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This is so cool!!!

A Wild Battinson (Social Media AU)

MASTERLIST

Part 1 — Temporary Baby Acquisition

Part 2 — HE POUT ????

Part 3 — The Babygirl Agenda: Origins

Part 4 — Stuck in a Bookstore

Part 5 — Dior Bruce Wayne Supremacy

Part 6 — Please Sleep

Part 7 — GALA UNDER ATTACK

Part 8 — Stuck in an Elevator

Part 9 — Bruce Wayne is scared of bats?!

Part 10 — Lex Comes to Town

Part 11 — HIT THE DECK

Part 12 — Career Day in Gotham

Part 13 — Bruce Wayne is GAY????

Part 14 — The 30th Annual Wayne Business Convention

Part 15 — Monday: Puppies!!

Part 16 — Tuesday: Protecc Him

Part 17 — Wednesday: Crafts

Part 18 — Thursday: KIDNAPPED

Part 19 — Friday: The Seminar

Part 20 — Gotham's True Cryptid

Updates Every Sunday—Thursday :)

Fuck yes, I want to see that

need dick grayson in the battinson sequel, not only because we deserve a proper batman & robin movie, but also so that we can get a scene of bruce showing up to the courthouse shivering like a wet shih tzu to prove that he can be a capable guardian

sure as hell not jesus (but you're saving me) - b.w.

Masterlist | Ko-fi

pairing: bruce wayne x reader

summary: you and bruce learn to save and comfort each other in your own unique ways.

word count: 1,845

warnings: developing relationship, bruce is secretly a softie, reader helps him remove his makeup, savior complex galore, angst, fluff, smut (unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms)

notes: the brainrot is real y'all i finished this in a day! big thanks to @inklore @summertimestyles @cumholland @sersi-belovas for putting up with my pestering questions and providing me with mad inspo! follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass to get notified for my latest words <3 happy reading and please reblog if you liked it!

***

As a long-time resident of Gotham, waking up to the pouring rain has almost become the norm. Even with the curtains left drawn, the orange daybreak is muted behind the clouds. You’d register the pitter-patter outside your window even when you’re mostly asleep and pay it no mind.

But sometimes, you’d hear another pitter-patter– this time from inside the house. The torrent of water hitting your bathroom tiles, and the unmistakable squeak of your shower tap as it turns to a close.

This one’s relatively new.

Through still-heavy lids, you watch Bruce come out of the bathroom with the towel wrapped low around his hips. His dark hair is still dripping, pushed back even though a couple strands stubbornly fall in front of his face as he makes his way to your dressing table.

You catch his gaze through the mirror, soft –apologetic, almost– and it draws you closer to him. “Morning,” you rasp out quietly.

Your fingertips find his shoulder, tension rippling through his lean muscles. Rubbing circles, hoping your restful calm rubs off on him. However miniscule the effect.

“Sorry I woke you,” he murmurs, although secretly content with your touch, if the way he pulls you into his lap is any indication.

“It’s okay. I need to get up anyway.”

“Oh.” There’s a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, like he’s hoping to join you in bed. It’s adorable, really. You always tease him about looking young and old at the same time. The puppy dog stare gives a boyish air about him, but his permanent frown makes him look like he’s lived a life ten times over. And the dark stains around his eyes…

It’s like traces of camouflage.

He doesn’t need that here. Not anymore. Not with you.

You stroke his cheek briefly. “Come here, let me clean you up.”

He shifts in protest. “You don’t have to–”

“I know I don’t,” you quip back, amused, reaching out for a pack of cotton pads and makeup remover from your dressing table. “Just sit back. You missed a few spots.”

Bruce lets out a long sigh, but he concedes. He settles underneath you, his calloused hands resting on your thighs, absently fiddling with the hem of the ratty gray sweater you nicked from him when he first slept over six weeks ago. It’s strangely mundane, and neither of you are quite used to it. He would never admit it, but there’s a little glint when he watches you work the soaked cotton against the remnants of black paint around his eyes. It looks a lot like fondness, or dare you say… affection?

Ha. Bruce Wayne showing affection. That’ll be the day.

“What?” his gravelly voice cuts through the comfortable silence.

“Nothing.” you eye him cheekily, wiping the smudge off from under his eye with featherlight touch. “You, uh, smell like my shampoo.”

“I… yeah, sorry. I just–”

“Don’t be. I think it’s kind of cute,” you admit with a light smile.

He doesn’t say anything, but the slightest tinge of pink spreads all over his face and neck, all the way up to his ears, and you’re fighting the urge not to tease him further. The poor man might just combust. It’s definitely cute.

“Look up.” you tilt his chin up with your forefinger, and he obliges.

You lean in closer to his face, making careful, precise swipes on his lower waterline. His eyelids flutter in discomfort, and you can’t help but chuckle. He takes on crime after crime every night without so much of a complaint, and yet a little micellar water might be the death of him yet.

“Hold still, I’m almost done…” you stroke his jawline softly, sensing his growing impatience.

You notice his Adam’s apple bobbing when you shift his face slightly to the side to cleanse the other eye. His hands trail under your clothes, tracing the waistband of your panties from your hip to your lower back. Neither of you possess superhuman abilities, but you can feel the racing heart rate emanating from his bare chest. And you’re damn sure he can sense yours, too.

There’s a dark mark under his eye that doesn’t go away, and it takes you a second to realize it’s just the exhaustion seeping through. “When was the last time you slept?”

“When was the last time I came here?” he replies evenly.

You pause, recounting the days since he woke you up in a similar fashion; one, two… “Jesus Christ, Bruce,” you sigh, stopping dead in your tracks.

He caresses your back in a desperate attempt to soothe your panic. “I’m fine, I’ve just been really busy–”

“Are you, really?” you search his eyes, and you can see how his half-assed excuse is barely concealed, if at all. Your voice drops to a whisper, hoping it’ll have a better chance of coming through to him. “Bruce. What’s going on?”

But instead, he rests his forehead against yours. His nose nuzzling yours, inching closer and closer to you, kissing you –tentatively at first. Chaste and brief. Like he’s waiting for you to let him in.

As if he hasn’t knocked down your entire walls already.

For every kiss, you return it with twice the intensity– burying your hand in his hair, gripping it selfishly as you deepen the kiss. He tastes like your toothpaste, although the way his tongue devours and his lips encapture you is unmistakably his own. His familiar, broken embrace is enshrouded in your scent; your soap, your shampoo, your whole presence. It almost feels like…

He’s yours entirely.

And the thing is, you’re fiercely protective of what’s yours. Maybe not in the way Bruce is, where he would come out bloodied and bruised, burning bridges in a city on fire. No. Your way is more tender. Caring. That’s why it kills you a little bit every time you see a new bruise. A new cut. Whatever new symptom he’s experiencing in his obsession for the kind of justice you don’t understand. But when he comes home to you; armor laid out on the floor, desperately kissing down your neck, groping underneath your clothes, holding you close like a wordless call for help… you accept your million little deaths anyway.

“Fuck. I need…” his calluses catch on the worn fabric of the sweater you’re wearing. He doesn’t finish his sentence –not verbally– he just tugs it over your head and tosses it aside. The pads of his fingers are rough against your sensitive nipples, ever so selfishly. And it’s not long until his mouth joins in the craving of comfort your body brings him.

It leaves a sick twist in your gut sometimes, knowing that his pain also brings you so much pleasure. It keeps him up for nights on end, and you get to take advantage of his manic episodes in your bed? How could you possibly live with that?

But he reaches between your legs, smearing his own digits with your arousal, touching you like it makes him feel good, and you rationalize the whole thing. It’s not his pain that pleases you— it’s his remedy that coincides with your own bliss. So you let him have it.

You brush his hand away and settle at the head of his cock, sinking down slow. The delicious pain of his girth spreading you open is always overwhelming at first, but he holds you close, cradles the back of your neck through it all. Drawing deep, slow breaths with you as you take all of him inside you.

He pulls you in for a hungry kiss, hips arching up into you as if he needs to be closer to you. However bound together you think you already are, he needs more. He yearns for that peace so painfully, and you’re oh so willing to lift yourself up and fall on his sword time and time again for him. Your ache, his groans, his grasp…

It makes you feel alive.

He claws at your back, arching up to meet your hips halfway, and you can feel him edging closer to his orgasm. He feels so nice and full and it takes you everything to say,

“It’s okay, I got you.”

But he shakes his head, nipping at your neck instead. The hand on your waist finds its way to the swollen nub between your legs again. You really shouldn’t be surprised; Bruce is nothing if not stubborn. And right now, your brain is too hazy to argue with him. Chivalry be damned. Amidst your erratic pace and the building fervor in your cunt, you give into the desire.

“It’s okay. I got you,” he echoes your words back to you, and you let it wash over you. The pleasure, pulsing and spreading to every inch of your body, gripping him like he’ll scatter away if you don’t.

Far from it.

He carries you to bed, not pulling out of you for a brief second until you’re laid out on the mattress. Thrusting in and out of you with all that’s left of him. Fucking you like his whole repentance depends on it, obliviously unaware that you’d give him that ten times over. He floods your senses, floating higher and higher towards another orgasm, but you almost don’t want to get there without him.

“Bruce… shit, I’m so close—” you choke out.

Ever so stubborn, he shakes his head still. “One more. Just one more. Please.” He is everywhere now; mouth latching on your tits, hands strumming your clit, cock pounding in and out of you.

Your second orgasm takes you violently, sending you convulsing around him. And it doesn’t stop. It just keeps going, fluttering tight around his hard length. He hits your spot, again and again until it hurts, and yet you don’t want him to stop. Maybe it’s not so sick to find pleasure in pain, after all.

Your name falls out of his lips, more obscene than anything you’ve ever heard. And there he is; pulsing and spurting deep inside you. Finally able to catch his breath, as if he’s been deprived of it. Just like he’s been deprived of sleep in the last few days.

You kiss him softly, cupping his face with one hand. And for the longest time, it’s all you do. He falls into the empty spot next to you, but he still finds himself tethered to your embrace.

“I should get out of your hair.” he murmurs into your lips, although he makes no effort to move.

“No, stay.” you smooth out his hair, twirling random strands that frame his face. “I’ll just be out for an hour or two, but you go ahead and rest, okay? I’ll… bring some bagels or something.”

You can see his eyelids growing heavy, slowly lulled into sleep, and you’ve never seen him so at ease in your life.

And who can blame you for wanting to keep this fantasy alive, even for just five minutes? Both equally damaged and fucked, finding solace in each other. It's not much, but it's more than enough.

𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Part One

Pairing: Inexperienced!Bruce Wayne (The Batman 2022) x (female) Reader

Summary: you and Bruce and been friends since childhood, meaning you’re the one he usually comes to for help after a rough night of seeking vengeance around Gotham City. One night Bruce reveals more than he means to; just how sexually inexperienced he is. You, being the good friend that you are, offer to help in that area…

Warnings: bit of fluff, lil bit of angst, smut, soft dom reader I guess? sub!Bruce, praise kink, fingering, penetrative sex (m+f), minors DNI

A/N: yeah so this is based off the headcanon that (Pattinson’s) Bruce Wayne is a virgin, as soon as I saw that idea I was like um yeah I can see it and then I just had to write something for it! So here we are, my first writing for Bruce Wayne, I hope you guys enjoy😘🖤

Also sorry this is quite long, I really just ran with it lmao

Read Part Two

This is for people 18+ only. Minors do not read on. If you click ‘keep reading’ you are hereby agreeing that you are 18 or older.

It had been a night like any other; Bruce calling upon you to help patch him up after a night of running around Gotham City as The Batman. Tonight he wasn’t injured as badly as he usually was. His torso was mostly just bruised in various areas, there was only one cut across his bicep that really need any tended to. He was sat on the exquisite table where Alfred usually did all his paperwork. If he could see the two of you now, bloody bandages laid across the expensive mahogany, he’d have a fit.

You’d both been drinking a bit when the revelation had suddenly slipped from Bruce.

You’d made some offhand joke about how women must fall at his feet, both as The Batman and as Bruce Wayne. You’d made a small, slightly jealous, dig at how many women he’d slept with.

But, to your surprise, he’d mumbled an awkward response telling you that, in fact, he’d never slept with anyone, let alone a whole hoard of women.

“Oh come on” you say now. “You can’t tell me bat boy has never touched a woman” you chuckle lightly. “I find that hard to believe” you laugh to yourself again.

Bruce’s jaw locks, the muscles jumping in his cheeks. His eyes retain their glare, but their focus shifts away from you and to the floor.

That’s when the realisation hits you.

“Oh shit” you scoff quietly. “Really? Millionaire playboy Bruce? The Batman? The terror and vengeance of Gotham City? Is… a virgin?”

He continues to sit there; his silence is somehow swallowing the whole room.

“Well well well, that’s quite the revelation” you hum, smirking.

“I’m not in the mood for your teasing tonight, y/n” he sighs gruffly, jumping off the table before heading past you towards the door.

“Wait” you grab his arm, careful not to touch where you’d just bandaged up his small wound.

He stops, his face turning to look at where your hand lay on his bicep. His eyes then shift back up to meet yours, his gaze just as hard as ever.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tease” you tell him sincerely. “I was just… taken aback slightly” you shrug.

He continues to look at you, his mouth pressed into a hard line. For a moment you just stare back into his eyes. Something in the air changes, an electricity crackling through the room, around the two of you. The hair on the back of your neck stands up and a small shiver runs down your spine as the two of you look at each other.

Something comes over you, a kind of tender confidence; a want, a need, to have Bruce touch you, for you to touch him. You couldn’t deny the satisfied pleasure that already sat in your stomach at the idea of being Bruce’s first time, being the one to teach him all the ways of sin; to have that kind of control and power over The Batman? You were already wet at the thought.

Bruce’s gaze quickly flickering to your lips and back again was the final nail in the coffin for you.

You swallow the last bit of nerves that sit in your stomach and look at Bruce determinedly.

“Do you want to?” You whisper.

A flash of uncertainty sweeps across Bruce’s eyes.

“Do you want to... to touch a woman? To touch... me?” Your voice is barley audible, your words slow and deliberate as you try to gauge his reaction, attempting to read his impossible face.

You swear under the hard gaze you see something like fear flicker in his uncertainty.

“Do you want me... to teach you?” You ask gently, staring to rub your thumb across his bicep where your hand still rested.

He doesn’t answer, just continues to stare at you so intently you think he can see right into your skull. The electricity crackles in the air again, like the air around you is tightening, pressing you closer to him.

His eyes flick to your mouth again, lingering a fraction longer before he meets your gaze again, something like an unsure apology now in his eyes.

His eyes stay on yours even as you slowly lean forwards, pushing up on your tiptoes, to angle your face just an inch away from his. You stop for a second, your mouth so close to his you can feel his warm breath ghosting over your lips. You stop to assess his face one more time. His face is as unreadable as always, but being friends with him all your life meant you’d learned to read his eyes instead, read them the way no one else could.

You see the uncertainty and fear still, but beyond that you see a kind of curiosity, a want.

You finally push up the final inch to press your lips against his. He freezes beneath you for a second, but you persist gently. You press your mouth against his again, slightly firmer now, and this time you feel him tentatively respond. His lips purse to meet yours, no longer remaining passive in this kiss; his lips slowly but surely start to actively move with yours.

His lips are ever so slightly dry and cracked, exactly how you’d expected them to be, but you didn’t mind, regardless, they felt incredible against the softness of your own lips; their rough texture only added to the sensation of the kiss.

You tentatively reach up your other hand, slipping it behind Bruce’s head, gently pulling at the hair on his nape. A tiny groan escapes him, causing you to smirk into the kiss.

You twist your body to stand in front of him, pushing your body against his, your other hand moving from his bicep to join the hand that was playing with his hair.

Your tiny gasp gets lost in the kiss when you feel his lightly shaking hands find their way to your waist. His hands rest lightly on your body. You can still feel the uncertainty radiating from him. You silently encourage him by pushing your body flush against his, you clothed chest colliding with his bare one, your hips brushing against his, his thick belt digging into you.

He groans again, louder now, as he feels the warmth of your body against his. You take advantage of his groan, opening his mouth with your own, quickly darting your tongue into his mouth. You feel his fingers dig into you briefly as your tongue collides with his.

His hands are still tentative as they start to roam your body, running up and down your waist, almost going to the curve of your ass before he pulls back and lands on your waist once again.

You could almost roll your eyes. This fearless man who jumps off buildings, dives headfirst into danger almost every night, dances with criminals frequently, this man, was afraid to touch your ass.

You break the kiss for a second, leaning back slightly to look at him. He stares right back at you, his eyes just as wild as his hair where you’d mussed it up with your fingers.

“Touch me” you breathe against his lips.

He looks at you quizzically.

You keep your eyes on him as you whip your shirt off, tossing it to the side. You hadn’t been wearing a bra so your chest was now as bare as his.

“Touch me” you repeat, grabbing his hands and placing them on your breasts.

Bruce’s mouth hangs open in surprise but you capture his lips with yours again before he has the chance to overthink.

It was your turn to moan into the kiss as you revel in the feeling of Bruce’s hands on your tits. His hands are cold, causing a shiver to run through your body, goosebumps raising on your skin. You can feel your nipples harden under his touch and you arch your back slightly, pushing into his palms. Bruce’s touch is soft and gentle, taking his time as he palms your breasts, softly kneading your skin.

When you moan and buck into his touch again he seems to gain some more confidence, his hands moving to pinch your nipples between his fingers. You gasp softly, the cold of his fingers on your nipples almost taking you off guard. This time Bruce takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue breaching your mouth, sliding languidly over yours.

After a moment he breaks the kiss. His mouth hangs open as he looks at you, revelling at the sight of your bare chest against his. Your breaths are mixing as you both breathe heavy, recovering from the kiss.

“I- I- want to touch you...” he stammers through his ragged breathing.

You cock your head at him in response.

“More” he breathes. “I want to touch you... more."

You smile at him softly, kissing him tenderly once more. You then grab his hand and lead him over to the impressive couch that sat in front of the even more impressive fire place. You push him down gently until he’s sat down on the couch.

“You sure about this?” You ask him gently.

He nods.

“Are you?” He asks, again that uncertainty sits behind his eyes.

You smile reassuringly at him.

“Yes, I’m sure."

He nods again.

You keep your eyes on him as you slowly shimmy out of your skirt and panties, leaving you completely naked in front of Bruce. You hear his sharp intake of breath as he observes you, his eyes drinking in every beautiful inch of you. There’s warmth on your skin, both from the fire burning behind you, and from Bruce’s gaze.

You take the few steps towards Bruce and carefully climb over his lap, swinging your legs to rest on either side of him. You push up on your knees so your ass is hovering in the air, just above where you could already see his bulge growing. His hands instinctively land on your hips. His touch is soft and unsure but you smiled to yourself that he’d taken even just that step by himself.

You grab his right hand with your left, bringing it up to place a soft kiss to his knuckles. You then trail his hand down your body, down between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, until you reached your pubic bone. You look up at him again to find him completely entranced by your actions, his eyes fixed on where your hand was guiding him.

“When you touch a woman, you need to make sure she’s nice and wet first” you whisper, your breath ghosting over his face.

You then adjust your hold on his hand so that he had just two fingers sticking out. You then take his hand lower, pushing his two fingers between your folds. You run his fingers through your folds, brushing them up and down your slit a few times, collecting the wetness that had already pooled there. You gasp lightly each time his fingers glide across your clit.

“You feel that? You feel how wet I am for you?” You hum.

Bruce lets out something like a choked groan as he nods again. His eyes, however, never leave where his fingers were lost between your thighs. You rub his fingers up and down your slit a few more times before speaking again.

“Most women get pleasure from their clit rather than internal stimulation like penetration, me included, so that’s where you wanna focus most of your attention, okay?” You tell him softly.

Now he looks up at you again, something helpless and lost in his eyes that almost makes you want to giggle from how absurdly innocent and cute it is.

You deliberately smile warmly and reassuringly at him, placing a quick kiss to the tip of his nose.

You move his hand again until his fingers brush against your clit again. You gasp again and your body instinctively bucks into his touch.

“There. You feel that?” You moan softly.

“Yes” he breathes quietly.

“That’s what you wanna focus on. Just rub it gently, in small circles. Like this” you whisper as you start to help move his fingers on your clit.

You let out a quiet content sigh as you feel his fingers begin to circle your small bud of nerves. His fingers are still cold, sending more shivers down your spine, but again, it only adds to the feeling; it’s not exactly unpleasant.

It doesn’t take Bruce long at all to figure the motion out for himself, his fingers working of their own accord against your clit.

“Oh shit, yes. Just like that Bruce” you moan softly.

You retract your hand, letting him work you on his own. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, steadying yourself as your hips involuntarily begin to rock, grinding your cunt against his fingers.

“A lil faster” you whine into the crook of his neck. “Please” you add softly as you begin to pepper small kisses across his skin.

He groans and leans his head back, letting you have better access to his throat as you assault his skin with kisses. He quickly obliges your request, speeding up his circle motion. You moan into his neck, your hips starting to grind even harder to match his speed.

“Yes, yes” you sigh encouragingly. “You’re being so good for me” you praise him as you continue to kiss him.

You’re almost surprised by how good he is off the bat, circling your clit expertly, with a steady and unchanging pace.

“More” you whisper. “Faster.”

You feel more than see him nod this time, his fingers immediately obeying your instruction again, taking his speed up a notch once again. You moan louder now, feeling that familiar burn begin to build in the pit of your stomach.

“Shit yes” you sigh. “I’m close. Just keep going baby, don’t stop. Please don’t stop” you whine.

“Wait” he says suddenly, his other hand reaching up to gently grab your jaw, lifting you up to look at him.

“I want to watch” he mumbles softly. “I want to see your face as you... as you...” he trails off.

You kiss him, cutting off his small ramble. You then sit up again and nod, letting him know it was okay for him to watch as he made you cum.

You do your best to keep your eyes open and on his but you almost couldn’t help letting them shut as you get lost in the pleasure of his fingers on you.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes...” you sigh under your breath as you finally feel yourself brought to the edge of pleasure, your core tightening and ready to snap.

“Oh fuck, Bruce” you cry, your head tossed back as your orgasm crashes over you.

You body convulses slightly as you rock desperately against his hand, riding out your high. You hear a deep groan rumble through Bruce’s chest as he takes in the sight of you on top of him, losing yourself to the pleasure that he’d provided for you. He keeps up his circling motion, even after you’d milked as much of your orgasm as you could. Your body shudders and lurches away from his touch as you feel yourself get sensitive.

“Okay, stop, stop” you whine quietly, grabbing onto his forearm.

He stops his movements immediately, panic settling in his eyes.

“Sorry” he stammers quickly. “Did I do something wrong?” His voice almost sounds pained.

You shake your head softly, leaning forwards to place your forehead on his.

“No, no. You did amazing. It’s just, we can get a bit sensitive after we’ve orgasmed” you pant. “I just need a few minutes before we can start up again, okay?”

He nods again. “So... what... what do we... what do I do in the mean-"

“Just keep kissing me” you cut him off, grabbing his face in your hands and crashing your lips against his again.

He groans as you catch him off guard, his body freezing momentarily before he leans into your touch again. His lips move in synch with yours, the two of you learning each other’s mouths quickly. His hands move back to your hips, his grip stronger and more sure now, like seeing how good he’d made you feel had given him some confidence.

Now you can feel his hips buck instinctively as he desperately seeks some friction, rutting his hardened cock against the strain of his thick trousers. You smirk against his lips again as you feel the need radiating off him.

You let one hand move from his cheek back to the nape of his neck, tugging on his hair again now that you knew he seemed to like that. Your other hand trails down his body until you reach the thick belt of his trousers. You quickly undo his belt, unzipping his trousers, and begin to palm his cock over his underwear. He groans again as you cup his aching cock, feeling where his precum had left a tiny wet patch on his boxers.

You keep kissing him even as his mouth starts to lose focus, his mind getting lost in the feeling of your hands sneaking under his waistband and finally grabbing his dick in your hand. You bite his bottom lip, tugging on it as you lean back slightly again to look at him, releasing his lip when he lets out a slight hiss.

You keep your eyes on his face, even as his gaze travels down again to watch as you pull his cock free from the restraints of his pants. A curse mixed with a groan escapes him as you slowly start to pump him with your hand, running your fingers over his tip, collecting his precum, using it help your hand slide up and down his length. You can feel in your hand just how big he is, bigger than you’d imagined him to be. You join Bruce in looking down at your movements, letting out a moan yourself when you take in the sight of him.

Bruce’s hips rut up into your hand, small groans mixing with his panting breath as you work your hand over him.

“That feel good baby?” You start to kiss over his cheek, over his jaw, peppering him with your lips.

He nods and whines a quiet “y-yes.”

You hum an acknowledgment against his skin.

“Now,” you whisper against the shell of his ear, “you need to help stretch me open a lil bit before you get inside me, okay?” You tell him gently.

He turns his head to look at you quizzically. You smile again at his almost innocent eyes. Somehow so innocent and unknowing despite you having your hand still wrapped his cock and the fact that he’d just made you cum harder than any other guy had and he wasn’t even inside you yet.

You kiss his cheek again as you use your free hand to grab one of his and drag it once again towards your core. You smile softly at him as you once again push two of his fingers through your wet folds. This time, when he reaches your entrance, you help curl and push those two fingers inside you.

You moan and arch forward into his chest instinctively, your body leaning into his touch.

“That’s it, push your fingers in deeper” you tell him as you let go of his hand, leaving him to his own devices.

Your hand once again finds purchase on his shoulder, holding yourself upright. He obeys your instruction, slowly and tentatively pushing his two fingers as deep as they could go inside you. Both of you moan as he does so.

He looks up at you with that wonderful look of quizzical innocence again, his eyes silently asking you if he was doing this right. You move your hand from his shoulder to his cheek, rubbing over his cheekbone with your thumb.

“You’re doing so good baby” you tell him. “Now move your fingers, scissor them for a bit to stretch me open. Then curl them forwards, that usually feels quite good for us.”

Again, he nods and obeys your words quickly. He’s surprisingly gentle and tender in his actions, scissoring his fingers open slowly, giving you time to open up on his hand. After a short while you begin grinding into his hand, your pussy already aching for another release. Bruce takes initiative this time, taking it upon himself to switch tactics and begin curling his fingers forwards inside you.

You gasp, something akin to a squeak escaping you as he lightly brushes against that sweet spot inside you.

“That’s it Bruce, you’re doing so well” you whisper, your voice cracking with pleasure as he repeats his action.

Your reactions and your praise encourages him, he starts to curl and pump his fingers a bit faster inside you, working with you as you buck and grind against his hand. Your heavy breathing is mixing as you both watch each other get lost to pleasure as you each work the other with your hands.

Bruce let’s out something like as strangled groan and suddenly it hits you how close he is. You quickly retract your hand, leaving him groaning in frustration and throwing his head back, his hips bucking up into nothing.

“Patience babyboy” you kiss his neck again. “I’ll let you finish, don’t worry. I just want you do it inside me” you hum.

His moan gets lodged in his throat at that proposition. You keep peppering his neck and jaw with kisses as you gently guide his hand away from you, his fingers slipping out of you. He lets you place his hand on your waist once again.

You move you lips back to his once more, kissing him roughly for a moment before you pull away.

“You ready?” You ask him gently.

In a surprising moment of tenderness from Bruce, he reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing over your cheek gently. He nods firmly to answer your question before he takes it upon himself to lean forwards and kiss you, wrapping his arms around your back and pulling you close against him, your chest colliding with his.

You moan into each other’s mouths, the two of you getting taken over by a kind of frenzy, a sudden urge to just be as close as possible. The kiss leaves you dizzy and breathless, making you sit back to catch your breath. Bruce looks at you, his mouth hanging open, his eyes glazed over with lust, his pupils blown in the dim light of the room.

You keep your eyes locked together again as you reach between your bodies, your hand once again finding his aching cock. You grab it gently and move your hips to align yourself with him, letting the head of his cock brush through your wet folds.

You give him a last questioning nod, checking in with him one last time.

He nods back.

And you finally sink down onto his cock.

He whimpers as he feels the warm wetness of your cunt wrap around him, his voice cracks and his groan gets lodged in his throat.

“Fuck” he murmurs under his breath, his eyes squeezing shut, a hiss sounding from his mouth as you take him to the hilt inside you.

You moan loudly at the delicious stretch of him. His thick cock just made you feel so full. Bruce shifts his hips under you, desperate for you to start moving.

He’d been so good for you so far, obeying your every instruction. You decide to take mercy on him, on you both. You start to rock your hips slowly, taking the time to roll your hips against his. He groans again and his fingers dig into the flesh of your back. He starts to match your rhythm, bucking his hips softly up into you.

The room is filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing, the wet sound of his cock lost inside you, your moans, and behind it all, the quiet and steady crackle of the fire behind you.

“Fuck” Bruce curses under his breath again. “You feel incredible” he grunts, his fingers digging harder into the flesh of your hips.

You can feel his body trembling under you and know that it won’t be long until he cums.

“Remember what I said about women not finishing from penetration alone?” You pant, letting one hand slide down your body, your fingers about to find their way to your clit

But your movement is stopped when Bruce grabs your hand and yanks it away.

He shakes his head as he growls, “let me.”

You moan at the commanding tone in his voice, a wave of euphoria pulsing through your body as you watch his hand once again find its place between your folds.

“Oh fuck, Bruce” you sigh contently as he’s quick to find your sensitive bundle of nerves.

He does exactly as he was taught, starting off slow and gentle, being deliberate in his motions as he begins to circle your clit once again.

But that’s not what you needed, nor wanted right now.

“Faster Bruce, please” you lean forward and tug his earlobe between your teeth, extracting another deep groan from him.

You release his earlobe with a moan as he speeds up his circles on your clit, his pace matching that of your own as you continue to bounce up and down on his cock.

“Ugh, yes baby. That’s it. You’re doing so good for me” your words are mumbled against his neck as you arch into his chest, your mind almost going dizzy and blank with pleasure.

“I’m... I’m close... I’m gonna...” he whines, throwing his head back again.

“Me too baby. Let go. Cum for me Bruce” you whisper.

You place a quick kiss to his cheek before you lean back to look at him, let him look at you.

The pure look of bliss on his face is enough to tip you over the edge. You gasp raggedly just as your climax tears through you, pleasure coursing through your veins, burning as hot as the fire behind you. Your noise causes Bruce’s eyes to snap open again to drink in the sight of you as you cum. You feel your pussy contract over Bruce’s cock, squeezing him inside you.

“Ugh, shit” he cries as your convulsing cunt causes him to tip over the edge himself.

You feel his cock twitch inside you, his hips stilling as he pushes up inside you and he spills his release into you. You watch in satisfaction as his face contorts in pleasure, his typical hardened facade dropping. His one hand trembles as he continues to circle your clit, his pace slowing gently now he knew that you would get sensitive. You slowly decrease your pace of riding him as the two of your draw out your highs. When a shudder runs down your body Bruce takes the signal to stop rubbing your clit.

The two of you just sit for a moment, looking at each other contently, as you both attempt to catch your breath. Your hands move back to his neck, cupping the back of his head as your fingers scratch his scalp lightly.

“You did so good baby. That was amazing” you smile down at him before pressing your lips against his again briefly.

“Is there anything else I should know?” He murmurs after a moment.

He brushes your hair out of your face, his fingers moving to gently graze over your cheekbone.

“Umm, well I can’t speak for them all, but most girls really like to kiss as much as possible. Before, during, after. We just like to be kissed. Or at least I do” you shrug and laugh softly.

Bruce’s leans up and captures your lips with his, gently coaxing your face toward his with his hand still cupping your cheek. This time the kiss is soft, but sure; Bruce was a quick learner. This kiss felt fuelled by something different; there was a kind of energy behind it that you hadn’t noted before. His lips move against yours with confidence, drawing you into him even more.

When he stops, his lips barely an inch away from yours as he looks at you intensely. There’s something in his eyes that even you couldn’t read.

He then whispers, so softly you’d have missed it if his face wasn't so close to yours.

“I don’t think I care about most girls… just one.”

Part Two

Masterlist

A/N: okay no bc I’m already thinking of a part 2 where reader teaches Bruce how to eat pussy too😵‍💫 we’ll see if I have time / if you guys like this🙈😅 anyway, I hope you guys did enjoy this, it was definitely a fun time to write!!

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hey guys, i want to read some riddlebat fanfiction, but i don't know where to start at all. can you please advise me your favorites? I would be very grateful

yoooooo

my old comic. i almost died while drawing it. i hope you like it

full version as a bonus

my name is a war song

i ll sing you a new war

hold, you'll behold

and behold and for all that you've done

my hyperfix will be forever

do you want to kill me or befriend me?

old and not so much old tradish sketches with riddler

Its been a while since i saw the batman (2022) but i imagine bruce visiting the asylum to talk w the riddler nd be like "hey how did u know i was batman" and the riddler would b like "tumblr told me <3" just to explain how all the people on batman tumblr knows his identity bc this 1 user made a theory about it and every1 was like "wait no u have a point" but noone says it other places bc its 'their little brucebat secret uwu' and bruce is like "...bffr" but its abseloutely 100% true.

‘I could fix him’ yeah well I could brush his hair and call him babygirl

is it just my " Bruce loves Alfred so much and just wants to be like him" brain playing tricks on my ears, or did Battinson have a slight british accent in the movie at times??

I like to believe he tried to imitate Alfred so much when he was little.

The dark hair and doe eyes, permanently sad but alluring and mysterious, he had from Martha. He has Thomas' roman mouth, elegant bow in the middle.

They both smile with their whole teeth first, moon glow bright, Thomas with a grin made for vintage magazines of American gentlemen with lips puckered around a cigar, and Bruce with Martha’s pointy canines.

He's their baby through and through.

But he wants to be Alfred's baby, too.

Alfred comes to pick Bruce up from kindergarten one day. He notices something unusual. His little sir socializing willingly.

Bruce approaching his newest friend, Oliver Queen, timidly, but eager, " I can talk funny like my papa. Listen,"

He does the worst British accent Alfred's ever heard, and he had to stand through Thomas' Queen Elizabeth impersonations. Bruce comes over to him and asks him why he's crying.

This au is nice

I’m on the second episode of My Adventures With Superman and I KNOW I know, this deserves to be Clark’s show, BUT HEAR ME OUT A SECOND.

Imagine the Waynes didn’t die and Thomas is trying DESPERATELY to buy the Daily Planet from White, but to absolutely no avail.

“For the last time, Wayne, you can have this company when the Gotham Knights win a Stanley Cup.”

“Y’all cheated last year and you KNOW it, White! Come on! We knew each other for 20 years—“

“Not true.”

“You gotta have ONE nice thing to say about me! You saw my charity records? My trip to the Amazon? I found a goddam dinosaur, for Pete’s sake!”

“And you sent it to the Gotham museum.”

“…Well yeah, it looked real pretty.”

“Look, Wayne. I can either give your ego the stroke of the century, or keep Lane and those two idiot interns in check, but I can’t do both. Now get out of here, or—“

Clark clearing his throat, holding two cups of coffee in his comically large hands, “Uh, the coffee machine broke, so I had to run to the store. Is this a bad time?”

Thomas whistling, because what the FUCK. “Christ, boy, how tall are you? How tall is he, White? You a security guard? You WANNA be a security guard?”

“Uh, Clark Kent. Idiot intern,” Clark introduced himself politely despite Perry’s grumbling.

Needless to say, Thomas Wayne is…Intimidating.

“I’ve heard about your research on metahuman physics, Mr. Wayne. It’s brilliant.”

“Oh, that? That was all my boy, really. He’s got all these ideas about reinventing the healthcare system for everybody or something like that. Hell, he wants to invent some bandaids for that Superman fella. “

“That,” Clark blinked, “Actually sounds amazing.”

“Right?. The other day he came to me like, ‘Can I have 30,000 for a research expedition?’ You should’ve seen him in his little lab coat, — cutest thing. Hold on, I have pictures.”

Clark expected a particularly eccentric 10 year not, not a — gorgeous— adult man in what looked to be a great amount of eyeliner and one hell of a scowl. “He’s…” gorgeous, “He seems interesting.”

“Ain’t he? You should meet him sometime. Hates talking to the press, but, I’m sure we can arrange something. “

“Good luck with that. I tried interviewing the kid alone for 10 minutes and Mr. Wayne here kept getting in the way. Probably because he has something to hide.”

“Bruce ain’t really made for the camera, so I had to step in, ya know how it is. He ain’t really the independent kind.” Thomas shrugs. “I know, I know, — you gotta leave em to fly sometimes, and while I bet he’d look cute tryin’,”

Thomas chuckles, but it doesn’t sound amusing. At all. “No bird leaves MY nest.”

—

Clark finds out why Perry can’t prove Thomas Wayne is Batman. It’s because he’s wrong. He’s listened to Batman’s heartbeat before. And Thomas doesn’t stutter.

Bruce Wayne does, thought.

Batler

Desc: Alfred Pennyworth is looking for a new butler to replace him in the daytime- he needs someone softer and well equipped to deal with Master Wayne, of course. He sends out an open application, and in walks you, a lower class citizen of Gotham, holding onto your last hope to make some money. Fluff and angst, no spoilers for The Batman although it's written with the movie in mind.

Word Count: 5.5k

The first time you met Bruce Wayne, you were nervous.

An opening for a butler position was advertised in Gotham's newspaper, and it was insanely lucrative, with a salary upwards of a five digit number you did not dare to say out loud, because you worried you would jinx it.

You were unemployed, and nearing homelessness, if you were being honest. Many of the possessions in your studio apartment had been sold, just so you could get by with meager savings, and still, it wasn’t enough. You were living, but not thriving.

The only minorly concerning thing was that the opening didn’t have much detail, other than to come to a certain location, marked by its latitude and longitude coordinates.

Even typing that into Google gave you nothing, which meant that whoever it was who needed a butler, they were great at encrypting and hiding their data.

You inhaled, and then looked at the article again, noticing one key detail in fine print, right under the ad. A phone number you were supposed to call.

As you called them, a voice filter had been applied to whoever it was, and it created a modulated tone that you could not decipher. You answered a few questions and they agreed to let you be interviewed.

“Please don’t let this be a mistake.” You whispered under your breath, and then took your resume, in a neat little plastic folder, placing it in your backpack. You grabbed your keys and wallet, your only precious belongings, and hoped for the best.

You rode the subway in silence, in quiet reverence that things could get better, if you at least tried. Then, as you left the station, you were on your way down several streets, only outlined by a series of trees and general suburbia. This building was on the outskirts of Gotham City, and it definitely set off the warning bells in your head.

Eventually, you walked up to a gated mansion, an absolutely massive one that looked more akin to a castle, and that was where an older man was waiting. You wondered if you had the right place.

“Are you the girl I spoke with on the phone? Y/n L/n?” He waved at you. The man was wearing a black vest and tie, and he was excited by your presence.

“Ah… yes, that’s me.” You gestured towards yourself with a slight hesitance.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor.” He opened the gate, and let you in, but you were shocked.

“Bruce Wayne’s looking for a butler?” You swallowed in anxiety. “I… I didn’t expect this to be so high end, although that makes sense of all the secrecy.”

“You’re already doing wonderful.” The man had a knowing glance in his eye. “I’m Alfred Pennyworth. You’re the only one who saw the phone number, and you’ve already figured out why we were so cautious.”

“I see.” You walked in to the entrance hall of the Manor, as Alfred kept the door open for you. You fished around in your bag for the plastic folder, and handed it to him, head downwards and solemn.

“Oh. This is your resume?” Alfred took it gently. “We probably won’t need this, because everything about this job involves fresh knowledge and training. There’s not much relevant experience.”

“I’m sorry.” You turned pink, for reasons you were unsure of, but Alfred simply laughed it off.

“Don’t be, it’s still good of you to be prepared.” He brought you into their dining room, a massive sprawling table covered in finery and embellishments, with a low hanging chandelier bathing the area in golden light.

As you sat down, you expected to hear a few things, like what you were currently doing, or just general information about butler work.

Instead, Alfred started talking about why they needed a butler. “As you can probably tell, I am the butler of Wayne Manor. So why hire another one, if it’s just me and Master Wayne taking up space here?”

He looked at you, eyes twinkling, but you had no idea what the older man was getting at. You smiled apologetically, shrugging.

“We need someone for the daytime affairs. He has a pretty… interesting night life nowadays, and he needs me for those hours.” Alfred pointed at you. “Now that’s where you would come in. The job is mostly cleaning the manor, and serving meals and looking after Master Wayne. Please also note that if you accept the job offering, you will be required to stay here, sworn to secrecy.”

“That doesn’t… it’s a lot of money for such a job, no?” You raised your eyebrows. Sure, you weren’t one to complain, but even when you barely had any money, you didn’t want to be overestimated.

“Really? Master Wayne worried that it may have been too little.” Alfred stroked his chin, deep in thought. “No, don’t worry about that. He has the money to spare.”

“Will you take the job?” Alfred asked, and you got the feeling that even though you were the one who was desperate, your possible employers were just as needy as you. He searched your face, and you nodded, even though there were so many possible things wrong with this.

“Great. You start tomorrow.” Alfred waved you off, and you swallowed, nervous and glad all at the same time.

There was a sound at the front door, and you both turned. A tall, pale man had wandered in, and his face was rather gaunt, as if he had just experienced something he wanted to forget. He rubbed his eyes, pulling his long coat around himself, feeling chilly.

“Alfred?” He spoke, and you knew this had to be Bruce Wayne, just from the way he spoke. It surprised you that he sounded like he was looking for his friend.

“Over here, Master Wayne. We’re in the dining hall.” Alfred stood up and walked towards Bruce, and you followed him. “This is Y/n L/n. She’ll be apart of our arrangements from now on.”

“Alright then, Alfred. You did good.” He patted his shoulder, and then looked at you.

Bruce was a good deal taller than you, having to look almost completely downwards to get a look at your face, and he stared for maybe too long, taking in the details of your physique and features, just trying his best to commit it to memory, as he normally would with any thug roaming Gotham City. Not that you were a thug, but Bruce was painfully analytical, and if you were going to work with him in any capacity, he had to know you.

You didn’t know that, though, and you grew anxious, unsure of why he seemed so focused. Then, just as it seemed to long to drag on, he looked away, scratching his temples.

He had stared long enough that his initial reaction was that perhaps you were too pretty for a butler, but Bruce knew that didn’t really make sense. He also could tell that you had sharp eyes, and you certainly looked the type to call him out if he had been ogling you.

And Bruce very much wanted his mental record to state that no, he had not been ogling you.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Bruce gave you his hand, and you shook it, but you were so confused by his tone of voice. You couldn’t get a good read off of him, so you could only assume he was impartial to the whole thing.

Of course, that totally came in place with how billionaires were, and you didn’t think he was being mean. Just possibly very reserved.

You bid them goodbye, and continued on your way to home, all the while thinking that you had either lucked out with this job, or you were definitely about to screw it up.

—---------

The second time you met Bruce Wayne, you could already tell something was off. You didn’t see him very often, instead only in passing while he went out for the day, and you would usually call him for meals, letting him be alone.

You were walking through the manor, dressed in your usual clothes and a Wayne Manor branded apron, and you could not locate him inside. The dark wood floors creaked as you made your way through different, well decorated rooms, searching for the perpetually tired man, so you could tell him his lunch was ready.

Alfred said if Master Wayne is not seen, you can either wait or intercom him. You thought to yourself, fiddling with the soft cotton of your apron. You sighed, knowing that you didn’t want to be paid for nothing, and then pressed on what looked like a flat tablet on the side of the kitchen wall, which immediately prompted a voice call.

There was a brief silence, only interrupted by the call’s beeps as you waited for him to pick up. Billionaire or not, there was such a thing as manners.

At the very last dial tone, Bruce picked up, sounding out of breath. “Hello?”

“Sorry, Master Wayne.” You winced at how hesitant you sounded. “I just wanted to tell you lunch is ready.”

He exhaled a few times, and you wondered if you had caught him at a really bad moment. The poor man sounded out of breath, like he was desperately trying to sound normal, but also giving into something.

“Are you alright?”

There was silence, and you wondered if it was okay to ask that. You didn’t have a good idea of how Bruce felt about the “help,” and you worried he might’ve found this improper behaviour.

“I’m… I’m okay.” He inhaled deeply, and then whispered. “Thank you for asking.”

You shook your head at that, noticing that Bruce did sound genuinely grateful, but it was strange to you. “No big deal, sir.”

“I’ll be there shortly.”

And when Bruce did arrive, he was sweating bullets, his skin clearly clammy and cold to the touch, and you would not take a no for an answer when he nearly refused to sit down.

“You’re heating up, sir.” You held his forehead for a moment, just gentle enough that Bruce easily felt his restraint melting, because he enjoyed being around kind people, even more so people like you who did not realize it. “Take a moment. Rest.”

He agreed, nodding quickly. “Thank you again. I’m not trying to make this difficult.”

Bruce winced, suddenly, clutching his waist, as he seized against the table for a moment, and you looked at him, alarmed.

Deny it. Just deny it. Bruce stared at you, his eyes fluttering shut as he battled with the pain, and the lie. “I stretched a muscle earlier, it still hurts.”

He could tell that didn’t sound plausible, and he could tell you knew, from how you squinted your eyes at his general posture and behaviour. Oh, you were going to think he was such a drama queen, a typical one percent overreactor, a horrible liar, but instead, you shook aside whatever things you thought of him, and tentatively touched his shoulder.

“I’ll get some painkillers.” You stated firmly, no questions asked, and Bruce wondered where you picked that up. Second meeting, and you were already probably confused and questioning him mentally, and instead you were okay with just… this. Okay with his general fucked up nature.

He knew it was part of his job, but still, it pained him that he could get away with lying so easily, surely in part of that he was a billionaire, and he could afford to get away with it.

“Thank you.” Bruce rubbed one of his eyes, hoping he sounded more friendly. Because he didn’t want to take advantage of your innocence to the whole matter, and that was something he never worried about with Alfred.

“That’s my job. No worries.” You smiled at him, unknowingly echoing what he was thinking, and Bruce wondered if everyone had to be a little selfish when working.

You looked at him with a certain compassion that was not just because he was your boss, and Bruce felt a little childlike again.

Like when he first stayed alone, with Alfred, without his parents, he had been so quick to cling to any semblance of warmth in people, and even now, Bruce found he was incapable of letting that go.

“I hope I don’t leave the manor too messy, then?” Bruce tried, after breathing heavily for a few more moments, and you were looking through the medicine cabinet in the ground floor’s washroom for painkillers.

You laughed. “Oh, Master Wayne, it’s like you’re not even here. I feel like this place is haunted sometimes.”

He smiled at that. There had been plenty of times Bruce himself was spooked by the darkness at night, and the gothic architecture around Wayne Manor hadn’t helped. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to get a few more chandeliers in here.”

“That’s alright.” You shook him off. “You don’t need to spend more on account of me.”

“It’s hardly anything-” Bruce began to argue, but he stopped himself, feeling like that was a very wealthy person thing to say. “If you don’t mind me saying that.”

“It’s a different world for people like you.” You acknowledged. “But I’m plenty thankful for what I’m already earning, you don’t need to do anymore than that.”

“Besides,” You continued, not wanting to talk about how poor you had literally just been. “I love to watch Seinfeld reruns on the big TV while I’m cleaning, so I’m kind of cheating you out of your Netflix costs anyways.”

He actually laughed, but quickly shielded it with a cough. Bruce was nothing if not a chronic introvert, and you could see that quite clearly by how he failed to make close eye contact sometimes.

“That’s perfectly fine.” He grabbed the bottle of painkillers from you, and swallowed two pills without water, even though you were holding a glass full anyways. You raised your eyebrows at that, and he couldn’t come up with an alternative reason to why pills were easy for him to digest.

“Who’s your favourite character?” He was quick to distract you.

“Huh?”

“Seinfeld.” Bruce could be a little bit charming when he had to be, and in this case, he liked it, liked watching your eyes stare upwards and your lips stretch into a smile as you thought about it, liked being distracted from the still searing pain of the bruise in his side, given to him by a good beating up from the Penguin.

“Elaine.” You smiled softly. “She’s absolutely a riot.”

“We need that nowadays.” Bruce responded in turn, remembering how he felt as Batman, lost in vengeance and justice and whatever other millions of words he would use to justify his anger. It was odd, but sometimes he really did need to laugh, and not like how that psycho emerald haired man would put it, either.

“Too true.” You answered, and you looked sad for just one brief moment, where Bruce wondered what you were thinking of, until he remembered that you had a right to your past too.

You watched a few episodes of Seinfeld, after that, as Bruce ate his lunch, and you thought your boss maybe wasn’t as cold as you initially thought. You still wanted to know what he was hiding.

—---------

The next time you met Bruce Wayne, you had essentially lost count of how many times you had seen him, because he didn’t hide away as much now. You thought it was nice, that just like any other person, Bruce needed a little time to get to know someone.

It was easy, now, being interchangeable with Alfred, because Bruce was easier to talk to. He would ask you about your day, about if you even ever left Wayne Manor, and you would admit that you did, just for short walks with Ace, Bruce’s dog. Most of the time you were catching up listening to a podcast about Batman.

Bruce had coughed at that, and then you’d often serve him his meal. Every time without fail, he would ask you to eat with him instead of by yourself later on, and you felt something intimate and vulnerable about this, sharing a meal with one of the richest men in the world so casually, like you weren’t a glorified servant, but more akin to a close friend. Lately, during your conversations at meals, he would look at you, not with pity but with deep interest, and it was during these moments that you wanted to know more about him, too. More than he seemed to give on the surface.

Still, wasn't it more than enough? The fact that you got to talk with him so closely, to be let into his life when you should've just been happy with your job, and the money, and your new place to live. You tried your best not to be greedy.

“Master Wayne!” You called up the staircase, but there was no answer from the master bedroom, and you sighed in defeat. You didn’t like going in there when Bruce was still in, because it felt too personal and like you were breaching on his privacy.

You figured you should’ve gotten over that as his butler-friend, but you still saw him as a person worthy of your respect.

The worst part about it was that Bruce was actually rather friendly, in an off beat way, and something about that would flood in his eyes, a resonant affection that made you embarrassed, because you were just his employee, right? No matter how you felt.

And the man just had to be secretly handsome, too. It wasn’t like you to spring onto something like that so quickly, but as you grew closer to him, you couldn’t help but see that Bruce was attractive, even if he tried to cover that up with his longer hair.

You jokingly thought he would have benefited from one of those cheesy 80s montages where his hair would be pulled back with a fancy headband, and some blush would be added to Bruce’s pale skin, but you knew that was part of the look. He made it work.

“Master Wayne!” You called yet again, and when he did not answer, you made your way up the stairs, noticing that some dust had collected on the filigree of the railing and wall.

You were making a mental note to clean that, when you walked in to see Bruce, still partially asleep, having shifted in his bed a little from the sound of your voice.

“Oh, sir…” You gently raised the blanket, and noticed he was shirtless, and then turned a deep red, trying not to think about it.

It wasn’t like this had passed your attention, either: Bruce was ripped.

You had no idea how, because it didn’t really make sense, did it? How would a young billionaire find the time to work out to this extent, where his muscles literally gleamed under the early sunlight, his back flexing as he dreamt about whatever?

“Bruce.” You gently tapped his back, and he awoke suddenly, breathing in as if he had just been under water.

“Oh, Y/n.” Bruce sighed, rubbing his eyes, as if he was forcing himself awake. Bruce never let himself rest for too long. “Is it super late?”

“No, sir, it’s just half an hour past eight.” You were trying your best to look anywhere but at Bruce. “You still have time to get ready for the event.”

Bruce could tell, from the way you were positioning yourself towards the wall, staring at the floor, but not directly away from him, that you noticed him, noticed his body, and he was alarmed to find that he liked this.

Well, it wasn’t like Bruce Wayne wouldn’t have the capability to be a womanizer, but he actively chose against that, instead thinking constantly about how to better Gotham, how to go further in reducing crime.

Now though, he was thinking about how cute it was, that all it took to shut you up was to simply be half naked, and there you were, looking to the side, being respectful, but not so respectful as you would offend him.

You were aware that there was an unspoken genuine friendship between you and Bruce, and your choice to not look at him was obviously born out of the fact that this was your employer- but the fact that you stayed close, near the bed, indicated something else.

That you did like him, and you weren’t pushing it away.

Bruce opened his mouth when you finally turned to look at him, and instead, you tilted your head, pointing at his face.

“Sir-”

“You don’t need to call me sir.” He interjected, and you wondered why. Bruce had always been okay with that in the past. In truth, it was because he wanted to be selfish- to be even closer to you, even though he shouldn’t- but he just wanted to feel it for a moment, that you were not just his butler.

He sat up in his bed, and he noticed too late what had rubbed away on his hands.

Stupid, stupid Bruce. He swallowed, because there was black eyeliner smudged all over his fingers, and it was surely on his eyes too.

The one time he went to bed without washing his face, instead tossing his cowl and Batsuit into the cave without a single extra thought in his mind, that was the only time that of course, you decided to come to wake him up.

It was kind of Bruce’s fault for staying out so late, too. His mind hadn’t been clear.

He began to speak, again, but instead, you sat in front of him on his bed, and gently touched his face, his cheekbone, smearing the black paint with the tip of your thumb. It was so soft that Bruce nearly shivered, nearly convulsed at the juxtaposition here, that you were always gentle with him when he in fact went through the wringer, time and time again, out of his own choices.

Did you know that? Did you know, about him, now? Bruce felt like it was obvious, and if you didn’t know, you were going to figure it out on your own soon.

“I didn’t know you were one for makeup.” You finally whispered, looking at the black pigment on your fingertips. It was another clue to everything weird about Bruce.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” Bruce retorted quietly, running his hands through his hair. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not.” You gave him a sly look, touching his face once more, now causing the black makeup to smear further, on purpose, messing it up even more than it had been from his sleep. “It’s cute, I think.”

“Cute?”

“Like Kurt Cobain, Master Wayne.” You clarified, but he stiffened, staring into your eyes.

“You can say Bruce.” He reminded you, because you had woken him up with the sound of his name, and Bruce knew it was selfish, probably a massive power imbalance to ask his employee for this, but he wanted to anyways, because he loved it. He loved hearing your voice call him with no other pretenses.

Maybe being cooped up in here with you was doing a number on him, but he didn’t care anymore, and he inched closer to you, watching your eyes flicker, grazing over all of his features, and his body.

He liked you a lot, he found, and maybe it was because Bruce was a little unhealthy with relationships -always becoming quickly clingy due to his abandonment issues- but now he knew that if you didn’t like this, he would take your word for it and stop.

“Alfred calls you Master Wayne.”

“Alfred’s not you.” And as Bruce said it, he could see you wanted to correct him, from how your mouth parted with some empty suggestion. You wanted to tell him that you were the same as his father figure, but you knew that wasn’t true.

Bruce stared at your soft lips, still parted, just the slightest bit wet from how your tongue was darting out to speak, and before he really got a moment to pull himself back -to make things at least ethical- he pulled you in, face cradled in his hands, and kissed you without hesitation.

He felt you kiss back, your mouth still parted, as if this was what you wanted to say, that you were different than Alfred to Bruce, and that was fine, it was great, even, that your lips happened to meet his perfectly, and you had been wanting to tell him how delectable he looked, perhaps how the both of you looked together, and this was what you were thinking, as your hands came upwards to rest on his chest.

To Bruce, you were you, special, pretty, and vibrant, easily clever and meticulous in all the ways that mattered, and that was good, too, because he never liked the ignorant people of the world. He liked you as soon as you checked up on him, not for a bonus tip or something idiotic that he would’ve given you anyways, but because you were just that sweet.

He thought that again as he pulled your waist in closer to him, that you were an honest-to-god sweetheart, and it still pained him to be this selfish, to lie and to have you too, but Bruce wasn’t thinking straight, or at least fair, this morning, and he didn’t want to stop kissing you, to feel a tender embrace over the agony that he typically felt, as you sat there, basically on his lap, pressed against his chest.

His hands came up around yours, feeling the murky black makeup spread between your intertwined fingers, as Batman’s line of work usually did.

Everything was messy with him.

—---------

Bruce didn’t know how to talk to you after that.

He blamed himself, most of all, because this had come up entirely out of the blue, and he didn’t have a chance to rectify this -something that could’ve been a mistake to you, he didn’t exactly know how you felt about it- and he just didn’t know what to say.

It should’ve been easy. Bruce had stricken up a conversation with you numerous times before, and now instead he was hiding, waiting, trying his best to just ignore this, but not because he wanted to ignore you. In fact, he worried that he hurt you by coming so close, and he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Bruce was hiding out in the Bat Cave. It was definitely not as cool as he originally thought the Bat Cave was, in his early days, because he was lonely here, and he really felt it because of your absence.

Never, not even once, had you tried to speak to Bruce after you noticed his silence. You were that kind of girl, not the type to extend an olive branch if the other side didn’t deserve it. You had fair judgement in this case.

“Bruce?”

Your voice was coming from far, up above, where Bruce thought you would never find him, but he wasn’t that stupid. He knew you had been so close to figuring it out, and here you were.

“I’m here.” His voice was deeper, raspy, and he couldn’t help that. Not when he was in the suit, it was like something came over him.

You walked down the dusty, old rickety steps of Wayne Manor’s basement, and found Batman sitting in front of a bunch of computers, and you wanted to scream at him. For leaving you completely ghosted for the last few days.

Instead, you leaned against the railing, and looked at him, crossing your arms. “I knew you were Batman.”

“...”

“Not going to say anything?” You remarked, and you turned on your heel to walk away, annoyed that you had let yourself be a rich man’s play thing, but even worse, you convinced yourself to care for him.

Batman came forward, power and menace and strength in every step, his cape flowing behind him, and you understood for a brief millisecond how he looked so muscular.

"Don't tell anyone." He grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your place, and you startled, warming at the close proximity of Bruce, and how you were sandwiched between him and the railing. "It's not for everyone to know."

"Obviously, otherwise Batman wouldn't be such a mystery." You chided him, and Bruce looked just a teeny bit embarrassed, although he did not let go. "Stop worrying about that, Bruce. I won't."

You tried, again, to escape his grasp, but of course, Batman was incredibly strong.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, and you looked up at him, into his eyes, and it was true. Bruce’s eyes were heavy with grief. “I shouldn’t have-”

“Shouldn’t have kissed me?” You narrowed your eyes. “Well, dumbass, the damage is done. I already- well, that doesn’t matter- ugh. I have to quit, okay?”

He shook his head. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.” You insisted, and Bruce let you go for a moment, and you jabbed your finger into his chest. It was more likely to hurt you, but you didn’t care. “I refuse to be this, okay? I’m not a little girl. I can’t be thrown around like a toy, I have my own rights, and I get it, it was a mistake for you. Well, it wasn’t a mistake for me!”

He was shocked into silence, that you did indeed like him, just as much as he had been itching to hear you say, but you kept going.

“Let me guess? You don’t want to associate with a poor woman?” You inhaled, brevity getting the better of you. “Is it because I’m just not good enough?”

Bruce didn’t know how to counteract this properly, not when you were clearly spewing things you had been thinking of this entire time, so he hugged you, a nearly bone crushing hug, which did shut you up, as your face was too nestled into his suit to say anything.

“You’re too good.” He murmured under his breath, but you heard him loud and clear. “You’re too good to be around someone like me.”

“That’s not-” Your voice was muffled, but Bruce held you tighter.

“I didn’t make a mistake when I kissed you, I wanted to do that. And not just because you’re pretty- I really do like you. No matter your ‘class’, you of all people should know I don’t believe in that bullshit.” He assured you, and he felt your fists drop, as you stopped pushing against him. “My only mistake was not asking how you felt.”

“Then… why did you leave me?” You softened up a little, staring up at him again.

Bruce closed his eyes. “Because I was worried. I worried that you didn’t like me, that I pushed something when I shouldn’t have, which I do a lot to people I care about, and I didn’t want to hurt you- I always hurt people- so I did the best thing and removed myself from the situation.”

He felt your palm come upwards to his face, as you tenderly stroked his cheek with your thumb. Forgiveness seemed apparent on your face.

“You only hurt me when you didn’t talk to me, Bruce. You have to tell me these things, I would never know otherwise.” You whispered, and he felt so guilty- so angry with himself, that he had left you high and dry for those days.

“I guess I am pretty selfish.” He admitted, but you shook your head.

“I think we all are.” You smiled faintly at him, and he nodded. “I always thought I was going too far, you know? First you give me a salary way above my pay grade- so now I'm not gonna have to worry about being homeless. Then you decided to let me live here, too. I thought you would think I was just being greedy."

"No. You’re not… I didn’t even know that. For you, I would buy anything. Anything.” Bruce stared at you, and he wasn’t just saying a mindless platitude, in fact, you could see that he was desperately serious. “You have every right to think I was using you, not the other way around.”

“I did. I know you’re not, now.” You hugged him back, feeling his arms squeeze you. “...I think I liked it better when you were selfish before, though.”

Bruce knew what you were talking about. “Really, how interesting of you to say that.”

He leaned down as much as he possibly could, and you reached up, your face just a inch or so away from his.

“Tell me you like me.” He uttered, deep, as Batman, and you beamed, blushing, because it was a little nerdy, but mostly hot, and that was definitely Bruce for you.

“I love you.” You remarked, and you saw him turn pink at that, which pleased you.

You kissed him, sweet as ever, and Bruce pulled you upwards so he didn’t have to lean so low, thinking the entire time that you were a very welcome addition to Wayne Manor, after all.

Somebody just had the gall to tell me that this is not perfection

A Wild Battinson (Social Media AU)

Part 45 (Masterlist)

(Part 46)

@bruciemilf it’s been months bestie but it’s tradition

If you follow me on my main, you know I haven’t actually been gone. I’ve just been on a few side quests. I’m also being fought over by two companies rn so that’s fun (and completely stressful, please I’m just a 22yo teenage girl) but we’re BACK for a limited time! Idk I’ve got like at least five parts in my drafts so let’s see what happens.

TOODLES

Bruce my meow meow