#batcest x reader

A specific strain of sex pollen that works differently than the standard. A sex pollen that has you moving without realizing. A sex pollen in which you can have full length arguments and still not realize you’re undressing as you’re having them. A sex pollen that works for a little longer. A sex pollen that is more like a drug. As in, it has to fade, it can’t just be ‘released’. A sex pollen that has people doing things without even knowing it.

Bickering about clothes left on the ground with your adoptive little brother Tim and his face is twisted in a little frown as you scold him and neither of you are able to even take note of the moans breaking into the middle of your sentences, the way you fumble a little bit with the way he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, mouth hot and eager.

Trying to get through a meeting without snapping at your more than absent boss Bruce Wayne, neither of you able to acknowledge the hand you’ve got around his cock and the one he’s shoved into your pants.

Washing dishes and making light conversation with stepdad Dick as he gives playful kisses to your neck and neither of you realize the wrong of it, nor that it’s even really happening. And his mouth keeps trailing down, down, down until his lips are pressed fully against your clit, pressing a loving kiss to the sensitive flesh.

Part 1 

Summary: Bruce takes you away from a party for fun times, hoping that he can have you all to himself.

Tags: NSFW, Transman Reader, You are Tied Up, Oral Sex, Dirty Talk, Bruce undresses you, Vaginal Penetration, Cervix Mentioned, Brudick, BDSM leaning, BTAS

Ahh! I’m so glad you liked it! I was a little nervous about it lol. (And I don’t think it was my best work.) But I did really like that prompt and wanted to put it somewhere.

Genuinely giggled while writing one of the lines in here.

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Warning: INCEST, unhealthy relationships, codependency, Tim’s stalking habits, you are the last remaining family member Tim has and he is VERY possessive and attached to you, OOC behaviour, he kisses you while you’re asleep, etc.

INCEST

INCEST

INCEST

—

This is wrong. He knows it like he knows that back in Drake Manor the piano was so old some of the keys produced an ‘off’ sound when pressed. He knew it like he knew that you still went back to your old room sometimes to check that secret little compartment beneath your bed full of all the shit you thought you could hide from him.

(Love letters, burner phones, resumes, money, a fucking pack of cigarettes—he’d barely restrained himself from setting it all alight when he found it.)

(But Tim is a good big brother, even if you don’t think so. So, he’s letting you keep it.)

(For now.)

And he knows it like he knows that in your current bedroom in Wayne Manor lies a secret door. One that even you don’t know about.

There are tunnels and secret doors everywhere in Wayne Manor, some not yet found and some he has already made a habit of remembering.

Like this one.

The door doesn’t creak when he pushes it open. It doesn’t even whine. He made sure of it.

Tim closes it gently behind him.

It’s the middle of the night and as much as you liked to claim yourself a ‘night owl’ you had to sleep eventually.

It’s not like he was going to do anything weird. He just wanted to check up on you. Make sure you were still where he left you.

You’re laying with your body faced away from him, resting on your side.

You look peaceful. At ease. None of that anger and spite tensing up your bones like it usually did around him.

(He wishes you’d just understand. He wishes you got why he was doing any of this.)

(He wishes you’d just stay put.)

Tim walks over to your bed, keeping his footsteps light to not wake you. You’ve always been a pretty deep sleeper but it doesn’t hurt to be careful.

He can see it now that he’s closer, standing at the edge of your bed and looming over you.

You’re shivering.

You’ve kicked the covers off of you in your sleep, left entirely exposed to the elements in your shorts and tank top.

Tentatively, Tim reaches out to you, fingers grazing your chilled skin, goosebumps raising wherever his fingers touch.

You shiver away. He takes your arm in full.

He released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His fingers curl deeper into your flesh, feeling at the mass, rubbing it up and down more so just for the sensation rather than really trying to warm you up though it was a plus.

You never let him do things like this anymore. Never let him hold you.

But he supposes it was deserved. He never really did get to know you until your parents were already dead.

Reluctantly, he slips his hand off of you and reaches down your bed for the covers. You could get a cold like this.

Tim tugs the covers over you and a smile forms on his face at the way you lean into the warmth the fabric envelops you in.

Cute.

He leans down. He hasn’t done this in a while. The movement feels stiff, unpracticed, like an instrument he forgot to keep playing. But nonetheless, he still leans down and presses a kiss to your temple, lingering as the point of contact spread warmth from his lips all the way down to his toes.

(Tim thinks he could survive a snowstorm like this—just by kissing you.)

He moves down on presses another kiss on your cheekbone. Then to the apple of your cheek. Then to the corner of your mouth. Then to your jaw.

You’d never let him do this if you were awake. You wouldn’t giggle like you used to. You’d probably yell at him.

Tim sighs. He moves to give you yet another kiss, hand lifting to cup your cheek but you shift just as he leans down and-

Dry lips. Soft. Gentle like tulips. Sleepy. Unmoving.

Warm.

He’s frozen still against you. Frozen still against your mouth.

For the first time he recognizes the warmth rolling in the pit of his stomach for what it is.

-🍎

STOP HAHA

Bruce silently wondering why he can’t keep a relationship: hm…

The reader, sat in his lap literally half naked and very much the source of most his problems in romance currently: hm…

One day mid fucking he called her name. The worst part is no one is gonna believe you

True horror

-🍎

Imagine sitting down afterwards and stumbling upon a picture of you and his daughter.

And your stomach lurches with the realization that you and her look almost identical.

And that even if you were to run to Alfred or the police, why would they believe you? This is Bruce Wayne, playboy billionaire.

Why would he want to fuck his own kid?

(Imagine you stumbling upon her panties while doing laundry.