#he doesn’t deserve battinson

[bruciemilf]

Don’t you just love it when toxic father figures.

Loved this Jacob & Bruce piece inspired by this post that I couldn’t resist posting it by itself <3

[butcherlarry]

Weekly Fic Recs 27

There was a Theme when I was reading fics this week.  Sometimes I just get in the Mood™ from some Injured Character getting some Hurt/Comfort.  There are other themes and tropes, but that’s the main one :)

Martinez deserves a raise by elizabethgee - Superbat, complete.  A Battinson Superbat fic, from the point of view of officer Martinez.  

Older Clark and Younger Bruce series by Anonymous - Superbat, series incomplete, but current stories are!  Another Battinson Superbat fic, Omegaverse this time!

The Xenomorality Hypothesis, Revisited by MaskoftheRay - Superbat, complete.  A canon divergence fic for Batman v Superman movie.

out of commission by TheCourtSorcerer - Superbat, complete.  Bruce breaks his wrist and has trouble washing his hair :(  Luckily, Clark is there to help  :)

Flesh and Bone by nbspacegay - Superbat, complete.  Bruce gets injured as Batman and crashes in Clark’s apartment.  Clark helps.  

if the world was ending you’d come over right, right? by Introvertefangirl - Superwonderbat, complete.  Some Superwonderbat smut, but everyone is very Soft and Tender, and Gentle.  

In This or Any Other Universe by wildsofmarch - Batfam, complete.  Adult Dick from another universe visits Battinson.  SO GOOD.  READ IT NOW.

fame is the bait (and the switch is your desolate smile) by nowrunalong - Superbat, complete.  Different first meeting of Bruce and Clark after the Man of Steel movie.

Sweet by Unpretty - Batman and Harley Quinn, complete.  Just a fun fic where these two interact after Batman gets knocked out by Ivy’s pollen.  The dialog between these two was FANTASTIC.   

Perhaps Hopeless Isn’t a Place by ShowMeAHero - Superbat, complete.  Clark flies a kryptonite bomb into space to save everyone.  Bruce helps him get better and deals with his Feelings ™.

Worth It by Noknowname - Superbat, complete.  Battinson shows up to Clark’s apartment after falling into the bay.  Clark warms him up :)

I’m Single (Not Avilable) by GravitationalSingularity - Superbat, complete.  Dick doesn’t know Bruce is Batman yet, and thinks the two of them are dating :)))))

love and bruises by Acin_Grayson, hoebiwan - Batfam (Superbat if you squint), complete.  Jason doesn’t know Bruce is Batman yet and thinks they’re dating.  He gets accidentally kidnapped and has to be rescued by Superman.

Patchwork Pod by Ktkat9 - Superbat, wip.  More of the mer Bruce fic!!  Tim is now here!!!!!

grave robber by envysparkler - Batfam, complete.  The author’s tag does a good summery of this fic:  “basically ‘what if Gotham Cemetery staff actually cared that a kid crawled out of his grave’”.  

[nightmareinfloral]

i’ve been so distracted by all the riddler content this year that i totally forgot the joker is going to be the villain for the next batman movie >:(

[devilfic]

❝where two are joined, relentlessly❞

I. go, go, loverboy.

parts: next plot: gotham city’s bound to discover it’s got a prized bachelor on its hands. selina kyle got it, you got it, and you’d quite like if it stopped there, thanks. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader cw: flirting, humor, one-sided pining (or is it?), minor jealousy. words: 1.4k.

a/n: a little something quick I wrote after getting back from seeing the batman for the second time. battinson has been on my mind for the last five days... it’s getting real bad.

Bruce knows you’re there, but refuses to give you his attention even as you lean against his desk full of shiny computer screens. He’s watching something only he could possibly make out, but he’s been doing that ever since he got home six hours ago. You were of the opinion that he deserved a break. “So,” you drawl, watching the way his eyebrow twitches just slightly, “Selina Kyle, huh?”

Quick as a whip, your boss finally looks at you, glares at you, “Have you been snooping through my things again?”

You throw your hands up in surrender, “God as my witness, it wasn’t on purpose!” If Bruce believes you, he sure doesn’t look it. 

You were telling the truth, though. As Bruce Wayne’s (or, rather, Alfred Pennyworth’s) personal assistant, your work with Wayne Enterprises unfortunately crossed over with the Batman’s often. It had to eventually, as Alfred could only keep you in the dark for so long. You’d started as a mere errand-runner and ended up rubbing shoulders with the heir to one of the richest corporations this side of the eastern seaboard. That meant that the Batcave, as Alfred had so lovingly called it, was just as much your home as it was Batman’s. It wasn’t like you could ever find him in his actual home. Of course not.

“I just happened to see it on the desk when I came by to drop off this month’s financial statements this morning. Alfred said he wanted you to reconsider some properties here and there,” you tap the unopened manila folder by your hip, “and guess what happened to be right next to it?”

“So you were snooping.”

“I just happened to see it.”

“And read it.”

“Just what was in my line of sight.”

“What’s next? You’ll read my diary?” In a fit of annoyance, Bruce shuts off the recording and turns to you fully, the skin around his eyes marred with black residue. 

Feeling bad for teasing him when he was so clearly worked up, you nod, “Alright, you’re right. That wasn’t cool of me to do. If there’s anything you wanna tell me about your... night life, you’ll tell me to my face.” Though still irritated, Bruce looks somewhat appeased by your apology. “So who is she?” But that was short-lived. 

“She was a contact, someone who helped out on the Riddler case. That’s all.” Going even further, Bruce produces the same folder that you’d peeked on from before, fishing out a small, printed photo of the woman in question. You were struck instantly by the sharp upturn of her eyes, the strong lining of her jaw. Even though she looked pretty, she looked far from delicate. She kind of reminded you of a cat with the way her feline gaze arrested you in the photograph- or, rather, arrested Bruce. It looked like it was taken in the mirror, but no cellphone was in sight.

“She’s a stunner. Hope you didn’t scare her off.”

At that, Bruce chokes on a laugh, “I hardly think I’d have the power to do something like that. She can take care of herself. She is taking care of herself... in Blüdhaven.”

You hum, setting her picture beside her folder. Your eyes skim something about a Russian girl, a club, and a whole lot of cats. Bruce’s reports were always perfectly formal, but that wasn’t the case this time. He doesn’t stop you from reading on. Then, with a shocked squeal: “You kissed her?!”

A faint blush appears on Bruce’s cheeks as he turns away from you again, “She kissed me... twice.”

You choke on a half-thought when your chest twists. For a moment, you’re stunned, unsure what to call it, but it only gets clearer as it persists. Your eyes dart down to the pretty woman’s full lips and slim figure, and you imagine them pressed against Bruce in some shady alleyway (or maybe in a club, or maybe in her home). You wonder if it was romantic or steamy. 

A quick glance at Bruce’s lips and you put a name to the feeling that’s wrapped around your throat. “W-Wow. Not many people in Gotham have had the privilege.” You, painfully, not being one of them.

Bruce, ever so observant, catches the change in your voice instantly. His baby blues narrow in that way that tells you he’s trying to figure you out. Before he could interrogate you on your mood shift, you pick up the folder in its entirety and start parading around the cave with renewed vigor. “So she skipped town, huh? Were you that bad of a kisser?”

You can’t see his expression with the folder pressed so close to your face, but you can hear the hesitance in his voice as he speaks next, “It had nothing to do with me. It was personal. Gotham wasn’t good for her anymore... never was.”

Your eyes catch on the name “Falcone” and you shiver, “Shame. I hear Blüdhaven isn’t much nicer. Would’ve loved to meet her.” You’re sure if you did meet her, you’d probably wanna kiss her too. If the jealousy didn’t consume you, that was.

In the same moment that you find the folder snatched from you, you also find yourself being yanked back from the direction you were headed in, and it becomes clear as to why the second you catch your bearings.

The pit below the Batmobile lies in wait, ready to have claimed you as its unassuming victim had you taken one step further toward the edge. You didn’t even want to think about what would have happened if you had landed on any one of the tools lying around down there. 

“I let you down here because I expect you to behave. The least you could do is watch where you’re going.” Bruce has an ironclad grip around your waist holding you taut to his body and you feel his scolding tone travel down your spine where he’s touching you. More than that, you could smell him up close. The scent of Gotham’s unforgiving rain practically overwhelms you, partnered with his unfamiliar touch. You hate that you wonder, for only a moment, if this is how tight he held Selina when he- when she kissed him-

He releases you then, as if he could read your train of thought, and fully confiscates Selina’s file from you (perhaps for the better). You feel incredibly embarrassed, so unlike yourself. Perhaps your “little” crush on your boss wasn’t so little anymore. “I’m sorry. I should... probably go see if Alfred needs anything. I’ve bothered you enough.”

You almost trip over yourself trying to get to the elevator, calculating just how much alone time you now owed him to get that grumpy look off his face. So much for getting him to warm up to you.

You’re mere seconds from getting the gothic gate open when you hear Bruce call out your name. You whip around, eyes wide and waiting for another reprimand. Instead, you find Bruce standing rather awkwardly at his desk again, thumbing the corner of Selina’s folder and looking away from you the entire time. The silence stretches on for so long that you almost start to think you’d imagined him calling out to you.

Just as you’re about to ask if he’d spoken accidentally, he looks at you, “I never said you had to leave.”

Oh. “Are you sure? Don’t you have more Bat stuff to take care of? I don’t wanna distract you. Well, more than I already have.”

In response, Bruce pulls out a small stool from under the desk and rests it right beside himself, never taking a seat. “I could use a second opinion on something, actually. Been racking my brain about it for a few hours. If you don’t mind.”

Oh, wow. He’d never asked you something like that before. It was always Alfred coming to the rescue when the Batman needed help. 

Carefully, you make your way back over to the desk and take a seat on the modest stool, glancing over the contents he’d had splayed out on his desk. It looked complicated already, “Well, if you don’t mind giving me the SparkNotes version of events, I’ll try to be of service.” 

Bruce’s eyes flit from the ground to you, and you’re proud to hear him laugh. Even if it’s just a little one. “Afraid you can’t keep up?”

“Never, Mr. Wayne. How else would I have gotten this job?”

[darling-i-read-it]

Bruises

Battinson!Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: batman spoilers, injuries

Author’s Note: love writing plotless fluff. Love it. Is this comprehensible i haven’t read it back

Summary: Based after Bruce tries to fly and …does not succeed

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

You sat in the batcave, your knees up underneath your chin as you watched through Bruce’s eyes what was happening. You tried not to make a habit of this, it made you feel stalkerish. But it had been a long day for you and you wanted nothing more than to have Bruce home, especially after he didn’t immediately come home after the mayor's funeral.

When you saw that the contacts were on and transmitting, you sat yourself in front of the computers and watched. For a while they were just black. Right when you started to grow antsy his eyes shot open, revealing all the police officers around him. You took a soft sigh of relief. At least you knew where he was.

“You can’t monitor him every night.” You jumped at the voice. You turned in the seat and saw Alfred had come downstairs.

“I don’t. Just the nights where I miss him.” Alfred was silent. He took a step forward, light steps mingling with the sound of his cain against the ground. He walked up behind you, watching the silent monitor. Bruce was speaking to Detective Gordon intently. You could see the subtle whites in Gordons beard. You had never actually met the man but you felt like you knew him, through Bruce’s eyes.

“Has he spoken to you about the Riddler?” Alfred asked. You hummed, eyes not breaking away from the screen. You wanted to be there with him. Every time you watched him you wanted to save him from the horrors he sees every night. You want to shoulder that burden.

“Yes,” you muttered. “But not enough. He’s keeping things under wraps right now.”

“Did he tell you about the 44 Below?”

“And about Selina. He was worried about that one,” you whispered, laughing gently. You turned to Aflred. “Why? Is there something I should know?”

“He’s just getting more and more serious with this,” Alfred stated. “These letters are addressed to him.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.” You had been with Bruce for a couple of months now. He had been with Batman longer than with you. Bruce was running up some stairs on the screen.

“He listens to you more than he listens to me,” Alfred admitted. “He’s as stubborn as his dad. But just like him, he has a good heart.”

“Martha couldn’t protect Thomas,” you whispered, like you had put a lot of thought into it. And you had. Bruce may not be in politics but he was in the next worse thing.

“I trust you will learn from her mistakes.” He put his hand on your shoulder. You looked up at him. You had always admired Alfred. He somehow kept the estate and Bruce together. You weren’t sure how he did it. “You are a good woman. I love Bruce like my own but he doesn’t deserve your worry. He’s far too reckless for it.”

“I think he gets it from his dad. I never met Thomas but it’s the vibe I get. Oh fuck.” Your eyes returned to the contact transmission and Bruce was flying off a building. You stood up immediately, watching as he glided for a moment and then landed unsuccessfully, harshly hitting the top of a bus and toppling onto the sidewalk and street. There was a moment of intense worry as he kept his eyes shut, the screen completely black. Then he opened them up again. “I’m going to get him.”

“He took the motorcycle.”

“I will put it in the back of the car, I don’t care.”

“It won’t fit-”

“I’ll be back for it. I’ll send someone. Is he by the police station still?” You got up and walked down the stairs of the batcave. There were a couple other cars other than the batmobile which were a little bit too flashy for the moment. You grabbed the keys that were hanging up and got into one of the more toned down cars.

“Yes. He looks quite…hurt,” Alfred admitted. “It’s probably best if you retrieve him.”

“I’ll be back.” You got into the car and backed out, stepping on the gas.

-

Gotham was like any other city. There was traffic and construction on every corner. If you hadn’t lived there your whole life you would be overwhelmed with the constant stopping and starting. But you knew the turns to take and the places to avoid. Before you knew it you saw the movement in the shadows. Bruce was limping, probably trying to find out if they impounded his motorcycle or if it was still at the funeral.

You slowed down and noticed Bruce slink further into the alleyways. You rolled down the passenger door window.

“Hey, Bats!” You quickly turned on the overhead light so he could see your face and anxiously waved. He moved forward a bit, breathing a loud sigh of relief. You slid into your seat as he got in and then quickly stepped on it to get out of view. You switched off the light.

After a moment of silence and labored breathing, Bruce ripped off his mask.

“How’d you know where I was?” he asked gruffly. He let out a wince as he moved naturally, holding his side. You cleared your throat. He watched the side of your face as you took the sharp turn before the cave. “Were you watching me?”

“I missed you,” you said. He looked forward. For a moment you thought he might be mad. When you glanced over he had a pained look on his face. It took you a moment to remember he was probably internally bleeding.

“So you saw that?”

“Yeah. We should work on your landing skills. How do you feel?” He groaned in response. You nodded. “You’re probably bruised in a couple hundred places. Was it worth the trip to the police station?”

“They dragged me there.”

“I told you I would go with you to the funeral and watch everything.” “Only for you to be hit by the car that drove through?” Bruce asked gruffly. The cave opened up and then shut behind you as you slowed to a stop. Bruce practically fell out of the passenger door. Thankfully Alfred had left. He probably anticipated Bruce’s mood when he returned.

You quickly rounded the car and grabbed his hand, helping him to the computers. He sat down, taking the contacts out with shaky hands.

“Can I look at your chest please?” you asked. Bruce flushed pink. He never would get used to you asking him anything like that. He nodded curtly, once.

You had learned the ins and outs of the suit by now. You unclipped and undid the top, peeling it off of him.

There were already bruises forming on his chest area. You winced for him. Littered among his scars were newly forming ones. You brushed your finger along his sticky skin. He didn’t look at you. He stared down at the computer, watching it start to play at the beginning of his day.

“Do you think you broke anything?” you whispered. He shook his head.

“I have the chest plates for a reason.”

“I know. But still, that was a pretty bad fall.” He finally met your eyes. You were staring at him with eyes filled with worry. “Are you sure nothings broken?”

“Yes.” You pushed on his left rib. He winced harshly.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” he repeated.

“I’m going to get something to at least wrap you up and keep you together okay?” He nodded once. You were gone and back quickly. He didn’t look at you as you cleaned his back from grime and sweat. He looked too tired to shower.

“The police are all rats,” he whispered. “There’s something with the Maroni case specifically that I think that Riddler wants me to find.”

“In the morning,” you whispered.

“So another person can end up dead?”

“So that you have the wearwithal to figure it out,” you argued. You wrapped his waist with white cloth carefully, as to not hurt him. Finally he turned to you. He dropped his arms so they were under yours. He was leaning down but he hugged you tightly, like a child. He winced despite his initiative to hug you. “Bruce?”

“Thank you for coming to get me.” You nodded.

“Of course.” You kissed his shoulder gently. “I may not be Batman but I’ll always protect you where I can,” you admitted. He knew you were worried about him. You told him plenty of times. “I know you don’t want me so close to it but I have to do something.”

“I love you,” he whispered. You shut your eyes tightly.

“I love you too.”

“You won’t when it all comes out. That I’m Batman, that I’ve done all these things.”

“I loved you through them the first time. I’ll love you when it comes back around.” You couldn’t see his face. He was holding you too close. You would have smudged black eyeshadow on your shirt when he moved away. But you didn’t want him to yet. He was quiet for a long while.

“Can we stay down here tonight?” he breathed.

“Mhm.” Though the cave was cold, you didn’t mind too much. You were pretty sure he liked it down here because no one expected anything of Bruce Wayne in the batcave. It was a place he knew well but could sort of disconnect from. You kissed his neck and he backed up. You walked to a small chest beside the computers. There were blankets in there for when he forgot to leave. He backed away from the screens.

“I asked Alfred to bring down dinner.”

“Pasta,” you said gently. You tossed him a blanket.

There was a couch that required you lay as close as you could to each other in order to fall asleep on it. It was located far behind the computers, almost near the cars and suits. You sat there and waited for Alfred to pull himself out of bed to the kitchen.

Bruce sat down beside you and laid his head on your lap. You brushed the hair out of his face.

“You need a haircut,” you whispered.

“Uh huh.”

“I’m serious.” He closed his eyes, pretending not to hear.

“Wake me when pasta gets here.”

“Bruce.”

He fake snored. You giggled and shook your head, just happy to have him safe. Even if he was a little bruised.

DC Tag List: @elisaa-shelby, @alexxavicry, @demigirl-with-problems, @chaotic-fangirl-blog, @caswinchester2000, @gxrlwithluv, @lov3vivian, @blkwayne, @wandering-poetess, @softiekayy, @navs-bhat

[leoluved]

furry friends (b.w)

summary: i saw this interview where rob thinks bruce would be in love with a cat so.. i wrote this. 

battinson!bruce wayne x reader 

warnings: none, maybe my sloppy writing <3 

     gotham had felt oddly quiet tonight, rain drops tap on the window of the castle like tower you had come to call home. bundled up in the white colored silk sheets, a meow peaks through sounds of rain. you stir slightly until another meow- louder this time. fully wakes you up. 

     eyes fluttering you sit yourself up in the bed. stretching your arms upwardly you grab your phone. 4:47 am. squinting at the brightness of your phone you set it back down to it’s spot on the bedside table you plucked it from. reluctantly getting up and scooping the soft gray feline into your arms you quietly make your exit out of the bedroom and retreat down the stairs. 

     somehow, as if on cue, the sound of a familiar roaring engine was ripping through the lower half of the tower. in reaction the cat, so affectionately named kurt ran towards the sound. you smirked and followed along down towards the dark cave, you wished they would install better lights in here, but bruce always said the dimness helped him focus. although you knew he liked the dimness to listen to grungy music while working. you always teased him about his ‘batcave’. bruce hated when you added the word bat to things he would use on the daily, especially when he was out of suit.

     “oh, mr. batman~, i hope there aren’t any criminals here to hurt me.” the sarcastic tone in your voice came out more loving than you wanted it too, but you couldn’t help it. you watched him as he removed the cowl off of his eyeshadow dusted face and set it down onto the metal desk. he immediately bent down to pick up kurt. placing soft kisses onto his soft gray fur. you could hear him purring from where you were standing, but you couldn’t tell if it was bruce or the cat. “you can’t just come in here and start making out with the criminal!” bruce let out a small chuckle that you cherished every time you heard it. over time it would become less rare, but you couldn’t help but still feel butterflies each time. once kurt decided he had enough touching he softly swatted bruce’s hand away and jumped down to the ground. coming around to rub up onto your legs. 

“your times up, lover boy. he loves me.” 

     you smile cheekily. picking up kurt in order to give him the much deserved attention he was asking for from you. you watch as bruce’s lips turn upwards slightly at your quip, though he turns his back towards you and begins to remove the pieces of his suit. 

     once he’s finally stripped down your eyes can’t help but track down at all the new cuts and bruises that littered his chest and arms, some bruises purple and healing, others fresh and red. you walk over to him and place your hand onto his shoulder. “how was tonight? you got anything worse than these cuts?” your voice is soft and lulling. he grunts, then parts his lips but doesn’t speak. after a brief pause he finally does. “no. i’m alright.” if you had so much as blinked too loud you would’ve missed it. relieved he spoke something you press your lips to his, starting to drag him by his arm upstairs to the bathroom. kurt following swiftly behind when he noticed the two of you moving. 

     you open the bathroom door and start the water, you both remove the last of your clothes before entering. neither of you had said a word. however neither of felt the need to, deciding to sit in the comforting silence, except for the sounds water and slight groans when you massaged a spot that had bruce feeling sore. accompanied by the concert you had gotten of meows when kurt couldn’t join the two of you. once you had settled back into the silky sheets you can feel yourself absolutely melt into, you feel bruce’s arms snake around you. pulling you to his chest he sighs. kurt made a soft trill and jumped onto the bed, sitting in his usual spot on the side of bruce’s leg. it’s barely above a whisper when he says something into your ear.

 “i’ve missed you. just missed kurt a little bit more.” 

[propheticpotato42]

DC characters I think Battinson!Bruce would get along with:

Huntress(Helena Bertineli): Yes she kills people, but she’s compassionate and he appreciates that. He kindly asks her to tune down the murdering and she did, so know she has a room at the manor and is invited to all festivities.

Koriand’r(Starfire): Battinson ain’t no xenophobe! He here’s about how this CHILD escaped all that horrible stuff and immediately cares deeply. She is also “friends” with his kid so he can’t adopt her but she is invited every year for the Holidays-along with any other Titan who can’t go home-because no kid is alone if he can help it. Kori probably messes something up and thinks she ruined Christmas and he’s just like “I don’t celebrate this, its fine.” He’s just glad that she isn’t worried. she’s also his favorite in-law

Martian Manhunter(J’ohn J’onzz): J’ohn doesn’t judge Bruce for being socially inept and awkward, and they can talk about the mission without talking about their personal lives because J’ohn doesn’t pry. Its because of this that Bruce actually does open up to J’ohn.

Aquaman(Arthur Curry): Look, Arthur is super laid back and relatively upbeat but he isn’t to upbeat and doesn’t get in the way. His laid backness is also contagious, as everyone in the JL knows, so Bruce untenses a little. Aquaman does ask personal questions but he isn’t judgemental, when Bruce responds that his relationship with Selina is “complicated.” Arthur just nods his head and says that “Its like that, but you’ll be alright.” Its better than everyone else trying to fix his relationships.

Artemis Grace/Bana-Mighdall: She does not give a shit, but is knowledgeable, caring, and a good conversationalist(she is shut up) yeah its awkward because of the murder but she’s an Amazonian and that’s not his business, and when she’s in Gotham she holds it back. He’s happy for Jason.

Wink: Battinson understands that fighting fascism requires extreme methods, so yeah some people died. His real concern and the reason he is hitting a table is WHY ON GOD’S GREEN EARTH DID THESE CHILDREN PUT THEMSELFS IN SO MUCH DANGER!!!! But he can’t help but admire it. Also they all need to go to a hospital, and by the time that is done this hyperactive child has in depth explained the Percy Jackson trilogy and asked several times if he has any pets. As much as he doesn’t what to admit it his real cause for concern is that they are so similar, and that worries him. And someone needs to protect her, she doesn’t deserve to fight like this but she will, just like Dick did. And yes she stole his car but Jason did that and Jason is a good kid. Besides he should really check in on the revs, they still haven’t bought vegetables, and before he knows it the adoption paperwork has been filed, Selina gave them another cat for the ship, and The Aerie has received the most terrifying shovel talk of their lives.

Stephanie Brown(Spoiler): How can he not love this kid??? She really became a vigilante on her own because of her dad’s actions!?!?! Tim really get his relationship in order or else he will have a new sister. Doesn’t help that Steph reminds him of Jason, more of a reason to keep an eye on her, just in case you know,  he can’t fail again...

Flatline(Nika): Goth recognize Goth, and this girl has the vibes. The murder is bad, but he’s confident she can do less, Damian is probably a good influence. And besides maybe she can teach Damian some things. Talia may not approve but he does.

[hes-the-muse]

Pairing: The Batman/Bruce Wayne x Pam Isley!Reader

Warnings: none

Words: 1.3k

SUMMARY: A meeting through a spectrum of colour.

Notes: Battinson deserves distracting myself with a new fandom and a new fic. Robert Pattinson Batman from The Batman (2022)

Credit: Dividers by @/firefly-graphics x. feedback/18+ banners by @/maysdigitalarts. GIF source: X

Tag list: @lonnson

Cold. Pale. Frigid. The fog is wrapping up city hall, approaching it from all sides, without a care for who gets trapped inside.

Today. When no one wants to be here.

No one wants to be here. He doesn’t.

His face is solemn. A pallid completion. A pale mist, an imperceptible blue hue, floats around the edges of his black wool coat. Floor length, sweeping but structured in it’s drape. His jaw is set. He pulls the lapels, the collar up, his eye contact with me shifts and he turns to climb the steps. The Gotham fog guides me, walks with me, nudges me, melts against my face. The fog and the rain, like an enveloping sharp coldness, soft and gradual but unrelenting.

Gotham is always unrelenting.

I see the same man in his black floor length coat inside. He sits, watches, pays his respects, I glimpse his eyes are wet. He’s blue from inside, deep in his chest. I can feel it.

He stands at the top of the steps. Centered. Poised for purpose. I wait for my cab. Low to the ground, the mist whisps around my ankles, my cab arrives and with one final look I see him return a glance. I give a small smile and swing my legs into the cab. I look back out the window. I’m intrigued. Who is he? He won’t see me looking.

At the top of those steps he’s like a sculpture in a melancholy stance. Frozen in his thoughts. He looks through my window as the cab moves off. I smile.

The Gotham fog seeps away into the depths of the dark night. Carpeting the streets and alleys. Gathering around peaks of skyscrapers.

He’s there. Right there again.

‘Can I sit?’

He nods. I sit.

‘Hi I’m Pam.’

‘I’m Bruce.’

‘Hi Bruce.’

What are you doing here?’

‘A girl can’t dance or drink?’

‘A girl like you?’ his gaze lingers.

‘Something is wrong with me or with this place? And you don’t think it’s me, so what do you know about the place?’

‘The iceberg lounge speaks for itself.’ He says.

‘Or do it’s people speak for it?’

He’s silent.

‘So which people?’ I say.

Still silent.

‘’The ones you’re not hiding from. You keep yourself visible, keep them in plain sight. You have an angle here. Means you spend a lot of time here to put on this act.’ he says

‘You’re very observant. Mr.?’

‘Mr. Wayne.’

I reach out, take his hand, gently slide my hand off his.

‘Goodbye Bruce.’

I leave. The green UV ink print leaves glowing streaks under the Iceberg lights.

The trail after me is green, everything under my touch springing to life.

He feels the phantom touch echoing across his skin. The residual brush with her hand, her fingertips. He looks at his hand for something tangible. Nothing there. The lights flash, change and shift and as the UV dance floor rays fall over his hand, the feeling of her is written on his skin. He feels it. He sees it and he can trace the neon glow of her touch. The stamp she left. Inked on his skin.

- Come find me.- it says.

..

I wait. I hope for him to follow me. For me to turn and for him to be on my heels. I resist the urge to go back and look for him, looking for me. He’s not. I can feel it. I won’t turn. I won’t look. I’ll keep walking.

Out of the hot thick atmosphere of the Iceberg Lounge, away form the strobe and UV, I only leave a trail with intent. Minimal, careful, only for him to find.

I step out of the heavy 20 foot gates of the club, into the night air, the drop in temperature clings to my dewy skin, hitting me with sharpness. Slowing me as I throw faux fur over my shoulders and wrapping me in comfort from the cold night. My hosiery slipping against the fur on top, heels clicking and echoing under the archways, down towards the parking lot, onto the cracked dark asphalt. Then I hear it. The footsteps , same as they were before, but unwound from the noise of the club, just clear, crisp footsteps drawing near and nearer. I don’t turn around. I walk on.

I don’t hear then quicken their pace, and they stop, then fade back into the distance. Quietly, the same as they arrived.

..

Amongst the cloudy night skies I see the yellow oval with the symbol in the centre. It shines yellow in the night sky. A warm soft glow. Can the Batman really take care of the night when day in Gotham is no better. The shadows of the night are replaced with the locked doors of the elite chambers of corrupt judges, politicians and overt criminals taking hold of this city. The thought of him lingers. Who is that man and will he turn up again?

..

He’s too curious not to follow. The deliberate trail, sends him on a chase. A quiet, secret chase to find her.

He sits there with his pipettes and slides. Chemicals and development mediums. Test strips indicating a natural origin ink. A predatory plant that aims to mark it’s prey. He spends hours testing, examining, taking recordings and drawing conclusions. He’s not satisfied until he gets to the bottom of it. The chemical composition tells him everything he wanted to know. The chemical structure is clear but he still cannot rest. He thinks of the woman in the fur coat. That woman he saw at the town hall that night all of Gotham remembers. Green lighting him in pursuit of more evidence. Except it’s not evidence he needs. He doesn't have the litmus tests for this. He can’t calculate his way out of this one. He will have to make a decision to continue on his own. The only litmus test being his own God given intuition. From the heart.

..

Bruce checks with his most trusted chemists, cross references their expertise. Until he pinpoints the place. He turns up, exhausted and determined. A blackmarket door by the docks. A voice on the other side. The slide of a letter box sized shutter, green eyes and flipped dark hair look into the letterbox gap.

..

I lean in and wipe a thumb under his eye. Smudging the remainder of his liner, shadow and city grime. It’s he who looks at me with an expression of wonder. I trace his jaw and examine his face. No movement just eyes on eyes. Sunset glowing brighter. Juicy orange light filing the sky, filtering through the clouds.

The first pink cloud emerges. His eyes flicker and flinch. We stand together but apart. As the pink soaks the clouds, his footing changes, his hand, carefully, slowly under my jaw. He pauses, holds me there.

The pink clouds like a dream in the Gotham skyline. The pink saturates, and he moves closer his eyes still unsure, careful and searching.

The rays burst into red, leaking watercolour over the sky, the horizon glows with passionate reds.

No. He doesn't move. He doesn't do that. I’m waiting but he doesn’t. He backs away, retreats amidst the developing red. It’s not fading but he decided to leave. I watch him go, into the burning sunset, I can feel it as much as him, he can’t escape the rays but he runs from facing me.

I stand alone, in the breeze of the city, in solitude with passion running through my body.

..

Amongst the sepia-scapes of Wayne Manor, clouded in cold, stone beige and indecision, weighed down with the wrought iron, black like soot, burnt out cinders of the fireplace once red and molten. If he leaves her for too long she will burn out and turn cold. He needs to rekindle.

[devilfic]

❝where two are joined, relentlessly❞

III. sick day.

parts: previously / next plot: bats don’t get sick, huh? pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader cw: fluff, humor, flirting, so much pining, when will these two just kiss already, as the author I should know, minor angst, depictions of hospitals, medical procedures, general sickness, and terminal illness (minor character). words: 3.9k.

a/n: I’m using an edward cullen gif for sick bruce on purpose and pushing the “bruce wayne’s room is a mess” agenda. I will not be reasoned with

A steady sprinkling of rain was coating late afternoon in Gotham grey, but whatever sour feelings the weather left behind couldn’t compete with the gorgeous view from this high up. It was the first thing that greeted you upon waking and you were pleased that your mother was the second thing, watching the news and drinking something steaming out of a paper cup. She was clearly amused by how long you’d been out, “Sleep well?”

“Like a baby.”

“Hm, I bet. They don’t let you rest over at that Wayne Enterprises. Once I get out of here, I’m heading straight over to Bruce Wayne’s office and giving him a piece of my mind.” You probably would’ve believed her if it wasn’t for the IV taped flush against her arm, simultaneously keeping her healthy and chained to this room.

Once upon a time, you’d dreamed of being someone like Bruce: you could pay away her pain with some miracle drugs that wouldn’t hit the market for another 50 years and still have money left over to vacation in Monte Carlo. After all, your mother was supposed to be enjoying her life at this age. She was supposed to be downing mimosas at brunch and getting into horseback riding (or whatever women her age liked to do). Instead, she was stuck here, wasting away, and no amount of money in the world could make her better. 

“Bruce Wayne pays the bills, mama.” You stifle a smile, “I’m sure you’d make him cry, though.”

Your mother grumbles and picks up the remote control corded to her bed, fruitlessly mashing the volume button, but the TV doesn’t get any louder. “Do you think Bruce Wayne could donate a better TV to my room while he’s at it?”

You’re about to joke that you’d try to make him consider it when your mother’s usual nurse, Annie, enters the room, “What’s this about Bruce Wayne?”

Annie was familiar and thorough. You’d gotten used to watching your mother get her vitals taken, always waiting in anguish for any signs of her health deteriorating, but Annie had a habit of making the process go by quicker. Your mother was a fighter, she had told you as much, but this deadlock in her health was more agonizing than anything else. It felt like she’d be stuck here forever, healthy enough to feel hope for but too sick to leave.

You’re on the verge of zoning out to conserve your high spirits when Annie catches your attention, “So, your mom tells me you’ve been busy with your corporate job. How’s it working for the bigwigs?”

You cast a narrowed glare at your mother who feigns naivety, “It’s... a heavy workload, but my coworkers are nice. Pay’s better than I could ever ask for.”

“I keep telling them they should take a real day off! After all they do for that company, that’s the least they deserve.”

“I like my job, mom.”

“I would too if I worked for Bruce Wayne,” the nurse giggles, writing something down on her clipboard, “have you seen him up close? I saw those photos of him at Mayor Mitchell’s funeral—God bless his poor family—and I couldn’t believe such a gem has been hiding in plain sight.”

The tips of your ears burn as you’re forcibly reminded of your (rather good-looking) boss’ face, “He’s alright.”

Annie continues as if you hadn’t even said anything, off in some daydream where she was talking to Bruce instead of you, “If only he left that tower of his more often. What’s he like, huh? He looks so intimidating, like one of those Christian Grey types. You think he’s into nurses?”

He’s into cats, you think bitterly, and then you consider the sheer absurdity of comparing someone as subdued as Bruce Wayne to a dickhead like Christian Grey, but it isn’t like you fail to see the humor in it. “...I’m sure he could use one given how hard he is on himself. I’ll put in a good word for you.”

Annie beams, and though you have no intention of mentioning anything of the like to Bruce, part of you thinks it’s worth storing away in your collection of “things to tease Bruce about” for later. 

Eventually, the nurse’s work is done, and you’re left alone with your mother again while the news continues to report on the goings-on of Gotham’s criminal underbelly. With the volume so low, you could only make out the words that best stood out to you. Something about a rowdy gang vandalizing monuments, a mysterious string of robberies, something something Batsignal... wait.

You waste no time getting your ear as close to the TV speakers as you can get, the news anchor’s voice feeding through, “...still, there has reportedly been no sightings of Gotham’s caped crusader since the 18th, just three days after Commissioner Gordon instated the Batman as chief consultant over the latest case of robberies across the city. The GCPD released an official statement this morning promising that, while the Batman has currently been unreachable, they have and will continue to make every effort to keep the citizens of Gotham safe. Back to you, Jan.”

Batman was... missing?

You try to think back to the last time you saw him, physically saw him, and all you could remember were a few glances in passing. Alfred had mentioned that he’d be busy with a new case on his hands and that it was best to leave him be, but that was it. If he was so busy being Batman, why has no one seen him?

Your mom watches you with clear concern, “What’s wrong, honey? What’s going on?” 

You had a bad feeling about this.

After your first night spent at Wayne Tower, Alfred had presented you with a key, neatly engraved with the Wayne family symbol. While it was more for show than actual use (the tower had stopped relying on deadbolts ages ago), it was a concrete assurance that you had officially entered a new echelon. The implications of such a gift were not lost on you, and you would readily use that privilege to burst into the Wayne’s penthouse unannounced, “Alfred? Dory? It’s me!”

No answer. 

Your stomach had churned the entire drive here, and while you tried to call both Dory and Alfred’s cell phones, neither had picked up before your panic rose to inconsolable levels.

You check every room on the first floor, finding that it was just as barren as it seemed with both Alfred and Dory’s rooms completely empty. Your next bet was the Batcave, but upon your descent, you found no Bruce nor evidence that he’d ever even left; the Batmobile remained parked on its platform, and his motorcycle was still leaning against the staircase as always. That only left the top floor.

You probably look like a mad person as you bound up the steps to the second floor, far more familiar with the area since that stormy night so long ago. You call out again for somebody, anybody, to answer you. When you’re met with nothing but silence, you're forced to confront your last resort.

Yet, before you can even get a hand on the doorknob, Bruce’s door flies open, revealing the irritated man in the most pathetic state of undress you’d ever seen him. At first, you’re shocked. And then... “Are you... sick?”

“No.” Bruce answers through a stuffy nose.

He looked pitiful when he was unwell. Pallid in complexion (more so than usual), hair a matted mess, and shivering. The very tip of his nose was a bright red, as if he’d been rubbing at it all day and the blood had decided to just pool there and stay. While Bruce never cleaned up if he didn’t have to, the wrinkly t-shirt and sweatpants he had on looked like he hadn’t changed out of them in days. Telling by the state of him, he probably hadn’t.

“You’re not here all alone, are you? Where’s Alfred? And Dory?” You gather up the wits to finally ask.

Bruce looks too pained to even make words come out of his mouth, “I sent Dory home so she wouldn’t get sick, and Alfred’s in a meeting.”

“So you are sick.”

“No.”

To your utter devastation, Bruce happens to be really cute when he’s too sick to be convincing, though you hastily chalk it up to the indignant pout of his lips. You never in your life thought you’d call someone like the Batman “cute”. “Then are you and Gordon having marital troubles? GCPD’s saying they haven’t been able to reach the Batman for days and last I checked, the only thing that could stop you from playing hero is a bullet to the head.”

Your boss grumbles, then presses a hand to his forehead, leaning his full weight against the doorframe. He looks positively miserable, “I’ll be fine.”

You mull over your next move, then gently pull his hand away and replace it with your own, feeling him tense up underneath your touch. You try to ignore the way his eyes widen at you between your fingers, “You’re burning up, Bruce.” And if he complains any more after that, it goes in one ear and out the other. 

His bed was also a mess and rightfully so, seeing as it seemed he’d only gotten out of it today to greet you. You fix his sheets properly on the bed and move his pillows back into place before ushering Bruce forth, “Come on, you shouldn’t be up when you’re this sick.”

“I only got up because you wouldn’t stop yelling.” But regardless, Bruce does what you say without delay. The look of visible relief on his face when he slips back under the covers only concerns you more. 

“Can you blame me? No one would answer my calls. I thought... I thought something bad might have happened. When’s the last time you ate, anyway?”

Shutting his eyes to the world, Bruce takes a few moments to answer you. “This morning. Before Alfred left.”

“Oh, goodness, Bruce! It’s almost 5 in the evening!” 

High fever, hasn’t eaten, can’t bear to be up on his feet for very long... no wonder he looked on the verge of death. 

You excuse yourself to the kitchen and go about making a quick meal, hoping that Bruce had the stomach to keep it all down. You had yet to stop and think about whether you were intruding too much on Bruce’s personal space again, your worries for his health managing to trump even that. If he was upset with you for trying to take care of him, he would have tough luck making you feel bad about it.

You’re relieved that he’s sitting up and looking a little more awake when you return. “I made you soup. Can you eat it?” 

He looks between you and the bowl you carry to his bedside, shoulders slouched with the effort to stay upright, “You made that?”

“Yeah, ‘s not hard. My mom taught it to me.” You kneel by his bedside with spoon in hand, fully ready to feed him if he got too fussy, but he didn’t seem like he had the strength to put up a fight in this state. A compliant Bruce was a rare and appreciated variant, indeed.

“I can take it,” you deposit the bowl into his hands with his reassurance and watch him carefully to be sure, “...thank you.”

While Bruce eats, you take the time to really, truly examine his room. Bruce’s bedroom had the bare bones of old money that was a running theme throughout the tower, modified with the personal touches he’d added over the years: blackout curtains, a computer system to rival the Batcave’s, and clothes thrown everywhere. It was the furthest thing from what you’d imagined someone like Bruce Wayne’s room would look like. 

The most surprising thing is his drawings pinned above his desk. The charcoal sketches are of buildings, concepts for Bat tech, and strangers, each having a simple but striking quality to them. You’d seen Bruce doodle on paperwork before, and sometimes he’d put together blueprints and floor layouts on the fly, but you’d never seen him truly draw.

When Bruce’s bowl is half drained, you decide to wander over to the wall and ask him about them, “Do you draw often?”

Bruce flushes at that, having not noticed your wandering eyes while eating. “I used to. I don’t really find the time anymore.”

“That’s a shame. If it wasn’t for the Batman, we’d probably have Gotham’s very own da Vinci on our hands.” Bruce looks scandalized at the thought. “What? You’d be the ultimate bachelor.”

“I’d rather everyone keep thinking I was some selfish recluse with a horrible secret.”

“No, you’d make it too easy for conspiracy theorists to guess that you’re Batman. If you lean into the handsome, sensitive artiste angle, no one would ever think you go around beating people up for fun.”

Bruce snorts, setting his spoon back into his bowl, “Since when do you care about how marketable of a bachelor I am?”

“My mom’s nurse is smitten with you. She also wanted to know if you were into medical professionals, but surely that’s not related.” Bruce just about chokes on his own spit. You hide a smile behind your hand. “Oh come on, Bruce. You must know a lot of people think you’re attractive.”

Annie hadn’t been the only one starstruck by the morning of Mayor Mitchell’s funeral—the hellish nightmare that it was—and the way social media buzzed with the first public sighting of the Wayne family’s heir in months. It was short-lived thanks to the Riddler’s interruption, but by then, you had already seen the reactions.

And then there was Selina Kyle, the stunning woman who’d stolen Bruce’s heart. Though you were positive she never saw under the mask, it was clear to you why it was so easy for Bruce to charm her. You don’t know where the two would’ve been now if she’d decided to stay, but God didn’t grant miracles just for you to be ungrateful.

Bruce blinks innocently. “They do?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

“...It’s not a concern of mine.” And it wasn’t that shocking. If it wasn’t for Alfred cutting his hair and cleaning up his shadow every once in a while, Bruce would look nowhere near the clean-shaven pretty boy the tabloids made him out to be. What actually blew your mind was that he was completely unaware of his effect on the single and searching of Gotham.

Stalking back to Bruce’s bed, you take a seat on the opposite side to face the bashful heir, “You’re telling me that a bombshell like Selina Kyle, who could frankly give all of Gotham’s elite a run for their money just by looks alone, kissed you twice and you don’t think that means something?”

“It wasn’t Bruce Wayne that she kissed, so... yes.”

“I- look, that’s not the point. The point is that mask or not, anyone with half a brain can see how alluring you are. Hell, if you really wanted to, you could be the most enviable playboy in the city. You could dog walk half of Gotham with that power, you know that?”

Bruce is not nearly as convinced or impassioned as you are, “I’m not interested in that. I never have been.”

In your short time working closely with Bruce, you’d observed the many types of people he was expected to rub shoulders with: politicians, higher ranking law enforcement, socialites, and mafiosos who all knew what it took to keep up appearances. The few times you’d exchanged niceties with them had been all you needed to understand why the public persona of Bruce Wayne was an untended one.

Bruce didn’t care about power or appearances. It was why he worked himself to the bone every night as someone else. Even now, you could see the itch under his skin to get back on the streets, as if he couldn’t stand the confines of the tower (of being Bruce Wayne) for too long. His love for this city outweighed it all.

There was just something so tender about that. Ready to dash into battle as the city’s savior when even he himself needed saving. Seeing him vulnerable to his own mortality for once brought out a side of him that felt too precious for anyone else to see, and perhaps that’s why he was so stubborn.

A laugh of disbelief escapes you just then, “Guess that means I’m the only one who gets to know what a catch you are.” In a way, if you were the only one to know this Bruce, you would... you would like to keep him all to yourself.

Bruce’s eyelashes softly flutter as he looks at you. 

God, what were you saying? Bruce’s cold must’ve been getting to you.

Any thoughts of taking back what you said only spelled for more embarrassment, so you willed your lips to stay closed, hanging onto your very last word in the silence. If anything, Bruce probably didn’t take you seriously. You said things like that all the time! 

You were the first one to break eye contact, unsurprisingly. “Do you need anything else? I don’t want to leave you here all by yourself.”

You expect Bruce to protest about that last bit, maybe argue that he was more than capable enough to take care of himself, but all he does is slink back under the covers, “Maybe a... wet towel. And some painkillers, in the drawer over there.”

And so you bustle about getting him exactly that. You make him take the painkillers with a hefty glass of water, and when he lays down to rest, you draw his sweaty bangs back from his forehead and place a cool cloth there instead. While his breathing was still stuffy, you hoped that it would clear up by morning. 

You hadn’t intended to stay long, really. Once Alfred came home, you’d leave the two to each other’s devices and hope that the Batman would be able to make an appearance once more, lest it be known that he was just a man. Yet, as you sit beside Bruce in his bed, swallowed by the comforting nighttime and his steady breathing, you hope that he can rest just a little longer. Be a man just a little longer. Not some bulletproof, terror of a boogeyman. 

Because he’s very clearly not, not when you’re watching him move too much for the covers to follow. Having to tuck him in again, wet the towel on his fevered skin again, walk him down the hall and back to bed again... he’s more human now than you’ve ever seen him allow himself to be.

When Alfred does get home, he’s not shocked to find you sitting up in bed with Bruce fast asleep against your side. You seem to be dozing off too, though you regain all consciousness when Alfred lightly knocks at the door. Before you can even get a word in, the butler gives you a warm smile, “Hope you didn’t have to fight tooth and nail to get him to eat. He doesn’t like me worrying over him anymore.”

“He’s surprisingly obedient when he’s sick. We’ve finally found something more stubborn than Bruce’s will.” As if he could hear the two of you talking about him, Bruce shifts in his sleep. “How come you didn’t tell me about the meeting? I could’ve gone for you.”

Alfred undoes his tie as if it was a reply all on its own, “And keep you from seeing your mother?”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me about Bruce being sick? I had to find out from the news that Batman’s been missing. I was worried.”

“I think you’re confused on who didn’t want you to know.”

You look down at Bruce once more, still resting quietly beside you, and you think about how easily he’d fallen asleep in your presence. A healthier Bruce might have batted away your attempts at caring for him and sent you home already, but instead, he let you in. By the time you’d fed him, he’d already let down the facade that he was fine. Was he just that unwell, or...?

“It’s quite late. Will you be staying the night?” Alfred asks, moving to collect some of Bruce’s clothes from the floor and toss them somewhere tidier. 

“I mean- I don’t want to impose, but you’ve already had a busy day. I don’t mind looking after Bruce for the night.”

“Are you sure? You’re only paid to do paperwork, not babysit. I’d take the out if I were you.”

You shake your head with a faint smile, “It’s fine. Bruce isn’t such bad company, sick or not.”

Alfred returns your smile, impossibly softer than you could even comprehend. Then, he leaves the room, shutting the door as quietly as he can behind him.

By morning, your only regrets are how stiff your neck is.

You wake up still seated in bed, leaning against the upholstered headboard for the smallest bit of comfort, and Bruce is no longer right beside you. The sheets from where he’d fallen asleep are thrown back as if he’d woken up in a hurry.

Just as you consider getting up yourself, said boss of yours enters the room... shirtless, brushing his teeth. “Morning.” He greets through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“M-Morning... I assume you’re feeling better.”

In an attempt to ignore Bruce’s (less pathetic) state of undress, you crawl out of bed and toward the windows, pulling back one of the curtains to get an idea of the time of day. Bruce returns to his en suite to rinse. You’re thankful that he comes back with a shirt on this time.

“I am. I owe it to your mother. For the soup, I mean.”

You could picture your mom’s face upon hearing that the Bruce Wayne had complimented her recipe, and suddenly you couldn’t wait to visit her again, “Maybe hearing that her soup saved a Wayne from certain demise will make her reconsider giving you a piece of her mind.”

Oh, if only you had a camera. The comically innocent look that Bruce sends your way makes him look 10 years younger, “She doesn’t like me?” He keeps a steady handle on his voice, but you notice it’s gone up a pitch.

“She thinks I’m overworked, that’s all. She just wants me to visit more.”

Bruce’s shoulders droop, apologetic. “As a thank you for yesterday, I should give you today off as well. Go see her again. Without distractions this time.”

You really needed to talk him up to your mom now. It wouldn’t be fair if she continued to hold a grudge at this point... seeing the panic on Bruce’s face was worth it, though. “Really? Thanks, Bruce. I promise I will try to get you into her good graces-” You’re suddenly interrupted by a tickling moving up your throat, to your nostrils, and then-!

You heave a strong sneeze. The look you share with Bruce is worth a thousand words.

[har-rison-s]

mask & seek: 11

batman x fem!reader

based on: Hello! May I request Battinson x SpiderWoman!Reader fic where she's from the MCU but then she ends up in Battinson's universe and meets him? Maybe he doesn't trust her at first but once she saves him from something, he relents then begins to trust her and maybe then a relationship ensues?? Thank you so much and have a great day!! ❤

author's note: woohoooooooooo. have you guys seen moon knight??? I’m kinda only watching for steven, cause with the third episode the show lost its quality to me. but all the episodes haven’t been released yet, so I’ll try and not to judge it as much until then. but! I do love steven. and it’s taking such a huge effort in me to not abandon this story and start writing for him. god, it’s so hard. but I love bruce. I should also finish visitation hours… and finally update your good will bcs st4 is coming out in more than a month but omg. I just can’t, I can’t tap into steve. christ. I hate my procrastination and not finishing stories. im sorry for it all. happy reading!

main masterlist

bruce wayne masterlist

part ten

word count: 4.7k

warnings: nothing really i think

gif credit goes to owner!

“so, y/n, what do you do? besides the vigilante night shifts.” alfred asks. ah, the usual question she was just waiting for. sat around the very table bruce said he and alfred have meals at usually in the beautiful hall, y/n feels welcome in the company of these two men. though she can’t escape the feeling that she’s having a very important, formal meal with them, and that this is a test of some sort.

the sun up right at its mid-day peak shines through the gothically-decorated windows of the hall, breaking through in yellow and orange rays, which tickle her skin and eyes. she scoots over to her left on the very fancy chair and clears her throat as she does so, not wanting to raise an alarm in either alfred or bruce. “i’m a barista,” she answers nonchalantly, a light smile on her face, “at, uh… saint jeremiah’s.”

alfred nods. suddenly y/n feels awkward about her workplace. she doesn’t know what bruce and alfred do as work that pays all their extremely expensive bills for living here, but it must be something that pays big time. they can’t just live in an urban mansion like this, make all these weapons, tools and vehicles, and suits for bruce and now her, too, without a well-paying job. and it’s hard to find those in america if you don’t get lucky.

but, as she found out from bruce, his father was a rich and well-known man here in gotham, and bruce inherited all the money and, she guesses, reputation from him. so perhaps it was just his luck to be this… wealthy. she can’t say she’s not a little envious of that. if her parents had been rich and she could have lived in a mansion like this, woah, her life would have been a lot easier. and she appreciates all that bruce has done for her so far, she sees now that he does it out of the good of his heart. he really cares for her.

but taking her background, her life, her family circumstances, she still feels weird about it. partly she feels like it’s all not serious enough, partly she feels that she doesn’t deserve it, and another part of her thinks bruce is doing too much, and perhaps he even wants something in return. but it doesn’t seem that way. after she told him the truth about how she’s wound up living in gotham, there’s no asking in his eyes anymore. there is curiosity, but not the kind egoistic and ill-meaning men have. best believe y/n knows that look well.

“ah, the one right by the courthouse, is it?” alfred asks, his voice full of genuineness, and y/n nods. “must be a pleasant crowd that comes there, then?”

“mostly yes,” y/n answers, “though, because this is gotham, mornings are much better than the evenings. not to say we’re all morning people, but there’s less of the dangerous types around in the early hours of the morning.” she explains. alfred nods again, and bruce feels like he’s entered the conversation once again. he’s been coming to and fro, slipping in and out of talking and listening. not that he does that on purpose, his thoughts are just racing all the time. and watching y/n converse with alfred is a sight he never knew he couldn’t get enough of. two of the most important people in his life, and it’s safe to say they’re getting on well. it makes his heart swell.

“there should be some security with the courthouse and everything, no?” bruce asks her, slightly worried.

y/n looks at him with her bright eyes, feeling his concern by the look on bruce’s face. “well, there is, but they’re mostly looking after the courthouse,” y/n tells him, “since there’s always demolishers and trouble-makers around, they’re pretty busy.” she sighs, her eyes now falling to her plate and the fork she keeps moving around it. “if i wanted the attention of the world on me, i’d just put my skills and abilities to use when those types come around, but since that’s the last thing i want, i don’t.” she admits.

alfred hums. “must be hard to keep that restraint,” he says and y/n nods along, “bruce tends to forget himself in that aspect, he especially did at the very beginning.” alfred looks to bruce, and he gives his godfather the look of annoyance and disbelief. y/n chuckles, but seriousness remains like a veil across her face.

“i can imagine,” y/n says and glances at bruce momentarily before continuing. she knows that alfred’s put him on the spot, sort-of, and he doesn’t enjoy being exposed like that. so she continues, “i used to have that when i first had my powers, it was in high school.” she feels comfortable enough sharing with alfred. she looks to the older man, finding the look in his eyes very comforting. “used to hate P.E. with all my body, and i still do. hated the entire concept of it, couldn’t do anything properly, hated myself for it, you know.” she leans with her back into the chair. bruce admires the look in her eyes while she talks. “but as soon as i got my powers, i could do anything. i suddenly had incredible reflexes, coordination, strength, speed, agility—everything,” she reminisces of that time, memories playing back in her eyes like a slideshow of pictures, “and suddenly i could get good grades in P.E., i could even excel and be top of the class, even go on competitions. but i couldn’t, couldn’t i? it would have been wrong.” y/n sighs and looks to her plate again. “so i stayed little ole, helpless, weak me. had to put on quite the performance for the last two and a half years of high school.” she sits up again.

bruce feels for her. it’s not like his skills in fighting came over night, it was alfred who taught him everything, but he knows what that’s like. he knows people probably assume two things—either they assume he is good with his fists and is sporting quite the figure underneath the suits he wears on those rare occasions out in public; or they assume that he’s just a weak man hiding behind his father’s power and money who couldn’t raise one fist to fight for injustice or himself. but he can’t exactly show those skills in combination with his public persona, can he? he and alfred would be exposed immediately once people connected the dots.

“i guess it’s different for you,” alfred says kindly, matter-of-factly, and y/n picks up immediately on how he means that. she nods, “high school’s a tough time, as i hear it.”

“you didn’t go?” y/n asks in wonder, thinking how that would be possible for a man of his character and knowledge. alfred chuckles.

“oh, i did,” he says, “just not a public high school.” he clarifies and sends y/n a wink. she chuckles at herself and bruce grins at that faintly.

“me and alfred went to the same one,” bruce butts into the conversation again, turning y/n’s attention to him. she raises her eyebrows in a tell-me-more manner, “blackheath high school in england.” oh? bruce keeps getting more and more interesting with each thing that he says. how interesting, y/n thinks.

“your father did, as well,” alfred adds, “that’s how our families got to know each other. me and your father were close as brothers then already,” he makes a smile at bruce. his godson nods at him, feeling a bit on the spot again, as he always does when his father is the topic of any conversation. even in light-hearted situations like this one. he always feels some sort of pressure or loom hanging over his head at the mention of him, “what about you, y/n? your father have any friends he still keeps close contact with?” alfred looks to the woman, but she looks away, her eyes widening for a few seconds as she thinks of the best way to handle this answer.

“oh, i wouldn’t know,” she says with a slight shake of her head. bruce’s ears prick up more at her words. she’s never talked about either of her parents before, and neither has he asked about them. the topic’s never really come up before, and now it has. her eyes have a glaze over them that bruce can’t exactly place, “never knew my father.” she shrugs.

alfred feels awkward. “my apologies. i didn’t mean to bring up anything you don’t want to talk about.” he tells her immediately. y/n shakes her head fiercer now, she doesn’t want the man to feel bad about his innocent question.

“it’s fine,” she assures him, “it’s not taboo or anything.” she clarifies. “a lot of kids have grown up without a father, and i’m just one of them. i only ever had my mother.” y/n sighs, and her posture changes again—bruce notices—she sinks into her chair as though to close off from the two men, from this conversation. it’s not exactly intentional. “up until a point, she was working a lot of… different jobs,” y/n continues, and bruce sees her eyes and face having a certain expression. he can’t place it, again. perhaps because it’s emotions he’s not had to encounter before, “to raise me, to pay rent. hasn’t always been easy.”

she’s not telling him everything, obviously, it is her intention, and he realises that. he respects it. but there’s something about her mother, something really integral that she’s not revealing to him yet. perhaps she never will, and perhaps it should stay like that. if it’s truly too troubling or painful for her, he won’t push it. but something—perhaps that sense he’s picked up from her—is telling him it’s important to the character.

and now he also realises why her attitude towards money is what it is. she feels awkward and imposing to accept his money, his kindness, his gifts to her. and no wonder. she did tell him “because of how i grew up, and some other things”, if he remembers correctly. that conversation happened just over an hour or two ago now. and their conversation last night, about the clothes and underwear, and even the ice cream. it’s hard for her to accept all of that for free. perhaps she feels undeserving of such kindness and gifts free of charge—bruce would disagree; in his eyes she deserves much more, what he’s given her already is the very least of what she deserves—perhaps something in her doesn’t let her enjoy things free of charge that come to her out of the good of someone’s heart.

to conclude, she’s just as fragile and embedded with sufferings and a tough life as he is. though he has always had the money to do whatever he wishes—that’s what makes them different. and perhaps bruce has had a better support system than y/n, but he doesn’t know that.

“she’s done quite the good job of raising you,” alfred tells y/n in an almost congratulatory tone of voice. she gives him a half-smile. the man didn’t really know what to say at first, because he’s never been in that kind of situation, so he does what he does best—offer her some comforting, encouraging words, “we’re not blind to those horrible things happening here, in gotham,” alfred says, “whatever we can, we do. but bruce is always busy with something else to look through and accept any real deals.” he points out.

bruce sighs. it’s true, what alfred says, and bruce wants to help the city and its very weaklings more every day. but his mind is always miles away. and he believes that batman does some, if not most, of that already. help those who cannot help themselves. y/n gives him a look, wondering what alfred means, wondering what reasons bruce has for that absence. “gotham doesn’t like to stand up to all the crime and injustice that goes on every day,” bruce finally says, and his voice has changed to that of his vigilante persona. y/n nearly sighs. it’s strange to see him in regular clothes, without the dark circles around his eyes, speaking in that voice, “i’ll get more involved, i promise, alfred.” he looks to his godfather, who nods.

“no need to justify yourself to me, dear boy,” alfred tells him, and y/n nearly melts. alfred’s fatherly affection to bruce comes out beautifully whenever it does. but it’s not alfred that bruce was justifying himself in front of, or for. it was y/n, who bruce’s eyes flick towards with meaning in them. y/n gives him a light smile and nod.

“maybe i can help,” y/n suggests half-seriously, “accept those deals instead of bruce and get things going.” she says, and shoots bruce a playful wink. he is amused, too, but not quite as much as she is. she’s sort of made him look a little incompetent in his role in wayne industries, but he doesn’t take it to heart.

alfred smiles wide, “you know, i like you enough to accept that,” he tells her, which gets them both laughing. bruce makes a grin in the midst of their laughter, “to the eyes of the public, you could be the visual for wayne enterprises, and bruce could take a long, long vacation.” alfred adds on.

“oh no, he’d be my assistant,” y/n corrects alfred and shoots bruce a wink again. he shakes his head, “my translator, business language to english.” she says and laughs again. alfred chuckles, and bruce eventually cracks up and utters a chuckle himself. he doesn’t know how seriously these two have taken y/n’s suggestion, but if it’s serious to the very brim, bruce wouldn’t know a better person besides y/n to take his place as the leader of wayne enterprises. only alfred, but he made it clear long ago that he has no desire or intention to be that public, be that important to the company. though he already is more important than bruce, with all the work he’s doing already.

after lunch, it’s safe to say y/n and alfred get along very well. just like bruce expected and wanted them to. while one of the kitchen boys was clearing the lunch table, alfred took y/n up to his study and the library—which bruce had already shown her, but that didn’t matter to either of them—and showed her around more. did a better job than bruce could have, because he’s not that informed with the placement of everything in the library, in the study, or in the vinyl collection.

the most beautiful moment of the day, perhaps, one of bruce’s favourite moments in his entire life is when alfred put on voices of spring waltz, op.410 by johann strauss, and asked y/n for a dance. bruce never knew she could dance—another topic that hadn’t come up in their countless conversations before—and he couldn’t stop watching them dance. how alfred kept playfully switching between the regular waltz and the vienna waltz, the faster one, every once in a while, keeping up with the rhythmic changes of the composed piece.

how she twirled, and how her hair swayed along with her. how she smiled and laughed at alfred and his movements and how he turned her here and there, sometimes unexpectedly. in contrast to the sadder conversation the three of them had held during lunch, about her parents and her childhood—quite a sobering conversation for bruce—she looked happier than ever. so contagiously happy that bruce could not keep away, and joined their waltz dancing. of course he knows that it’s a two-person dance, but with the men’s agile movements and y/n’s instincts and ability, they made a three-person waltz work. twirling and turning y/n here and there, making the dance steps side by side and in a circle instead of directly facing each other—it all worked and made the three of them laugh a lot.

bruce already reminisces of those beautiful moments now, hours later, as he lays with his head in y/n’s lap on their shared riddance bed, y/n reading a book in silence and bruce drawing or writing in his notebook. uncharacteristically so, y/n hasn’t said a word since they entered the room. well, apart from some necessary for companionship few words. but she hasn’t said anything about how the lunch was for her, what she thinks of alfred, how she feels—absolutely nothing about that matter. and it’s kind of worrying bruce.

what also worries him in her behaviour is how reluctant she is suddenly. no hands in bruce’s hair, neither of her hands are touching him at all. she hasn’t made a move to kiss him, hasn’t made a move to get closer to him. and it’s not only bruce’s touch-starved nature that raises worry about this in him. it’s also the aspect of how well he knows her in general. she likes to be touching him, more than he allows himself to touch her, regularly. bruce always feels awkward about initiating it, but maybe he should. perhaps that’s what she expects of him now, having gone into this weird behaviour of hers.

maybe she’s just too exhausted to socialise, even with him. even though she’s usually the sociable person out of the two of them. maybe, which bruce hopes to be untrue, she’s upset with him, or mad at him for some reason, for the time being, unknown to him. what could it be? he can’t recall anything that he said or did was wrong. and it’s so hard to read her. perhaps it’s because he’s gotten to know more of her, that the parts he still doesn’t know, are a complete mystery to him. it’s strange. bruce doesn’t exactly know what to do.

he doesn’t know that her brain and heart are nearly bubbling over the edge with all her thoughts and feelings. he can’t possibly feel or sense that, even with how well he knows her. but y/n’s been an active, rumbling volcano ever since that door of this room closed behind her and bruce. one question, one word put in the wrong place, could cause an entire eruption of that volcano. and neither of them need that. but she can’t help her rushing thoughts.

private high schools. a well-known philanthropist, surgeon father. a gothic mansion in the outskirts of gotham. more money than anyone else. tools, weapons, instruments, vehicles, devices for anything he might need. impenetrable suits that intimidate those without one. gifts without end. it’s an alien world to her. and she can’t quite place how she ended up here, inside it.

“are you… tired?” bruce interrupts their silence that grows more and more tense with each second. his voice in a guessing tone, as if he doesn’t know if that question is the exact right one to ask. bruce lays on her stomach with his chest now, looking up at her through her book, even though he can’t see her face. he’s sure he knows it well enough to know where her eyes are, though.

y/n doesn’t move her eyes off the book she’s reading as she answers, “a little.” she admits to him. short, colder than usual. something’s definitely off, and bruce’s heart falls to the pit of his stomach as he realises that. it’s definitely something to do with him. only what? and maybe asking her what exactly it is in him, or in anything he’s said or done that upsets her so much—because he’s willing to change; for her, if for anyone at all—will be worse than what he’s feeling between himself and her right now. how can he know without trying it out?

it’s killing him, this not knowing of what’s wrong, of what’s behind her stale mood. but he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. he wants things to be better between them, and he can’t guess why they’ve grown so tense and unbearable now. he doesn’t know what to do. scared to take the first step, scared to leave things how they are because they might escalate, scared of the matter she’s upset about being unchangeable. he’s stuck.

bruce lays his cheek on her clothed chest now. “did i do something wrong?” he finally asks her, having gained enough courage and also having realised that she means more to him than having an argument, in the most fragile voice she’s ever heard him speak before. she can hear fear, anxiety and self-doubt in his voice, even in those very few words spoken.

y/n stares ahead in her book, taken aback by his question, and taken aback once again in how well he knows her already. he knows something’s up, and she appreciates that. but can she bring herself to tell him what’s up with her, and why she’s feeling the way she is? y/n sighs courtly, and keeps her book as a shield between her and bruce, realising that’s an easier way to talk to him about her feelings than if she would be looking right at him. why has she become so closed-off to him all of a sudden, though? she doesn’t know. “no,” she says with a gentle shake of his head, her voice quiet.

really? then why is she not talking to him at all? not telling him how she feels? “then what is it?” he asks her. bruce rests his chin on her stomach again, she feels its pointy character digging softly into her skin. she sighs. he’s relentless, and she knows that about him. perhaps this is the first time she really notices that because it’s expressed directly towards her. and he doesn’t ask these questions like he does when they’re both interrogating a criminal at night. this is different. because this issue is much more personal to him.

y/n closes her book and places it at her side, now greeted first and foremost with bruce’s anxious, caring face. not so far from her own, and she feels even closer to tears now. she hates feeling like this. bruce laying in her hold is bugging her, bothering her for the first time ever. his eyes on her are suddenly too much, and she doesn’t know why. everything was fine with him just a few hours ago. her attitude has changed so suddenly, it bothers her to no end. she doesn’t want to be upset, doesn’t feel entitled to be so, but she is. and perhaps, after all, she should be.

she tries to keep her tears at bay. she doesn’t need to cry now. “nothing that you can change,” she tells him in a shaky whisper, only meeting his eyes for a fleeting second. she turns away then, pulling her legs up and away from under his weight. but bruce places his palms on her thighs and stops her movements. she looks at him again, slightly frightened, “bruce.”

“tell me what’s wrong,” he tells her and hopes the words didn’t sound like a beg. his eyes are sure, they’re set on her as he is set on uncovering the secret behind her change in behaviour, “please. if there’s anything i can do or change, i w—”

y/n shakes her head and rolls her eyes, “there’s nothing you can do,” she says, slight fury in her voice, “already told you. even with… everything that you have, especially with it, you can’t change it.” she says. you can’t change, she thinks to herself. but even in her upset mood, she knows that would be said too much. she damns herself for even thinking those words and their meaning.

“then talk to me, please,” bruce doesn’t care anymore that he sounds like he’s begging, he doesn’t care how desperate his voice gets. this is important to him. she is important to him, “just talk to me.” his voice grows quiet, to the volume of a whisper, and he feels himself on the verge of tears suddenly. he gulps as he looks up at her still, just pleading for her to understand that he’s here to help, that he doesn’t mean her any harm.

y/n shakes her head, runs her hands over her face, all to keep herself from crying out, and just sighs. the tears are coming, but she won’t let them take over. she won’t. she can’t. “not now,” she tells him finally, her eyes looking away from his—anywhere, the ceiling, her hands, her book to the side—and he can hear her fragility in her voice. he feels for her, “tomorrow. i’m… too tired now.” she tells him finally.

bruce nods. he wants to get to the bottom of it as soon as possible, now would be the perfect time. but if she’s asking him for tomorrow morning, he will respect that, and he will wait. so he nods and lays a kiss on her hand out of pure affection. her eyes fill with tears suddenly at that gentle gesture, and her lip quivers as her emotions take over and want to unleash their full wrath on her. but she won’t let them. she mustn’t. bruce kisses her hand again, kisses all over it—her palms, her fingers, her knuckles—and it really brings y/n over the edge, her lip quivering further and further until tears spill out of her eyes, over her cheeks.

she loves him. it’s the first time she admits that to herself. she loves him, she knows she does. she doesn’t want to push him away, she doesn’t want to hurt him. she wants to be close to him as possible at all times, know him more and more, bare her entire self to him. and yet she can’t help but feel out of place. she can’t help but feel like a complete alien with him, in his world, in his home. so different from hers.

night begins to grow across gotham like a big, dark cape, the darkness creeping into every inch of bruce and y/n’s room—curtains, walls, the floor, the bed and its accessories—and so bruce turns off the bed-side lamp, puts the book on the nightstand, and crawls over y/n again. her form trembles as she makes quiet sobs in the dark now, hiding her face in her hands, and bruce doesn’t shush her now. he lets her let it all out, because he can tell she needs it.

he doesn’t intrude on her personal space anymore with questions or words at all. he just holds her, pulls the covers over them both, knowing that it’ll be too hot with both them underneath, but also knowing that when y/n cries, she tends to grow cold all over. the warmth will be good for her. he caresses her hair with his hand and just listens to her soft yet intense cries. on one hand, he hates to hear and see her cry—it breaks his heart. but then again, he can tell she needs that release. pent-up emotions, perhaps frustrations with herself and the world, need to be let out sometime. and so it’s soothing for him that she seemingly gets that relief now. at least he thinks she’s getting it. in reality, he doesn’t really know.

at some point in the darkness growing ever-present and unavoidable in the room, y/n cries fade to silence, and bruce discovers she’s fallen asleep. being tired himself, and being with her, bruce soon falls asleep, too, with her still in his arms. he’s glad about how peaceful she is in her sleep, even if the problem between them is unresolved, even if he doesn’t still yet know the reason she cried so hard, and why she cried at all.

y/n knows bruce is a heavy sleeper, and she adores it. she hates to be taking advantage of that now, in the night hours, when she slips out of his heavy hold and gets up from their bed. she bids herself not to cry any tears as she picks up her few stuff and wraps it up in a ball she can easily carry. she ignores the tears that fall as she opens and closes the bedroom door in the quietest way possible, and she hates causing that sharp pang in her heart that happens as the door quietly thuds closed behind her.

she doesn’t want to leave him, and least of all wants to hurt him with her leave. but this is so not her world. this is not her place. there's too many differences between him and her. and she can’t bare it any longer.

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[har-rison-s]

mask & seek: 13

batman x fem!reader

based on: Hello! May I request Battinson x SpiderWoman!Reader fic where she's from the MCU but then she ends up in Battinson's universe and meets him? Maybe he doesn't trust her at first but once she saves him from something, he relents then begins to trust her and maybe then a relationship ensues?? Thank you so much and have a great day!! ❤

author's note: hello. this took me 9-10hours and i still think the ending sucks BUT oh well. am i gonna rewrite it ??? no. i think you guys will like it, the chapter has a nice surprise over-all, hihi, and i'm too tired and running out of time to rewrite this chapter. ngl, i have some really good moments here in my writing, and i hope you guys will see them and appreciate them :) thank u sm on the feedback, as always, i love you all. happy reading!!1

main masterlist

bruce wayne masterlist

part twelve

part fourteen

word count: 13.1k

warnings: LONGGG!!! hope it doesn't bore anyone. also smut!! p in v sex, oral sex on f, fingers in mouth, emotional sex, praise, creampie, all the good stuff yk B)

gif credit goes to owner!

bruce knows he can’t follow her. physically it’s impossible, because he’s not like her, and he’d lose a lot of time getting down on the street and onto his bike. even though there is the urge to try out the new wings he recently made, but he hasn’t even tried them out in a safer environment before, so it would be foolish and lethal to try them out now to follow her.

but he also knows where she’ll be at the end of the night. it disappoints and upsets him that she’s chosen not to meet him at their usual rendez-vous and is, instead, apparently swinging around gotham and fighting for justice on her own. it eats away at him, and he’s rightfully upset as, again, he has no explanation from her about it. did she just play him for a fool? did she lie to him?

she didn’t exactly promise to meet him. that day at her work, or any later day. she said she doesn’t know if she can ever meet him again, and she didn’t say anything after he promised to be at their place every night. she didn’t say anything. so she didn’t lie, either.

alfred’s voice is in bruce’s head again, saying she just needs time. and that he’ll scare her away if he intrudes on that space, on that time with herself. but he can’t wait any longer. it’s been nearly a week since that day at her workplace. he saw her, right now, slinging across the train tracks and the street below them. bruce almost thinks she did it for show, having the knowledge that he’ll be on location, and will be seeing her from it.

it’s only a few minutes past eleven thirty, which means she will be done with her night shift soon. on the nights bruce couldn’t make it, she usually went out at nine or ten by herself. and even though bruce never told her that, he worried for each of those nights about her, and secretly didn’t want her to go. but she’s quicker than him, and has powers, and can’t stay away from saving citizens longer than a day. she’s been out nearly every night, and only on the occasions of particularly heavy work shifts has she passed on the opportunity.

bruce guesses she’s addicted to that. saving people, putting criminals to justice, giving them what they deserve—it gets her off. it’s not the adrenaline anymore, it’s her usual nightly routine. her alcohol, her drug, her cigarette.

judging by the time he has left, bruce gets moving off the train platform. he jogs down each little set of stairs, feeling a little stupid doing it, but does it nonetheless, until he’s finally on the street level and makes his way towards that alley he parked his bike in. what is she doing out there alone? has she gone out alone before, in these six days she hasn’t met up with him? does she not want to work with him again? does she not want anything to do with him, knowing that he’ll be waiting every night for her, anyway?

she’s become a bigger mystery to him again, and it’s safe to say that bruce is bubbling over with emotions as he trudges up the fire escape stairs and unlocks the window to her living room with a little metal hook. just a small thing he always keeps in his pocket, in case he needs to break in somewhere. yes, he is intruding, and he feels like he’s intruding, rightfully so, but it doesn’t feel the least bit wrong. he has to do this. he has to see her. he has to talk to her.

he closes the window and locks it from the inside so she wouldn’t suspect anything as she’ll come in later. he doesn’t want to spook her, much less give her a heart attack, he just wants her raw and true like she always is, without any prejudice about what might have happened to her window, or who has entered it.

bruce sits down on her sofa, the one she sat him down in all those nights ago, on their first real meeting, their first solid interaction. sitting in the exact spot he was then, bruce feels memories of that night flooding in, and they play like a little short movie before his eyes. how he watched her attend to his wounds, how he helped her clean hers up, it was on her thigh. how she sat next to him and touched his hair, asking questions and telling him random different things.

he remembers how soothed he was by her. she made him immediately feel at peace, and he trusted her almost immediately, as well. she was kind to him, didn’t know and didn’t care who he was. she just wanted to be equal with him—she took off her mask, and requested he do the same. no question about his name or anything, she just needed him to understand how trust for her works. even though that instinct of hers told her to trust him already.

tears gather in his eyes at those thoughts of her. the memories are too strong, too close to his heart, even closer than he’d like to admit. so much so that he nearly misses her coming home. he only hears her sigh of effort when she’s already jumped onto her living room floor, and at that noise, bruce snaps his head towards her. true enough, she’s still in her spider-woman suit, and she’s pulled off her mask. she doesn’t gasp in shock or surprise at the sight of him there, or at the quick turn of his head, her spidey-sense having kicked in again and she sensed another presence in the flat before she even came in. but she furrows her eyebrows, and focuses more on bruce, thinking, for just a moment, that she might be hallucinating and that he’s not really there. but he is. and though his eyes are dark, bright tears shine in the corners of them.

“what are you doing here?” y/n asks and strides over to him, her mask in hand before she leaves it on the coffee table. she turns around and draws her curtains, then, wanting privacy from anyone who might be watching from now on. bruce watches her all the while, his breaths beginning to grow heavier.

“why were you out there alone?” bruce asks her finally, and y/n shakes her head at his voice. the brooding, intimidating growl of batman is in it. she turns back to face him. his eyes are looking right into hers, nearly boring holes into them, into her, as if wanted to do that.

y/n shakes her head again, “if you wanna talk, you’re gonna have to take off your mask.” she tells him quietly, fearing that it’s not her place to request something. that she’s undeserving even of such a little, but important thing. she doesn’t want to talk to batman, she wants to talk to bruce. with batman comes this great act, and so much more bravery than bruce has on the regular. she looks up at him from her hands. “it’s just you and me. and i don’t need batman now.”

infuriated and impatient, bruce pulls the cowl off so fast it makes a scratch in the side of his head, but he pays no attention to it, only making a small wince in reaction. y/n must say he looks like he usually does. and by usual, she means the black smear around his eyes that can’t hide the purplish bags under them, which are evidence of sleepless nights. no wonder. she didn’t see those on him while she was at the manor with him, because he slept through each night with her.

but the fury and threatening volcano eruption on his face takes her back a little. she hopes that anger isn’t towards her, but she knows that it probably is. she feels awkward, and embarrassed, and out of place. she sighs and walks over to her kitchen island, ten feet at best to bruce’s left. he watches her go and he unsnaps his cape, leaving it on the back of the sofa, and then he pushes his kevlar suit off himself one by one, trying to do it fast. y/n fixes herself something to drink from her fridge all the while, and she makes another full glass, in case bruce wants some, too.

if she doesn’t want batman now, that’s what he’ll give her. he walks over to her in the kitchen only after the batman parts of his suit are off, including the flattening jacket. he’s now dressed in a t-shirt, jeans and socks, feeling both out of place and exactly at home, dressed like that in her apartment. y/n watches him come up to her, that glass of a drink in her hand lifted up to her face, where the cold beverage is cooling her cheek. she looks at him with anxious, but tired eyes.

“why were you out there alone?” bruce asks her after he situates himself across her, his back leaning into the kitchen island as hers is leaned against her counter. y/n sighs.

“i wasn’t fighting alone,” she tells him quietly, “i was just swinging around, clearing my head. nothing more.” she sighs and looks into her glass. “not that you should know what i’m up to,” y/n shakes her head. bruce’s nostrils flare.

“i should know,” he argues.

“what, are you gonna ground me for fighting some low-lives on my own?” y/n’s upset towards bruce has quickly turned into anger. perhaps she’s pissed off by him, by all the things he chooses to be blind to when he’s not batman. bruce gives her eyes with such fire in them. but also defeat. he knows he can’t ground her, or tell her what to do and what not to do. it’s not his right, not his place, and not his choice to make, after all. she knows that, too, of course. “bruce, you can’t keep me away from the world.” she says, and has to admit that saying his name caused her heart a little pain.

he looks straight at her now, those fiery, defeated eyes now concentrated on something more precise. “is that what you thought i was doing?” he asks her. “is that why you left? you thought i was keeping you locked in with me?”

y/n shakes her head as her eyes close. he really is blind to the things she thought he was. she has always been right about him, but he – nearly never about her. “no, i didn’t think that,” y/n tells him. then what? “and that’s not why i left.”

“then why did you?” bruce asks, and the volume his voice reaches frightens y/n, so much so that she looks at him with widened eyes. bruce sees them, and wants to apologise immediately, wants to take that back. “why did you leave? why didn’t you say anything? why didn’t you come meet me all these nights? i waited for you.” his eyes fill with tears again, those previous ones having dried beforehand already. bruce’s lip trembles. “why didn’t you just… tell me? how you felt, what was wrong?”

y/n is too impatient with bruce, with herself, with his questions. “because it’s hard to!” she says. “even despite my instinct, despite everything that we’ve gone through together, i still don’t know if i can open up to you like that!” she looks into his eyes again. it saddens her that there’s no ounce of understanding in them, only confusion. “i told you that it’s nothing you can change, but maybe it is now… i don’t know.”

“y/n, just tell me, please,” bruce says and takes those two steps closer to her, so he can cradle her cheeks in his hands and be closer to her. he sticks to her like a magnet, and she has the urge to wrap her hands around his form, too, and pull him close as possible. but she fights it, not wanting to let this conversation go to waste, “i…” bruce gulps, “i want you... to be with me. whether we’re working, or—or reading together, or listening to music, or whatever else—i just want you here with me.” or whatever else. bruce shakes his head, his forehead gently bumping against hers. tears have filled y/n’s eyes now, too. she can hear in his voice how much she’s hurt him, and it breaks her heart. she didn’t mean to. she never did. “this isn’t easy for me, either, i’ve never…” he sighs shortly, his head making a gentle shake, “i’ve never had anyone like you before in my life. and i don’t want to lose you.”

did he really just say that to her? y/n can hardly believe her ears. does he mean those words? he wouldn’t be saying them if he didn’t, to be fair. y/n squeezes her eyes shut to avoid crying, but her tears spill all the same. bruce feels the ragged breath she takes, he feels how it makes her whole form tremble under him. y/n wipes at her tears with her hand and sobs, “i’m sorry,” she tells him, “i didn’t want to hurt you.” she says in wails. “i just… couldn’t take it anymore. we’re too different, bruce. your world is so much more different than mine.” y/n says and wipes her tears again. she hates that she can’t talk about this without crying.

bruce takes it as in the sense that she’s gotten to gotham from a different world physically, but again, it’s evidence that things like that fly over his head so easily. “what do you mean?” he asks her and leans back a little, unconsciously giving her space. he even pulls his hands away from her, leaving her completely untouched for now. for however long she needs.

y/n is quiet for a while as she gathers herself. every word that she had planned to tell him at some point now seems to bring more and more sobs, pain and tears from her. it’s hard talking that way. “i mean… look at how you’re living,” she says. the mansion, the wealth, the family legacy, “all i ever had was a small basement flat in queens,” she tells him, and her voice grows squeaky in a wail towards the end, “my mother had to work… terrible, absolutely inhuman jobs to pay the rent, get us food. with no one to help us.” y/n sobs and hides her face in her hands from bruce. he doesn’t touch her, being able to tell that she really doesn’t need that right now. “only after… she died did i find out that i have an aunt. they weren’t on good terms, but she took me in immediately. even though she had no idea how to raise a kid.” y/n sighs, and shakes her head. “i can see… by the way you behave, how and where you live, that you don’t know what that’s like. you haven’t worked a day in your life. everything that you have has come easy to you.” she looks up into his eyes.

bruce can’t deny he feels upset by those words. never had to work a day in his life… but he doesn’t get the type of work y/n means. building tools, devices, suits and vehicles in the abandoned station named after your parents with all the money you have from thin air is work to him, but it’s not work in reality, is it? that’s just money spending, the complete opposite of work.

“i haven’t had a day since my eighteenth birthday in which i haven’t had to work, or fight for what’s important to me.” y/n tells him. she won’t go into detail about her mother and how she died, or about her best friend, who met the same fate. he doesn’t need to know that. it doesn’t really have anything to do with this conversation. “that’s where you and me are different. i don’t expect you to understand, but…” she shakes her head, “you asked, since you... clearly can’t understand what you don’t know, so here it is. that’s why i left.” she looks into his eyes again. “that’s why i have a complicated relationship with money.”

bruce nods, his eyes faltering away from hers. now that she’s told him about her childhood, or at least some part of it—it seems there’s more to tell—he gets why she was so cold. why she was so adamant on knowing why he bought her those things, why she had a hard time accepting them. he doesn’t understand the things she’s went through, the life she’s had, but at least he knows about them, and understands her more.

“and it’s none of your fault for how you grew up, for your father’s wealth,” y/n speaks up again, wanting bruce to be less confused about her feelings towards him in all this. bruce nods again, though biting back tears, “it’s just… i don’t think you and i have the same goals or—or beliefs.” she says and sniffles again. bruce furrows his eyebrows. “sure, we’re fighting all those guys at night, but during the day… you could be doing that and more. with everything you have.” she says in a fainter voice, cautious of his response. bruce wayne. prince of the city. gotham’s richest.

the suggestion in her words hits straight into his heart, as well as his pride. and his beliefs. bruce is silent as he thinks it all over, and y/n is afraid he’ll bolt out the door any second. he could do that, taking how he sometimes gets very unpredictable. but her instinct tells her otherwise, and so does bruce’s body language. gears are turning and pipes are hissing in his mind, it’s all so visible in his eyes.

she’s never had prospects like he has. she’s never had the money to change things in the world she sees as unjust. bruce can tell she’d do a lot if she had it, so maybe he should give her all the money he has? maybe follow up on that half-serious offer of hers and make her the head of wayne enterprises. she has much more spirit, much more will to act than he does. it hurts him that she’s seen it, but it doesn’t hurt that it’s the truth. perhaps he’s just been too afraid to acknowledge it.

so many questions are still begging to be asked, so many thoughts are running through his mind on repeat, one after the other. he leans off the island and comes closer to y/n again, slowly, cautiously, hoping to not intrude onto her space, scared she might swat him away, push him away. his hand caresses her hair as the other cups her cheek, she’s letting him. he looks into her eyes, which are blinking between his and those wandering, affectionate hands of his. “how did your mother die?” bruce asks so softly and quietly she could have missed it. y/n’s eyes showcase fear, and the urge to turn away, to get attention off herself, to escape his hold. then she blinks, hangs her head low and sighs softly.

“at work,” she tells him coldly, nearly paralysed in how exposed she currently is, “she was killed. because she wanted out.” y/n sniffles very strongly and looks down at her hands as she takes her gloves off. her lips press into a thin line. the loss of her mother still does numbers on her heart. bruce gulps. she’s saddening him more and more with every new thing she tells him.

“i’m sorry,” he tells her, the hand caressing her hair again, this time also moving in between her strands, cradling her head from behind. he only means well, and he only wants to be closer to her. y/n understands that, “were you there?” like i was when my mother and father got killed?

y/n shakes her head. “no,” she answers. she remembers that day very well, “i was at home. didn’t know until... cops showed up at the door.” y/n parker? we think we’ve found your mother. “nearly didn’t open it because mom told me not to open the door unless it’s her, and she had a certain way of knocking.” y/n’s lips make a very faint smile as she says this. bruce smiles a little, too, seeing that y/n remembers a fond memory of her mother. but she still doesn’t look at him, for whatever reason.

“is she the reason you do this?” he asks quietly again. y/n looks up at him at once, her eyes fearful of how well he’s turned out to know her. she appreciates it. that he may not be able to understand her, but he knows her. he knows her so well, he knows her by heart. bruce’s thumb flicks over cheek, where tears previously poured down. new ones gather in her eyes, and during her silence, they fall and coat the skin of her cheeks again, pouring beneath and onto bruce’s finger as well.

she’s overwhelmed. his hand on her cheek reminds her so much of their shenanigans in his car that day. and the hand on the back of her head reminds her of all those times they kissed, and she’s thinking of the manor again, she’s thinking of all that time they spent together. it reminds her of the care and affection that he’s shown her. and she can’t turn away from it. she’s done hurting him. she wants him, too. every day and every night. perhaps, after all, the crime-fighting isn’t her drug. but bruce is.

y/n gives him a nod as well as a shrug in response, because she is the reason y/n does this, but not the whole reason. there’s so many more. so for now, she gives him this kind of answer, though she’s sure he got the confirmation from her falling tears. bruce breathes a deep breath in and nods at her, too, saying that he gets it. he understands. part of every hero is that they’re avenging someone in everything that they do. whether it’s their parents, one of their parents, another close relative, maybe a friend or a lover. someone important to them who they lost. “did you get what you wanted?” y/n asks in a whisper, hoping that she has somewhat explained herself to bruce.

he searches her eyes for a few moments, confused. is this everything that she wanted to say? is she telling him that there’s nothing more to say or do anymore, and that they’re done? he hopes not. “i just wanted you,” he tells her in an assuring manner, his thumb flicking over her lip again, “i still do. always will.” bruce makes a gentle shake of his head. “please don’t make me leave,” bruce pleads quietly, thinking that could be the worst-case scenario.

y/n shuts her eyes as more tears pour from them and shakes her head. “i don’t want to do that,” she says, still shaking her head. she’s stripped herself down completely in front of him now, no going back.

“then don’t,” bruce says and now rests his forehead against hers, eyes closed. he sighs deeply as he feels himself closer and closer to her.

“but it will be difficult,” she tells him, still trying to push him away against all her best interests, “i’m scared, bruce.” she admits and sobs in desperation again, nearly gasping and grasping at him to not leave. her hands don’t know where to go, don’t know what to do to make him stay. will her small arms be enough for a man his size? enough to keep him in place? first of all, she can’t believe he’s here. he cares enough that he showed up at her flat. bruce opens his eyes.

“i’m scared, too,” he tells her. he has never had these feelings before, and he’s never had a relationship before. he doesn’t exactly know how they work, or what he has to do. he could hurt her, he could get her hurt again, and worse, he could be too demanding, he could not change himself for her... it all scares him. but, “because i love you.” bruce admits, and it makes y/n’s eyes open wide in an instant. “and i’m scared of what that means.”

“you love me?” y/n repeats in a hushed whisper, afraid to say those words out loud for maybe she accidentally dreamed him saying them. but bruce nods, extinguishing those doubts of hers. “are you sure?” she asks.

the question makes bruce utter a quiet chuckle, his lips stretching so beautifully into a smile. y/n finally reaches a hand out to his face, and caresses his cheek in return, making him look back at her. “i’m sure,” bruce assures her, “more sure than i’ve ever been of anything else.” he states. “i love you.” bruce says again, his fingers caressing her skin. “you mean everything to me.” he confesses in a whisper.

now y/n really can’t keep the dam closed anymore. her tears fall without a halt, without filter, they pour from her eyes, across her cheeks, down to her neck, into her mouth, and quiet sobs of relief rupture her lungs and chest. they’re happy tears, relief tears, even though they seem the completely different kind. bruce watches her, confused, and his movements on her skin in those two places halts. but y/n scoops herself up together and looks at him again. “don’t worry,” she says, “i’m only crying because i...” she hiccups in her confession, “because i love you, too.” y/n says and makes a smile on her face for show. and so that bruce would know that it’s real, what she’s telling him.

bruce’s heart stops at that confession, breath catching in his throat. all this time there were hints towards it being true, but he never wanted to assume she did. and, as his low self-esteem and self-worth usually told him, he thought she didn’t love him like that back. she couldn’t. but here she is, proving all that paranoia wrong. so he doesn’t waste a second more and kisses her lips. he hasn’t done that in so long, in nearly two weeks (not that he’s counted, of course), and it’s such blissful release that he can’t contain his own tears anymore.

y/n kisses him back, and so their lips battle in the will to show each other how much love they have for them. both of them want to win, but the process, the journey, is so much better than the victory. lips exchanging heated, wet, tearful kisses while hands grapple fabric and skin, wanting to be closer, closer, closer, until there’s no space and they succumb to each other, their skin and bones melting together.

bruce’s hands bravely venture down to her hips, where he caresses and grips them, pushing moans out of y/n here and there with his actions. she tugs on his hair when that happens, and that makes him groan in return. but that counter against her back is very uncomfortable. “this is not the place,” y/n whispers to bruce against his lips, and it halts his movements. she takes his hands in her own and pulls him away, out of the kitchen, and towards her bedroom, down the hall.

he can’t keep his hands or lips off her even while they walk, he’s kissing her neck, backing her against the nearest walls from time to time, just wanting to stay there. he doesn’t care where they are, as long as he can have her, he’ll be happy, and he’ll make her see stars to the best of his abilities, anyway. he’s scared, of course, for her to see this side of him, thinking maybe he’ll not be competent enough, he won’t do good enough for her. but she’s about to prove him wrong.

she laughs at bruce’s impatience and manages to stumble him over to her bedroom at last. she loves him kissing her neck and showing her that kind of affections, of course, she lets him know by the moans and whimpers she makes, but she doesn’t want to have her first time with him in her hallway. having it in her bedroom is important to her, even though she doesn’t really know why.

once they’ve stumbled into her bed, bruce finds the zipper in her suit and zips it open as quickly as he can, though he does it very messily. y/n is smiling, tears still in her eyes, and kissing his lips all the while, as he peels the suit off her, and she kicks it off with her legs at the very end just so that bruce wouldn’t have to disconnect from her. he smiles at that, knowing her intentions, and pulls his own shirt off his form, too. y/n has seen him bare before, but now she feels she’s got the full privilege and right to admire his chest fully. her hands reach out to run across it, bruce on his knees now before her, between her legs. her fingers trace over his muscles and she marvels at how there are no serious scars on his chest, unlike his back.

he just watches her eyes, and then they look up at his. a mischievous smile tugs at her lips, and she bites into her lower one. bruce shakes his head at her, though a grin adores his lips, as well, and he leans down to her again, smothering her whole face with kisses. “i love you,” he proclaims to her again, “you drive me crazy.” he says and y/n chuckles at that confession. bruce plays with the straps of her bra, and he gives her a look. “can i take this off?” he asks her, wanting to make sure she’s ready. so far, this is the barest he’s seen her. and he just wants her to be comfortable. if it’s better for her, she can leave the bra on.

y/n nods at him in response, and reaches under herself to unclasp the bra. bruce wanted to do that, but she sends him a knowing wink, knowing in the sense that she knows he wouldn’t be able to take it off on his own without a struggle. so since they’re both in a rush, and are naturally impatient people, she does half the job for him. and so bruce just hooks his fingers under each strap and lifts her bra off along her arms, and throws it to the side, not exactly caring where it lands.

his breath gets caught in his throat again, this time at the sight of her. her hair, her naked chest, her arms barely, shyly knitted together above her stomach, her shy smile and the tears still glistening in her eyes. she’s an angel. “you’re beautiful,” bruce tells her, “baby.” he adds, remembering that she seemed to have some sort of reaction to that nickname before, and he could try it out now again. this time y/n utters a whimper at that pet-name, her teeth biting into her lower lip again, and her thighs move around a little. bruce grins slightly and positions himself right above her body again, his chin resting just below her breasts. “do you like it when i call you baby?” he asks her, and kneads one of her breasts in his hand.

y/n sighs out as her eyes drop closed, and she sighs, already squirming beneath him. “yes,” she answers, and bruce feels her thighs pressing closer around his body, “does things to me.” she admits, and then feels bruce’s lips on her breast, just kissing for now. but then he lays a wetter kiss on the skin there, and he sucks lightly, too, and y/n feels like just melting into her mattress. the moan she makes goes straight to bruce’s firmly growing length in his pants, making him feel even more impatient. he increases his grip on her other breast, and makes a trail of kisses up to her face again, all the while hearing her sweet moans and whimpers for him.

“was that okay?” bruce asks her quietly, worried about his performance again, and to his soothing, y/n replies with a nod.

“i know you’re nervous, but you don’t need to be,” she tells him as her lustful eyes look into his and she caresses his cheek with her hand again, “it’s my first time, too.” she assures, her smile suddenly looking a little broken, along with her tears it makes for a sad facial expression. but those few words mean a lot to bruce. she’s just as inexperienced as him, and it puts him at some sort of peace at least. and how she was able to tell he’s that way also hits a close spot in his heart. now they’ll be doing something together for the first time, both of them, and it is ever so special.

“you tell me if i hurt you, alright?” bruce requests. y/n’s eyes fill with more tears at how considerate and affectionate bruce is. she still can’t believe it, after all this time, and yet here is the proof, staring her right in the eyes, touching her the way she likes, making sure that everything’s fine. but she shakes her head at his question.

“you could never hurt me,” she says in a scrappy voice that showcases her choked-back tears and sobs, and bruce only hopes it’s for a positive reason she’s almost crying again for. y/n pulls his face down to hers and kisses his lips. hungrily, lustfully, intimately, closing her eyes. bruce does the same, his hands coming lower to hold her waist, “can you touch me?” y/n quietly asks him, looking into his eyes, “please.”

you could never hurt me echoes in bruce’s mind, and he recalls that incident in the car, to which she undoubtedly is referring to without really referring to (but he can read her mind, can’t he?), and he nods surely. “i was going to, anyway.” bruce says with a wink sent her way, and that makes y/n giggle. bruce runs his hand from her breast down to the dip between her thigh and stomach, and he rounds the flesh of her thigh in his hand. y/n sighs out against his smiling lips, her thighs restlessly rubbing against his sides, yearning for friction, for some real touch. not that this isn’t great, she’s just growing more and more desperate and turned on by the second, by everything bruce does, by every move he makes across her skin.

bruce toys with her thigh, with the feel of her skin in his hold—it’s heavenly—pushing her thigh forwards, gripping the junction under her knee, caressing her upper thigh with his large, splayed hand. y/n’s breath catches in her throat—she can’t believe how gentle he is with her. of course, she adores it, and wants nothing more or less than these cautious touches, because she knows he will get to it when he will. she guesses she just always expected his batman persona to come out during these intimate settings—she once speculated that he’s quite the ladies’ man, and probably is in his vigilante mood when he gets down to it. this, she might say, is a pleasant surprise.

although she’s never been with anyone before, y/n knows what she wants in a partner, and she knows what she likes. and so far, bruce has checked a few boxes already, slowly checking the rest on his way now. and that again arises tears in her eyes. how careful, affectionate and attentive he is to her, to her needs, her level and zone of comfort. she’s never known love like this before, and it’s breaking her down. perhaps because it’s all she’s dreamed of those times when she’s wished for a partner. someone exactly like bruce. who knew she’d find them in an alternate universe where her home city doesn’t even exist?

she bends under his hands so easily bruce might have mistaken a doll for her, the way she completely melts against him in whatever he’s planned to do. how she willingly lets him push her thigh forwards more, how she cranes her neck when he leans down to kiss along it, how she shivers, but then bucks into his hand once he finally cups her pulsating cunt through her underwear. it makes her body do a whole reset almost—her eyelids fluttering closed and her thighs rubbing closer together, nearly capturing bruce’s arm between them. bruce grins at that and lays a kiss on y/n’s lips again, though they barely respond as she’s in a blissful state.

he can feel her wet warmth that has stained her very fitting underwear, and it drives him even crazier, even sort-of hungrier after her. bruce strokes his fingers up that patch of wetness and reaches nearly the same ecstasy as she is in. he can feel every inch of her pressing together under that fabric, in that wetness. “fuck,” he curses under his breath, resting his head in the crook of her neck, putty against her incredible might, “this all because of me?” he asks, and can hear her breaths growing heavier. he feels her chest moving more frequently, and harder against his. he’s gained confidence again, sureness of himself, because of her reactions. she’s doing wonders to him.

y/n can only nod, and it’s all the confirmation bruce needs to slip his hands into her panties and touch her without any confines or otherwise constricting factors. the real thing. he doesn’t know precisely what to do, he’s not seen a proper tutorial that would work for y/n exactly, but he can tell he’s doing the right things. both the louder and quieter noises that come from her lips, very much positive ones, tell him he’s doing a great job. y/n can’t manage to form coherent words, anyway, because bruce, bruce, bruce has taken over her mind completely.

bruce cards his fingers through her silky folds, gathering her wetness and spreading it across this most intimate area of her body, and he does so in slightly circular motions. y/n’s hands caress his body, one of them deep in his dark hair, the other on his back, digging her nails into the thick, scarred skin there. was she any more conscious of herself and bruce, she’d worry about scratching the scars open. but she can’t think further than the man’s fingers, further than his fingers on her cunt, she’s completely consumed by him.

bruce watches her face as best he can in the midst of his own arousal, and he just adores the look of her. eyes shut, fluttering open here and there, eyebrows scrunching up, lips parting, and little beads of sweat beginning to coat the skin closest to her hairline. not to mention the tears at the corners of her eyes, and the ones falling and already fallen down the side of her face. he knows they’re not ones of sadness, not anymore.

but, wanting to see what he’s doing, bruce moves slowly down her body while his fingers are still treading soft circled touches on her folds. he kisses every inch of her skin in his way, making her body spasm very gently here and there. she’s so reactive to every move he makes on her, it’s the most wonderful thing in the world. one of her hands pulls away from his back as he moves lower, no longer that much accessible to her, and the other starts to pull away from his head of hair.

when bruce is down exactly where he wants to be (a/n: that would be down bad for y/n), his face inches away from the most intimate part of her body, he looks up at her. her hands, not knowing where exactly to be or what to do, figure around the sheets, in her own hair. her chest heaves in desperation, in that insufferable yearning for ecstasy, for release. for him. “give me your hands,” bruce gently asks of her, extending his one free hand, for now, towards her. y/n does as she’s told, a little lost on what he’s planning, but moves her hands down towards bruce.

with his able one hand, the busy one still circling her lips, he holds both her wrists between his fingers and pulls them towards his hair, where he so adores them being. he knows she loves touching his hair, too, she wouldn’t do it otherwise. or does she know he likes it and only does it because of that? that’s a question for later. her fingers land in his hair, nearly at the roots now, caressing the scalp, and they fit so well, as if a magnet was pulling her hands towards his raven locks. bruce grins and gets to work.

“keep them there,” he tells her softly, the command in his words not sounding like a command at all, but rather like a gentle request, “wanna see you.” bruce fingers the elastic of her panties, playing with it for just a second or two before he begins pulling her underwear down with both his hands. y/n whines at the loss of his fingers from her cunt, but something tells her this isn’t the last of those touches. once her underwear is down her legs and off, bruce looks at the sight exposed to him. my... this glistening beauty all for him. he nearly feels his stomach grumble at the sight, he feels hunger for her, one that he’s never felt before.

he playfully, in his quest to explore her, runs his middle and index finger down between her folds again, and feels her writhing underneath. her warmth, her wetness, her beauty are unmatched. and they’re all for him to witness, to feel, to experience, to taste. can he do that? bruce’s eyes flick up to y/n, even though he knows damn well she’s not able to look him in the eye. “y/n,” he calls to her quietly, gently, and she stirs, with her eyes closed, on the sheets, “look at me.” bruce requests. and even in her haze, she’s able to finally open her eyes and look straight at him, though her orbs are consumed by a layer of lust. “can i taste you?” bruce asks.

that question makes y/n want to kick against the mattress like a spoiled child. but she keeps her composure, and only her chest ruptures and her thighs tremble in response. she tries to keep her eyes on bruce’s, but it’s so hard. her thighs rub closer together again, desperate, desperate, desperate. those must be the most enticing words she’s heard him say ever. and she gives him a nod. of course, who is she to say no to him? he’s made her feel closer to heaven than any meal or feeling before, she won’t deny him or herself this pleasure.

bruce just needs to devour every inch of her, needs to feel her against every inch of himself, and he has the blessing from her to do so. so he gets to work. at first he gently breathes onto her exposed cunt, which already makes her sigh out sharply, and then lays just a kiss on the same spot. it makes her utter an even more helpless whimper, her chest heaving more frequently for those few moments. oh, she’s so not ready for his blissful assault on her.

he returns his hand to her folds and runs the two fingers through them, teasing at her entrance for just a second or two. and his mouth moves lower, towards where his fingers are, his tongue stroking between her labia lips. y/n gasps, “bruce,” she moans out his name. bruce makes a hum in response, eyeing her with eyes that ask is this good? am i good? but, of course, with her eyes closed again, she doesn’t see them. if she would, she’d only give him a positive answer as this is quite literally the best she’s ever been made to feel in her entire life.

bruce would be a liar if he said this doesn’t bring him any pleasure, either. he’s keeping himself from moaning and grunting as much as he wants to only because he’s so focused on making her feel good. with every lap at her cunt that he makes, he yearns for more. she tastes sweet, like sugar water, like his favourite alcohol. she also tastes like his dreams, like all his hopes and plans, like everything he’s ever wished for. with every inch of her that he tastes, licks, kisses, laps at, he realises he could spend forever there, between her legs, just pleasuring her, making her come over and over again.

his fingers press onto her clit while his tongue drags across it, and it makes y/n arch her back off the sheets all while moaning his name in a high pitch, hurting her throat just a bit as it’s an unusually high note she’s reached. but as she moans his name, it comes out distorted and broken up. much like herself. “gonna put my fingers inside you, okay?” bruce asks y/n, out of breath, and looking up at her. she doesn’t see him, only hears him, and she nods.

“yes, please,” she responds with a plea, as well, only firming the erection beneath bruce’s trousers. so he circles his middle finger around her tight hole, which grows just a little bigger at the request, and, to take away any possible discomfort that she might feel at the penetrating intrusion, bruce pushes his middle finger inside her entrance with his tongue. now that makes her actually scream out, and she’s not afraid to hide it.

the noise rises goose-bumps across bruce’s skin, and he hums in appreciation against her, his lips flush against her cunt. pushing further into her, seeing how far she takes him, bruce admires every crevice, every structured inch of her inside that he can feel on his pad, against his thin skin. she’s so tight that her walls are swallowing his finger up, and it feels indescribable. he forgets himself for a moment, his lips just resting against her labia lips for now as he wonders about how it would feel with his length inside her. if this feels this great, then how will that feel? will she even be able to take him?

perhaps he needs to stretch her out, so he does his best. “gonna put another into you, baby,” bruce tells her as he sort-of gets back to earth and kisses the inside of her thigh now, trying to put some ease into her—although knowing that he’s doing the exact opposite of it with anything that he does—, “can you take another one?” bruce looks up to her again, but it’s, again, a lost cause.

but y/n hears him. “yes. yes, i think so,” she says in a whiney voice, her eyes squeezed shut, forehead and chest sweating, hands raking unevenly across bruce’s scalp—she’s a complete mess, “just do it.” i don’t care if i can’t take it. “i just need you, please.” she nearly cries at that last bit, being so close to that edge all afternoon, it seems, and bruce understands. she’s so desperate for him, and he’s sure it’s gonna kill him eventually. if not now, if not tonight, then soon.

so he pushes his index finger into her, moving it inside along the middle one, feeling her walls swallowing them both up now. bruce shudders, moaning at how incredible that feels, and licks against her clit again. he’s sure nothing can feel better than this. and y/n has that same thought. her mind is racing, as well as her heart, and her chest is heaving like it never has before, not even on the times she’s had the most intense fights. bruce’s fingers are long, she’s known that, having known how large his hands are over-all, but oh my... she never expected them to hit that deep, and on the first entrance. god, is she hallucinating? is this happening? it’s too real, too good, too incredible, to be true.

“oh, my god,” y/n squeaks out among her gasps for air. her body writhes under bruce, around his fingers, her hips are bucking rhythmically, almost as fast as to bother bruce in his incredibly important work. he lays his other hand on her lower stomach and presses down gently.

“stay still, sweetheart,” he asks of her. and even those few words, especially that pet-name, make her whine. but when he strokes her walls with his long, aiming-to-please fingers, it reaches her in such a way that makes her actually cry out, and hot tears prick her eyes once more. only this time, much heavier, much harder to resist. so she doesn’t. she lets them fall, and lets sobs torture her lungs and her whole torso with their intensity. the heels of her feet dig into her bedsheets and she tightens the hold of her hands on bruce’s hair. she can’t take this, she can barely take it.

and he makes her torture all the more intense, with his lips and tongue on her folds, intruding between them, and his fingers raking across her walls, pulling the very pads of them against her meaty surface, curling them when he gets to the deepest point in her that he can reach. she’s crying, tears streaming down her face, sobs hurting her throat, as she has never been made to feel this good, and she has never been made to feel loved like this. she has never had someone to love her, care for her, attend to her this way. she can’t fathom or take everything that she’s feeling right now, it’s driving her over the edge. “oh, my god... bruce,” she cries his name as the feeling gets way too over-whelming.

she feels like she could burst open, physically, any second now. she’s blind about what’s about to quite literally come over her, and she has no choice but to feel it, let it take control, let it do what it has to. bruce’s tongue tight on her clit, his fingers nearly scratching at her walls, she feels that terribly foreign feeling—she’d rather call it entity—fully wash over her. finally. and she realises it’s what she was waiting, pleading, begging, yearning for. this exact feeling.

her legs go numb, and she feels an over-whelming wave in the pit of her stomach, where she’s felt herself yearn for bruce, for ecstasy, many times before. now she understands. now she knows what it’s like, but she has barely time to think on it now. she can’t think at all, her arms even go limp in bruce’s hair, only having pulled at it quite hard at the very beginning of this other-wordly feeling. her eyes screwed shut, lips parted and mouth open as she cries, screams and begs, all calling to bruce.

he only makes his actions gentler on her once he realises what she’s going through, what her body’s experiencing. and his heart pulses in his chest as he watches her reach that heavenly pleasure point. his length throbs in his trousers at how she looks as she’s going through it. god, absolutely divine. unlike anything he’s ever seen before. her face when she laughs, smiles or is working on something—his wounds, for example—is breath-taking, of course. but this... bruce is sure nothing compares to this. and he can’t believe he’s rightful to see it with his own two mortal eyes.

when y/n’s screams and cries of his name die down a little in volume and intensity, and now nothing but pants are leaving her lips, bruce pulls slightly away from her. to his pleasant surprise, he finds the breath-taking sight of her dripping a white nectar from her entrance. he needs no explanation for what that is, in that sense he’s knowledgeable enough, and he grows even harder at the sight, if that’s even possible at this point. he’s so hard right now that it’s painful for him.

bruce spreads her thighs a little, as they pressed slightly closer together after she came, and caresses his thumb over her dripping entrance. she whimpers helplessly at that caress, feeling more sensitive than ever. bruce only glances at her fleetingly, his eyes trained on that come dripping out of her. fuck. this is just incomprehensible for him. it looks just like sugar cream, and he knows it tastes similar, too. he can’t resist. bruce leans closer again and licks some of it up, as much as he can get from only very slightly entering his tongue in her. and this time, her whimper is even more desperate, more pleading. almost to say i can’t anymore, because she feels so sensitive, as if it was an open wound.

and she does taste like sugar cream, sweeter than before. bruce moans like a man having his eternal hunger fed, and licks her come up just one more time for his own pleasure before he pulls away and gives her a break from his very euphoric assaults on her. bruce licks his lips clean, wanting to savour every bit of her that he gathered, and he looks down at her. god, she’s so beautiful, he can’t believe it. and she looks absolutely heavenly after an event like this. he could make her come over and over again, if it means he’d see her this true, this beautiful, every time. and he’s sure he would.

her hands have fallen by her sides, and she’s only now returning to complete consciousness. she blinks her eyes open and finds bruce staring down at her. there’s a smile on his face that almost makes her laugh. he just made her have the first and, she thinks, hardest orgasm of her life, and he’s looking down at her, smiling like a happy idiot. the most she can do is make a smile herself at him, a very gentle and faint one, and bruce’s smile only stretches bigger at that.

he leans down to her, one of his hands wrapping around her wrist, pushing it into the mattress beside her head. he kisses her lips, plump and warm, and he can feel that she’s reacting to everything a little slower now, truly blown away by him, and the feelings he makes her have. he feels proud and confident of himself, and he smiles into their kiss. his other hand rests at the curve of her waist, just above her hip, and y/n’s arms weakly wrap around bruce’s torso. for support, for something to hold onto.

“can i, uh...” bruce begins a question he’s too shy to finish in a whisper, his smiling lips dragging across the tear-wetted skin of y/n’s face as he does so, and y/n closes her eyes as her grin grows wider. more tears fall. she already knows what he wants to ask, but she’ll let him finish that sentence. if he can, of course. come on, baby, where’s your confidence? “can you—i mean, do you want to—”

but, again, y/n is an impatient person at heart. she nods her head without letting bruce finish, because the answer is yes, will always be yes, “yes,” she tells him, and because... “now, because i’m not sure i’ll be alive later,” she tells him honestly, which makes bruce laugh. and, in return, it makes her laugh, too, through her tears. her laughter’s interrupted by her soft sobs. his rare, miraculous laugh is infectious, even during such intimate moments. but perhaps it’s best for those kind of times, because it’s a way to break the tension and the pressure between them. he rests his forehead against hers and his eyes grow serious for a moment.

“are you sure about this?” he asks her in an even quieter whisper, suddenly realising how much this could (does) mean to her. and y/n looks into his in-love, half-lidded eyes.

“i am,” she assures him as she nods. one of her hands circle up to his neck, fingers curling around the nape, towards the roots of his hair, “i love you. and i want this,” y/n tells bruce, looking into his eyes for more signs of understanding. he’s nervous, she knows that, and so is she. but somehow—perhaps from the literally mind-blowing orgasm he’s already given her—perhaps with his presence, his comforting, loving presence, she feels a little less nervous about doing this. and about what this could mean between them. though nothing more than their love and desire for one another.

bruce gives her a nod then. okay, then, this is it. here it goes, he tells himself. “i love you, too,” he whispers to her in response, his eyelids fluttering again. not because he’d be lying, but because he’s nervous and shaky and over-whelmed, and feeling quite emotional. he wants to remind her to tell him if he hurts her, but since she surely told him that he could never hurt her, and she should believe it, he doesn’t. and so, with a nervous hand, y/n slips his trousers and boxers downwards, which gives bruce the freedom to free his embarrassingly—to him—large, stiff erection from its confines.

y/n gasps quietly at the look of him, at the size of him, and bruce immediately looks to her, his eyes nervously asking what’s wrong. “nothing,” she assures, “just... i hope you’ll fit.” she tells him with a gentle chuckle, and bruce grins out of relief, his dark locks falling onto her face as he hangs his head low. “you’re so big, bruce,” y/n praises to him in a whisper, and the compliment makes him shudder against her. how he hoped that would be the truth. not that y/n has anything to compare bruce to—for her completely inexperienced mind and sense of measurements, bruce is big. certainly bigger than she anticipated.

“shut up,” he tells her in an airy chuckle, which makes y/n chuckle. she knows what praise does to him. makes him feel weird, undeserving, awkward, on the spot. weird for a man of his size to doubt himself, but he does it nonetheless. always insecure, always feeling that he’s not enough. but he is. and he’d always be enough for y/n, no matter any of his measurements.

she caresses his chest with one of her hands and spreads her legs a little again, so that it’d be more comfortable for him. bruce adores the sight. “come on,” she whispers to him, pulling his face closer to hers by the back of his neck, and bruce gets the message, leaning his forehead against hers again as he watches himself, to not make a mistake, slowly push into her half-inch by half-inch, always attentively listening to every sound she makes to know if something’s wrong.

that hand of his holding her wrist against the bed sheets slips upwards to link her fingers with his own, and he feels her tightly pressing her fingers into his hand as soon as he does that. bruce feels her tense up beneath him, sees her eyes squeezing shut, as well as her mouth, and he hears a little whimper from her. he instantly worries. “do we need to stop?” he asks her in a whisper, looking at her face of discomfort. she almost seems to be holding her breath. “baby,” bruce calls to her.

y/n shakes her head, and as soon as she opens her eyes, bruce sees new tears in them. “no, no,” she tells him, “i’m okay.” she assures and looks up into bruce’s beautiful, concerned orbs. “remember what i told you,” y/n reminds him, and her hand slips from his neck to his cheek, a comforting gesture of convincing, “you could never hurt me.” she assures, and her voice breaks a little. her lip trembles, but she nods at bruce, muscles around her eyes also trembling, threatening for another session of crying. bruce isn’t sure of what to do, because he’s not sure that y/n’s crying is entirely for the best reasons. but she wouldn’t lie to him, would she? “it’s alright, bruce,” y/n tries to convince him more. she knows it’s painful for girls during their first time, always, “you’re not hurting me anymore.” she searches his eyes. “it passed.” she sniffles. “keep going.”

he’s convinced, he decides, because she really wouldn’t lie to him. he knows that. especially about how she’s feeling. she’s always honest about it, always truthful and raw to him. he grips that hand of hers more and pushes himself further inside her, to the very hilt, for now. and what he gets in return is most rewarding. not only her sensitive, clenching walls around him, and their warmth, but also a moan from y/n that he recognises to be one of pleasure. and bruce exhales deeply, resting his head in the crook of her neck as he tries to adjust to everything. because god, he’s so painfully hard, and he’s finally inside her, and it’s enough to make him come on the spot.

it comes as a surprise to y/n how little it hurt, because now she just feels the good side of this. god, this is the closest she’s been with him. closest they’ve been with each other, and the moment she’s had daydreams and night-time dreams about has finally come. and it’s so much better than she imagined, so much more fulfilling and connecting. speaking from her subjective point of view in this moment, she can say that she couldn’t imagine having her first time with anyone else. she loves bruce, and she’s thankful that he lets her be with him when he’s this exposed, this vulnerable, this naked in every sense of the word.

speaking of bruce, he’s nearly fainted above her. she brings her thumb across his cheek, and that motion makes him turn to look at her. at least he’s conscious, she thinks. “what is it?” bruce asks her, clearly oblivious to her gestures. she smiles wide, and tears pour from the corners of her eyes.

“nothing,” she says in the quietest of whispers, “just thought you’d died there for a moment.” she jokes, and bruce grins at her amused mood.

��think i did,” he says and gets above her body again, feeling confidence and strength returning to him, “you want to keep going?” bruce asks in the most affectionate of ways, and then moves his head so that his hair would flip out of his view. it’s bothering his vision, he can’t see her properly. y/n nods at his question and caresses his chest again. she looks straight into his eyes and bruce takes that as a sign to begin moving.

it’s painfully pleasuring for the both of them that movement of bruce pulling out in a slow stroke, y/n whimpers and the grip on bruce with both her hands tightens incredulously. bruce sees his length coated in y/n’s white come from beforehand, and that makes him groan.

“god, you drive me insane,” he tells y/n and then looks back at her, wanting to see only her face as he pushes back in. this time, contrasting to the very first time, her throat makes a deep, guttural moan, and the feeling of him pushing back inside her has her throwing her head back, “you feel perfect around me.” bruce praises her and y/n smiles in her blissed-out state. her arm returns to wrapping around his back, his thick, wide, muscular back, and she pulls him down enough to be able to whisper into his ear.

“you can go faster,” she says, tending to what her body requests, “please.” she adds, knowing that always does something to him. and quick enough, once bruce is comfortable with himself and how fast he’s moving, it’s nearly a race of how fast he can go. a race with himself. his body rhythmically moving above hers, his girth feeling every inch of pulsating, inviting walls clenching around him, y/n holds onto him with the hand on his back, gripping onto it out of how good he makes her feel, nearly digging her nails into his skin.

and the hand that is intertwined with bruce’s just next to her head. an affectionate connection between them, gentler than the speed and care with which bruce thrusts into y/n. sweat is collecting in thick beads on her forehead again, and on bruce’s, too. this is some exercise, he discovers, an exercise that can move an entire bed and make it squeak against the floor. their panted breaths on each other mix with the sounds of their skins meeting harshly together at their hips, where the most intimate of their connections is unravelling at a quick pace. somehow, at this moment, y/n thanks every twist and turn in her life that led her to this moment. she loves him more than she can fathom. and she sheds tears again, but really ones of the best kind this time.

“right there,” y/n whines as she feels bruce just reaching the sweetest spot inside her. the anticipation of him reaching it—because she knows he can—is like a fever in her body. bruce grapples the back of her thigh with his flat, large palm once again, and pushes her knee forwards, slightly to the side, so he could reach that spot she’s begging him to. and he does, “fuck, yes! right there, baby,” she cries out and pulls bruce’s face once again down to hers, where she harshly swallows up his lower lip.

his pet-name for her being used on him by her does quite a number on him, and he’s sure he’ll really come any next second. and because he aims to please her, the confirmation that he’s succeeded does another number on him and his close-approaching orgasm. bruce deepens their kiss, running his tongue along hers and on the inside of her lip, which makes y/n whine for him in an even higher pitch. “i won’t last much longer,” bruce tells her, his lips grazing hers faintly as he speaks in close proximity to her still. he’s afraid his confession will disrupt this event, afraid she’ll find it weird.

but she puts his worries at rest by saying, “me neither,” and giving bruce a grin. he shakes his head at that expression, wearing the smile of an idiot in love on his own lips, “give me your hand.” she requests, and bruce immediately obeys. to do that means losing his support system that helps him not crush her body with his, but he does his best to still lean above it, now closer to it than before, so close that her breasts are pressed against his chest, and he continues with his almost unnaturally fast rhythm of thrusts inside her.

once y/n has bruce’s hand at her disposal, she moves it towards her face with her free hand, that was just now around bruce’s back. now it’s holding his wrist—and bruce watches the whole thing—and moving his sweat and come coated fingers up to her mouth, where she lets the pad of his thumb meet with her lower lip at first, just gently running it from one corner to the other. bruce has got the guidance, he’s realised the message, and doesn’t need any more instructions. so what he simply tried, explored into, that day in the vehicle, was arousing for her, too. he grins, and y/n returns her hand to gripping his back, knowing that he’s read her mind now.

bruce pushes his thumb deeper into her mouth, and he feels her tongue swirling the pad of it already. he shudders, his eyes half-closing, at how it feels in combination with everything else. she’s a vixen. a siren. a witch, but an angel. he could get lost in her for the rest of his days. bruce leans down to kiss her lips while his thumb is still in the corner of her mouth, and y/n moans bestially into that kiss. bruce pulls away with a grin and pushes his thumb in and out between her lips, much like his cock is doing in and out of her cunt. fuck, he just loves this. he feels sick, twisted, although it’s nothing wrong, but he can’t help it. “you like my finger in your mouth, huh?” bruce asks her in a discovery-sort-of-voice with a cocky grin and an over-all cocky expression on his face. y/n wiggles her eyebrows and sends the man a wink, panting through her nose now as her mouth’s a little occupied with his finger.

“i love it,” she tells him, and bruce moans again, “give me more.” she requests. who is bruce to say no to that? he slowly pulls his thumb out of her mouth, but y/n doesn’t let it leave without releasing it with a slick pop noise first.

“you’re perfect,” bruce says, all kinds of fantasies running into his mind at that image, and he really feels himself just at the edge now. his thrusts get sloppier, and y/n feels it. she smiles wide at him before bruce slides his index and middle finger in between her smiling lips, and she sucks on them as well as she knows how to. bruce’s head falling to rest besides hers, his hand gripping y/n’s on the sheets, and his thrusts stalling as he pants heavily and chants her name is a give-away that he’s finally reached that euphoric point. had he any more sense inside himself at that moment, he would have felt bad for not letting y/n finish first.

but she’s coming up and along just behind him, her nails making new scars on his back with how hard they’re scratching him. her body writhes beneath his, once again she feels like a spoiled child, and she moans his name in the most beautiful of manners around those stalled fingers of his in her mouth. y/n can feel bruce emptying himself inside of her, it quite literally fills her up, and he can only groan in the complete ecstasy that is her coating his length in her nectar. after a few moments of them regaining their breaths and consciousness, y/n feels him weakly pulling out of her, robbing her of that fuller feeling, but it’s only to see what it looks like. his come inside of her, mixing with her own, leaking out.

bruce’s forehead against hers, he watches the small-scaled scene unravel before his mortal eyes, and it makes his heaved breaths turn into whines again. “fuck, look at you,” bruce muses, taking his hands away from y/n’s lips and hand and instead using them to spread her thighs apart. y/n’s back lifts off the bed momentarily at that comment, and she laughs in such a way that makes her sound drunk. perhaps this is another thing that gets her similar to a drunken state, bruce thinks as he glances at her. he moves his fingers to her entrance, and spreads her folds in such a way that makes their come really leak out of her.

y/n’s back is on the bed again and she’s whimpering in response to that feeling, bruce touching her while she has that same sensitivity as before, only perhaps much more intense now than before. she’s been made to come twice, and it’s starting to take the most wonderful toll on her. bruce looks at her again, fully now, takes in the sight of her, as his hands caress her inner thighs. to comfort and soothe hair as he best can, knowing that she might be exhausted, overstimulated, sore, and whatever else. he’s not a specialist on female bodies, but he knows y/n. and the limits she has while fighting also tell of the limits she has sexually.

he decides to litter her body with kisses and nibbles as he makes his way across it, back up to be face to face with her, on quite literally one level. and y/n squirms gently under him, wrapping both her arms around his form once he’s come in close enough range for her to do that. bruce leaves a last few wet kisses on her neck, even getting the idea to suck on the skin right below her jaw, knowing it will leave a mark. and he wants to. he wants to see that mark on her, from him. the action makes her squirm even more under him, fuelling her ever-rising arousal again. she guesses with being spider-woman she also has a higher libido than most women. how interesting. she feels sensitive, and yet like she could go for round two, three and so on.

once he’s face to face with her again, bruce caresses y/n’s forehead with his hand, moving sweat and hair off it, to see her full beauty. he smiles at her, a completely rare smile that she’s sure she’s seeing now for the first time in their time shared together ever. she can’t exactly place what that smile encompasses or shows, but she won’t question the little miracle. she smiles back and wraps her arms closer around his torso. “you feeling okay?” bruce whispers to her.

y/n nods surely. “i feel like people feel when they're drunk,” she confesses, and the two share laughter together over that statement.

“you sound the part,” bruce agrees, and y/n laughs harder. her fingers caress the marks she’s made on the skin of bruce’s back, and it nearly scares her. feels like cat scratches, almost. she searches his eyes, no doubt he’s felt them, too, of course, they’re on his back, after all. but bruce doesn’t say a word.

“how do you feel?” she asks him then quietly, cautiously, “baby.” she adds and has a giggle to herself, remembering how that pet-name made him feel just a few minutes prior. bruce shakes his head with a laugh, he’s in slight disbelief of her audacity. she will certainly use this to tease him now. “think i made some new scars on your back.” y/n admits, and her teeth bite into the inside of her lip out of slight nervousness.

“you did?” bruce says and tries to glance over his shoulder at the scars she talks about, but can’t see properly. he sits up then and glances around her room in search of a mirror. turns out there is one just on her night stand, and bruce makes a surprised facial expression at it. he turns his back to it, and y/n sits up with him now, to see the scratches. “huh.” y/n keeps her arms wrapped around his form, and traces her fingers over those lines again.

“sorry,” she says with a frown, but bruce looks down at her in slight confusion.

“don’t be,” he tells her with a shake of his head, “i like them.” bruce assures and cups her face in his palms, chasing her lips afterwards playfully, making her smile—exactly what he wanted to do. “they’ll heal faster than the others,” bruce tells her dismissively about the scars between gentle kisses on her lips, and it makes y/n giggle. how he loves this moment, just this moment between them two, he can’t even say it. y/n naked in his arms, her leaning up towards his body, both of them sitting messily on the made-messy bed sheets, just exchanging the feather-lightest, affectionate kisses.

“now that makes me kinda sad,” y/n admits in a chuckled whisper to bruce, continuing their small conversation. but it doesn’t go very far, as she’s chasing his lips now, going after them like a lion, and penetrating his mouth with her tongue when she catches them. she adores this moment, this connection, everything about it, as much as bruce does, and she wants just this moment to last for the rest of eternity. bruce’s hands on her cheeks, caressing her jawline, her cheeks and cheekbones, as well as her new hickey, and therefore pressing his arms against her breasts in their very close proximity to one another, between their bodies. his tongue playing with hers in their supposedly light kisses, her hands running across his back, bruce’s hair tickling her face and making her lips curve into smiles. a sudden fear of losing him, of losing this moment, creeps into her mind almost like a jump scare, and it makes her pull just an inch away and look into bruce’s eyes with such a serious glaze that it nearly scares him, too, “don’t leave this time.” she pleads him, remembering all those mornings she’s woken up without him here.

bruce furrows his eyebrows. “this time?” he echoes, and y/n nods.

“you’ve always been gone when i woke up here after our nights out,” she explains and leans into the cupid hold his hands have made around her face, avoiding his eyes for just a second. oh, all those nights they stayed up talking until y/n broke and fell dead asleep. she looks up into his dark, understanding eyes. she’s making him see so many things he’s been blind to all this time, “please. stay.” y/n says in a small voice.

bruce makes a smile as his thumb crosses her gentle, plump cheek again. “i won’t leave,” he promises her, “but shouldn’t you be the one making that promise?” bruce teases, grinning and raising an eyebrow. y/n rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile on her lips again. now, he has some nerve. but he’s right.

“if me leaving ends up like this every time,” she says with a playful facial expression, “i might just do it again.” y/n challenges and gives bruce a mischievous look. he shakes his head and presses it against hers, forehead to forehead, admiring her humour and marvelling at the fact that it has returned. he now realises he missed it a lot. her light-heartedness, her sarcasm and slight teasing here and there. it used to fill up that gothic bedroom of the riddance bed they shared, but for this time that he didn’t see her, the room was filled with nothing but darkness, gloom and the smell of sweat. “but i won’t,” y/n assures him, breaking them both out of their daydreams and fascinations with each other, “i promise.” she nods. “i trust you, now more than ever.” y/n closes her eyes as she breathes out a sigh. “i don’t want to lose you, either.” she echoes the words he said before.

bruce watches her face as he huffs through his nose, trying to do it quietly, so she wouldn’t think he’s mad with her. he’s not anymore. as said before, she’s opened his eyes to so much, especially lately, and he understands her and the world so much better. perhaps he also understands himself better, too. either way, to bruce, this is the start of a much greener path. and not just for him.

.

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[darling-i-read-it]

HCs for Bruce w/ a reader who's not afraid to stand up for herself

Battinson!Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

Warnings: aggression

Requested: by anon, hiii!! idk if u can write this 🧍🏻‍♀️ but, i REAALLLY love the trope where A is so sweet to B but when A gets provoked they turn into this scary loud person? can you write that with battinson? A is reader and B is battinson :] if you cant, i understand! stay safe and stay healthy !!

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

Author’s Note: king shit. im so in love with him.

- the very first time you saw Bruce Wayne in person you were all like ‘oh this man needs to be held and protected and I will fight anyone who tries to get in the way of that’

- he’s so awkward and stiff all the time, you just needed him to loosen up

- so when you started to date you were very clearly just enamored with him

- you were a nice person by nature but there was just something so clear about your need to be nice to Bruce

- obviously it was because you were in love with him

- also because he needed a nice person who looked out for him

- wrapping your arms around him and then him just holding you in his arms so it was unclear where he ended and you began <3

- kissing him everytime he went out for the night. For good luck

- making sure he gets a good nights sleep at least once a week even if you have to lock the bedroom door on him and deadbolt the window

- Alfred usually helps you there. He will also hide the tools after you are done <3

- but IMAGINE bruces face the first time you go to fuck somebody up

- mans is batman for fucks sake but if he gets antagonized as Bruce Wayne there is absolutely zero physical fight back

- sometimes verbal but even that is usually subtle

- ‘it means he took the hippocratic oath’ yeah okay bruce and falcone is a wholeass crime lord

- but one day someone decides to try you

- Bruce and you are out (for once) and someone gets all up in his face, tries to ask him questions and berate him

- you realize then they’re a reporter, the recorder tight in their hands

- and you just got PISSED

- Bruce doesn’t come out very often and when he does you always get bombarded by some asshole like this

- you got all up in their face, grabbing the recorder, tossing it on the side of the room, talking really sternly about how people deserve their privacy and how Bruce doesn’t have any shit to record

- you actually ended up getting caught by the paparazzi <3

- many articles about Bruce Waynes insane girlfriend <3

- you were very proud of them actually!

- Bruce read them to you in the morning and you kinda sauntered into the room, a smile on your face like ‘That’ll teach em to get in your face when we go get dinner’

- he asked you then, ‘You don’t think it was a bit much?’

- ‘Absolutely not. They were getting in your face.’

- he shrugged and watched as you walked into the kitchen to get food

- Alfred sat down with Bruce and asked him about the calls he’s been getting to interview Bruce’s girlfriend but Bruce just shook his head, laughing gently

- he doesn’t know what happened as much as Alfred did

- and none of them did get in your face again. They always gave you more space then you needed

- Bruce still didn’t like to go out as much but that never stopped you from giving them grief when he did <3

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