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the-wintershade · 1 year

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something calling to get closer | pattinson!batman

series: staring into the echo | 1 | 2 | 3 pairing: pattinson!batman x reader summary: bruce can't wait to see you any longer. wc: 1.7k+ genre: angsty, reader has doubts about feelings, sad, but has a happy ending (in part 3 <3)

There are three text messages on your phone when you wake up.

One is from Gordon to confirm your breakfast attendance. You still have thirty minutes before you needed to be there.

The other two send your heart into a gallop.

11:15 pm: Bruce: Hey, everything okay? I saw you leave. Just checking in.

Another text follows Bruce’s last one by an hour and a half.

12:45 pm: Bruce: I know you’re probably asleep. Would it be okay if I stopped by tomorrow morning? Alfred made you some biscuits he wants you to try. I want to talk to you. Didn’t get to say much before you went back to the department.

Gordon must have filled him in on you going to fill out paperwork. You’re surprised Bruce remembered. He did have a beautiful woman in front of him and all.

You sigh. That isn’t fair. Bruce at least cares about you in a professional manner, if not in the personal way you’re starting to understand you wish he did.

He did care enough to text.

Bruce must have missed your routine. You tamper the rising swell of hope in your chest. It’s just a routine. Anyone would be thrown off by a missed routine. This isn’t special. This is just work.

You consider texting Bruce back, but with only having twenty minutes to get ready before meeting Gordon, you decide against it.

You would need every moment you had to shower again to make sure all of the dirt from yesterday is gone. Then you’ll need to change and attempt to look presentable.

Swinging your legs over the bed, you get moving. You exit out of Bruce’s messaging thread and tap on Gordon’s thread.

7:15 am: Lieutenant Gordon: Hey, you coming by the diner @ 8?

7:32 am: (Name): be there in 30.

7:32 am: Lieutenant Gordon: I’ll save you some coffee.

You smile.

You look forward to meeting Gordon. It would be nice to sit and talk about what happened last night with a neutral party.

If anything, going over the explosions would help Gordon feel less guilty about what happened to the citizens. He has a habit of shouldering more than he needed to.

You pick out your clothes and are about to get into the shower when you remember you forgot to take your vitamins the night before.

It’s not the most important thing, but you have skipped them the last few days and the lack of iron is starting to catch up with you. Plus, a depressive mood never helps the immune system.

Opening your bedroom door, you tread out to your living room before a figure rises from the couch. “(Name)?”

You freeze.

You know that voice. You know it belongs to the man whose text messages you never responded to.

After a second, it clicks that he is now standing in your apartment. Then you remember you have given him the key just in case something happened.

Apparently, he was worried enough to make sure nothing happened.

“Bruce,” you shakily breathe. “You scared me.” You press a hand against your chest to calm your heart.

He sheepishly shuffles on his toes. “Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“What are you doing here?” You force yourself to turn and walk to the counter. You pull a glass down from the cabinet.

You need to do something to distract you from the fact that your heart isn’t just racing because you got startled. It’s racing because Bruce being here goes further than the requirements of a partner.

A little glimmer of hope pulses through you. But you can’t feed into it yet. It’s the morning after his texts now. A lot could have happened overnight. That includes meeting with the woman.

Bruce drifts nearer, leaning his elbows on the island behind you. His sleepy eyes watch as you pour water into your glass. “Wanted to check on you. You didn’t answer my texts.”

Your core warms at the soft concern in his tone. So he does like being in contact with you. But that doesn’t mean anything. The two of you talked all the time.

“I was asleep. Tired after everything.” You murmur, opening your pill bottle and popping a tablet in your mouth. It’s good to move, to give you something to distract yourself with.

Plus, you need to keep your tone measured. Just because you felt hopeful doesn’t mean Bruce needs to know that.

As you washed the pill down with water, you turn to find Bruce looking intently at your face, as if trying to decipher what was going on in your head. There’s a touch of vulnerability behind his gaze that you didn’t see when he talked to the woman with the red hair.

You nearly choke on your drink.

“What’s going on?” Bruce gently asks. He moves so he can lean his hip against the counter, arms folded in front of him. His long black t-shirt pulls against his forearms. His undone hair brushes against his eyes.

You shook your head. Partially to answer his question, partly because you’re trying to clear your head. His adorably tired look is distracting. “Nothing. I’m just a little tired still. Running over all the details of what happened the other day took a lot out of me.”

He nods but you can tell he doesn’t believe you. Bruce and Lieutenant Gordon have this knack for being able to see past what you say to what you can’t bring yourself to admit.

If you were thinking more clearly, you would have avoided eye contact with Bruce. But you aren’t. You’re too distracted by how beautiful his eyes were. Too distracted by how much you want to smile and laugh and go back to how things were.

“What did you think about the multiple explosions?” His eyes hold a light squint as he watches for your response. You feel your palms start to sweat.

Bruce is starting to apply pressure because he knows, just as you do, that the crime scenes weren’t the only thing on your mind the other night. Cases like this don’t wipe you out; they energize you.

You should have come up with a better lie. A death in the family. Something you could avoid discussing the details of.

You know you would have to give him something but the truth is out of the question. It could ruin everything. It’s stupid anyway.

If you wait a few days and make yourself conveniently “busy,” these feelings would go away. Everything would go back to normal, or as close as it could.

Clearing your throat, you push some hair out of your eyes. “Chaos, organized. Needed to be during a busy time of day to get in the way of the governor debates. The news would be so focused on that they would miss discussions about the future of the city.”

Bruce hums, eyes slightly lighting up. “I thought that too. Maybe would also give them a good opening for an attack on city hall.” He chuckles as he continues. “Though, I don’t think he was ready for the debate to get canceled.”

You couldn’t help but smile back. But just as quickly as the smile appears on your face, it disappears.

You need to keep the warm feeling in your chest at bay. Plus, you still don’t know his whereabouts the night before. But a partner wouldn't ask about that. A partner wouldn't care. It's just work.

You know he had talked to Gordon a few times. Once you left. Again around the time the bat signal shone against the clouds. But that only accounted for a small portion of the time you weren’t together.

There was plenty of room for more to happen that you didn’t know about and shouldn’t care about. And yet, you do.

Bruce’s smile dies as he watched yours slide off your face. He looks concerned and confused at the same time, eyebrows agitatedly scrunching together.

When he realizes you aren’t going to add anything, his mouth wordlessly moves as he grasps to fill the silence.

“Did you get hurt?” He sputters.

He steps toward you, reaching out a hand you knew was warm and gentle, but you retreat, backing up toward your bedroom.

Not because you remembered you have breakfast with Gordon in twenty minutes and counting, but because you don’t know where his hands have been the night before.

Your heart isn’t ready to take any more blows, not when hope is starting to patch up the breaks in its armor.

You can’t ignore the flash of pain that dampens his eyes and sends a twitch through his fingers. He doesn’t quite withdraw his hand but he leaves it hanging in the air. It’s an offering, but it no longer searches for your arm.

A twinge of regret twists in your chest. You don’t like seeing him so disappointed, but you can’t risk acting on your hope until you know what happened last night.

Rubbing your arms, you offer him a brief apologetic look before pressing your lips into a line. “I’m fine. Just a few scratches.”

“Do you need any help with them?” His eyebrows lifted, face open and wondering, eagerly waiting for your response. The hope of a “yes” colors his warming gaze.

Even though your heart warms at his concern, you take a deep breath and brace yourself. “I managed. But I appreciate it.” You don’t let his disappointed expression stop you from moving forward.

This would be better for both of you. It would be better to stop pretending like you really meant anything significant to each other. You’d always be partners, but that would be it. Just professionals that worked well together.

“Listen,” you start, trying to wipe the sad puppy eye expression from Bruce’s face. “Can we talk later? I’m meeting Gordon in twenty minutes and I still need to get ready.”

Bruce, still looking dejected, blinks and then nods. His eyes are unfocused. You fight off the clenching of your heart. You remember that look all too well, but you won’t let it stop you. You couldn’t keep letting your hope get the better of you.

But denying it hurts Bruce. You never want to hurt him.

You turn to go get ready, already preparing to fight through tears as he left.

Then his voice, sad and open, calls to you. “Was it something I did?”

#site #battinson fic #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne/reader #battinson x reader #battinson angst #battinson/reader #battinson fanfiction #pattinson!batman #pattinson!bruce wayne #bruce wayne imagine #battinson imagine #s: staring into the echo #staring into the echo

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jangofctts · 2 years

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Feel the Heat (Batman/Bruce Wayne x fem!reader)

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: !!spoilers!!, some fluff!!, twisted the timeline a bit sorry ig, smut, explicit language, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, squirting, jealousy, unashamed lesbian smooching, slight praise kink, mentions of violence/death, (lmk if I missed anything please!!)

a/n: aha thanks for your patience!!!

This is a stupid idea—going back to the Wayne Tower.

What are you even hoping to gain from this?

A stupid apology? An explanation?

You don’t know.

Bruce Wayne will always have his secrets—this you know. Middle school—sitting in the nurse’s office after class—Bruce holding his bleeding nose between his crimson stained hands while you did your history homework on the counter, littered with bloodied tissues and cotton-balls. He told you the other kid swung first—you promised him you wouldn’t tell Alfred. You remember the emergency room—junior prom night—broken collar bone and road rash all up the right side of his body. A piss poor attempt at driving his father’s motorcycle—you ditched your date to come pick Bruce’s ass up. When he tried to unwrap those stale muffin’s they give you as consolation, he burst into silent sobs when he couldn’t do it. His tears weren’t over the broken bone or icky muffin—rather the bike. The paint was scratched to hell. These sorts of things you’re privy too. The rest? You’re not so sure.

Not all of it is intentional. Isolation has a keen way of threading through one’s social life, binding together the art of conversation. He’ll never jump to share unless you jam the rusty pliers between his teeth and wrench his jaw apart. Unravel and sort through the mess of words to find a sensible answer—but that’s more of your mother’s way of things.

It still doesn’t stop you from throwing yourself at all those stupid walls he throws up. They’re flimsy when it comes to you. So, while the request to see you a day later from the whole funeral fiasco is not a surprise, your annoyance certainly is. It’s not really…aimed at Bruce. More of a cumulation of stress that has no outsource other than your morose friend. So when you arrive to the Wayne Tower, snappy and lightly rained on, you’re ready to tear into him.

Too bad you’re too much of a fuckin’ crybaby to follow through.

When those stupid nickel plated elevator doors slide open, you startle—completely throws you off your game. You don’t expect Mr. Bruce Wayne himself to be waiting to greet you.

Disheveled, shoulders drawn inward, hair an utter mess. God, he looks like shit. Why does he always look like shit? It’s the vampiric nature of this penthouse—you know it. Or his complete disregard for eating something other than a singular blueberry.

Bruce fiddles with his fraying sleeve. He attempts to smile but immediately drops the act the second you pointedly quirk a brow. He scowls. “Blue—”

True. You’re a coward when it comes to verbal confrontation, but pettiness? Oh, you can manage that just fine.

You mash the close door button. The metal squeaks on its hinges, shuttering as Bruce shoves his forearm between them. The doors snick back open. “Oops. Wrong floor.”

“Blue,” he protests, stepping to the side as you pout and shove past him. “Blue—wait.”

You wave him away and flee to the dining room. You fling your bag over one of the chairs and stalk towards the little bookshelf tucked away in the corner. Watery light streams through the gothic windows, highlighting the swirling dust motes. Bruce’s bare feet pad over the tile and then the plush rug, lingering behind you as if he were your shadow. You tense when his fingers touch your shoulder—he pulls back.

“I’m sorry I left you,” he murmurs, words mournful and reaching.

Your throat tightens, fingernails biting into the sot flesh of your palms. “You didn’t pick up the phone—I was so worried.”

No answer. You grit you teeth.

“I called almost every hospital, you know.”

Still nothing. Only a hollow exhale and a shuffle of loose fitting clothes.

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth. “Where did you go, Bruce?”

You were left there alone, swept into the crowd and mass panic—and you only wish he was there too. And at the end of it all, you don’t really care where he’s been or where he goes, just that he cares. You willingly outstretch your hand into the burning house, will watch it corrode and blacken all for his sake, but he chooses to sit and let the flames devour him.

This time, he reaches out.

“Carmine Falcone,” he says. You recognize the name from the funeral. A pause. He works his jaw, rubs at his arms, then sighs. “He knew my father."

Oh.

Gives the situation more a basis for understanding—still doesn’t excuse the abrupt depart. You watch him out of the corner of your eye. There’s more to this story—but now’s not the time to pry. Not yet.

Goosebumps rush down your spine as his fingertips meet the base of your neck. When you don’t turn around to bite, he sidles his body up to yours. “I’m sorry, Blue.”

“No,” you sneer, shrugging off his advances. Your feelings are still a bit tender. It doesn’t do much of anything—it’s just a strange dance of avoidance and of weaving limbs attempting to ensnare you. “I’m mad at you.”

Bruce’s hand slides down your forearm and slots around your wrist, pinning your arm across your waist. The other arm soon follows, trapped against your body with Bruce’s own limbs acting as the restraint. It’s a flimsy hold—one push and he’d fall away quicker than grains of sand through a sieve. Yet, as Bruce tucks you against his chest, most of your resistance ebbs. “Blue.”

“Don’t,” you whine, eyes squeezing shut. You’re angry for fuck’s sake—you’ll be damned if you simply give up your grievances just because Bruce is caging you close. You’re not some cheap-ass date nor feeble willed. You grit your teeth and dig your heels in. “Didn’t you hear me?”

Goosebumps rush up your arms as Bruce’s thumbs rub light circles on the delicate outcrop of your wrist bones. You feel his nose press into your hair, his exhale ruffling the strands atop your head. “Hm.”

His little hum is posed more as a question—quiet and lifting in the way questions do in the case of feigning innocence. Bastard. “I said I’m—”

Dry lips and scratchy stubble brush the dip of your shoulder. He mouths your name inaudibly into your skin like a patchwork of saccharine blessings and devotion—so sugary sweet that the roof of your mouth tastes like fuzzy static. Bruce imbeds devout kisses up your throat that curves out for him as offering. “You’re what?” His lips vibrate as the words tumble out, goading you into finishing your fallacy.

His plush lips latch onto the line of your jaw. You swallow and claw at the fleeting strands of your sensibilities and blink away the haze of desire. “I said I’m angry at you.”

You shiver, bitting back a gasp as his tongue trails a slick line up to your earlobe. One arm unlatches itself, fingers moving to sweep your hair off your shoulder. Though as they trace the slope of your shoulder, they hesitate over the the base of your neck. A dull flare of pain radiates out as Bruce curiously kneads the skin. “Did I leave this?”

A stab of panic lacerates your gut. Your first thought is to lie—tell him that yes, the mottled skin matching the teeth of Vengeance belongs to Bruce—but the guilt tastes bitter on the tongue. You clench your teeth. “I’ve uh…there’s someone else.”

The admittance does not deter him. Bruce’s hands find the hem of your shirt and skate up your bare stomach and sensitive sides. “Do I know them?”

“Why would you?” You sigh, smoothing your palm down his forearm. “You don’t have any friends.”

Bruce’s chest rises, intending to disprove the accusation. You beat him to it. “I don’t count.”

He snorts and runs his thumbs over your ribcage, setting the nerves alight. “Do you like him?”

You swear you feel Bruce’s lips upturn into a smirk, but just as you think it, it dissipates. Bruce’s lips touch your cheek as his hands rise higher, brushing the underside of your breasts. A noise of approval rumbles through his chest as you lean more of your weight against him. “Why?”

Bruce shrugs. You inhale sharply through your nose as he pushes one hand under the elastic band of your sports bra, deft fingers curling around the pliant flesh. “Competition,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear.

“Tall, dark and handsome,” you say, eyes fluttering shut. He rolls your nipple between his fingertips, other hand traversing back down the line of your sternum, over your stomach and to your navel. It’s pathetic how easily he’s lit a fire under your skin—hot and pressing, working up your body until it only craves him. “H-hard to beat.”

Bruce toys with the hem of your leggings, waits for your breathy consent, and then wiggles his hand into your pants. He dives past the thin elastic of your underwear and past your curls to touch your clit. Bruce smiles into your neck. “It is.”

Your head tips back against his chest, knees buckling at the raw pleasure that sparks from his fingertips to your body. He cinches closer, the sinew and muscle of his arm flexing to keep you from falling. A ragged gasp tears from your throat as his fingers brush teasingly over your clit, only to delve further between your wet cunt. He spreads the gathering wetness, gliding his fingers through your folds at an achingly slow pace—a prideful show of self satisfaction—how easily you unravel for him. Delicious heat simmers in the pit of your stomach, increasing tenfold as his middle finger experimentally circles your entrance. Your breath stutters as he dips only the first half inch of his fingertip inside of you—you clench around him and whine.

However, the angle is a little too awkward to fully seat his finger inside of you. Instead, he slips his finger up, dragging it back up to your clit. You jolt as he catches the underside of your clit, unprotected and searing. You claw at his forearm circling your front, nails harpooning into his skin. Bruce’s other hand unlatches from your breasts, slides out of your shirt and slots his hand over your jaw. He carefully twists your head, inviting you to look up at him. Dark hair spills over his forehead, irises blown wide and mouth parted. If anything, you’d say he’s the one who’s splitting apart at the seams.

You squint—there’s a smudge of something black under his eye—you hadn’t noticed it before. Like dust, or paint maybe. Before you can wiggle a hand between your bodies to inspect it further, Bruce nudges your nose with his.

“Kiss me,” it comes out in a strained gasp, because desperation is the venomous snake that’s bitten you both. Holding each other on the razorwire and the ivory snake fangs of your bodies—the burning a solid boundary of trouble and hysteria alike. “Blue—”

You neck strains at this angle, but you’ll bear the discomfort. His lips meld to yours, tasting like blueberries and mint tea. His lips are always forgiving, soft and feathery like he can’t quite fathom that you’ve decided to kiss him. You understand—loss decorates his chest like medals of war. Better the aloneness than the hurt—days that feel scripted and arduous. Barely fumbling his way through habits and requirements as if each of his bones were made from concrete. You’d carve him a slice of sunlight if you could, but you can’t. The only thing you can offer are your outstretched fingers and a promise not to leave again.

You cry into his open mouth, hot tongue sliding against yours as you part your lips. Bruce’s fingers don’t stop rocking against your clit, your slick arousal making a mess of your underwear. His fingers split, massaging the swollen nerves between the two digits, breaking away from your mouth to tuck his chin over your shoulder. Your head rolls back as your hand jumps up to bury your fingers into his hair. You’re nearing your end already. “Fuck—Bruce.”

He pants into the crux of your neck. “How many?”

Your hips roll into his hand, confusion blooming. “W-what?”

“How many times,” Bruce says lowly, “did your friend make you cum?”

You keen. What the fuck—what the fuck. You shouldn’t react in the way you do—swallowed by a wicked rush of arousal and heat—your cunt clenches hard and fuck, you’re right on the edge of orgasm. “I-I don’t—don’t know.”

Teeth pinch around your tender flesh, marking the space right above Bats’. Bruce paws at your breast. “How many? Once?”

Tears push at your eyes, squeezed shut as you scramble for an answer. You nearly burst into tears right then and there as his fingers cease their movements—you were so close, but now you’re plummeting down the mountain of ecstasy. You arch against him and yank at his hair—you don’t care that it’s bratty, nor the way the sound of his name filters past your teeth like a petulant princess. “Bruce.”

“Blue,” he mocks. Your fault for forgetting that Bruce is an only child—he gets what he wants.

You wet your lips and nuzzle your nose into his throat. “T-twice…”

Bruce’s lips draw into a grin. “I can do better.”

You hips stutter and jerk as his fingers leap into action. They roll over your clit, tight and fevered circles that shove you off that edge—your body seizes. You cum onto his fingers with a strangled cry, sparks of blurry white alighting behind your eyelids as you twist in his arms—jittery with nowhere to go. Bruce continues to swipe his fingers around your throbbing clit, your nerves burning hotter than wildfire, spreading from your core all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. You're shaking, and over the roar of your pulse, you hear Bruce murmur his praise. And maybe, if you were a better person, you’d tell him he’s competing with a shadow. You don’t even know his name or what he looks like—but it’s too late now.

Your stomach drops as Bruce’s hand loosely curls around your throat, his fingers over your clit refusing to give you a chance to recover. You don’t scrape the bottom, you’re swept into a wild whirlwind of scraped nerves—too blistering. The discomfort doesn’t last long. Another orgasm bursts through your core, quick and bright as Bruce’s fingers twitch around your throat. It singes your insides and fuck—your vision goes a bit fuzzy.

A broken groan falls from your lips as Bruce mercifully retracts his hand. His fingers are drenched, leaving behind shiny spots of wetness over your tummy as he flattens his palm over it. You’re still twitching, panting and swimming through the clouds of lust. Your throat bobs under Bruce’s hand, and as he slots his hips closer, you feel the bulge of his cock pressing against the base of your spine.

Bruce plants a kiss to your temple, the soft skin cool to your flushed skin. You sniff and clumsily wipe at your watering eyes. Bruce’s laugh is soft—reserved. “You ok?”

“Peachy,” you croak. You tilt your head and dot a quick kiss on the underside of Bruce’s jaw. His grim mouth upturns into the traces of a smile. He boxes you in against the window and slips his hands up your shirt.

“Can I take this off?” He murmurs into your ear. You nod, lifting your arms for him to slide it off. You bra comes next. A appreciate groan rumbles through his chest upon seeing your bare chest. You shudder when Bruce cups your breasts and thumbs over your nipples. His palm skates to your pants. “These too?”

You shuck them off faster than the blink of an eye. There’s a ruffle of fabric behind you and then Bruce is just as bare as you. His hands drift over the dips and swells of your body, his warm chest molding to your back.

He threads his fingers with yours, pinning your hand against the frigid glass. The city is shrouded in fog today, ghostly towers and the brief glimpses of the road down below swimming in and out of view. Raindrops splatter over the glass, the beads rolling down the flat surface until they conjoin into rivulets of water that mimic branches of lightning. A deep rumble of thunder reverberates through the window—typical weather for early November. A soft touch on the swell of your hip, draws you back into the present.

Bruce peppers kisses over your bare shoulders. “I want you.”

“What’s stopping you?” You goad, dipping a hand between your legs to touch his cock, nestled in the apex of your thighs. He hisses between his clenched teeth, fighting the instinct to mindlessly take you without regard. Your fingers roll over the head of his cock and then, inpatient, you guide him inside of you. “Shit—”

Your breath catches in your throat, no time to adjust as Bruce rocks his hips forward, pressing you tight between the cold widow and his body, splitting you open on his thick cock. You’re wet enough to take him with little resistance—soft and searing. Bruce whispers a curse, his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes, obscene in the quiet space. Your breath fogs the window and when you catch his blissed out reflection, you clench around him. Bruce throbs, thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, hands tightening around your hip and hand.

You claw uselessly at the glass as you try to acclimate, sucking in tapered breathes while pleasure seeps through every pore. Bruce’s groan is rougher than gravel, a sound that has you tightening around him like a vice—threatening to cum again. It feels different like this, bent over in a way that his cock reaches a place you’d never be able to get to yourself. Bruce allows you a moment before he starts thrusting into you, sparking a sensation deep inside you with each movement so hard that it becomes sharp—not painful—but fuck, you’re gonna walk with a limp tomorrow. His hips roll into you, setting a rough pace that drags out a punched sigh every time he rocks up—

There’s no easing into it, nor does Bruce dare tease. It’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and a touch of pain blasting through you all at once, throwing you to the flames.

“Fuck,” Bruce gasps. His grip tightens around your fingers, then falls away to trade in his hold for your breast. You squeak and hook onto his forearm. “Fuck—you’re perfect.”

Bruce drops his head into your neck, his grunts now muffled. Bruce’s fingertips move from your hip to between your legs, seeking out your abused clit. You flinch and press your forehead into the glass, welcoming the bitter chill as distraction until your nerves become used to his touch once more. “Y-you’re—ah—gonna kill me.”

He laves his tongue over your flushed skin, tasting the salt of your perspiration and the sweetness of your perfume. “Little Crybaby Blue—you’re tough.”

You’re not sure why the words pluck at such a visceral part of you. Shredding you apart for the third time without mercy. Your teeth pierce your bottom lip as you cum—everything surging up hot and molten. Bruce peels off your back, fucking you through it, and you can’t distinguish anything in the haze aside from his burning skin under you, in you, on you—the only anchor you have as the euphoria rockets through you. His name comes out garbled as you wail for him, the only warning either of you get before your knees buckle under you.

Your aching cunt weeps at the loss of Bruce’s cock as he catches you before you topple to the floor. Christ—your limbs are a mess—a feeling akin to being drunk. Your back meets the plush rug, the remnants of your orgasm still radiating out through your veins and arteries. Your legs are splayed open, your hip joints winging in protest as Bruce hooks his hands under you knees and pries your thighs further apart. You squeak as he suddenly yanks your legs over his knees, cock pulsing at the seam of your pussy as he folds over you, strong arms posting above you.

Your murmur his name and cup his stubbled cheeks. A lopsided smile graces your face as you push a strand of his hair behind his ear. Your gaze drifts back to that black smudge under his eye—you wipe the oily substance away with your thumb. Huh. “You wearing eyeliner now, Brucey?”

Bruce swallows and drops his chin. His shoulders lift with a shrug. “Something like that,” he says faintly. And then he kisses you. You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, devouring and greedy.

Bruce leans his weight onto one arm and breaks the kiss. He doesn’t go far, your lips just barely graze his. His hand finds his cock, flushed and twitching as he drags the blunt tip of himself through your folds. You both gasp as he finds your entrance, seating himself only partially inside of you. What the fuck. You arch and claw at his bicep, begging for all of it. Bruce doesn’t budge.

He quiets you with a kiss and rolls his hips. Your entire leg twitches and jerks over his hip, praying he’ll go deeper or something. “Bruce—please.”

You’re not expecting him to start moving the way he does—oh fuck. It’s a twisted, deep, burning pleasure that sparks through you, diffusing outwards from each calculated thrust. This pace is controlled—slow—but the brutal up and down thrusts that meet that little pleasurable spot inside you dead on, make up for the near-teasing tempo.

Bruce sits up, gripping your hips to counteract your ceaseless wiggling. You grab at him, clutching onto his arm and his bare chest, leaving behind red lines upon his pale flesh. You cry at the overwhelming sensation, straining and babbling for mercy or more. You can’t rightly tell. Your toes start to curl as the feeling overtakes your very soul. God—fuck, this is so fucking unfamiliar. Shoved down your throat and you can’t do anything about it but take it. You face the pleasure heard on, pure fire blurring the seams of your mind, hot and amorphous through your entire body. Fuck—you feel like crying. Are you crying? Probably.

You hiccup. Bruce murmurs gentle praise and yep—you’re crying. Blunt, white hot pressure builds up, tightening like a drawstring pulley against all the muscles below your waist. The strangled cry you make, like some wounded thing, should embarrass you as Bruce pulls out completely—ashamed by how desperately your cunt clamps down around nothing for what seems like an eternity. Bruce doesn’t seat his cock back into you until you stop writhing and clawing at his arms. Fuck him. Fuck this—

Bruce reaches out, cupping your cheek and thumbing the tears that dribble into your hairline. His thumb drops to your lip, toying with the plush skin until your tongue flicks out to taste his skin. Bruce grunts. “You’re so pretty.”

It’s right then that you realize you couldn’t be friends anymore. You’ve fallen into the arch of his fingerprint, the tender loops of his heartstrings. The tiny scars of childhood and the creases in his skin that you’d know numb and blind. You’re no different to him—he knows you—knows all the little ugly bits of yourself and still finds them beautiful. He’s handing you this secret insecurity of displaying desire. Something he is so afraid of—of it being stripped away. You don’t get to bask in the vulnerability—

Bruce shoves back inside of you and everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again. You clutch at his wrist and mouth his name, strong hips rolling into with devastating accurate and poise—you’re falling apart. Bruce pulls out again but this time, as your cunt spasms and arches with the loss, wet heat suddenly coats your inner thigh. His voice trips into a ragged moan, threaded in awe. “Shit—you liked that.”

Sparks zap and crackle through you long after his touch is gone. You don’t—fuck, what—

It clicks quite abruptly, what’s happened—a blush that encompasses your whole body burns through you. Christ—you didn’t even know you could.

His slides back inside you and you wail his name. “Do it again,” Bruce breathes, jerking his hips into you hard. You don’t know how he’s doing this to you—does this count as an orgasm? Fuck, you don’t know—you’re on the knife’s edge. All you know is Bruce, his cock spearing into your wet heat and the cloud of ecstasy. You don’t know where Bruce’s burst of confidence came from—it’s unlike him to just take. Almost like targeted vengeance on behalf of all the times he’s let you slip through his fingers, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you. You blink up at him, your vision blurry with tears as he leans down to whisper against your lips.

“Does he make you feel like this?” It’s spoken so delicately in contrast to the force and persistence of his movements, that it’s jarring. Is he really still thinking about that? It doesn’t fucking matter—

Even if you wanted to voice your opinion—you can’t fucking speak. It just tumbles into a realm of beyond worse as Bruce yanks himself out one last time. You can feel your floor muscles automatically flex against the sudden emptiness inside you. Your cheeks burn as he chokes out a broken moan, self satisfied and glued to your thighs that have become wet again. “No,” he answers for you, pushing your shaky legs off his hips. His keen eyes bask in the fruits of his labor, watching you struggle through the aftershocks. You shiver each time his hand rubs at your exposed thigh. “He doesn’t.”

You feel like lead, your limbs don’t work properly, as if you’ve severed the nerves that connects you to them. Fuck—your eyes, still blurry, drift to his tummy…then lower. He’s still hard—glistening in your arousal and flushed an angry red. You spare not a moment nor a thought as you reach out to touch him. He slides easily into palm—Bruce curses and drops his chin to his chest.You pump his cock the best you can at this angle, appreciative of the way he bucks his hips up to help you. Bruce crumples atop you a moment later, leaving just enough space for you to jerk him off, but close enough that you’re both melded together.

He mouths at your jawline, that dark and jealous streak seeping out of his body. His demeanor softens, drawing back into the familiarity of the Bruce you know. Your pussy clenches as Bruce whines into your ear—his hand pawing at any available skin that he finds. You can feel his cock throb—he’s close. You whisper his name and bury your other hand into the hair lining the nape of his neck and tug. His lips curl into a snarl.

“My B-Blue—”

Bruce’s teeth latch over the skin of your collarbone, one more thrust into your fist, and he’s spent. Bruce cums in your hand, over your hip and upper thigh. Fuck—that has no business being that fucking hot—covered in his spend while he shakes and grips you like you’re his only tether.

You let your hand fall lax. Bruce unlatches his teeth over your now mottled skin, and jumps to steal a kiss. You still can’t fucking talk—he’s robbed you of your ability to form words. He peppers kisses over your forehead, down your eyes and over the bridge of your nose. Memorizing each inch of skin with his plush mouth. Your heart aches for him—you hope your hand, threaded through his hair and tenderly massaging his scalp, conveys the message.

You like it here—crushed under his weight and the plush rug under you that’s probably given you rug burn on your ass. You like the way you can feel his heartbeat pound through the ivory makeup of his ribcage and the way his breathing evens out to a gentle puff against your neck.

However, the universe has a funny way of ruining a perfectly good moment, doesn’t it?

Footsteps echo down the hall—Bruce’s head rears, eyes widening as Alfred steps around the corner. There’s no time to give warning nor throw on a shirt or something. “Bruce? Everything—”

Alfred’s eyes drift down to your disorderly selves. Quicker than you can say Wayne, Alfred spins on his heel, throws a hand over his eyes and books it back the way he’s come. “Chrissake,” you hear him announce, carried by the tall ceilings and the echoey nature of the Wayne Tower.

You start giggling—what else is there to do? You’re soaring on endorphins—so much so that everything is bathed in humor.

Bruce blushes. A deep red that stains the hollows of his cheeks, his throat and the tips of his ears. You snicker and sweetly touch his scarlet skin. “Oops.”

Bruce groans and buries his face into your neck, holding you tight to escape the embarrassment. You cradle his head, carding through his hair and running your fingers over each inch of skin you can reach. This feels normal—right.

You wish you knew if he feels the same. But tragedy looms over Bruce like a cloud. You don’t know how to stand between this darkness of his life and the curled, shaking fist around the heart of his past. How to tell him that he has always been loved. But every time he opens up the book of his life, leafing though the thin, opaque paper, it is always the same story about aching. The same rabid hymnal of flight, of fingers breaking and twisted lungs. He’s strangled the light of better things between his fist like the ocean floor, the vacuum of space. You think it’s probably cathartic to him—to suffer the same pain everyday. Bruce could be be loved like an explosion and still be left cold. Whatever is broken inside of him only wants to devour. The love just slips right off from where he can’t feel it, a tiny swirl of mint toothpaste in the sink of his childhood. The little white menthol fingerprints spelling out apologies, guilt—

It’s an uphill battle to love him—but what fault is there in trying?

“I’ll drive you back.”

“What?” You ask, called back to the present.

Bruce kisses your shoulder. “Tonight, when you leave—I’ll drive you back home.”

“Tonight?” You echo, eyes drifting to the window. “It is eleven in the morning.”

Bruce shifts and turns his head to smatter kisses up your cheek. His quiet mhm vibrates over your skin.

“Is this your way of asking me to hang out with you?”

He nods and finds your lips. It’s a languid kiss—sweet and long.

“Fine.”

-=-=-=-=-

Selina knows this depraved club like the back of her hand. The vile happenings and the shameful acts that the upstanding arms of justice in Gotham should avoid at all cost. Yet here they are—greedy hands and lecherous eyes that can’t help themselves. Less of them have been down here as of late—happens when a serial killer is targeted men like them—but again, these stupid fools can’t quit.

And neither can Vengeance.

Selina only agreed to it for Annika—to wear this dumb earpiece and recording lenses so Vengeance could creep on all the unlucky souls here. The DA’s office, cops, social workers—all of it incriminating evidence that could land their asses in jail for life. Selina isn’t sure what exactly Vengeance is looking for. Loose ends maybe—a trail that leads back to this supposed rat that’s got everyone in a twist.

Vengeance is muttering in the earpiece, reading off names and loosely directing Selina to a mark worth sinking her claws into. It all falls to shit the moment Selina’s eyes drift to the bar, illuminated by a rainbow of LED and neon lights. She’s a pretty little thing, hugging the wall as her fingers fidget around the rim of a half empty tumbler. The black, sequined cocktail dress, hugs her frame like a glove, and every other moment or so, she tugs the hem of her dress back down her thighs. There’s plenty of hospitality workers, and though Selina works topside now, she knows or knows of the girls down here. While Vengeance’s sharp inhale that crackles through the earpiece solidifies Selina’s assumptions, the girl on her own, sticks out worse than a crayon in a box of colored pencils.

Selina sidesteps a drunken patron, eyes locked on the girl. “You know her, hun?”

“Talk to her,” Batboy orders sharply. Raw desperation laces his tone. Oh, he really must like her.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Selina sighs. “She’s a looker, huh, Batboy?”

No answer is given. Selina, quickly traverses the space, the bass of the heavy music vibrating through the air. The girl’s eyes flick to Selina, a quick look over to analyze he potential threat she may pose. They double back when Selina flashes her a smile—the girl squirms in her seat, touching one foot to the floor to bolt if she needs. Selina tiptoes he finger over the mahogany bar top, forcing back her snicker as panic wells in the girl’s flighty eyes. When she tries to leave, Selina slides a hand over her forearm. Selina leans in close, lips brushing her ear. She freezes. “Vengeance says hello.”

Blue shifts her weight in her seat. Her eyes, painted in neat eyeliner and glittery eyeshadow, widen. The ends of her mouth quirk into a faint smile. Innocent. Kind. You don’t find much of that in Gotham anymore. Then again, the girl shouldn’t be so trusting of Selina simply because she uttered a name she was familiar with. She settles back in her seat and offers her hand.

Selina eyes the outstretched limb and slips her hand into hers. They’re a little dry compared to the softness of Selina’s skin. They’re warm, though. “Blue.”

“Selina,” she smiles, allowing her hold to linger a little too long to be considered friendly. “Whatcha’ drinking, hun?”

“Selina,” Vengeance warns in her ear. “Careful with her.”

Selina heads him no mind. After all, he’s the one who directed Selina over here.

“Oh, uh—” Blue flounders and tucks a hair behind her ear. It’s a deliberate move—a wire is taped behind her ear—damn kid works for GCPD. Not that the signal will ever reach down here. Falcone and the Penguin have this place safeguarded and jammed. She lets the strands of her hair fall back into place. “Fizzy water and lemonade.”

Selina’s shoulders bounce with a laugh. “Never heard of that before.” Blue ducks her head and shyly offers her glass. “I used to get it as a kid—wasn’t allowed to drink soda.”

Selina takes up her offer and wraps her lips around the straw. Mauve lipstick stains remain on the white plastic. It’s alright—the lemonade is too sweet for Selina’s liking. She places the glass back into Blue’s hand. “Sounds like a boring childhood.”

Blue’s nose scrunches and waves her hand in dismissal.

“Ask her why she’s here.”

Selina inwardly sighs.

“So—what’s a girl like you doin’ in a place like this?” Selina purrs, crossing her legs and leaning closer. She props her chin up with her hand, limiting the chances of someone overhearing their little chat. Maybe, if fortune favors, Blue knows something about Annika.

Blue sips her drink. Her tongue rolls out to collect the excess moisture. “Same as you—and Bats. Looking for familiar faces.”

“It’s not safe here,” Bats harps, “She needs to leave—tell her.”

Selina lays a hand on Blue’s knee. Blue’s eyes drop, brows lifting in mild surprise. She doesn’t pull away. Selina smirks and rubs her thumb over the soft flesh, cooing softly as Blue clears her throat. Oh, she’s a treat to tease. “Hey—why don’t we help each other out? I think I know what you need.”

“Selina.”

Blue twists a strand of hair around her fingers, curiosity piqued. “Yeah? Like what?”

Selina lightly traces her fingernails further up Blue’s leg, the head pounding music and the nodes of her sweet perfume a perfect mix of risk and stupidity. Though just as Selina parts her lips to dangle a tidbit of information for Blue, an unwanted third party blunders through. Blue and Selina jerk apart, startled, hackles raised—

“How much do you—hic—ladies want,” a man, dressed in a disheveled three piece suit, slurs, “for a little—y’know...two on one.”

Selina scowls at the idiot in question who gestures to himself, shit-eating grin plastered across his aging, perspiring face. Blue blinks rapidly, the muscles in her jaw jumping. She recognizes this man—

“Jackson Pollard—DA’s office,” Vengeance supplies. “Get Blue out of there before he notices it’s his boss’ daughter.”

Shit.

Selina grabs Blue’s hand, and slips out of her stool. Blue follows. “Sorry, hun. We gotta run—girl stuff, y’know?”

The man’s lips, covered in a thick, graying mustache, purse. He squints and jabs a meaty finger at Blue. “Wait…don’t I—”

Selina grimaces and wrenches Blue out of the corner and into the fray of dancing girls and suited men. Blue grips Selina’s hand like a lifeline as thy navigate through the club. Vengeance nags in her ear—it’s drowned by the music and the thumping of her heart.

Selina herds Blue into the little side hallway, leading to the dressing rooms. She pins blue against the wall—her eyes shine in the dim lighting, her lips parted in protest. “Listen, baby—you a detective?”

“Crime scene tech,” she specifies. Selina feels her voice vibrate under her hand that presses on her sternum. “Why?”

Selina chews her cheek. “My friend—Annika…she’s missing.”

Blue’s brows dip into a worried furrow. “I-I’m sorry—she’s the Russian girl, right?”

“Yeah, exactly,” Selina nods, hope flickering in her chest. “You gotta help me out—you have access to police records, you can look for her. See if she pops up anywhere.”

“Don’t ask her that��she already risks her job for me.”

Selina’s hope sputters out like a candle as Blue frowns. She looks away, eyes finding the floor to stare morosely at. “I don’t think—”

“Please,” Selina grovels. “I can get you a list of regular patrons—Falcone keeps it as blackmail.”

Her face lights up. Blue contemplates for a moment. She outstretches her hand. “I can’t promise I’ll find anything.”

Selina takes her hand to shake on it. “Deal—wait here. I’ll be back in ten.”

“No—don’t leave her,” Vengeance protests in the earpiece. “Selina—“

Selina smirks. She lifts her hand to cup Blue’s face and runs her thumb along her cheekbone, shimmering with highlighter. “I’ll kiss her goodbye for you, Vengeance.”

-=-=-=-=-

The second you stepped into the underbelly of the Iceberg Lounge, you go radio silent. The wire and the camera tap out instantaneously, becoming a static blur. You suspect that who ever manages this place installed a jammer—weaselly bastards.

You have no choice to navigate blind. Your word is not reliable on its own in the court of law, but you’ll have to make do. You make a game of it—memorizing all the faces, the girls, who’s downing Drops like M&M’s. You recognize some of them. Lawyers that work under your dad—you turn your head to hide you face each time one of them passes by the corner you’ve chosen to occupy. This was a stupid idea.

Yeah, you fit the bill for this kind of undercover work, and the ID you use looks similar to you, but damnit. Gordon should have known you have too many ties in Gotham now. The police, the DA’s office, your mother’s senatorial shit. You just hope the gaudy makeup and your skimpy dress is enough to pass under the radar.

It doesn’t.

But not by who you’d suspect.

Batboy’s colleague. Selina is what she calls herself—if it’s even her actual name. Regardless, it’s your saving grace—plucks you from the jaws of danger and offers you exactly what you’ve come for. A list of names.

Nothing comes without a price—you figure you could poke around for her friend but the chances of finding her are…slim. Everyone knows that you have about 24 hours or less to find the victim alive—it’s been four days. Whatever. It’s worth checking.

The kiss is unexpected—not unpleasant in the slightest, though—a little too short if you were to complain. Her lips are soft and yours taste like lemonade. A thrilling blend of voracious passion and firecrackers that explode in your chest. You wonder what Bat’s will say to you later—it’s kinda funny.

Selina pinches your cheek and promises she’ll be back in ten minutes. So you wait, huddled in that dark hallway and twiddling your thumbs as working girls pass in and out. None of them pay you any mind. Ten minutes pass—then twenty.

You gnaw at your thumbnail—dread making a home inside your head. Selina isn’t coming back.

Left with no other option than to escape or keep digging—you bolt from the hallway and towards the gold-plated doors that lead to freedom. Your heartbeat drums in your chest as you reach security. They glare down at you with indifferent eyes, and just as they crack the door open for you—a hand clamps down over your arm. At first you think it’s Selina—

Wouldn’t that be fuckin’ nice?

Your blood runs ice-cold—panic lacerates through your veins and kicks your pulse into overdrive. You don’t have to know his face to realize who this man is. Dark sunglasses, silver teeth and a sharp suit. His sly grin curls up his withered face as yours crumbles into despair.

Carmine Falcone.

#well yeeha #batman x reader #batman 2022 x reader #bruce wayne x reader #pattinson!batman x reader #pattinson!batman #bruce wayne #batman #selina kyle #selina kyle x reader

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endrae · 2 years

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never probably mentioned, but I really enjoyed pattinson’s batman

#batman #the batman #bruce wayne #pattinson!batman #the batman 2022 #endrae art #doodle

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sicko4smut · 6 months

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Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. @smutmaniac -main blog

Marvel

✰ Baron Zemo ✰ Sam Wilson ✰ Bucky Barnes ✰ Steve Rogers ✰ Bruce Banner ✰ Peter Parker ✰ Wanda Maximoff ✰ Vision ✰

Stranger Things

✰ Eddie Munson ✰ Steve Harrington ✰ Jonathan Byers ✰ Robin Buckely ✰

TLOU

✰ Joel Miller ✰ Tommy Miller ✰ Ellie Williams ✰

Harry Potter

✰ Neville Longbottom ✰ Luna Lovegood ✰ Ron Weasley ✰ George Weasley ✰ Hermoine Granger ✰ Severus Snape ✰ Sirius Black ✰ Remus Lupin ✰ Bill Weasley ✰

X-men

✰ Peter Maximoff ✰ Kurt Wagner ✰ Storm ✰ James/Logan Howlett ✰ Scott Summers (older) ✰ Alex Summers ✰ Hank Mccoy ✰ Sean Cassidy ✰ Jean Grey ✰ Rouge ✰ Mystique/Raven ✰

Gotham/Batman

✰ Bruce Wayne ✰ Edward Nashton ✰ Jervis Tetch ✰ Jerome Valeska ✰ Selina Kyle (Gotham) ✰ Ed Nygma (pre-riddler) ✰ Tabitha Galavan ✰ Victor Zsasz ✰ Jonathan Crane ✰

Peaky Blinders

✰ Arthur Shelby ✰ Alfie Solomon✰

Maze Runner

✰ Newt ✰ Thomas ✰ Minho ✰

AHS

✰ Tate Langdon ✰ Vivien Harmon ✰ Violet Harmon ✰

Twilight

✰ Edward Cullen ✰ Alice Cullen ✰ Bella Swan ✰ Jasper Hale ✰ Charlie Swan ✰ Sam Uley ✰ Seth Clearwater ✰

The 100

✰ John Murphy ✰ Finn Collins ✰ Monty Green ✰ Jasper Jordan ✰

TWD

✰ Daryl Dixion ✰ Rick Grimes ✰ Negan ✰ Michonne ✰ Carl Grimes ✰ Glenn Rhee ✰ Laura ✰ Ron Anderson ✰ Maggie Greene ✰

Miscellaneous

✰ Xavier Thorpe ✰ Tyler Galpin ✰ Bill S. Preston, Esq. ✰ Ted 'Theodore' Logan ✰ John Wick ✰ Charlie walker ✰ Ben Solo ✰ Finn (star wars) ✰ Poe Dameron ✰ Maurizio Gucci (h.o.g) ✰ Johnny Knoxville ✰ Luke Castellan ✰

LET ME KNOW WHAT CHARACTERS, YOU WANT ME TO WRITE FOR IN MY INBOX

#stranger things smut #star wars smut #marvel smut #twd smut #twilight smut #masterlist #Harry Potter smut #TLOU smut #x men smut #Gotham smut #pattinson!batman #maze runner smut #multifandom smut #Bill and Ted smut #johnny knoxville smut #maurizio gucci #Wednesday smut

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wesslan · 1 year

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obsessed with batman villains who don't give a single shit about who's under the cowl. couldn't care less about who it is that foils their extremely planned out and meticulously theatric schemes. they just want to start shit. amazing. 10/10 villain design. love when villains view batman as an actor in the little play they're putting on

#batman #bruce wayne #dc comics #battinson #this is about the riddler from the batman if you couldn't tell #the riddler #edward nygma #batman 2022 #pattinson!batman

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gaypoetsblog · 2 years

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The first thing that came into my mind when I saw Dream was how him and Pattinson!Batman would be best friends with mutual love for emo and goth aesthetic.

#the sandman series #the sandman #the sandman netflix #lord morpheus #dream of the endless #dream #tom sturridge #robert pattinson #pattinson!bruce wayne #pattinson!batman #the batman 2022 #goth babies #netflix sandman #sandman #neil gaiman #morpheus

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celestialnxva · 2 years

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Odd Circumstances

Bruce Wayne x Reader

Summary: After saving you from the Riddler’s wrath before he could get to you, Bruce must keep you hidden in the batcave until the Riddler is captured. Awkward conversations lead to newfound realizations.

Warnings: mentions of violence and death, angst, hurt/comfort, really intense pining.

WC: 5k words

masterlist. | main masterlist.

You knew of the Caped Crusader’s existence, just like any other citizen of Gotham, but you always saw him as more of a myth, rather than a human. You could sometimes see his car speeding through the streets or hear the shouts of thugs begging to be saved by his wrath, but never in your life did you expect to come face-to-face with the Batman himself.

Until now.

You were sitting in the living room enjoying a nice cup of hot cocoa that night. Your father, who ran one of Gotham’s most important technological companies, had gone out to conduct business with people whom you could care less about, leaving you alone in the large apartment. So engrossed into your favorite tv show, you did not realize a pair of dark eyes stalking you from the large windows behind you. It took several doorbell rings for you to snap out of your trance and make your way towards the door. You were expecting a family friend on the other side of the door, but instead, you opened the door to the last person you could ever expect.

“Batman...?” you asked in confusion. What the hell was he doing here? Seeing your brows furrow in suspicion, the masked man took a step closer to you, which caused you to take several steps back. You didn’t know why he was here, but you knew that it had to be for a terrible reason. Looking back, you tried to find a weapon to defend yourself with. His surprisingly gentle voice made you look back at him. “Pack your things. You’re in danger and I’m here to get you to safety,” he said plainly. When he saw that you were not exactly processing his request, he took a step forward towards you and shook your shoulder a bit. “Hey. Did you hear what I said?” he asked, his eyes narrowing in concern.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. At least he wasn’t here to hurt you. But if he’s here to get you to safety, then someone must be after your father. You realized something that you wished not to be true and you reached out to grip the man’s armored wrist. “Where is my father? Did something happen to him?” Like you feared, the taller man’s eyes looked away, refusing to tell you the answer. That was when you knew that what you had always feared finally came true. The Riddler must have gotten rid of him. Letting go of his wrist, you turned away from him, mostly to hide your incoming tears. After a few moments of silence, you spoke. “Stay here. I’ll just get a few things from my room.” You started to make your way to your bedroom before your heard heavy footsteps follow you. It seemed the Batman didn’t want to keep you out of his sight. Even if you needed to be alone, now wasn’t the time. There might be someone outside who could shoot you at anytime if he left you alone.

Not wanting to waste his time, you moved swiftly around the room to grab all valuables and a few pairs of clothes to last a few days. When you’ve zipped up your bag, you slipped it on and moved past the man leaning against the frame of the door. “Let’s go,” you stated numbly, already walking towards the door with the keys in your hand. He sighed at your behavior and followed behind you. You were then escorted to his car. As quickly as he came, he left, speeding off towards Wayne tower. You stayed quiet, not wishing to speak to the man next to you. It wasn’t like you didn’t like him. He was trying to protect you, after all. But you needed some quiet time to mourn your father’s death. After some thinking, you decided to lean against the window and close your eyes. Wherever you both were going, it seemed to be a long way from your place. Right before you fell asleep, he spoke.

“I’m sorry about your father. He was next on the Riddler’s list. I couldn’t get to him in time, but he told me to protect you instead.” He paused and turned to you, hoping to get any reaction. When you continued to stare out the window, he coughed awkwardly. “You’ll be taken care of with me. Until I figure out where the Riddler is, you should stay inside where you can be safe.” While he continued driving, you tried not to cry at your current predicament. Not only were you mourning the fact that both of your parents were now gone, you had to stay locked up in a place with a stranger whom you were terrified of. The Masked Vengeance. The man who everyone should be careful of crossing. Right now, you had to use this quiet time to calm yourself as much as possible. You can’t think of all the responsibilities of running a company now passed down to you, not now when your own life is on the line.

You don’t remember when you had dozed off, but you woke up from someone shaking your shoulder. You opened your eyes slowly. With how unfocused your eyes were, you could only make out a large figure hovering over you and you reached out to touch it. “Angel...?” you murmured out sleepily. Bruce was taken aback by your behavior and quickly avoided your touches. You must have forgotten what had just happened before you fell asleep. “Wake up. You can’t stay here forever,” he murmured back to you. The slight annoyance in his tone caused you to blink your eyes into focus and shake your foggy brain awake. Only then did you realize what you had just done and became acutely aware of how close the masked man was to your face. Your eyes widened and you gasped, scooting back against the window with your hand over your mouth. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-” you cut yourself off and inhaled sharply before you clumsily unbuckled your seatbelt and got out of the car as quickly as possible. He watched you hopelessly and let out a sigh, getting out of the car as well. He grabbed your stuff and handed it to his butler while he carefully watched your every move. The scene in front of you was stunning: a large cave filled with one of the most advanced technology you’ve ever seen. They were not something you were familiar with seeing and you were certain that this was nothing your father had ever thought to make in his lifetime. In seeing all of this in front of you, everything just made sense now. With how Batman can just afford to be a vigilante with all those fancy gadgets and cars, it only made sense that he was rich. He must be some billionaire, but maybe one you’ve never heard of.

You didn’t wander away from the car that much, only quietly observing your surroundings. Bruce eyed your movements when Alfred spoke to get his attention. “Would you like me to prepare a room for your guest, sir?” He blinked and looked back at him before he nodded slightly. Alfred soon disappeared with your belongings while Bruce made his way towards you. You turned to look at him. “Do you want to rest? You can answer my questions about your father tomorrow,” he offered quietly. You shook your head slowly and ignored him, making your way towards the giant computer. “Nope. Ask away, Batboy,” you replied in a trance. Everything you saw was exciting. It was like you wanted to stay here forever, spend all of your time exploring all of the technology in this cave. You only wondered whether or not he got all this technology from a business competitor or if he made everything himself.

“Batboy? What….?” He scoffed under his breath. Seeing that you were more focused on other things besides him, he sighed and followed you around, desperately wanting to get your attention. Bruce had never been in a situation where someone did not care about the fact that he was Batman. Not once did you even ask him about his identity or why he decided to take care of you. Instead, his gadgets interested you. What a strange person you were. Losing his patience, he gripped your arm and made you turn around. “Look, I know you’re interested in my computers, but can you focus for me? I need your help so I can figure out where the Riddler is. Can you do that for me?” He asked, his tone raising slightly to show his frustration. In truth, he didn’t want another person in his space. It made him anxious over the fact that you have to stay with him for the next few days, but he had no choice. He just needed to get this over with as soon as possible. He searched your eyes for an answer when you finally spoke. “Alright. I’ll help.”

--------

A few days of working with him proved to be more awkward than you anticipated. You didn’t expect anything else, considering the fact that you didn’t really spend a lot of time with other people other than you father and you assumed that the Batman had no time to make friends with anyone. What started as him asking questions to you led to asking for your assistance in solving ciphers alongside him and Alfred. He wasn’t expecting you to adjust so quickly to your situation, but he was secretly grateful for your help.

One night, you sat on a stool observing his eye lens video tapes from last night when he arrived at the batcave. Last night, you heard about the bomb in the mayor’s funeral, but you could really care less about it. It’s true that the targeted rich men were being murdered in gruesome ways, but they were as corrupt as it gets in Gotham, including your father. He wasn’t exactly a saint either. If he found out how you really felt about him and your willingness to help Batman expose these corrupt leaders, he would be turning in his grave. Hearing loud footsteps approaching you, you turned to see Bruce as he greeted you with a soft grunt. Like usual, he updated you on new information from the next victim’s crime scene. You both worked in silence across from each other before you decided to finally talk.

“So…do you want to at least tell me about yourself?” You tried, not sure in how else to start. The other man stopped typing and slowly looked at you with an unreadable expression. You felt small under his gaze and you laughed nervously, fiddling with your fingers. “Great, haha. So interesting…” you breathed out hopelessly before immediately getting back to de-ciphering another message. He stared at you for a few more moments before he decided to change the subject. “We’re close to finding the Riddler. I need to keep finding clues, but an… ally of mine is willing to help me. She told me she has a lead.”

At the mention of a ‘she,’ you perked up to look at him in surprise. No matter who she was in relation to him, you already knew what she looked like and her name. Selina, the woman that kissed him yesterday. You watched it all happen on the eye lens tapes. For some reason, watching it then and even thinking about him liking her now made you feel sick. It doesn’t even matter what you felt about it anyway, since he probably thought of you as nothing of importance in his life. You sighed at your loud thoughts and looked back down to concentrate. Without a reply from you, it was his turn to be met with silence. He grit his teeth and stared at you, wanting to hear any confirmation from you. For some reason, your presence had always flustered him, made him confused. He couldn’t really grasp the reasons as to why he felt that way, but he considered those emotions as weaknesses. He needed to focus, now more than ever. But god, how was he supposed to focus when you were right there across from him, looking so…determined? So… pretty?

Wait. What? Pretty? Where did that come from?

He blinked away his intrusive thoughts and typed on his keyboard again. It was an hour later when you realized that you were hungry. A thought came to you head. It was unlikely, but maybe you could convince him to join you for a snack? It would give you a chance to really get to know him, to properly thank him for saving you. It may be strange to think, but the past few days have been fun for you, even exciting. To work with the Batman proved that you two could be a very good team. Even though he was a tough person to really like, he was the only person that you could talk to anymore these days. He seemed to think about you in the same way. This midnight snack run might finally be the time to get closer to him.

You yawned loudly and got off your stool to stretch. He looked at you from under his eyelashes curiously, wondering what you were up to. You seemed to be the playful type, he deduced from your attempts to tease him or make him smile, so you must have something up your sleeve now. Walking up to him, you had the most confident smile on your face since you’ve arrived here. “Well, Batman, I’m going to get a snack. Would you like to j—“ Before you could finish your sentence, you tripped on your step and fell forward with a surprised cry. Acting on quick instinct, he reached out to catch you. You gripped onto his arms in panic, staying there until you stabilized your breathing. Your clumsiness almost caused him to let out a laugh. He had to admit, you company was not expected, but it was certainly entertaining. Of course, you couldn’t tell that he thought of you fondly from the glare he gave you when you looked up at him. You laughed anxiously at the sight, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment from your position in his arms. “S-Sorry. I was… I was trying to ask you if you wanted to go get a snack with me,” you offered sheepishly.

Being this close to you, he finally took the time to observe every detail on your face. With every bump, every curve, every arch he found your appearance to be unique and beautiful. Were you always like this? Has he missing out someone so desirable? He mentally slapped himself for being so selfish and arrogant these past few days. Pushing you away from him has now got to be one of his biggest regrets. You seemed to be such a nice person, with how the many times you tried to talk to him or make him smile. The way you gazed at him seemed to him like you were nervous and intimidated by him, but for some reason, there was a gentleness you held for him in your eyes. He dared to think that your gaze could be akin to a look of longing. These details went unnoticed for so long, but seeing it all now took his breath away. He continued to stare at you with his eyes softening as each second passed by and you couldn’t help but awkwardly laugh again. “Uhh…Batman? It’s really okay if you don’t want to come with me,” you trailed off. Still, he didn’t respond to you. He just…stared. It was starting to get a bit creepy. You cleared your throat and slowly started to peel away his arms from your body so you could stand up. “I’m just gonna, uh…”

He scared the shit out of you when he suddenly grabbed your wrist and stood up. “Let’s go,” he stated before practically dragging you to the elevator across the cave. You should be happy, really, but you were just confused. What was he think about when he stared at you? Did you have something on your face? Did he really think of you as that ugly? The last thought stung a bit to think about, so you just decided to ignore it. Instead, you paid attention to the fact that somehow, he was holding onto your wrist. You gulped and looked up to take note of his features up close while you walked to the elevator. He had a very prominent jawline and he obviously had a very large build. But there was something that pulled you closer to him. You didn’t realize what it was until you made it to the elevator. He walked inside it first with you following behind him. When he turned around, he met your eyes once more and he froze up again. You could feel the hand on your wrist tense up, as if something caught his eye. He stepped closer to you and it took everything within you not to back out of the elevator. He moved until he was only a breath away from you. When you were this close to him, your breath hitched in your throat. You gazed into his eyes, seeing them without the fake color from the eye lenses. They were beautiful but murky behind all the darkness of his mask and black paint. They seemed so familiar, yet so distant. If colors could speak, then his could speak a thousand phrases of sadness, confusion and pain. It could be easy to focus on the murkiness of the color but when you focused hard enough, you could see something else. It was lighter. It was small, but it was there. You almost couldn’t figure out what it was until you felt the hand on your wrist start to shyly trace one of its fingers up and down your bare skin. It was a subtle move, but you could feel a hidden meaning behind it. It was almost as if he…

Your breathing quickened at the thought, your eyes shifting to his lips. You watched as they slightly opened and closed, as if there were words desperate to be formed yet they are unable to. He acted so dazed, so entranced by your presence to the point where it was enough to go out of your comfort zone and look at him once more to unveil some of your growing desire for him. You stayed like this for what seemed like a lifetime, both of you unable to look away until he used one of his hands to reach behind you to press the button to go up. The ding of the elevator ripped you away from your chance and made you look down immediately, letting out the sigh you never noticed you had been holding in. Unlike his usual piercing stare, his eyes were in a daze, fluttering around to gain a sense of control over his growing emotions. Whatever the two of you shared just now had to be put aside. He couldn’t deal with emotions. Not now.

You blinked a few times and stepped away from him, yet he kept his hand wrapped around your wrist. It seemed he didn’t want to let go. You didn’t want to risk looking up at him again, so you used your other hand to gently clasp his hand. Bruce tensed up again and looked down at where you two were connected. All he could hear was his pounding heartbeat when you managed to pry his hand away from your wrist and slowly intertwine you fingers with his own. Your touch felt electric to him and he didn’t know why. All of these confusing emotions seemed to suddenly change everything for him. One second he didn’t seem to care for your presence and now he was aching for your touch. It felt wrong for him to feel this way, but he didn’t want to care. He wanted more of you and god, was he grateful when you decided to slowly intertwine your fingers with his. He didn’t have time to process the electric shocks of your gentle touch when the elevator opened up to the main floor. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath to calm himself as much as possible before he led you to the kitchen. The silence between you two was tense, only now for a different reason. There was no denying that something happened between you two that was more that it was supposed to be. Though you might’ve not pieced together everything you felt about him just yet, Bruce knew and he was scared. He was scared about the idea of you making your way into his heart. He needed a distraction now. It may be fruitless now, but perhaps a nice snack will be able to distract him for a while. He turned on the light in the kitchen and let you look around. He didn’t even process what he was doing. He wouldn’t let you look around for a snack without him holding your hand. At one point in his dazed state you tapped his hand with your finger. For the first time in a while, you spoke.

“Can you get the granola bar from there?” You asked shyly, pointing to the box of granola bars on the top shelf. It seemed you were too short to get it. The thought made him smile to himself as he leaned forward. He reached up to grab it and started to hand it to you when his eyes mistakenly met yours again. His breath hitched once more, now seeing how your face looked like when illuminated in the moonlight from the window behind you. Your eyes shined brighter than he’s seen them before and he could clearly see now the affection you held for him. This was bad news for him. Batman wasn’t supposed to fall in love with the people he’s supposed to protect. Bruce Wayne isn’t supposed to let anyone into his heart. But he was falling, falling into your deep longing so very clear in your beautiful eyes. It was driving him crazy, crazy enough to do things he had never done before.

His eyes tore away from yours briefly in order to grab one of the granola bars inside the box and hand it to you. Even when both of your hands touched, it filled him with uncontrollable desire. Your fingertips were elegant in his eyes as he watched you unwrap the granola bar from its casing. Unable to help yourself, you took one of his hands and carefully wrapped it around your hand holding the granola bar. Slowly, you let him guide the bar to your mouth. His intense gaze focused on the way your lips wrapped around the bar, the way your chin felt against his finger when you chewed. The act should have been weird, awkward at best, but the longing gazes you held for each other only made the act more intimate than it should be. His breath was shaky and you could see how flustered he was in that moment. After finishing one bite, you let out a sharp breath and looked away from him, embarrassment clear all over your features. It was clear to him now that you were just as flustered as he was. But your mind sobered up to your thoughts before. Wasn’t he with Selina? She called him ‘baby’ in the tapes. You didn’t want to accidentally become a home-wrecker. Reluctantly, you stepped away from him. “W-We can’t. What about Selina…?” you stuttered out guiltily, despite your hand still intertwined with his.

He ignored your statement and watched your every movement, mesmerized by the way your chest moved up and down from your flustered breathing. You were so beautiful. How could he have been so blind? Unable to help himself, he pushed his body flush against yours, your hands now pressed against his sturdy chest. He let out a soft sigh, leaning in closer to your face. He shyly pressed his nose against your cheek, smelling light traces of vanilla. It was intoxicating to feel you so close to him, to be inches away from what he wants from you. He could only wonder how electrifying it will feel once he finally gets to feel his lips against your skin.

“I don’t like Selina, if that’s what you’re asking,” he whispered against your ear. He then leaned down slightly to let out a sensual sigh down your jawline. You couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh of your own, your heart racing at the attention he was giving you. A thought came to your mind that made you almost laugh. It was ridiculous to think that when you said you wanted to use this snack run as a way to bond with him, you did not expect this bond to be more on the lines of being romantic. The tension between you two rendered you completely helpless and it was useless now to try to resist the obvious desire you both have for each other. Though it was strange how Batman could ever like you or take an interest in you, it was heartwarming nonetheless.

“(Y/n),” he whispered once more, needing to get your attention. You hummed shakily in response. His free hand reached up to touch your chin and lift it up. “Look at me.” Following his command, you look up at him slowly, your gaze hiding shyly behind your lashes. Your free hand boldly slid up his chest, feeling the bumpy exterior of his suit. You could practically feel his heart racing in his chest from your touch. When it felt like you couldn’t handle the tension any longer, he finally spoke again. “I want you,” he confessed timidly, causing you to gasp under your breath in shock. It was hard to find affection and desire as strong as this in a world as unforgiving as Gotham, yet here you two were, lost in each other’s arms despite your better judgment. You smiled at his confession and reached up to cup his cheek. Feeling his head lean into your palm, he closed his eyes. “You confuse me. I don’t know why I feel this way towards you, but I do,” he sighed out and looked at you gently. “It’s like I’ve wanted you this entire time, but I never realized it.” Saying all of this out loud was hard for him and he knew he told himself earlier that he didn’t want to deal with his emotions tonight, but the way you looked at him made all his defenses he meticulously built up as Batman come crumbling down. And god, did it scare him.

Seeing him panic in your arms, you hesitantly started to rub your thumb across his cheek. “I’ve liked you ever since we started working with each other, but you don’t have to feel pressured to figure it all out now. Hell, I’m still trying to figure out how you could want me,” you chuckled quietly to yourself. “You know, it’s pretty strange to have a crush on a guy who I haven’t even seen his whole face yet. I don’t even know your name,” you joked, trying to lessen the overwhelming tension between the two of you. You succeeded when you saw a tiny smile from the man in front of you. Now that he thought about it, you didn’t even know who he was, yet you still liked him. You really were a strange person, indeed. It gave him an idea. He looked up at you with a mischievous smile. “Do you wanna know?” He asked, his voice unconsciously lowering from his teasing which made you shiver. The emotions you were feeling right now in reaction to that are too shameful to admit out loud, but he knew. His eyes seemed to light up in satisfaction from your flustered state. You cleared your throat and nodded, trying to forget about the inappropriate thoughts quickly forming inside your head. When you finally calmed down, he let go of you and moved to remove his cowl slowly. You were the first outsider to know about his identity, so he was incredibly nervous about your reaction. When he finally showed his face behind the cowl, your eyes widened in shock. It took a moment for you to process what you were seeing in front of you before you started to giggle to yourself. He was slightly confused at your reaction but you were quick to explain.

“Bruce Wayne. That totally makes sense now,” you said in amusement. He was surprised that you didn’t freak out, but if that were the case, it made him want you more than before. You accepted him, truly accepted him. That was certainly rare. He allowed himself to chuckle with you before he took your hand into his. He pressed tender kisses all over it while you spoke. “Don’t think that just because you’re some billionaire, I’ll treat you any different than any other citizen here in Gotham,” you chastised lightheartedly. Bruce was truly grateful for that. So many people wanted Bruce Wayne just because he was rich. He was happy that fate decided to bring you to him through his dark alter ego instead. But thoughts aside, he had one more thing to do.

You stopped laughing all of a sudden when you felt his arm suddenly wrap around your waist and pull you flush against his chest once more. You let out a small squeak, your breath hitching in your throat as you waited in anticipation for his next move. More confident than before, he tucked his finger under your chin. His eyes became half-lidded in desire, once again getting lost in your eyes. He felt the tense passion he held for you once more when he leaned in until your lips were barely brushing against his. “Bruce,” you called out to him, your sigh edging into a breathless moan. “I want you to say what you feel for me,” he murmured against your lips. You didn’t hesitate to obey him. “I want you too, Bruce. I want to be with you.” With one swoop, he pulled you into a passionate kiss rivaling the ones you’ve seen in your tv shows. How odd these circumstances were that had lead you to a man you’ve always dreamed about being with. It wasn’t forgotten in your mind that his alter ego could present problems in your relationship in the future, but one thing was for certain: without Batman, he wouldn’t have met you. And without Batman, there would be no one who could keep the city safe. To keep you safe.

All Bruce thought about now and forever was the promise he made to you that night under the light of the moon and within your embrace: He will do everything in his power to make sure that no person—Riddler or otherwise—would ever hurt you again.

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