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hollandorks · 9 months

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haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter one

Summary: After the sudden deaths of your mother and grandmother, you’re forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke your heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, you vow to get to the bottom of your former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what you’re expecting. a

a/n: look a new series! Two things inspired this (besides my everlasting love for the Batman): @bellaxgiornata's angsty Daredevil fic All These Years, and @neutron-stars-collision's Waiting For the Night (which also features an investigative reporter reader, but is set during the film). If you're here because you loved motn, welcome back! If not, check out my other battinson fics here!

(side note: I know this is a reader insert and Dory is canonically white, but reader could be adopted. I never clarify that)

Series Masterlist

word count: 3k

“Both of them are–?” Y/n choked on the last word, unable to get it past the back of her throat. But she thought it anyway. Dead.

It was early, too early, her pajamas and hair still rumpled from sleep. Three hours until her alarm would go off. The faux hardwood floors were cold beneath her feet. The warmth of her bed was a thousand miles away. Her heart still pounded from being woken by a harsh knocking at her door. When she’d checked the time on her phone, she had four hours of missed calls from Alfred and two from an unknown number.

Alfred put a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezed. He was the last of her family now, though he didn’t share her blood. “I’m so sorry, darling girl.”

Y/n’s grandmother, Dory, the woman who raised her, gone. Along with her daughter, y/n’s mother, the woman who abandoned her as a child. Both gone in one fell swoop. She can’t find it within herself to grieve too much for the woman who gave her life. She’d already abandoned her, over and over, the grief lessening each time.

But her grandmother–A strangled noise passed her lips and Alfred hurried to step in to embrace her.

“She had a great life,” he said gently. “She lived long and lived well.”

And somehow, it helped. Alfred had been in her grandmother’s life longer than she had, and therefore knew her better. She had lived well, her life long and full. She was eighty-five years old and had still been in relatively good shape, physically and mentally.

Alfred held her while she cried, the minutes stretching long yet sharp. They pierced her over and over, each one a moment in which her grandmother no longer existed. She didn’t know how long she cried, only that it was nearly impossible to stop.

“Bruce is covering all expenses, of course,” Alfred said as he released her.

The name raced through her like a bolt of electricity. Bruce. Of course she had to see Bruce. Dory had worked for his family for nearly fifty years, after all. Her mind flashed back to her last conversation with Bruce, almost three years ago to the day. Hurt washed over her all over again. This one was different than the grief but just as sharp.

“That’s…too kind.” It’s the best she could do. Besides, her income as a journalist in Bludhaven wasn’t exactly enough to cover one funeral, let alone two. So she couldn’t tell Bruce to take his money and shove it. She knew it was a gesture of obligation not of goodwill.

“You know you and Dory are our family,” Alfred said, his familiar accent a balm to her nerves. He hadn’t missed the almost visceral reaction to Bruce’s name. He had always known, even though he hadn’t ever said a word.

She almost scoffed at the word family, but held it back at the last moment. Alfred was her family. Just as Bruce had been her family, once.

I don’t have time for you, he’d practically snarled the last time she saw him.

The words still ached.

“Do you want to drive back with me?” Alfred asked, his voice pulling her from thoughts of the past. “Or I can get a hotel for the night if you need time to pack.”

She hesitated. Part of her wanted to refuse, to wait until the absolute last minute to leave, to delay seeing Bruce again for as long as possible. But she owed it to her grandmother, at least, to be present for the plans honoring her life. And she was sure she needed to sign some paperwork to have the bodies released.

Bodies. It’s a shock to think of them that way. Two people, two souls, reduced to shells in one accident.

Her mind jumped to her last conversation with Dory, the previous Sunday. Four days ago. Now she was simply…gone. Had she told her she loved her? She couldn’t remember now, no matter how hard she tried.

The ache was back, the tears flowing without her express permission.

“No, let me just–grab a bag and we can go now. I’ll call work on the way.” It helped to have a manageable list of things to do. Pack. Go with Alfred. Call work. Sign papers. One step, one breath, one moment at a time. Which would be the same way she would handle seeing Bruce again.

Thankfully the editor of The Bludhaven Tribune was more friend than boss and would completely understand. Besides, if it came down to it, she had a couple of weeks of unused vacation time saved up. Dory had always made the trip to her–at least for the past three years. She had understood the need to stay away from Gotham and the man who had broken y/n’s heart. So her vacation days were rarely used.

Within an hour, y/n’s bags were packed and a fresh cup of coffee was waiting in the cupholder of Alfred’s car. The cold air was a shock to her overloaded system. Her chest was too tight, her breathing labored. She couldn’t tell what was hurting worse–the grief for her grandmother or the anxiety of seeing Bruce again.

A silly, hopeless crush, he’d said three years ago.

A silly, hopeless crush that still hadn’t gone away, despite the fact that he’d effectively ground her heart to dust beneath his heel with the words.

A few minutes into the drive, another question bubbled to the surface. “Alfred…” she began, unsure how to find the bravery to ask. “Did she suffer? Did they suffer?” Because, as many times as her mother had broken her heart, she was still her mother.

Alfred was quiet so long that she feared the worst. But then, finally, “I don’t believe so, no. Your mother was driving. Dory was the passenger, where the impact was. And before you ask, your mother was clean.”

She did flinch this time.

It had been her first thought. She was glad of the answer though, twisted as it sounded.

She knew exactly why they were driving together. Because she used to take her grandmother to her appointments, but after leaving Gotham three years ago…it became harder and harder to make the time in the middle of the week.

And, surprisingly, y/n’s mother had stepped in. She wanted to make amends, her grandmother had told her. She’d scoffed at that, but couldn’t deny the relief that had washed over her. She loved her grandmother, but having to pick her up from Wayne Tower was a particular kind of torture. The place held too many memories, both good and bad, now so inextricably linked that the pain bled into the happier memories.

“How long has it been since you’ve been back?” Alfred asked quietly, as if reading her mind.

Her hands knotted in her lap. “In Gotham or…?” She let the rest of the question hang in the air. Or at Wayne Tower? Or in Bruce Wayne’s presence? Because all three had slightly different answers.

Alfred gave her a look before turning his attention back to the road.

Y/n sighed softly. “Three years, give or take a few weeks.”

“You never came inside when picking up Dory?”

“No.” Her heart clenched with pain. “That’s why my mother…”

Alfred nodded in understanding. “Maybe this can be…a new beginning,” he finally said. “Things are different. I think he needs you more than either of you realize.”

No need to ask who he was. She wanted to roll her eyes, but Alfred meant well. Of course he wanted her and Bruce to make up, to go back to the way things were.

He didn’t know how thoroughly Bruce Wayne broke her heart.

“Then Bruce can apologize.” She crossed her arms. Because, as much as she still loved him, Bruce had been in the wrong, not her. It had taken him a long time to turn his anger on her, but he finally had…right after she had confessed her feelings for him.

Y/n spent the rest of the drive in silence, the grief for her grandmother numbing her inside and out even as it warred with the anxiety gnawing at her gut.

She thought about how it would feel to step into Wayne Tower again. How it would feel to step inside and not be greeted with a warm embrace from her grandmother. With her love. With her understanding. With her gentle manipulations to get her to help her with the housekeeping duties for free.

A few tears slipped out. God, she was gone. Y/n would never again hug her or speak to her or have her tell a story to help her fall asleep–something that happened even as an adult. Something she had done to help ease the heartbreak of three years ago.

She startled as a hand took hers. Alfred said nothing, merely squeezed.

When she looked up, the city of Gotham was spread before her. She saw the neon lights from Gotham Square Garden near the city center, bright despite the early morning hour. Fog wound its way through the streets, a proper gloomy Gotham welcome to suit her mood.

Though Bludhaven wasn’t far, it was much sunnier than the city of her birth.

In the past year since the flood, Gotham became even gloomier. The streets were dirtier, darker, half the streetlights still broken. She remembered suddenly, vividly, the fear she’d felt upon hearing the news. She’d been called into work late at night last November. The office had been chaotic, frantic, Gotham’s nearest big city neighbor gearing up to help but also to tell the stories.

Y/n is ashamed to admit that her first thought hadn’t been of her grandmother.

It was of Bruce.

Alfred, she had known, had been safe in the top floors of the hospital. She’d returned from a visit only the day before. The panic from the news of the explosion, caused by a serial killer, had barely worn off. Even after seeing Alfred was okay with her own eyes, she felt a lingering panic. Even after Alfred told her that Bruce hadn’t been home at the time and was perfectly fine.

But Bruce–and by extension Dory–were unknown variables in the flooding. Had they been evacuated? Had either been present for the new mayor’s event? Had they remained safe in the tower, partially blown up as it was?

She had waited sixteen excruciating hours before finally hearing that they were safe. Unharmed, even.

The air around y/n suddenly darkened. While she was daydreaming of the past, they had reached their destination. Alfred pulled into the private, street level parking garage reserved for family only. There were several other cars there, including Bruce’s favorite classic sports car. The sight of the car alone made her chest ache.

Y/n stared vacantly at the car. She startled as Alfred suddenly opened her door with her bags in his hand.

She blinked slowly, dazed.

It was too much to deal with. Losing her family, coming back to Gotham, back to Bruce…She wanted nothing more than to go back to bed. It felt like eons since the Alfred at her door woke her, though it was only a couple of hours at most.

As she followed Alfred to the private elevator, she wondered if Bruce would avoid her. If he would hide from the uncomfortable as he so often did. Part of her hoped he did. Part of her hoped she could get through everything without seeing him. But that was stupid. He would be, at the very least, at the funerals.

Another wave of grief nearly knocked her over. She had to bury the last bit of blood relations she had. Had. The past tense was another unavoidable wave threatening to drown her. Her mother and grandmother both only existed in the past now.

Y/n suddenly realized that that was how Bruce had been feeling for two decades. The feeling of being utterly alone in the universe, no one but himself left with his family name, his family legacy. But his was worse, so much worse. She had, at least, had her family for twice as long as he had. And that counted for something.

The elevator ride was long and slow. Or maybe that was grief and panic warping time until she had no idea if the ride had just started or was about to end. Despite getting almost seven hours of sleep from a rare early night, she was exhausted. Her limbs were made of lead, her eyes heavy, her brain begging to be switched off.

The smell alone, the particular blend of dust and old paper, was enough to make her knees weak. Ten thousand memories flooded back all at once, so many of them that she couldn’t fixate on any single one.

The doors slid open and Alfred stepped out with her bags.

But she had to press a hand to the wall of the elevator to steady herself as a familiar deep voice rang out in the silence. “That was fast,” Bruce said. God, his voice. “Did she decide to stay until the last moment then?”

Alfred didn’t answer, because y/n’s presence stepping from the elevator was enough.

Her heart was somewhere in her throat, or maybe her knees. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t. She couldn’t bear to look at him and see the indifference he now felt for her. She couldn’t look at him and hold a thousand more memories.

She couldn’t look at him and love him, knowing he didn’t feel the same.

The silence was deafening and finally, finally, she tore her eyes from the floor and looked up.

There was a rush in her ears as she beheld him for the first time in three years. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of a pair of dark, well-worn jeans. His shirt was too big for him and his hair–his hair was longer. Her eyes skipped over him hungrily, noticing more and more differences in the person she used to know better than herself.

He was taller, for one. She thought men stopped growing at twenty-five years old, or something like that. Or maybe it was the way he held himself, like he was more sure of his place in the world. And his shoulders were more broad, his arms more muscular. Bruce had all at once become…a man. Not that he hadn’t been a man three years before, but something about him was…more.

There were heavy bags beneath his eyes, like he hadn't slept. And, she supposed, if he was the one who had answered the call about her grandmother and mother, he likely hadn’t.

She realized that they both had been staring at each other in silence. Alfred half-stepped out of the foyer like he couldn’t decide whether or not to give them privacy or stay to make sure they wouldn’t tear out each others’ throats. She wondered what Bruce had told him about their fight. Had it been the truth? Or had he played it close to the vest, like always?

“Hi,” she finally said. Her mouth was dry and her voice cracked on the word. There was so much she wanted to say to him. Thank you and I’m sorry and I still love you even if you hate me were all warring to be first.

“Hi,” he said back. His blue eyes pinned her to the spot. They seemed bluer, or maybe she had forgotten the exact shade of them. She wanted to close her eyes and sink into the familiar comfort of him, but those days were far gone. Three years gone.

“I–” She wasn’t sure what words would come out but the need to fill the silence was too great.

He beat her to it. “I’m so sorry,” he said. She knew he meant about her family and not about three years before. She knew it in the way she knew most things about him, born of the sheer amount of time they spent together throughout their lives. Even with three years separating their last interaction, she could still read him. Maybe not as well as she used to but still well enough.

She couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She couldn’t say It’s okay, because it wasn’t. Or, I missed you, even though she did. Or even Thank you, because he hadn’t done anything other than offer to pay for the funerals.

“Your old room is ready,” Bruce said and his eyes flickered away. Was he so tired of her already?

I don’t have time for you and your silly, useless crush. The words seemed to echo in the air. Was he able to hear them too?

“Who–”

“She kept it ready for you,” Bruce said and his voice softened, easing the blow.

A stray tear escaped.

Of course she had. Y/n’s grandmother was nothing if not optimistic.

She had to take a breath and close her eyes against the wash of pain. Dory had kept her room ready for her, even knowing that Bruce Wayne broke her heart, even knowing she wouldn’t step foot inside Wayne Tower again unless absolutely necessary.

As always, y/n’s grandmother had ensured that she always had a place to come home to. You’ll always have a home with me, she had said the day y/n left Gotham.

She stepped away, eyes still closed, feet knowing the way by heart. When she opened them, she saw Bruce’s hand fall, as if he had reached out, perhaps to comfort her.

The pain of that missing touch was too much.

She simply nodded once.

And then she fled.

Her childhood bedroom was exactly as she had left it three years ago, free of dust, the linens on the bed so fresh she could still smell the detergent.

She threw herself onto the bed and finally let herself cry.

Next Chapter

taglist:

@ktficworld

#the batman x reader #battinson x reader #bruce wayne x reader #the batman 2022 #battinson #the batman #bruce wayne #batman x fem!reader #battinson x fem!reader #battinson x y/n #battinson x you #robert pattinson batman #robert pattinson bruce wayne #reader insert #x reader #haven #haven fic

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imagine--if · 1 year

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Thinking about Edward and Bruce Wayne obsessing over you 😵‍💫

Maybe Bruce met you at some fancy gala you were invited to because of your job or family, and since you weren’t as loud and sociable and obnoxious as everyone else, the gloomy billionaire found it easy to just sit and exist with you. That led to him silently handing you his card, with his real phone number on the back, trusting you to keep it for your use only with a barely noticeable smile 🥰

Meanwhile, Eddie’s reading about some ‘mystery girl’ who’s been seen with Wayne recently. He likes the idea of a mystery, especially when it looks like you. And after doing what he does best and scanning over every file and photo about you, he finds himself giggling in a lovestruck stupor 😍

It quickly fades, and turns into a slam of a fist on his cluttered desk when he sees a shot of you chatting to Bruce, bent heads, like you’re sharing secrets. Secrets that should be shared with him.

And Ed is determined that they will be.

#edward nashton x reader #paul dano x reader #the batman 2022 #battinson x reader #bruce wayne x reader #danonation #the batman x reader #batman x reader #robert pattinson bruce wayne #robert pattinson x reader #dano!riddler x reader #the riddler x reader #dano riddler x reader #riddler x reader

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peachpopsstuff · 1 year

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Defenestrate them all night !

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maryxherie · 9 months

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my girlfriend wanted me to draw robert pattinson’s batman

#batman #robert pattinson #robert pattinson batman #robert pattinson bruce wayne #fanart #batman fanart #dc comics #dc #dc fanart

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tragicallyunaesthetic · 2 years

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i think robert pattinson could beat the joker. not rpatz batman, i’m talking robby p himself. i have full faith he could out-freak that clown in a half hour

#anddddd post #robert pattinson #rpatz #Batman #the Batman #dc comics #joker #dc #the joker #robert pattinson bruce wayne #robert pattinson batman #mine.

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qsphyxias · 2 years

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[breaking news] gotham stroll turns into gay angst

if you fetishize mlm relationships, get the fuck out of here!

synopsis ; (physical) hurt/comfort, as reader gets attacked by riddler and batman has to save his concussed ass

warnings ; cussing, blood, concussions, violence, male (he/him) reader

note ; i wrote this so long ago i just wanted to finish the draft and pump it out as the last batman fic im gonna do probably? who knows? maybe another batman movie will come out and the brainrot will settle right back in

words ; 1.6k+

⊱ ────── {⋅.𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝.⋅} ────── ⊰

The walk to the crime scene was quiet, surprisingly. One quiet night in Gotham City, the shittiest shithole of hell. But however stupid it was, you felt the want to actually enjoy the moment, instead of feeling en guard that nothing was going on.

Regretfully, that might've been an awful decision on your part.

Batman had suggested you go with him, but you were held back at the Manor due to wanting to finish analyzing new tech and weaponry. "Don't worry! I've been meaning to get a walk in the city of good ol' Gotham." You said half-sarcastically, eyes glued to the screen in front of you as Bruce glared searing holes into the back of your head.

"S/o..." He began, but before he could finish, you raised a hand behind you, "I know, I know, I'll be careful. Stop vexing me and go, Gordon needs you." With a grimace, he left as told.

Now here you were, head resting against the side of a stinking, rusty dumpster. The riddler, who had caught you off guard with an ice scraper, hovering over you. At least, you assumed it was the riddler, based on the greenish blob that you could barely make out, and the... weapon in his hand?

With a slight spike in heart rate, the fear-fuelled adrenaline took over as you decided not to take the chance of guessing whether it was a weapon or not. You shook your head, bringing yourself up but gasping as you realized you only made the riddler's job easier, as he was now eye-level with you and perfect height to strangle the life out of you.

'Shit, shit shit!' Your inconvenient position against the brick wall had been inconvenient at first but, as you know, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. The brick wall worked as a ramp as you jumped up against it and used your feet to launch yourself at the riddler, hands outstretched to grab the cloth in his hand to take it and incapacitate him with it.

However, riddler landed awkwardly, and that caused your hand to slip and crash against the wet concrete. Was it raining? That didn't matter, your wrist was fucking broken.

The adrenaline crash, the cold, and the concussion seemed to intensify and team up against you to give you the worst physical beating in the world. "Fuck, b- batman! Help! Someone… help!" It was the lowest of the low—at least in your opinion—begging for help like this. You could practically feel the vibrations of the riddler's chilling laugh run up your spine.

As if a miracle could help you.

But just as all was lost, just as you saw riddler through sticky eyelashes with his cloth in his hand ready to break your neck, it stopped raining, and… seemed to get dark. You hadn't known the time, but it's highly unusual for the sky to just crash to darkness all of a sudden, so… What was it?

You look up.

And there he was, pale blue eyes surrounded in black paint glaring back down at you. It was like a scene out of a movie; his cape blowing in the wind, his body twisting in slow-motion to give the riddler a nasty right hook before turning back to you with hidden worry in his eyes. Maybe it was the concussion talking, but you could've sworn he hesitated before the attack when he saw you.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the concussion talking, as he really had hesitated, leading the riddler to escape and splash away in the rain. The riddler may be dumb enough to anger Batman, the dark knight, but he knew he was efficiently ineffective for a winning chance against Bruce.

Plus, he had plans before getting pummelled by him.

Left disorientated, bruce was unsure as he leaned down to check on you, trying to tap into Alfred's radio. "Fuck,"

He didn't know what to do.

For the first time, in his extremely repetitive life, he didn't know what to do. Had you asked him a long time ago before he met you,—and not just met, actually knew and seen you—he would've chosen to go after riddler without a second thought. Leaving you there with a police called to your area.

Now… now he's not so sure. Sensing his silence and hesitation, you called out his name out of panic. "Batman? What are you doing, you- go chase after him!" You blinked the burning rain out of your eyes, wincing as you tried to get up, breath hitching as batman presses his hand against your chest and pushes you back down gently. Your voice had traces of anger, at him and at yourself.

God knows what you've done, if Bruce can't save Gotham because of you, you would never forgive yourself. Worst of all, you knew he would never forgive himself either.

"Fuck." You breathed out exasperatedly, a small laugh leaving you. "I'm sorry, Bruce. Fuck, I- I'm so sorry." You hiccuped, throat burning. Out of all the years of knowing him, you had never seen him hesitate this bad. Behind his massive shoulders, you could still see riddler's boots stomping away, before he disappeared fully into the fog. Yet he didn't move a muscle to see where he was going, nor did he ask.

You were so stupid, just listen to him next time goddamn it. You loved him, you loved his attention, but you didn't want to be a burden on him like this!

"I'm s-" He cut you off, courtly. "It's fine. He'll come back." Despite how strange it was, Bruce made his attempts at calming you down without even realizing it himself. "We need to go, you... have a concussion." You gulped down the apologies, nodded, grimacing internally at yourself at how submissive you were under his direct order.

——————

The drive back to the Manor was even quieter than the walk to the investigation. You frowned as the thought of that dreaded walk popped up in your mind. Deciding to break the tense atmosphere and think about something else, you perked up as you finally thought of an un-clichéd beneficial conversation topic. "So- How was the investiga-" As always, he interrupted.

"Is your wrist broken? I noticed you needed some help getting into the car." The eyes that had been earlier glued to the tops of his cowl, dropped to your hand that had been forming an ugly shade of purple and blue.

"It hurts less if I don't talk about it, haha." You joked, looking over at Bruce, just to met with a stoic face. "No, no, hold the applause." You rolled your eyes, your hand gestures following your sarcasm-laced words.

“You know..." you started again, already seeing Bruce's arms visibly tense up at your tone of voice. "I thought you were the type to look at the big picture instead of the…” you laughed as you gestured to yourself, a little lost as to where your short speech was going. “little details?”

Despite your efforts to tease him, Bruce remains visibly upset. “I wouldn't go so far as call you a 'little detail.'” he gruffly responded, almost saddened by how unnerved you were from nearly becoming one of riddler's next 'riddle'. His jaw clenched at the thought, and you smiled at the edgy sentiment.

“Don’t worry, the riddler will get what he deserves eventually.” You reached up to rest your unbroken hand on his armoured shoulder.

“I know he will.” You looked at him with a reassuring smile, as reassuring as you could with your bruised face. "I believe in you, Bruce. Always have, always will."

He paused, greased eyes shifting over to you for a split second in search of sincerity within your expression. Once he found it, his heart beat a little faster, and his hands around the wheel tightened.

"You have a concussion." He grunted, looking the way opposite to your direction, pretending to look at the side view mirror. You grinned at his reaction, before retiring back into your seat. "That, I do." You sighed blissfully as you let your head fall back against the head rest, relaxing as if your wrist wasn't broken and that you couldn't feel blood trailing down the back of your head.

"Are you alright? Back there, you were apologizing." He stated, glancing over at you for a split second to make sure you weren't sleeping.

You were.

In a panic, he reached over to shake your shoulder, half-driving and half-panic-shaking you. "S/o!" His voice boomed, the car swerved you awake. "Wha- huh?" you snorted, blinking awake, as if you didn't nearly make Bruce crash the goddamn car into a building.

"Stay awake, talk to me." He huffed, ordering you with a tone he knew you usually listen to. "Oh, yeah, you asked me a question; what was it?" You asked, somewhat groggy.

"You were apologizing earlier, I want to know why." He repeated, a little tense from your scare. He could see your mouth open and close like a gaping fish, and before you could start, he spoke again, "And don't say it's because riddler got away, and you think it's your fault; it isn't. And I know it's not just that."

Again, you weren't sure if it was the concussion talking, but you feel like he doesn't normally talk this fast. Was he nervous? That doesn't seem likely. "Why did you… sound like that?" he sounded unsure; at himself, his own words, and you.

"I would tell you, but you'd just tell me that I have a concussion." You rolled your eyes.

"S/o, stop shitting around." It was clear, he was desperate for a response. It showed in his eager tone of voice. You were quiet for a moment, trying to get your empty thoughts together and organized.

"I don't know, really. I love you, I guess." You shrugged, slouching in your seat as if you hadn't just confessed to the billionaire of Gotham City.

The car screeched to a stop, launching both of you forward. Bruce slowly turned his head over to look at you, shock decorating his sharp yet soft features. "What did you just say?"

⊱───── ❝ thank you for reading! ❞ ─────⊰

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rxtrovillans · 2 years

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ღ Dating Battinson (SFW and NSFW)

a/n: This is pretty short

Requested by @memeisbeingcheeky - “Smut and relationship”

Wc: 300+

SFW:

He enjoys those still-intimate moments where you’re laying on his chest in his dim-lit bedroom while reading you one of his favorite novels. He’ll gently play with your hair as he does this.

He likes doing little things for you, like putting a chain around your neck, and tying your shoes.

He likes doing things for you in general: Getting you coffee in the morning (since he didn't get any sleep from the night before), helping you with stuff at your apartment (constructive stuff, he’s your own personal handyman).

While working on Batman stuff (gear, work cases) he likes to take short moments away from them (which isn’t often) to walk back upstairs to his room to make sure you're okay (though you're probably sleeping)

When he’s in a good headspace, he likes to “help” with cook night, which usually entails watching you and Alfred do all the work and jokingly throwing insults at your work.

“I’m not eating that “y/n”

“Is that even cooked properly”

“Hmmm definitely not cooked”

“Well, why don’t you help then?”

“Hmm...no”

He’s very smitten with you, though his emotional wall will be put up at times

NSFW:

He wouldn’t be ashamed to make noises while you two are fucking, so many throaty grunts would leave his mouth.

After a while as you too get more comfortable around each other (or more of him getting comfortable with you) you guys would explore more in your sex life and try new things like handcuffs, more public locations (In his house), Bold positions and maybe even more explicit sex toys.

He likes to leave marks on you, his favorite is his hand prints on your hip from holding onto you while he’s pounding into you

His favorite position is missionary, he just likes how intimate it is

He lovessss eating you out, he’d do it for fun

He’d completely just eat you up, licking and slurping like he’s hungry

My Batman eats pussy!!!

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imagines-to-quench-thirst · 1 year

Text

Stupid man

Word count: 1900

Pairing: Batman x fem!reader

Summary: Bruce uses 'code 4' while encountering the Scarecrow resulting in defining the next moments that would shake up his family and his future

Warning: brief depiction of the fight and sad Alfred and sad Dick

--------------------------------------------

"..."

"Batman."

"..."

"Batman!!!"

"...Code 4..."

"Bruce! Bruce, stay with me! Dick, Bruce needs help!"

"On it, Y/n."

Y/n examines the live cam seeing the infinite black ground covering it. Her hands quiver over the control, hoping her man will live to witness another day. Steps crumble toward Batman Y/n, sighing a breath of relief and sitting on the closet chair.

"Thank god you are here, Dick."

"What?! No, Batcomputer... I am 3 minutes ETA."

Fear poisons her veins as Y/n listens closely.

"What's wrong, Batman!? Scared?"

Y/n's eyes glaze on the computer screen, her voice letting out the villans name, her voice matching with Bruce's

"Scarecrow"

"Do not worry, Batman. You will not die...Not yet, but your veins will pollute themself with my fear of toxins. I cannot wait to see if this will break you or make you into my Scarecrow. "

Another pair of feet grumble down, rushing in while grunts cascade from Scarecrow.

"Move away from him, buttface!" Dick roared, smashing the straw-filled enemy, managing to cuff him down in 4 agonizing minutes for Y/n. The police sirens howled into the Gotham sky, taking the Scarecrow away.

"Batcomputer, we are coming back."

"Copy."

The Batmobile drove in as Y/n observed anxiously, already preparing an operating table for Bruce. The door opens with a swift movement, Y/n placing herself under Bruce's weight and Dick helping out. Placing the wounded brute on the table, Alfred comprehended what he had to do. His stoic face examined the patient's body, witnessing his sweating going faster, his face painting itself in a heartbreaking expression, eyebrows stitched together, mouth emitting pained groans and vocal no's, eyes rolling back the white canvas painted with tiny green veins.

To her, it all collided in her mind, he was wounded deeply, and he could die. He is human. He isn't indestructible like he vowed to her when she uncovered his secret. She could wake up tomorrow and find him 6 feet under. His hands could not hug her or console her. His smooth voice could not comfort or call her when she lost her way in the manor.

She was mad to think that there would be this his end. Dying of old age for the Batman?! She was mad to think that... and more so to believe that he would survive this so easily.

Her expression zoned out, looking at Bruce's hands. With an "I could have done what I could, now we wait for it to pass" from Alfred, Y/n walked over to Burce, clutching his hand and sitting next to him, her face blank as ever.

Alfred gave Dick a comforting hug wishing his son would survive this live nightmare. Alfred walked to Y/n as Dick stood at Bruce's other side while Alfred spoke softly to Y/n.

"Mistress Y/n, rest. I will mind him."

With no glance adverting towards the lovely father figure, Y/n spoke, "No. I will stay with him. You two go rest and...and I don't know."

Alfred and Dick exchanged glances between themself, knowing fully well there was no room for discussion, the ambiance feeling incredibly heavy by the moments that let up until now. Moving away from the couple, they let the bat calls echo on the stone walls, encapsulating the worst moment in their lives.

~~~~~

Trying to stay awake after almost 40 hours of torturous silence and stillness, Alfred put his foot down at the utterly tired woman.

"All right, Mistress Y/n. Sleep now...IN the Master Bedroom."

Y/n responds in a burb of words, "No... He...Wake...Want to see... Blue eyes... no sleep...coffee..."

"You already had your 10th cup, and I pledge that you now have coffee running through your veins. Go rest. Now!"

Alfred pulled her away, dragging her to the much-needed rest letting involuntary Alfred watch over his adoptive son.

~~~~~

Time passes as it does while Bruce feels the cold ambiance of the Batcave. His eyes open, noticing Alfred's dead pained gaze. Alfred spluttered some words that were more so sounds with no context as he looked at Bruce sitting on the table. Alfred steps in front of his family, hugging him, not feeling the weight that passed his heart, the deadly weight he would drag into the ground with him. Bruce jerks in the hug his cold skin touching against the warm cotton-laced fabric of his butler.

"How long was I out?"

Alfred brokenly whispers, "Too long. We already thought the worst, Master Bruce. Don't do that again."

Pulling back, Alfred sighed a breath of relief. His brain rolled back all of the fondest memories he had with Bruce, and it was most of his life, but now seeing his blue eyes blinking, his mouth moving with words but Alfred hearing not one, just feeling the alleviation in his heart.

"...Y/n?" The voices blur seemed to die down for Alfred, bringing him back, hearing Y/n's name.

"She is resting. She needs it. Mistress Y/n was by your side while you were at your most alarming. No sleep, food, just coffee, so many cups of coffee."

Alfred expressed in a tranquil tone seeing Bruce stand up on frail legs. Alfred stood in his spot, judging whether or not to speak and stop Bruce from walking, knowing full well where he was going. But Bruce was stubborn, not more than Y/n but more so than Alfred, leaving Alfred with a slight chuckle leave his lips.

"My goodness."

Bruce staggered step and step up the manor towards his master bedroom, not seeing much around himself, seeing solely stairs, his feet, and his left hand grabbing the rail for dear life. Bruce felt weak, he felt lost and shaken up, his mind filled with the remainder of nightmares, and he felt broken with all this unwanted movement in his body, mind, and soul. Bruce needed help, but he didn't want to ask. Bruce was ashamed to ask; he was a protector, yet there was no protector in him. One step more, he felt stronger, lighter, and more capable. As if...

"Need help, B-man?" Dick asked with a glint in his blue eye. The evident relief shows on the boy's face as he places himself under braces shoulder and puts Bruce's arm over his broad shoulders. Bruce let the grip of the handrail and leans on his son, letting him guide him up, feeling a tiny bit better now.

"You gave everyone a great scare. Don't do that again. Lost a lot of sleep."

Bruce croaked with a laugh. "And I'm guessing you replaced it with coffee."

"How did you know?" Dick questioned as they reached the top of the steps, a few efforts away from the bedroom.

"Had a hunch." Bruce responds. Standing tall, Bruce hugs Dick, with the utmost emotion in his heart, towards Dick, a young boy who he gave shelter when he lost his parents, finding a few golden threads that connected them. Giving Bruce a new way to look at life, a moment that told him he wasn't the only one in this position. There were always other people to help, and this small boy, now a proud man, was standing in front of him, proud of helping him grow up in a safe home and letting him define a new generation of justice.

Dick froze in this moment. He felt Bruce's arms around his body, noticing the familial warmth radiating from his father. Hugs weren't rare, and yet they weren't often as well. Well, they were starting to get more often lately, thanks to Y/n influence.

Communication is complex for Bruce, his primary source of love and communication was cut off a long time ago when he was eight, left only with his butler, who was also mourning, attempting to be a family figure for the boy. Life resumed, and Bruce continued to keep himself and others around him at arm's length, not comprehending what he was doing wrong. Only when he met Y/n. Who told him that communication would build him into a better person and father figure to Dick. Bruce preserved it in his mind, not acting much upon it until this moment, a moment where he felt that the right move would be a hug and the words...

"I love you..son." Bruce spoke clearly enough for Dick to pull back and look a second of puzzled look on his face before taking a chuckle out of it

"You still have a concussion."

Dick stepped away from him down the stairs, his steps seemingly crammed with joy, hearing the words he had heard from Bruce maybe a handful of times. Bruce limped gradually towards his bedroom, opening the heavy door with a slow swoosh, not wishing to wake up his girl. There she was. Sleeping on her side, her back facing him. Her curves were covered by the thick duvet cover that was dubbed an 'expensive heating blanket that could swallow me whole, and I wouldn't mind' by Y/n. His muscular weight dipped the bed slightly as he sat down, looking at Y/n shift towards him, her eyes still shut, laced with sleep.

"Poor thing... Why didn't you eat anything? Why didn't you drink water like you always tell me to? I feel so stupid to have to put you through this to know how much I love and need you. When I had nightmares, one of my nightmares was seeing you walk past me, not knowing me, not kissing my cheek or holding my hand—just passing me, not even looking at me. And when I wanted to reach your hand, you looked at me with disgust and kept moving. Only for me to yell for you and watch you walk...away. I would never have thought I would see another day where you are in my life, our house, and our future."

Bruce's hand reaches for Y/n kissing her knuckle lightly just enough to stir her awake. Her eyelashes fluttered open, her eyes catching Bruce's figure concealed in the night sky's color. Standing up slowly, Y/n looked at his hand holding hers, examining his hand carefully, caressing her palm, drawing little shapes, tiny invisible hearts, and stars. Y/n looks up into his blue eyes, expressing uncertainty.

"Please, tell me this is real."

Leaning down to her, Bruce kisses her lips softly, answering in a hushed tone.

"I am here, sweetheart."

Y/n eyes twinkle and shake with tears brimming over the edge of her waterline as they begin to cascade down her cheeks. Bruce kisses her cheeks, dabbing away her tears. Y/n drew Bruce to herself, hugging him for dear life, hearing his strong heartbeat beating in a serene rhythm.

"Don't do that ever again, stupid man. Stupid, stupid man." Y/n cried out to her man, feeling herself ache with the reality of his job and life purpose.

"I won't, darling. I will never leave you again.'" Bruce promised, caressing her back gently, soothing her as she cried out. Bruce knew what happened to him was life-changing in more ways than one, and it nearly broke his family apart. Bruce was definitely in his peak physical shape, but mentally, he still had to shape himself into a man worthy of being a good son, a great father, and a one-of-a-kind future husband.

But that will, for now wait, and so will the ring that was hidden in Bruce's drawer for another day.

Hope you liked it! Let me know what you think ❤️

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