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imaginedisish · 3 years ago

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I Bet On Losing Dogs (Bruce Wayne x F!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys!!! Here is the Battinson smut I promised. I’m not so sure how I feel about it. I don’t think it’s my favorite thing I’ve ever written, but oh well. I based it on “I Bet On Losing Dogs,” by Mitski, so you better believe this one is gonna be angsty. I’m getting all your requests, and I’m currently deciding on which one to write next. For now, enjoy!

Summary: After a terrible night, Bruce’s worries and stresses overwhelm him, escalating to something neither of you expected.

Warnings: SMUT! This is seriously smutty...18+. Oral (female receiving), PIV, no protection (wear a condom kids), dom!Bruce tones. There’s some major angst, cursing, references to violence, injuries, etc. Probably some grammatical errors.

Word Count: 3,710

The ride home from a rough night was never peaceful. Whatever glamour Gotham had to offer slipped away, far out of your reach. The few stars that weren’t lost in the light pollution and dirty smog clouds carefully danced away, too afraid to watch the horrors that you and Bruce took care of each night. The billboard lights dimmed, darkening the already-present shadows just enough to hide whoever dodged this evening’s blows. Rain splatters violently against the visor of your helmet, the clouds above threatening to downpour. The bike’s wheels skid across the cold, wet, black concrete. The wind whips uncomfortably against your sweater, flowing inside the flexible fabric and blowing it up like a beach ball.

You reach your hands under Bruce’s sweatshirt, searching for warmth, grabbing at the soft, cotton t-shirt underneath. He pushes his back against your stomach, giving in to your touch. It was rare that he would reciprocate your small tokens of affection, and when he did, it usually meant that things had gone wrong. It meant that he was worried, that he needed comfort.

And to you, his pain certainly wasn’t worth a hug or holding his hand.

You were upset at tonight’s losses, but you knew he felt worse than you. He always did. He took each failure as a sign he wasn’t good enough, a sign he wasn’t doing everything in his power to keep the city safe. You, of course, knew that wasn’t true.

There were so many things that you had grown to know about him that he would never believe. In your years of being friends with Bruce, you had learned that he was unbelievably kind and caring, despite his cold and distant facade. You had learned that he would do anything for you, a fact that made your heart pang with something you had never felt for anyone else before.

Something you could never tell him you felt.

He’s silent as he slows the bike down, pressing a button in the center console. The garage door of the manor glides upwards, and the bike rolls in. You take your helmet off, lightly tossing it on a table while the bike is still barely in motion.

“Bruce,” Your voice is quiet, apprehensive. “Tonight really wasn’t that bad,” You say to him as he turns the bike slightly, putting one foot on the ground and cutting the engine. You slide off as he puts the kickstand down.

He dismounts, shaking his head once or twice before removing his helmet. “It was,” He retorts. “The last guy got away, and you…” He trails off, walking over to you. He pulls your sweater up just a bit, enough to reveal the red, thin slash resting just below your belly button, and the dark black bruise blotted on your hip.

“They’re small,” You assure him. “I don’t even feel anything.” You’re lying through your teeth. You can feel your blood pulsing around the injuries.

He presses his lips together tightly, seeing right through you. His fingers reach towards the bruise. His hand clasps against your hip, his thumb brushing softly against the tender area. You immediately wince under his touch, despite how soft it is. He removes his hand in response, taking a step back. His brows furrow in disappointment, in contempt with himself.

He walks over towards the staircase that leads up to the foyer, and you follow closely behind.

“Bruce, please,” You call out behind him, practically tripping over the steps just to keep up with him. “I’m fine.” You know he isn’t going to listen, he isn’t going to give in.

He scoffs to himself as he enters the foyer. “I can’t even protect you anymore,” He says, his voice echoing off the walls, instantly alerting the staff of his presence. The harsh, loud words hang in the air longer than you’d like them to. You swallow firmly, searching for the right thing to say. You watch Alfred pop out from around the corner for just a second before peeling back behind a closed door, doing his best to avoid Bruce’s current mood.

Bruce paces back and forth, finally stopping on the other side of the room, his back facing you.

“You don’t need to protect me,” You promise, walking over to him. You grab his elbow carefully, your touch burning a hole in his skin, forcing him to turn around. “I can handle things just as well as you.” You weren’t wrong, you certainly could. If you couldn’t handle being a vigilante, you would have never joined him. You were just as well trained as he was. After all, it was Bruce who had taught you everything you knew.

Bruce shakes his head, your hand still resting on his arm. He takes a deep breath. He hates seeing you like this, seeing you hurt because of what he’s gotten you into. If you never found out what he did, who he was, you would have never gotten into this mess. He blames himself, endlessly.

“I chose this,” You say firmly, trying to remind him of the truth. “And I chose this knowing what risks would come with it.”

He knows it’s true, but he won’t admit it.

“I can’t keep fucking up like this,” His voice is still angry, still filled with resentment towards himself. He grabs your hand, holding it tightly in his. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. He was struggling for control, drowning in the overwhelming flood that he had created for himself.

His green eyes bare into yours. You can hear the subtext, the words being left unsaid.

I can’t lose you. If I lose you, I lose myself.

He inches closer to you, slowly eliminating the small space that had once kept the two of you apart, the space that kept you safe from the tension that was quickly filling the room. It was a tension you worried that only you felt, a tension that if acted upon, could bring everything tumbling down.

It didn’t matter that you wanted him. It didn’t matter that you loved him as more than a friend. You didn’t want to scare him away, to destroy the bond you two shared. You’d rather lose by his side than lose him altogether.

I bet on losing dogs

I know they're losing and I'll pay for my place

By the ring

Where I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down

I'll be there on their side

I'm losing by their side

The silence that had settled upon the room was deafening. “So,” Your words cut through the tension, still struggling to pull yourself out of your thoughts. You finally remove your hand from his elbow, and point in the direction of the kitchen. “I’m starving.” It wasn’t a lie, but it did seem like a rather shitty way to exit the conversation. But you couldn’t bear to be this close to Bruce, not without doing something about it.

Bruce keeps your other hand in his as he leads you into the kitchen. He doesn’t let go until he swings open the kitchen door, as if he had forgotten to out of habit. He walks over to the pantry, opening one of the cabinets, revealing a set of entirely stocked shelves. Alfred must have gone shopping while you and Bruce were out.

“See anything you want?” He’s curt, his voice still laden with residual annoyance.

“What about you? You need to eat too,” You say, walking to his side.

He shakes his head. “I’m not hungry.” You furrow your brows, unsure of how to go about getting Bruce down from whatever ledge he had climbed up on. Something was different this time. This wasn’t his usual frustration. This was something more.

“I know you don’t keep protein bars under that suit of yours,” You joke, trying to fish a smile out of him. You can see the corners of his mouth start to slowly turn up. “Unless you made a change you didn’t tell me about. Did you add a new granola bar compartment to your utility belt?”

And just like that, a small smile spreads across his face. That was all you needed from him; a sign that he was going to be okay. His smile makes your heart flutter in your chest. His emerald eyes gaze into yours again, bringing back the very same tension from before, the very same tension you’ve worked your hardest to avoid for years. You’re not sure how much longer you could fight it. You couldn’t pretend that it didn’t exist forever. There would eventually come a time where he finds someone else, someone who isn’t you, and then what? It would be too late.

My baby, my baby

You're my baby, say it to me

Baby, my baby

Tell your baby that I'm your baby

Still, you choose to continue to ignore the tension. You grab a box of cereal from the pantry and place it on the white, marble island behind you. You turn away from Bruce and reach into the cabinet next to the pantry, grabbing a red, glass bowl.

“Hey, listen,” Bruce says, as if he has something important he needs to tell you. His voice is quiet and calm, closer to the Bruce you’ve grown to know and love. You whip your body around to face him a bit too quickly, and the bowl flies out of your hand. It falls to the ground, crashing cacophonously, separating into a sea of large, sharp, red shards. They stand out vibrantly against the dark, black tiled floors.

“Shit,” You mutter to yourself, immediately kneeling down to pick up the broken pieces. Bruce quickly grabs the trash can from under the sink and kneels down, helping you to clean up. You and Bruce carefully dispose of each shard, making sure not to cut yourselves in the process.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, there’s just one piece left. You reach out to grab the shard, but instead of the cold, sharp, surface the glass, you’re met with Bruce’s hand. He was just a second quicker than you, his fingertips already grabbing at the piece. You peer up at him, keeping your hand on his. He smiles that stupid smile of his, the smile that kills you every single time, the smile that you wish you got to see more often.

The smile that’s only ever on his face when you’re around.

He tosses the glass to the side, exchanging his grip on it for a grip on your hand. You can feel your heart beating out of your chest as he leans closer towards you, his eyes staring deeply into yours. He brings his free hand up to your cheek, his fingers exploring your soft skin.

“Bruce,” You whisper. It comes out almost as a warning. But it’s not for him, it’s for yourself.

His lips are just inches away from yours. His hand travels from your cheek to the nape of your neck. He drags his nails across your scalp, combing gently through your hair. You let out a soft moan at the feeling of his touch.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this,” He says.

And that was all it took. You were gone. There was officially no coming back from this.

He finally closes the distance between the two of you as his lips crash into yours. It’s rushed and heavy. His hand tangles itself in your hair, grabbing a fistful and tugging lightly. You moan against him in response.

“You like that?” He mumbles against your lips.

“Y-yes,” You stutter, bringing your hands up to rest upon his shoulders.

He breaks the kiss for just a second, wrapping his arms around you to pick you up. Your legs instinctively clasp around his waist as he stands. He carefully places you on the counter of the island before his lips find his way back to yours. The kiss is slower this time, languid, as if you have all the time in the world to memorize the feeling of each other’s lips, as if nothing else mattered. He brings one hand to the nape of your neck, while the other rests on your thigh. The sensation sends a pulsing heat down to your core. You needed more of him. You grind yourself against his crotch, searching for some sort of relief.

He notices your needy movements immediately as his lips part from yours. His hands move down to the hem of your sweater, swiftly pulling it over your head, revealing the white, lacy bra you wore underneath. He unclasps your bra next, allowing it to drop to the floor.

He brings his hands up to your chest, squeezing your breasts lightly. He plays with your nipples, toying with them, rolling them between his pointer finger and thumb.

“You’re so perfect,” He whispers, the words only furthering your already intense arousal.

His hands leave your chest as hooks his fingers under the waistband of your leggings, yanking them, along with your panties, down to your ankles. He casts them off to the side in one, fluid motion.

He brings his mouth to your ear. His hot breath blows against your neck, sending a chill down your spine. “Use your words, sweetheart,” He whispers. You could feel yourself growing wetter and wetter at the sound of his voice. “Tell me what you want.”

I wanna feel it

I bet on losing dogs

I always want you when I'm finally fine

How you'd be over me looking in my eyes when I cum

You inhale deeply, struggling to form a single word, never mind an entire sentence. “I-I want you to touch me,” You say finally, stumbling around each syllable.

“Good girl,” He whispers again, his lips still brushing against your ear. “Now tell me where you want me.” His hand drops down to your inner thigh, traveling upwards, stopping at your clit.

“Th-there, please,” You stutter, begging, wanting more. He rubs slow circles around your heat with his thumb, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. He brings his fingers down to your folds, spreading your slick around.

“You’re so wet for me,” He says, his voice mellifluous, overwhelming your senses. He smirks, knowing full well the mess he’s making out of you. He moves back to your clit, rubbing more soft, slow circles. “Is that what you wanted?” He asks, but the moans that fall from your lips are the only answer he needs.

“More,” You plead, your voice shaking with each flick of your clit. “Bruce, please.”

Without warning, Bruce kneels down, his head pushing between your thighs. He looks up into your eyes before starting. “You don’t come until I tell you, understand?”

You nod your head. “Yes,” You whimper. “Please just-,”

The feeling of his tongue against your core clouds your thoughts. He pushes your thighs open wide against the cold countertops with the calloused palms of his hands. He laps against you, over and over again, keeping you spread open wide for him.

“You taste so good for me,” He mumbles against your heat, the vibrations of his heavy voice pushing you closer to the edge. “So sweet, so perfect.”

He takes his right hand off your thigh, and brings it down to your folds. He lets his fingers explore you while his mouth sucks harshly around your clit. Suddenly, two fingers force themselves into your opening. You shake involuntarily, the sensations quickly becoming too much for you to handle. Your elbows buckle as you fight to hold yourself up.

He’s taking his time with you, moving slowly and carefully. He wants to tease you, to bring you to the edge and leave you wanting more. His fingers pump in and out of you rhythmically, languidly. Your walls tighten around him. You can feel yourself approaching your climax, and so can Bruce.

“You want to come, don’t you?” He mutters in between licks, his fingers exceeding their pace.

You nod, unsure of how much longer you could hold on. “Y-yes,” Your voice is trembling now. “Please, I wanna come.”

He sucks harshly on your core before separating his mouth from you. “Then come.” It’s not a request, not an option. “Now,” He commands. His need for control sends you over the edge. His mouth clamps back down on you, his tongue roughly stroking against your clit.

“Shit, Bruce!” You cry out. Your eyes close as your walls flutter around his fingers, seeing nothing but white heat as your climax takes over. Bruce laps at you a few more times, pumping his fingers in and out of you slowly, letting you ride out your orgasm.

He removes himself after a few seconds, leaving you feeling cold and empty at the loss of contact. He stands up in between your legs, resting his forehead against your own. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, his hands traveling down to your waist. He stops at the bruise on your hip, just as he did before in the garage, brushing his thumb over the injury. You hold in your wince, knowing that he’d use it as a sign not to go any further tonight.

“We shouldn’t do anything else until that,” He pauses, tapping the bruise lightly, eliciting a grimace and a flinch from you, “Heals a little more.” He knows he’s right as a soft smile spreads across his face. You shake your head in disapproval, tugging on Bruce’s sweatshirt lightly. You hadn’t had enough of him yet. You needed more. You wanted to make him feel good too.

“I’m fine,” You plead, sneaking one hand down to his crotch while the other snakes around to the nape of his neck. You can feel his erection growing as you palm his length. “Please Bruce, fuck me,” Your voice is low, quiet, and convincing. He groans at your touch, shutting his eyes tightly. He was so touch starved, so deprived of physical contact.

And you knew he wanted this just as much as you did.

He finally pulls his sweatshirt and t-shirt over his head, revealing his muscular chest. You bring your hands to the waistband of his sweatpants, sliding off the counter to drag the sweatpants down his legs. You dig your nails into the hem of his boxers, but Bruce stops you before you can get any further.

“Counter,” He demands, grabbing your hands to pull you back up to his level. You do as he says, watching as he steps out of his boxers and towards you. His erection springs up against his stomach. You swallow harshly, realizing just how big he really was. “Lean back,” His voice is faint and mellow this time. You listen to him, leaning back so that you’re resting against your forearms.

He takes his cock in his hand, stroking gently before lining himself up with you. His head pushes up and down against your wet folds. You both moan at the contact.

He groans as he suddenly enters you, his length filling you up. “F-fuck,” His voice trembles as he stretches you out, pushing all the way in before pulling all the way back out. He fills you up again, giving you a second to adjust to his size. “You’re so tight,” He mumbles as one of his hands travels down to your clit, digging his thumb into the overly sensitive area.

“Shit,” You whimper as Bruce sets a rhythmic, hard, fast pace. He pumps in and out of you, each thrust just as controlled as the last. His free hand snakes around to your lower back, pulling you up, your chests now flush against each other’s. You hum pleasantly at the contact, wrapping your arms around his neck for support.

He moans into your ear, his pace growing faster and faster as he hits the exact spot you needed him in most. “You’re taking me so good sweetheart,” He growls. His words alone are practically enough to make you come. “I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” He says before slamming into you again. “So fucking long.”

The confession almost drives you to your breaking point, your walls convulsing around his length. “Bruce, I’m so close,” You say, barely able to get the sentence out in between heavy, labored breaths. You can feel his thrusts becoming sloppy, indicating that he’s right behind you.

His thumb presses firmly into your clit, circling the bundle of nerves quickly, bringing you right to your peak. Your walls tighten around him, and you feel his cock spasm at the pressure. He comes inside of you, pumping in and out slowly now, each thrust threatening to make you come undone yet again. He slowly pulls out after a few seconds, riding out his high.

He pulls you off the counter and into his arms in a tight, warm embrace. Your bodies meld together, his nails dragging softly against your back. This was more than just sex, more than just a one time thing, more than the release of tension after a hard night.

“When I said I wanted this for a long time…” Bruce trails off, almost as if he’s unsure if he should say what it is he wants to say. “I meant it.”

Your heart flutters. “I know,” You whisper, your head resting against his chest. You can hear his heart beating rapidly underneath you.

“And I don’t want this to be the only time,” He says, far less confident than usual. You can hear the apprehension, the hesitation, the nervousness in his voice. He doesn’t want to scare you off, to upset you. “If you don’t want more, that’s fine. We can act like this never-,”

“No,” You cut him off immediately. “I want more too. I’ve always wanted more.” You look up into his green eyes. His dark, brown hair, drenched in sweat, sweeps against his brows. He smiles.

It’s the same smile from before, the smile that only you can bring out of him.

You wanted to see that smile forever. You wanted him forever.

And that’s what you’d get.

Someone to watch me die

I bet on losing dogs

5K notes · View notes

imaginedisish · 3 years ago

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Like an Animal (Bruce Wayne x F!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys!!! So It’s 2:00am...and I only proofread this once. I’m getting pretty lazy with proofreading, so I’m sorry if it’s loaded with mistakes. I’ll check back tomorrow. Anyway, here’s the sex pollen fic!!! I really hope it doesn’t totally suck. It’s based on “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails. I would’ve titled it “Closer” but someone else already has a Bruce fic under that name so it didn’t feel right :) Anyway, enjoy!

Summary: After the Riddler strikes again, he leaves some unusual clues behind for you and Bruce...including a strange green dust.

Warnings: SMUT! It’s completely consensual (and there is mutual pining), but bc this is a SEX POLLEN fic, imma give a dub!con warning. 18+, cursing, violence, grammar mistakes, and once again, some canon divergence with a Nightwing!reader/life long friend!reader but it’s not really important to the plot at all so you won’t even notice.

Word Count: 4,407

You swallow firmly as your boots clunk against the ground. The music blaring from the DJ booth below echoes off the walls of the club, the sound ricocheting through your eardrums and back out again. The metal floors of the balcony vibrate underneath you, threatening to fall onto the packed crowd on the dance floor.

You let me violate you

You let me desecrate you

You let me penetrate you

You let me complicate you

The red and white flashing lights mixed with the undeniably loud, crashing bass of the song that was currently playing, hypnotized the sweaty bodies dancing beneath you. They didn’t even notice when you and Bruce took out the bouncers. The fight was uninteresting to them, normal even. It was just another night in Gotham, just another brawl at the Iceberg Lounge.

You didn’t exactly love clubs. They were overwhelming and chaotic to you, which was a hellish combination, but happened to be a perfect elucidation of what Gotham was at its very core. It was an uncontrollable nightmare, one that you and Bruce swore to fix. You keep that thought in the back of your mind as you trudge on through the club.

“So, what’s the plan?” You question, trying to raise your voice over the cumbersome noise. You weren’t quite sure why you were at the Iceberg Lounge to begin with. Earlier, Bruce had said that it was where the Riddler’s clue had said to go, and so you went. You look over to Bruce, searching his voice for some sort of answer.

His blue eyes gaze into yours in return. “We need to get into the club within the club,” He says it nonchalantly, expecting you to know exactly what he was talking about.

You furrow your brows in confusion underneath your eye mask. “There’s a club within the club?” A small smirk plays upon your lips. You involuntarily snort at the thought. It seemed comically absurd, but the reality of its existence was far grimmer than you had imagined.

“It’s safer for certain people to be…” He trails off, searching for the right words. “Unethical there, where they can’t be seen.”

You quickly connect the dots, nodding your head in response. A slight nervousness creeps up on you, twisting a knot in your stomach as your heart pounds rhythmically against the walls of your chest.

You look behind you, keeping watch, as Bruce pushes the button for the elevator. There are no guards visible, which seems odd to you. Last time you and Bruce had gone to the Iceberg Lounge, you caused more of a ruckus. The bouncers latched onto you like leeches, putting up a real fight. This time, they fought just a little and fled.

Something was off.

The elevator dings and Bruce heads inside. You’re frozen, your nervousness growing, the uneasy feeling continuing to settle further into your gut.

“Ready?” He asks, concern heavy in his gruff voice. You’re still staring behind you, watching the sweaty bodies clash against each other under the strobe lights.

You nod, finally entering the elevator.

“You sure?” He asks again, pressing the button that leads to the club below. Bruce wasn’t always this attentive to you, this kind. It’s a bit shocking, and you know it must mean Bruce knows that something is wrong.

You shake the feelings off, replacing them with a confident facade. “Yeah definitely,” You push out. “Why?”

Bruce’s eyes squint, as if he’s surveying you, looking right through you. “Just making sure you’re okay.” There’s a softness in his voice. His icy exterior melts away, revealing the soft spot reserved for you, the very thing he tried his best to hide. You were his Achilles-heel. If something happened to you, he’d never be the same. He normally hid it well, but not today.

“I’m fine,” You assure him, but his face doesn’t change. His lips are still pursed in disbelief, his eyes still glued to your own. “I just feel like something’s wrong,” You finally admit.

Bruce opens his mouth to speak, but the gliding open of the elevator doors cuts him off.

The club is completely empty. Not a single person is seated any of the tables. The servers and bartenders have seemingly disappeared. Half drank glasses of whiskey, wine and martinis are scattered atop almost every table, indicating that people had been there recently. The very same music playing upstairs rings out downstairs as well, as if people had been dancing just seconds ago. Scraps of unfinished food line dirty white plates; black cloth napkins with lipstick marks and food remnants are thrown about the floor.

The place had been abandoned, but only recently.

But the only thing you can focus on is the music. It’s almost as if it’s louder down here, more distracting, headache inducing.

I wanna fuck you like an animal

I wanna feel you from the inside

I wanna fuck you like an animal

My whole existence is flawed

You get me closer to God

Bruce walks towards the right to inspect one of the tables. You look to your left. There’s a faint line of something red, presumably blood, trailing towards a closed door on the other side of the room.

“Hey,” You whisper, catching Bruce’s attention. You point to the red line, apprehensively walking towards the door it leads to. Bruce rushes to your side, walking with you. You grab the nightstick attached to your holster on your side, holding it tightly in your hand as you get closer to the door. Bruce grabs the knob and twists it slowly, opening the door.

In the center of the room, tied to a chair behind a table, is yet another victim of The Riddler, his face wrapped with duct-tape. You look away from the body and down to the ground, your nausea and nervousness growing by the second. Bruce approaches the body, inspecting it carefully.

You look back up and notice two boxes. One has a post-it-note that reads, “To the Bird.” The other, in the same writing, says, “To the Bat.” You look over at Bruce, who seems to be more focused on the body than the two “gifts” that the Riddler had left for you.

The sound of heavy, stomping boots cuts through the tension. “Gotham PD!” Somehow rings out above the incredibly loud music.

“In here,” Bruce says simply, almost as if to ignore or undermine their authority. It was his way of saying, We got here first. We got here before you. You’re too late.

Gordon walks through the door, a slight gasp escaping his lips. “Well shit,” He says, taking his place next to Bruce. You can hear the cops shuffling around behind you, knocking tables over, searching for something, anything. But you and Bruce already knew there was nothing, save for the two clues that the Riddler left just for you.

Once the scene is clear, the forensic investigators get to work. Bruce and Gordon are off in a corner discussing what had happened, but you simply stay in the room, staring at the two boxes, wrapped up in bows like birthday presents.

After a few minutes, Bruce walks back over to you. He picks up your box and hands it to you. He grabs his and begins to undo the bow.

You rush through yours, practically tearing the bow off. You’re too anxious to wait another second. Your thoughts are clouded by what could possibly be inside.

“Slow down, don’t open it until-,” Bruce tries to warn, but you rip the cover off, cutting him off in the process, yielding his words useless. Bruce jumps to you, trying to push the box away from you and onto the table, but it’s no use. A puff of green dust emerges from the box, landing on both of your faces. The cops and investigators quickly exit the room, luckily unscathed.

You close your eyes for a few seconds, expecting to feel something, but there’s nothing. At least not yet. You open your eyes hesitantly, looking back down at the box that’s now in Bruce’s hand. There’s a small card. You pick it up.

The cover reads, “Get well soon!”

Your hands shake as you open the card up. It says:

You have a half an hour,

Before it kicks in.

And if you can’t figure it out,

You’ll both end up like him.

Your eyes widen. You pass the card to Bruce, and he grabs it with his free hand. He opens it up carefully, and after a second, the box in falls to the floor with a thud.

He reaches for his box and knocks it over so that the green dust is released away from the two of you. Once the dust dissipates, he grabs the box and opens his card. It has the same “Get well soon!” design as yours.

Bruce recites the card out loud: “I make the Riddles; you solve the crimes. There’s no justice in Gotham—only lies. Now there’s nowhere left to hide. How far would the Batman go to make sure he and Nightwing don’t die?”

Your first thought would be to go to the hospital, but you know you can’t. That would be the end of everything. Your identities would be revealed. The Gotham Project would be forced to end, and all of this would have been for nothing.

“We need to leave,” Bruce whispers, grabbing you by your wrist. He collects the two boxes, taking the lead and pulling you out the door. He ignores Gordon’s pleas to stay put as he finds the stairwell that leads back up to the main club. He pulls his grappling hook off his utility belt and sends it launching up to the landing at the top. Bruce grabs your waist, pulling you tightly into his chest.

He presses a button and you’re quickly hoisted to the top. He helps you over the railing, following close behind you. He then unlatches the hook with one hand, his other hand still firmly holding your waist. He pushes you towards the door, his grasp on you shifting to your hand. He pulls you across the mezzanine as you look down to see a now empty dance floor. The strobe lights are still bumping to the beat of the music, barely illuminating each step you take.

He brings you to a different door than the one you had come in from. It leads you to the alleyway that Bruce had parked his bike at the end of.

“Take your suit off as we walk,” He commands, letting go of your hand to do the same. You do as he says, stripping yourself of your eye mask, revealing the dark black eyeshadow around your eyes. You struggle to slip out of your suit, settling on jumping out of it instead.

You hand the different pieces to Bruce, and he shoves your suits, along with the boxes, inside the center console of the bike.

“Get on,” He says, throwing one leg over the motorcycle. He puts the key in the ignition and the engine turns over. “We don’t have much time.” His voice trembles a bit. He tosses you your helmet before putting on his own. You nod, doing as he says, slipping the helmet down over your matted hair and getting on the bike. The minute your hands find their place around his waist, he takes off, the wheels screeching against the wet pavement.

You get back to the cave in a flash. Bruce practically carries you off the bike and inside, his hands pressing firmly around your waist. He lets go once you’re settled in.

He frantically walks back out to the bike, grabbing the boxes from the console and bringing them inside. He sets them down on the counter and then opens a drawer. Bruce pulls out a pair of gloves, a small scraping knife, a cup, and a few toxicology test strips. He gets to work quickly, scraping the dust into the cup with his gloved hands. He adds a touch of water before slipping the test inside.

You find yourself watching him more closely than normal. You’re enamored by his movements, hypnotized by each grunt of frustration that falls from his lips. You’ve always had some sort of feelings for Bruce, but normally you’re able to hold them down, to bottle them up. Despite how strong they were, how intense they were, those feelings never got in the way of your friendship with him. But something was different now.

You couldn’t ignore them.

You find yourself focusing on the way the muscles in his neck flex and contract as he breathes. Your gaze settles down on his gloved hands. His slender fingers wrap tightly around the test strip, and you can’t help but stare as he stirs.

Suddenly, you feel a pulsing heat radiating from below. The heat rises up through your chest to your cheeks. Your heart pounds rapidly as your breathing grows heavy. You feel like you’ve run a mile in the middle of a heat wave.

That’s when it finally dawns on you. This was it. This was the poison finally kicking in.

“B-Bruce,” You stutter, your mouth going dry. “I think it’s happening.”

Bruce whips around to face you, chucking his gloves off in the process. You can feel a thick line of sweat developing on your forehead. The pulsing feeling at your core extends up to your heart. Bruce rushes over to you, the newfound closeness causing your breath to hitch in your throat. He kneels in between your legs, his large palms resting on your thighs. You involuntarily moan at his touch. You’re shocked at how sensitive you are.

“Just stay with me, okay?” He pleads, his voice cool and crisp, cutting through the heat like a knife. His words make you feel relieved, make you feel good.

That’s when you realize, Bruce was what you needed. The dust wasn’t necessarily poison. It was…

“E-Ecstasy,” You stutter, struggling to speak. The feelings were starting to alter you, to engulf you. “The poison…I think it’s p-probably some toxic level of MDMA,” You manage to get out. You can feel yourself dripping in your underwear. The strange pulsing at your core quickly begins to feel like a fire.

You curl yourself into a ball in the chair, rubbing your thighs together, searching for some sort of relief, some sort of friction. You look up at Bruce. His pupils are massively dilated. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he takes you in, looking you up and down. He quickly stumbles back, as if he was embarrassed that he’d ever look at you like that.

“No,” He mutters to himself, struggling to get back over to the counter, yanking open random drawers, searching for something to cure you and him. He knows there’s nothing, but it’s worth a try. “There’s gotta be a way to-,” He cuts off, his palms pressing firmly into the counter as he hunches over. He groans audibly, the sound sending a chill down your spine.

You push yourself out of the chair, practically tripping over your own feet as you walk across the room to him. “Bruce?” You whisper, resting your hand on his. The mere contact of your hand on top of his is enough to drive him mad.

“We need to,” He pauses, taking a deep breath, trying to collect himself, “to take care of this.” His normal confident, nonchalant attitude has faded into nothingness. “I-If we touch ourselves…” He says softly, hopefully, but you know that won’t be enough. It won’t satisfy whatever need you had deep down inside. Something in you told you that it wouldn’t be enough for Bruce either.

He chews the inside of his cheek, fighting to stay composed. You notice every twitch, every movement, Bruce makes. You watch his chest heave, rising and falling rapidly. You squeeze his hand a little tighter, testing the waters, waiting for his reaction. He shuts his eyes in response, forcing himself to resist you.

“We don’t have much time,” He explains as one of his hands slides off the counter and down to his crotch. He groans as his fingertips trace the outline of his strained length. “You need to-,”

But you’re one step ahead of him. Your hand slides down the inside of your pants, pushing your underwear away. You moan audibly as your fingers finally reach your clit, and Bruce’s eyes fly open at the sound. He watches you as you touch yourself, his hand reaching in his own pants to take care of himself. The site of him getting off to you is more than you can handle.

“Bruce,” You whimper in between labored breaths. “It’s not gonna be enough.” You take a step towards him, your fingers still circling quickly around your clit. You pick up your pace, pressing harder and faster. It feels good, but all you can think is how much better it would feel if it was Bruce’s fingers instead of your own.

“Just keep touching yourself,” He orders, his hand pumping up and down his shaft from inside his pants. He takes another step towards you, closing the gap between you. He rests his forehead against yours, his hot breath blowing against your cheek. “Be a good girl and don’t stop. Keep going for me.”

You can feel yourself getting wetter at the sound of his words. You need him more now than you did seconds ago. But you do as he says, rubbing yourself harder.

“Such a good girl, just like that,” He praises you as he continues to stroke himself, and you feel yourself fall apart. You imagine him fucking you, taking you right then and there, and you finally reach your peak, your walls clenching around absolutely nothing. You keep your hand in your pants, circling slowly and softly around your heat. You feel a sense of temporary relief. Your breathing and your heart rate seemingly slow down.

But you can still feel your core aching for more. It wasn’t enough.

As if out of nowhere, the intense heat starts up again. A fire spreads across your skin, engulfing you in its flames. You shut your eyes, struggling to fight the pain. It doesn’t work.

You needed more.

“Bruce,” Your voice is low and unstable, threatening to crack under pressure. He slows down his pumps as his eyes bare into you. “I-It didn’t work,” You admit, your voice breaking in between heavy breaths. You press yourself even closer to him. “I need you.”

He pulls his hand from his pants and brings it to the waistband of your leggings. “Are you sure about this?” He asks, his lips just inches away from yours.

You swallow harshly and nod against his forehead. “Yes, please,” You beg, the aching becoming more than you can bear.

He sinks to his knees as his fingers work diligently to slide your leggings and underwear down your thighs, casting the pieces of clothing to the other side of the room. Bruce stands back up, his fingers immediately traveling to your clit, circling firmly against the spot you needed him in most.

You groan out at the feeling of his fingers rocking against you. He dips them down a bit as they stagger into your folds, spreading around your slick.

“Fuck,” Bruce mumbles. “You’re so wet.” His words send you into a frenzy. You grind against his hand, wanting more. He takes the hint, inserting two fingers inside of you without warning. Your walls clench around him as his free hand finds your clit, circling around the sensitive bundle of nerves rapidly.

“B-Bruce,” You cry out, his fingers pulling in and out of you with ease. His pressure on your clit increases as he settles into a rhythm.

“You like that, don’t you?” He whispers in your ear, almost teasingly. You can feel your walls contracting around him, begging for release. Still, you knew this wouldn’t be enough. You needed him, and you needed him now.

You reach your hands out towards his crotch, feeling his length up and down. You slowly yank down on the waistband of his pants. Suddenly, his fingers pull out of you, leaving you feeling empty. He grabs your hand at his waistband, stopping you before you can go any further.

He picks you up, taking complete control, and places you down on the desk of the cave. He knocks a few things over in the process, ignoring them completely as they fall to the floor and break. He was only focused on you. There was something in his eyes, something you had never seen before. It was a primal need, it was animalistic.

“Lay back,” He commands, and you do as he says. “Good girl.” His praises alone could send you over the edge. He spreads your legs apart with his warm, wide-open palms. He pulls his sweatpants down, his cock finally springing free. It was far larger than you had ever imagined. He lines himself up at your opening, the head of his cock rubbing softly against your wet folds.

“Bruce,” You mewl. “Please fuck me, I need you.” And you really did. You needed him more than anything else.

You always did.

I wanna fuck you like an animal

I wanna feel you from the inside

I wanna fuck you like an animal

My whole existence is flawed

You get me closer to God

Bruce stares deeply into your eyes, stroking his cock, base to tip. “I’ve always wanted this,” He confesses, his head teasing you. “Not like this…” He trails off, bringing a hand up to your cheek, his fingertips gently tracing against your skin. “But with you, I mean. Always.” The admission only ignites the fire in your stomach, furthering your need for him.

Suddenly, he pushes into you. You groan at the feeling of his length filling you up completely.

“Y-You’re so tight for me,” His voice is gruff and raspy as he twitches inside of you. Your walls tighten around him, taking him in. He gives you a second to adjust to his size before pulling out and slamming back into you again. It felt so good, so satisfying, so right to feel him inside of you.

He quickly finds a pace, thrusting into you deeply, almost recklessly. He pumps in and out of you hungrily, as if he’s trying to force himself further inside of you, to meld into you. He leans down over you, supporting himself with his forearm. His lips come crashing down on yours, his tongue brushing over your bottom lip, tasting you, savoring you. Your lips melt into his, teeth clashing together as you catch your breath.

His lips remain on yours as his free hand finds its way to your clit, rubbing quick, firm circles around your swollen heat.

“Yes, God yes, Bruce,” You cry out as he hits you in the very spot you needed him in most. He picks up his pace, circling your clit faster, harder.

“You’re taking me so well,” He says in between thrusts. You shudder at the sound of his words. “Doing so good for me.”

He pounds into you, his hips meeting yours with each pump. He grunts and curses, whispering your name like it’s a prayer. His length fills you up completely with each push, and it’s growing more and more overwhelming by the second. You can feel yourself quickly approaching your climax.

Bruce can feel it too, your walls tightening around his length. He presses down harder on your clit. “You’re close for me, aren’t you?” He whispers, his rhythm becoming sloppier, more frantic, indicating that he’s not too far behind.

You nod your head once. “Y-Yes,” You whimper, stumbling around your words in pure ecstasy. “So close.”

Bruce smirks, ramming into you. “Then come for me, now,” He demands. He pumps in and out of you a few more times before the waves of pleasure wash over you. Your walls flutter around his cock again, finally feeling release as your eyes roll to the back of your head. Bruce is incredibly close too. He speeds up, grabbing your bare hips with the palms of his hands. You feel him twitch before finally spilling inside of you. His hips continue to crash into yours for a bit longer as you ride out your orgasms together.

He slowly pulls out of you. He’s cautious, apprehensive, wanting to make sure that the effects of the dust had finally warn off, or subsided at the very last.

“Are you alright?” He asks, carefully pulling you up from the desk and into his chest.

You rest your head in the crook of his neck, breathing heavily as he brings a hand up to the crown of your head. His nails drag across your scalp, scratching lightly, soothingly. “I think so,” You say back. You wait a minute, but there’s no new aching, no new fire engulfing your body. It seems to have settled down.

“What about you?” You ask, your arms wrapping around him, settling on his lower back.

He inhales deeply before speaking. “I think so too,” His voice is quiet and calm.

You two stay like that for a while, refusing to move. It’s comforting, especially after all that had happened. Thirty minutes ago, you thought you were going to die.

“Do you remember what I said before?” Bruce asks, breaking the comfortable silence.

You lift your head, smiling lightly, remembering instantly. “Yeah,” You answer. “I do.”

"I’ve always wanted this. Not like this…But with you, I mean. Always.”

He smiles back. You’d give anything to see him smile like that for the rest of time. “I meant it.”

“I know,” You respond. Bruce never lied to you, even in near death situations. He once said that it was because he hates lying to the people he loves, the people he cares about. That wasn’t the first time he had made you feel loved, made you feel important. And it certainly wouldn’t be the last. “I’ve always wanted you too,” You confess.

“And I still want you now,” He says. Those were the words you were hoping to hear, the feelings you hoped he had felt.

You press your face into his chest. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Tags: @spookysins

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