whoosh. The lack of satisfaction was burning in the pit of your stomach as you clenched your thighs and swallowed the frustration. He was still here, and it had to count for something. Right?
“It’s okay,” ignoring the gaping hole in your chest you turned onto your side to ask the most important of questions “Do you want me to leave?”
It was that simple. Because although he had not stormed off or run away from you, did not mean you were welcomed still. It did not mean that you could stay in his bed, in his clothes. In his arms.
You waited with bated breath for the answer, watching him as Bruce stared at the darkened windows, lying motionless save for the rise and fall of his stomach. After what felt like ages, he broke the heavy silence with a response:
“That’s the last thing I want” his voice was still tinted with desire, lowering the tone and adding a layer of meaning behind each word.
It was enough for you. Putting back the steely control in place, you scooted closer to take the hand he had lying on his stomach and entwined your fingers tightly. Once it was clear Bruce was alright with it, you pressed your body against his side and nuzzled the crook of his neck. He felt like safety, like someone you could lean on. The unspoken gratitude rang through your tender hold as Bruce squeezed your fingers and moved to give you more space on his side of the mattress. You took it without a question, curling around him to make sure he felt your presence and everything you wanted him to understand through it. That you were there. That whatever happened did not change a single thing. And that you were willing to come back to it one day. Soon, perhaps.
“Then let’s try to get some more sleep” instead, you only whispered the simple sentence, closing your eyes with your face pressed to the skin of his neck.
The last thing you registered was the pleasant weight of his arm sneaking around your waist to pull you closer. A smile spread your lips, pulling the consciousness into the dreamless rest.
The second time you woke up in Bruce Wayne’s bed, it was already morning. The daylight was streaming in through the gap between the curtains. Blinking away the sleep, you registered that the space right next to you was still warm but empty. He was gone. The faint taste of disappointment settled on your tongue as you let your eyes roam over the room. During the day, the space looked even more cluttered, yet the chaos seemed homely somehow. As if you would have no trouble navigating your way around it. Careful. The cautionary voice rang out in your head as the door to the ensuite bathroom creaked and opened. Your gaze was on the doorway in no time, awaiting him with a balanced mixture of anxiety and anticipation. A final thought was spared to the undeniable bedhead you were sporting before all the coherence was wiped clean from your brain.
Bruce was right there, frozen on the threshold as his eyes locked with yours. His dark hair was damp from the shower and combed back, the droplets of water falling onto his shoulders. He was shirtless, a fresh t-shirt in hand as if he was not anticipating you to be awake just yet. On their own accord, your eyes drifted downward, over the sharp shadows of the collarbones and the outline of the abs on his stomach. Until you found what you were looking for. The thin, pink lines scratched across his abdomen. The marks you had laid upon him in return for a hint of pleasure. Your body heated, remembering the night, and you quickly pulled back the duvet to sit up, forcing a gentle smile to make up for the lack of words. It did the trick. Bruce returned your expression and hesitantly crossed the distance to sit on the edge of the bed.
“Morning, gorgeous” your grin widened upon his double-take as you reached your hand in his direction, hoping he would meet you in the middle.
You did not have to wait long.
“Good morning” Bruce smiled shyly as his fingers entangled with yours in the loose hold, resting on the duvet, “How… How did you sleep?” once the question was out, he blushed a darker shade.
As if his brain also decided to offer a specially selected reel of the best from the previous night. With that at the forefront of your mind, it was impossible not to tighten the hold over his palm and quirk your lips into a cheeky smirk:
“Great. Especially since you showed up” dropping your gaze to his lips and making sure he noticed, you moved an inch closer.
To show that you were willing to continue. Even now. You could see how his breath hitched, the hand resting in your twitching slightly.
A sharp knock rattled through the wooden doors, making you both jump up as if caught in the act.
Well, some sort of an act.
“Bruce,” Alfred’s voice rung as the only warning you were going to get before he opened the door and peeked inside “Do you know if-” the moment his eyes landed on the two of you, you could see the shock resounding on his face, a hasted apology tumbling over the tongue as embarrassment washed over the butler “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you’re here” that last part was aimed at you without a doubt.
You could only offer him a shrug, letting go of the shame that hung in the air even though there was no reason. Or almost no reason. Not daring to look at Bruce, who had his head hung in humiliation, you grinned at the older man with a mock salutation to your invisible top hat:
“Top of the morning, Alfred,” arching your eyebrow to show that you did not mean any grudge towards him.
Only, just a teeny, tiny regret.
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lazydoodlesandfanfic · a day ago
Finding Identities (Bruce Wayne X Teen!Reader) *PLATONIC/PARENTAL
Characters: Bruce Wayne X Teen!Reader
Universe: DC, Batman
Warnings: Mention of death
Request: Batfam x male reader! Where the R is super smart and discovers the identities of The Batfam like suuper quickly. And the R is an orphan and gets adopted by Bruce? You can change it as much as you'd like, it's not much to go off of but I hope you get the idea! :) <3
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People had always told you that you were too curious, and too smart for your own good. You asked questions, and when you didn’t get answers, you had no problem prying or finding a way around obstacles to get your answers. You did it when you thought people, even friends, were lying to you about something (they usually, unfortunately were), you did it in school, poking at teachers for answers on certain things, often annoying them and sometimes it got you in trouble. Apparently, according to your late mom, you did it was a toddler- the first real time she remembered you doing this was when you were 2, staying at your grandparent’s for the holidays. You’d found a locked door and wanted to go in, or at least know what was on the other side. Your grandfather wouldn’t let you in or tell you why or what was inside, and so on your own you went looking around the home, found essentially all the keys in the home, and put each one in the lock till you got in. It was just the door to the garage, but the event was so humorous and true show of your character, that your family had told the story repeatedly up until they died. At the time, you were embarrassed by them telling the story to people. But now? You missed it. You knew now that it was a compliment. Something they loved about you. So you took pride in it, and you were going to use your curiosity and smarts for good. 
You were born and raised in Gotham, and still lived there after your parent’s death and the passing of your grandparents and anyone who could or wanted to take you in. It wasn’t rocket science to know that Gotham lacked good and honest people, and you had long decided that you were going to become a detective- a good one, an uncorrupt one- and help those who needed you, and work with those who also had good intentions, like the vigilantes of the city. There was mixed opinions of Batman and his companions. Quite a few people saw them as hindering and meddling with crime and turning it into a spectacle, believing that their actions were romanticising the evil in the city. And yes, you saw their point, but you saw fully why they were there, doing what they did. They had the same mindset as you. Gotham’s law enforcement was one of the most corrupt, influenced and being paid off to turn a blind eye, and while there was good people wanting to do the right thing, like James Gordon, who was known for working and informing Batman of trouble, there just wasn’t enough. That’s where the vigilantes come in. Not being paid off, not being influenced or corrupted. They wanted to do right by this city and help, and they were. You wanted to work with them, and to work with them, you had to work with Gordon, and so you had to get into the same field as him. Unfortunately, you were still a few years away from being able to do that- you hadn’t graduated yet, so you weren’t eligible for the police academy. Did that stop you? No. Instead you started working on your detective skills. You started digging for any and all information on anything, and when you got it, you handed it in anonymously to the highest person you could get ahold of (of course doing your research on the people you were handing the information over to, to ensure you weren’t damning your own reports). Now logically it would make sense that you’d want them to know who you were so you could develop a reputation with them. However, this is Gotham, and you knew if it got out that you were an informant, kid or not, your life would immediately be in danger. However, you created a sort of alter ego under a fake name to sign off on all your letters so they knew that it was all one person. You weren’t sure if it was doing you any good, but you knew you were doing some good, and that was all you wanted. 
Tonight you were looking for some new information. During your last investigation into locating one of the sources for Scarecrow’s chemicals for his drugs, you stumbled onto some old documents from one of his older, but most deadly attacks. It was when he partnered up with the infamous Arkham Knight. Not much was known about him. He showed up the night of the attacks, and seemed to disappear just as swiftly as Batman was able to foil the plans and stop the attack. It was great for you- you’d been working on a detailed timeline of everything the vigilantes had been working on, and this gave you information you couldn’t get from news reports. This gave you dates, even times down to the minute of when they had planned to do certain attacks, and how they worked. It let you look inside the head, at least a little bit, for Scarecrow, but also the Knight that had disappeared. You started adding it all to your timeline before taking a step back to examine your work. That’s when you noted something. Not long after the Arkham Knight disappeared, a new vigilante entered the scene. Red Hood. Not a lot more was known about him. He worked with the other Vigilantes, though kept his distance and worked by himself and his own group usually. You suspected it was due to him not following a strict rule Bat had the others follow- no killing. You’d done incredible research on him, but since he could shoot from a distance, often able to stay in the shadows and not be seen, it made him more elusive than the others. However, after seeing if there was a link between him and the Arkham Knight, you realised there was. Their style of fighting was similar. Neither had an issue with guns and killing, and both seemed to not get along great with Batman. With the Knight it was obvious- he tried killing him, with Red Hood it was a little bit less obvious since they worked together, but there was a rift there. He didn’t follow his rules… when looking at your timeline, and your own observations as well as comparing footage of the two to look at their builds, their walk, how they handle their weapons, you realised they were the same person, and furthermore, the actions resembled that of an extreme falling out between Hood and the Bat that had cooled down but there was still a rift. They knew each other, and they knew each other well, presumably for years prior to the attack. If so, who was he before? What happened? Was it documented? You had to know. And thus, you had a new investigation. 
You started looking back on the history of Batman, using your timeline. You had it from essentially his first ever official appearance under that name, and worked forward. You had it dated when he took in his first apprentice, the first Robin. You linked him to Nightwing- the age was right, and there was a clear transitional period of him being Robin, before disappearing for a time, and arriving back as his new identity. You suspected he also had a falling out with the Bat since when he first came back, they didn’t work together, and Nightwing first showed up in another city before coming back. However, you didn’t think he was Red Hood. Then there was the second Robin. You know what happened to him, it was reported everywhere. Killed by the Joker, and that was 5 years before the events of the Knight and Scarecrow, so can’t be him. Then there was the 3rd Robin to took over about a year after the 2nd’s death. He transitioned onto a new name a few years later, becoming the Red Robin. No bad blood seemed to be between him and the Bat, no disappearance like Nightwing, and he was active during the attack, so no. Then there’s the current Robin, who it obviously couldn’t be. He was far too young, probably an infant or young child at the time of the attack, and he preferred melee weapons, and there had been multiple sightings of him with Red Hood. You tried looking deeper, for any vigilante that maybe only worked for a short time, any other names that came with a link. But nothing. However, you looked at the dynamic of the group. They knew each other. They’d know each other for years, for some of them, over a decade. Batman had known them since they were children… this was a family. Nightwing taking off was because of an argument with his dad… and presumably, the same was with Red Hood. Red Hood was Batman’s son… but… which one? What happened between them that caused such a dramatic rift. You guessed the only answer was to try and figure out exactly what family it was. 
You started a new diagram on a large sheet of paper on your bedroom wall. Firstly, you wrote down the connections between the Bat and his sons, and their other names as they got older. You then started putting down identifying features of this family. You knew Nightwing had black hair, since he wore a domino’s mask, not covering his entire head. So did the youngest, so it made sense that the Bat also had black hair. Second, this family had money. Money to pay for armoured suits, the batmobile and their weapons. Lastly, this family had a son, possibly the second oldest, that had passed away about the same time as Red Hood. As you wrote that last part down, it clicked. 
The Wayne family. Black hair. Rich. Dead Son. Jason Todd. Bruce Wayne was the patriarch of the family, meaning he was Batman… Dick Grayson was Nightwing, Tim was Red Robin, and Damian Wayne was Robin. As you looked at your hypothesis, you examined the family’s timeline compared to the timeline of the Batfamily, and it only strengthened your theory. Bruce left as an early adult, and about the time he came back, Batman appeared. He adopted Dick Grayson after the death of his parents, and a few months later, Robin arrived on the scene… everything continued to match up, including the death of Jason and the second Robin. However, there was still one problem. Who was Red Hood? Where did he fit in? Was he a son that was disowned or something? Were you missing something? You decided being in your room wasn’t helping in your investigation. You needed to get into the field. You needed to track and examine Red Hood closer. To do that, you needed to track him movement, see how he interacted with the others. You needed to get as close as you could. 
You started locating where he usually worked, places he staked out, and you realised that you actually lived exactly in the centre of one of those places, in one of the many orphanages and large foster homes of the city, and as you examined these areas where he worked closer, you realised almost all of the places he protected included these buildings. He protected children, that was something he felt deeply about. That would also explain a connection to Batman, if he himself was also an orphan and adopted into the Wayne family like so many others. 
That gave you an idea. It was dangerous, but it was the best idea you had. You knew that he’d probably find out someone was following him and might be hostile because of it, so you decided you wanted to be upfront with him, let him know you were there, and give him the opportunity to talk to you himself, and hopefully you being a kid yourself would soften him up. And so, you wrote one of your many letters. However, instead of being upfront and handing over all information, you were asking for a favour. You asked to meet with a member of Batman’s team- because you had information for them specifically, and you had services you wanted to provide. Of course you had other side projects where you’d been gathering information from- like locating Goon hideouts, plans for robberies, and even linking certain crimes together and creating profiles of who could be to blame for it, so you weren’t exactly lying. At the end of the letter, to ensure the police wouldn’t be able to get involved, you left a code in the form of a strange poem filled with references and information only the Waynes would understand. In there, you left a reference of knowing who Nightwing was, with the line “Gymnastics in the night, flying through the sky as if you have wings.” And so forth. It made no sense on the surface level, but you knew they’d understand. In there, you also let them know roughly where you were, with the line “I am shielded by Red, hidden away with others like me, and I am like you.” 
For a day or two after dropping off your letter, you heard nothing, and presumed the cops didn’t hand it over to Gordon to pass on, or that Batman didn’t take you seriously. That was a bit of a downer, but it didn’t slow you down, and you got back to work on one of your investigations, which tonight meant you sitting on the top of a building complex with a pair of binoculars, a camera with no flash, and a notepad to try and catch a corrupt cop meeting with criminals in one of the apartments you were facing. The lights were on, the goons inside, seeming to be waiting for him to show up, and you kept your hands and body warm with the flask of coffee you’d brought, also enjoying a snack you brought, checking through your binoculars whenever you saw movement. For you, it was the usual. However, what wasn’t the usual, was the sound of someone behind you. You froze up for a moment, before turning around, and there before you, was Batman… and Red Hood. 
“Did you get my letter?” You asked them immediately. 
“That we did.” Red Hood confirmed. “Though it still took a while to track you down. You sure know how to cover your tracks.” He complimented, and you grinned proudly. 
“Thanks. I don’t want my name getting into the wrong hands. I can imagine the information I’ve provided has led to a lot of people wanting me dead.” You commented. 
“Even the police?” Bruce asked.
“Especially. In fact, I’m currently tracking a possible meeting place for a small drug gang and some cops. The only cop I specifically trust is Gordon- oh, and Grayson.” You explained, before turning back to look into the apartment. In the corner of your eye, you saw Red Hood come and squat down beside you, looking where you were looking as well. 
“Definitely looks like a meet up point. How’d you find out this was happening?” He asked. 
“I was doing some digging into Scarecrow- specifically who’s providing him with the chemicals so he can make his drugs, and I found several branches, and this group was one of the branches. Scarecrow is their main client, and they’re paying off the cops so they can continue to operate and also get drugs to Scarecrow when he’s in prison. It’s also how I found out you were Arkham Knight and then that you’re the Wayne’s.” You explained as you continued to look through your binoculars. Still no sign of the cops. “He might of got cold feet…” 
“You know who we are?” Bruce asked, standing right behind you, nearly making you jump. 
“Sure do, Bruce. It’s why I reached out. A lot of my information usually ends up in your hands, thought it might be useful if I could give it straight to you so you can get straight to work. However I do have one question.” You stated, pulling back to look at the two of them. “I know you’re Bruce, Nightwing is Dick- hence why I trust him with my information- Tim is Red Robin and Damian is Robin- I was wondering where you fit in?” You asked Jason. 
“I’m Jason.” He answered curtly. You stared at him for a moment. 
“...So you didn’t die? Or am I missing something? I knew you were the second Robin, but…”
“I was resurrected by the Lazarus pit.” 
“Oh. That makes sense, I should have guessed it was linked to that. So… you died, was ressurected… guessing the Joker story is the true one… You don’t follow the no kill rule so… the anger is a result of Joker not being killed for killing you?” You guessed.
“You know about the Lazarus Pit?” Bruce asked, genuinely surprised, and you grinned up at him. 
“Yeah. I do my research, I know about Damian’s maternal line, so I did research into them, so… yeah.” You answered. Jason let out a sudden but short laugh, before patting your back. 
“I like this one.They’re smarter than Drake. Congrats kid, you’re the second one to figure out he’s Batman.” Jason congratulated you, and you felt a sense of pride in your chest. The last time you were complimented in person like that was your grandfather for finding out which of his neighbours had stolen his packages. 
“This also means I’ll have to keep close tabs on you. If anyone finds out you know who we are, it could put you in serious danger.” 
“I know. That's why I’ve been handing in my information anonymously.”
“They can also target your family.” 
“Did you not get that reference in the letter?” I asked Bruce, and he seemed puzzled, as he remained silent. “I’m shielded by Red. Red Hood. Jason’s areas that he protects the most are-
“Orphanages and foster homes.” Jason interrupted, his tone low and… melancholy. You nodded. “You said you were like us… you’re an orphan.” 
“Have you been adopted?” Bruce asked, and you shook your head. Bruce remained silent for a moment, his eyes facing away from you both, seeming in deep thought. “Alright. Jason, take over for Y/N. The second you see the cops show up, get in there and make an arrest. Y/N, I’m taking you home.”
“Alright. Here.” You stood up, removing the binoculars from around your neck, handing them to Jason, as well as your spare snacks, before turning to Bruce. “When we get there, I have some other information I want to give you- I’ve found a major hideout for some of Joker’s Goons and there might be some important information in there. Also, there’s a group doing robberies, and I think I’ve predicted their next movement- and-” 
“Hold those thoughts. We’ll get you home, and then we’ll find a reason for you to come to the manor so you can go into details, alright?” Bruce ushered you along, putting a hand behind your back to keep you walking. Jason watched you two go, before turning back to look into the apartment.
“Can’t wait to tell the others that we have a new sibling. I bet Damian’s gonna be thrilled about that.”
Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in! 
*Not my gif
TAGS:  @freyathehuntres  @hello-love-youre-pretty  @courtneychicken​  @graysonmalfoy​ @bellero​ @originalpottervengerlock​ @supernatural-pan​ @esoltis280​ @lady-of-lies​ @lenaswritingandstuff @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980​ @cdwmtjb8​ @caswinchester2000​ @determinedpines​ @huntheimpossible @automaticbakeryfreakshoe​
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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · a day ago
I absolutely love the BFF reader story. Could you please make another part where the reader finally goes into labor and has some complications but Bruce is there for her the whole time? Again absolutely love your writing!!
He'd never known you could go from heaven to hell in less than a minute. The hemorrhage started out of no where and before he could grasp what was happening, he was being hustled quickly out of the delivery room.
He watched people in scrubs descend like a swarm of locusts as Emma wailed and machines beeped and chirped. It was chaos from the outside. But he had to trust that they were going to save you. He paced the floor and checked the clock. It was late. Very late. And he knew Alfred would still be awake; waiting for news. Hopefully, news that you were both safe and healthy. But he couldn't make himself call.
It felt almost like tempting fate- like he'd be speaking it into existence if he spoke the words out loud
"Mr. Wayne?"
A soft, sweet-voiced nurse that had been with you in the delivery room, giving him some helpful little tips about how to keep you more comfortable as your labor wore on, stood in the doorway. "They stopped the bleeding," were the first words out of her mouth, heading off the flow of questions. "Mom and baby are gonna be fine. Y/N is gonna have to stay for a little while. Make sure she's healed up and strong enough to go home."
"Can I-"
"She's awake and asking for you," she, Kali, he remembered belatedly, said as she patted his arm. And Bruce didn't need telling twice. He promised he'd be right there and he didn't want you to think he'd left.
He stopped at the Threshold, heart-pounding, watching a nurse put your baby in your arms for the first time, and sagged for a second against the doorway. Relief washed over him as he watched you snuggle the little bundle in your arms, starting to cry. His girls were safe. And when he crossed the floor to come and hold you, pressing kisses against your hair, he knew that he'd do anything if it meant keeping you that way.
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What a good little boy.
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sub!battinson x reader
One Shot/ Drabble - 507 words
a/n: you give bruce a blow job, and he is very sub about it hehe ;)
warnings: submissive innocent bruce, blow/handjob, edging, kinda dom reader if you squint
Your feet shuffled into your bedroom, your eyes darting to Bruce, whose sitting at his desk going over papers for Wayne Inc. “Babyyyy?” You say into Bruce’s ear. “Yeah, Hun?” he asks, eyes glued to the documents. You grasp at the top of his office chair and spin him around towards you, you get on your knees and look Bruce in his eyes. An air of innocence wafts through the room, and you note the needy glimmer of his expression. 
“Now? Baby, you don’t have to-” he mumbles looking down at you, you move your hair out of your face with one hand and smirk at him gingerly, “Hush.” you whisper.  
You run your thumb over Bruce’s cock, his precum leaking needily onto your hand. “Y/N?” He breathes as his hands run over your shoulders. “Yeah, baby?” you say, turning your head up to look at him. You place your other hand on his shaft, pumping him up and down and rubbing at his tip. Bruce's whimpers distract you, looking up at his face, you see him close his eyes and open his mouth, releasing a slight moan. He looks innocently down at you, such a strong man, so demure, so chaste. “Y/N, please- don’t stop-” He whimpers softly, bucking his thick cock into your hands, over and over again.  
You place your mouth over his member and roll your tongue over his tip, lapping up precum with every move. You feel him throbbing as you deepen the hold of his cock in your mouth, spitting down his shaft and pumping him with both your hands. Bruce's cries echo through the room, his hips bucking a few times every second. “Y/N!” He yells while holding at your shoulders, “please don’t stop, please-” he whimpers. You take him out of your mouth and look at him virginally, “Hm?” you ask him “Like this?” Bruce opens his eyes and looks down at you, panting heavily. “Please, please, let me cum, I'm so close.”  
“Okay, baby.” you whispered. You took him back in your mouth and pumped his cock up and down, rolling your tongue over his tip. Then you felt Bruce’s cock throb and he bucked his hips as his load painted your tongue and lips. Bruce’s yells of pleasure turned into whimpers as you licked his mess down, wiping your lips. You tucked his still standing cock back into his boxers and pulled his pants back on.  
Climbing onto his lap, you pulled him into a kiss, softly grabbing at locks of his hair, smoothing your tongue over his. Your lips grazed together, his whimpers deepening into yours. You felt his dick rise again, and you felt yourself getting wet. You grinded against him, and then abruptly stopped. You lifted his chin and grumbled, “I’ll finish you later.” got off his lap and walked away. You smiled as you heard him angrily mumbling to himself, mocking you ‘ill finish you later. Beh beh bah.’  
You chuckled to yourself as you got farther away from him, “What a good little boy.” 
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moonbcrry · 2 days ago
for the smut prompts: 6 & 35 with bruce wayne!!
6.You look beautiful. But I'm afraid you'd look more gorgeous with that dress off you.
cw: implied nudity, gn!reader
"you look beautiful," the warmth of his breath sent shivers down your spine. he was right behind you, calloused fingers tracing up and down through the silk of your dress. "but i'm afraid," he stated with a pause, his lips right above your left shoulder. the scanty change in his tone was enough to form a frown on your face.
bruce smiled, kissing the skin under the strap of your dress right before he tug a finger to it. and his other hand moving to your right, mimicking his movement on here. you could feel the heat of his body combining with yours, his fingers playing with the straps alongside his eagerness. "you'd look more gorgeous with that dress off you."
𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒑 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒙 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒅
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hollandorks · 10 hours ago
shadows in the night
battinson!bruce wayne x f!reader
chapter two
summary: more than a year after the events of middle of the night, y/n and Bruce are happily engaged and working to lower the amount of crime in Gotham. However, a new killer calling himself the Riddler has other plans for their happiness…set during the events of the movie, mostly canonical, some changes made to fit the story
a/n: Yay time for another chapter! Going to try my hardest to stick to posting twice per week--I have about 8 more chapters written so far (still only 1/3 of the way through the movie, oops) so we should be good for a while! Once I finish writing the whole thing, I’ll probably post more frequently! That being said, I’m on vacation next week and I’m not sure of the internet situation! Ch 3 will be posted before I leave though! 
If you feel like supporting me further, donate to my ko-fi! You can get either a teaser for the next chapter (for lower donation amounts) or the entire next chapter (higher donation amounts). Find more info and the link to my ko-fi here! 
Series Masterlist
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word count: 2645
“Thank you, Gordon. I mean it.”
He muttered something sarcastic about being grateful under his breath, but she was already gone.
It was still raining when Halloween dawned. 
“This reminds me of when we first met,” y/n mused as they ate a late dinner on Halloween night. “You need to be extra careful tonight. There’ll be so many teenagers who could push you off of a roof.” 
Bruce rolled his eyes. 
She was doing her best to try to distract him. He had something on his mind, and she knew it, but she wasn’t really sure how to help. They’d already argued briefly about her going out with him–it was too dangerous, according to him, but according to her there was too much potential for him to get hurt. She wanted to help. She needed to help. He couldn’t be everywhere. 
She wasn’t sure she had won the argument, but he had at least let it drop. 
She’d let it drop too, because the guilt of lying to him was still eating her alive. He didn’t know that she was already helping him. And she wanted to keep it that way. To keep him safe. To keep him from being distracted. To keep him from being pulled in too many directions at once.
“Just think,” she continued lightly, “You might not have a cute girl to save you this time. Lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice, etcetera.” 
“Are you ever going to let me live that down?” Bruce asked dryly as he rinsed off his plate. 
“Nope,” she said cheerfully. She stepped up behind him and rested her forehead against the warm spot between his shoulder blades. He huffed a laugh. They stayed like that for a few minutes. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself closer. “Please be careful. I mean it. Call me the second you need help.” 
“I will,” he said. He rested his hands over hers. “Please–don’t sneak out. Just–let me know. Alright?” 
She laughed, face still pressed into his muscular back. “Okay. But I can’t promise that I won’t leave. You can’t be everywhere. And don’t even think of hiding the Batmobile keys again. I had copies made.” 
He stiffened but didn’t argue the point. 
He finally turned around in her arms. She nestled closer and kissed him. 
“Please be careful,” she whispered. 
“I will. I love you.” He kissed her again, and then he was gone. 
She finished cleaning up dinner to distract herself. She had a bad feeling she couldn’t exactly place. The growing crime despite all they’d done, despite all Gordon and cops like him had done, was worrisome. Gotham was turning on itself, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t like what that meant for Bruce. For Batman. 
Maybe she could wait it out at the restaurant, pack her gear up just in case Bruce needed her. 
She was downstairs before she had fully decided. She picked up the extra earpiece he always left for her. 
“Bruce?” she asked softly as she put it in, grabbed her gear, and went back up the elevator. She couldn’t take the Batmobile to the restaurant, as much as she wanted to. Regular cars only, unfortunately. She had conceded a few months into their relationship and let him buy her a car. To compromise, it had been a used car, because she didn’t need him blowing money on her. Plus, he had six other cars already that for some reason he wasn’t happy with her picking from. He wanted to buy her one. 
His response was instantaneous. “Everything okay?” 
“Yeah, I’m just–I was going to go to the GP for a bit. Let me know if you need me.” 
He didn’t respond–probably busy already, she mused. 
He’d changed the earpieces a bit in the past year. He had something in his suit now that acted kind of like a bluetooth connection. He could connect to it with the push of a button and disconnect just as easily. That way they could both be wearing the earpieces without getting too distracted by constant noise. It made it a little easier to watch him go out each night.
As y/n drove through the rain into the city, her body thrummed. She was almost itching for a fight. She understood exactly why Bruce did what he did. Not only to keep the city safer, but because it was…exhilarating. 
She made herself drive straight to the Gotham Project no matter how badly she wanted to stop and put her suit on. Just this once, she would listen to Bruce. She’d rather wait on him to need her than be out somewhere, too far to help, when the call came. 
At least she had done some good already–she’d gotten the name of Derrick Smalls to Gordon, and it was only a matter of time before the man was arrested. She wished, briefly, that she’d done more than break his hand and punch him in the face, though. 
At the restaurant, y/n shoved her bulky backpack into her office and locked it behind her. The Gotham Project was small, but it was hers. It was actually two buildings next to each other. One was the restaurant and kitchen itself, the other was a sort of homeless shelter and supply store her manager Bryn ran for her. It didn’t hurt that Bryn had also been formerly employed by the Iceberg Lounge while she paid her way through school. 
“It’s me,” y/n called to the chef who ran things when she wasn’t around. His name was Ollie and he’d served ten years in jail for a crime he didn’t commit. He was sweet, overly flirtatious, and honestly a better cook than she was. “I’m just here to check on things.” 
Things had been running incredibly smoothly for six months or so. Hiring Bryn and Ollie had been the final puzzle pieces, and things had started simply…falling into place. And with the attention that Bruce’s name got her, well, they did pretty well. They helped a lot of people. 
“Hey, boss lady,” Ollie called from where he flitted around the kitchen. Support staff and waiters danced around the space. Ollie currently had cat ears and a tail. Some of the other waiters had costumes, too, all simple and practical. “Busy tonight.” 
“That’s great.” She meant it–the busier they were, the more people they could help. People could come and eat like it was a regular restaurant, with the option to pay it forward for someone in need. And then the less fortunate or homeless could come in and have a normal, free meal before getting any supplies they might need from next door. People sometimes took advantage of it and tried to get a free meal, but her staff had gotten pretty good at keeping the assholes at bay. 
“Your cop friend is out there,” Ollie said with a flash of a smile. 
Gordon came to visit on nights he worked, usually because he was in the area. She constantly tried to get him to eat for free, but he always paid for himself and the next person to come in. 
Y/n thanked Ollie and pushed her way out into the dining area. It was busy. At the late hour, a lot of people were filling up before a night on the town. There were costumes everywhere. 
Gordon was at his usual seat at the bar, eating a huge plate of the night’s special, carbonara. 
“Hey,” y/n said as she slid into the empty seat next to him. “Can’t get enough of me?” 
“I’m here for the food, not you.” But there was a hint of a smile underneath Gordon’s mustache. 
She grinned. “That’s fair. Ollie’s going to have me out of a job sooner rather than later.” 
“Good thing you own the place, then.” Gordon winked. His phone started ringing in his pocket. 
“Good thing. I’m going to check on Bryn.” She patted Gordon’s arm. “Enjoy your meal.” 
He nodded as he fumbled for his phone. He frowned at the caller ID. 
She hovered for a second, overly curious. He shot her a look that said he knew she was eavesdropping, but he didn’t say anything.  
“Gordon,” he answered curtly. He set his fork down. Y/n watched as Gordon’s face blanched. His mouth parted, just slightly, before he seemed to realize he was in public. “Shit, I–Shit. Okay. I’m on my way. I gotta make a quick stop first, alright? Lock it down. No, I mean it. Lock it down.” 
He hung up quickly and slapped a twenty dollar bill on the countertop.
“What happened?” she asked, because from the look on Gordon’s face, it was bad. 
“I–It’s not good. I can’t say anything yet. I gotta run. Thanks, kid.” 
Gordon was out in a flash. Y/n quietly took the money and put it in the till, frowning. She hadn’t seen that kind of look on Gordon’s face in a long time. It must be bad, whatever it was. The bad feeling she’d been harboring all night grew worse. 
She got her confirmation not fifteen minutes later when the Bat signal flared to life overhead. 
It had been an utter coincidence that she’d chosen a spot with an almost perfect view of Batman’s signal. It had felt a little bit like fate, the first time she’d been in the restaurant and seen it lit. 
Something churned in her gut. 
Not good at all, if Gordon was calling Bruce in on it. Usually that meant something big, bad, or both. 
She picked up her phone and pretended to make a call while, over the earpiece, she said, “Gordon was here and got a call. He seems freaked out.” 
Bruce’s voice in her ear calmed her. “I’m on my way to him now. Are you still at the restaurant?” 
“Yeah, but–” 
“Stay there until I know what’s going on.” 
She sighed. “Okay.” 
She hated being kept out of everything. At least she could look over whatever Bruce had recorded for the night, both with the lens and within his current journal. 
Bryn was packing up a care bag for an elderly lady when y/n entered the other half of the Gotham Project with her master key. This side was a little bigger. There were a couple of rows of cots, a few small stalls with showers, and a huge, heavily secured pantry. Bruce had made sure all of the security was top notch, with alerts going straight to his phone, along with hers and Alfred’s too. He even paid for around the clock security guards, which grated on her nerves sometimes. But at least no one would try to take advantage of her generosity.
Bryn was a tall Black girl that ran the place better than y/n had ever hoped. She’d only seen her around the Iceberg Lounge a few times, and hiring her had been a huge stroke of luck brought about by Lena, who had officially introduced them. Y/n had actually tried to hire Lena first, to get her out of the club, but Lena had politely declined and sent Bryn her way instead. 
“How’s it looking?” y/n asked after the older lady shuffled away, back into the rain. The woman had declined one of the cots for the night. 
Bryn finished writing out the details of the supplies she’d given before answering. “Pretty good. Running low on umbrellas, ponchos, and trashbags, of course. But I already placed an order and it should be here by Saturday. Which means it’ll be sunny.” 
Y/n laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure it does. You know, between you and Ollie, I kind of feel useless around here these days.” 
“Hey, whenever you’re bored, just let me know. I’d love extra time off.” Bryn winked to show she was joking. 
“I’ll put in a word with the boss.” 
At that moment, her phone buzzed. She tried not to seem too eager as she yanked it from her pocket. 
“Don’t tell me–it’s your sugar daddy.” Bryn had been around in the days when y/n had first started working for Bruce, and she never let her forget it. She constantly teased her about it, about the GP’s funding, all of it. But unlike most people, Bryn didn’t mean a word of it. She adored Bruce and always gave him shit for not talking much, which y/n enjoyed to no end. 
“It is,” she said, but it was from Bruce’s “work” phone, not the man himself. His name in it was simply a dark circle emoji. “Because you always have dark circles under your eyes, makeup or otherwise,” she’d joked when he’d asked about it. 
Mitchell was murdered. 
Y/n’s heart stopped. 
The interim Mayor, Don Mitchell, Jr. The man who had replaced Mayor Williams after everything that had happened, and was currently running to be the actual mayor. The man who’d helped bring down Maroni. 
Y/n cursed colorfully. If Bruce was texting, it was because he was around too many others to speak out loud comfortably. “You know, Bryn, why don’t you take off early? I’ll finish doing the inventory and help anyone else who comes in.” 
“I was just about to quit due to being overworked. Damn. Maybe next week.” Bryn winked at her again. They shared a laugh.
Thankfully, she was joking. Y/n made sure her employees were happy, because she knew better than anyone what it was like to have the world’s shittiest boss. Bryn and Ollie were both training people, too, who seemed just as capable as they were. Y/n really did feel useless most of the time. She didn’t even really get to fill in for either of them much anymore. 
Which probably explained the uptick in her…other nighttime activities. 
After Bryn left, y/n busied herself doing what she’d promised while simultaneously checking her phone every thirty seconds. Next door, the noise of the crowd slowly died down. A couple of people came in to sleep for the night, so y/n left them and went back to her office, telling Ollie goodnight as he left. She checked in with the security team before locking herself in her office. 
The hours slowly ticked by. The bad feeling in her gut grew worse. 
It was almost four in the morning when Bruce finally texted again. She’d dozed off on the small couch in the office and woke with a jolt at the chirp of her phone. 
The dark circle emoji greeted her. About to head out. 
She was back at the Batcave within fifteen minutes. 
She flipped on the news first, then the feed for Bruce’s lens. 
“This isn’t good,” Bruce said in her ear a couple of minutes later. 
“What is it with this city and fucking mayors?” she cursed. First Williams, now Mitchell. She hoped this Bella Real lady proved tougher than she looked, because Gotham apparently had it out for anyone in the position. So if she won the election–however that worked with her competition now dead–y/n hoped the woman spent extra on security. 
“Serial killer, maybe. Sadistic at the very least, if he doesn’t kill again,” Bruce said. She could hear a clamor around him. On the screen, she watched him watch a growing crowd from a distance. 
Behind her, GC1 announced breaking news. 
“He left me a card,” Bruce continued as the anchors announced the death of the mayor. There would be a press conference shortly. The press conference setup was what he was watching. “To the Batman.” 
Y/n’s heart stopped again. “He–for you?” 
“It was a riddle. I’ll show you when I get back.” 
She cursed quietly as she watched two different perspectives of the press conference as dawn rose around Gotham. 
Not good. This was not good at all. 
She really had a bad feeling about this. Something was brewing in Gotham, and Batman was at the center of it all.
@pop-rocks-and-skittles​ @calumspupils​ @n1ght5h4d3-24​ @keepingitlokiii​ @11mb0​ @illicitghosts​ @cat-purrsonified​ @blue-aconite​ @junggoku​ @ohheyitsrowan​ @angxlictexrs​ @glowexe​  @avengersgirllorianna​ @brynhildrmimi​ @takeyour-pants-off​  @twilightdollie​ @p-writes​ @lady-x-red​ @xingqiusliegee​ @scxrletwitches​ @justine-en​ @philiasoul​ @srryxmate​ @thecherrybombcom​ @minstens​ @call-me-nayo​ @cosmicbreathe​ @deadflowerd​ @iimawinchester​ @ventila98​ @thecraziestcrayon​ @blossomedfloweroflove​ @dcgoddess​ @nautixa​ @wordsinwinters​ @leastlikelytoachieve​ @slutforblueeyes​  @pajerita19​ @marvelsangels​ @leiaofthestars​  @lwtmonster91​ @vellania​ @uncle-eggy​ @goldbvtton​  @angelsarecallin​​ @rockagurl​ @zaminoo​ @saraallisonphylips​ @zzzvoid​ @moonyinthestars​​ @wondergal2001​​ @livvvmp4​​ @lexydoodles​​ @lauftivy​​ @clarebear66​​  @marchingicenotes7​​  @hazel-light​​ @eoz-stuff​​ @moongarcia​​ @normatural​​   @plaidstiel-wormstache​​ @tembo-ndoto​​ @that-girl-named-alex​​ @lokigoeschoki​​ @johnmurphys-sass​​ @moonlighttfoxx​​ @earthgirl616​​ @acceptedbyace​​ @sinkin7pm​​ @vi0letblu3s​
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luveu · 2 days ago
⋆*・゚fic recs⋆*・゚
top gun
jake “hangman” seresin
bradley “rooster” bradshaw
robert “bob” floyd
stranger things
steve harrington
eddie munson
tasm!peter parker
mcu!peter parker
bruce wayne
anthony bridgerton
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lovers-liability · a day ago
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A note from Lucy: A series? How exciting! What to expect; Angst, slowburn, fluff in the most delicate of sprinklings. Maybe a happy ending? Maybe not. Complicated pining!!!! SO MUCH COMPLICATED PINING?!?!?! Blackmailing. Canonical levels of violence. Sexy fun times eventually. Sexual tension but make it angsty. A gala (what is a battinson fic without one though), of which passive aggressive dancing will take place. Too many skeletons for one person's closet. A cameo from a certain flightless bird…maybe more canonical villains. Who knows? Oh yeah. And I combined a soulmate au with slowburn because ahahahah…fuck rules. In this house there are none!  Also, I am posting this early knowing full well I have not written nearly enough to start posting chapters. Oh and would you look at that- its in my usual poetic style. Aren’t I good with big words? NO I AM NOT. SHUT UP, LUCY! Anyway, on with the shitshow. You are getting front row seats to me being back on my bullshit.
A Bat And Mouse Game: Prelude
Bruce Wayne x (F) Reader
Full Series Soundtrack
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The ‘Soulmate Shift’ is a rare but interesting phenomenon. Research suggests a traumatic event or just change in one's being can cause their soulmate to ‘shift’, as it were. Permanently. However, statistics point to the chances of the likelihood being every 1 in 10,000 people and no one on record has experienced the shift more than once. 
Not one study has given us a reason for this miraculous, yet intimidating, event. All we know is that one day our digits may be reset for good and a new identity’s emotions may well become our own.
This will not be an event to be taken lightly by its victim. It should be something to be feared greatly, for life without ones soulmate is as if condemning oneself to the lions den. The universe shall make its word known. It is not to be disobeyed or ignored or cast aside. It is not folklore, not an old wives tale told at night to children before bed.
A half a soul shall waste away. Wither within short time, leaving too much of a space as the universe’s ways are not for mans meddling or selfish whims to dictate. There is a punishment for such actions, a debt to be paid in the form of ones sanity, grace and even life on a rare occasion.
The soulmate bond is not an ultimatum or choice. It is universal lore.
C.G.Lauryent - The Soulmate Bond and Other Universal Phenomena, Chapter 19, The Soulmate Shift, Lines 6 to 30.
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☞ series masterlist
let me know here if you want to be added to my taglist and get notified when i publish something.
☞ lucy’s tagteam
@hollandorks @potato-girl99981 @captain-ariel-rogers​ @blue-aconite @yanna-banana @bxbyyyjocelyn @mcrmarvelloki
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©️lovers-liability 2022 - Under no circumstances may you republish anywhere or use as material for ASMR audios.
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One headcanon request! Bruce Wayne x Black Widow!Reader, please (⊃。•́‿•̀。)⊃
Hope you like it!!
You end up in Gotham after the red room collapses
And very quickly learn about the Batman
You realise that with your skill set, you can pretty much do the same
And after years of hurting people
You just want to help instead
It doesn't take long for you to cross paths with him
He's standoffish at the start
Because he feels like you're trying to outdo him on his turf
So you try and stay out of his way
But obviously in a city like Gotham that's not always possible
You end up working together on a case
Because he has info you don't and vice versa
He's wary
Barely gives you the time of day
Mainly grunts in reply to anything you say
But after working together for a little while
He starts to warm up to you
You start letting slip little parts of your past
He realises you're not so different from him
You find out he's Bruce Wayne in the worst possible circumstances
You're ambushed while together and he ends up with a head wound
You have no choice but to take the cowl off to treat it
Even as he tries to bat your hands away
But at that moment
You honestly don't care who he is, only that he needs help
You get him somewhere safe
And when he wakes up he's confused
He's a completely different person without the cowl and suit on
Much more timid and lacking confidence
You assure him his secret is safe with you
As long as he lets you have a look at the stuff Wayne Industries is developing
He agrees
You only grow closer after that
He starts letting you into all aspects of his life
Not only as the Batman
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Send me a headcanon
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carpecaelo · a day ago
𝖉𝖈 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖈𝖘
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✧Bruce Wayne
"you love me right?"
✧Dick Grayson
"you weren't mine to lose."
✧Damian Wayne
a miscommunication
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jangofctts · 3 months ago
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Surely, You’d Burn the Same (Batman/Bruce Wayne x fem!reader)
Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+
Word Count: 6.2k
Warnings: smut, sexpollen (dubcon), explicit language, handjobs, oral (both male and female), vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, mentions of violence, brief mention of an IV/needle, Bruce is touch starved lmfao (lmk if I missed anything please!!)
a/n: ok while consent is given on both parties, it’s has sex pollen-esque features so it is dubious consent!! just be aware of that! ANNYWAY PLEASE ENJOY (also thank u sm to the lovely @jango-fettish for helping me come up with this idea)
Fuck Lieutenant James Gordon.
Fuck him and his stupid penchant for glorifying vigilante justice. And fuck yourself for coming back here in this shithole of a city called Gotham. You’re a goddamn forensic analyst. You’re not supposed to be involving yourself with shit like this.
But alas, trouble always has a way of finding you.  
It nears six months into your job when you start to hear the rumors. Missing money from evidence, smudged fingerprints, evidence destroyed. Staff meetings about bribery, pay-offs to cover up the ferocious criminal underbelly of Gotham. The list goes on and on. Half the CSI staff eats out of the hand of some crime figurehead. The Penguin mostly—dude’s got a thumb in every pie scattered across the city. You don’t entirely blame them—the pay is shit and the job shittier. If you didn’t have the familial ties that you do, you’d be in the same bind as them. 
You keep your head down. You don’t want any part of it.
It still doesn’t stop the nicely folded manilla envelopes from finding their way into your desk. Encoded notes, promising pay if you jack up some idiot official’s incriminating evidence. You just sweep them into the shredder and say not a word. It’s one of the reasons you’ve risen through the ranks so quickly—the captain's favorite—squeaky clean and determined. Always on scene for the high profile cases, sidestepping the dangerous undertow that nips at your ankles.     
Like you said, trouble always finds you.         
James Gordon is lucky he’s a family friend or else you’d have blocked his number ages ago. He has a bad habit of calling in the middle of the night, hyped up on crappy coffee and a lead he needs followed. You figure he supersedes your captain with these sorts of things because she too has been corrupted—or maybe Gordon just wants you to succeed. Both are plausible options. 
And so, when you get the jarring phone call in the buttfuck middle of the night that scares that absolute bejesus out of you, you’re not surprised. The context of the call, though, that’s a little different—
“I gotta show you something, kiddo.”
Puffy eyed from sleep and a tick away from strangling him, you throw on a light coat and lo and behold, Gordon is there to pick you up. He reveals nothing once you get into the car. You watch the darkened city roll past, the buildings gleaming and hazy in the light drizzle. Streetlamp reflections churn golden swirls onto the concrete streets—the only constellations that have learned how to shine through the light pollution.   
The place he brings you is an abandoned tower. Construction litters the surrounding area. You shiver when you exit his warm car. “Jesus, Gordon. Is this where you’re gonna dump my body?”
He shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose and punches the buttons to the elevator. Who the fuck pays for electricity here? “Shut up, kid.” 
Your curiosities are soon put to an end. 
Gordon is the caretaker of the so-called Bat-Signal. You should’ve known. You’re a bit peeved to be quite honest, that you were never close to even finding out his secret. Whatever. 
Even more startling is the fact the Batman himself pays you a little visit atop that windy tower. 
Like a shadow he melts into view. You don’t know any better than to draw your gun and point at the dark mass of muscle and a walking armory. Gordo slaps his hand over the barrel, forcing you to lower the weapon. “Woah, woah, woah—he’s on our side, Blue.”   
Striking blue eyes bore into yours as your heart hammers away inside your chest. He takes a heavy step forward, then another, and another until he stands nearly toe to toe with you. Christ, he’s tall. 
“Why is she here?” 
His voice is rough as stone, soft in cadence but powerful nonetheless. He breathes authority and power—alluring. 
Gordon grasps your shoulder in support. To be quite frank, you don’t follow the rest of the conversation nor remember the reason why Gordon introduced you—something along the lines of another ally in case something goes wrong. Another familiar face to rely upon. Or maybe it’s for your sake—another line of determent to convince you from straying too close into the hands of bribery. 
All you do is stare, and Vengeance stares back. 
It works. 
Or at least, Vengeance allows you to tag along as Gordon’s sidekick. The months go on like this. The bribes increase and instead of shredding them you pass them off to Vengeance—a trail he can follow to find those responsible. You and Gordon help as much as you can, because fuck. No one else is doing anything about it—crime keeps surging and corruption runs rampant. It’s a tragedy that only The Batman dares challenge. 
And that tragedy bites back. 
It’s another one of those frantic, midnight calls. It’s different this time—urgent. 
“Get your ass to the crime lab—we got a situation." 
Dutifully you rush to dress and haul ass to the labs. You go around back, swipe your keycard and fly down the emergency lit stairs. You heart leaps into your throat as your foot skips a step—
You tear through the dark office and beeline towards the captain’s office. The door is already open—Gordon is throwing a half-lucid Batman onto the tiny couch shoved on the side wall. He looses conciseness the minute his back hits the cushions. “The fuck happened?” 
You fly over and shove your fingers under Batman’s sharp jaw to find a pulse. It races under your fingers. Gordon shakes his head. “No clue—found him close to the station, so I brought him down here.”
You pull out a pocket light from your coat, lift up his eyelid and shine it over his eyes. Doesn’t look like he has a concussion. “I told you, Gordon. I’m not a doctor, the closest thing I got to a medical degree is my EMT.” 
“He’s not bleeding,” Gordon relays. “We just need to watch him and get him outta here before anyone sees.”  
Fine. Fine. You can deal with that. 
You sit up and tear through your bag of pilfered medical supplies. You slide on a set of gloves, grab an IV line and reach for Batsy’s limp arm. Gordon helps wrestle off his glove. You slide the needle into his battered hand, and lay the baggie onto the back of the couch. You sigh and peel off your gloves and throw them into the wastebasket under the captain’s desk. “You’re lucky no one’s down here.” 
“I know,” Gordon says. “We’d both get the boot, huh?”
You snort. “You wouldn’t.”
You stand and peruse the lab in search for a vitals monitor. Perks of sharing the building with the morgue, you suppose. You wheel the machine into the office, peel off the sticky parts and attach them to the insides of his wrist. They’re new, no wires—like a blue tooth sort of deal. The machine flips on—the beep of Bats’ pulse fills the room. 
When Bats shows no signs of waking in the coming moments Gordon bails. You don’t blame him. This is boring. “You alright if I head out, kiddo?”
You wave your hand in dismissal. “Yeah, yeah—get outta here, old man.” 
Gordon chuckles at this, ruffles your hair and swiftly exits. “Call if you need anything!” 
The next time you’ll be calling him will probably be in jail. Can you go to jail for helping a vigilante? Is that a thing? Y’know what, doesn’t matter. Precisely why you never went to law school. Fuck that noise.   
Even so, you wait for Vengeance to wake.
An hour ticks by—your boredom grows rampant. With a sigh you pull out your pocket light and waddle over to the couch. You peel open his eyelids and curl your lip at the greasy, black residue that comes away from his eye. It reminds you of that shitty Halloween store makeup. Hm… 
Suddenly, his hand shoots up and wrenches your arm away—throwing himself off the couch and narrowly punching the living daylights out of you. “Fuck, man—chill! It’s me!”   
His lips are drawn in a snarl, fists clenched. Though once he sees you, takes account of his surroundings he drops back onto the couch like deadweight. You scramble over, readjust his IV and recheck his vitals. His heart races—not entirely alarming just yet. 
“Blue,” he rasps, throwing out your name to assure that it really is you and that he’s safe. It’s not your real name (he knows that too), it’s just a label you coined over the years that began in middle school. Little Crybaby Blue—got too over zealous with the crappy hair die and went to school covered in it. You were tinged blue for weeks. He doesn’t know that though. Hopefully…     
“Yeah, it’s me, Bats,” you assure. “Gordon called me.”
Leather creaks as he nods. He squeezes his eyes shut and grunts as he shifts into a more comfortable position. “Only place I could get to.”  
You bite your tongue before you can offer your place as a haven if he ever needs. That would be brushing elbows with unknown territory. Dangerous.
He tries to sit up again. Your hand whips out. “Nuh-uh. Just rest for now. Gotham can go a few hours without her Batboy.” 
For the first time since meeting him he listens without a fight. He only clenches his jaw and glares up at the water stained sealing. “How long?”
You frown. You rub the bridge of your nose and sigh. “Until the IV is finished, deal?” 
It’s half empty. Bats agrees solemnly. 
Boredom weighs heavy on your shoulders once again. His silence has never bothered you, but even so, it’s a little awkward just sitting here, kneeling on the floor. Your fingers find his tattered cape that spills onto the floor, thumbing the rough fabric. Fireproof probably—    
Batty makes a noise low in his chest. You bite you cheek, scrambling for an excuse. “Haven’y you heard Batboy? No capes,” you quote, tugging on the ends of the tattered cloth. You’re met with a blank, glacial stare. You roll your eyes. “Y’know, like Edna Mode? The Incredibles?” 
Still nothing. 
You tut. “You’re no fun.” 
His breath is stuttered as he inhales, readjusting himself to better ignore you. Ok, yeah, maybe that joke was stupid, but it doesn’t warrant a cold shoulder. Irritation pricks at your insides. Fucker—is it really that hard to humor someone and their dumb pop culture references? “You look like shit, by the way.” 
“You have terrible bedside manner.” 
Your lips purse. “Bummer.” 
And then it all crumbles into disaster. 
His heart rate continues to spike, a terrifying crescendo of rapid electronic beeps that pushes your own adrenaline into overdrive. Fuck, you are not prepared to deal with this at all. The fuck are you supposed to do with Batman’s dead body? Throw it in the dumpster? 
You scramble through the office’s supply of bottled drugs. Most of it is useless—embalming fluid, isopropyl alcohol—like you said, useless shit. You flit over to your boss’s desk and tear through the bottom drawers. A big black binder resides in the left one—score. You fling it open and find the vial of clear liquid that’ll stop him from having a fucking heart attack. You rush over, syringe in hand and grab for his IV—you startle as his hand launches out to stop you. 
You grimace and wrench your wrist free. You make a grab for it again—he swats you away. The syringe tumbles to the square of carpet under the couch, the vial rolls beneath it. “Dude—I’m trying to save your life! You’re gonna have a goddamn heart attack.”
“No,” he snarls again. He grits his teeth, and rips the IV line out of his hand. What the fuck. At least the fucking heart monitor is still attached. “You’re wrong.” 
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Batboy,” you sneer, throwing your hands up. “I didn’t know you were also a doctor.”  
His mouth dips into a grim line. He curls into himself and dips his shoulder, the cushions creak as he turns to face the back of the couch. It doesn’t really work—the couch is small and Batboy is fucking massive—like cramming a G.I. Joe doll onto Polly Pocket furniture. It’s a little funny.   
A low groan reverberates through his wide chest, legs pulling closer to his middle. You worry your lip between your teeth—dude is clearly in pain, you just have to figure out a way to get him to accept your help. You sigh and kneel onto the carpet. This is exactly why you vowed never to go into the caretaker side of things—it’s frustrating. Nonetheless, you hover a hand over the plated armor lining the space between his shoulder and upper arm. Batboy flinches. 
“C’mon, Bats,” you urge, softening the edge of your voice to dull the bite of your irascibility. “Let me help you.” 
The silence is deafened by the beeping heart monitor and accompanied by his terse, staccato, breathing. You whisper your hand down to the crease of his elbow. Even through the thick fabric, the heat of his skin is scorching. He’s running a fever. Batboy grunts and pulls his elbow closer to his middle. You don’t let go.
“You can’t,” he presses. “Not with this, Blue.”
You clench your jaw. “You don’t know that.”
He’s holding his breath like he’s scared of it leaving his frayed lungs. And you…you’re biting your tongue—you cannot take a crowbar to his jaw and pry the answers you want out of him. That’s not how it works—not with him. People will never understand the true essence of what this man is—fuck—you barely know either. But what you do know, is that there’s a tragedy hidden beneath his tongue and broken promises that are stapled to his martyr red heart. He’s blind to his own ambitions, in search for payment without realizing that the aftermath of revenge will bury him alive. He’ll never change and you never expect him to do so. 
It’s just the way things are.
Much to his chagrin, however, you will not be letting Batboy die on your boss’s office couch tonight. You prod him a second time. He’s divulged that he knows exactly what’s got him in this state, you just need to coax it from him. “Tell me. Please.”       
Something akin to desperation lining your words, cracks his resolve. He grunts and turns his head. His eyes are a small ring of blue, blotted out by his dilated pupils—shit. That can’t be good. Bat’s tongue rolls out to wet his chapped lips, inhales—his heart rate spikes again. Jesus, that’s too fucking fast—   
“Iceberg Lounge,” he says. He’s starting to pant. “I got dosed with something.” 
Your brows furrow. A list of substances scroll through your brain—how to treat them, what the symptoms are that matches his. “Like cyanide? I have—”
“No,” Batty shakes his head and lifts his gaze to stare at the water stained ceiling. The muscles in his sharp jaw flex. He shifts. “Pheromone based.” 
Your face twists. The hell does that mean? You’re about to ask him to clarify when the pieces click together. Oh.  
Rapid heart rate, dilated pupils, skin feverish—
Batty’s been drugged with an aphrodisiac. 
The seriousness of the situation rams into you like a freight train. You’ve been on three cases already that involved this shit. High up political players dosed with the mystery aphrodisiac after hiring escort services from the Iceberg Lounge. Each one of them found dead, hearts all but exploded from the effects of the drug. No matter how much they tried, bringing themself to their own end never worked. You press your palms into your face, bitter panic welling inside your chest. 
Oh fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck—   
Calloused fingers gently curl around your wrist. They pry your hand free from your face. “Blue.” 
“Don’t say it like that,” you hiss. You’re sure his fingertips can pinpoint your raging pulse—just as fast as his thrums. “Shut up.”  
His chin tilts down, a question swimming in his gaze. 
“And don’t try and convince me you’ll end up ok,” you say. “Because you won’t—not this time. Not unless…” 
Not unless you give him that relief. It’s not…it’s not like you aren’t attracted to him. Christ, the minute you met him you were smitten. You’d jump Bats’ bones if he offered, but not like this. Not something tarnished and born out of necessity. You stare at the wine red rug under your knees and bite your lip. Your skin itches from where Bats still holds your wrist.     
“Blue,” he whispers, wheezy and suffering. “I’m not afraid to die.” 
He’s bleeding forgiveness, keeping your hands clean from his choice to go out this way. You can’t—your conscious would never be free of the guilt. The black stain of knowing you could’ve remedied this with ease but instead chose to end the reign of Vengeance, based on what? Your stubborn propriety and a guessing game covered in a glass floor of eggshells? That’s not fair—not fair to him or whatever legacy he’s trying to build in Gotham.        
You suck in a deep breath of air and muster your courage. Carefully, and without haste, you roll your wrist out of his hand and slowly bring it to cup his stubbled jaw. He inhales sharply. “I’m not gonna let you die, Batboy.” 
His eyes flutter as you smooth your thumb up the sharp line of cheek. Fuck, he’s sensitive. The leather on his singular glove creaks as his fists clench, the heart monitor races away. You’re running out of time. “I didn’t want it this way.”
Yeah. You didn’t either. “When you don't get what you want, you start forgetting what you need, Batty.” Bats lips pull into a deep frown—he hates when you call him that. He wants to argue. You don’t let him. “It’s ok—trust me.”
His eyes bore into yours, striking against the blackness of his mask and the dark grease paint he wears beneath it. It feels as though an eternity passes before he’s nodding. He’s found whatever he was looking for in your eyes and deemed it enough. An inkling of your desire maybe—
The rapid-fire beeping distracts you once again. Cursing, you jump to your feet and silence the damn machine. When you return Bats has arranged himself into a hunched sitting position, leaving enough room for you to sit and be within viewing range of his vitals displayed on the screen. 
You gingerly sit. You swallow and turn to him. His chest heaves like he’s just run forty miles, bare hands clenched at his sides to dispel the shaking—a tightly wound mess at the mercy of your salvation. You scoot closer and risk skirting your hand over his armored knee. You bite the inside of your cheek to quell your racing nerves. This is so fucked up. You offer him a weak smile. “We’ll start small and go from there, ok?”  
He grunts his affirmation. You nod and lean over his broad chest, running your fingers over the pockmarks in his armor and all the way down to his belt. His eyes are glued to your face, unwavering as you wrestle his heavy utility belt free from his waist. His thigh jumps under your hand. You slide your palm up and inward towards the bulge pressing against the front of his pants. 
Batty sits up, ramrod straight as your hand squeezes him through his pants. A rush of arousal surges in the pit of you abdomen—he’s not a small man in any way, shape, or form. You bite the inside of your cheek and press onward, pawing at the waistband of his pants. Bats lifts his hips as you tug both his pants and boxers down far enough his muscled legs that it won’t hinder your goals. If you had it your way, there’d be a lot more teasing involved.  
Fuck—not like he needs it.
His cock is well past hard, flushed an angry red at the tip and leaking precum against the base of his abdomen, straining towards his navel. Fuck—you want him bad. You look up at him, he’s already staring. In a flash of movement, Bats captures your hand and guides you to his throbbing cock. It’s a knee-jerk reaction—he folds into you as you grab a hold of his length, his rapid pulse reminding you that you’re on a time crunch here. Internally you despair over the fact you can’t enjoy this—him—for longer.       
This is about him—not you. 
You huff at the added weight draped onto your body, armor and all. His masked face tucks itself into the crux of your shoulder. He mumbles a gruff apology that tapers off as you squeeze his cock, searing and heavy in your hand. You wiggle closer and breathe against his neck, moisture collecting onto the black leather. He smells like rain. “Does it hurt?”
You remain like this for a few moments as he pants onto your skin, his left hand clenching the back of the couch so hard it might rip. Your palm, slick with his dribbling precum, glides easily up and down his thick length. Shit, your fingers barely meet—
His head lifts, two digits press on the underside of your chin, tilting up—   
Vengeance kisses like he’s won the war. Brutal, devouring, victorious, grateful. He’s spent years fighting and it’s as if only now he’s stopped long enough to catch his breath. Even though he’s actively racing towards death. His hands grab at your arms, your clothes, your hair. It’s like you are the spoils of battle and he fears losing you to the enemies that snap at his heels. He kisses like a man afraid that this will be fleeting, insubstantial and will abandon him. The desperation you think, is a side effect, but it excites you anyhow. 
You part for air. “Everything’s gonna be alright,” you whisper, voice gentle. Tonight you are his tether. And he the disbelieving survivor, jittery and wounded but safe. “Let go like this. It’s ok.” 
He abandons your lips in favor of latching his teeth to the tender flesh above your collarbone—it stings. You whimper and pump your hand faster, the obscene wet sounds of it filling the room. You rub your thumb under the tip then back down to fondle his balls. 
Bats groans weakly. “Blue—”
And then quite abruptly—so abruptly that it surprises him more than it does you—he lets go.
Batty cums hard into your hand, right here at your place of work, armor half ripped off, leaning the entirety of his weight onto you. A ragged gasp tears through his clenched teeth and he stiffens against you, balls pulling up tight under your palm. Sticky warmth immediately coats your fingers and the inside of your wrist in throbbing spurts. He slams a wild fist into the couch, growling your name, your true name, before his voice trapezes into a gritty, wordless snarl.
You mouth wet kisses over the exposed skin of his jaw, caressing the swollen head of his cock as it pulses in your grip. His orgasm is long and achingly drawn out, draining his body of his rapidly expending energy with every thick rope of cum you’re able to milk out of him.  He swears and shudders his way through his release, until finally the exhaustion wins him over, slumped onto you as you struggle not to collapse under his weight. Fuck—it’s been a long time for him. You release his half hard cock and rub gentle circles into his protruding hipbone, your other hand smoothing down the back of his helmet to cup his neck. A dark thrum of pride runs through you veins—how many could say they could get Batman himself to submit like this—flash his colors of vulnerability. 
You’re betting on zero.  
Your eyes slide past the dark mass of him and onto the heart monitor. It seems to have done the trick. His pulse drops to a near normal level. “Good?”  
His warm, wet tongue, laves over the teethmarks he’s left. His fingers gripping the back of the couch unlatch and float around your waist, drawing you into a loose semblance of a hug. You feel his lips move as he mumbles a hushed; “Thank you.” 
The cadence of his gravel rough timbre causes your heart to ache for him. You’d never name whatever this is as love because love has a twin sister named power—and when you give somebody one, then you give them the other. You understand that it’s in Batman’s best interest to keep both. There’s no part of him that can be torn apart, no soft spot, no cavity—it’ll get in the way. 
But he’s still learning. 
Batty groans and finds your hand that’s still coated in his sticky cum. “M’sorry.”
His breathing kicks up a second time, the firm line of his body curling curling into himself. Hot puffs of air scorch your skin as Bats feebly raises his head. His chapped lips tickle your cheek, a request lodged in his throat. He needs to cum again—it’s written plain as day on the heart monitor and the way his body holds itself like a tightened spring. He won’t ask, so you press your lips to his and bridge the gap between you once more. 
Batman moans into your open mouth, allowing you to slide your tongue over his. His cock is rock hard again, twitching in your hand. A wicked idea twists through your mind as his hips roll into your fist. “Do you want my mouth, Batboy?” 
He startles at the offer. If not for the pulse of his cock and the way it leaks over your hand and onto his pants, you’d think you had offended him. He pulls back far enough to meet your eyes. They find the wall, the corner of your mouth then back to you. He works his jaw and clasps a hand over your arm. 
“I can’t—you—you don’t have to,” Batty stutters. “Fuck, Blue. I can’t…ask you for that.” 
“I’m offering,” you say, a little smile playing across your lips. “It’ll feel better than my hand.” 
Quicker than before, he gives in. He slumps into the couch as you slide to the rug between his knees. You reach up to hook your fingertips in his hem of his trousers and pull them as far as they go before they catch on his armor. He’s zeroed in on your face again as he widens his legs for you to scoot in close, knees cradling your ribcage. Fuck—being this close to his cock sends shockwaves of achey arousal to your cunt. It’s torture not to just shove your hand between your legs and take care of the wicked need.
Your mouth is watering—you bend down and part your lips to gently drag your tongue along the smooth skin of his balls, licking him clean of his previous orgasm. His whole body jumps at the hot, velvety slick sensation—you let out a low hum in response. Batty swears when you trail your way up, slowly trailing your tongue up the length of his cock and pressing your plush lips to his flushed tip.
Bats exhales a shaky breath while you run your tongue along him, memorizing his taste.  You wrap your lips around the head of his cock and roll your tongue up underneath the little crease here. The smooth skin pulses on your tongue, you slide your fingers around the pale protrusions of his hips, and work your mouth wider to take his thick length deeper. Drool and his precum pool at the base of his cock—probably gonna stain the leather below. 
Holy shit your jaw aches—   
His fingers bury themselves into your hair, the sharp pricks encouraging you to continue. He never once guides you or pushes you down his cock—it’s just a way to anchor himself. The heat of your mouth is overwhelming—soft and willing to please him. “S’good.”
Your pride swells. 
You pull up to make room for your slick hand to wrap around his cock, beginning to jerk him off. You lave your tongue over his tip and cradle him here within the soft pallet of your mouth, your touch gliding strong and wet along his entire length. His skin is sizzling as he hardens even more—the tension in his body about the burst and snap like a cut wire. “I’m close—”  
You hum in acknowledgment. You don’t stray from your course of suckling on the tip of his cock, slowly swirling your tongue around him, continuing to use your hand to firmly pump the length of his cock. Bats’ fingers twist into your hair as his hips unconsciously seek your mouth each time you pull up to catch a breath of cool air. His moans, while still low and rough, border on airy. 
Shit—you clench your thighs together. You can’t help yourself—the discomfort is too much. You drop a hand and wedge it between your thighs to press hard against your clit to relive some of that pressure that threatens to swallow you whole. The sight of you touching yourself excites him—that paired with the way you gaze up at him through your lashes, shoves him over the edge in a dizzying display of pure lust.
He whispers your name and hunches over you like you’ve punched him in the gut. He trembles, white-knuckling your hair and the armrest and once again cumming with force into your mouth. You greedily accept him. The first taste of his release spreads over the flat of your tongue right as you dig your nails into the exposed flesh of his hips. His hips buck, gasping raggedly as he empties himself down your throat—expelling the aphrodisiac meant to kill him from his veins the only way he can. 
You swallow all of what he gives to you, grasping his hips and locking him place as he rides out his high. You don’t let go until his firm frame relaxes, cock softening upon your tongue. A soft pop sounds in your ears as he slips from your mouth. His fingers untangle from your hair and delicately brush over the matted area. Wetness stains your mouth but before you can you wipe the mess from your lips and chin, his bare hand curls around your jaw and guides you into a devastating kiss. 
A familiar ache ignites in your chest—twisting, blazing, raw. The roaring in your ears becomes a thousand times louder. Like thunder, the fury of a storm, waves crashing against a gloomy cliff side. He’s an electrical surge that lights you up from the inside out. You can barely breathe but you feel so alive.
Bats nips at your bottom lip, mumbling his thanks like a prayer into your ear. His teeth tenderly nip at your earlobe, crowding you into the corner of the couch. “Can I return the favor?” 
You choke. “You don’t have to. I told you—” 
“I want to taste you,” he interrupts gently. The fingers around your jaw slide to your chin. His thumb pulls down your bottom lip.  
You’ll never understand how he’s able to touch you as if you are fine china. It doesn’t make sense with what he does, how he appears to the public all dark and violent. Before your conscious mind can agree, your head is nodding on its own. “Fuck yeah.” 
The ends of his mouth ever so slightly quirk up at that. Bats moves in closer. Shit. “Wait—wait,” you sputter, flattening your palms against his chest plate. You push, he backs up. “Your vitals—I need to make sure you’re ok first.” 
He grunts and pinches your chin, moving your head to the side. His vitals seem…normal, you suppose. They’ve plateaued. For now. “I’m fine, Blue.”
Bats slides off the couch and onto his knees, hands finding the swell of your hips. You think he’s going to eat you out like this, the same as you’ve done for him. But nope. No—he drags you to the floor and herds you onto all fours. Fuck—it makes sense. He can’t risk the chance of revealing his identity if you were to knock or grab his mask. Bats presses into your shoulder until you’re ass up, face resting on the carpet. You fingers dig into the red fibers, excitement thrumming through your core. 
He wrestles your pants and underwear down your legs, shuddering as he knocks your knees apart. You know how wet you must be based on the curse that tumbles sweetly past his lips. His ungloved hand runs down the slope of your ass and cuts inward, his thumb sliding through your wet slit. You hear him shuffle and then feel his breath fanning over the base of your spine a moment later.  
Bats hooks his other hand, the leather a sensory buffer, around your thigh and yanks your hips closer to his mouth. All thoughts fizzle out at the hot glide of his tongue through your pussy from behind. Oh, shit—you arch your spine and whine the only name you have for him. His tongue languidly swirls over your clit, each pass like an electric shock splitting through your cells. You want more. You cry and cant your hips back as he lightly sucks on the bundle of nerves. You nearly cry when he flattens his tongue and follows the curve of your cunt all the way up to your entrance.
You tense then immediately relax as the tips of his fingers, press at your entrance, teasing the clenching ring of soft muscle before sinking in. The two digits slip in with ease—all the way up to the second knuckle. When he draws them back out, they're no doubt coated with your wetness. He thrusts them back in, then out—setting a slow but strong pace that makes everything ache with need. It leaves you just hovering over the sharp edge of ecstasy, the catch of his knuckles and the heat of his calloused skin torture. 
You fist the rug under you, biting your lip to quiet the louder moans. You know for a fact that there’s still people lurking around somewhere in this building. “Gonna cum—keep going.”  
Bats’ mouth dips down a second time, sucks on your clit and hums around you. That does it. 
A few more curls and thrusts of his fingers inside of your clenching walls has your body seizing up tight. You're flying off that edge, faster than the speed of light. You cum onto his tongue and fingers with a strangled cry, sparks of blurry white alighting behind your eyelids as your back arches. Batty continues to lick you through your orgasm, even as you squirm and shake in his firm hold. Ecstasy implodes behind your eyelids as heat, hotter than wildfire spreads from your center all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. You're quivering, and over the roaring in your ears you hear Bats murmur his praise—feeling the vibration of his groan, as he licks up the flood of your wetness over his tongue. 
When he pulls away you groan at the loss and melt onto your side, jittery from the aftershocks. “Goddamn.”
Batman tickles his fingers over your bare thigh and run all the way down to the bend of your knee. Goosebumps follow in the wake of his touch. He drags his fingertips over them curiously—your turn your head. He retracts his hand like you’ve burned him and busies himself with getting redressed. The monitor flatlines as he tears off the remaining sticky patches. Your hands shake as they weakly tug your pants back up.
Nothing is said in the minutes following. You lead him from the office, up the emergency stairwell and out through the backdoor. It’s raining—steam from a nearby vent clouds the chilly air, the exit sign painting the blackness of his suit a bloody, neon red. You wipe the rain off your brow. 
You crane your neck to look at him. His mouth is still set in a rigid frown—maybe a bit more relaxed. You can’t tell in the darkness. 
“Thank you,” he says, all jagged and raw like ripped stitches. 
You hug your middle. Fuck, this rain is colder than balls. You smile. “Anytime, Batboy.” 
That, you can tell, bothers him still. He takes a heavy step forward, gear chinking as he moves. His movements are sluggish as he brings his hand, now fully gloved, to touch under your chin. He dips his head to reach you, lips barely skimming yours. You hold your breath and close your eyes. “Goodbye, Blue.” 
The touch of his lips is faint. Like a shadow. When you open your eyes, he’s gone. 
“See you around, Vengeance,” you whisper to the darkness. 
4K notes · View notes
charnelhouse · 3 months ago
my love is vengeance
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Pairing: Bruce Wayne x F!Reader Wordcount: 5.6K Warnings: smut. virginity-taking. oral both ways. violence. vibes. drugs. drinking. Hair pulling. Summary: They were waltzing around the sex talk. They kissed - they made out like fucking teenagers after they had spent a night fighting down the knife-edge of the city A/N: reader is kind of based off a character/kind of has some promising young woman vibes going on. title is from the who's behind blue eyes. this is chaos and im on sleep meds and pad thai. apologies for mistakes!
It was hard to crack The Batman. Vengeance.
He didn’t go by that name anymore. Apparently.
They met during a back alley fight. She had lost herself at the Iceberg Lounge. Black leather pants. Emerald green corset top. Boots. She got herself in some trouble, but she’d been dying for it. She had twirled and drank and squeezed a couple Drops into her eyes until her mascara ran and she’d chewed through her lip.
Her vision had swam - gone to neon swirls and white spots. She had danced and danced until the world had flipped over. The vibrating floor. The bass drop. She was waiting - hoping - delighting at the thought of her web reeling some horsefly into her snare.
It worked as it always did. Some creep had managed to drag her outside - oily hands grabbing at her. The stink of fetid breath that was too warm. The rolling sweetheart - come on - come -
She always savored the look on their faces when she suddenly straightened - when she gracefully twisted their arm or broke their nose. Her slur gone. Her eyes now bright and aware. She could be dizzy-drunk and still manage to pull her punches. She didn’t intend to kill anyone. Just a lesson and yes, maybe, she was trying to fill all the pesky holes inside her from her own horrific past. She called it closure, but it was “closure” that was never actually fulfilled.
That night in particular had not gone as planned. The creep had security - he’d apparently been a bigger fish than she thought. How could you tell really? Everyone in Gotham was someone’s superior - was someone’s boss in an invisible hierarchy. The good guys were actually bad and the bad guys were bad, but not even as bad as the good guys because they, at least, owned it.
All of that (the security and the big fish) - she didn’t know. Not then. Not yet.
The man screeched after she’d sent the heel of her hand into his nose. Blood swirling in the rain. Like tears. What was that movie again? Something..something…the shoulder of Orion…C-beams…glitter?
“You fucking bitch,” he growled, lunging forward. She side-stepped. The alcohol swelled inside her - the drops left her skin humming. She was cold - sensitive to every splat of water. The rain drenched her hair and her clothes and left the air with the tang of mildew.
It was all fun - all very exciting until the man started chuckling - red seeping between his too-white teeth. She frowned.
“What- “
Pain - sharp and sudden - slammed through her back. She fell - knees scraping against the shimmering asphalt. The neon lights of the city danced along the tops of her hands as they found purchase on the dirty ground. The Exit sign reflected rosy red against the silver surface of her bracelets. Another kick sent her into the trash bin - the whole front denting beneath her weight.
She grimaced before glancing up to see who - exactly - had come to this fuckhead’s rescue.
Four guys. Enormous. Thick. Definitely security.
One of the men - bald and pissed - snapped his fist back band drove it toward her -
She screwed her eyes shut.
Not her most courageous move, but she didn’t care. There was just so much rain and she couldn’t hear outside of it. The Drops still had her bones vibrating. Her heart had split in two and taken residence in both of her ear canals. She waited - waited - and then nothing - a wisp of wind and a sudden howl of agony.
She opened her eyes. Oh.
The Batman. He was bigger than she expected. Broad-shouldered. Shockingly fast for someone so bulky. He’d saved the city a year ago. She remembered the flood of water. The murders and the corruption brought to light. This was the first time she’d ever run into him.
She watched - breathless and in pain from her bruised ribs - as he beat the shit out of her attackers. It took him a minute, perhaps two and then he was done - staring down at the pile of unconscious bodies with what she’d assumed was indifference, but there was really no way to tell with that mask.
Finally, he turned toward her. He dropped down - making himself smaller - a hunched form. She spread his gloved hand in offering. It was jarring to see him go from towering to eye-level. “Are you okay?” His voice was deep - raspy - like it had been wrenched over gravel. She could make out the exquisite line of his jaw - the blue around his pupils. The shade gleamed within circles of smoke-black make-up. Galaxy blue. Lake blue.
She clutched his hand - shivering as his fingers covered hers. He helped her up - mindful of her injuries that she would no doubt feel tenfold tomorrow morning.
“Thanks,” she told him - at a loss of what else to say. He didn’t leave - didn’t disappear into the shadows.
“I watched you,” he revealed. “Watched you nearly break that guy’s face.”
“He had bad intentions.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I’ve watched you beat the shit out of different guys the last two weeks.”
She went still - uncertain if he was going to arrest her or chastise her. She didn’t know which would be worse. “Why did you wait until tonight to show up?”
He shrugged. “You were outnumbered. Didn’t feel like trying to find someone else who can fight with your…,” He seemed to search for the right word. “…creativity.”
Her brow furrowed. “Fight for what?”
“Need help on a case,” His eyes were steady on her - serious. Unsettling. “I could use someone who can defend themselves and you know the Iceberg.”
“Oh.” He didn’t even ask her why she did what she did. He saw it as a strength. He had started walking and she hurried after him - skipping over one of the unconscious bodies he had left. Her skin felt less tingly. Not as tight.
“You don’t even know my name,” she accused.
He lifted his arm - her wallet stuck between his fingers. “Nice to meet you.”
Bruce did not think of Selina. The new girl - woman - reminded him strongly of her. A fact he did not want to truly acknowledge. Both of them were bitter - angry - and remarkable at getting into places they shouldn’t. The only difference was that she desired no payment - no reward for the pain she dealt. There was no gold in it for her. No diamonds. She simply took advantage of the men who tried to take advantage of her - some form of revenge that Bruce knew all too well.
She was also less controlled than Selina had been. She drank to oblivion. She did Drops on occasion, which he’d grumble about much to her amusement. She had money - which he had not expected. There was barely any information on her, but she was rich. She’d buy tables at the Iceberg - drop her black Amex as she handled recon for him. She’d clothe herself in sparkling minidresses - too high heels. Then later in the night - she’d pull on her suit and be someone else. Someone harder and sadder and violent.
Their first case turned into a second. There was a third - a fourth. He supposed that they were partners now. They knew so little of each other and yet were together nearly every night.
She had begun to channel whatever resentment boiled inside her toward their work. She was just as motivated as him - just as excited to get to the bottom of the spoiled pot that was Gotham. She developed a type of poison that functioned like a hallucinogen, which she finessed until it practically became a truth serum. She’d put it in tiny vials, pricking throats with needles.
“Are we dating?” she’d joked once as they sat together at their meeting spot. The wind blew through the plastic tarps, kicking up gusts of construction dust. She was nursing a fat lip. He had a bloody nose he couldn’t seem to plug up. It had been a successful night.
He exhaled - huffed a laugh that he tried to swallow. She caught him and her lips spread apart into the most unbearable smile. It lit up her entire face. Bruce felt something clench in his gut and he had to look away.
Batman weighed a ton - a thousand fucking tons and part of it might have been his damn suit.
“C’mon,” she wheezed between clenched teeth. She had her hands under his arms as she pulled and pulled. He’d hurt his head. An explosive had blown up right in his fucking face. At least, his body parts were still attached. She finally got him into a deserted hallway in a shuttered building. The chaos of the fight was still roaring outside.
She searched his face - tilting his helmet back and forth. Shit. She didn’t want to betray him. They’d developed a connection - trust - respect. Things that neither of them gave easily. He was out cold. He could be bleeding. She shook him gently. Nothing.
“Batman,” she murmured - not wanting to draw attention from outside. “Vengeance.”
Nothing. Fuck.
“Batsy,” she tried - which she knew he fucking hated - absolutely bristled at. He didn’t flinch.
She had to.
“Please don’t hate me,” she whispered as she gingerly lifted his helmet up. She pulled and pulled until it came free, but she didn’t want to look down. She didn’t want to see him bare-faced if he wasn’t going to give it to her conscious. She tried to move his head so she could check the crown of it. Black hair slipped between her fingers. If she tilted his chin - she’d see the bridge of his nose.There was an egg-sized lump at the center of his skull. She hoped his brain wasn’t bleeding.
Just as she laid his head back in her lap, he suddenly gasped.
He jerked violently - sitting up with his hands flying to his face. Another unsettled groan burst from his mouth. She winced and then shoved his mask at him - eyes firmly glued to the floor. “I was careful,” she assured him. “I had-had to check your head. I didn’t see your face.” But then he said her name and, as a damn reflex, she looked up at him.
Bruce. Wayne.
“Oh fuck,” she breathed because it actually made a lot of sense. He had to have had money. The poison of the city had killed his family. He had the motive. The means. That fucking bone structure. How could she not have known?
She blinked at him. She didn’t know how to approach him. He was like a terrified animal caught in a trap. He simply stared back at her - the muscle in his jaw flexed - his nostrils flared - the whites of his eyes vibrant and intense. He remained silent for a few moments - before yanking his mask back on.
“ But - your head,” she cautioned - her voice weak - vulnerable with uncertainty and shame. She felt like she had done something terribly wrong. Had she screwed this up? There were tears in the back of her throat. She was drowning. The last six months had given her purpose - had made her oddly content with her own loss - her own unstable grief. She had him as a friend. Had she ruined it?
He left her there.
Bruce stormed out of the abandoned building. His boots slipped through puddles - greased asphalt. He wasn’t even mindful of where he was going - of being so out in the open. His suit covered him. His suit kept him safe.
She’d recognized Bruce Wayne immediately. Now - she knew everything about him - who he was - what that meant - the entire sordid history of his life. His childhood splashed across gossip magazines. His adulthood peeled apart despite the fact that he had tried to hide away from all of those hungry eyes.
Granted - he’d been a little more public since the Riddler. He’d donated heaps of his wealth - started a new fund. He tried to make peace with his name.
Now - she knew him as both. Batman. Bruce.
What did that mean? Why did it matter in the long run? You didn’t even give her a chance.
He stopped. Everything inside him was at war - a hurricane of conflicting emotions. They shared things. They’d developed a quiet sort of camaraderie. He doubted that his identity would change that -
Poor Little Rich Boy
You like her.
You want her. You want her to want you as the Batman.
Bruce is helpless in that regard. Bruce is lonely and pathetic. Bruce doesn’t understand women - sex -
Bruce is not the man that she teases and taunts. Bruce doesn’t know shit.
He stepped further into the alley - toward his car.
Fuck it. He turned around. Back to her.
She thought it was someone else - someone marching heavily through the hallway to attack her. Another teenager - some dumb kid. Get the fuck up. You’re acting ridiculous. She couldn’t move - her limbs felt heavy and weighed in stone. They were still coming.
She frowned. The steps were too distinct. She knew them because she knew him. She glanced up and it was Batman - Bruce - rushing toward her. His entire body took up the hallway - enormous and shadowed and consuming.
“I’m sorry,” she told him as she tried to stand. “I didn’t -”
He crashed into her - stealing her breath. His lips were on hers - clumsy and damp - his hands cradling the hinge of her jaw. His thumb was digging into her cheek and he tilted their heads to deepen the kiss - his tongue nudging - curious - testing -
She grabbed at him - palms scraping up the back of his suit - brushing his cape. He buried her into the wall - the scent of old paint - smoke - and his scent, which was masculine and clean and dirty at once -
His kiss lacked finesse - lacked talent. It was frantic and unsteady, but his hands held her in place as he pinned her to the wall. He held her to him - lifted her onto her toes.
He was a virgin. He had to be or perhaps he just never kissed people, which made her simper with delight. Far - far - from a playboy.
“Bruce,” she purred and he shuddered in the circle of her arms.
They used his penthouse as their base. She met Alfred who appeared utterly thrilled by her presence. Even if she was another vigilante - another slightly off poor little rich girl running around and enthusiastically supporting Bruce’s violent habit.
Not wife material. Not girlfriend material, even.
“Bruce seems very fond of you,” Alfred remarked as they studied a note that the latest Gotham serial killer had left on his disemboweled victim. They’d carved a grin into the poor guy’s face. Ear to ear.
She chuckled - doubtful. “He has a funny way of showing it.”
“He can be closed off, but I know him - known him since he was a child. He cares about you.”
“I think you’re seeing things, Alfredo.”
“Uhuh,” he murmured as he turned the note to the light - a message within a message found in the thin material. “Strange,” Alfred flipped the note. “I don’t know what this is made from.”
She squinted her eyes - looking closer before inhaling sharply. “I think human skin.”
“Oh Jesus Christ.”
She perched on a stool as she delicately sewed up the horrifying gash in Bruce’s forearm. Her tongue peaked between her teeth. The light from the overhead lamp was raw and white - it showered his arm in stark relief. The blood was candy-red.
His kiss was sudden. The pressure of his mouth firm on her own. When he drew away, he seemed shocked that he had done it. There was a gorgeous pink flush over his cheeks. It drifted up his throat.
She bit her lip and continued sewing.
They were waltzing around the sex talk. They kissed - they made out like fucking teenagers after they had spent a night fighting down the knife-edge of the city. He was so quiet - so stone-faced sometimes. They’d be heaving from whatever battle they’d won or whatever battle they’d lost. The air would burn - the oxygen melting between them - the tension growing and then he’d just look at her. That was it. The world zapped to a sudden overwhelming focus that settled on Bruce. He’d storm toward her, cradling her face before dragging her to his mouth for a dirty, slick kiss. They fought with it. Pushing and pulling. He had gotten better - far more practiced, which wasn’t a surprise since he took to everything with ease. He learned and adapted.
“I want you,” he growled against her tongue. “Fuck - I can’t - I can’t think of anything else.”
His stubble would chafe her jaw and chin. She’d knock his mask off and tug his hair. His belt would dig into her hip - his hands all over her.
One night - she went farther.
“Let me give you something,” she pleaded - pushing him away until his back smacked against the column. They were at their spot - the bat sigil butter-white and frothy in the sky.
He looked confused. She could read him despite the mask.
“What are you talking about?” He asked in a low voice - ragged and dripping with hunger. “You’ve given me everything.”
Fuck her cunt clenched at that. “Trust me,” she said as she pressed her palms to his chest - as she kissed him lightly before wrenching herself away. He tried to follow with his greedy mouth, but she stopped him.
She dropped to her knees.
“What are you doing?” he rasped. She saw his skin redden against the black seal of his mask. He really was handsome - beautiful and untouchable and it was so very strange to have him like this. She constantly had him shivering beneath her touch - moaning for her - and then she’d see him fight like nothing could stop him. Legendary out there, but with her? Something secret and tender…
The sky was turning. The sherbet bloom of the sunrise peeking through the skyscrapers. The color of it: violet and blush and tangerine rupturing against the muddled gloom of Gotham. The air tasted bitterly of the smog and oil from the enormous cargo ships in the bay. She could hear the scattered chirp of morning birds. She was sore from the fighting tonight. Her neck hurt, but she still found herself reaching for his belt.
She peered up at him as she unzipped his pants. The square flex of his jaw. The stubble. The pretty pink mouth.
She gingerly eased him out. He was long - lovely - and he twitched in her hand as he filled the circle of her palm. She delicately placed her tongue at the head of his cock and he jumped.
“Easy,” she coaxed. She took him into her mouth.
He had to concentrate not to spend into her mouth the second he felt her tongue. It was too much. The suction of her cheeks - the hot, wet pocket behind her teeth. She was swallowing him - nearly choking on his cock as her lashes fluttered prettily up at him. She gagged - sunk down until her nose was shoved up against his groin. He had no words.
Struck. Dumb.
His hips stuttered. He found himself reaching for her hand that was resting on his thigh. He threaded his fingers with hers - curling into a knot - a tangle - don’t let go don’t let go don’t let go - i didn’t know - i didn’t know it could be like this -
She’d never tell him, but she lived for every moment that Bruce unwittingly revealed himself to her. His past - his likes and dislikes - his strange hobbies that didn’t involve crime fighting.
He sketched. He read the same classics over and over again: Moby Dick, Hamlet, The Grapes of Wrath, On the Road, Othello, War and Peace…
Those activities seemed on brand.
But then she found that he loved comics - that he enjoyed nineties action flicks - that he liked to take apart his cars and put them back together.
Alfred would bring them huge pieces of cherry pie if they worked late.
“Is this your favorite?” she’d tease.
He shrugged. “I guess. I liked pie as a boy. Hated ice cream.” She rolled her eyes and then he kissed her - lips sweet and sour and sticky. He deepened it - smearing maraschino-red filling along the top of her mouth.
He’d never tell her, but he devoured every fucking piece of herself that she gave him. Her past slipped from her in hints - vague recollections.
I loved the beach. I miss it.
I used to go to this summer camp in the mountains and got lost in the woods for two nights. I was eight - you’d be shocked by the kind of holes a small body can fit into. It was totally great.
My dad owned this bear and I named him Gabe. Fed him live salmon.
I went to med school and then had a bit of a breakdown and they put me away for a bit.
She never got farther than that. Bruce was left trying to solve the riddles of her background. He didn’t want to press her - didn’t want to upset her. They were tiptoeing around each other and all the unsaid shit between them was beginning to fester - was threatening to blow.
They could not stop touching. Not for a minute. It physically pained him to be away from her.
Every night, she found him in the cave like she always did. She straddled him - her beautiful face revealed only in the light that gleamed soft blue from his computer screen. She licked his ear - tugged the lobe between her teeth. He bucked into her - grunting - groaning - he said her name and she took it from him -
“Bruce,” She smiled around it - her teeth a half-moon in the dark.
It was the way he shouted her name. It pulsed with panic - desperate and horrified. She’d never heard him use that tone and she paused in her fighting - reeling back only a few inches so that the bullet meant for her chest - ripped into her shoulder.
“Oh,” she breathed - whistled. “Shit.”
She stumbled to her knees - boots splashing up dirty puddle water. Another storm had slickened the city - had made it difficult to see who she was fighting. She groaned as she scrambled to plug up the blood squirting from the tiny hole in her suit.
She pawed uselessly. Her visions swam and drifted. She heard Bruce. She heard him speak to her - call to her - baby
She came to underground with nothing but shadows above her. She raised her head - the pain splintered through her - but she wanted - she needed to see -
Bruce was sitting there - his expression broke into tangible relief.
He had not felt fear like that in a long time - well since Alfred. But it had still been different. The grief in him. The anxiety. The debilitating terror that she could be dead and he’d be alone again. He’d lose her before he knew her - really knew her - he couldn’t stand it.
He’d carried her back to the cave - frantic - panicked - shouting for Alfred to help him. When they unzipped her suit - blood had spilled with it - pooled around her shoulder - staining her skin.
He held her hand. He brushed his lips over each knuckle. “Don’t,” he growled - demanded of her. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
“Like this?” he murmured as he dipped his head lower. She arched - her feet kicking against the mattress. The bandage around her shoulder served as a constant reminder. He lapped - dragged his tongue and used his fingers.
“Shit-t,” she whimpered. “Where - where did you learn that?”
“Never done it before,” he muttered against her folds. She tasted good - slightly salty - musky - the hint of sweet that got clearer with every lick. The room ached with sex. She was all over him. He was hard as a rock - he’d probably blow in his sweats.
“You’re lying.”
He lifted himself up to look at her - amused. His chin felt sticky. “When would I have the time to do this with anyone else?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know what you do when you’re not with me.”
“Think of you,” he quipped. “Obviously.”
It rolled off his tongue so easily - the flirtation - the truth of it. He was being sincere and the effect it had on her was stunning. She beamed and wiggled closer to him. He slapped her thigh.
“Now shut up and let me eat you.”
He returned to her cunt. It was gaping for him - clenching around his knuckles. It was pretty - shiny and glossy and calling to him. He latched his mouth to her clit and she shrieked. He held her down with his forearm banding over her hips. She fisted his hair - grinding into his face and he drowned in her - smug and pleased when he felt her pussy spasm around his fingers. It leaked all over his bed. She wailed and he felt the exact moment that she released and gave in. It beautifully echoed against the walls - sprang against the wallpaper his mother had picked out that he refused to remove
He’d never tell her that he’d spent five hours studying videos and reading articles on oral sex. He took notes.
It happened on a mundane night. They were on the shitty cot in the cave -the one he’d pass out on when he’d get too tired. The serial killer responsible for the ghoulish grins and skin notes was still at large.
Bruce was frustrated and her eyes were beginning to cross from the amount of files she’d read. Yellowed pages. The smell of old libraries. She was at a loss.
“We should sleep,” she suggested. “I should probably go back to my place. I need to -”
“No,” he protested and then was right up in front of her - chest to chest. “This psycho is still out there.”
Her lips quirked. “I can handle myself.”
He gripped her injured shoulder and squeezed it. She yelped. “No - you can’t.”
She knew this Bruce. It was when he got in his own head. Too protective. Too anxious. Fearful.
“It’ll be fine.”
“No it won’t.”
“You’re being a fucking dick.”
“I don’t care.”
“You’re -”
He kissed her to shut her up. He probably only meant it to be that. A kiss. His apology wrapped up in - let me make you feel good -
She wanted more. She wanted all of him. She wanted to possess him because the intimacy with him had been nice. Consensual. Beautiful. On fucking fire. She grabbed the back of his head to haul him closer. He gripped her hips and then her ass as he lifted her onto her toes.
He crowded her - deepening the kiss until it hurt - until their teeth clicked together. The back of her knees hit the cot and when she fell on top of it -it creaked and squealed. He followed her - crowding her body into the mattress - clutching her wrists and pinning them above her head.
“Fuck me,” she whispered as she licked his mouth - as she spread her thighs for him.
His black-blue eyes widened - his lips swollen and bruised from her kissing gaped in surprise. He frowned. His brow creased and those vibrant eyes of his bloomed with shadows - with secrets and concerns and fear. Vulnerable.
“Stop dwelling,” she ordered as she pulled her wrists from his grip. She found the band of his pants and shoved them down until she felt the hard length of him bounce against her skin. He softened minutely. He grunted. Thank God she’d worn a dress because it took nothing to yank it up - took nothing for Bruce’s gaze to shift into something ravenous as he reached beneath it, curling his fingers around her panties and ripping them off.
He blinked - his gaze stupefied as it traveled from the fabric in his hands to her pussy.
“Fuck - sorry,” he mumbled - scooting backward. She rolled her eyes, putting her fingers to his mouth.
“Stop,” she warned. “You can buy me a new pair.”
“If only I could afford it.” He quipped wryly.
He was joking. This was good.
“C’mere..” He did - climbing over her - wedging himself between her legs.
She felt the head of his cock smear against her thigh. She reached down - touching it - enjoying the velvet slide of his length. She watched as he thrust into the circle of her fist - the swollen red tip appearing and disappearing in her grip. She spread herself wider.
She lifted her chin and he caught her mouth tenderly - sweet as kisses between them went. “Should we?” He stumbled through it. “Do we need something?” he finally managed and she shook her head.
“Safe,” she smiled as she guided his cock closer. “Safe.”
He bit his lip - his chest rising and falling. Sweat beaded at his hairline. “I trust you, Bruce.”
He buried himself too fast at first. It punched a whine from her throat - it made her dig her nails into his ribs. He immediately tried drawing back, but she held him to her. “No - no - keep going -”
She didn’t realize that it would hurt. She knew he was big - she had blown him for fuck’s sake. Inside her though - inside her pussy - he was stretching her - making room for himself. Her head fell back on the pillow. He hadn’t moved - simply remained rigid between her parted legs. His body was shivering against her.
“You can -”
“I know,” he snapped before softening his tone. “I know - sorry - give me - fuck - give me a minute.”
Her tits were smashed against his chest and there was the audible thrum of his heart. Slowly - he began to move. He eased himself back - the tip still inside her before he drove forward. He did it again. Again. He rubbed their noses together and her hands cradled the back of his skull - threaded through his damp hair.
“Kiss me,” she pleaded and he did - his brow wrinkled with concentration - his lids heavy. She’d never seen him look like this - warm and buttery with pleasure. He continued and the springs under them squeaked. He panted in her ear.
“You feel perfect,” he praised in a low voice. “Perfect.”
He ran his calloused fingertips over the tattoo that wrapped around her hip - her thigh. The gray, wispy outline of ivy. He did not know it would be like this.
Of course - he could have guessed. He could have assumed. He knew how it felt to fuck his spit-slick fist. Her mouth. But sex - fucking her - this girl he had found - who had found him - who clung to him and relied on him and saw him at his worst and at his best (if he had one best).
Her breasts bounced. Her grip on him grew tighter. He sank as far as he could - wanting to reach the end of her.
Bruce felt as if he only existed to suffer - that he had, unconsciously or consciously, made an art of it. He had been fueled by a cold sort of rage - icy and terrible and similar to an illness. As he watched her smile at him - her lovely lips parting with every clumsy stroke he delivered, he realized that he had never truly lived.
The punishments he dealt in Gotham were inexorable - again and again. A snake eating its own tail. He removed the cancer and ten rotten cells would spring up in its wake. His forearms framed her face as he dropped his head to claim another frantic kiss. His tongue slid overs hers - tasted the cup of her mouth as he fucked her.
Was this fucking? Or was this something else? Making love sounded too serious and yet -
Bruce was a serious guy.
“Oh my god,” she panted as he picked up his pace - as he slowly got the hang of it. After all, sex was organic - it had been sewn into every human’s foundation. He could have had women. Several. But he just hadn’t thought of it - hadn’t considered the idea of sharing his life with anyone besides Alfred and his cold, barren home and who had time when there was change to be done - to be made. That had been his love.
His love was vengeance.
He had watched her - this girl who beat and maimed lecherous man after lecherous man and he had felt her truth - her desire lost in the blood she shed. Vengeance. Love. The same. Their lives had been emptier for it and what a thing to discover now? That events had been wasted. Years lost. They had both figured they’d die young.
“Bruce,” she whimpered and he returned his attention to her. He broke for her - a puddle - a fucking sap. He thought of only her - all the time - always.
She was tight and hot - her nails dug into his biceps and their kisses had changed to something feral - unhinged - out of control. He was murmuring against her lips - swallowing her moans as he thrust deep.
“You feel…” he husked - overwhelmed. “You feel so - so fucking good.” He definitely already said that. He had lost all sense. It was true though.
She did. She was nodding at him - her eyes wide and brilliant in the dark of their cave. He’d always considered it a shell - a place to rest between all the fighting. Not really a sanctuary. He regarded it differently now. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to stare down at this cot or even the black sheets of his bed upstairs and not see her splayed out before him.
“More,” She wrapped herself around his torso - bit into the muscle of his shoulder. He replied by planting his knees and clinging to the top of the mattress to leverage his weight before sliding into her more fiercely - punishing - the same violence of a hit.
“Harder,” she gasped on a particularly rough snap of his hips. Every drive of his cock into her soaked heat made a lewd noise - echoed against the rock. The cheap iron railing rammed into the wall - thwack thwack thwack - as he curled his fingers under her knee and hitched her thigh higher over his waist.
“Did you want this?” She touched his face - ran her knuckles down his cheek. It caught him off guard - the sweetness of her question. The sincerity in her voice. He never thought her sweet - she was far too prickly - swathed in thorns and that particular venom that he could taste off her skin. He had shaved down her edges just enough or maybe she’d done it herself.
“Tell me,” she implored - hiccuping - boneless.
He laughed - soft and breathy - before once more lowering his head so he could kiss her. He pulled back - just enough that his eyes bore into her own - just enough that he could tangle his hand through her hair and lift her face to his. “How could you think I’d want anything else?” he mumbled as he tilted her chin - dragging his cock slowly and sensually into her - grinding deep. He brushed his lips along her jaw - her throat. Her breathing cracked. It was comical, really. He’d given his consent just as she had given him hers. Here he was - fucking a beautiful, dangerous woman into his mattress for the first time and she still had to question him.
It surprised him. Perhaps, she was more unsure of herself than he had thought. Perhaps - she was just like him in that regard. Two people desperate for the comfort of a home that had long since escaped them.
He could feel her on him - inside him. He was wet with her. Drained.
“Bruce,” she hummed - tracing her fingers over his arm - through the dark hair on pale skin. She said his name often - repeated it all the damn time. He’d asked her why once.
Because it’s you. You’re not The Batman to me. Even in that suit. Just Bruce.
“Should we go out?” she murmured - burrowing her face into his throat - his hair. Her breath fell warm and soft on his flesh like the touch of the sun. “Fight something?”
“Can I just hold you?” His voice was more reticent than he had meant to sound. He had given himself to her. He already wanted more. She clung tighter to him.
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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · a day ago
Your work has been a greatly appreciated distraction. I hope you're staying safe.
Could you do a BFF!reader universe story where Dick is interacting with Emma for the first time?
"Young man," Alfred said, kneeling to be on Dick's level and brushing hair out of his eyes. "Before we walk into that room, I need you to understand- Miss Y/N has had a bit of a scare. She's going to be fine, but now is a very good time for you to be on your best behavior."
Dick nodded, wide-eyed, and Alfred took his hand to keep him close to his side before turning to walk down the hall. He stopped at the doorway with Dick, melting as he watched Bruce hold you as you cuddled your baby, feeding her, her first bottle.
When you hear sneakers on the tile, you look up, smiling. You look tired and a little drawn, but Alfred would swear under oath, if anyone had asked, that that was the most beautiful he'd ever seen you look.
"Come say hello," you coax, adjusting just slightly so Dick can wedge himself in next to you where he likes to be.
"Careful," Bruce said softly, chuckling as Dick gingerly climbed up next to you, evidently having been warned to be very gentle.
"Why's she so wrinkly?" Dick asked, leaning against your side when you kiss his head.
"She spent almost a year underwater," Bruce said, "You get wrinkly after 30 minutes."
"She's tiny," Dick said, frowning. Not sure what he thought about it. She was cute. Kinda. Like a pug was cute. So ugly only a mom could love her. And when he looked at your face, he knew that you did- so he guessed there must be something to her. Maybe you knew she'd be really smart. And she looked soft.
"She's beautiful," Alfred said, dropping a hand on Dick's shoulder and leaning over to kiss your hair. Something he hadn't done since you were 10 and ran into his arms sobbing after your parent's funeral. "Just like her mother."
"Do you want to hold her?"
Dick watches Alfred for a second, blinking away tears and nod wordlessly as Bruce pulled up a chair up to the side of the bed and gently took Emma from your arms and handed her to Alfred. And Bruce was grateful that you brought it up. Alfred would have never asked but you both knew from the look on his face that he desperately wanted to.
And when you wrap your arms around Dick, holding him instead, he relaxes into the touch. Squeezing you back as tightly as he dared, happy you were safe. And that Emma was finally here so you could teach him how to do that Tricky thing you did with a rapier.
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clints-lucky-arrow · 3 months ago
copper stained. || bruce wayne x f!reader.
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There are very few people that are allowed to see Bruce at his most vulnerable.
Hurt and Comfort. Smut. Friends to Lovers.
WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY; Explicit Sexual Content; Descriptions of Blood & Injuries; Likely Inaccurate Medical Care; Slight Blood Kink; Breath Play; Oral Sex (F! Receiving); Reader Has Long Hair - But No Other Descriptors Used; Not Beta-Read.
Word Count: 5.9k
Comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!
A/N: Quick background: Reader in this is basically the Battinson version of Rachel Dawes.
Reader's mother worked as the stablemaster on the Wayne Estate during her youth. As a result, she and Bruce became childhood friends, and she now lives in the gate house upon the land as an adult. She claims that she only lives there for the cheaper rent. Bruce claims that it's just in return for her free upkeep of the place. But perhaps it's because the two of them don't really want to be parted from one another... 🤫
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At first, you think it's an intruder - that someone has broken into your apartment in the middle of the night.
A short shriek bursts from your lips. Your hands immediately scrabble underneath the bed for the metal baseball bat. It's always kept there in the event of situations just like this. But then, a shadowy pair of hands rise in frantic conciliation while a familiar voice urgently rises into the air.
"Relax, dear! Calm down. It's just me!"
"Alfred?!" you gasp - disbelieving eyes on the silhouette of your godfather looming at the end of the bed. "What the... Is everything alright?"
"I need you to grab your bag and come." He doesn't explain, but you can feel the tightness in his voice. A layer of forced calm to cover hitching panic. "Right now, please."
Struggling out of bed, you push yourself upright, blinking away the sleep as you squint confusedly at him. "What? Is it one of Bruce's horses?"
"No. We've got to get to the main house."
The lack of context sends icy shards of fear through you. Never before have you seen Alfred look so scared.
"Seriously - what's going on?" Coldness ripples through you as you catch sight of something else. There's a wet patch of darkness colouring his sleeve. "Wait - is that blood?!"
"It's not mine. Please just - we've no time for questions. Just hurry."
Fine. Head dipping in a stiff nod, you duck away to grab your bag - only delaying to yank your coat off the hook. The kit clunks in your hands. Inside, medicinal supplies roll - and despite not knowing the situation, you're distantly glad that you had the foresight to repack it last night.
Alfred catches your eye as he motions for you to hurry after him. His heavy footfalls thunder down the stairs. Your own lighter trail follows in his wake - out of the gate house without even pausing to lock up. Upon the slight hill above, the manor looms amidst the shadows of the night sky.
Alfred's car is outside your small house. It's parked askew in the driveway. Just another symbol of his haphazard panic. He ushers you inside before roaring up to the mansion - all the while tight lipped in worry. Foreboding welling in your stomach, you just sit in the passenger seat and nervously clutch your medicine bag.
Inside the house, the situation is finally revealed in awful, copper stained light.
"Bruce? What the fuck?!"
Your childhood friend is lying on the bed in his vast room. His face is white - almost translucent, and he's always been pale but this is something else. Sharp worry spears through your gut again - more piercing than before. It grows, twisting and gnawing at your insides like a feral dog as you see the wetness trickling from a tight black thermal sweater - gathering a damp patch over the right side of his abdomen that you can immediately smell to be blood.
"You need to patch him up." Alfred's hands are on your back, urging you forward.
"No - he needs a hospital." Your head shakes - throat dry and lips tight as fear pulses in thudding, stuttered heartbeats within your chest. "I'm a vet, Alfred. For animals. I'm not a doctor. I don't know if I can... Shit."
But you're already moving over. The kit slams down upon the mattress beside him. It all but tears open underneath your frantic hands as you delve in for a large pair of scissors. Bruce thrashes, moaning underneath as you grit your teeth and begin to peel the sticky fabric off the surface of his wound. It sticks to your fingers before you adjust your grip and begin to cut into the damp cloth.
Alfred's voice is firm, but edged in something ragged and desperate. "Please. He can't go to the hospital."
"Why not?!" The words are sharp in their panic as they leave you. Afraid. But that's when you turn to take in the man on your bed, and you finally see.
Raised remnants of past scars. Combat boots, splashed on the exterior with too much blood to be his. Smudges of black around his eyes, heavy gloves on his hands, but most importantly - the tactical belt on his waist, and the familiar, awe-striking symbol in the centre. One that you've seen on the news far too many times, and even broadcasted in the clouds above downtown Gotham.
The air catches in your lungs. All that you can manage is a simple, single statement. "... Oh."
Before you can continue, Bruce Wayne stirs. "Scout?"
It comes weakly from his lips. An old nickname. Thomas Wayne had affectionately given it, bestowed fondly in reference to the way that you roamed his lands. Your mother would come to tend to their horses, and you’d wander off - down to the gazebo, then further through the fields beyond.
Always with your eyes on the treeline. Exploring and searching. Sometimes with Bruce. Sometimes not.
But he always clouded your thoughts anyhow. Hung in the air above your head - weighty and ever present, and just like he still does now. Perhaps as he'll do even more now, given that you know his secret. After all, this new worry is unlikely to leave you soon. Especially now - fuck.
Your reply is equally soft - accented by the shift of expensive silk bed sheets as you sit yourself on the enormous expanse of mattress next to him. “Hey, Wayne.”
"You shouldn't be here. Alfred shouldn't have brought you." Despite the pain, evident in each hitch and break of a groan, a tinge of cold anger colours Bruce's weak tone.
Knowing better to be offended, you just tut. "It's not like he had much other choice. Now, quiet - we've got to stop this bleeding."
His pale lips purse. It's a worrying colour - hinting at a substantial blood loss. The lines of his face are taut as he struggles not to let the pain show.
Bruce Wayne is reserved at the best of times. Some think that he can be standoffish - aloof. And yes, that's indeed true, but it's also part of a persona. Merged into his deep rooted need to distance himself from everyone and sink behind the walls he'd built. However, luckily for him, you'd always been very good at scaling the cracks.
"Alfred," you murmur quietly. "Please go fetch a basin of warm water - not hot, but warm - and some more clean towels."
There's already a few on the bed. It's not that you urgently need more - you will, just not right now - but you can see how tense Bruce is. Despite the haze, he's angry that you're here. That you now know about his secret. It doesn't matter to you, but it does to him. And, just like with those nervous horses you used to help your mother care for, you need to calm him before proceeding.
But still - you don’t have much time.
More blood leaks out from where his fingers have pressed against his skin. Reaching for his pale arm, you peel it back from his skin - and pointedly grimace. He's been stabbed. The lines of the wound are torn unevenly. Gaping in a way that suggests not the sharpest of knives. Suturing is going to be messy. You need to control the blood flow. 
Reaching for one of the towels, you only pause to grasp the sanitiser from your bag and quickly pour some over your hands. Gloves snap on next - black and rubber. Below, Bruce’s eyes trail your face. They’re slightly unfocused. Sweat beads upon his brow, and his face is eerily pale apart from the smudged black eyeshadow. Underneath, droplets of blood spatter onto the bedspread.  
You take one of the towels, balling it and pressing it tentatively to the wound. Below, Bruce flinches away violently. Fuck. Hurting him is the last thing that you want to do - but the situation leaves you with no choice. Shifting in across the bed, you apply more pressure. Bruce groans. You reach for him soothingly with your other hand, brushing the hair back from his forehead as he thrashes lightly.
"It’s alright,” you murmur reassuringly, moving closer to cup the side of his face. Still, you don’t let up your hold on the compression. “I’m sorry, Bruce. I know it fucking hurts."
Alfred arrives back a short time later, sloshing water as he lowers the basin next to you. You barely even look at him - too focused on Bruce, and instead give orders through clenched teeth as you pull back to reach for a suturing kit with red stained hands. "Clean the area carefully. I need to see what I'm working with."
Your worried helper alternates between cleaning and compression. It goes on in a repeat cycle - an attempt to slightly staunch the blood flow. Once it gets to a stage that you can work with, you motion, and the butler eases back. Red stains run up his forearms.
Sweat on his brow, he turns to you. "What does he need?"
"Stitches. All I can do is stitches." Your agitated fingers almost rise to run through your hair. At the last minute, you remember that they're still smeared with your best friend's blood. Shaky, they lower back to refocus on ripping open the pack. "Jesus. He really should be in a hospital, but this is the best that I can do... You're fucking lucky, Bruce. This just missed."
Upon the bed below, the billionaire only grunts weakly in response. His eyes roll - but you don't think it's on purpose. Still, it's better than nothing. It's a better sign that he stays even remotely conscious.
Light glints off the thin end of the needle as you hold it up. Right. It's now or never. Your lips flatten into a grim line as you turn to Alfred. "Hold him."
God. It's not an experience that you want to repeat.
The sight of the hook diving in and out of Bruce's torn flesh is sickening. Mouth set into a tight line, you push on all the same - trying to block out the feeble noises of protest that spill from his chapped lips. Alfred restrains his seizing body all the while, and halfway through you can't help but wonder if you should have dosed him with some horse tranquilliser before beginning.
You feel like crying by the time it's finished. Tears well thick in the corners of your eye, and the back of your wrist presses against your forehead while pointedly blinking them away. Bruce lies slumped on the bed underneath - unconscious, with his strength now visibly abated.
Voice cracking hoarsely, you begin - turning to Alfred. "Right. I've done what I can to close it. He's holding up well. We'll need to stay up tonight and keep an eye on him."
Even though exhausted, Alfred nods. His arm wraps around your shoulder, tugging you into a half-hug of silent thanks. Lips press against your temple in a kiss - platonic, and almost parental. A wave of tiredness rises and you slump into him.
"Thank you, darling," your godfather murmurs.
Your hand lifts in a wordless wave - yet the silent response of 'you're welcome' is clear in the gesture.
Alfred's hold tightens as he guides you into a chair across the room. Those firm, bloodstained hands allow no protest as he lowers you into it. Despite seeming somewhat shaky on his feet, the butler staggers back to reach for the door.
"Do you need anything?"
You shake your head - lying because the dryness in your throat screams for a glass of water. But you can get it yourself in a while, as Alfred seems just as exhausted as you. Relieved, he sits. The night passes with sparse conversation. Both of you are too focused on Bruce for light heartedness.
This exhaustion continues for another day. Morning trickles through, followed by afternoon, and then evening.
The bandage that you'd originally wrapped around him when finished suturing is changed twice. Bruce sleeps almost the entire time, but some semblance of less-deathly colour reassuringly trickles back into his cheeks. His vitals slowly steady, and yourself and Alfred breathe a joint sigh of relief. It's the next night when those hands fall on your shoulders again.
Alfred's tired voice in your ear as you remove the stethoscope from your ears. "Darling, you should go to bed. It's been almost a day of this. He's going to be fine. It seems that Master Wayne is made of strong stuff."
"One of us should-" you begin to protest, but below, another hoarse voice cuts you off.
"I'm alright." It's Bruce. His eyes are heavily lidded in exhaustion, but he offers the ghost of a smile when your torn gaze falls on him. "Do what Alfred says, Scout. Go to bed."
As much as you don't want to - you do.
Sweeping you before him, Alfred leads you down the vast hallway to one of the many guest rooms. A particular, designated space that has always been yours when you want it. He knows this one to be your favourite - facing the east so that you can see the sunrise on the nights when the dreaded insomnia kicks up.
A night like this one, that is.
Worry swims thick in the back of your mind. Both Alfred, and Bruce himself, have said that it's fine - but you've always been stubborn. Lying in the wood framed bed, anxious thoughts swirl repeatedly through your mind.
Is he alright? Should you both have just left him like this?
Perhaps you should, but still, you can't quite leave it alone. That's why you kick off the sheets and make your way back to Bruce's quiet room.
Around you, the hallways are quiet. Having grown up roaming the space, you've never found the manor eerie. Some would - given its sheer scale. It's always felt homey to you. A vast maze that you could navigate in your sleep. You know all of the creaky floorboards, and so avoid them as you open the door to slip back inside Bruce's silent room.
He's nothing more than a dark shape in the bed - slumbering in slow, heavy repititions.
You watch him from the threshold for a few moments. A soft smile twists your lips - he's still alright. Crossing the room, you take a seat on the same chair as Alfred led you to the night before. The chair is comfortable enough. More than anything, however, is that it provides the perfect view to his sleeping form. Your fingers slide up the arm rests, back settling into place, as you prepare to sit until sunrise. 
It certainly won't be the best night's rest that you've ever had. Not that it matters. You know that you wouldn't be able to sleep anyway.
Not when he's here and still somewhat hurt.
It's impossible to fight the urge to be close to him - to keep an eye on him just in case. Or, so you tell yourself. As the hours tick on, the repeated rise and fall of his chest is soothing. Eyelids growing heavier, you struggle to stay awake - until you fail entirely.
Those eyes wake you up. Prickling across your skin in a silent surveillance. It feels like they scour every inch of you - an invasion that would be unwelcome if it hadn’t been him. But it is, and so a soft, tired smile twists your face in greeting. “Hello.”
Your neck is sore. Likely a result of sleeping upon this hard leather chair with your cheek slumped into your hand. The rest of your body feels equally stiff, as if it were you who had been out fighting crime on the streets of Gotham last night. However, that’s probably just a dramatisation. Realistically, you’d put money on the fact that he’s most definitely feeling worse.
His tongue darts out - tracing over cracked lips as he answers roughly. “Hi.”
Some of the colour has crept back into his cheeks. Just a little. After all, there was not much there to begin with. Bruce has always been almost deathly pale - but that ‘death’ part seemed slightly too real for comfort last night. That thought causes a wealth of concern to balloon within your chest, and you push yourself upright using the sturdy arms of the chair.
“How are you doing?” The words breathe from you softly, but you make no move to approach. Instead, you awkwardly linger, hands clasped at your front. “You lost a lot of blood, Bruce.”
That silent gaze assesses you more. Still, he doesn’t speak. There’s a rustle, and then Bruce winces - lifting up the bedsheet that covers him in silent invitation. Your eyes widen. A sudden rush of uncertainty laces your veins. Still, you don’t make to go to him.
Noting your indecision, he speaks quietly again. “I’m okay. Just... Come here. Please.”
Something about his voice compels you to move. Your footsteps remain slightly hesitant as you cross the room. Nervous resonates from you in palpable waves as you slide in next to Bruce. During the night, he’s shifted over, and thankfully there’s no remnants of blood on this area of sheets. 
An arm wraps around your waist, as Bruce shifts in - adjusting himself further. His chest presses against your back. The increased heat of it is reassuring. He'd been cold the other day, on account of losing all of that blood, but appears to feel better now. Not quite a furnace, but still comfortable.
Your fingers find their tentative perch upon his forearm. Uncertainly, they tap lightly against his skin in indecision. The air between you is soft and weighted all at once. Unspoken words drift through the space around you both, before you finally build the courage to reach up, grasp one, and speak it aloud. "So... Turns out that you're the Batman."
"Yes." It’s a slow affirmation. Coming after a pause, and not so readily offered. Even in lieu of that first admission, Bruce still hesitates as a few more seconds pass before continuing, "Will that scare you away?"
Your head shakes firmly. "No. It just makes me scared for you."
"Don't be." The words are firm - but his attempt at reassurance doesn’t make you feel too much better.
In reality, it just makes you scoff. "It's pretty rich of you to say that, with everything that happened over the last few days. You were bleeding pretty badly, Bruce.” The memory has you break off - swallowing against the rising lump in your throat. “If that knife had struck another centimeter to the right, you would have been dead."
"Well, first off - I am rich,” he retorts - a rare show of comedy. When you don’t laugh, a tired sigh leaves his lips. That strong arm tightens around your front. You can feel the tip of his nose on the back of your neck. Your travelling fingertips bump against those raised litter of scars. He must sense the resulting tension that hunches your shoulders as he murmurs again, “ But it didn't hit further to the right, and I'm fine. Stop worrying, Scout."
"You don't know that it won’t happen again. You might be smart and rich, but you’re not clairvoyant, Bruce. And before you ask - no. Money cannot buy the fucking gift of Sight."
Bruce laughs softly at your short barb - a low chuckle, knowing that making a joke, as half-hearted and dry as it is, means that the soft reassurance is tentatively getting somewhere. "I do know that I'm fine right now. I promise."
Your lower lip rolls indecisively through your teeth. Seconds tick by. One after the other. Below, Bruce’s thumb begins to rub soothing circles upon your stomach. The t-shirt that you wear has risen up. His bare skin is warm and comforting against yours. A thick swallow constricts your throat. 
He’s held you before, but this feels different. The softness of the contact - the strange yearning that trickles between you both in currents - has you feeling suddenly nervous when you go to broach the silence once more. "... Can I see?”
Without context, Bruce knows what you mean.
It’s still dark. The thick curtains are pulled, blocking out the initial golden rays of daylight. You don't see Bruce's nod but feel it. It dips against the back of your shoulder. And, catching you off guard, there's the briefest brush of something else. Pausing momentarily, your heart stutters as you wonder if you've just imagined it, or if that sensation was really the barest glance of his lips. 
That just adds to this whole new wealth of confusion.
Brushing it aside, you struggle to push yourself into a sitting position. His arms unravel reluctantly behind you, and you turn - guiding a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. Shit. It feels greasy to the touch. You could really use a damn shower.
Bruce is watching you intently as your hand falls to his shoulder. A simple, gentle push, and Bruce rolls obligingly onto his back. That black eyeshadow is still smeared around his eyes - and you make a mental note to joke about it later. He's not usually too good with humour, but you tend to be one of the few who can conjure a smile from him.
Perks of being friends for so long.
Your hands skate anxiously over his skin as you bend inward - seeking out the rise of the bandages that wrap across his stomach. They're slightly scratchy against your fingertips. Despite the low light, you can see some darker patches staining the otherwise light gauze. It doesn't appear enough for concern, but you'll keep an eye on it for now.
His thumb sweeping across your cheekbone shocks you. Head snapping towards him, you meet his stare - hovering above the flat plane of his muscular abdomen. Your breathing accelerates, and he seems to shiver as it washes across his skin. Goosebumps rise along his stomach. You’re not sure if it’s due to the slight chill in the air, the residual blood loss, or something to do with you.
The hold tightens along the side of your face. Bruce cups your cheek, and then slowly begins to pull you closer. It’s not firm. There’s no true insistence to it - just a silent plea spoken from the depths of his clear blue eyes. One that you are helpless to ignore. 
You rise with his touch. It should be ungainly - the awkward shuffle on your hands and knees back across the sheets to him, but you almost feel like you’re gliding. His tongue darts out as you hover above. Indecisive, you glance between the lure of his mouth, and the abyss of those sad eyes. Always seeming so sad, even in odd moments like this.
Should you?
Bruce’s fingers slide around the back of your head. They tangle in your hair, weaving through the unwashed strands. Fuck. You should have showered before bed tonight. What does your breath smell like? Would he be repulsed if - The thoughts cut off with dizzying finality as Bruce draws your head down to press his mouth to yours.
The kiss is a little cold - like his lips. Slightly dry too. It shouldn’t rate. Maybe should make you want to draw away but God, you don’t fucking want to.
A low moan leaves your throat as you open up to him. His tongue is hesitant at first. Tentative and a little unsure. You lean in closer, bumping against his side as your chest brushes over his, and the kiss deepens further. But below - a sharp hitch of pain bursts from Bruce as you accidentally press into the still tender wound of his side.
Eyes flaring wide, you go to pull back - to apologise. He doesn’t let you. 
The grip on the back of your head tightens. Chilly morning air whips around your body. A gasp of surprise leaves you, then your back is suddenly pressed against the mattress, and your surprised hands splayed upon the hard lines of a muscular chest. Bruce leans in once more before you can protest - stealing the air from your unsteadily working lungs. 
His breath is soured with the stale taste of morning. It makes you feel better about the potential state of your own. All of it does, now that you think about it - because as grim as you feel, there’s no denying that he looks worse. Somehow, you can’t remember a time when you were more attracted to him.
And so, as his hands begin to glide down your body, you don’t stop his hand from pawing upward at the rise of your chest.
There hadn't even been time to put on a bra the other night, and it means that you can feel each catch of his calloused palm. Your nipples almost instantly grow stiff underneath your shirt. The tickling heat of his hand teases your skin. Slowly, he kneads it between his fingers - the motions hungry and savouring, teasing, as his tongue laps gently against yours.
Intent on reciprocating, you reach up - fingers seizing the sides of his face as you pull him more firmly against you. Your head is spinning. It doesn’t quite feel real.
Fuck. You're kissing Bruce Wayne.
He seems to feel the same, stirred by the effects of that low and simmering heat that stokes something near animalistic inside you both. Eyes flashing, you seize his bottom lip between your teeth - biting down harder than you had intended to. The sudden nip of iron tinges your tongue. Bruce makes a low sound, almost a groan, and draws back.
An unruly sweep of hair hangs over his forehead, and his gaze burns heatedly underneath. Those firm fingers tighten on your breast - squeezing the stiff nipple. Your mouth parts in a gasp at the slight ache it brings. Still, you can't quite tear your eyes away from the slight trickle of blood now running down his pale chin.
Bruce reaches up curiously. The pad of his thumb sweeps underneath the swell of his lip, gathering the trickle of blood. Bruce's blue eyes darken upon drinking in the sight. They flicker to you - ensuring that you are watching, before placing it into his mouth and sucking it clean. Watching how his lips wrap around it does something primal to you.
A low, pleading noise wavers out into the air. It's pathetic and embarrassing - and spilling from you. Below, your thighs rub together in a needy bid for friction. Bruce's eyes flutter closed in ecstasy at the sound.
He leans down again, the tip of his nose skating teasingly up the centre of your chest, to return his lips to yours. You can taste copper on his tongue. It makes your head spin. Bruce presses you further against the bed. Underneath, the sheets whisper as his forearm skates up to help brace him above.
Your fingers tighten upon his back. Nails dig into his skin as they slowly rake down the expanse. Bruce hisses against the press of your mouth. One firm hand wraps around your throat - squeezing lightly to make you gasp and open up further. The short loss of oxygen has you spiralling, buckling softly against him.
He teases you with the touch, alternating between gently tightening and lovingly releasing his unwavering grip.
All the while, his hips press between your legs. There's a hardness swelling at the front of his trousers. You can feel it as he grates against you. The covered mound of his stiffening cock rubs over your now aching cunt, repeated, and slowly gaining in strength. Between those earnest bouts of friction and the air hitching and seizing from your lungs, nothing else but Bruce makes it through the haze of your mind.
He releases a final time, and you inhale stiffly - fighting off the stars that dance across your vision. Dimly, you are aware of Bruce shifting off you. He slips down the length of your body, trailing kisses along the twisted fabric of your shirt and the point where it rises to reveal bare skin. His mouth is hot and cold all at once. You can still taste the barest tinge of blood on your tongue.
Insistent fingers curl in the waistband of your lounge pants. Bruce's rough voice rings out from above. "Lift your hips for me, love."
Air catching in your lungs, you do. He slips the fabric down your thighs - panties and sweats in one. They are cast away into the darkness, but your gaze stays on Bruce instead of following them. His tongue traces his lips hungrily as he lowers himself between your spread thighs.
His cold breath wafts against your bare clit. The sensation has you writhing as a pronounced shiver ripples down your spine. Your fingers tangle in his hair as Bruce leans forward to nip the soft inside of your thighs. His bite is sharp - and not quite gentle. A slight cry bursts from you in response.
But, he apologises with a soft kiss over the stinging spot.
Eyes narrowed, you shoot him a rueful smile. All of that smeared black still surrounds his eyes. Once again - you remember what you've just found out.
The fact that he's Batman.
It's surreal and ridiculous. Unbelievable, but makes perfect sense too. It feels right - just like this moment. Yet, that train of thought abandons you instantly in the delicious moment that Bruce Wayne finally dips in to lick a firm strip up your cunt.
His tongue burns across your clit. The noise that you make is ragged. Broken. Your hands tighten, tugging at the strands of his hair as you arch against his mouth. Bruce leans into the pain - a low rumble hitching in the back of his throat. He sounds starved, almost shattered with need, and you're aware of the slight grate of his hips as he grinds into the mattress.
Still, the way that the tip of his tongue traces your clit, lapping teasingly over it, swallows everything else. His lips wrap around your clit in firm suckles.
The sensations ripple across your skin. Fire spreads through your veins at the touch. Down below, Bruce leans further into your core, head shaking lightly. The vibrations have you panting. Those high pitched noises rise to the high-arched ceiling. Your eyes flutter closed.
Heaving breaths burst through your chest just as hazed words slip free. "Just like that. Good boy."
"Fuck," Bruce curses brokenly at the praise, mouth moving against your core. There's audible strain in the words - a tremor.
As you watch, his hand dips lower to adjust his stifled cock through his trousers. Damn. Overwhelmed by both his touch and the effect that you have on him, your head falls back against the pillow. He leans in again - tongue stroking through your soaked folds.
Christ. It's almost too much.
His tongue teasingly pushes through your entrance. Gripping his hair tighter, you push yourself down upon him. Hips grating, there's no stopping the slow rotation of your body as you fuck yourself down upon his face. Bruce's hands snake around the tops of your thighs.
There, they hold you in place while letting you ride him harder, until you can feel the wetness of your cunt on his cheeks - smearing across his face.
It swells inside you. Each flick of his tongue sends a jolt of electricity straight through your veins. By now, you're utterly lost amidst the overwhelming sensations, teetering on the edge and so close to utterly falling. It swells and swells, until each quick stroke of his tongue causes the air to catch in your lungs.
But then, it happens. The push of one long finger deep into the blistering warmth of your core, perpetuated with the tight, purposeful suck of his lips - and then you are gone. Fingers twisting into his hair, back arching, and voice resonating in a sharp keen.
Your body seizes. Almost shuddering. Threatening to break apart with so much pent-up want.
The hold on your thighs tighten. Muscles ripple in his biceps as he strains to hold you down. There's no pause or break - just Bruce licking you through the wave of climax. Unrelenting, until it almost seems like you can't breathe anymore. Only then does he let up.
His chin glistens as he crawls back up to settle above you. Eyes glinting, Bruce leans in to kiss you, and you can taste yourself upon his tongue. Coupled with his own saliva, it's like fucking heaven. You can't help how your hand seizes his chin, pulling him closer to lick up the line of stubble to get more.
Warm lips seize yours once more. His tongue invades your mouth, lapping against your own as Bruce groans, rolling his hips into you. His cock feels almost painfully hard. Smirking against his mouth, you lower your hands to fumble along his belt.
Along the way, they bump into the scratchy windings of gauze around his stomach, and you pause. There's a moment of uncertain hesitation before you breathe a question. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," he whispers in response, nuzzling your earlobe and trailing tender kisses down the curve of your neck.
The buckle comes undone underneath your hands. Shaking slightly with a sudden, almost insecure brand of nervousness, your fingers hook around his belt loops as you begin to lead the trousers down. The ridges of his cock ripple against your fingers - thick and damp, wiry with short curls of hair. Your throat goes dry as you reach in to pull him out. The girth of him, you're not even sure how -
"Master Wayne?"
A knock - two sharp raps - sound upon the door to the bedroom, rising alongside that familiar, inquiring voice, and you shove Bruce off as if stung.
Heat crawls across your cheeks as you scramble back, tugging down your shirt and frantically attempting to find your sweatpants just as the door handle creaks downward. Fuck. You spot them just in time, forgoing panties to yank them up your legs as the door swings inward, and the familiar form of your godfather looms in the threshold.
He takes in the scene with widening eyes - catching on the sight of you in the bed, and the scowl that is now twisting down Bruce's handsome mouth. Quickly, Alfred clamps down on his surprise. You can feel the embarrassment flood your cheeks. Everything in you just wants to burrow under the covers and hide -
"My apologies," the butler says, clasping his hands behind his back and looking at anything but you. Still, the beginnings of a smirk ghosts across his expression as much as he attempts to swallow it down. "I simply came to see if Master Wayne needed tending... I had assumed that you'd still be in the guest room."
"I... I was just..." Your mouth is open, scrambling for words. This man has known you since you were an infant. It's mortifying. "I was just checking on him too." Face burning, you slide out of the bed, wincing as the cold flooring collides with the soles of your feet. "Seems alright, so... I'm going to go take a shower. Back in my room." That last little bit is hastily tacked onto the end.
You risk a glance at Bruce - blue eyes simmering, chin still slightly gleaming, lips swollen and split in one small nick. Christ. It's hard not to linger on him. To rake your gaze over the messed strands of his hair, and the slight peppering of fresh blood upon the bandage around his waist.
But Alfred's loafers awkwardly scuff the varnished planks underfoot, and send you intent on scrambling from the room once again. You go to move, but firm fingers latch around your wrist. His catch is gentle but unyielding, and when you look back, Bruce's hoarse voice rings through the private space between you.
"Don't use up all the hot water before I get there, Scout. This isn't over yet."
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Comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!
A/N: Apologies for mistakes and inconsistencies - I have COVID right now and was having massive brain fog the past few days!
Read the second part, ‘cerulean shaded,’ here.
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vigilvntes · 3 months ago
Idk it this is how I'm supposed to request hc but. Hcs for Bruce when his s/o wears his clothes?
he just makes me so grrrrrr. slight nsfw in these hcs but nothing too graphic!
okay so i just know this man has like, 0 experience with relationships, so the first reaction to his s/o wearing his clothes or asking to wear his clothes would probably be visible and very obvious confusion.
like OKAY. he probably notices that you wear his clothes when he comes back in the morning from a night in the streets and finds you tucked up in his bed all cozy wearing one of his old, oversized shirts (maybe one that he'd worn earlier in the evening) and he'd be like ??? why ??? and also like. you look so fucking cute and it makes him melt but also why are you wearing the shirt he's been wearing for two days straight that has a very obvious hole in it ??? but i don't think he'd say anything about it.
so you keep stealing his shirts. like when he showers, you steal his worn shirt to wear to bed. when he goes out at night you raid his drawers and take his biggest, comfiest shirt and sometimes a pair of his sweats bc they're warm and comfy and they smell like him. it probably gets to the point where he takes his clothes off and just . hands them to you straight away. he's still confused bc like . why would you want to wear his old ass, sweaty shirts but like. whatever. it makes you happy and you look really cute swamped in his huge shirts so he's not gonna complain??
i feel like one day curiosity would definitely get the better of him and he'd have to ask why. like if you get out of the shower and immediately raid his wardrobe looking for the biggest, comfiest shirt you can find he'd just be like "why do you do that" rly softly from the bed and you'd be like huh??? and he'd be like "well you have clothes and pyjamas and if you want big comfy shirts i can buy you some of your own and—" and you'd just have to stop him right there. bc you don't want big, comfy shirts of your own you want his shirts and his sweats bc they smell like him and you miss him when he's out and it comforts you
he'd probably just die on the spot. like then and there. he's a poor baby meow meow who blames himself for a lot of shit that's happened/is happening and like. he pretty much pushes anyone and everyone away but not you and he knows that you love him but hearing that you miss him when he's out and you want to feel close with him always would just make him :') like he'd go WEAK and it'd kinda scares him because he tries so hard to not be weak but man. MAN.
he'd probably just respond with "oh" though. like he wouldn't say any of that shit to you or make it obvious that he's having heart palpitations and his knees are fucking weak.
catch him secretly buying more comfy shirts and sweatpants and hoodies
if he thought you looked cute in his clothes before you're downright irresistible after he figures out why you do it. i think it'd make him more needy and handsy maybe even a little possessive. like he'd always want to be touching you, grabbing your waist or your hips over his shirt, slipping his hand under the shirt you're wearing and resting it on your stomach. no one else is around because he never fucking has anyone at the tower he's antisocial ok so it's not like he has anything to prove to anyone but he just loves knowing that you're his and you want to be his
also like. fucking you while you're wearing his shirt would send him fucking feral. but he'd also be kinda soft abt it.
okay so he's out on the streets and he's been missing you all night, constantly distracted by thoughts of you in his bed wearing his shirt, his hands on your clothed hips and his cock stuffed inside of you and. man. he'd probably come home early. you'd be sleeping, and he'd watch you for a little while from the doorway before cleaning himself up. when he gets into bed, you're roused from your sleep because you know that familiar dip in the bed and you'd grab him instantly and he'd be all over you 👀
y'all would have the best sleepy morning sex. one hand on your hip and the other gripping on to the neckline of his shirt. he'd bury his face into your neck, nipping and sucking on your neck, leaving marks while he fucks you gently. then he'd pull you into his arms, slip his hand up his your shirt and stroke your back gently until you drift off to sleep again.
sometimes he'd just fuck you into the mattress while you're wearing his clothes, mumbling into your ear that you belong to him and he belongs to you and begging you to repeat it back to him :')
also like. you'd wear other random pieces of his clothing. like his sunglasses or that huge leather jacket he wears when he goes out at night. like if he's in the batcave and it's super cold but you wanna join him you'll grab the jacket and go sit with him and he'll think it's the cutest thing ever because it's big on him so you're practically drowning in it. and the sunglasses,,,if it's a bright day and you wanna go lounge in front of a window you'll grab his sunglasses but you end up falling asleep and he walks in to find you asleep with his sunnies halfway down your nose he'd be so <<<333333333333
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greenorangevioletgrass · 3 months ago
sure as hell not jesus (but you're saving me) - b.w.
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Masterlist | Ko-fi
pairing: bruce wayne x reader
summary: you and bruce learn to save and comfort each other in your own unique ways.
word count: 1,845
warnings: developing relationship, bruce is secretly a softie, reader helps him remove his makeup, savior complex galore, angst, fluff, smut (unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms)
notes: the brainrot is real y'all i finished this in a day! big thanks to @inklore @summertimestyles @cumholland @sersi-belovas for putting up with my pestering questions and providing me with mad inspo! follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass to get notified for my latest words <3 happy reading and please reblog if you liked it!
As a long-time resident of Gotham, waking up to the pouring rain has almost become the norm. Even with the curtains left drawn, the orange daybreak is muted behind the clouds. You’d register the pitter-patter outside your window even when you’re mostly asleep and pay it no mind.
But sometimes, you’d hear another pitter-patter– this time from inside the house. The torrent of water hitting your bathroom tiles, and the unmistakable squeak of your shower tap as it turns to a close.
This one’s relatively new.
Through still-heavy lids, you watch Bruce come out of the bathroom with the towel wrapped low around his hips. His dark hair is still dripping, pushed back even though a couple strands stubbornly fall in front of his face as he makes his way to your dressing table.
You catch his gaze through the mirror, soft –apologetic, almost– and it draws you closer to him. “Morning,” you rasp out quietly.
Your fingertips find his shoulder, tension rippling through his lean muscles. Rubbing circles, hoping your restful calm rubs off on him. However miniscule the effect.
“Sorry I woke you,” he murmurs, although secretly content with your touch, if the way he pulls you into his lap is any indication.
“It’s okay. I need to get up anyway.”
“Oh.” There’s a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, like he’s hoping to join you in bed. It’s adorable, really. You always tease him about looking young and old at the same time. The puppy dog stare gives a boyish air about him, but his permanent frown makes him look like he’s lived a life ten times over. And the dark stains around his eyes…
It’s like traces of camouflage.
He doesn’t need that here. Not anymore. Not with you.
You stroke his cheek briefly. “Come here, let me clean you up.”
He shifts in protest. “You don’t have to–”
“I know I don’t,” you quip back, amused, reaching out for a pack of cotton pads and makeup remover from your dressing table. “Just sit back. You missed a few spots.”
Bruce lets out a long sigh, but he concedes. He settles underneath you, his calloused hands resting on your thighs, absently fiddling with the hem of the ratty gray sweater you nicked from him when he first slept over six weeks ago. It’s strangely mundane, and neither of you are quite used to it. He would never admit it, but there’s a little glint when he watches you work the soaked cotton against the remnants of black paint around his eyes. It looks a lot like fondness, or dare you say… affection?
Ha. Bruce Wayne showing affection. That’ll be the day.
“What?” his gravelly voice cuts through the comfortable silence.
“Nothing.” you eye him cheekily, wiping the smudge off from under his eye with featherlight touch. “You, uh, smell like my shampoo.”
“I… yeah, sorry. I just–”
“Don’t be. I think it’s kind of cute,” you admit with a light smile.
He doesn’t say anything, but the slightest tinge of pink spreads all over his face and neck, all the way up to his ears, and you’re fighting the urge not to tease him further. The poor man might just combust. It’s definitely cute.
“Look up.” you tilt his chin up with your forefinger, and he obliges.
You lean in closer to his face, making careful, precise swipes on his lower waterline. His eyelids flutter in discomfort, and you can’t help but chuckle. He takes on crime after crime every night without so much of a complaint, and yet a little micellar water might be the death of him yet.
“Hold still, I’m almost done…” you stroke his jawline softly, sensing his growing impatience.
You notice his Adam’s apple bobbing when you shift his face slightly to the side to cleanse the other eye. His hands trail under your clothes, tracing the waistband of your panties from your hip to your lower back. Neither of you possess superhuman abilities, but you can feel the racing heart rate emanating from his bare chest. And you’re damn sure he can sense yours, too.
There’s a dark mark under his eye that doesn’t go away, and it takes you a second to realize it’s just the exhaustion seeping through. “When was the last time you slept?”
“When was the last time I came here?” he replies evenly.
You pause, recounting the days since he woke you up in a similar fashion; one, two… “Jesus Christ, Bruce,” you sigh, stopping dead in your tracks.
He caresses your back in a desperate attempt to soothe your panic. “I’m fine, I’ve just been really busy–”
“Are you, really?” you search his eyes, and you can see how his half-assed excuse is barely concealed, if at all. Your voice drops to a whisper, hoping it’ll have a better chance of coming through to him. “Bruce. What’s going on?”
But instead, he rests his forehead against yours. His nose nuzzling yours, inching closer and closer to you, kissing you –tentatively at first. Chaste and brief. Like he’s waiting for you to let him in.
As if he hasn’t knocked down your entire walls already.
For every kiss, you return it with twice the intensity– burying your hand in his hair, gripping it selfishly as you deepen the kiss. He tastes like your toothpaste, although the way his tongue devours and his lips encapture you is unmistakably his own. His familiar, broken embrace is enshrouded in your scent; your soap, your shampoo, your whole presence. It almost feels like…
He’s yours entirely.
And the thing is, you’re fiercely protective of what’s yours. Maybe not in the way Bruce is, where he would come out bloodied and bruised, burning bridges in a city on fire. No. Your way is more tender. Caring. That’s why it kills you a little bit every time you see a new bruise. A new cut. Whatever new symptom he’s experiencing in his obsession for the kind of justice you don’t understand. But when he comes home to you; armor laid out on the floor, desperately kissing down your neck, groping underneath your clothes, holding you close like a wordless call for help… you accept your million little deaths anyway.
“Fuck. I need…” his calluses catch on the worn fabric of the sweater you’re wearing. He doesn’t finish his sentence –not verbally– he just tugs it over your head and tosses it aside. The pads of his fingers are rough against your sensitive nipples, ever so selfishly. And it’s not long until his mouth joins in the craving of comfort your body brings him.
It leaves a sick twist in your gut sometimes, knowing that his pain also brings you so much pleasure. It keeps him up for nights on end, and you get to take advantage of his manic episodes in your bed? How could you possibly live with that?
But he reaches between your legs, smearing his own digits with your arousal, touching you like it makes him feel good, and you rationalize the whole thing. It’s not his pain that pleases you— it’s his remedy that coincides with your own bliss. So you let him have it.
You brush his hand away and settle at the head of his cock, sinking down slow. The delicious pain of his girth spreading you open is always overwhelming at first, but he holds you close, cradles the back of your neck through it all. Drawing deep, slow breaths with you as you take all of him inside you.
He pulls you in for a hungry kiss, hips arching up into you as if he needs to be closer to you. However bound together you think you already are, he needs more. He yearns for that peace so painfully, and you’re oh so willing to lift yourself up and fall on his sword time and time again for him. Your ache, his groans, his grasp…
It makes you feel alive.
He claws at your back, arching up to meet your hips halfway, and you can feel him edging closer to his orgasm. He feels so nice and full and it takes you everything to say,
“It’s okay, I got you.”
But he shakes his head, nipping at your neck instead. The hand on your waist finds its way to the swollen nub between your legs again. You really shouldn’t be surprised; Bruce is nothing if not stubborn. And right now, your brain is too hazy to argue with him. Chivalry be damned. Amidst your erratic pace and the building fervor in your cunt, you give into the desire.
“It’s okay. I got you,” he echoes your words back to you, and you let it wash over you. The pleasure, pulsing and spreading to every inch of your body, gripping him like he’ll scatter away if you don’t.
Far from it.
He carries you to bed, not pulling out of you for a brief second until you’re laid out on the mattress. Thrusting in and out of you with all that’s left of him. Fucking you like his whole repentance depends on it, obliviously unaware that you’d give him that ten times over. He floods your senses, floating higher and higher towards another orgasm, but you almost don’t want to get there without him.
“Bruce… shit, I’m so close—” you choke out.
Ever so stubborn, he shakes his head still. “One more. Just one more. Please.” He is everywhere now; mouth latching on your tits, hands strumming your clit, cock pounding in and out of you.
Your second orgasm takes you violently, sending you convulsing around him. And it doesn’t stop. It just keeps going, fluttering tight around his hard length. He hits your spot, again and again until it hurts, and yet you don’t want him to stop. Maybe it’s not so sick to find pleasure in pain, after all.
Your name falls out of his lips, more obscene than anything you’ve ever heard. And there he is; pulsing and spurting deep inside you. Finally able to catch his breath, as if he’s been deprived of it. Just like he’s been deprived of sleep in the last few days.
You kiss him softly, cupping his face with one hand. And for the longest time, it’s all you do. He falls into the empty spot next to you, but he still finds himself tethered to your embrace.
“I should get out of your hair.” he murmurs into your lips, although he makes no effort to move.
“No, stay.” you smooth out his hair, twirling random strands that frame his face. “I’ll just be out for an hour or two, but you go ahead and rest, okay? I’ll… bring some bagels or something.”
You can see his eyelids growing heavy, slowly lulled into sleep, and you’ve never seen him so at ease in your life.
And who can blame you for wanting to keep this fantasy alive, even for just five minutes? Both equally damaged and fucked, finding solace in each other. It's not much, but it's more than enough.
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stranger-nightmare · 3 months ago
Quite the Revelation
Part One
Pairing: Inexperienced!Bruce Wayne (The Batman 2022) x (female) Reader
Summary: you and Bruce and been friends since childhood, meaning you’re the one he usually comes to for help after a rough night of seeking vengeance around Gotham City. One night Bruce reveals more than he means to; just how sexually inexperienced he is. You, being the good friend that you are, offer to help in that area…
Warnings: bit of fluff, lil bit of angst, smut, soft dom reader I guess? sub!Bruce, praise kink, fingering, penetrative sex (m+f), minors DNI
A/N: yeah so this is based off the headcanon that (Pattinson’s) Bruce Wayne is a virgin, as soon as I saw that idea I was like um yeah I can see it and then I just had to write something for it! So here we are, my first writing for Bruce Wayne, I hope you guys enjoy😘🖤
Also sorry this is quite long, I really just ran with it lmao
Read Part Two
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This is for people 18+ only. Minors do not read on. If you click ‘keep reading’ you are hereby agreeing that you are 18 or older.
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It had been a night like any other; Bruce calling upon you to help patch him up after a night of running around Gotham City as The Batman. Tonight he wasn’t injured as badly as he usually was. His torso was mostly just bruised in various areas, there was only one cut across his bicep that really need any tended to. He was sat on the exquisite table where Alfred usually did all his paperwork. If he could see the two of you now, bloody bandages laid across the expensive mahogany, he’d have a fit.
You’d both been drinking a bit when the revelation had suddenly slipped from Bruce.
You’d made some offhand joke about how women must fall at his feet, both as The Batman and as Bruce Wayne. You’d made a small, slightly jealous, dig at how many women he’d slept with.
But, to your surprise, he’d mumbled an awkward response telling you that, in fact, he’d never slept with anyone, let alone a whole hoard of women.
“Oh come on” you say now. “You can’t tell me bat boy has never touched a woman” you chuckle lightly. “I find that hard to believe” you laugh to yourself again.
Bruce’s jaw locks, the muscles jumping in his cheeks. His eyes retain their glare, but their focus shifts away from you and to the floor.
That’s when the realisation hits you.
“Oh shit” you scoff quietly. “Really? Millionaire playboy Bruce? The Batman? The terror and vengeance of Gotham City? Is… a virgin?”
He continues to sit there; his silence is somehow swallowing the whole room.
“Well well well, that’s quite the revelation” you hum, smirking.
“I’m not in the mood for your teasing tonight, y/n” he sighs gruffly, jumping off the table before heading past you towards the door.
“Wait” you grab his arm, careful not to touch where you’d just bandaged up his small wound.
He stops, his face turning to look at where your hand lay on his bicep. His eyes then shift back up to meet yours, his gaze just as hard as ever.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tease” you tell him sincerely. “I was just… taken aback slightly” you shrug.
He continues to look at you, his mouth pressed into a hard line. For a moment you just stare back into his eyes. Something in the air changes, an electricity crackling through the room, around the two of you. The hair on the back of your neck stands up and a small shiver runs down your spine as the two of you look at each other.
Something comes over you, a kind of tender confidence; a want, a need, to have Bruce touch you, for you to touch him. You couldn’t deny the satisfied pleasure that already sat in your stomach at the idea of being Bruce’s first time, being the one to teach him all the ways of sin; to have that kind of control and power over The Batman? You were already wet at the thought.
Bruce’s gaze quickly flickering to your lips and back again was the final nail in the coffin for you.
You swallow the last bit of nerves that sit in your stomach and look at Bruce determinedly.
“Do you want to?” You whisper.
A flash of uncertainty sweeps across Bruce’s eyes.
“Do you want to... to touch a woman? To touch... me?” Your voice is barley audible, your words slow and deliberate as you try to gauge his reaction, attempting to read his impossible face.
You swear under the hard gaze you see something like fear flicker in his uncertainty.
“Do you want me... to teach you?” You ask gently, staring to rub your thumb across his bicep where your hand still rested.
He doesn’t answer, just continues to stare at you so intently you think he can see right into your skull. The electricity crackles in the air again, like the air around you is tightening, pressing you closer to him.
His eyes flick to your mouth again, lingering a fraction longer before he meets your gaze again, something like an unsure apology now in his eyes.
His eyes stay on yours even as you slowly lean forwards, pushing up on your tiptoes, to angle your face just an inch away from his. You stop for a second, your mouth so close to his you can feel his warm breath ghosting over your lips. You stop to assess his face one more time. His face is as unreadable as always, but being friends with him all your life meant you’d learned to read his eyes instead, read them the way no one else could.
You see the uncertainty and fear still, but beyond that you see a kind of curiosity, a want.
You finally push up the final inch to press your lips against his. He freezes beneath you for a second, but you persist gently. You press your mouth against his again, slightly firmer now, and this time you feel him tentatively respond. His lips purse to meet yours, no longer remaining passive in this kiss; his lips slowly but surely start to actively move with yours.
His lips are ever so slightly dry and cracked, exactly how you’d expected them to be, but you didn’t mind, regardless, they felt incredible against the softness of your own lips; their rough texture only added to the sensation of the kiss.
You tentatively reach up your other hand, slipping it behind Bruce’s head, gently pulling at the hair on his nape. A tiny groan escapes him, causing you to smirk into the kiss.
You twist your body to stand in front of him, pushing your body against his, your other hand moving from his bicep to join the hand that was playing with his hair.
Your tiny gasp gets lost in the kiss when you feel his lightly shaking hands find their way to your waist. His hands rest lightly on your body. You can still feel the uncertainty radiating from him. You silently encourage him by pushing your body flush against his, you clothed chest colliding with his bare one, your hips brushing against his, his thick belt digging into you.
He groans again, louder now, as he feels the warmth of your body against his. You take advantage of his groan, opening his mouth with your own, quickly darting your tongue into his mouth. You feel his fingers dig into you briefly as your tongue collides with his.
His hands are still tentative as they start to roam your body, running up and down your waist, almost going to the curve of your ass before he pulls back and lands on your waist once again.
You could almost roll your eyes. This fearless man who jumps off buildings, dives headfirst into danger almost every night, dances with criminals frequently, this man, was afraid to touch your ass.
You break the kiss for a second, leaning back slightly to look at him. He stares right back at you, his eyes just as wild as his hair where you’d mussed it up with your fingers.
“Touch me” you breathe against his lips.
He looks at you quizzically.
You keep your eyes on him as you whip your shirt off, tossing it to the side. You hadn’t been wearing a bra so your chest was now as bare as his.
“Touch me” you repeat, grabbing his hands and placing them on your breasts.
Bruce’s mouth hangs open in surprise but you capture his lips with yours again before he has the chance to overthink.
It was your turn to moan into the kiss as you revel in the feeling of Bruce’s hands on your tits. His hands are cold, causing a shiver to run through your body, goosebumps raising on your skin. You can feel your nipples harden under his touch and you arch your back slightly, pushing into his palms. Bruce’s touch is soft and gentle, taking his time as he palms your breasts, softly kneading your skin.
When you moan and buck into his touch again he seems to gain some more confidence, his hands moving to pinch your nipples between his fingers. You gasp softly, the cold of his fingers on your nipples almost taking you off guard. This time Bruce takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue breaching your mouth, sliding languidly over yours.
After a moment he breaks the kiss. His mouth hangs open as he looks at you, revelling at the sight of your bare chest against his. Your breaths are mixing as you both breathe heavy, recovering from the kiss.
“I- I- want to touch you...” he stammers through his ragged breathing.
You cock your head at him in response.
“More” he breathes. “I want to touch you... more."
You smile at him softly, kissing him tenderly once more. You then grab his hand and lead him over to the impressive couch that sat in front of the even more impressive fire place. You push him down gently until he’s sat down on the couch.
“You sure about this?” You ask him gently.
He nods.
“Are you?” He asks, again that uncertainty sits behind his eyes.
You smile reassuringly at him.
“Yes, I’m sure."
He nods again.
You keep your eyes on him as you slowly shimmy out of your skirt and panties, leaving you completely naked in front of Bruce. You hear his sharp intake of breath as he observes you, his eyes drinking in every beautiful inch of you. There’s warmth on your skin, both from the fire burning behind you, and from Bruce’s gaze.
You take the few steps towards Bruce and carefully climb over his lap, swinging your legs to rest on either side of him. You push up on your knees so your ass is hovering in the air, just above where you could already see his bulge growing. His hands instinctively land on your hips. His touch is soft and unsure but you smiled to yourself that he’d taken even just that step by himself.
You grab his right hand with your left, bringing it up to place a soft kiss to his knuckles. You then trail his hand down your body, down between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, until you reached your pubic bone. You look up at him again to find him completely entranced by your actions, his eyes fixed on where your hand was guiding him.
“When you touch a woman, you need to make sure she’s nice and wet first” you whisper, your breath ghosting over his face.
You then adjust your hold on his hand so that he had just two fingers sticking out. You then take his hand lower, pushing his two fingers between your folds. You run his fingers through your folds, brushing them up and down your slit a few times, collecting the wetness that had already pooled there. You gasp lightly each time his fingers glide across your clit.
“You feel that? You feel how wet I am for you?” You hum.
Bruce lets out something like a choked groan as he nods again. His eyes, however, never leave where his fingers were lost between your thighs. You rub his fingers up and down your slit a few more times before speaking again.
“Most women get pleasure from their clit rather than internal stimulation like penetration, me included, so that’s where you wanna focus most of your attention, okay?” You tell him softly.
Now he looks up at you again, something helpless and lost in his eyes that almost makes you want to giggle from how absurdly innocent and cute it is.
You deliberately smile warmly and reassuringly at him, placing a quick kiss to the tip of his nose.
You move his hand again until his fingers brush against your clit again. You gasp again and your body instinctively bucks into his touch.
“There. You feel that?” You moan softly.
“Yes” he breathes quietly.
“That’s what you wanna focus on. Just rub it gently, in small circles. Like this” you whisper as you start to help move his fingers on your clit.
You let out a quiet content sigh as you feel his fingers begin to circle your small bud of nerves. His fingers are still cold, sending more shivers down your spine, but again, it only adds to the feeling; it’s not exactly unpleasant.
It doesn’t take Bruce long at all to figure the motion out for himself, his fingers working of their own accord against your clit.
“Oh shit, yes. Just like that Bruce” you moan softly.
You retract your hand, letting him work you on his own. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, steadying yourself as your hips involuntarily begin to rock, grinding your cunt against his fingers.
“A lil faster” you whine into the crook of his neck. “Please” you add softly as you begin to pepper small kisses across his skin.
He groans and leans his head back, letting you have better access to his throat as you assault his skin with kisses. He quickly obliges your request, speeding up his circle motion. You moan into his neck, your hips starting to grind even harder to match his speed.
“Yes, yes” you sigh encouragingly. “You’re being so good for me” you praise him as you continue to kiss him.
You’re almost surprised by how good he is off the bat, circling your clit expertly, with a steady and unchanging pace.
“More” you whisper. “Faster.”
You feel more than see him nod this time, his fingers immediately obeying your instruction again, taking his speed up a notch once again. You moan louder now, feeling that familiar burn begin to build in the pit of your stomach.
“Shit yes” you sigh. “I’m close. Just keep going baby, don’t stop. Please don’t stop” you whine.
“Wait” he says suddenly, his other hand reaching up to gently grab your jaw, lifting you up to look at him.
“I want to watch” he mumbles softly. “I want to see your face as you... as you...” he trails off.
You kiss him, cutting off his small ramble. You then sit up again and nod, letting him know it was okay for him to watch as he made you cum.
You do your best to keep your eyes open and on his but you almost couldn’t help letting them shut as you get lost in the pleasure of his fingers on you.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes...” you sigh under your breath as you finally feel yourself brought to the edge of pleasure, your core tightening and ready to snap.
“Oh fuck, Bruce” you cry, your head tossed back as your orgasm crashes over you.
You body convulses slightly as you rock desperately against his hand, riding out your high. You hear a deep groan rumble through Bruce’s chest as he takes in the sight of you on top of him, losing yourself to the pleasure that he’d provided for you. He keeps up his circling motion, even after you’d milked as much of your orgasm as you could. Your body shudders and lurches away from his touch as you feel yourself get sensitive.
“Okay, stop, stop” you whine quietly, grabbing onto his forearm.
He stops his movements immediately, panic settling in his eyes.
“Sorry” he stammers quickly. “Did I do something wrong?” His voice almost sounds pained.
You shake your head softly, leaning forwards to place your forehead on his.
“No, no. You did amazing. It’s just, we can get a bit sensitive after we’ve orgasmed” you pant. “I just need a few minutes before we can start up again, okay?”
He nods again. “So... what... what do we... what do I do in the mean-"
“Just keep kissing me” you cut him off, grabbing his face in your hands and crashing your lips against his again.
He groans as you catch him off guard, his body freezing momentarily before he leans into your touch again. His lips move in synch with yours, the two of you learning each other’s mouths quickly. His hands move back to your hips, his grip stronger and more sure now, like seeing how good he’d made you feel had given him some confidence.
Now you can feel his hips buck instinctively as he desperately seeks some friction, rutting his hardened cock against the strain of his thick trousers. You smirk against his lips again as you feel the need radiating off him.
You let one hand move from his cheek back to the nape of his neck, tugging on his hair again now that you knew he seemed to like that. Your other hand trails down his body until you reach the thick belt of his trousers. You quickly undo his belt, unzipping his trousers, and begin to palm his cock over his underwear. He groans again as you cup his aching cock, feeling where his precum had left a tiny wet patch on his boxers.
You keep kissing him even as his mouth starts to lose focus, his mind getting lost in the feeling of your hands sneaking under his waistband and finally grabbing his dick in your hand. You bite his bottom lip, tugging on it as you lean back slightly again to look at him, releasing his lip when he lets out a slight hiss.
You keep your eyes on his face, even as his gaze travels down again to watch as you pull his cock free from the restraints of his pants. A curse mixed with a groan escapes him as you slowly start to pump him with your hand, running your fingers over his tip, collecting his precum, using it help your hand slide up and down his length. You can feel in your hand just how big he is, bigger than you’d imagined him to be. You join Bruce in looking down at your movements, letting out a moan yourself when you take in the sight of him.
Bruce’s hips rut up into your hand, small groans mixing with his panting breath as you work your hand over him.
“That feel good baby?” You start to kiss over his cheek, over his jaw, peppering him with your lips.
He nods and whines a quiet “y-yes.”
You hum an acknowledgment against his skin.
“Now,” you whisper against the shell of his ear, “you need to help stretch me open a lil bit before you get inside me, okay?” You tell him gently.
He turns his head to look at you quizzically. You smile again at his almost innocent eyes. Somehow so innocent and unknowing despite you having your hand still wrapped his cock and the fact that he’d just made you cum harder than any other guy had and he wasn’t even inside you yet.
You kiss his cheek again as you use your free hand to grab one of his and drag it once again towards your core. You smile softly at him as you once again push two of his fingers through your wet folds. This time, when he reaches your entrance, you help curl and push those two fingers inside you.
You moan and arch forward into his chest instinctively, your body leaning into his touch.
“That’s it, push your fingers in deeper” you tell him as you let go of his hand, leaving him to his own devices.
Your hand once again finds purchase on his shoulder, holding yourself upright. He obeys your instruction, slowly and tentatively pushing his two fingers as deep as they could go inside you. Both of you moan as he does so.
He looks up at you with that wonderful look of quizzical innocence again, his eyes silently asking you if he was doing this right. You move your hand from his shoulder to his cheek, rubbing over his cheekbone with your thumb.
“You’re doing so good baby” you tell him. “Now move your fingers, scissor them for a bit to stretch me open. Then curl them forwards, that usually feels quite good for us.”
Again, he nods and obeys your words quickly. He’s surprisingly gentle and tender in his actions, scissoring his fingers open slowly, giving you time to open up on his hand. After a short while you begin grinding into his hand, your pussy already aching for another release. Bruce takes initiative this time, taking it upon himself to switch tactics and begin curling his fingers forwards inside you.
You gasp, something akin to a squeak escaping you as he lightly brushes against that sweet spot inside you.
“That’s it Bruce, you’re doing so well” you whisper, your voice cracking with pleasure as he repeats his action.
Your reactions and your praise encourages him, he starts to curl and pump his fingers a bit faster inside you, working with you as you buck and grind against his hand. Your heavy breathing is mixing as you both watch each other get lost to pleasure as you each work the other with your hands.
Bruce let’s out something like as strangled groan and suddenly it hits you how close he is. You quickly retract your hand, leaving him groaning in frustration and throwing his head back, his hips bucking up into nothing.
“Patience babyboy” you kiss his neck again. “I’ll let you finish, don’t worry. I just want you do it inside me” you hum.
His moan gets lodged in his throat at that proposition. You keep peppering his neck and jaw with kisses as you gently guide his hand away from you, his fingers slipping out of you. He lets you place his hand on your waist once again.
You move you lips back to his once more, kissing him roughly for a moment before you pull away.
“You ready?” You ask him gently.
In a surprising moment of tenderness from Bruce, he reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing over your cheek gently. He nods firmly to answer your question before he takes it upon himself to lean forwards and kiss you, wrapping his arms around your back and pulling you close against him, your chest colliding with his.
You moan into each other’s mouths, the two of you getting taken over by a kind of frenzy, a sudden urge to just be as close as possible. The kiss leaves you dizzy and breathless, making you sit back to catch your breath. Bruce looks at you, his mouth hanging open, his eyes glazed over with lust, his pupils blown in the dim light of the room.
You keep your eyes locked together again as you reach between your bodies, your hand once again finding his aching cock. You grab it gently and move your hips to align yourself with him, letting the head of his cock brush through your wet folds.
You give him a last questioning nod, checking in with him one last time.
He nods back.
And you finally sink down onto his cock.
He whimpers as he feels the warm wetness of your cunt wrap around him, his voice cracks and his groan gets lodged in his throat.
“Fuck” he murmurs under his breath, his eyes squeezing shut, a hiss sounding from his mouth as you take him to the hilt inside you.
You moan loudly at the delicious stretch of him. His thick cock just made you feel so full. Bruce shifts his hips under you, desperate for you to start moving.
He’d been so good for you so far, obeying your every instruction. You decide to take mercy on him, on you both. You start to rock your hips slowly, taking the time to roll your hips against his. He groans again and his fingers dig into the flesh of your back. He starts to match your rhythm, bucking his hips softly up into you.
The room is filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing, the wet sound of his cock lost inside you, your moans, and behind it all, the quiet and steady crackle of the fire behind you.
“Fuck” Bruce curses under his breath again. “You feel incredible” he grunts, his fingers digging harder into the flesh of your hips.
You can feel his body trembling under you and know that it won’t be long until he cums.
“Remember what I said about women not finishing from penetration alone?” You pant, letting one hand slide down your body, your fingers about to find their way to your clit
But your movement is stopped when Bruce grabs your hand and yanks it away.
He shakes his head as he growls, “let me.”
You moan at the commanding tone in his voice, a wave of euphoria pulsing through your body as you watch his hand once again find its place between your folds.
“Oh fuck, Bruce” you sigh contently as he’s quick to find your sensitive bundle of nerves.
He does exactly as he was taught, starting off slow and gentle, being deliberate in his motions as he begins to circle your clit once again.
But that’s not what you needed, nor wanted right now.
“Faster Bruce, please” you lean forward and tug his earlobe between your teeth, extracting another deep groan from him.
You release his earlobe with a moan as he speeds up his circles on your clit, his pace matching that of your own as you continue to bounce up and down on his cock.
“Ugh, yes baby. That’s it. You’re doing so good for me” your words are mumbled against his neck as you arch into his chest, your mind almost going dizzy and blank with pleasure.
“I’m... I’m close... I’m gonna...” he whines, throwing his head back again.
“Me too baby. Let go. Cum for me Bruce” you whisper.
You place a quick kiss to his cheek before you lean back to look at him, let him look at you.
The pure look of bliss on his face is enough to tip you over the edge. You gasp raggedly just as your climax tears through you, pleasure coursing through your veins, burning as hot as the fire behind you. Your noise causes Bruce’s eyes to snap open again to drink in the sight of you as you cum. You feel your pussy contract over Bruce’s cock, squeezing him inside you.
“Ugh, shit” he cries as your convulsing cunt causes him to tip over the edge himself.
You feel his cock twitch inside you, his hips stilling as he pushes up inside you and he spills his release into you. You watch in satisfaction as his face contorts in pleasure, his typical hardened facade dropping. His one hand trembles as he continues to circle your clit, his pace slowing gently now he knew that you would get sensitive. You slowly decrease your pace of riding him as the two of your draw out your highs. When a shudder runs down your body Bruce takes the signal to stop rubbing your clit.
The two of you just sit for a moment, looking at each other contently, as you both attempt to catch your breath. Your hands move back to his neck, cupping the back of his head as your fingers scratch his scalp lightly.
“You did so good baby. That was amazing” you smile down at him before pressing your lips against his again briefly.
“Is there anything else I should know?” He murmurs after a moment.
He brushes your hair out of your face, his fingers moving to gently graze over your cheekbone.
“Umm, well I can’t speak for them all, but most girls really like to kiss as much as possible. Before, during, after. We just like to be kissed. Or at least I do” you shrug and laugh softly.
Bruce’s leans up and captures your lips with his, gently coaxing your face toward his with his hand still cupping your cheek. This time the kiss is soft, but sure; Bruce was a quick learner. This kiss felt fuelled by something different; there was a kind of energy behind it that you hadn’t noted before. His lips move against yours with confidence, drawing you into him even more.
When he stops, his lips barely an inch away from yours as he looks at you intensely. There’s something in his eyes that even you couldn’t read.
He then whispers, so softly you’d have missed it if his face wasn't so close to yours.
“I don’t think I care about most girls… just one.”
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Part Two
A/N: okay no bc I’m already thinking of a part 2 where reader teaches Bruce how to eat pussy too😵‍💫 we’ll see if I have time / if you guys like this🙈😅 anyway, I hope you guys did enjoy this, it was definitely a fun time to write!!
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