Batmom & Batfamily Imagines [2]

Feelings | Bruce W

Have you guys seen Bruce in Gotham Knight? Jesus Christ. Especially towards the end, the chest hair and the beard, just everything. JESUS CHRIST. God, give me ONE chance.

Kind of enemies to lovers. Mentions of blood but nothing serious, a bit suggestive since I was going to make it a smut but... I wasn't really feeling it and my phone battery is running out. Oops.🧍‍♀️

**

"I'm on my day off," you told the dark figure who was standing in front of your window, the night breeze was making your beloved apartment cold and you motioned him to close the window.

"Didn't know someone like you take days off," he responded in that stupid deep voice of his, obliging to your demand.

You scoffed, "I'm not always out there causing chaos, I have my own private life."

You didn't even have to look at him to be able to tell he was bleeding all over your fucking floor, you could hear the blood slowly dripping.

You only looked at him from what you were doing when you heard a loud thud from behind you, finding him on the cold floor of your home, a hand was propping himself up while the other was holding his wound.

You really didn't understand why he would run to you for safety, you shouldn't even be considered to be one, not anymore. Every time you were outside either doing robbery or simply teaming up with the other criminals you'd try to kill him.

Keyword; try.

"For fuck's sake you dumbass bat," you approached him, he had a deep gash on his side, you noticed he was looking a little bit off. This shouldn't be a big problem for him,

"I'm fine."

Stubborn he was.

"My ass," you spat, helping him to lay on your floor while you checked him over, sitting down beside him. "If you were fine you wouldn't be here."

He grunted in response, letting you took off his cowl since you already knew who he was. You had known each other before, trusted each other and had each other's back, you were his eyes and brain whenever he needed quick escape.

It all changed when he pushed you away, even despite the fact that you were trying to fix whatever that was going on he kept you more than an arm's length. You were hurt and you did the only thing you knew how to get him to listen to you or look at you again.

Be the thing he was fighting against.

"You need to stop this," he spoke, his voice was not distorted anymore. No more that Batman voice. Just Bruce.

You crawled over to the small drawer near your TV, opening it and reaching for a vial Ivy had given you some time ago. It quite literally worked like magic when you used it for the first time, it closed your wound immediately if it was small, if it was a deep gash it'd slowly work its magic.

Crawling back to Bruce, you rolled your eyes before positioning yourself back beside him. Popping the vial open, "stop what? Taking care of your stupid self?" You spilled the liquid over his wound without a warning.

You knew he could take it but it still stung and he hissed. You smirked.

"You know what I mean," he didn't sit up like he usually would. That made you put a hand over his forehead.

He was burning up, a fever. The darkness under his eyes were even more prominent compared to before, his eyes were bloodshot red and now that you were actually looking at him, you noticed he was pale.

"You stupid, stupid man," you breathed out, "go clean up or you need a hand with that?"

He ignored you and stood up, albeit with a little struggle, he was back on his feet. He looked vulnerable and you tried to ignore the tears that were gathering in your eyes.

He walked towards the bathroom, he knew the house very well since this was not his first visit.

Your chest felt heavy looking at him like this, but god you also felt so angry. So stupid. You loved him, had always been. Even when you had your hands wrapped around his throat a few nights ago, the anger you had towards him faded when he put his gloved hand on your wrist.

You heard him taking off his suit, his utility belt dropping on the bathroom floor with a heavy thump. You picked up his cowl off the floor, putting it on your table before checking if everything was locked and if the curtains were closed.

You sighed as you cleaned the blood off your floor, resting on the couch with fingers rubbing your temples. This was giving you a headache, he was giving you a headache.

Bruce stepped out of the bathroom, shirtless and wearing his old sweatpants that you stole before you both separated ways. He sat down on the couch with you, who was refusing to look at him.

"Can we talk?"

"Nothing to talk about."

"Hey," he was calm, maybe tired, but either way he was composed despite the fact that he was sick. "Look at me."

You did with a loud sigh.

You didn't expect him to reach over and traced the outline of your face with his fingers, his touch was light and gentle. The last time he touched you was to punch you and knock you out, throwing you in a cell.

Your eyes drifted to his face, his damned handsome face. His strong jawline, his plump lips, his strong nose, his godforsaken blue eyes that you loved the most.

"What's there to talk about, Bruce?" You averted your eyes to where his wound was, it closed but left a little scar that was nothing compared to the other ones he had all over his torso.

He waited for you to say more because he could read you like a book, he could see it all over your face; the conflict that you had with yourself.

"I really can't do this anymore, I hate you, I do."

It almost sounded like you were trying to convince yourself, his face was so close to yours. He felt warm, it was the fever, his nose nuzzled your own.

"You don't."

"Why are you so sure?" You hissed, pulling away only to be stopped by him firmly holding your chin and tilted your head up to look at him properly. You could see the emotions swimming in his eyes, how tired he was of this.

"Why do you think?" He pressed his lips to yours, it was a brief one before you pulled him back into another kiss. A deeper one, rough, all teeth and tongue. Your arms wrapped around his neck and his own around your waist, tugging you closer.

His body felt so strong against yours, his teeth nibbled on your lower lip, his hands were feeling you up like yours were. Your palms feeling every single bumps on his skin, the difference in skin texture– everything.

"I'm gonna get sick," you mumble against his hot mouth.

You could feel him smile while he groped the curve of your ass, "you're going to take care of me."

"Fuck no," yes, you would.

You pushed him to lay on the couch, he was on his back and you were on him, your hands on his chest.

"I could kill you right now."

"You won't," he brushed some stray hairs back and off of your beautiful face, then his thumb pressed against your lips and licked it before he pushed it into your mouth.

"Are we going to have sex?" You spoke around his thick thumb and he laughed, the genuine laugh that you hadn't heard for so long, the laugh that only came out when you told him your shitty jokes. It punched you right in the gut.

"Only if you want to," he pulled out his finger out of your mouth, stroking your cheek with it. You made a face at the feeling of wetness on your skin.

"I do," you hated yourself for admitting it. He tilted his head a little, a handsome bastard he was. "But I want you to be on your tip top shape first."

"Okay."

"Now go to sleep or do I have to knock you out?"

"You'd like that."

"Yes, very much."