Batman X You - Tumblr Posts

love me by the light.

part one | masterlist

premise: bruce comes back into your life, pulling back the veil of those darkened parts of him; finally letting you in.

pairing: bruce wayne x (f)reader

word count: 12.6k

warnings: smut (unprotected sex, rough sex, f receiving oral, pain kink, scratching), a lot of time skips/jumps, death of a parent(s), declarations of love-ish, jealousy, slight batman spoilers, toxic relationships, angst, blood and violence mentions. 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI.

etc: did i mean for this to be that long? absolutely not, but it got away from me lmao. i hope the wait was worth the pay out, especially since it took me weeks to write this. writing soft bruce is hard for me so this is the closest we gone get!

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

It had been weeks since Bruce, or his alter ego, had darkened your doorway or saturated your bed sheets. Weeks of you trying not to wonder where he was, weeks of you trying to convince yourself that it was for the best, that those words spoken, those breaths shared and moans mixed, wounds reopened and pain shared; was a goodbye. It was the last time either of you were going to wallow in that shared unspoken pain—on Bruce's part—and try to come up with every excuse, every touch, every argument to not just let it go, to not face facts that the two of you were no good together, Bruce was no good for you.

Not your psyche, or the money you were spending on laundry; but most importantly your heart; that annoying little organ keeping you alive, keeping the blood pumping in your veins, those same tendons that Bruce has run his lips across. That same blood that doesn't mind being mixed into something shared and deranged with his, or those he’s beat down.

But no matter what reasoning, no matter what sound logic and sound mind of factual grounds as to why Bruce was no good for you, the two of you even worse together; your heart couldn’t seem to get the memo. Could not grasp on to the shed tears and broken shards of its melted shards back together over and over, that all of that meant that the two of you should stay away from each other.

And just like your heart was doing with all rationality; you ignored it. You were pushing the memories of Bruce in your bed, between your legs, and pressed to your body away with anything that worked. Once one good memory popped up you reminded yourself of another, a nasty argument, or by the fact that Bruce essentially knew nothing about you and you him. In which your heart would excuse that the both of you knew enough; tragic pasts, a weird addiction to pain (yours more emotional than his), parentless, searching for the wrong things in ways that would never fully be right, never fully making you feel absolutely whole because you’ve been stuck in the same mindset for far too long that in reality you didn't really remember what you were searching for, only that you kept looking even when you were blinded by something toxic and unsustainable than the reason why you started said thing from the beginning.

Your heart had painted a picture of ‘he knew how to kiss you in that way that it took your breath away, he knew that you despise your job, he knew that you didn’t want children, he knew that you spent extra time in the shower even when your day wasn’t entirely bad (the hot water relaxing you more than any other remedy could). He knew you picked out all of the healthy ingredients in your food when you ordered take out (knows because he busted through your door one night while said take out dish was in your hand being devoured and he insisted you finish eating first, since you were sure to lose your appetite once the two of you got started). He knew how to touch your body in ways that left your body feeling as if it had been in a sauna, knew how to completely mold his mouth against you in a way that felt illegal. His hips and cock knowing just the right way to thrust and move in and out of you, always leaving you breathless and clinging to him. And most of all, the thing you wished he didn't know, that you both could forget: you loved him.

So why should you give that up? Why should the fights outweigh that love? Those facts, those knowings? And the answer was at the tip of your brain painted in bold red letters: because Bruce wouldn’t let you see him. It was the answer to—most—everything, an answer that was more obvious than the sky painted blue. Bruce had let you see the bare minimum of him, had told you the basics that you could read in a damn paper, article, crazed fan post. And when you begged to know more you got silence or dismissal. You got another fight. You got more feelings hurt than hopefulness. You got nothing.

But then you remembered—your heart never letting you forget—you knew he was Batman. And no one knew that. He had taken off his cowl and had let you see his face, bruised, bloody, and painted black. He had trusted you with a needle to his skin. Had trusted you enough to come back again and again. To share a bed with him. To touch. To kiss. To fuck. He let you do that not only to Bruce Wayne, but to The Batman. It wasn't a small gesture. It wasn’t some run of the mill thing. Bruce was not the kind of man to just hand out chances, instances, information like that. He barely left his tower as his true self. In some ways he was more Batman than he was Bruce. As if this altered ego had overtaken him to the point where Bruce Wayne was a secondary character in his own life.

And that counted for something, right? Did that outweigh everything else? Did that paint away the bad and cover it in a different kind of sight, a different kind of love that was more sacred than your average one? Was Bruce showing you his true self, The Batman, the same as him sharing the darkest parts of his mind? His feelings? Was that what—who—Batman was? And if so, was that not a form of love in a way? A form of devotion in the only demeneted tragic way Bruce knew how to give, to show, to devote to you unspokenly.

Each night those very thoughts would cross your mind and you locked your doors tighter. Had closed your curtains. Had avoided any and all headlines with his name plastered on the front. You didn't linger at night, you went to bed timely. You kept busy. Kept locked away. From him and the chance that he might come back—that you wanted him to come back.

Which is also why you started dating. Or trying to at least.

You had been on a handful of casual dates that didn't end in anything other than you grimacing half of the night and them leaving you with the bill. There had been no sparks of romance and no goodnight kisses, or walking you to your door and asking to come in for a night cap. It had been going miserably and yet you had kept trying. Had kept seeking out something through people who were not him. Who could never come close to plaguing your mind as much as he did.

But there was one guy. One who was less of a nuisance than the others, one who actually paid for the meal the four times you had gone out. Had walked you to your doorstep and had hugged you—something that made your skin crawl. He was the only one you had seen on multiple occasions. Had given a chance to, even if it did take some convincing of yourself that he wasn't that bad of a guy. And he really wasn't. He had a decent job, was polite enough, cute enough (not letting yourself linger on the fact that his hair was the same length as Bruce’s and they kind of had the same eye color, and if you squinted the jawline might match up).

He would be a perfect match for you to get over Bruce, you were sure of it, betted on it, were only seeing him for it. But all your convincing and his nice smile did little to stop your mind from wandering to the man you really wished was sat across from you. Who stood at your doorstep. Who wrapped their arms around you; there was no spark, no delicious sting from impending hurt, that pain, that need to yell and scream because you loved this person so much that it was killing you, they were killing you. Tearing your heart into nasty shards and putting them back together with their touch, their kiss.

No, there was none of that and you knew there never would be. And it was truly fucked for both parties involved. But you couldn't find yourself worrying about the others feelings. Maybe you would grow to—would grow to care and something would blossom between the two of you. Something non-tragic wrapped in thorns and bloody knuckles. Something easy, non-toxic.

But was that what you truly wanted?

For all your convincing as to why Bruce was bad and that you were glad he was gone, your body and mind had not stopped calling you a hypocrite.

And when the two of you step out of the small diner, when his clammy palms grab your hand and lace your fingers together—the repulsion in your body starting from low in your belly—and just as he does it, just as his smile spreads and he’s staring at you with fondness; your eyes are pointed to the sky at the symbol plastered in the night fog that to most is a warning, a death sentence. But to you has your heart aching in your chest and wanting to follow it through the streets, buildings, towers, until maybe, hopefully, you find him and it’s his hand that slides home to your body.

As the two of you walk to your apartment, as the other carries the conversation, as your eyes seem to hover and seek out every dark corner, every alley painted black, every booted foot hitting the ground; it’s the thought of him possibly watching you, seeing you with this other man, the thought of jealousy and strain panging his heart, the lack of watch on the nightly creeps that could be terrorizing the city that are less important than you. Than him keeping a watch on you because he misses you. Because the two of you are fucking stubborn and this love is a sespool of depravity and hurt, but also undeniable lust and understanding. That's what has you smiling the whole way home. Not the others’ jokes or uninteresting conversation. It's Bruce.

It’s always Bruce.

It's crazy to think time goes by slower when your heart is aching. Like the world knows that your chest is bruised and tattered from the sting of your heart longing for something, something it can’t have, can’t touch, can’t possess. The world slowing down the hands of time just to prolong suffering. It was hard to say if that was a good or bad thing. If the longer your heart aches the easier it would be to let go of the reason causing the pain; your body rearranging its DNA to make even the slightest thought of the source of the pain kick your flight instinct up. Or did that prolonged ache make you long for that salve that sugar coated the pain, that hid itself away until the toxic cycle continued. You had always looked at addiction and love as two sides of the same coin. Two sides that caused people to either lose themselves or become friends with a tolerable pain if only for a little something in return; devotion, lust, euphoric highs. Both sides providing that painful ache in your chest when you go without it.

You didn't know if it was the latter when it came to your love for Bruce. It had been almost two months now and that ache was still embedded in your bones. Your revelations as to why this distance was good, why moving on to something more stable was better, had soon died off after the man you had been casually seeing tried to warm the same side of the bed Bruce usually did. You knew it the minute his lips pressed to yours—his clammy fingers trailing along your backside—that no matter how nice of a guy he was, or how many dates you tried to make work; he wasn’t Bruce.

And as pathetic as it was to let yourself give up on trying to stop feeling for the no-good-billionaire you decided to let it run its course through you. Like most addicts did. You had to let the memories and traces of him—that seemed to be more than just embedded on your sheets and furniture, the feeling running blood deep—course through you until there was nothing left. No traces of him ever being there; except your taped together heart.

Sometimes you caught yourself wondering if he was doing the same. If the bags under his eyes had turned more sickly black. If he let his punches go just a little bit harder, deadlier, all so he could be distracted enough to not think of you. To let his knuckles crack open from jaw bones and teeth if it meant the course of you running from his body.

It was wishful thinking on your part, pathetic thinking.

Even when seeing Bruce you expect nothing from him because you knew you'd never get anything other than the bare minimum. So making a fairytale out of him now was only fueling your heart with sickness. The only thing you felt most confident about was that you were never going to see Bruce Wayne—or the Batman—again.

You don’t expect, a week later, to feel the other side of your bed dip. Jolsting you in your sleep to awareness, your body frozen as the covers behind you are lifted and moved, pillows being rearranged, and then there's arms being wrapped around you—and you know it’s him. Knew it was him the minute you felt the bed dip. The smell of oil and something musky assaulting your lungs being the giver; Bruce. You anticipate the dreadful feeling of anger and hurt to bubble up inside your chest. To start a fire in your belly and rage all the way through you until your entire body is ablaze from all the screaming and angry tears you want to let out.

But the rage doesn't come. There's no fire in your belly. No deep pain in your gut that's telling you to kick him out, to not rid yourself of the progress you’ve made in getting over him—the progress that was barely there to begin with. The only thing coursing through your body right now is shuddered breaths. Your heart bruising your ribcage from how fast it's beating, and the deep flutter in your belly making you almost shake; angry tears turning into relief that he’s here. That he came back to you, that no matter how hard he tried he couldn't stay away, couldn't stop thinking of you.

And when you turn in his arms the blue of his eyes seem to stand out more than ever. The black paint around his lids setting the backdrop to accentuate that staying away was as agonizing for you as it was for him. The street lights peaking through your window illuminating his face in a beautiful glow that makes you feel like a fucking idiot for ever letting him go like that, for starting fights, for caring about anything else other than him being here; looking griefstickenly beautiful. All of your sensibility from the month earlier burned to ash from those addictive feelings of devoted love you have for this man. Much like Bruce has, he’s burnt them down. He’s avenged your heart into something that aches only from—and for—him; good, bad, painfully so. There was no more making sense of it, you didn't need to. He was here, and it didn't matter for what reason or for how long. That pain of those questions and answers could come another day, another night.

It was no longer the ladder for you. You knew that this man was your addiction. The love and pain you had and suffered through just to feel his warmth beside you was worth the toxicity that ran between the two of you like a rotten fruit; still beautiful on the outside but decaying on the inside, tragic, but not a waste. it could still be held and enjoyed on the surface. And that counted for something. For everything.

Neither of you acknowledge the time spent apart, or if he’s only come here because he’s hurt. There's no time for that, no thought, when the hesitation to press your lips together is a losing game. The passion and heat from the kiss so intensely between the two of you that your mind skips all thoughts except him, except pulling him on top of you and bruising the others lips to make up for the time spent away.

It doesn't take much maneuvering before your clothes are off, the press of his naked chest against yours burning right through you. The feel of his hands running along every inch of your body as if to remind himself how you feel, how you moan into his mouth when his thumb rubs along your nipple. Or how you love it when his cock runs through your folds, spreading your wetness, his tip continuously assaulting your clit to the point your legs start shaking. That burn of lust and a need that makes you want to scream; fuck you missed him. Need him.

Bruce’s mouth travels along your neck, your chest, your breasts, leaving dark smudges in his wake; highlighting the deep bite and wet marks from his tongue and teeth. The coolness from where his mouth once was devouring your body in that perfect way he does, making you shiver. Your eyes watching as he makes his descent down your abdomen. And if it wasn't for the desperate pulse and ache you feel between your legs to have his cock inside of you, that painfully beautiful stretch missed more than you’d realized; you would let him continue that descent.

“Bruce,” you're breathless and trying to pull him up by his shoulders, trying to relay the message of what you want by grinding your hips up into him. You didn't care about prep, didn't care about being ready for him. It was the kind of pain you loved from him, not being completely ready for him, for his cock to stretch you. You needed it right now—as if it would make the pain spent away that much more worth it, more addicting.

His lips kiss above your belly button, his eyes looking up into yours and they're just as needy as yours; his dark makeup smeared half away down his cheek making him look even more desperate. “Please,” his voice is just below a whisper, the heat of his breath hitting your skin. “I’ve missed you.” And if you were already breathless, this was the punch to your heart that knocked the rest of the breath out of your lungs. A white heat of something that wasn't lust washing over you, and you know the tears that burn your eyes are not from the frustrations of it either; it's something so sweet, too sweet, that it makes your mind even more hazy. Makes you want to shed those tears, makes you want to switch your positions and show your love for the Prince of Gotham with your mouth and tongue until your throat burns and is filled with cum.

Bruce doesn’t wait for more of a confirmation before he’s pressing a kiss to the top of your mound, his arms positioning themselves behind your thighs so he’s completely bracketed between your legs. His eyes look back up to yours as he runs the flat of his tongue over your wet folds, a small gasp falling from your lips that quickly turns into a hitched moan when the tip of his tongue snakes out from between his lips to swirl around the surface of your clit. His mouth and tongue lick and suck over your folds, inside of you, refusing to touch your clit directly until your whining and gripping his hair, the huff of pain from your fingers making a moan vibrate against you when he finally wrap his lips around the throbbing bundle of nerves. The way you arch your back and shake around him from the pleasure of the warmth of his mouth on your most sensitive part, devouring you, savoring you, making that burning heat tingle through your legs and settle in your lower belly, to the point you want to scream.

You know you've missed his cock more, but the way his mouth feels on your cunt is just as addicting. It was never in question whether or not Bruce was good with his mouth—he was and then some. He’s eating you out like it’s the first time and he’s taking his time to savor every taste, every moan, every movement of your hips when he does that thing with his tongue that always makes you say his name; he has you spewing words and praising him like he’s your God. And if the moans against your swollen cunt tell you anything it’s that he loves it just as much—if not more—as you. As if it’s just another way for him to see your devotion to him, to give yourself over to him, to let him continue to completely consume you. Maybe that's why he keeps coming back, maybe that's really where his love lies; being addicted to the way you love him, the way you let him completely plague your mind, body and soul, with his mouth and his cock.

Whatever it is you know you’ll never give it up again.

Never want to feel anyone other than him between your legs eating your pussy like this, sucking on your folds and clit, two of his fingers fucking into you and hitting that spongy part of your cunt that has you seeing stars and squeezing your thighs around him as that euphoric high crashes through you so roughly. Your entire body shaking as you scream out. As you cum against his tongue and fingers.

And Bruce doesn’t stop. He keeps going until you’ve cum again, your hips stuttering and body twitching from the sensitivity of your clit. Your body already feeling limp and fucked out—and yet his tongue keeps going, his fingers still fuck into you, your walls even more sensitve as they spasm around him. “Bruce, I need-”

“Just one more, please.”

There were few opportunities in your line of work that you could deny, whether from uncomfortability, or the payout for the piece. And when it came to good pieces that didn't include The Batman, or some dirty politician getting taken down, there wasn't much that really captured the gossiping eyes of the people in Gotham. Misery and crime really did sell, a picture of someone corrupt dead and plastered across the paper was more likely to sell than the reasons why you shouldn't ingest this or buy that. It wasn't too shocking to you though, having written many pieces that fell flat and barely gave you the money to make rent, you had learned long ago that the more blood that a paper helped continue to spill, shed, martyr, the more money, the more engagement.

And at the end of the day you needed to survive, needed the money to continue to keep a roof over your head no matter how dingy that roof was. And after staring blood in the eyes, cuts, gashes, wounds that never healed right; stains under your nails that seem to never come out no matter how much you scrub, no thanks to Gotham’s headliner. There were little to less stories that made you too uncomfortable to write, to cover, to make money off of someone's death using adverbs to paint them as the sad little victim when really Gotham was a better place without them.

When you delve into the dark parts of your past you think there are the stepping stones to how you got here. To make you conditioned to not bat an eye at looking the evil dead in the eye and writing about them. To hiding Bruce’s secret, stitching him up, to kissing his wounds and the one to reopen them.

Which is why when your boss suggested that you write a piece on Oswald Cobblepot’s infamous club the Iceberg Lounge, you didn't think much of it. No sirens or red flags went off in your mind, not even the worry of being surrounded by dropheads, or the gangster himself. The only thing that had flashed through your mind was the pay out, the check that was surely to be big from such a piece on the man sometimes referred to as The Penguin and his place of lounging.

Your boss guaranteeing you it was a sure thing, that Oswald knew him by name and to simply say it at the door and it would get you in without trife. It was a sure thing and that there was no need to pay any mind to the various rumors of the man being as bad as some people had said. Within that same reassuring breath he had suggested you wear something nicer than your everyday work attire.

“Don't be afraid to show some skin, might make the interview go…better.” He had given you a wink and his smirk went to the pit of your stomach. Your boss wasn’t a creep, shockingly. And so the only thing about the exchange that had set your nervous alight was his suggestion to wear something skimpy, that the sluttier you looked the more The Penguin would possibly be more persuaded to spill all. But men were men were they not? Some better than others, some more simple than the rest that gave their secrets away by a flash of a nice smile or the dip of a woman's cleavage.

And as you stood and stared at yourself through the mirror, your reflection was almost laughable at how hard you were trying; money could truly be a big motivator, and motivated you were. If the sequin dress that barely reached mid thigh, and the large cut out at the chest, didn't say just how much of a motivator it was for you. Maybe it was stupid for you to be dressed as such, it might send the wrong idea, an invitation to some dimwitted men. Having never met the infamous crime boss before you wouldn't exactly say where he fell on the spectrum of man. But rumors flew around Gotham like a plague and talks of girls receiving black eyes and bruises all over their bodies, and the deaths that mysteriously always went cold when someone’s carcass was found on the property did not fall on deaf ears.

You had swallowed down your nerves with a few shots of liquor, had read and reread every question you had written down to ask, had triple checked with your boss that he actually knew you were coming and your boss wasn’t just hoping your promiscuous look would be the only thing that would actually be landing you the interview. You didn't know if you were up for having to work with your vagina rather than your brain tonight.

The only thing your vagina got you into was messes, example; Bruce Wayne.

Someone who you don’t expect to see when you exit your bathroom, or a version of him. His body adorned in his armor. You hadn't expected him tonight, hadn't thought you'd see him for at least a couple days since he had stained your bed dusty black just last night. He usually gave it a few days, usually let the missing and longing sink in before he came back to you.

But since the two of you had made up—or done your version of making up; not talking about the matter anymore than shared I miss you’s mixed with moans, bites, and scratches, the only communicating Bruce knew how to do—he had found his way to your bed more often than not. Had even let himself stay until the early morning just as the sun was peeking over the city. There were still blood stained nails and wounds needing fixing. But mixed with antiseptic had been the looks of longings and forgiveness shared. Your heart still ached more times than not and you knew it couldn't be that far off that a fight was soon to break out again. That he would leave you for a month again, or the two of you would fuck for a week straight, letting everything else say your apologies than actually muttering them yourselves.

Your mind always reminding you that it can't be nice forever. That's not how you and Bruce were. That's not the type of relationship you had; a nice one, a one filled with love affirmations and calming touches and ease. Your love was more demented, it had bite marks, blood, cruel words turned into whimpering pleas of devotion. You two were not meant for some classic romance. And you don’t think your heart could bear it if it were any other way, it growing to used to pain and calling it love. Needing it to survive in an already cruel world.

A world Bruce unintentionally made even crueler.

“I didn't expect you tonight,” you walk to your table, rifling through your essentials for the night. “Are you okay? Unless you’re bleeding out you might have to take a bandaid and call it good.” You joke, turning to flash him a smile but it falls once you see his pensive look. Or as much as you could tell, his mask is really doing its job to hide everything about him from the world.

“Are you going out with that guy, again?” The edge in his voice surprises, makes a half smile creep on your lips you try to cover up; so he was watching you, had seen the many dates you went on to try and wash him from your system. The knowledge makes something in your stomach flutter, that edge in his voice the only thing that you are sure he would show of jealousy, or worry.

Or so you thought, until your next sentence of “no, actually I have an interview with Oswald Coppletop,” you smirk. “The Penguin, someone I’m sure The Batman knows well.” Your tone is teasing and it lands flat when the furnace of rage seems to start in the tick of his jaw and spread throughout the rest of him like a house fire.

“Your what?” His voice booms, hits your ears like a loud freight train making you jump in your spot. Your nerves now showing themselves—and you might of that you would have gotten used to his loud voice, his yelling, his anger. But this seems different, the heat in his eyes not his usual fire aimed at you.

“My boss got me an exclusive interview with him,” you fiddle with your purse. “Apparently he knows him, so I’m headed to the Iceberg Lounge.” You try to make a show of running your hand along your outfit to show it off, with as much of a smile as you can muster with all of his negative energy being thrown at you. Of course he was going to ruin this for you. Going to rain down on the piece of work that could not only provide you with a couple months rent, but also land you more serious stories. Something you don’t think he truly understood, having come from money after all. Being a hermit in your tower for two years making him forget that people actually had to make a living and not just sneak off at night and pummel someone.

But maybe that wasn't it. Maybe he did understand, maybe you should of given him the benefit of the doubt, not let him drag the mood down into the trenches where he seemed to love to hangout.

“If you need me to help you tonight I can when I get back.” Because why else would he be so upset right now? You weren't always going to be on call when, or if, he needed you. “I’d say you could join me but we both know your bat isn’t welcomed in most places, and I don’t feel like supporting another black eye.”

“That's not why-” he shouts, snarls, stops himself to let out something as close to a growl of frustration. “It’s dangerous, he’s dangerous.”

“He’s not going to-”

“Because your boss knows him?” He scoffs a little, “he’s done worse to the people he knows than strangers on the street. You don’t know what you’re walking into.”

“Well, I didn't know what I was walking into when I followed you, and look how good that turned out.” You give him a mocking smile, the innuendo diverting to many different directions that makes him give you a searing look. Your insides twisting at which direction could be the one adding fuel to his fire of rage; that the two of you ended up fucking, or that you ended up with more than a black eye in the long run, a darkened heart that both bled and beated for him. Jealousy or remorse. Both sat in the pit of your stomach like a brick.

“You’re putting yourself in danger.”

You can't help the laugh that you let out, because was he serious? “You put yourself in danger every night, Bruce. And the minute I bring it up or even remotely hint to you not doing that, it’s like taking a bone away from a ravenous dog. But let me guess, that's different right?”

“It is!”

“Why? Because I don’t have a suit of armor to hide who I really am? Because I can’t take a punch? A knife?” You roll your eyes, “well news flash, you can barely take it. Should we go over the reason why you end up here every night? Because we both know it couldn't be just for my great company or companionship.” You shake your head, curse under your breath at the rage you now felt radiating through your veins thanks to him and his audacity.

It wasn't different. You had wasted your breath many times, pleads and begs of asking him to get his drug of vengeance somewhere else. To use his name and status instead of his fists and body riddled with scars, that would surely only get worse. He couldn't do this forever and it would surely kill him. And his anger and protested yells in your fight had taught you to keep your mouth shut. To not bat an eye anymore at the wounds that you had to fix, at the ache in your heart to see him not care for his own well being.

And you were sure this argument was going to end the same as the last one; guess you should redownload the dating app. Maybe you’d fuck Oswald out of spite. It wasn't that hard to close your eyes when a man who was less than attractive was behind you, and the only thing you wanted was that ten minute pleasure from his cock.

Your chest pang at the thought. Because you knew you wouldn't, and even if you would, the only thing you'd see if you tried, or closed your eyes, would be Bruce.

Fuck him.

“I don’t have time for this.” You give him a scowl and head for the front door. Your hand grabbing the doorknob the same time his gloved one grips your wrist in a death grip. Your scowl only deepens when you turn to look at him, as you try to free yourself from his hold—something pathetically useless with his strength.

“It’s not safe, not like this.”

“Like what, Bruce?” You huff, continuing your protests to have him let you go. Your wrist now burning from your attempts more than his actual grip on you. “Don’t ruin this for me! Not all of us can be born with a silver spoon in our mouths!”

“I’m saving you!”

“I’m not in danger!”

“That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be. Men like him are not the kind of men who would take a slam piece with a smile.”

“I’m not writing a slam piece, Bruce.”

“Even worse. Men like him don’t deserve praise, especially when he wouldn't bat an eye to wrap your dead corpse in that same paper from you printing one word wrong to make him look like a villain.”

His words stop you, make your blood run cold. Make those nerves turn into something with more edge that pricks and pokes holes in your optimistic outlook—your motivation for cash. And you don't know if your heart is beating so hard from anger, fear, or the fact that Bruce could be right. His points, frustratingly, laced with some possible truth to them. People have died at the Iceberg Lounge for less, you were sure.

“It’s not fair of me to ask you not to do this, I know.” Bruce’s voice slips from that anger and frustration, and back to his whisper; deep and pointed, calmer. “I’m just asking you to trust me on this. If there was a chance that…something…anything, could–would, happen to you-” he swallows, looks down for a second like he can’t look at you when he says the words, if he says the words—as if he himself isn't sure what words he wants to get out because this was new, all of it; the crumb of care he was showing you right now, the hint of more feelings than indifference, anger, and lust mixing in the air between the two of you right now. “Just don’t go.” Your stomach sinks, your heart following it into that bottomless pit of ache from him not being able to say those words that were on the tip of his tongue. Words that would do more than cut deep, would put a label on whatever this was between the two of you; something dangerous.

“Bruce..”

“I’ll let you do a story on me.” He huffs frustrated, “Bruce Wayne. Just stay.”

Stay.

He was asking you to stay instead of it being the other way around.

“Why do you care so much,” you can't help the bluntness dredging up, as if your heart can't wrap itself around this close-to-softness, to something other than pain and cuts from knives being shown from the man in front of you. Your gut instinct impulsing you to not trust it, to not let this man sink any further into the open parts of your heart that have the potential of being more than jagged. “Like I said before, I’m not even your girlfriend, just someone you-”

“No.” He says clipped, and it makes your gut instinct shine out, smirk, a sickly saddening feeling spread through you in an ‘I told you so.’ And you go to pull yourself from him again, but instead he’s pulling you closer, your forearms pressed to the hard armor covering his chest. His gaze burning into yours, “You’re more than that, and we both know it.” The tears that burn behind your eyes make you feel pathetic, make you want to fight to get away from him again. But you’re ensnared in his gaze, held by the light in the darkness around his eyes, his words that make those flutters come back. “You stepped into my world once before, I don’t want you to have to be subjected to it again. It’s worse enough I allow you to see the aftermath of it.”

And it’s the first time Bruce has ever, truly, outwardly expressed the shared knowledge that the two of you know; this nurse and patient relationship was fucked and no one should have to put a needle through his skin then beg him to stop so you would never have to again, to ask for more, to devote yourself to a person stuck in a bleak and black world of darkness hooked on the drug of venegance and justice. But the both of you knew you’d never turn it away. Shy away from the darkness of the blood and gashes. And maybe that was a problem in and of itself, that you had grown numb to it, something someone probably shouldn't do. Even if that numbness hadn't started with Bruce, it grew, festered, led to fights, anger, dangerous feelings mixed in that turned into love. At least for you.

You’re more than that.

His words. Proclamation. Spoken out to you. Not to the ether, not hidden in touches and orgasms. You were more than a girlfriend to Bruce.

But was it love? Could someone like him even love after seeing so much darkness. You had. Had seen the depths of darkness and still loved, still felt for him, and knew would continue to. Knew it deep down to your merrow. Bruce didn’t want you a part of that darkness but you had already stained your skin for him, and if that doesn’t give the true meaning of the darkness of love and devotion you don't know what does. What could.

“I will let you see the other half of me. But not this part. Stay.”

And how could you not?

When you return to work the following day your boss is less than pleased, looks more squirrley than normal. Talking about how you could have tarnished his name, his word, his honor, as if this interview was something that the both of you would highly regret in more ways than a simple ‘missed chance’. Him seeming more worried about his own fate than yours, something you try not to dwell on or let his words defer you into fear when they usually held no backing to begin with. While your boss may have been a good one, you wouldn't doubt he was on someone's payroll and that was the only way he could keep this place running, and you had no desire to delve into his life—especially when he couldn't care that much about yours.

But as soon as the words “I got an exclusive interview with Bruce Wayne” slip from your mouth his tone–and demeanor—shifts completely into something ecstatic. His words now turned into compliments and waving off the missed interview to one of the girls who work in the office, saying you were more suitable for this type of work anyway—whatever that had meant, you tried not to look too much into. Since the night Bruce had brought up the offer, promised, you had felt those annoying little flutters the closer the day came. The more you thought of that night, his burning touch to keep you safe, the pleading in his eyes that couldn't be engulfed by the fire of rage inside of them.

Not to mention the infamous Prince of Gotham barely showed his face let alone had ever let anyone interview him. So this was a big career opportunity for you, Bruce having promised to make up the difference for whatever your interview with Oz was going to pay off. But deep down you knew it wasn't the sentiments of your career gaining traction or even the money; he was finally letting you in. Even if it had a ‘strictly business’ bow wrapped around it. And maybe he was just grinning and bearing it so you wouldn't be caught up in the other half of his world anymore than you already were, maybe this was truly just about the safety of you. Him continuing to hide that darkness, even if you’ve seen the brunt aftermath of it. It didn't stop the flutters or the tightening in your chest as you type up your questions for him, as you let that silly school girl joy seep further into the cracks of your molten heart. Let yourself ignore the looming ‘things can only be good for so long between you two, before the worst comes back’ in the back of your head.

When the day finally comes you had expected him to show up late at night in your balcony door way, had counted on it actually. Him clad in his batsuit, hopefully minus the blood and woundage. But when you hear a knock on your door, opening it to see him, Bruce in the flesh, no armor in sight; you're shocked into silence. Your eyes taking him in for all his glory; this being the first time you had seen him in actual clothes, his clothes, his billionaire clothes, long jacket, dark shirt and pants. His hair not wet from sweat or a shower, his eye sockets unpainted. This was the real Bruce, or the one he let the public see. Something in the back of your mind telling you the Bruce who was usually dressed down and bruised in your bed was the real him. The Prince of Gotham was more myth than man.

And you’re even more shocked into silence when Bruce tells you that he wants to do the interview at his tower. The manor that hangs high above Gotham like a watchful eye, waiting, seething. Like a looming threat in the sky no one quite knows.

You don’t know what you expect when you walk through his doors, don’t know why you’d think his money would show in the form of fancy statues, paintings, expensive furniture, decorated in the ways his parents might have liked. But once you step through the threshold, let your eyes take it all in, the architecture that superasses the look of the outside; you know that this is completely Bruce. The dark vintage look, the gothic curve of the molding, ceiling, the furniture, the slight draft. The only thing that seems the most non-Bruce thing being the immense light that the many windows bring in. But then you even question that once you look out from the largest one that seems to show the city in its entirety, being able to gaze down at those below him, those who probably look up to his tower with a sneer of envy, despisement, maybe even fear.

You had never really had a second thought of Bruce himself before meeting his counterpart, had never blinked twice when people would bring him up in passing, in the papers. Ironically he was more myth than man to some—more than people really knew.

Bruce watches you as you look around, like a kid in a candy shop you are sure. And you think you see the corner of his mouth quirk up when you ask him about some of the pieces displayed throughout the place as he leads you through his vast estate. You had every right to feel self conscious about your shit apartment the first time he followed you home, you now realize.

After you’ve finished the interview, Bruce answering more than half of them—more than you expected him to actually answer, hence why you wrote out at least three pages full of them just in case he wanted to skip most of them. His face was stone, stoic, held together as he answered. Some answers more dry than others, sometimes he would let the air between the two of you sit, a tensed silence spreading as he stared at you, his thoughts louder than anything—and yet you couldn't hear them, couldn't read them as much as you wanted to—when you asked him certain intrusive questions, when you spoke of his parents, of his personal life; other than what you knew obviously. The look on his face one of debation you soon realize, debating on how deep he wanted to have you delve into his world, into this new part of him that wasn't just going to be news to the people of Gotham, but to you as well. You were learning parts of him that you now realize you should already know based on whatever it was between the two of you.

Facts that someone usually found out along the way when you have been fucking someone—stitching someones skin—for as long as you had. You tried not to think too much about it, tried to ignore those weird pricks of bitterness and melancholy that picked at your stomach the more you realized that Bruce was a mystery to you; if it wasn't darkness, blood, or wrapped in flesh, bone, and moans you didn't really know him.

Batman. That's who you knew. But much like your earlier thoughts, Bruce was more the Batman than he was really himself. Was more the true himself in bed with you than through the recording of his poised voice answering questions. So these silly feelings shouldn’t be picking at you.

But once the interview is over and the two of you sit across from each other in silence, the reality of how weird this all really is makes you laugh softly.

“What?”

“This,” you wave your hand around, the room you were currently in, the chair you were currently sitting in costing more than any salary you knew you’d ever make to live, let alone live in. “It’s kind of..”

“Weird.” Bruce finishes for you.

“Yes,” you smile and your stomach clenches when he returns it. It actually reaching his eyes. “I’m sure you never thought you’d have a journalist in your house, let alone your nurse and sometimes bedmate.” You tease.

His chuckle is soft as he shakes his head, “no, can’t say I ever really thought of it.”

The silence returns but this time it’s more comfortable, your eyes continuing their gazing throughout the room. Each time you find something new, something you didn't see before, some new weird object, or piece of furniture. You wonder if Bruce had decorated the place himself, you can't see it being one of his main priorities in life; a beautiful home.

Which makes you wonder, “where do you do all your vengeance stuff?” You turn back to him, see the amusement on his face falter just a bit, “the infamous Batman does have a lair does he not?”

And have one he did.

You hadn’t expected anything more than maybe a desk, his bike, and whatever else supplies it took to be Batman. But when you step from the elevator, your ears ringing with the sounds of flapping wings and screeches, the scent of motor oil and cleaning product, the source of the cold draft making goosebumps scatter across your flesh; it was not as you pictured it all.

It had been less spacious but at the same time vast, more cave-like. Your eyes going every which way as you watched the nighttime creatures flap around, Bruce showing indifference on his face, as usual. You couldn’t imagine getting anything done with those things around, but maybe that was just another peek into who Bruce was; he felt more comfortable around these creatures than he did people. Related to them in more ways than one, you were sure. So you hesitated to let your mind outwardly judge him for it, to paint this space something else other than what it was used for, what Bruce himself seemed to use it for, need it for; everyone had their own sanctuaries, safe havens, where they could take off the mask of the day and just be. This space was that for him, and by the look of slight unease on his features as you looked around, touched this, glanced at that, stared a little too long at his computer screens that display a gruesome scene, Bruce quickly turning off the monitors, worry is in his eyes; he had never brought anyone here before, let them into this crevice of his being.

Your heart ached at that knowledge.

Your fingers run along the hunk of metal on wheels that seems to take up most of the space, the dents and bullet holes indicating all you need to know of what it’s used for, or when he drives it. Impressive nonetheless.

“I bet this gets all the girls, huh?” You turn and shoot him a teasing look, your chest leaping when he gives that soft chuckle for the second time today. Hell must've froze over.

He doesn’t respond, only makes his way over to you. Watches you, takes you in fully like he can’t really believe you are here and that he’s shown you all that he has. You feel his fingertips graze against yours, feel his heat as he closes the distance between the two of you, slowly, cautiously. The tension in the air drifting to something else, back to what the two of you are used to. And when his lips press to yours, your back flush against the hunk of metal, his hands splayed across your hips; your insides are burning with feelings that are much different than you usually feel when his lips are to yours, or his hands on you.

It doesn’t take much scattering around your brain to pinpoint that it could be a dozen different feelings, but you settle on gratefulness. It had been a spoken—screamed—sentiment that you wanted, needed, more from him. Needed for him to let you in and actually see him for more than just what he was showing, letting you peek at a safe distance. The bloody gauze of wounds and torn hearts trailing the way to how the two of you finally ended up here. At this moment. With Bruce actually giving you those things—some of those things, the interview being the real only reason you were here, how you learned what his favorite color was, nothing else, you had to remind yourself.

A reminder that sizzled and threatened to burn out the deeper the kiss got. The more you felt the cold of the metal, felt his hands run up your sides, his cologne engulfing all of your senses, the creaks and cracks and drafts of the manor; you were here and Bruce was trying. You couldn’t ask for more right now, nor did you want to. Poking holes into the reality of everything could come later. Right now you were here and his fingers were dangerously close to slipping past the top of your jeans, the heat of his mouth hazing your brain. Morphing your thoughts to only Bruce Bruce Bruce. Feeling him, tasting him, letting him grip you from the inside out until you were nothing but a mess for him.

His lips pull away from yours, the look in his eyes that dark wanting you know so well. He parts his lips like he might say something but the words never come, just hot puffs of air from heavy breath.

And before you can think twice about ruining the moment, to just go back to kissing and his fingers resting on the button of your jeans; you’re already throbbing for him. Your heart speaks before your mind can, “Thank you.” His brow quirks a little, but he says nothing. “I know how hard this is for you, to bring me here, to let me see all of this.”

You’ve screamed at this man, yelled, declared your love, your hate, devotion. Moaned his name, begged to taste yourself on his tongue, and yet your voice is more shaky than it’s ever been. Almost timid. Cautious with your words, hoping, praying that what you say doesn’t make him turn in on himself again. To swiftly drag you away and back to your shitty apartment and only seeing him bloodied, once again. Returning to old habits and notions.

“I wish I knew how hard, the depth of it all.” You admit, not hesitating to add that you are grateful for what he has shown you, for his unspoken vulnerability. “You can trust me, Bruce. I have blood on my hands too, thanks to the Batman.” You joke softly. Your arms wrapping around his neck, forehead pressed to his. You see him close his eyes, take in a few long breaths.

His mouth opens to say something but then the elevator is moving, indicating another person coming down. Bruce pulls away from you, that rigidness back in his shoulders as his attention is turned to the graying man who steps from the elevators open doors.

Alfred.

“Ah, I believe we have yet to be introduced.” The older man smiles, holds out a hand for you as Bruce steals your voice away and does the introductions for the two of you; flashing Alfred a look that makes you bite back a smile—was he nervous? “It’s nice to finally meet you. I wondered when I would be so fortunate to meet the person who’s stitching is almost as good as mine.” He playfully jabs and it makes the two of you laugh. Bruce looking more brooding than ever as he watches the interaction, a strand of hair falling just across his eye, your fingers twitching at the urge to move it out of his face; flashes of times when you’d moved his hair from his eyes in more intimate settings scattering your brain. And you didn't know how much he had told Alfred about your relationship—whatever it was.

The two of you slip into casual conversation, Bruce contributing with a few soft grunts and pointed comments here and there but otherwise still silently watching on. You feel his eyes linger on your face, the movement of your lips as you talk. Feel the heat of his gaze making your stomach queasy with nerves and flutters—that you don’t trust yourself to steal a glance over at him. Afraid that whatever look was currently on your face would have you stuttering or worse.

“You should stay for dinner,” Alfred smiles. “Bruce barely eats as is and this will be a good excuse for him to actually join me at the table for once–not to mention get more nourishment than a few berries.” He’s giving a pointed look at the other, you see Bruce swallow down a grimace—does he not want you to stay? Or did he just not like Alfred’s caring, almost fatherly, sentiments. You didn't know as much and you figured, for the sake of not ruining the good day Bruce and you were having from stepping on his toes unintentionally; maybe dinner would be taking it too far, maybe he wasn't ready for that yet, you planned on saying no.

But then Bruce is mumbling, “Stay”, that word seeming to be your kryptonite when it comes to this man. The one word that could ruin you and put you back together.

And so you accept.

The dinner goes just as you suspected it to; Bruce only adding to the conversation here and there, him picking at the food on his plate, much like a child would. But by the look of joy on Alfred’s face it's probably more than he’s eaten in a while. Alfred shares stories of Bruce’s youth when his parents were alive, after they passed, Bruce looking elsewhere and adding nothing to this part of the conversation; you see him tightly grip his fork when one sweet story is told about him and his father—and you know, everyone knows, the tragedy that Bruce must of felt and gone through upon losing his parents. But seeing his body go rigid from the conversation and his neutral demeanor turn dark, you understand just a little bit more why he would never give up his alter ego, stop living his double life. You can see that pain, and why the Batman is the salve for it.

When the conversation deverts to you—unfortunately—you answer Alfred’s questions with a smile, “I think what drove me to be a journalist was my mother,” you explain. “I remember her reading to me, not just storybooks before bed, but even the morning paper sometimes,” you laugh, “which surely did not have things a young child should be hearing. But that’s something I always loved most about my mother, she never sugarcoated anything. Never kept me from the real world, the cruelty of it, the darkness of it all. She always captured the importance of the story when she read it back to me, making sure I knew how important it was for people to know the true colors of others. How one false statement could turn someone into a god or a decibel, when they were actually really the devil.”

You don't realize how lost in your thoughts you are, and the words spilling from your mouth like word vomit until you look over to Bruce and his expression is unreadable, but makes your stomach tense with something. You quickly grab the wine beside your plate taking a long sip, swallowing down those feelings.

“Is your mother still in your life?” Alfred asks, gently, politely.

“No,” you frown, your voice going just above a whisper. You never really talked about the tragedy of your mother. Choosing to dismiss it all together to save yourself the headache—and therapy bill. A method that's worked for you thus far. “She died when I was around thirteen. My father, he uh…cared more about his next drink and putting hands on my mother, than all else. And one night he hit her a little too hard and that was all it took.” You take another sip of your wine to distract yourself from looking at both of their surprises eyes, and devastatingly pitying faces. It never bothered you to speak about your mother and her passing anymore, or your shit father. The only thing that seemed to bother you from speaking of it was how everyone reacted. Like they were now putting the pieces together in their head as to why you did this, said that, acted the way you did and it all made sense. And you hated that. Thought it was pathetic to label someone with that type of judgment for their past.

But had that not been what you had done countless times with Bruce?

Your stomach sinks at the thought. By the way his eyes shift away from yours when you finally look over at him.

“I’m so very sorry to hear that, dear.” Alfred gives you a soft smile, and like he understands completely, he changes the subject promptly to better topics.

“I didn’t know about your parents.” Bruce is looking down as he walks beside you to the front door. The evening coming to an end, the time you spent in his space, the only calm in his life—that you know he barely allows himself to stop and enjoy. The feeling in your stomach is bittersweet.

“How could you,” you laugh softly. “We only talk about you and your counter-bat.” You give him a teasing smile but there's a slight wounded look on his face from your joke—that maybe came off more as a dig.“I guess I’m like you in that aspect, if no one asks I dont have to tell. I have my mother to thank for my ability to keep secrets. It's one of my best attributes, I think you would agree.” You give him a small reassuring smile, which he returns. The corner of his mouth pulling up in a lopsided grin. You think you’ve lost count how many times you've seen that smile today, can't wrap your head around this alternate reality you've stepped into. But know you don't want to leave it. Not yet. Not ever.

A silence falls over the two of you, Bruce looking at you with that same expression you can't quite decipher; it still leaves your chest with an ache and stomach in shambles nonetheless. The sun has set by now making the light from the moon cast an eerie glow around the manor, the gothic features and architecture washed in a nightly glow more suited for them, more ominous.

“I should go, it’s late.” The two of you had planned to leave and head back to your place as it is, this little tryst in the hall halting your actions mere feet from the door before you passed the threshold of the manor, of this side of Bruce you craved to burrow yourself in, to stay. But deep in your gut it was telling you that this moment of calm between the two of you was impossible to stay unscathed. There would always be knives, scratches, and blood when it came to the two of you. Darkness and apprehension. Terror and fear of ones heart and ones darkened outer edges that would bring on more fights, more wanting, more misunderstandings. You didn't think, even after everything, that this new ground between the two of you could make anything better, easier. Because you knew Bruce, knew how he liked to close in on himself once he showed you his sides, let you in only to shut you out when things got too dark.

And it made your chest sting, ache, crack. You had been engulfed in another part of him, peered into his head, his home, his darkened heart and you didn't want out. Nails and torn skin were only to come when he dragged you out of it.

You turn from him, take a step to head for the door, but then his wrist is wrapping around yours to stop you from moving, keeping you still in time. “Stay.” Your heart lurches in your chest. Bruce pulls you back to him, so your fronts are pressed close together. His palm going to the side of your neck, his thumb pushing your chin up to you’re looking up at him, into his murky blue eyes. “Stay.”

You've been a fool many times, with many things, but right now, this moment, was not one of them. How could you deny this? Deny him? How could you ever leave this manor feeling whole if you didn’t stay, do what your heart desires, what your insides flutter and soar over. Of course you’d stay, you’d always stay for him. Every part of him.

And when his lips touch yours and the two of you don't pull away until you are inside of his room; Bruce helping you slip out of your clothes, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, the top of your breasts, your abdomen, your hips, as he does. Until you are completely naked in front of him and he pulls you to the bed, where he crawls on top of you, lets his heat sink into every pour on your skin, continuing his singeing of every nerve of your body, every opening, until he’s blocked it, consumed it with just him.

His hips move languid and slow between your legs, his cock drags and fills you with a new notion, a new feeling, a new promise. His praises landing on your lips and swallowed down by your devotion, your love. This type of fucking is soft, intimate, its an act of lust so filled with other feelings that it hurts, but mends within the same thrust. Within the same kiss, suck, bite. It fills you and takes away, it promises more but still adds that fear of going away forever.

You’re not used to it, so much so that you feel in agony, feel like a fucked out mess more than you do when Bruce takes you roughly, unrelenting. It makes your stomach churn and bubble with things that won't last, that need it to last. It's more painful than his teeth sinking into your skin; and yet you want to feel it over and over again.

When you wake it's in the middle of the night, the cool air of the room nipping your back as you lay half across Bruce’s chest. You're surprised to see him sleeping, smile at how calm he actually looks. The deep sighs and intakes of breath as he actually lets himself get rest. You can't recall a time ever seeing him sleep, let alone spending a full night with him. It warms your heart in the same way it burns it.

You brush the strands of hair that have fallen across his eyes, let your fingertips linger against his skin for a beat, a second, let the beauty of this man make your chest heave and long for him. Deepen that love for him, that want.

You try to fall back asleep but can't seem to silence your thoughts, your mind asking a million questions you do not have the answers to, and may never have the answers to. Deciding that slipping out of bed to distract yourself is your best bet, grabbing Bruce’s black t-shirt to cover you as you quietly leave his room and explore around the manor.

Once you get far enough you curse yourself for not putting on pants, or at least the clothes you came in. What if Alfred didn't sleep, much like Bruce; Imagine the awkwardness that would ensue if he happened upon you only wearing a shirt and underwear. You turn to tip toe back to the room, but then distraction takes over and you find yourself stopping at a door on the way; opened enough to showcase the massive collection of shelves filled with books, and when you push the door open wider you can see the somewhat set up of an office—mostly books, a small library more like it.

You find yourself gravitating into the room, running your finger along the shelves and book spines. Smile at all the classics that seem to be taking up the majority of them, wonder if Bruce has read them all, or if all of these belonged to his parents, or maybe even Alfred. Grabbing one of the books, you lean yourself against a shelf and flip through it mindlessly. Let your eyes scan over a paragraph here and there. Your mind drifting to a place of solemn calm that you don’t hear, or see, the figure at the doorway. Not until it’s said something and you’re jumping out of your skin.

“Looking for family secrets?”

Bruce’s voice is filled with sleep, deep and rough. There's still exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles around them still apparent. A small smile creeps up onto his lips that eventually turns into a laugh that the two of you share as you try to catch your breath from being spooked.

“Have you read all of these?” You ask, turning the book over in your hands before you turn to place it back in its rightful place. Your eyes skating over the rest on the shelf.

“Yes,” he answers softly. “Most of them.”

Your eyes continue to scan the shelves, pulling out a few to gaze at their covers before pushing them back in place. Bruce is silent behind you, his footsteps light as you hear him make his way into the room; don’t know he is right behind you until you feel the heat of his chest radiating off of his body and onto your back. His fingers run up and down your arms making you shiver slightly, making reality come back to you. Making you want to speak words of sentiment and questioning, when you know deep down you won’t get the answers you seek. You’ll only ruin this moment, this time spent with him in this house; burning it to ash like every other sweet moment between the two of you ends up.

But you can’t help yourself. Can’t hold your tongue any longer. The feelings bubbling up inside of you from everything that happened earlier tonight.

“What are we doing here, Bruce?” Your voice is soft, gentle.

You expect to feel him go rigid against you as his fingers stop, as he grips your arms with a light hold. Instead you feel the press of his forehead against the back of your head, feel his deep breaths fan across your skin. There’s a slight shake to his voice when he finally speaks, “I’m trying. I don’t know how to offer more—what you need.” He sighs, “but I’m trying.”

Flutters, lurches, concaving. It’s all you feel your insides doing, leaving you barely breathing. Shaking. When you turn, let your eyes meet his and see the desperate look of understanding, hope, need, desire, your response dies on your lips. It swallowed down shakily, dismissed entirely. You don’t think there is truly anything you could say right now, could bring to the surface that would make this moment anymore ardent than it already is.

He’s trying. It’s all you wanted all along, all of this. For the both of you. Even if no matter how hard the two of you try it will be covered in blood and scars at the end of the day. It’s yours. You’re together. For worse or for substandard; Bruce was all that you wanted.

You press your lips to his, passion quickly turning into greed; teeth and tongue mixed. Hands removing clothes, Bruce’s palms on the backs of your thighs as he lifts you up, your back pressed against one of the shelves.

His mouth is hot and unrelenting, bruising your lips with how rough he kisses you, how deeply passionate it conveys. Those ever known unspoken words continue to write themselves in these kisses you share together.

You can feel the heat of his cock against your thigh, the warmth of it burning an unfathomable desire through your skin and to your core. That’s growing slicker and slicker by the minute, with every grip of his fingers, every bite of your lips, neck, ear. Every touch of his tongue. The two of you having had each other mere hours ago, but needing more. Craving more, like your last meal, last breath, your body getting carried away to the guillotine; imprinting the need and desire to feel him, to be completely consumed by him no better than a beautiful death, a death worth succumbing to.

“I want you,” his voice is merely a whisper against your lips, his hair falling in his face, chest heavy.

You swallow down the emotions that are begging to be released; tears, screams, love notions. Your palms move his hair from his eyes so you can see him, so you can press your hands to his cheeks, “I’m yours.” You whisper before pressing your lips back to his.

One of his hands moves from your thigh to guide his cock to your entrance, and when he thrusts in it’s hard and makes your back slam against the shelf behind you. Makes you moan loudly against his mouth, his own groan coming out like rough gravel against your tongue. Cutting you deep and beautifully. And then his hand is back on your other thigh gripping, keeping you in place as he fucks into you hard and fast.

The two of you completely ensnared in each other, completely taken and consumed by what this is now, what it’s grown to be.

Your nails dig into Bruce’s back the harder he fucks you, your walls clenching around him, sore and swollen. His breath is hot against your neck, his pants and groans deep and animalistically fueled with pleasure and lust.

You don’t pay much mind to how bruised you’re sure your back is getting from how hard he is fucking you, or the books that have fallen from the shelves around the two of you. Or how much noise you are making—not caring if you were to wake anyone. No, all that matters is right here, right now, how good Bruce’s cock feels, how sharp and deep his thrusts are. How you’re sure you’re leaving deep welted scratches on his back, how the pain mixes with pleasure, with your love; how you never want it to end.

I’m back in my NolanVerse era. No explanation required

Little Things | Bruce Wayne x m!reader

@satan-incarnate-666 asked:  OKAY MORE PROMPTS PLS DO NOT EXHAUST URSELF 

 "I don’t need your expertise right now, I just need… fuck, I just need you to be here" 

 all bruce wayne x m!reader 🥺🥺

summary: it’s nice to be reminded why you love Bruce. 

tws: mentions of injury, swearing

word count: 1008

You and Bruce had been dating for a long, long while, and although you could not remember what had originally brought you together, from time to time you had a feeling or two of what it was; certain moments that you had with him where you were nudged towards why you had become his boyfriend in the first place. Usually when he made you smile on days where such a thing really didn’t seem possible in the slightest; sometimes when he brought you a cup of coffee exactly the way you liked it even though you had not asked for one. The little, and usually mundane, things. 

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kisses with them - DC Batboys Hcs

🥀A/n: your honor i want to put them in a jar and shake them up- anyways this is just something short n sweet i cooked up :)

🥀Cw: fluff, shenanigans, a little suggestive

🥀Character(s): Dick Grayson x reader, Jason Todd x reader, Bruce Wayne x reader

Dick Grayson :

lots of flirty, soft kisses!!!

his favorite places to kiss you are easily your lips or your hands, but he loves kissing every part of you!

Dick loves waking you up with kisses, peppering them all across your face before either of you are really even coherent. he'll start with a gentle kiss to your lips, before moving to your cheeks and forehead and finally your nose, in a gentle attempt to wake you up

this man is a BITER he's definitely the type to nip at you and give you little hickies when kissing you. be careful, because he will take a bite of your cheeks when kissing your face!!!!

Dick loves kissing your hands, whenever you cup his cheek or hold his face in your hands, be prepared for him to kiss not only your palm, but each one of your fingers and wrists as well

he's a very energetic kisser! Dick loves randomly pulling you into a deep kiss for seemingly no reason at all. he doesn't care who's around or whether or not you're in public, he will not hesitate to pull you in like a disney prince(ss) and kiss you right then and there

long, teasing makeout sessions!!!!! Dick loves pulling you onto his lap and kissing you silly. it doesn't even have to be sexual, he just loves having your lips against his

as for him, Dick loves when you give him neck kisses. he practically melts whenever your lips make contact to his neck, turning into your obedient pretty princess. absolutely obsessed with any hickies or marks you leave on HIM, and is not afraid to show them off. he has no shame, and wants everyone to know who he belongs to

HE LOVES LIPSTICK KISSES!!!! if you wear lipstick, it is your luckg day because he fucking loves them. he refuses to wipe them off and would love to spend the day covered in red lipstick smears

overall, he's a very affectionate kisser, and brings a lot of passion and energy into every kiss he gives you

Jason Todd :

this man is soooo touch starved, he loves any and all kisses shared between you two. however, his favorite places to kiss you are your forehead or your temple. its very meaningful and romantic, and he loves getting to wake up every morning and kiss his beloved right on the forehead

Jason is the type to press a kiss to your temple when he's just walking by, to the back of your neck when you're looking down, to your tummy when your shirt is rolled up, any and everywhere he can see. he just loves kissing you, what can i say?

whenever your stressed, anxious, or otherwise upset, Jason always takes the opportunity to cup your face in his hands and press the sweetest kiss to your forehead before whispering sweet nothings in your ear. this man is literally huge, and most likely has to lean down to reach you, but he doesn't mind it at all when it means he gets to press kisses all over your face

im a firm believer that Jason (and all the batboys) would love his partners body regardless of weight, and would looove kissing your thighs regardless of size. he definitely pays special attention to them during intimate times, and more often than not he finds his hand subconsciously wandering to hrip onto one of your thighs when sitting beside you. its not even always sexual, its just comforting for him

Jason's favorite place for you to kiss him? any of his scars. if he notices you paying special attention to them or kissing any of them, he just feels really emotional and fuzzy inside. it's strange to him how someone as perfect as you could love even the flawed parts of himself, and he finds himself enraptured whenever you express love to the parts of himself that he despises

Jason is not outwardly insecure, but he does sometimes miss how smooth his skin once looked without the scars and marks littered across it, especially his back. this being said, he loves when you kiss his back and remind him of how gorgeous he truly is.

Bruce Wayne :

Bruce loves good old fashioned lip kisses, but he also has a soft spot for kissing you on the top of the head, or on your shoulder/collarbone.

this man is fucking huge, and he's not ashamed to admit that he finds it adorable when you stand on your tip toes just to give him a kiss. this is partially why he adores simply kissing you on the mouth, but also because it just feels so intimate to him.

all kisses with Bruce are slow and emotional. he likes taking his time with you, and kisses reflect that.

when you both first started dating, it took him a while to even work up the courage to kiss you as he didn't want to seem too forward. however, after your shared first kiss, he was practically addicted. now he can't go a day without kissing you goodmorning, kissing you before he heads off to work, kissing you when he comes home for dinner, and kissing you before he goes on patrol. yes, all of these kisses are mandatory parts of your guys' days, and he loovesss them

kisses on top of your head are less intimate, but just as important. these are for lazy mornings spent with his strong arms wrapped around your body and your head nuzzled into the crook of his neck. these kisses are meant for when he comes up behind you while your cooking for him, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing you gently on the top of the head.

shoulder kisses are a little more flirtatious than the others, these are for when you're wearing the gorgeous outfit he just bought you that shows just a bit more of your chest than strictly necessary, yet no one bats an eye when they realize who you're with. these kisses are for when all prying eyes are off you, when Bruce can inhale the scent of your delicious perfume/cologne and whisper soft promises in your ear.

where does Bruce like for you to kiss him? simple- his cheek. especially when he's wearing the batman mask. you both have a running joke that the entire reason the mask doesn't cover the bottom half of his face is because he would miss your cheek kisses too much.

they are all so silly i love them sm. SEND IN REQUESTS PLEEEEEEASE IM SO HAPPY TO FINALLY HAVE SOMETHING IM INTERESTED IN AGAIN LIFE WAS SOOOOOOO BORING WHEN I DIDNT HAVE ANY INTERESTS 😭😭😭

Author note: 😭💖Thank you to everyone who got me to 1000 likes! THANK YOUUU ALL SO MUCH- I'm very grateful for all the support 😚yes I'm still writing the Tyler Galpin x Reader fic!! Part 2 will be out before Saturday (I hope), but here's a little something to celebrate 1000 likes!!! 🥺💞

Batman x Gender Neutral Reader

words: 887 . 🥺💞Song suggestion while reading: Cherries by Madison beer

Summary: It's been one year since you've started dating the Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprise and still, it feels like you're living in a dream to know both you and him are in love and are together! Though not always together physically, unfortunately due to Brucey's secret vigilante life- You could only hope he makes it in time to celebrate your and his anniversary. . .

BRRRRRR.

"Speak." Oh how you missed hearing that gentle, masterful calm voice of his.

He's most likely in his batmobile right now, flying over the city or doing something genius you haven't figured out yet.

"Mm, got any plans for tonight, Batman?" With your hip, you leaned on the coffee table and stared out the floor-to-ceiling glass window of a penthouse. (One of many you shared with your future husband all over the city.)

"Depends on who's the lovely person asking. And I thought I've told you not to call me during–"

"–Night patrols, yes but. . ." You twisted the silky curtain fabric around your finger, "I just really wanted to hear your voice." Also to see if he remembered your anniversary date.

There was a small pause before a delicious low chuckle trailed down your body tenderly in vibrations through the phone. "Will that be all?"

Oh no it won't be once he gets his ass here.

You tightened the lavish bathrobe around you, "hopefully I'm not disturbing you too much, Mr Batman. But if you have some time to spare, I'd appreciate it if you'd spend it on me."

Another one of his entertained chuckle runs through your nerves like silk.

You sighed dreamily, "it would really make my night. . ."

"I'll come to you within 24 hours," you swear you heard a teasing smile in his lovely deep voice. (He had no idea what a chase you'll be giving him this time. If it'll even be a chase at all for the big brain he has.)

"I'm not at my (our) usual place. . . " That was the first clue you gave him, "how ever will you find me?"

He guaranteed before hanging up, "you're never far from me. If that's all, I'll need to get going to see you soon." Oh he'd better.

You left the phone on the coffee table and laid out on the lounge sofa to relax, looking out at the world-wide view and specks of stars in the great sky. If he's late, you planned to sleep here for the night. . .

But true to his words, you didn't have to wait long, sensually alone, drinking some juice in your fluffy bathrobe when the sound of the doors opening gently alerted you.

"Baby," his footsteps ring from behind you and closer they reached until a large warm hand lands on your hip.

"It didn't take you very long to get here," you pouted and turned your head around to see the handsome love of your life- though internally your heart jumped for joy at how early he arrived.

They were piercing in the shadows, but sweet in the lights as Bruce's sapphire blue eyes would sweep across your whole body from head to toe for a minute (something like his routine as Alfred, his butler, had once said) admiring you.

"I tried to delay myself as best as I can to give you some space, (Name), but it is almost midnight." So he knew all along. What an eyeroll moment if not for how wonderful he is looking down at you with that sweet loving smile and his burning hand on your covered skin.

He then crouched and leaned in closer to softly- like a butterfly- kiss the center of your forehead, the ironed tie of his suit hung and grazed at your arm as he held that kiss for a while.

Then you couldn't help speaking, "I thought I'd give you a little challenge. . ." Which wasn't very hard in the first place if he had placed a tracker on you somewhere, somehow like he'd usually do. For safety reasons, you'd assume.

"Oh yeah? And how did that go," he cocked his eyebrow sharply.

"Not very effective but I don't care," you reached out your arms around his neck and tugged him down onto your body. "I hope you have alot more time because I'm not letting you go until tomorrow night."

Bruce allowed this, you were well aware of his extremely superior strength and how much you had an effect on this hero who'd melt in your proximity.

His strong chest pressed down on yours and suddenly you could feel his heart beat racing against yours. . . Like there was nothing except both of your flesh and bones being the obstacle for your hearts to join into one. . . He kissed the side of your lips like he couldn't resist your pull. "Of course not, I don't expect anything less from you, (Name) Wayne. . . I couldn't stop loving you even if I had tried."

"No complaints, Brucey. I'm having you all for myself for the day." You said confidently though didn't mean it completely, sure you could be selfish but the city needed Batman more than you do. . . You have his heart and that's more than enough. (Also his wealth but that's not the point)

Many times in your life you've seen the absolute lovestruck way he's looked at you, but the warmth shimmering between your body and his as he, unblinking, gazed seriously into your soul. . . Made you fall in love again and again. As if you couldn't love him enough.

Bruce whispered near your jaw in the sweetest voice, cracking near the end. "(Name). . . Happy anniversary."

"Happy anniversary too, Brucey." You kissed him back, deeper than ever. The night was still young after all.

LIES, SPIES, AND HOT GUYS |

Gn!Detective!Reader x Batman

summary: as a detective you make sure you prioritize Bruce Wayne’s safety but he assures you he doesn’t need it, prick.

You never expected to find yourself at one of Gotham's most glamorous events—a gala at Wayne Manor. Awkward and out of place, you struggle to fit in among Gotham's elite.

The moment you stepped into Wayne Manor, you felt like a fish out of water. The grand chandeliers, the polished marble floors, and the glittering gowns of Gotham's elite were a far cry from the gritty crime scenes and dimly lit precincts you were used to.

Far different. The air felt too expensive to breathe.

Why had you even agreed to this?

Oh right, the Commissioner insisted on having "a few of Gotham's finest" at the event, just in case. And with your gruff demeanor and awkward social skills, you had drawn the short straw.

Awkwardly, you stood near a large ornate column, sipping a glass of water and trying to avoid eye contact with the crowd. Despite the suit and tie—or, in their case, a somewhat ill-fitting tuxedo—they felt utterly out of place. The pants felt too tight around your rear and you got this done at the shop. How could they screw that up?

Your eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail, searching for anything—or anyone—out of the ordinary.

Just as you were beginning to try to relax, you spotted a group of familiar faces. The Wayne kids—Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, and a few others—stood near the large windows, looking far too at ease in the luxurious setting.

Summoning a bit of courage, you approached them. After all, if they were going to be stuck here, they might as well make some polite conversation.

"Grayson, Drake," You greeted with a nod, trying to sound casual but polite.

Dick smiled brightly. "Detective! Didn't expect to see you here!"

"Yeah, well… duty calls, I wasn’t exactly invited by you but..” You muttered, feeling a bit more self-conscious than you intended. Tim gave a small nod of acknowledgment, while Damian looked as uninterested as ever.

Why do you even try at this.

Before the conversation could go further, a familiar voice cut through the air.

"Detective, welcome to Wayne Manor."

You turned to see Bruce Wayne approaching, his signature charming smile firmly in place. The billionaire looked every bit the part, effortlessly exuding wealth and charisma.

His looks lived up to the legend, pretty punk.

"Mr. Wayne," You greeted, doing their best to mask their awkwardness. Which probably failed. "Thanks for having me.”

"Of course. I always appreciate Gotham's finest keeping an eye on things," Bruce replied, his tone friendly yet distant. There was a glint in his eyes, something that set you on edge. Before they could respond, Bruce offered another smile, then excused himself, moving on to mingle with other guests.

You watched him go, your brows furrowing. Something about Bruce seemed… off. But before you could dwell on it, your attention snapped back to the task at hand: scanning the room for any potential threats.

As the evening wore on, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease. You kept a close eye on Bruce from across the room, noting how the billionaire seemed to glide through the crowd effortlessly, charming everyone he spoke to. But that nagging feeling in the back of your mind wouldn't go away.

And then it happened.

A loud crash echoed through the grand hall, followed by the panicked screams of guests. The doors burst open, and a group of armed robbers stormed in, weapons raised. Chaos erupted as people dove for cover, and the orchestra’s music was abruptly silenced.

"Everyone down! Now!" one of the robbers shouted, firing a warning shot into the ceiling.

Instinctively, you reached for their gun, but the crowd's panic made it impossible to get a clear shot. People were scrambling, pushing, and shouting. In the confusion, you caught sight of Bruce Wayne, who had been near the doors moments before. Now, he was nowhere to be seen.

Damn it!

You pushed through the crowd, your focus entirely on finding Bruce. If something happened to Gotham's golden boy on your watch, you would never forgive yourself.

Thankfully, you managed to slip away from the main hall, only to find Bruce backing into a nearby room, the door clicking shut just as you reached it. They shoved the door open and rushed inside, finding Bruce standing calmly by the window, looking far too composed for someone who was supposed to be terrified.

His fingers twitched when he heard the door open though, so maybe he was alarmed. You couldn’t blame him, it was a scary situation for anyone.

"Mr. Wayne, are you alright?" You panted, closing the door behind them and locking it.

Bruce turned to face them, an almost amused expression on his face. "I’m fine, Detective."

"Good. Stay here," You ordered, pulling out their gun and moving to stand between Bruce and the door. "I’ll handle this."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "That won’t be necessary."

You frowned. "What do you mean it won’t be necessary? There are armed robbers out there! You need to stay put, or you could get hurt."

"I assure you, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself," Bruce said, his tone calm and almost… teasing.

The detective’s frustration flared. Here you were, trying to protect this man, and he was acting like it was no big deal. "Look, I get that you’re used to getting your way, but right now, you need to let me do my job!"

Bruce’s eyes narrowed slightly, the playful glint fading. "And what if I told you that I could handle this situation better than you think?"

You were about to snap back, but the words died in their throat as they realized what Bruce was implying. "You’re not seriously thinking about playing hero, are you? This is my duty.”

Marching up to him, you poked your finger repeatedly into his chest.

“I’m here to protect you, Mr. Wayne.”

Before Bruce could respond, a loud bang echoed from the hallway, followed by heavy footsteps approaching the door. With precision, you pulled Bruce by the waist and forced him behind you. You stiffened, turning their full attention to the door. "Stay behind me."

"Detective—"

"I said stay behind me!" You hissed, cutting Bruce off as you aimed your gun at the door. Your heart pounded in your chest, adrenaline surging through your veins.

The door burst open, and you were ready to fire, but the figure that entered the room made them hesitate. It was Nightwing.

"Hold your fire!" Nightwing ordered, raising his hands as he stepped inside.

You lowered their weapon, exhaling a shaky breath. "What are you doing here?"

Nightwing glanced at Bruce, then back at you. A cheeky glint in his eyes. "I’m here to get him out of here.”

"Wait, you know him?" You asked, confused.

Nightwing’s lips curled into a half-smile. "You could say that."

Bruce stepped forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Thank you for your concern, Detective, but I’ll be safe with him."

You opened their mouth to argue, but the calm, assured look in Bruce’s eyes stopped them. For some reason, you believed him—despite how absurd it all seemed.

But did you seriously suck that much at your job that he felt safer with masked vigilante than a GCPD officer? You felt your pride shatter.

With a bitter taste in your mouth and the slightest pout on your lips, you nodded. Giving Bruce a pat on the back.

Nightwing took Bruce by the arm, guiding him toward the door. "Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe."

You watched them go, their mind racing. None of this made sense. Why would Nightwing, of all people, be protecting Bruce Wayne? And why did Bruce seem so… unconcerned?

As the door closed behind them, You finally allowed yourself to breathe. The realization hit you like a freight train: Batman was out there, hunting these criminals, and Bruce Wayne was likely his next target.

"Idiot," You muttered to yourself, rubbing your temples. "Of course, Batman would want to protect him."

Then you felt your heart sink.

“Or harm him.”

But deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Bruce Wayne than met the eye. Something you couldn’t quite put you're finger on.

As you exited the room, ready to join the fight outside, you couldn’t help but wonder: Just who exactly was Bruce Wayne? And why did they feel like they were in way over their head?

One thing was for sure: you were going to find out.

And when you did, you had a feeling it would change everything.

Red Hood stopped your inner monologue. “Yo, Hey, Dude— C’mon. Snap out of it.”

You blinked, your eyes reaching up.

“Now, are you going to stand there looking like a rookie, or are you going to help me with these goons?”

You snapped out of your thoughts, turning to see Red Hood leaning casually against the doorframe, his helmet tilted slightly as if amused by your daze. You cursed inwardly—first Nightwing, now Red Hood. How many of Gotham’s vigilantes were going to show up tonight?

“You’re here too?” you asked, exasperated.

“Yeah, and lucky for you. Looks like you could use the backup,”

Red Hood quipped, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room. “Now, are we gonna take these guys down, or do you need a minute to process whatever conspiracy theories you’re cooking up?”

You shot him a glare but nodded. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

Red Hood grinned beneath his helmet, drawing his guns. “Hell yeah.”

a/n: guys, asks r open :3 I wanna write more for my boysss 🫶😔 (no cursed shit plz)

Lets Dine With The Fine Batman x gn!Detective!reader

summary: you’ve been invited over for dinner as a thank you from the Wayne family. Things get a little heated between you and Bruce and not in the sexy way.

You couldn’t believe you were here again.

Wayne Manor, for dinner this time. After the chaos at the gala, you’d hoped to avoid another encounter with Gotham’s elite for a good while. But when Bruce Wayne himself extended an invitation, insisting it was to thank you for your “bravery” during the robbery, it was hard to refuse without raising suspicion.

Not like you could refuse either way. It’s Bruce Wayne.

So here you were, standing awkwardly in the grand foyer once more, waiting to be led to the dining room. The suit you wore this time was slightly more comfortable, thanks to a last-minute alteration. Still, the formality of it all made your skin itch. You were a detective, not a socialite.

“Detective [Y/n],” Alfred greeted you warmly as he appeared from one of the side halls. “Mr. Wayne is expecting you. If you’d follow me, please.”

You nodded, mumbling a quick “Thank you,” before following the butler. Your eyes scanned the lavish surroundings—once again, you felt out of place among the wealth and opulence. The smell of polished wood and expensive cologne filled the air, mixing with the faint aroma of a gourmet dinner being prepared in the kitchen.

The place was large but you felt comfortable around Alfred.

As you entered the dining room, you were greeted by the sight of Bruce Wayne and his adopted sons already seated around the large, ornate table.

…

Of course dinner was with the kids.

(But it felt intimate)

Was this appropriate? To interrupt their dinner because Bruce invited you. You hoped he didn’t do this often. The atmosphere seemed warm, relaxed even, but there was an undercurrent of something more… alert. The way they watched you, as if assessing, made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“Detective,” Bruce said with a smile, rising from his seat to greet you. His handshake was firm, his demeanor as charming as ever. His fingers felt rough.

Not what you expected for a billionaire playboy.

“I’m glad you could join us.”

“Thanks for the invitation, Mr. Wayne,” you replied, doing your best to sound polite.

“Please, call me Bruce.”

You nodded, feeling a little more at ease as you took the seat offered to you. The boys greeted you with varying levels of enthusiasm—Dick with his usual friendliness, Tim with a polite nod and the smallest of all smiles, Damian with what was perhaps poorly hidden disgust or neutral (you couldn’t tell.) And Jason… with a mischievous grin and a slight wink. It was clear Jason was the most relaxed of the group, a stark contrast to the tense environment you had expected.

Or maybe Dick was.

Either way the boys seemed to be up to something.

Dinner began without much fanfare. The conversation was light, touching on safe topics—Gotham’s latest charitable events, the rebuilding of the areas affected by the gala attack, the state of the city in general.

But you couldn’t keep your mind off the events of that night. The way Nightwing and Red Hood had shown up out of nowhere, the strange behavior of Bruce, and the constant presence of Batman near the Waynes.

Halfway through the meal, you couldn’t hold back any longer. You decided to voice what had been on your mind.

“So,” you started, trying to sound casual as you sliced into your steak, “I noticed something the other night… at the gala.”

Four pairs of eyes, plus Bruce’s, snapped to you.

“Really? What did you notice, Detective?” Bruce asked smoothly, though you didn’t miss the slight tension in his voice.

You leaned forward slightly, lowering your voice as if sharing a secret. “It’s just… does Batman often show up around you guys? I mean, Nightwing was there too, and Red Hood. It seemed like they were… protecting you. Or watching you.”

The boys exchanged glances—ones that were almost imperceptible to anyone not trained to see them. A flash of surprise in Damian’s eyes, a flicker of something that looked suspiciously like panic in Tim’s, Jason avoided eye contact, and Dick’s usually easygoing expression tightening just a bit.

Bruce was the first to recover, letting out a low chuckle. “Batman and his allies? Protecting us? That’s an interesting observation.”

“Interesting, but not far from the truth, Bruce,” you pressed, feeling a sense of urgency to convey what you’d been mulling over since that night. “Think about it—Gotham’s most notorious vigilante, plus his sidekicks, showing up at events you’re attending, then escorting you out like it’s nothing. It’s like they’re keeping tabs on you.”

“It’s creepy, no?”

“You think Batman is keeping tabs on us?” Jason asked, his tone half-amused, half-curious.

“Exactly,” you replied, nodding. “And maybe you all too. I mean, you’ve got to admit it’s strange how he always seems to be around.”

The room fell silent, the boys exchanging more significant glances this time. It was clear they were trying to hold back their reactions. Finally, Bruce broke the silence.

“Detective, Batman’s presence is part of the job,” Bruce said smoothly. “We’ve learned to live with it.”

“You’ve learned to live with it?” you repeated, your frustration rising. “He’s constantly around you. It seems like he’s all over you.”

“And that’s a good thing, right?” Bruce said, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Gotham needs its protectors.”

Your frustration boiled over. “Look, I care about your health and safety. I’m just trying to make sure you’re aware of the risks. I mean, what if something happens and—”

Bruce cut you off with a raised hand. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ve got it covered.”

“He could be a stalker.” You snapped harshly before breathing slowly.

“Well, it doesn’t seem like it from where I’m standing,” you shot back, unable to keep the edge out of your voice. “You’re acting like it’s all just business as usual.”

“Because it is,” Bruce said, his tone firm. “I handle it. I’m used to it.”

“Jerk,” you muttered under your breath, crossing your arms.

The boys exchanged knowing looks. Dick’s lips twitched into a smile, Tim tried to stifle a chuckle, Damian’s eyes held a hint of amusement, and Jason seemed to be barely containing his laughter.

Alfred, who had been standing quietly by the side, cleared his throat. “Perhaps it’s best if we focus on enjoying the evening. Detective [Y/n], I assure you, Mr. Wayne is more than capable of handling his affairs.”

You shot Bruce a final frustrated glance. “Fine. But if something happens, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Bruce’s smile widened slightly. “Understood. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

As Alfred began to clear the plates, you remembered something you’d brought with you. You reached into your jacket and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped package.

“Actually, Alfred,” you began, your tone shifting as you slid the box across the table toward him, “I brought something for you.”

Alfred looked at the package with mild surprise. “For me?”

You nodded. “It’s not much, just a little something to say thank you. For everything.”

Alfred’s eyes softened as he unwrapped the box, revealing a set of finely crafted cufflinks. “This is quite exquisite” he said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to,” you insisted, feeling slightly self-conscious under everyone’s gaze. “After all, it’s you who has served me my food, cooked it, and hosted this.”

You gave a side eye. “I assume Mr. Wayne did his part too.”

“I said, call me Bruce.”

“Hmph.”

Alfred’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile as he nodded. “I’m deeply touched. Thank you.”

The mood in the room shifted, with the boys exchanging amused glances. Even Damian seemed to crack a slight smile.

God, you weren’t aware that child could make a face like that around you.

“That was very thoughtful of you,” Bruce said, his tone warming as he regarded you. “Alfred doesn’t often receive gifts.”

Jason leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah, Alfred’s last gift was Damian’s disastrous attempt at breakfast last Christmas.”

“That was one time,” Damian grumbled, glaring at Jason. “And I was eight.”

The playful banter eased the earlier tension, and the conversation turned to lighter topics. The feeling in your belly bloomed quickly, like a fire.

As the evening drew to a close, you found yourself unexpectedly enjoying the company. The Waynes were more than just a wealthy family—they were a quirky, tight-knit group, and it was oddly comforting to be included in their dynamic.

When it was time to leave, Bruce walked you to the door. You decided to speak with him.

“Mr.Way— Bruce. Apologies for uh getting a little heated back there. I’m not the most..” you rubbed your nape shyly. “Social.”

“Detective [Y/n],” he began, his voice sincere, “You are always welcomed. I understand your concern but I ask that you trust in me. but I appreciate you coming. You’ll be back sometime right? Maybe for movie or a game of pool?”

You blinked, taken aback by the admission. “It’s alright, Bruce. I get that you have your own way of doing things. Pool sounds nice.”

Bruce offered you a small, almost apologetic smile before turning to Alfred, who was still holding the box you’d given him.

The bid you farewell as you went into your taxi.

As you stepped out into the cool Gotham night, your thoughts were a calm. The evening had been an unexpected experience but you were satisfied.

Now, you planned on scheduling a meeting with the vigilante himself, Batman.

a/n: if u rlly want I’ll do a part 3. Also it’s late af so sorry if it’s not like KAPOOM or smth. G’noght :3

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / This is Part 3! / Part 4 Here!

A/N: I don’t think the poll is over yet, but this one was very clearly going to have the highest percentage, I’ll do the “maybe if we were closer in age” one later though!

If you haven’t already please check out my Batman zine, it’s got so much fanfiction and beautiful art from five different artists! Please check it out, please. I need to find a way to compensate these artists. You can check it out here!

Bruce slumps in his chair, a longing glance spared to the decanter on the bookshelf.

He closes his eyes and wills away the craving. It’s always ten times worse when he wakes up the next day, and he can’t afford feeling worse at this point in his life.

Wasn’t it just yesterday he was twenty years old and he could spend all night playing Bruce Wayne’s party boy image, and be up in three hours feeling none the worse for wear. Now even after nine hours of solid sleep, he wakes up sluggish with an ache in his bones.

I have to be strong.

“Why did you keep her away from us?”

“Who?” he asks absentmindedly, his entire focus still on the brandy.

“(Y/N).” It’s the last name he expected to hear, especially from his oldest son. He looks up, hoping he’s misheard, but the look in Dick’s eyes proves him wrong.

Looks like I’m going to need that drink after all.

He reaches for the decanter, two crystal glasses retrieved from his desk drawer instinctually, glittering on his desk.

“Why are you bringing this up now?” He stalls by taking a sip, feigning casual, like the mention of your name alone didn’t set his heart racing.

“Don’t play this game with me Bruce,” Dick sounds more sad than angry, and it softens him. “Why didn’t you let us see her?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Then start untangling it for me.”

Bruce sighs, taking another sip of his father’s brandy. There’s a million reasons he could tell his son, none of which would be lies entirely, but softer than the truth.

But when he looks up into Dick’s eyes, he can’t bring himself to say any of them. Armed with nothing but liquor at the bottom of his cup, for the first time in four years, after dodging this question from reporters and acclaimed journalists and new paramours, he finally tells the truth.

“Because I didn’t want her to see you.”

A simple, ugly truth. He doesn’t bother looking up to see his sons reaction, he already knows a kind boy like Dick, a boy who’s fully believed his entire life that good prevails, won’t be able to process that his father did something like this. He makes better use of his time by refilling his glass.

Dick slumps in the chair by the time he’s polishing off his second peg, and pouring in his third.

“You did it to punish her?” He can see anger begin to replace shock, and he doesn’t blame him for it, but Bruce is angry enough at himself for the both of them.

“I wanted her to forget we ever existed.” This truth is as kind as it is ugly, and the nuance confuses Bruce even now. But three glasses of brandy affect him in a way that makes his tongue feel lighter and his mind feel free.

“I wanted to give her a potato sack full of money and jewels, and send her far away where no one knew who she was. I wanted her to meet a good partner, someone who would always put her first, and if they decided to extend their family I wanted her to be able to move on without feeling like she left anyone behind.”

“So you wanted her to have a great life, far away from you, and you never wanted to hear anything about it,” Dick’s voice is cold.

Bruce shakes his head. He wanted to hear everything about your new life. What kind of partner you picked. How you spent your days. When you got married. When you had your first child. When you had your second. Everything. And on bad days, he’d close his eyes and let himself imagine it was him standing next to you, that in some alternate universe he made a single different decision that gave him permission to deserve you.

“I was just tired of hurting her,” when you came in to his life, for the first time, he felt like he’s been allowed to have something of his own. Not as Batman, protecting to the city, or Bruce Wayne the mask he carried, but him as a man. But he could never seem to return the reverie you extended to him.

“Do you think she’d ever be able to move on, to live even a semblance of a normal life, if all of you were showing up at her house all bruised and beaten?”

Dick stays quiet now, and Bruce hates himself for having to say it out loud. His son may be an adult in the eyes of the law, but some parts of him are still childlike. After all, Bruce isn’t the only one putting Gotham first.

“I wouldn’t call the way she’s living now normal.” Dick’s been to your penthouse, he’s seen the photo albums full of tabloid clippings and the rare pictures he and his extended family post on social media. He’s seen the journal you keep, hidden on your bookshelf that he mistook for a regular novel during his bi-weekly trips to your place, full of notes on every article and picture and what might be happening behind the scenes to prompt a public appearance like that. Years of deductions and question he could have answered with a single text message a month, but Bruce wouldn’t even allow that.

Dick’s anger grows.

If Bruce had told him he did it to punish you, he’d be angry, but he would understand. Sometimes when you love someone that much, someone who’s too good for you, you grasp at any way to keep them. But this is a million times worse than that.

“If you loved her that much why’d you even let her go?”

Again, another question he wasn’t expecting. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but he doesn’t feel the sharp sting of surprise this time.

“Because sometimes love isn’t enough.”

Dick leaves. Bruce pours another glass, and when he’s sure he’s alone he pulls out his wallet, tugging out the family photo he keeps tucked beneath his black card, turning it over to see your portrait taped on the other side.

The corner of his mouth quirks up.

It was from when you’d both just gotten married, before you were used to upper class etiquette. You complained all morning about having to get ready and wear a bunch of expensive uncomfortable clothes designers had sent in for the article in the Gotham Times, emphasizing how ridiculous opulence like this was when there were so many bigger issues in Gotham.

He’d bought out every copy of the magazine in the city. He still had most of them, tucked away in a box in his closet that became the casket for your relationships. Every now and then he’ll unearth it, just to allow himself to be haunted again by your memory.

But for tonight, just your picture and a glass of brandy is enough.

“You’re so much better at this than I am.”

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / This is Part 4

A/N: I wasn’t going to write this, but after I got the ask I had to haha. No beta or proof reading because we die like Jason.

Aaaaand if you like my writing please check out my fanzine/fanbook here, it’s got gorgeous art from 5 different artists and ten different fanfictions!

When you heard a knock on the door, you expected a package or maybe a friend who’d decided to stop by for an impromptu view of the Gotham skyline.

You certainly weren’t expecting an elementary schooler standing on your blue patterned doormat with an expression so severe he could make someone cower from the memory alone.

You stare at each other for what feels like ages in a one sided staring contest. Something about him feels so familiar, the shape of his nose, the cut of his jaw—

“Oh, you’re Damian.”

He looks different from the grainy photographs in the tabloids you’ve become accustomed to. Somehow, in the flesh, he looks younger.

“Can I come in?” he asks with all the eloquence of someone a second from inviting themselves in.

“I don’t think your dad would like that.”

This stops him in his tracks. His head ducks down, the tips of his ears dyed bright red. The boy doesn’t give a damn about social conventions, but he cares about what his father thinks, huh?

The sight of him flushed and awkward is endearing in a way you didn’t expect,

He looks so much like Bruce.

“Well, I think he’d like photographs of you and his ex-wife sitting in the coffee shop downstairs in the tabloids even less, so…” you open the door a bit wider, and it’s all the invitation he needs.

He perches at the edge of your arm chair. You ask him if he wants something to drink, he refuses, you turn on the tea kettle anyway.

You’re thinking of a polite way to ask Bruce’s carbon copy what the hell he’s doing at your doorstep, when he points to something behind you.

“Is that Father?”

You follow his direction, landing on a photograph in a cheap metal frame.

“Yeah, it’s from our wedding.”

It’s not a memory from the extravagant portion, the part that was televised on channel 6 news that all of Gotham followed with a fervor equivalent only to a royal wedding. It’s a memory after everyone left, you’re in a white slip dress a carton of French fries clasped in your hand, Bruce is beside you grinning from ear to ear, his bow tie untied and laid flat around his shoulders. Dick and Jason are sitting at your feet, Jason has a grin with his arm slung around Dick’s shoulder, still wearing his formal attire, while Dick has three French fries hanging from his mouth, his suit jacket and pants long gone, a hint of his blue and white striped boxers visible underneath his oversized dress shirt.

It was before everything bad happened, before monumental realizations were had and deaths were cemented, back when you were still living in the dream of what you thought married life could be.

“I think this is the last time we had everyone all together in one picture.” Shortly after Jason passed away, and no one felt like taking candid pictures, there wasn’t much to celebrate in the year after.

“Drake’s not in it,” Damian notes, accepting the frame with both hands.

“No, Tim came into our lives a year after.” After an entire year of sleeping in Jason’s bedroom and fighting Bruce on not donating his things.

Damian nods, and you feel like the social weight has finally shifted in your favor.

“What do I owe the pleasure of this visit Damian?”

He looks at you with an unwavering gaze, it reminds you of his dad. Bruce might have his flaws, but you always admired the way he would look someone straight in the eyes when he talked to them.

It feels a bit like you’re going back in time, healing a wound you didn’t realize you still had.

“How long were you with my Father?”

It’s been four years since your association with Bruce Wayne and his alter ego ended, but you can’t break the habit of searching for what his children are not saying. The same way Dick is chatty when he’s covering a mistake he made, or Jason who’s first emotional response to any new situation is guilt, or Tim who covers his own self worth issues with hard work, and the way Bruce used to kiss you a little more freely in public when Batman was making headlines.

It’s alarming that this boy’s real motive is twice as difficult to decode as his father’s.

He wants to know if Bruce was cheating on me.

It’s a question you’d pondered yourself after a handful of reporters shoved microphones in your face asking about how you felt about Bruce Wayne’s secret love child a few years ago. It took them a month to realize you weren’t going to give them any information, and it took you half a year to realize even if he did cheat on you it didn’t really matter.

“We were dating for about two years before we got married.” It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s the only kindness you can offer this boy at the moment.

The gleam in his eyes tells you he can see right through you.

“Is that when you met?”

Figures he’s just like his Dad.

“No, we met in college, about six years before that.”

“And you had romantic feelings for him since then?”

You shake your head. “No, I didn’t like him very much at first.” All the girls fawned over him like he was gods gift to the world, even if a part of you thought he was attractive, you’d rather cut your hand off than admit it.

“What changed?”

“Time, I guess.” You can’t remember when your feelings for Bruce turned from annoyance to friendship, or when that friendship turned to affection.

“There was a period where I didn’t see him for a few years, after we both graduated, and then we reconnected.” You’re giving him a window, a place where his mom and dad might have met and fell in love. The peace of knowing that you came after her, and that no one betrayed anyone.

Unlike his father, he accepts this logic with a nod. You bite back a sigh of relief. But before you can rejoice, you see his mouth start to part.

“How do you like Gotham so far Damian?”

He blinks, and just like that he’s ten years old again.

“It’s okay, the food is bad.”

You laugh, and you miss the way his shoulders jump at the sound.

“I guess it is, have you been to Fig’s bistro off of 45th street yet?”

“I have, but I’m a vegetarian so there’s usually a single dish on the menu that’s basically an after thought.”

“That makes sense, how about Uchi? It’s a sushi restaurant that’s entirely vegetarian.”

You go on like this, reviews of resteraunt turn into conversations about Alfred’s home cooking, which turns into discussion about school. Somewhere along a tirade about the American education system you get him to accept a cup of tea, and by the time you’ve pulled old photo albums out you’ve polished two plates of snacks.

It would have gone on like this if you weren’t interrupted by a knock on your door.

You both trade surprised looks, and with wrinkle eyebrows, you open the door.

“Oh, hi Tim.” It’s been years since you’ve seen him in the flesh, unlike Dick he doesn’t post on social media often, and when he does it’s never a picture of his face. The best you’ve gotten in the years that have passed is a side profile during a gala interview where he hurried past his older brothers.

He looks older now, older than sixteen. The circles under his eyes seem extra dark under the dim lights of your hallway, and you can see faint lines on his forehead starting to form.

“Hi (Y/N).”

Tim isn’t like Dick and Jason, you only got a few years with him, and for most of that time he wasn’t in the manor full time. You can’t remember doing anything particularly special for him when you were with Bruce, other than occasionally forcing him to drink water and applying cream to his cuts while he slept.

“Bruce sent me to get Damian.” The sound of your ex-husband’s name sends a chill down your spine, even after all this time. You force yourself to nod.

You move out the way, and Tim inside.

“It’s time to go.” If you thought the look Damian gave you was severe, then the way he’s looking at Tim is downright murderous. But he doesn’t object, tugging on his jacket as he walks over to the door.

He turns to look at you when he’s halfway to the door.

“Who do you think Father’s true love is?”

You cock your head to the side, on the surface it’s a loaded question, but by now it should be fairly obvious to anyone in Bruce’s inner circle.

“Gotham, of course.”

Damian stares at you hard for seven long seconds, before turning abruptly and walking out the door.

You wait for Tim to follow him, but instead he’s looking at you.

“I’ll be eighteen in a year,” he says. Your eyebrows wrinkle together as he averts his gaze, his ears bright red. “I-is it okay if I give you a call on my birthday?”

You soften immediately, and before you can stop yourself you’re pulling him into a hug. He returns it automatically. You hold his face in your hands, caressing the soft skin under his eyes with your thumbs.

“I’ll call you on July nineteenth, I promise.” He nods and you kiss his forehead. “Take care of yourself Timmy.” He nods again, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. He waves at you before stepping into the elevator, and then just as quickly as he appeared, he’s gone again.

By the time Tim’s caught up to Damian he’s already halfway down the street.

“I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” Damian grumbles. Tim considers retorting with a question about when he asked, but decides against it.

He kind of gets it, when he started his fee dive into the Wayne household lore, you were the thing that surprised him most. You’re not exceptionally beautiful, not in the way you’d have men drooling as soon as you entered a room, and you’re not well off or socially superior either.

From the outside looking in, you’re not someone people would expect Bruce Wayne to end up with.

“So what’s the verdict?”

Damian’s eyes get steely, his mouth turned down.

“She’s kind.”

There it is. The thing that makes you extraordinary. So simple from the surface, but incredibly complex underneath.

Tim nods in agreement, he hadn’t realized how much he missed you until you were standing in front of him. A little older than he remembered, but just as warm as always.

“She’s wrong about Bruce’s true love you know,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “If she asked him to quit being Batman, he would have.”

His mouth gets harder, and his eyes glaze over.

“Yeah, I know.”

Bonus:

“Hey Damian.”

“What?”

“I parked the car in the other direction.”

A/N: I hope you liked it, and please check out my fanzine if you have a second :)

You are my heaven (Bruce Wayne x f!reader) Part 1

It was supposed to be a little imagine of a dark and lonely Bruce Wayne switching place with another Bruce Wayne from a parallal universe, but I wrote more than I thought. It'll be into 2 parts, except if you ask for more. <3

Warnings: no proof reading, sexual activities, language, neglecting husband and father, kinda angst/comfort

Imagine Bruce Wayne with no child, no wife (you), no friends and no more Alfred. He was all alone, making his life even harder, more cruel, more violent.

He didn’t adopt any child - not even Dick - because Alfred died quickly after Bruce became an adult. Thus, Bruce needed to take care of himself, and he didn't feel like he could look after a child. He was too tired and too depressed. He didn't want to bring any child into such a dark life.

His hands were full with Wayne Enterprises and his Batman way of life, so he also didn't make time for the Justice League. He sometimes helped them when it was about Gotham but nothing else.

And he never succeeded in getting you. He knew you. Oh yes, he knew you. He always thought that Batman would be his sole obsession, destroying him and his body. But then he met you, and he grew half insane. He needed you in his life so badly; he didn't care about anyone else. You were such a ray of sunshine in his dark existence. But you didn't want him. He was too desperate for you. You were scared of the darkness surrounding him, and you hated that rich man who wasn't trying hard enough for Gotham's poor people. He would have loved to cover you in affection and gifts, but you always escaped him.

Imagine this same Bruce Wayne being switched from places with another Bruce Wayne from another universe. This other Bruce had children, was married to you, and was friends with the Justice League. Alfred was still around. But this Bruce was neglecting everyone a little bit. This man thought he was entitled to get everything. His relationships were just alright with everyone. You more than once thought about getting a divorce actually, but you loved your life too much to let it go, even if Bruce could be a disappointment.

Imagine the lonely and desperate Bruce Wayne waking up one morning with you in the same bed as him.

At first, he believed it was all a dream, so he happily pulled you against his chest and snuggled up against you. He kissed the top of your head. When his alarm sounded out, he simply turned it off and hugged you tighter. He felt good and warm for the first time since his parents died. He completely melted in pure joy when you gently kissed his chest and neck, stroking his scarred stomach. He leaned into all your touch. He had no idea when he was going to wake up, so he wanted to enjoy this as much as possible. He didn’t want to think of the cold and empty bed that was going to greet him soon enough. He just wanted to stay there forever, cherished by you. Your scent was bringing him such comfort. He was relaxed, feeling safe and at home. This was what heaven must look like, he thought.

"Not running to work already?" You softly asked, a little bit surprised you didn't have to beg your husband for morning cuddles

"I'm good here," Bruce mumbled into your hair, his eyes closed in bliss

"What have you done to my husband?" You laughed as you straddled the man, looking down at him.

Husband? Fuck, it sounded so sweet to his ears. Bruce opened his eyes, drinking into your form. He loved how the sun was softly shining against your skin. He moved his hands on your thighs and stroked your skin. You were a goddess to him

“You’re beautiful” He whispered

You hummed and leaned to hungrily kiss him. He almost moaned against your lips. He had dreamt so many times of the feel of your mouth against his. But it was different than usual, it was better than he expected. He felt so whole. You were his soulmate. He always believed it. And feeling you like that… He promised himself that once he would be back to reality, he would find a way to seduce you. He needed you. You teasingly bit his bottom lip, and he smiled. Bruce's hands greedily moved around your body before settling on your ass. He gently squeezed it.

“Naughty” Ypu giggled, and he smiled even more

“Not my fault. You’re a goddess of love and light” He whispered

You didn’t reply. You weren’t too used to your husband talking to you like that. Your Bruce was good to you, but he never called you such things. He never watched you with such devotion in the eyes.

You sightly moved away to remove your nightgown under his watch. This Bruce had no idea how gorgeous you were naked, on top of him. He realised it was his favourite sight from now on. Gosh, what he wouldn’t do to be allowed to be greeted like that every morning of his life? He had dreamt so many times to be allowed to see you like this, to touch you like a lover and to take care of you. He was happy he was shirtless when you leaned back against him so he could feel your skin against his. He gently switched positions with you so he could get down on you. He kissed your neck, breasts, stomach, and inner thighs before settling in between your legs. He would have taken the time to kiss your legs and feet if he hadn’t been so hungry for you. It was such a vivid and nice dream. And he wanted you so badly. The way your fingers moved into his hair and tightened their hold whenever he was making you moan in pleasure became his favourite sensation. After the second orgasm he gave you this morning, he started to wonder if he truly was dreaming. You felt so real. 

He didn't have time to think more about it as you brought him closer to you. You were softly panting, as he was happily kissing and stroking your skin. You were made to be worshipped, he thought. And he would love to be your most obedient and caring servant.

A soft knock at the door startled the two of you.

"Master Bruce, do I need to cancel all the meetings you had this morning?" Alfred's voice sounded out.

Bruce froze for a few fractions of seconds before regaining his composure. Was it truly Alfred? His dream was getting nicer and nicer. However, it was hard to think when you were affectionately kissing his skin and playing with his hair, looking at him with such tenderness in your beautiful eyes. He needed all his willpower to answer Alfred back.

"I'm on my way to Wayne Enterprises, Alfred," He finally replied, and you laughed because he really didn't look like he was. 

The sound of your laughter made his chest blow with a warm feeling he didn't know. He was so deeply in love with you. He was so happy. And yet, the word “happy” didn’t feel strong enough to describe how he felt in this instant. He leaned to kiss you with pure affection before getting up, even though he would have loved to stay in bed with you.

You decided to be a good wife who cared about your husband’s work and duty, so you didn't follow in the shower, knowing Alfred would indeed need to cancel all of the meetings. You wondered what you did last night for Bruce to treat you with such passion and love this morning. You wished things would be more often like that. 

You were still lying in bed when Bruce came out of the shower. Before looking for some clothes, he went back to you, like a magnet attracted to you. He kissed your naked back before kissing your lips.

"Time for some lunch with me, hon?" you asked, clearly pushing your luck, but Bruce seemed in a very good mood today.

You were ready for him to say no, though, like he always did.

"Of course, anything you want," He whispered, smiling.

He was excited you seemed to want to spend more time with him.

You didn’t add anything, truly wondering what you did last night. He kissed you again before dressing up. You enjoyed the view from the bed. Bruce loved the warm feeling of your eyes on him. He couldn’t get enough of your attention.

He reluctantly left the room after having stolen another kiss from you. He couldn’t get enough of you.

He properly greeted Alfred and thanked him for having checked on him.

Bruce was a little bit surprised to discover so many young adults and teenagers eating breakfast in his living room, but it was giving some life to his old manor. And in a dream, you couldn’t expect everything to make sense, right? So he simply greeted everyone and asked if they all slept well, like his father did when he was a child. They all seemed stunned by the question, but they still answered. What amazed them even more was that Bruce actually listened to their answers. He waved them all goodbye, wished them a good day, and went to work.

It was time for lunch, and Bruce hadn't woken up yet. His meetings were now done, and he could take some time to think. Everything felt so real so far. Usually, in dreams, when you read something, lines are blurry or the words mean nothing or the words change all the time... But it didn't happen. Apart from the people he didn’t know in his living room, everything seemed to make sense?

He typed away his name on his Internet browser and started to read about how he was dealing with Wayne Enterprises, how he was married to you, how he adopted or took under his roof many children. Bruce Wayne seemed quite… popular. He looked for Batman's work as well. It seemed he was often with the Justice League, and he had some vigilantes under his lead. He started to think about what happened last night - before he woke up with you in his arms.

He could now remember a very bright light engulfing him while he was fighting off some criminals.

"Where are we going for lunch?" You texted him, and the notification brought him back to the present

"That Italian restaurant near Wayne Enterprises?" He offered.

He always wished he could invite you there because he quite enjoyed this place. He hoped the place existed here, but with your answer it seemed it did.

"Oh yes, it's been a while!" You quickly replied. "I'll meet you there in a few. Love you <3" You added

"Love you too, wife" Bruce sent back.

Gosh, he never thought he would be allowed to send you such words and it was making his head spin.

But Bruce was a smart man, so he started to understand that he must have taken the place of the Bruce Wayne of this world. It couldn’t be a dream because it was too detailed and realistic. It couldn’t be an illusion, because something would have felt off to him. It wouldn't have been the first time he was trapped in an illusion, he would have been able to feel it. This place... everything felt true, real.

There were only two possibilities: someone brought him to a parallel universe or he died and went to heaven. 

He hurt one of his fingers to draw blood. He couldn’t be dead if he was still bleeding, could he? So if he was going with the parallel universe, it meant… It meant that the other Bruce Wayne had this perfect little life. Fuck, he felt a deep and raw jealousy stabbing his heart: why didn't this Bruce suffer like he did? Why did this version of himself get everything he ever wished for himself? Alfred, children, you? Even Batman seemed to be doing better here. Wayne Enterprises were thriving, the biggest and most powerful firm of Gotham. 

He needed to understand what happened... So he could forever stay here. There was no way he was going back to the Hell that used to be his life. He would kill himself at the instant he would get back. How could he survive being alone again? The other Bruce was a problem because if he was alive, he would want to get back here. But fuck him. Everyone seemed so surprised by how he was acting, so he was certain that the Bruce of this world didn’t deserve their love. And he would do anything to deserve it. It was his chance to finally be happy and he wasn’t going to fuck this up.

--

PART 2

Being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne: a journey - Reader's origin story

When I started this new Batman obsession, I soooo needed to get this out of my system, so I wrote and wrote and wrote. I figured I could share this with you.

I start with reader's origin story because some stuff will be hinted througout the series (10 parts so far) and because it explains some of her reactions.

Just so you know, it's afab!reader, but there is absolutely NO description of her, and nothing in her backstory says she is white. But as a white girl myself, if I missed something, PLEASE LET ME KNOW and send me a DM. I really want you all to enjoy some Bruce Wayne x reader, no matter who you are or what you look like!!

That being said, enjoy <3

Warnings: no proof reading, awful childhood with toxic parents, mentions of death and violence, reader has a negative image of Batman

You were coming from the poorest neighbourhood of Gotham. The most dangerous one as well: the Narrows.

You had been lucky to climb the social ladder thanks to your grandma who loved you more than anything and absolutely wanted you to study abroad. She wanted better for you. She wanted you to meet your true potential. She always said that if she - as well as your mother - had been a little more educated, they would have been women of power. And more importantly, they would have been women of freedom. By now, it was too late for her and for her daughter, but it was not too late for you. She decided to sacrifice everything she had to give you what the women of the family never had before.

By allowing you to get an education, she also saved you from a very dark family. She saved you from your father, who used to be a gangster closely working with Don Falcone and to be friends with Victor Zsasz. Your father ended in jail before dying there. 

It was what people said at least. 

Your mother didn’t know if he had been killed there or if he killed himself. Either way, she was relieved this monster was now gone from her existence. But you knew the truth: you were 16 when this happened, and you had known your father very well. You had followed him for all those years, like his shadow. He used you as a right hand because you were his favourite kid. It meant you knew Don Falcone personally. So when your father “died”, you knew better than to believe it. You went to the Roman, and you asked him to open the coffin after the funeral, just to make sure if all of this was true or not. You weren’t too surprised when you found rocks instead of a body. Don Falcone offered to work for him because you had potential indeed.

But you declined when your grandmother insisted for you to get an education. You had been at a crossroad: you could have started the life of a gangster or you could have been something else. Still now, you wondered what gave you the strength to be something else.

About your father, you never heard about him so far, and you were grateful about it. You had realised as you grew up that he was using you because you were a smart and silent kid. You knew how to behave with dangerous people: you never let anyone or anything intimidate you. When you weren’t with your father, you were reading books, so you quickly learnt to have a way with words and to read people as well. 

You guessed it was still useful now, and you hated it that it was all thanks to your father. At least, your grandma offered you another life, and you would forever be grateful for that. You couldn’t blame your own mother who never loved you - you looked way too much like your father. She was a mess who ran away when your father disappeared, so you really only had your grandma left to take care of you.

You went aboard. You went to England and you studied. You studied hard to the point of becoming a top student in college and then in university.

You understood what it was to be free indeed. You enjoyed your life away from Gotham, and you weren’t too sure if you would ever go back there.

However, after your graduation, your grandma’s health started to go down. Your mother didn’t want to go back to Gotham to take care of her, and your grandma didn’t want to leave Gotham because it had been her home her whole life. She also strongly believed that if people like Batman were fighting for the city, she couldn’t go away and seem ungrateful. You tried to convince her that Batman probably didn’t care, but she was stubborn.

At that time, Batman was so young and so fresh. People didn’t know if they should like him or not. You didn’t particularly like him. You weren’t too sure to understand why he was doing what he was doing. Most importantly, you felt like he was taking care of the big villains and letting most of the population of Gotham alone. The man clearly didn’t come from the Narrows and he couldn’t understand that if more than half of the neighbourhood population was working for the big villains as goons was because they didn’t have any other choice. You heard about his “gadgets” and you thought that all this money could have bought a school in the Narrows. Or a hospital. Or anything else useful.

Sometimes, you felt like you were being a little bit harsh on the Bat; at least someone fought against Don Falcone. You knew what the Roman was capable of, and yeah, maybe Batman was better than you wanted to admit it.

You ended up coming back to Gotham so you could take care of your grandma. She loved you even more for that, even if she didn’t want you to ruin your career for her. You easily found a job and slowly but surely went higher in society. You were good with words. You were good at getting people to do what you wanted, and more importantly, you were good at getting people to tell you their darkest secrets. You were doing well. You were happy to be back in Gotham, actually. It was your home too.

Years went by, and new vigilantes arrived, disappeared, and came back. Only Batman was always there. You still weren’t a big fan of him, even if you could admit he was clearly doing his best for the city. You preferred the new guy in town, though: Red Hood. He was taking care of things, and he also had the reputation to protect the kids and the civilians.

Your grandma was very excited when she learnt you were both living in his “territory”. You actually met him one night. He seemed to be looking around. When he spotted you, he walked to you.

“Hello, ma'am. Is everything alright? Do you need someone to get you home safely? This isn’t a very safe place right now. An asshole hid bombs everywhere around here.” he had told you, and you were a little bit surprised after everything you heard about him.

He was known to be a Crime Lord and to be some sort of enemy to Batman, but not really one either.

“I have lived here since forever. I’m all good, thank you” you replied with a smile “Thank you for being around” you said

“Oh well, you really shouldn’t thank me.” he hummed, clearly taken aback. 

He wasn’t used to people thanking him for anything

“On the contrary, finally, someone is doing something. Not like Batman. Hope you’ll stick around” you added

“Ok, let me bring you to your building, at least.” Red Hood insisted, and you agreed. 

You didn’t know why, but you felt you could trust him.

You weren’t an investigative journalist at that time, but later, you would write in favour of Red Hood… and quite in disfavour of Wayne Enterprises and his CEO.

When your grandma died, you took care of her funeral and of her flat, on your own. You gave the key back to find your own place. It was smaller, but at least you weren’t in the Narrows anymore. You stayed close to Red Hood’s territory, though. You never thought about leaving Gotham again, even if the Daily Planet offered you a job in Metropolis. You needed to stay in Gotham. She was your home, and you wanted to fight for her.

Another decade went by and even if you did good - everyone was reading your articles and knowing your name (without knowing your face) - you clearly had never thought you would go to one of those charity galas hosted by the popular Bruce Wayne.

You were currently writing for an independent and political newspaper of Gotham. Bruce Wayne was often criticised in it, which was one of the only media to do so. Bruce Wayne had offered someone to come over so they could see he had nothing to hide and that his charity galas had real purposes.

You had been chosen among the journalists because they knew you wouldn’t be naïve enough to believe everything the man would tell you.

You had no idea this gala would change your life.

And Bruce’s as well.

--

PART 1

--

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Being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne: a journey - Meeting him (part I)

It's a big series about an afab!reader who doesn't like Bruce Wayne and who still falls in love with him (he fells quicker and harder)

You can find the reader's origin story here.

Warnings: no proof reading, eat the rich baby kind of vibes, reader is uncomfortable at first, not impressed!reader, language, deep down Bruce is the kind of guy who likes to be bullied by a pretty girl

When your boss picked you to go to Bruce Wayne’s charity gala, your first thought had been: “Oh I’m going to be such a little nuisance!”.

It was only when you started to wonder how to dress, that you realised that the event was actually being a nuisance for you. You took so much time trying to decide what to put on, what kind of makeup and hairstyle to do. You knew appearances were important, and you didn’t want to be at your disadvantage in such a place.

And yet, even if you had put on your best dress, your best shoes and your favourite jewels that your grandma gave you right before her death, you felt… cheap.

You were clearly out of place and you knew that people were looking at you from the corner of their eyes. You were getting uncomfortable. But you went to Falcone’s events when you were a child and you knew one thing: when you are among vultures, you can show no weakness. So you tried to keep you back straight and to look like you were doing great. There was no way you would give the joy to all those rich assholes to make you run away. It was only fueling your hate against them. 

You had thought you were going to eat and drink well at this gala, but all this money disgusted you too much to actually enjoy yourself. You saw too many people dying from hunger in the streets to be able to bear any of this. 

You were looking around, taking mental notes of everything before you felt a presence behind you. You turned around and were greeted by a tall and broad man, wearing the nicest suit you ever witnessed. He gently smiled at you but you saw it didn’t fully reach his eyes. It was just a polite act. You instantly recognised the dark hair and the blue eyes. You hadn’t thought Bruce Wayne was that big though. 

It didn’t mean you were impressed. 

Not one bit. 

The man seemed to observe you with interest - probably because you weren’t all over him at the instant you saw him - before extending his hand for you to shake.

“Good evening, you must be Mrs L/N.” he kept smiling

“Indeed, Mr. Wayne. I guess it wasn’t very difficult to spot me in this crowd” you said as you shook his hand politely. 

“What do you mean?” he asked

“Oh don’t pretend, I know I’m not dressed as nicely as your usual guests.” you replied.

You perceive a little glitter of curiosity sparkling in his eyes. Bruce Wayne was probably not used to being talked to like that, especially from women. But you weren’t afraid or impressed by anyone. How could you when your past was full of dangerous people? Bruce Wayne seemed to think of a proper reply before deciding to be honest and he nodded his head.

“I’m grateful your newspaper agreed to send someone. I know you do not have a very good opinion of me, which I absolutely respect. I’ve read the paper you wrote about me last week, about the fact that my company took part in the destruction of the Amazonian forest and in child labour in poor countries. It was truly an impressive work of research and I’m thankful you saw it, wrote about it and published it. I had been too busy with different projects to realise any of this was happening. I would have appreciated it if you had let me know first hand though.” he told you to which you raised an eyebrow

“And? Did anything change?” you replied

“Indeed. I want to let you know that all of this stopped and that I’m doing everything I can do to repair the bad my company caused. It won’t happen again. I promise.” He said and you could tell he was sincere or at least trying to sound like he was.

“Good. At least you take responsibility. And if anything else happens again, I’ll be there to make sure you do know about it.” you hummed which cause the ghost of an amused smile to appear on Bruce’s face

“I don’t worry about it indeed.” he paused. “By the way, you write very well. I’m glad to be able to put a face on such… sharp and true words” he added, and you let him show how surprised you were

“People don’t usually like my sharp words” you shrugged but you were yourself getting quite curious about the man now.

“It did hurt quite a bit but… I wish that my spokesperson would write that well. Or that I would myself have such a way with words. At least it helped me to see the truth and… Well it was quite refreshing. People don’t usually talk about me that way, or just about my last nightstand.” he explained

“Oh yes, don’t worry, I really don’t care with whom you slept last night as long as you didn’t abuse or rape them” you smiled and Bruce Wayne’s eyes widened before he let out a very amused laughter.

“I didn’t think your words were also that sharp in person” he commented “Do you want us to go somewhere else a little less noisy so you could do the interview you had prepared?” he offered to which you agreed.

On one hand, you were surprised with how the evening went by.

Your first disgust for the man started to change into real curiosity. You were still unimpressed by him, but you could tell there was something more than just the rich philanthropist playboy act. Bruce Wayne had secrets. But unlike usual people, you didn’t seem to be able to find a way for him to spill them for you. Something was unsettling about him. You wanted to discover so badly what was going on; you were a curious cat.

On the other hand, Bruce Wayne quickly understood that not only were you good with words, you were also good at asking the right questions. More than once, he was about to let go of his “Brucie” persona because of how smart your interrogations about him or his enterprises were. At some point, you were even met by silence because the man had no idea how to answer your question about all the “toys” that Wayne Enterprises was producing and yet never let the army, the police or the government use. Actually, you were wondering who was buying those equipments and why it was so difficult to find who it was. Bruce asked you how you knew about this and you let him know you dug into his financial reports. 

His silence was a challenge for you. 

As the discussion kept going on, you realised you now wanted to know everything about the man, his real personality and all his secrets. The persona he was using in public was pure bullshit. You might have rolled your eyes at him once or twice.

Bruce tried his best to not react, but deep down he had no idea what to do. He had thought it was going to be an easy interview and that once he would have you sit down with him alone, he would have been able to manipulate you, so you could finally write something nice about him. He realised he had never been more wrong in his whole life. He also realised that the more he was feeding you his usual answers to journalists, the more you were pressing the subjects. He just couldn’t make you believe him and his sweet little lies. He couldn’t charm you either. Bruce could also tell that his attitude got the exact opposite reaction he wanted from you. He wanted you to relax around him, but as time passed, the more you were eyeing him as if you were certain that he was a lot darker and a lot more dangerous than he wanted everyone to believe.

Bruce hated to admit it but he found you incredibly attractive. 

Of course you were beautiful, but you were also so smart and observant. You were ruthless to him, in a polite manner which was even worse. You were merciless; you were asking the questions you had to ask, without care for his ego. He didn’t know if he should ask you out on a date or ask you to work for him. At some point, he managed to finally say something that made you laugh (it was a self derogatory comment) and he decided on the first option. 

A part of his mind knew he was playing with fire with you. Still, he asked you out. 

You thought about refusing at first, but then agreed. You needed to know what the great Bruce Wayne was hiding. For you, it wasn’t a “real” date, it was just part of your work.

At the end of the interview, you were more than happy to come back home, your head full of new theories about the man.

Alfred joined Bruce, surprised his master was still sitting down fifteen minutes after your departure.

“How did it go, Master Bruce?” Alfred asked

“Awfully” Bruce replied “Asked her out though, and she said yes” he added

“I’m not too certain if that’s a good thing or not, Master Bruce” Alfred raised a questioning eyebrow

“I don’t know either” Bruce hummed

Bruce Wayne fell asleep that night, wondering what the fuck happened tonight and wondering why he was so excited to see you again.

--

PART 2

--

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Being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne: a journey - First date (part II)

It's a big series about an afab!reader who doesn't like Bruce Wayne and who still falls in love with him (he fells quicker and harder)

reader's origin story // Part 1 //

Warnings: no proof reading, mentions of being uneasy,

Of course, Bruce Wayne offered to go to the nicest restaurant in all of Gotham. He wanted to impress you, but more importantly he knew the place like the back of his hand. That way, if he needed to leave for a little Batman intervention, he could do without you to notice.

It would be even easier because you had clearly never put even one toe there before. You weren’t too sure how to act in such an elitist place but you tried your best to look at ease, once again. You didn’t want to give away anything to Bruce Wayne, not when you could learn something new about the man tonight.

However, the way Bruce had eyed the dress you picked with clear appreciation helped you feel better about yourself. If the man was enjoying what he was seeing, it meant you were starting to know how to behave in such places. It was true you went to quite a few of Falcone’s receptions when you were a child, but it was such a long time ago. And at that time, you simply wanted to be with your father. Now, you were there for yourself alone. In addition, if your body could distract Bruce from his “Brucie” persona, it was even better. You had no intention of flirting with him, but you were going to take what you could.

You were grateful that Bruce was right on time, unlike his usual public appearances. You weren’t flattered or anything, you were just glad he wasn’t starting this “date” with a negative note right away.

You settled together in the VIP room of the restaurant, so you could enjoy some food without having to worry about the people around you hearing you or seeing you together. You had warned your boss you were going out with Bruce Wayne though. You weren’t too at ease with that, and you didn’t want your colleagues to start and spread rumours about you. You didn’t want to lose your credibility because of a rich white man.

And yet, you found yourself enjoying such delicious food with Bruce Wayne.

You were ashamed to admit that you enjoyed your evening and Bruce’s company.

He was a lot less playing the likeable rich guy, he seemed more… at ease. You wouldn’t say sincere or true to himself, but he seemed less fake. And he was actually a lot nicer. You found out you wanted to know more of his real nature, and not just to write an article about all the bad things he must have done. You wanted to discover what the man was hiding because you were a detective, but also because there was something that you found very attractive about him.

If at first you had kept asking questions, quickly enough the discussion started to be quite natural between the two of you. You both agreed on a lot of subjects, especially political ones. You were agreeably surprised about it, but you never fully believed him. You wondered if the man was saying the truth, or if he was just trying to get you to like him more. You had to admit than more than once he seemed to truly think what he was saying though.

After a little while, as you relaxed, you saw a shift in Bruce’s persona. 

“I’d be more than happy to invite you again for my next gala.” Bruce hummed

“I didn’t particularly enjoy this experience and I still have no dress to match the standard” you politely declined the offer

“I can buy you a dress, anything you’d like.” Bruce almost smiled

“Are you trying to bribe me, Mr Wayne?” you teased “I can’t accept gifts from you, not when I’m actually one of the only persons in Gotham to write bad things about you”

“Oh so this is still about work?” he asked, he seemed even a little bit disappointed

“What do you mean?”

“I asked you out for a date, not for another interview” he replied

“I will never stop being a journalist.” your shrugged

“Of course, but it doesn’t mean you can’t accept a gift from me” he insisted

“I’m not someone with a lot of power in Gotham, but my words allow me to say what needs to be said. I don’t want people to stop finding me trustworthy because of you, because I accept gifts from you” you explained

“I… I think I understand” he nodded

“Plus I never said I was here for pleasure.” you added “But… you’re surprising me” you finally admitted, half because you didn’t want to be so rude with him.

“How so?” Bruce raised an eyebrow

“You’re actually quite nice to talk with.” you said and Bruce laughed

“I feel like I should thank you, as I’m not sure I’ll hear such a compliment from you ever again” he gently teased and you laughed as well

“You’re very right about that” you smirked

The more time went by, the more you teased… and flirted with each other. You had promised yourself to not flirt with him, but then you told yourself it was just a game. Actually, you were both thinking you were playing a dangerous game, but you were enjoying yourselves too much to care about it. You were getting along despite everything.

You noticed Bruce received several messages he ignored, until something really important came up and he excused himself for a moment. You thought maybe it was time to call it a night. It was getting late and Bruce clearly had things to take care of.

When Bruce came back, you asked him if everything was alright, to which he nodded.

“I’d understand if you need to leave now” you offered him an exit you thought he would take

“Oh no. Well, except if you want to come back home, but I’m in no rush” he replied and waited for your answer

“I’m in no rush either” you smiled

Bruce relaxed again and you decided to go out of the restaurant.

The air was nice in Gotham so you walked in the streets together, until you saw something sparkling your interest at Gotham theatre. Bruce was more than willing to follow you around so you both settled inside the theatre. It was an adaptation of one of your favourite books. You couldn’t help but make little comments about the story and the characters. Bruce found it very endearing and the way you would lean against him… delicious. Your presence was something like he never felt before in his life. For you, it all felt like a strange but not unpleasant dream.

It was very late when Bruce and his butler brought you back home. You had been very polite and nice to Alfred, even asked him if Bruce Wayne was treating him well enough. You joked about all the things he must have seen in the manor and Alfred liked how bold and teasing you were. Bruce’s dates never talked with him before as they were all over Bruce. And you so clearly weren’t. Bruce usually faked being comfortable around them, but for once Alfred noticed his Master truly seemed at ease.

You thought that every good thing had an end, and you were quite certain that this would be your one and only “date” with the richest man of Gotham. Men didn’t usually enjoy your way to be: too free, independent and bold for most of them. You were a free spirit too and you never really cared about dating anyone.

But for once, you might have thought twice about it.

You were surprised when Bruce asked you if you wanted to see him again.

You were even more surprised when you sincerely answered yes.

Bruce smiled at your answer and gently put a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Call me or text me whenever you feel like seeing me again” he told you as he gave you his phone number. 

You simply nodded before watching him get back inside the limo and leave.

You had no idea that Alfred gave a very curious look to his master now it was just the two of them.

“What is it, Alfred?” Bruce asked

“You have quite a bit to catch on. The children worked well but… it is unusual for Batman to not be around” Alfred commented “I believe this is the first time you prioritise your date over your duty, and that it lasts that long. Mrs L/N isn’t quite your usual date either, if I might add.”

“I… don’t usually enjoy myself” Bruce shrugged

“Then I’m happy for you, Master Bruce. Life shouldn’t be all about brooding and fighting against bad people.” Alfred replied, hoping something might finally change in Bruce’s existence

--

PART 3

--

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Being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne: a journey - First time (part III)

It's a big series about an afab!reader who doesn't like Bruce Wayne and who still falls in love with him (he fells quicker and harder)

Reader's origin story // Part 1 // Part 2

Warnings: no proof reading, sexual activity (explicit), mentions of reader being attacked by Double Face's goons, wild cat!reader, needy!Bruce

You had told yourself you would only have one more date with Bruce, just one. For investigation purposes and nothing more.

And yet, when it was time to say goodbye to the man, you realised you didn’t ask the questions you had prepared. You had been too caught up in the moment to care about anything else.

So you promised yourself just one other date, and this time you would ask the questions you had. You didn’t really know why Bruce was so eager to have dates with you. You didn’t seem like the kind of woman he usually went out with.

And really, you had no idea how you ended talking to him everyday and seeing him whenever the two of you had time, even for a quick lunch. You were both always finding a way to make time to see each other. It was important. It felt important. You couldn’t even pretend it was because you wanted to know all his secrets anymore. Of course, you wanted to know, but not because you were a journalist, because you really liked to spend time with him.

It seemed Bruce quite enjoyed himself when he was around you as well. For the first time in his life, he did his best to balance a little more his life as Batman and his life as Bruce Wayne. It meant he was trusting his children a little more with the vigilante work. He was now talking a lot about teamwork and solidarity. And so far, the children couldn’t say Batman was lying to them.

A few months passed by, and you were both still spending as much time as before together. It started to be obvious you were finding each other very attractive. 

You couldn’t deny it anymore when you ended up in a very luxurious hotel room with Bruce Wayne. At first, it was because you both wanted to go a little further and the hotel was very close by. That night you just happily kissed each other and slept in the same bed. Bruce left in the middle of the night, and left you a little note to thank you for the evening. 

If it started for kisses, after a few nights, his hands got a little more greedy. He had been careful to not do anything that would make you uncomfortable. When he had moved his hands under your skirt, he softly asked you if it was okay.

You nodded, and started to undress him as well. 

You couldn’t think. 

You just wanted to touch him, you wanted him. You had sex with guys and girls before, but you had never wanted someone that badly. The more heated the kiss was getting, the more desperate for him you were getting as well. You were relieved to feel that it was the same for Bruce.

He needed you.

And yet he took his sweet time to discover your body. You had thought he would be the kind of guy to try and skip the preliminaries, but on the contrary. He was almost scientifically looking for your most sensitive spots. He expertly found them and used them against you. You even forgot about his pleasure when he was playing with you so efficiently. He made you come twice before you asked for him. He wouldn’t have stopped if you hadn’t asked, no matter how hard he was. Hearing your moans, seeing your face screwed up in pleasure, feeling your body against his were heaven to him. He was getting absolutely obsessed with you, even more than he already was.

Once he got inside of you, for a brief instant before the pleasure completely took over, he thought that he would go absolutely insane if you ran away from him after this. He already knew he would forever want more of you. 

You played with each other as if you could feel what the other wanted. You were in sync.

You both climaxed and Bruce gently removed himself from you before bringing you against his chest. He fully leaned against the pillows and closed his eyes in bliss. He felt truly good for once. He knew he needed to let his children know he was going to be so late for patrol, but for the moment he just wanted to enjoy what he had with you.

You snuggled against him, but you thought you needed to go. You wondered if that was not a mistake. You had promised yourself something like that wouldn’t happen.

Why was it feeling so right at the same time then?

“I should come home” you whispered

“Stay a little longer, please” Bruce murmured back

You looked up at him and you didn’t have the strength to leave his embrace. You completely relaxed against him, and the man softly hummed in appreciation. You started to trace all the scars littering his chest. You hadn’t noticed them when you had undressed him. You had felt them when you were making love, but you hadn’t really registered them. Now you could have a closer look at them.

However his own touch was distracting you. He was drawing abstract patterns on your back. You didn’t want to leave his embrace anymore and he clearly didn’t want to move either. The man was fully relaxed for once. 

The comfortable silence around the two of you allowed you to get a hold on your thoughts after a little while. 

You were wondering what the man did to get so hurt. The scars were deep and you had felt that they were present on his whole body. However Bruce Wayne wasn’t known to be a warrior of any kind. He was so muscular too, so strong. His suits were hiding how powerfully built he truly was. He reminded you of someone but you weren’t too sure of whom yet.

Your mind thought once again about all the "toys" produced by Wayne Enterprises.

You also remembered about his adopted kids who all seemed very well trained as well. And funny enough, whenever Bruce got a new child under his roof, now you thought about it a little more, it seemed like Gotham got a new vigilante.

Batman was known for his silence and his secrets. Bruce too.

You also remembered last week, when Batman saved you and your colleagues from Double-Face goons. Your newspaper had written and published quite nasty words about Harvey Dent so he had sent men to destroy you. Batman had been quick to react, quick to save you all. You had never seen him so close before. You had noticed the broad shoulders and the tense jaw. He had helped you back on your feet and checked on you to make sure you were all good. The intensity of his look reminded you of someone, but you didn’t think of Bruce yet. His presence was familiar; you just thought that was because you lived in Gotham for years now and that Batman's presence was familiar to everyone. But obviously, it was something else.

Now you understood. You personally knew Batman, you just didn’t know it then.

“You’re Batman, aren’t you?”

Bruce stopped stroking your back for an instant before resuming the gesture and cuddling you closer to his chest. It was easier now there was no more secret between the two of you. He had been late to quite a few dates and it was getting harder to find excuses. He had noticed you weren’t always believing him when he was talking to you too. Now he could simply focus on seducing you.

“I knew you’d figure it out easily. You see and get stuff rights away.” he hummed onto your hair before kissing the top of your crane. 

You looked up at him, reaching for his shoulder.

“You don’t seem to mind that I know who you are… And I guess your kids are the other vigilantes in town” you hummed

“From the beginning, I knew you would discover our secret identities if I keep seeing you. But for once I wanted to be selfish” he admitted

“Selfish?” you asked

“I really like you. You… make me happy” he whispered and you sat up to face him

“Look, I don’t usually like rich people, even if… well I guess you’re pretty decent. And yeah Batman is doing a good job. Most of the time. But I don’t know if a “us” would be a good idea” you said

“Why not?” he gently brought you closer to him

“I’m not certain I want to start something, even with a normal guy, which you are not” you admitted and he chuckled

“I’m not asking for any commitment. We can just keep having dates, spending time together, having sex if you want this too. You can see other people. I just need you to stay around.” he offered even if you could tell he wanted more than just this.

“I’m surprised you’re not asking me to keep your identity a secret” you said

“I trust you. You are a good person, you only write about bad things” he said

“How do you know Batman isn't a bad thing?”

“I know you’re not my biggest fan. But I believe you will, from now on, tell me directly what you think and not have to write it down somewhere else.” he replied “You didn’t answer about our relationship” he commented

“Alright”

“Alright?”

“I don’t mind keeping going with whatever we have. As long as this isn’t anything official” you didn’t even really know why you agreed but you enjoyed the sincere smile appearing on Bruce’s face and lighting up his eyes.

--

PART 4

--

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Being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne: a journey - Nothing official, right? IV

It's a big series about an afab!reader who doesn't like Bruce Wayne and who still falls in love with him (he fells quicker and harder)

Reader's origin story // Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Warnings: no proof reading, wild cat!reader, mentions of sexual activity, soft!Bruce to you, you like to gently bully Bruce.

You knew that even if you had told Bruce that you wanted nothing serious, your relationship was actually shifting to something a lot more official.

Everyone was gossiping about the fact that the rich playboy of Gotham seemed to be only spending time with one girl lately. And you were pretty certain that indeed Bruce hadn’t had any kind of romantic or sexual relationship apart from you. You hadn’t either because no one really interested you. It didn’t mean you wanted to be “his” girlfriend.

You were still worried you would lose your credibility now everyone knew Bruce was seeing you. After all, the “son of Gotham” was always followed by paparazzi and you couldn’t hide your relationship forever.

At first, you heard whispers around you; you were just another girl to fall for Bruce. But you kept writing articles about the elite of Gotham and you kept pointing things out. When something was about WE, you simply informed Bruce you were going to publish an article about his enterprises. You kept doing your work. And the man never stopped you from doing so, because he loved that about you. You were ruthless to him, and he was finding it way too attractive for his own good.

The whispers quietened down.

Bruce took advantage of the situation by freely gifting you absolutely gorgeous dresses and jewels, without having to worry about “bribing” you anymore. He was inviting you to his favourite restaurants as well. 

But he was also eager to follow you to little cinemas and places you enjoyed and in which you were more at ease. You always ended up in a hotel room or at your place. You didn’t necessarily have sex, even if he often ended on his knees and in between your legs. At least until Batman was called for duty by Gordon or his kids (he made sure to finish you off before running away). 

After his missions, he almost always came back to you, and you always took care of his wounds and bruises. You were his safe place. His haven.

You never asked questions about what happened. You knew who he was and it was enough for you. You also knew Gotham’s media would soon enough talk about the last adventures of Batman. He was grateful you never interrogated him because he could forget about work when he was with you. 

His children, Alfred and even the Justice League noticed how his mood changed lately. Of course, he was still a grumpy bear but some of his usual anger and despair seemed to have died down. He was more relaxed and even more open to discussion. After all, when he was with you, and that you thought Bruce or Batman should have been better, you always let him know without sugarcoating it. He appreciated it even if it was quite a humbling down experience for him as well. More than once he hinted that he would love to have you working at Wayne Enterprises by his side, but you didn’t want to date someone who would also be your boss. Bruce didn’t answer back that if you were getting married one day, he could easily make you co-CEO.

After a few more weeks, Alfred told Bruce that maybe you could come over to the manor. Bruce hadn’t brought you at first because he knew you would have felt uneasy and judgemental there. And then, he wasn’t too sure he wanted you to meet his family. He had no idea how his children would react to you. 

And even if he loved them, he didn’t want anything to ruin your current relationship. Especially now it was getting obvious to everyone that you weren’t a one night stand, you weren’t just a girl Bruce fancied, you weren’t just some fun for a little while. It was obvious that Bruce Wayne was falling in love. Hard. 

And everyone was whispering about it behind his back, sometimes teasing even him right in front of him (but his deathly stares always made them shut up).

More importantly, everyone was curious about you. 

Of course the children easily found you and followed you around to discover who you were. They hated to admit it but you did seem like the perfect match for both Bruce and Batman. You were fearless, you were intelligent and kind. You were a true detective yourself.

They learnt about your past. They felt like you could understand them too. You knew poverty, you knew violence, you grew up with bad people surrounding you, and yet you decided to be a good person. You decided to stay and to fight for Gotham, even though you could have ran away. And they loved to read your merciless articles about Bruce and Wayne Enterprises. Of course, you calmed down once you started this relationship, but gosh they found some pretty good punchlines they loved to use against their mentor.

During the day, Bruce called you and offered to eat at the manor for once. You understood it meant that your relationship was getting even more serious than you thought, which worried you a little bit. It wasn’t your fault if you were a wild cat. You asked if he was going to introduce you to his family and he laughed.

“I didn’t have time to tell them how to behave around you, so not this time, love. Just you and me.”

“To behave around me?” you asked

“I’ve never presented anyone to them before. Not officially at least.” he explained

“But you want me to meet them?” you hummed

“They ask a lot of questions about you, and they love your articles, so I’ll guess at some point we’ll have to.” Bruce replied

“Sounds good to me… I just need to get ready for meeting all of them. You really need to stop adopting children, Bruce” you teased

“Can’t promise anything” Bruce admitted and you groaned

Unfortunately, the night you were supposed to eat and sleep at the manor was a very busy night for Batman. Alfred was kind enough to start chatting with you. He finally sat down next to you as you both enjoyed some tea while waiting for Bruce. You went along quite well and Alfred went to bed that night, very grateful for whoever sent you on his master Bruce’s path. You were some fresh air in the manor.

It was late in the night when Batman, Nightwing and Red Robin went back home.

Dick and Tim absolutely wanted to greet you and they sneaked into the dinning room as Bruce was quickly showering and taking care of his wounds. Tim was observing you with interest as Dick was being his charming self.

“So you’re the girl” Dick said

“People generally call me Y/N” you replied with a raised eyebrow and Tim chuckled

“Haven’t you read what she wrote about Bruce and Wayne Enterprises, Dick? Be careful, she might kill you with her words” he teased and you laughed

“Do you still stand by what you said despite the fact you are now dating Bruce?” Dick asked with a tilt of the head

“Oh yeah, Bruce is still a rich traumatised guy with a saviour complex, who adopts too many kids each year. The Brucie persona is complete bullshit and I still roll my eyes when I hear him use that voice” you nodded

“That voice?” Tim asked

“The “I’m the good son of Gotham so let me help you” voice” you replied with a roll of your eyes “Gosh, what an actor” you added and both the boys started laughing.

They instantly liked you.

“Why are you with him then?” Dick asked and you hummed in thought

“Despite everything, it seems that Bruce is actually… likeable and interesting”

“You seem disappointed?” Tim commented

“In myself? Yes, very much. In Bruce, well I’ll give him some time” you winked

The boys laughed again but they hoped Bruce wouldn’t actually disappoint you. You were such normalcy, fun and happiness in the man’s life. They were certain you could bring a lot of joy in the family too.

They knew you cared about him a lot more than you were saying when they saw how you got up and checked on Bruce when he entered the room.

“I’m sorry I’m late… Well I guess you were doing well without me” Bruce arched an eyebrow at the four of you; Dick, Tim and Alfred were smiling.

“Oh yes, I was just speaking ill of you, hon” you teased “All good?” you asked and he nodded

“Always when you’re around” he whispered to you before kissing you. 

It was the cue for everyone to leave the two of you alone. Bruce and you forgot about everyone else anyways.

--

PART 5

--

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Being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne: a journey - Nothing official, right? IV

It's a big series about an afab!reader who doesn't like Bruce Wayne and who still falls in love with him (he fells quicker and harder)

Reader's origin story // Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Warnings: no proof reading, wild cat!reader, mentions of sexual activity, soft!Bruce to you, you like to gently bully Bruce.

You knew that even if you had told Bruce that you wanted nothing serious, your relationship was actually shifting to something a lot more official.

Everyone was gossiping about the fact that the rich playboy of Gotham seemed to be only spending time with one girl lately. And you were pretty certain that indeed Bruce hadn’t had any kind of romantic or sexual relationship apart from you. You hadn’t either because no one really interested you. It didn’t mean you wanted to be “his” girlfriend.

You were still worried you would lose your credibility now everyone knew Bruce was seeing you. After all, the “son of Gotham” was always followed by paparazzi and you couldn’t hide your relationship forever.

At first, you heard whispers around you; you were just another girl to fall for Bruce. But you kept writing articles about the elite of Gotham and you kept pointing things out. When something was about WE, you simply informed Bruce you were going to publish an article about his enterprises. You kept doing your work. And the man never stopped you from doing so, because he loved that about you. You were ruthless to him, and he was finding it way too attractive for his own good.

The whispers quietened down.

Bruce took advantage of the situation by freely gifting you absolutely gorgeous dresses and jewels, without having to worry about “bribing” you anymore. He was inviting you to his favourite restaurants as well. 

But he was also eager to follow you to little cinemas and places you enjoyed and in which you were more at ease. You always ended up in a hotel room or at your place. You didn’t necessarily have sex, even if he often ended on his knees and in between your legs. At least until Batman was called for duty by Gordon or his kids (he made sure to finish you off before running away). 

After his missions, he almost always came back to you, and you always took care of his wounds and bruises. You were his safe place. His haven.

You never asked questions about what happened. You knew who he was and it was enough for you. You also knew Gotham’s media would soon enough talk about the last adventures of Batman. He was grateful you never interrogated him because he could forget about work when he was with you. 

His children, Alfred and even the Justice League noticed how his mood changed lately. Of course, he was still a grumpy bear but some of his usual anger and despair seemed to have died down. He was more relaxed and even more open to discussion. After all, when he was with you, and that you thought Bruce or Batman should have been better, you always let him know without sugarcoating it. He appreciated it even if it was quite a humbling down experience for him as well. More than once he hinted that he would love to have you working at Wayne Enterprises by his side, but you didn’t want to date someone who would also be your boss. Bruce didn’t answer back that if you were getting married one day, he could easily make you co-CEO.

After a few more weeks, Alfred told Bruce that maybe you could come over to the manor. Bruce hadn’t brought you at first because he knew you would have felt uneasy and judgemental there. And then, he wasn’t too sure he wanted you to meet his family. He had no idea how his children would react to you. 

And even if he loved them, he didn’t want anything to ruin your current relationship. Especially now it was getting obvious to everyone that you weren’t a one night stand, you weren’t just a girl Bruce fancied, you weren’t just some fun for a little while. It was obvious that Bruce Wayne was falling in love. Hard. 

And everyone was whispering about it behind his back, sometimes teasing even him right in front of him (but his deathly stares always made them shut up).

More importantly, everyone was curious about you. 

Of course the children easily found you and followed you around to discover who you were. They hated to admit it but you did seem like the perfect match for both Bruce and Batman. You were fearless, you were intelligent and kind. You were a true detective yourself.

They learnt about your past. They felt like you could understand them too. You knew poverty, you knew violence, you grew up with bad people surrounding you, and yet you decided to be a good person. You decided to stay and to fight for Gotham, even though you could have ran away. And they loved to read your merciless articles about Bruce and Wayne Enterprises. Of course, you calmed down once you started this relationship, but gosh they found some pretty good punchlines they loved to use against their mentor.

During the day, Bruce called you and offered to eat at the manor for once. You understood it meant that your relationship was getting even more serious than you thought, which worried you a little bit. It wasn’t your fault if you were a wild cat. You asked if he was going to introduce you to his family and he laughed.

“I didn’t have time to tell them how to behave around you, so not this time, love. Just you and me.”

“To behave around me?” you asked

“I’ve never presented anyone to them before. Not officially at least.” he explained

“But you want me to meet them?” you hummed

“They ask a lot of questions about you, and they love your articles, so I’ll guess at some point we’ll have to.” Bruce replied

“Sounds good to me… I just need to get ready for meeting all of them. You really need to stop adopting children, Bruce” you teased

“Can’t promise anything” Bruce admitted and you groaned

Unfortunately, the night you were supposed to eat and sleep at the manor was a very busy night for Batman. Alfred was kind enough to start chatting with you. He finally sat down next to you as you both enjoyed some tea while waiting for Bruce. You went along quite well and Alfred went to bed that night, very grateful for whoever sent you on his master Bruce’s path. You were some fresh air in the manor.

It was late in the night when Batman, Nightwing and Red Robin went back home.

Dick and Tim absolutely wanted to greet you and they sneaked into the dinning room as Bruce was quickly showering and taking care of his wounds. Tim was observing you with interest as Dick was being his charming self.

“So you’re the girl” Dick said

“People generally call me Y/N” you replied with a raised eyebrow and Tim chuckled

“Haven’t you read what she wrote about Bruce and Wayne Enterprises, Dick? Be careful, she might kill you with her words” he teased and you laughed

“Do you still stand by what you said despite the fact you are now dating Bruce?” Dick asked with a tilt of the head

“Oh yeah, Bruce is still a rich traumatised guy with a saviour complex, who adopts too many kids each year. The Brucie persona is complete bullshit and I still roll my eyes when I hear him use that voice” you nodded

“That voice?” Tim asked

“The “I’m the good son of Gotham so let me help you” voice” you replied with a roll of your eyes “Gosh, what an actor” you added and both the boys started laughing.

They instantly liked you.

“Why are you with him then?” Dick asked and you hummed in thought

“Despite everything, it seems that Bruce is actually… likeable and interesting”

“You seem disappointed?” Tim commented

“In myself? Yes, very much. In Bruce, well I’ll give him some time” you winked

The boys laughed again but they hoped Bruce wouldn’t actually disappoint you. You were such normalcy, fun and happiness in the man’s life. They were certain you could bring a lot of joy in the family too.

They knew you cared about him a lot more than you were saying when they saw how you got up and checked on Bruce when he entered the room.

“I’m sorry I’m late… Well I guess you were doing well without me” Bruce arched an eyebrow at the four of you; Dick, Tim and Alfred were smiling.

“Oh yes, I was just speaking ill of you, hon” you teased “All good?” you asked and he nodded

“Always when you’re around” he whispered to you before kissing you. 

It was the cue for everyone to leave the two of you alone. Bruce and you forgot about everyone else anyways.

--

PART 5

--

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Being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne: a journey - Hi, Jason (Part V)

It's a big series about an afab!reader who doesn't like Bruce Wayne and who still falls in love with him (he fells quicker and harder)

Reader's origin story // Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Warnings: no proof reading, Jason's relationships with Bruce and Dick are discussed, mentions of Joker, violence, death

You met with Dick again in a bookstore. At first, you thought that it was quite a strange coincidence, until you saw him trying to talk with a very big boy who didn’t seem very interested in talking with him. Dick appeared upset ; the other boy was just shrugging and trying to focus on the books in front of him. 

You hesitated to go to them; you didn’t want to intrude. You weren’t too sure to recognise the other boy, but his face somehow seemed familiar. What decided you was where they were standing: the classic literature aisle of the store. Which was what you were looking for when you entered the shop.

You thought you could just say hi and then leave them alone if your presence was annoying them. You carefully walked to them.

“Hey Dick” you greeted the boy who turned around and instantly smiled at you. 

You weren’t too sure if it was a real smile yet, so you didn’t come closer to him, but his answer showed he was actually glad to see you.

“Hey, Y/N! What are you doing here?” he asked

“Buying books I guess.” you teased “I was looking for Mansfield Park or Emma, now I finished Pride and Prejudice” you said. 

The big boy to whom Dick was trying to talk to, quickly turned around and looked you up and down. He watched you with curiosity sparkling in his green eyes. Dick took his chance before his brother could go back to the cover of the book he was holding.

“Y/N, this is Jason, my little brother. You seem to share the same taste in books” Dick introduced the two of them

“Hi, Jason” you smiled as you cautiously observed him, remembering who he was now you knew his name.

You remembered what you read about Bruce and his son “who came back from the dead” and all the headlines about “Bruce arguing with his adoptive son”. It had quite broken your heart at the time.

“You’re Bruce’s new girlfriend?” he asked you quite bluntly

“I hate titles and I hate to feel like a possession. But yes, I'm currently seeing Bruce.” you replied and Jason nodded “I’m surprised you heard about me.” you added. 

“Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It's just that things are rocky with Bruce.” Jason said and you reassuringly smiled at him “And yeah, everyone is talking about you in the “family”. Dick and Tim said you were nice.” Jason explained his first coldness to you

“I understand; Bruce isn’t always easy and you don’t know me” you nodded

“Ah yeah?” Jason arched an eyebrow at you. 

He had expected you to take Bruce’s defence, like everyone else.

“Let’s say that I like challenges.” you smiled “And I’m not Bruce’s lawyer” you joked

“You should thank god for that, or you would have a lot of work” Jason grinned and you could tell Dick was quite happy about the current interaction.

“Can I buy the two of you a drink or something? Or a meal” you asked. “There is this sweet little café right outside the bookstore” you offered

You actually wanted to know more of them. Jason was curious about you so he agreed. Dick wanted to come as well, but he quickly received a call from Büdhaven. He reluctantly left the two of you together. Dick would have enjoyed some time with his brother too, but maybe you would help. If you helped with Bruce, he was certain you could do pretty much anything. At the same time, he really hoped Jason wasn’t going to scare you away from the family as a way to avenge himself.

But you knew better; you had met Red Hood before and you liked him.

You settled in the café. You started to talk about literature at first. You were both passionate so it was a good conversation starter. You gave each other some recommendations and debated on characters you liked or disliked. Your point of views on characters were often based on your experiences, so it naturally led to a conversion about each other’s lives. And of course, you arrived at the subject of Bruce Wayne.

“I’ll tell him to apologise to you. He shouldn’t have acted that way even if I do agree with the no killing rule” you said “You’re both right in a way, but… Bruce should have talked to you, he should have let you know what was going on with the Joker and why he couldn’t kill him. Why you couldn't kill him either. He should have been there to appease your anger, not the opposite” you said

“You’ll quickly learn that he doesn’t talk much. Especially not about his feelings. If it gets too personal, he’ll push the subject away. If it can hurt him, he’ll run away. He's a bad dad for that. And he might be a bad partner to you as well” Jason told you

“I’m sorry about what happened to you. It must have been so difficult to wake up without your family. And in a body you didn’t know. You did good, despite the murders and everything. Actually, Red Hood has always been my favourite vigilante” you admitted without commenting on the last part of Jason’s words. You wanted to believe that Bruce would make an effort for you.

Jason chuckled as you mentioned his vigilante persona.

“It’s true you never wrote anything bad about me. I thought you were scared of me… Until I realised we actually met” he teased, his eyes litting up

“Oh you remember? Yes I used to live in your territory, and now I’m nearby. I stand by what I said that night: I know what you did for people like us, that’s why I thanked you. Bruce can’t understand what it is to be poor and lost and to have to do bad things to survive. But I’ll make sure he does better with you.” you said “Just promise me to speak with Dick. Your brother looks like he is very eager to have you back in his life. He seemed very sorry you weren’t speaking with him earlier” you added

“I will try to talk with him again then. Thank you for… Thank you. I think I really needed to have this conversation with somebody but no one wanted to have it and I couldn’t really go to a therapist. You’re easy to talk with” he whispered, a little bit awkward

“I know” you smiled “I’m glad if I’ve been able to help”

“Is it your good action of the day to go to Heaven?” Jason joked 

“Absolutely” you giggled

A moment of comfortable silence engulfed the two of you. You both enjoyed your tea before you resumed talking:

“Hey you know what, this is my phone number. You can call or text me whenever you need it.” you offered

“Why?” Jason plunged his eyes onto yours. 

He was definitely not used of adults being there for him, especially without a catch

“Well I’m afraid I’m a family woman and my own family sucks very much. And since Bruce wants me around, I’d prefer it if I can get along with his people. I’d like to take care of you all.” you admitted, feeling a little shy to say all of this out loud.

Jason was also very easy to talk to.

“I don’t think I’m one of his people. Not anymore at least.” Jason sadly smiled at you

“You can be one of mine then. Take it as a repayment for allowing me to go back home every night without having to worry about anyone slicing my throat off” you insisted

“All the pleasure’s mine” he chuckled before saving your number onto his phone “You know, everyone says Bruce is nicer since you’re around. I have to admit this is true. Maybe happiness can truly change a man” 

“Even a bat?” you joked because Jason’s words were touching you a little more than you wanted to show it

“Even a bat” Jason nodded

A few days later, you received a message from Jason, clearly tasting the water with you.

J: Hey wanna go have some lunch together today or tomorrow?

You: Today sounds good :)

After this, you regularly had lunch together and Jason clearly started to see you as a motherly figure, and you saw him as a son. He crashed at your place more than once after patrol, so you could eat together. Bruce never commented on your relationship with Jason, but he heard you when you asked him to apologise.

Which he did.

Jason accepted it and tried his best with Dick and his other siblings. He was still feeling awkward around everyone, but he was slowly spending more time at the manor, even when Bruce was there. 

When Bruce asked if you wanted to meet all of his children anytime soon, you agreed but you instantly sent a message to Jason to make sure he would be there as well. He eagerly agreed because he couldn’t wait for you to be officially a member of the Batfamily.

--

PART 6

--

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Being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne: a journey - Your new family (Part VI)

It's a big series about an afab!reader who doesn't like Bruce Wayne and who still falls in love with him (he fells quicker and harder)

Reader's origin story // Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

Warnings: no proof reading, mentions of stress, not a lot of plot here but little snippets of moments with all the kids

You were a little bit stressed out to meet all of Bruce’s children but you also felt like it was going to be alright. Jason was there, always by your side. Dick and Tim liked you and they had said only good things about you to the others. Especially Dick, because he was well aware that Jason wouldn’t agree to spend time with him again without you. The fact Bruce was much nicer since you were together was also working in your favour. Alfred was approving of you too and he had personally asked all of the children to treat you well.

The children were also aware that Bruce would be very unhappy and disappointed with them all if things didn’t go well. It was obviously very important for him.

At first, everyone was a little bit silent and awkward. It was the first time a civilian was introduced to the whole family. And technically, they already knew a lot about you without knowing you, so they weren’t too sure how to act around you. They didn’t want to scare you off by showing they made research about you… and stalked you.

After a little while, you gently teased them all, saying that for vigilantes they were quite shy. It quickly put them at ease.

Things went actually a lot better than you thought and you could tell no one really believed you would that easily get along with the family. You felt Bruce relaxing through the dinner, his hand on your thigh under the table. His warmth helped you feel safer around everyone as well.

Soon enough they all were chatting around and asking you questions. It was a true interrogation but you didn’t mind. For once, you were the one answering questions and not the other way around. It was fun.

Damian was the only silent one. He wasn’t too sure how to deal with you. He didn’t need you. He wasn’t used to seeing his father around someone. He wasn’t too certain how to react when his father kissed the back of your hand with such love shining in his eyes. 

You noticed his uncertainty but you weren’t too worried about it. You knew you were fitting just right in there. You had never felt like that before, or just with your grandma. It was a nice change in your life. And you were really eager to start spending some time with all of them, like you were doing with Jason already.

You went to concerts with Dick. He wanted to go to those classic piano concerts but no one was eager to follow him. He had asked you, half certain you would politely decline his offer. But on the contrary, you had been more than happy to agree to come with him. Your eagerness warmed his heart. It had been a long time he hadn’t had a motherly figure in his life, and he knew you were fitting perfectly. Since then, whenever one of you wanted to go to a concert - no matter what kind - you had to go together. It was your thing. None of you went to so many concerts before, but it was a pretext to spend time together. You talked a lot before the concerts too and Dick could only agree with Jason: you were easy to talk to.

You played video games with Tim. You were waiting for Bruce to come back from patrol one night and you were bored out of your mind. You found Tim playing in the living room. At first, you just asked him if you could hang around. He agreed without thinking much of it, before offering you to play with him. He needed another player and no one else was around at that time. It appeared you were a gamer and you enjoyed fighting against one other. But you enjoyed working together on co-op games even more. You spent a lot of evenings with Tim on the couch, screaming together when you were losing or winning. Everyone knew better than to annoy the two of you when you were gaming.

You watched movies with Stephanie. Stephanie was clearly not too certain how to be around you. Things weren’t always easy with Bruce and after the way her parents betrayed her, she felt like she couldn’t trust adults any longer. But Jason loved you so much that she thought she could give you a chance. Watching movies allowed the two of you to bond, without having to interact too much at first. Then you started to talk a lot about what you just saw, and then about everything else. Watching movies snuggled up against you started to become Stephanie’s comfort zone and you were more than happy to give her that. Even though you were a tease, you never said anything when she fell asleep on you.

You took dancing lessons with Cassandra. It was clear the girl was a classic dancer; she was really amazing to watch. You loved to dance too, even though you never really took any kind of lessons, so you thought it would be a nice activity to do together. Cass instantly agreed. It allowed her to observe you and your body language. She had more fun than she thought, and she offered to keep going dancing together. You improved a lot thanks to her help and she liked to discover other kinds of dances thanks to you. You also came to watch her repetitions and her representations. She started to always look for you in the spectators, happy to be taken care of that way. 

You did puzzles with Duke. You started to spend a lot more time at the manor, even when Bruce wasn’t around. You were currently doing a mind game on the living room table as Duke went by. You started to chat around and you saw Duke was quite eager to play with you, so you invited him to settle by your side. Once you were done, he looked for a puzzle he hadn’t finished yet so you could do it together. When the weather was pretty bad in Gotham, you quite liked to get some hot cacao and to do puzzles with Duke. Because you both were pretty good with puzzles, you had to always find more challenging ones. Looking for them was also part of the fun.

For Damian, things were a little bit more difficult, as he made it clear, he had no interest in spending time with you. It hurt you a little more than you wanted to admit but didn’t say anything at first. You eventually went to an animal care centre open to the public with Damian and Bruce. Bruce offered for you to come with the two of them so his son could get used to your presence. He had noticed he was the only one who was avoiding you. Damian stayed cold to you for a long time, eyeing his father holding your hand with a frown until you let go of Bruce’s hand to come closer to the lions. You really loved the animals and Damian thought you couldn’t be that bad then. That evening, Alfred the cat fell asleep on your lap, so Damian started to be more polite to you. It was the first step. You started to bond over taking care of his pets.

You also met Barbara, Kate, Luke and Lucius. 

Kate and you instantly became friends because you were seeing things quite similarly. You also loved to tease everyone together. You had a real complicity between the two of you, and you often hang out together just for the sake of being together. And annoying everyone.

Barbara needed some time to trust you but she could tell you were a good addition to the family. She slowly warmed up to you. You didn’t take it personally and you showed a lot of patience. You were happy to be part of this group of amazing people, and Barbara couldn’t deny how kind you were to all of them.

Luke trusted Duke’s approval of you. You talked a lot around a drink in a bar in Gotham after Dick invited everyone for his birthday. You asked him questions about the army and the way veterans were taken care of. You promised him to do an article about it, which touched Luke a lot.

Lucius and you enjoyed talking together, as ones of the only civilians of the family, with Alfred. For Lucius, it was quite refreshing to be able to discuss with someone who was also shaking their head at the Batfamily’s antics. Lucius quickly saw how much of a good asset you could be for Wayne Enterprises as well and he hoped that at some point you would agree to help Bruce with it.

As months went by, you started to all know each other a lot more. And to start to love one another quite fiercely. You were their Batmon. You got confirmation of it when the children playfully and yet tenderly brought you a bracelet with the bat logo on it. You swore to always wear it.

--

PART 7

--

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Being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne: a journey - The break up (Part VII)

It's a big series about an afab!reader who doesn't like Bruce Wayne and who still falls in love with him (he fells quicker and harder)

Reader's origin story // Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6

Warnings: no proof reading, ANGST, mentions of reader being threatened, mentions of kidnapping attempts, insecure reader, Bruce can't talk about his feelings for his own sake, reader doesn't pick the best of time to talk about their relationship, heartbroken!reader, heartbroken!Bruce

It had been officially 2 years you had been dating Bruce - almost 3 if you weren’t that stubborn to admit you were his girlfriend back then.

You were a member of the family, you were the matriarch, you had authority over everyone, and more importantly you were happy. You have everything you ever wanted: you had a big family who cherished you (and always kept an eye on you) and you were doing well in your career.

Everything was well, until things went very down.

It was as if Hell broke loose in Gotham. So many villains were out, doing their best to bring chaos and destruction in every part of the city. Everyone seemed so busy and Bruce had to cancel several of the moments you were supposed to have together. You also started to receive a lot of death threats because of what you were writing and because of whom you were dating. You almost got kidnapped twice in one week; thankfully one of the kids was always watching over you, when it wasn’t Bruce himself.

Even if you were grateful for that, you were feeling a little bit shameful that you couldn’t take care of yourself. You were their mother, it was your job to look after them, not the other way around. It reminded you how much you were “just” a civilian. You learnt how to use a gun in your childhood, so you could defend yourself, but you were still threatened quite a lot. Gotham had always been a hostile environment, but it was getting very bad lately.

Everyone was on edge; even at the galas. On top of that, it meant Bruce didn’t have the time to reassure and to comfort you like you wished he would. You needed him.

And you hated to see him and the children coming back home covered in injuries. You took care of them, when they let you do. You felt a little bit useless though, and you couldn’t even remember the last time you slept in Bruce’s embrace.

Not only did you need him to reassure that Gotham was going to do better soon, you really needed him to reassure you that he still loved you. You just needed him to let you know that you were still important to him. 

When you tried to ask him where your relationship was, he didn’t seem to be able to answer you. You took it for a proof that things weren’t going as well as you thought.

You were wrong.

Bruce was just very taken aback by your words. You knew his identity, you were almost fully living in the manor - actually if it was only his decision, you would have given your flat back already -, you were beloved by his kids and Alfred… You were each other’s longest relationship as well. Bruce was currently more busy with searching for the perfect way to convince you to marry him and to propose to you, than anything else. 

And that was why he hadn’t been able to reassure you; you weren’t acting like he thought you would. He didn’t think you were insecure about his love; wasn’t he showering you with gifts for all the dates he missed? Wasn’t he doing his best to pleasure you in between rough patrols? Wasn’t he making sure you were always safe?

It was true that work was currently killing him, between Wayne Enterprises and his Batman life, but you knew how things would be when you discovered everything and still decided to stay, right?

That night, you had decided to try again. You needed to talk with him, you needed to understand if your relationship was strong enough to survive Hell. You were lucky enough Bruce had found some time for having some dinner with you. But the man wasn’t ready for the discussion and wasn’t emotionally available. You still tried, because each day was getting harsher for you. 

For Bruce, it meant that for the first time in a long time, he had no control over your discussion and the more it was going on, and the more he could see how upset you were getting and how wrong he was answering. The man hadn’t slept in two nights and he had no idea that he simply needed to tell you he loved you to make things a little bit better between the two of you.

“And you know, Luke told me that as a civilian I should be more careful. And it’s not the first time I thought about it. I know I’m safe here, but maybe you shouldn’t be with a civilian… Bruce Wayne is often attacked, but what about the villains who might know your secret identity? I’m an easy target” you finally said

“I never said it wasn’t dangerous for you and this is why we always have an eye on you” Bruce replied, not too certain where it was leading. 

He wasn’t showing it but he was getting really stressed out by this discussion. He would have enjoyed eating his food quietly, but clearly you had a lot to get off your chest.

“So would it be better for you and I if we split up?” you finally said it and Bruce choked onto his drink

“What?”

“You already have so much work, all of you, and if you need to watch over me, it’s just some more stuff I’m adding to your very busy life. I was just wondering… Things seem a little bit difficult lately, and I don’t want to be a burden to you. Maybe it would be easier if you were with someone like Selina or Talia. Or just not with me at least.” you said. 

You loved Selina, you were actually good friends. You didn’t know Talia, just what Dick, Jason and Damian agreed to tell you, but both of the women seemed to be more fitting in Bruce’s way of life.

“I don’t understand what you want from me, Y/N” Bruce answered in a little more stern way than he would have liked it

“I just want to know if we’re still working, that’s all” you replied, a little bit defeated. 

You had forgotten the delicious food Alfred had cooked for the two of you since a long time ago. You couldn’t even drink water, your throat was getting too tight with sadness.

“If it’s not working for you anymore, I can’t force you to stay” Bruce simply replied, a little bit absentmindedly as he saw the batman logo flashing through the dark sky of Gotham. 

He absolutely didn’t mean it like that, he didn’t even realise what he said. He was needed somewhere else and he knew it was going to be another long and painful night. You noticed his attention was elsewhere and you tried not to cry when you saw what he was looking at.

“So we’re over?” you asked again, begging for some reassurance

“I need to go,” Bruce said without answering you. 

He hadn’t even heard you in reality. And he also needed to be out of this conversation. He couldn’t hear all of this tonight, not when his mind was already full of darkness and crime fighting. He didn’t want to realise that your relationship was getting damaged because he needed you more than anything. Especially now. But it wasn’t something he was able to tell you.

“Alright then. Take care, Bruce” you said as you got up.

As he was out, fighting goons and investigating crime scenes, he was going back through your whole conversation. He knew he fucked up, but he didn’t know how badly yet.

He didn’t realise it until he got a few hours of sleep, one shower and some food. 

He noticed how silent Alfred was the next morning. It wasn’t a peaceful silence. Bruce knew when Alfred was upset at him, they didn’t need words to understand each other.

“What’s wrong, Alfred?” he finally asked him

“I thought you would have tried a little bit harder to keep Lady Y/N one of us, master Bruce, that’s all” 

“What do you mean?” Bruce frowned

“She let me know before leaving last night that you two broke up” Alfred explained

Bruce didn’t react for a few moments. 

Did he lose his girl last night? Didn’t he realise how bad things were getting? When you asked if you should break up, you meant right away? It wasn’t a conversation, you were asking if he still wanted you in his life. And he didn’t answer, so you took it as a no. He had been so stupid.

He stopped eating his breakfast as he felt something break inside of him. Life couldn’t get that bad again. He couldn’t lose his haven, especially not now.

“Yes, I should have tried a little bit harder, indeed”

--

PART 8

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

@silverklaus

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch

@tatsuri-zomushiki

Taglist for Bruce Wayne <3

@alishii

Taglist for this series <3

@Esposadomd

@moraxussy

@resident-cryptid

@legendarypiratecheesecake

@randomnamedmira

@elleclairez

@mindless-rock

This is a masterpiece

Sugar on the Rim I

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

warnings: implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), mentions of sex, smut in next part

You twist the stem of the wine glass around between your fingers slowly. Your chin rests atop your knees as you stare vacantly at the tiny puddle left of the drink. You could go refill it, but then you’d have to go back out to the main room and man…you really do not want to do that. So you’ll sit here, swiping your tongue across the bumps of the roof of your mouth as if it's a fascinating new discovery.

The creak of hinges has you shooting upright, your back thumping against the stair step behind you. You’re not immediately sure how to act as though it’s normal that you’re sitting in the stairwell outside the gala rather than in it, fraternizing with old and new money alike. You freeze, trying to relax your posture so it doesn’t look like you’re alarmed at the sight of another person, but not so relaxed that you look as bored as you are.

Your neutrality stutters when you glance up to find the host of the fundraiser. The billionaire host of the fundraiser. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire host of the fundraiser. Your posture straightens right back up and your mouth snaps shut as you make eye contact.

Should you stand up? 

No, he’s rich, not royalty. 

You are in his house though—

He looks you over contemplatively, “I don’t know you,” It’s not accusatory, rather he says it like it’s something interesting.

You perk up at that, immediately formulating reasons to justify your presence. “Oh, uh, no—” the words nearly spill out of your mouth all at once. You clear your throat, “I’m just a plus one for my boss—”

“Who’s your boss?” he asks, relaxed. 

“Arthur Mullins.”

He looks to the side, squinting, “Mullins…he’s the executive at Williamson Industries, yes?”

You nod and he returns the gesture, slower, like he’s processing through something. “I’m Bruce,” he says warmly after a moment, holding his hand out to you.

You nod before you can even think to get any words to come out, “I—yeah, I know,” you accept his hand, shaking it as you tell him your name.

There’s a slight glint in his eye when he hears your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. “A pretty name.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Just your name. But rather than fill him in on that fascinating tidbit, you let the sentence die off.

He smiles kindly anyway, “What are you doing in here? Party’s out there, or so they tell me.”

“I…I’m hiding in here,” you admit sheepishly.

He leans in towards you slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret—so am I,” he smiles at you like it’s easy.

Your grin matches his, “It’s your party,”

“That’s why I need to hide.” He tilts his head, “Doesn’t give you much of an excuse though, does it?”

“I don’t know anybody here.”

He puckers his bottom lip contemplatively, “Your boss.”

You shake your head, “I’m just his assistant. I’m pretty sure he just brought me as a precaution in case he needed a designated driver.”

He laughs at that, “Based on the way I’ve seen Mullins’ attempts to operate, his assistant would have to be a hell of a lot more important than just a designated driver.”

Well, he’s certainly right about that. Your boss doesn’t exactly “have it together” per se. He’s an unorganized man with little to justify his importance in Gotham, so he tends to insist on taking on more responsibility than he has any business having. Not to mention, he’s a bit of a try-hard and you’re constantly left to sweep up the pieces of his reputation that he shattered himself. Not to say he’s necessarily unprofessional, he just will do anything and everything to prove he belongs in any given space. It’s honestly a bit exhausting to watch. It’s more exhausting to try and convince him that the exchange went well afterwards.

You nod slowly, eyes on his shoes. “Mr. Mullins has…a unique approach to business. It does usually leave me fairly busy, I’ll give you that.” You take a quick deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “But that means I occasionally get to go to fancy parties where I don’t know anyone, so..”

“Well then it sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” he ribs, “Or don’t you agree?”

You smile coyly, “I would never be so bold.”

“I don’t mind boldness. For example, the reason I came in here is because he spotted me.”

You laugh at that, “Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Mr. Wayne,” you suppress your smile as you pause, choosing your words carefully. “I think he’s just networking.” He doesn’t have the money to give.

He nods surely, “He’s definitely just networking.” He really doesn’t have the money to give. You allow just the faintest wisp of a smile to adorn your face as you look down again.

You check the time and realize that you’ve been hiding away for too long and that if he hasn’t already, your boss will notice soon. You sigh quietly to yourself, “I should..”

He turns his head to the closed door where the chatter can be heard from beyond, sighing in defeat as he shakes his head looking back at you. “So should I.”

You feel a bit insecure as you stand, the gown you’re wearing is pretty but it is very much affordable and you’re sure someone as wealthy as Bruce Wayne would know the difference.

If he does notice he makes no deal of it, motioning you forward gallantly to walk ahead of him.

He follows after you, hands behind his back. “Would it be rude of me to ask you to distract him while I run for the bar?”

It’s busy, even for a Sunday afternoon, and you have to sidestep past someone nearly every step you take. You stick next to the windows of the line of boutiques down the road, trying to balance window shopping and not bumping into other pedestrians.

You're in a nicer district of Gotham, truthfully an area you don't quite belong in. So far you’ve only managed to find a couple shops that weren’t several ranges above your budget. 

A call of your name has you blinking rapidly and turning around as if you’re lost. It doesn’t take long for you to pick the six foot two billionaire out of the crowd and it’s only half a second longer before you realize he’s walking towards you. A few people collide shoulders with you as they move past thoughtlessly, no regard for the personal space of the idiot that stopped in the flow of traffic.

You let him approach a couple feet closer before you ask him, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?” The presence of his figure in front of you allows for a break from being bumped into, as he seemingly makes for a far more easily seen and intentionally avoided target.

He sways a bit, “Bruce. I’m not sure yet,” he looks down to the couple of bags you’re holding, extending his hand out. “May I?”

It takes you just a moment to move past your surprise at the request, allowing him to hold them for you. “Are you in a rush?”

You shake your head quicker than you meant to, “No, I—not at all,” he gestures his head forward, allowing you to walk before him.

You traipse ahead in silence for a moment before deciding against biting your tongue, “What exactly is it you’re not sure about?”

He raises his voice a bit so you can hear him over the crowd, “Whether or not you’ve got plans on the 19th.”

You look back at him, “What’s on the 19th?”

He stops with you as you admire a set of jewelry inside a window display, “We’re hosting a gala for something or something else, hopefully less boring than the fundraiser.”

You blink, “You’re inviting me?” He nods. “Why?”

“I could use someone who wants to be there even less than I do.”

He said it so casually it takes you a second to even register his meaning. You blink, face contorting defensively, “That’s not—” you can barely make out the smile on his face as he continues on walking.

You shake your composure back together and trail after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t think Mr. Mullins would be very happy to hear that I’m attending a business gala without him.”

He shakes his head as he scans over the crowd, “He can’t fire you for that.”

“He’ll try.” He would. A petty little man, he is. 

He scans across the rows of clothes leisurely. “Well, then he can speak to me about it. Besides, it wouldn’t be for business.” And then he just lets that sentence linger.

It takes you a moment to recover from those words and begin to start processing the world around you again. After a few more feet down the sidewalk he pulls you gently to the side by your lower arm, out of the rush of traffic, and looks at you dead on, “What do you think?”

You try not to waver under the weight of the eye contact, “I don’t…uh, I don’t really have…” you look down, hoping to get the message across without actually having to say the words.

He glances into the store window next to you and raises his eyebrows, “Well then I’d say we’re in the right place.”

You can’t manage to tell him that this store is definitely far too expensive for you, walking through the door as he opens it for you, albeit apprehensively.

Well. Up close window shopping is more fun anyways. 

The spotless white of the floors and walls has you intimidated, and just as much so by less by the no doubt designer clothes lining the walls. The saleswomen all look pretty highbrow themselves, hair up in tight buns and uniforms chic.

You only break from gawking at the store to look behind you at Bruce. You note the way his eyes roam around blindly, looking for something and clearly having no means to narrow down where it might be. You take one more glance around, immediately finding the women's section with no such difficulty. 

“This way.” You say, nodding your head over to the left. He recovers nicely and lets you lead the way towards the section of dresses. You peer back at him, “You don’t seem like someone that does much of his own shopping.”

Thankfully, he laughs at that. “Well, special occasions.”

You keep your gaze ahead this time, asking as casually as you can, “Is this a special occasion?”

He hums in consideration, “I’d say so.”

You stop upon approaching the dress section, taking in the immediately stunning display of options. 

“What are you doing up here anyways?” you ask, hand brushing across a particularly plush dress.

“Ah, I was headed to a meeting.”

“Oh,” you frown, looking at him. “Don’t you need to go?”

He shakes his head with a puckered lower lip, “No.”

A few seemingly heiresses roam down the aisle mindlessly, not caring much that you’re in their path. 

Bruce sees them before you do, knowing well that they were not going to excuse themselves. “Sweetheart,” he nudges you gently to the side, closer to him as the group passes. His hand remained open-palmed and flat as he guided you to the side, seemingly very careful not to touch you with uninvited boldness. Though you’re quite shaken by the chivalry of the gesture, a brazen touch wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.

As your arm brushes against a rack of clothing your gaze follows, met with something rather appealing.

Bruce is quick to notice you admiring the sleek black dress that looks like something you’d see a model wearing on a runway. “You like that one?”

“It’s nice, yeah,” you murmur, not really thinking. You flip the price tag over and your face drops. “It’s $800.”

He nods thoughtfully, “We can find a nicer one,” he says, though it’s clear he knows exactly what your problem with the price tag was.

“I can’t—” you restart, “I would never have a reason to wear something this nice again.”

He shakes his head coolly, “That’s alright.”

Your shoulders drop and your head tilts seriously, “It’s not, though.”

“You like it?” He looks you in the eyes, his own searching for a truthful answer.

“I mean, of course, but it—”

He nods affirmatively, “Then we’ll get it. Problem solved.” He turns his back to the rack, casually observing the rest of the store goers. “Pick your size.”

Apparently not one to argue, you thumb through the row until you find one that should fit. 

You sigh, realizing that you’re running out of time to mention that you don’t have $800 to spend on a dress. “I can’t—”

“You don’t need to,” he says simply as he takes the dress off the rack and drapes it across his arm, making his way towards the salescounter.

You try to stop your mouth from hanging open as you follow, “It really is okay, I don’t need—”

His grin cuts you off, just in time for you to hear him mutter, “Sweet girl..” to himself. You stop right in your tracks, feeling very thankful that he’s not looking at you right now because you’re certain the look on your face would give you away.

He still doesn’t face you as he calls out, “Come on,” as he continues on.

Obviously you’re not stupid. You know what type of intentions a billionaire playboy must have with a younger girl that he doesn’t even really know. However, if said billionaire is offering to buy you a pretty dress…no, you’re not sleeping with him because he bought you a dress—of course not—and you’ve made absolutely no promises to do so, so what’s the harm in letting him? Really?

And yeah, maybe it’s a plus that he’s not bad looking, but how is that your fault?

You stand a bit awkwardly next to him as he puts his card in the machine, not even glancing at the outrageous number, and declines the offer for the receipt.

As you exit the store together and stand at the doors as he hands your original two bags back to you along with the new shiny black one that on its own looks like something people would pay for.

“You will be there?” he asks, eyes more hopeful than you were prepared for. 

You nod, gesturing the bag up, “Well you just bought me the dress.”

He shrugs that off, “I would’ve bought you the dress anyways.”

You linger in the midst of the ado wearing a dress that you feel far too overshadowed by, fidgeting with the half empty wine glass in your hand. Unfortunately, this time around you were invited by the host of the event and it would be extra rude to run away and hide. That doesn’t stop you from considering it, though.

A hand sliding across your lower back has you momentarily startled, and for reasons you couldn’t quite verbalize, you’d naturally assumed it was Bruce. The disappointment rings strong when you turn around to be met with the sight of an even older man, who looks considerably wine drunk. 

“Hello there, Miss.,” The words themselves are polite but the salacious smile on his face and the way his eyes have no trouble roaming your body gives you a solid idea of what this conversation is going to entail.

“Hello,” you fake a polite, tight smile and shift your attention to the rest of the room. 

This does nothing to deter him, as he takes a sizable step back into your line of sight. “Having a nice time?” 

The man is clearly from money, if his attire didn’t give it away his attitude sure did. There’s an heir of entitlement around him, like he’s inherently deservant of your attention—a quality you were notably surprised to not have found in Bruce. 

You give him your faux-smile again, this time tighter but half a second longer for the sake of politeness. A rookie mistake.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, gesturing to the bar.

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say, gesturing your wine glass up.

A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face, but to his credit, he does a better job recovering from it than you would have expected. Though, that’s not really saying much. “Well, pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone here,”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Both of your heads snap to the side, finding a much more welcome surprise than you’d previously received. 

Your counterpart's posture straightens immediately, “Mr. Wayne,” he fawns, “What a lovely event you’ve thrown. I’m sure the Bernsteins will be appreciative.”

Bruce hums, eyes narrowed slightly. “You are…”

The man startles and rushes to finish off his sentence, “Alexander Watson, senior executive to the accounting department for the research wing of the company.”

He nods slowly, no recognition actually present in his eyes. “Ah. The research wing of the company that just blew fifteen million dollars on prototype self-operating cell phones.”

You’re trying hard to fight the smile creeping up on your face.

“What exactly is a self-operating cell phone?”

Watson’s face drops, hurrying to justify his approval of the proposal’s funding. As he rambles, Bruce’s gaze lowers to where Watson has once again placed his hand on your hip, though he’s not close enough to you for it to rest fully or naturally. You don’t know him well but you can say confidently that he doesn’t look pleased. 

He looks back up to Watson, attitude challenging. “Surely you’re not poking around where you’re unwelcome?”

Watson stutters at that, blinking and shaking his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! I was just hoping to provide the young lady with some company. That’s all.”

“And so you have.”

“I—,” about two steps behind in this conversation, Watson finally decides to retreat, “Yes, good evening, Mr. Wayne.” He bows his head and shuffles away back into the crowd.

“Mr. Wayne,” you smile knowingly, turning to him. “How are you?”

The hardness of his gaze fades quickly as he takes in your appearance, quite liking how you wear the dress you’d picked out.

“Things are looking up,” he smiles, “You look lovely.”

 “Thank you,” you glance over to where Watson has made his way to the bar, likely about to down an entire glass. “Mr., uh, Mr. Watson makes quite the impression.”

His smile turns a bit sullen, “You know last year he tried to convince the board that battery-powered battery chargers were going to be the next big thing?”

You blink, tilting your head, “Thought you didn’t know who he was.”

His eyes are fixed on the wall as he tugs the corner of his lip down, knowing he’s been caught but not really caring. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long, it seems everyone needs my attention at these things.”

“At the gala that you threw? I’d imagine so.”

He rolls past that smoothly, “You’re having a good time?”

“I am,” you say with a confirming head bob.

He regards the room with a numb expression, “You know, I think I’m getting bored with all of this.”

You smile at him, brow furrowed, “It’s only been an hour.”

He looks at you, eyes wide. “It’s only been an hour?” He’s exaggerating his surprise to make you smile, and it works.

“I think we should go,” he says lower.

You stare at him, bemused. “You still have a whole room full of guests.” 

He shrugs, “They’ll filter out on their own eventually.” 

He clocks your hesitation easily, accurately noting it to be more out of politeness than actually wanting to stay at the party. “What, you’re not ready to leave?”

You look around at all the mostly old, posh guests, disinterested small talk evident all across the room. You take a breath, “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

He smiles and leads you out a side door and through a corridor that’s significantly longer than you’d expected. 

“Do you always ditch your parties this early?” you ask, following closely.

He makes a sharp right at the next doorway, “If I can manage it.”

You look around at the high wooden ceilings and grand furniture. “Aren’t some of them friends of yours?”

He shakes his head, “My friends aren’t here.”

You frown at that, “Then why do you throw them at all?”

“Why did you show up last weekend?”

You nod slowly, understanding. “It’s your job.”

He returns the nod, adding, “Only difference is, there’s not a chance in hell you get paid enough for the work you do for Mullins.”

For the sake of maintaining your wishful facade of professionalism, you’re going to not acknowledge that incredibly accurate statement. Instead you smile politely and continue on walking. He seems to get the implication, returning it with an even brighter adornment.

“Well, money’s money,” you say wryly.

His smile fades a bit, “You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that.” 

You shrug, “A day in the life,”

He looks sullen upon hearing that, with more sympathy than you’d have expected from someone of his stature. He’s done nothing if not surprise you, though.

“Here,” he says, taking hold of the handle of a glass door. It opens to a garden, lit up beautifully by the moon and outdoor light. A fountain sits in the middle, water rhythmically gushing out of the top and trickling down the sides. The bite of the Gotham night air burns at your cheeks a bit and you find yourself thankful the dress you’d chosen is so long.

Bruce leads the way to an expensive marble bench positioned nicely in front of it, allowing you to sit first before following suit. Your hands find a place in your lap, clasped together awkwardly in an attempt to find warmth through contact.

It takes Bruce less than ten seconds to stand, remove his suit jacket, and drape it over your shoulders before sitting back down. The material is thicker and warmer than you would’ve expected, surely reminiscent of the perks of being owned by a billionaire.

He doesn’t look at you to acknowledge the grateful expression on your face, simply carrying on like it didn’t happen. “Was hoping it was warmer,” he murmurs.

Your focus momentarily goes to the icy cold stone of the bench under your thighs, initially finding it uncomfortable before deciding the coolness actually felt quite soothing. You remove your gaze from the gray stone and turn your head to find Bruce already focused on you.

You start to say something, though you’re not sure what it would’ve been, when he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down.

Well, he certainly knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

His eyes stay on your lower lip as he murmurs, “You’re a pretty girl, you know that?” 

God, he’s a professional.

You look up at him and refrain from saying anything, waiting to see if he follows it up with something that will make you regret agreeing to coming out here with him.

He doesn’t.

You shift, moving your hands off your lap to rest on the stone under you. “You can’t just do this—”

He smiles and lowers his chin to look you in the eyes, “Then what can I do for you?”

“You—” you blink rapidly, “Stop it.”

His coy beam persists, “Stop what?”

You raise your gaze up to him ever so slightly, a pouty expression across your face that you’re trying to sell as serious. “You’re trying to make me nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head down further, a ghost of a smile echoing on his lips, “I don’t mean to, sweet girl.”

Your eyes drop to the ground, biting your tongue. “Yeah.”

His simper grows, “I’m serious. I’d hate to scare away a new friend.”

You laugh at that and he perks up a bit at the sound, “What? We’re not friends?”

You cock your head to the side, “You’re the one who said none of your friends are here.”

He hums, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

“You think so?” You should probably stop flirting so much. 

“Yeah,” he leans in a bit closer, “I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Maybe I want to be your friend,” his hand finds a place atop yours. 

Your eyes flicker across his face as he closes in, “What if I don’t want to be yours?”

His eyes are on your lips, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

You take a slow deep breath, “Your intentions are blurry.”

He smiles lightly, amused. “We’ll have to clear that up then, won’t we?” His lips are inches away and his voice is soft as he says, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

You look up at him eyes wide, barely processing his words as you nod. He gently grasps your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up. His other hand finds the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you with intention. Your hands hover in the air for a second before holding onto his forearms. 

He breaks the kiss only to give you another sweet one right after. Your mouths remain close when it’s over, eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. You stay like that for a moment until he kisses you once more on your cheekbone before pulling away. His hands drop to rest on your knees, the weight of them gentle.

He hums lowly, “Sweet thing..”

Being under the heaviness of his gaze leaves you feeling vulnerable. It’s starting to get you concerned with the potential levity and implications of kissing him. The expectations.

“You…” you stare down at where his hands meet your skin, not quite sure that you actually meant to start that sentence. 

“What?” he frowns, brow pinched. Your chin lowers further as your mouth forms a tight line. He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. What is it?” he asks gently.

It takes a surge of willpower for you to get the sentence out, “You just want to sleep with me..”

He frowns harder at that, pulling back a bit. “No. I’m…” he sighs, “I’m not trying to lure you in just to toss you out right after.”

That makes you look up again. His voice has a sincerity to it that you weren’t prepared for. 

He continues, “I would like to, yes. Yeah. You’re beautiful, of course I would, but..” he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you, “No, that’s not the most important thing to me.”

You break eye contact again, thinking over his words. If that’s not the most important thing to him, what is? You can’t think of what else he could possibly want from you, a billionaire who could have anything he wants..the only thing you could have to offer in his eyes is sex. 

Right?

He exhales, “If you want to leave, I’ll call you a car. No hard feelings.” He nudges your chin up gently so you’ll look at him, but he gives you the freedom to fight against it if you wanted to.

You let him move you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you tell him, looking into his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” he says it like it’s automatic. You physically can’t help but roll your eyes at the corniness of it. He doubles down, though, “Seriously. Anything.”

You smile in disbelief, shaking your head.

“Alright,” he returns your smile, straightening, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Do you need a ride home?”

You blink at him, “I’m going home?”

“You are,” he nods softly, “Do you need a ride?”

“No.”

He nods again, more like he’s working through something in his head. “Okay. You’re going to go home and think through what you want. If you decide you want to, come back here next Saturday.” he stands up, extending his hand out to you, “Then you can let me know what else you want and we can get to work on that too.”

You start to shake your head, “I can—” 

He drops his chin seriously, “Think on it.”

You relent easily, taking his hand and coming to a stand.

“Alright?” Again, his question is genuine. He does really want to know if you’re on board with this plan. 

Already going against his request, you agree without a thought, “Okay.”

He starts to lead you back over to the garden door with a head nod and a kind smile.

It ultimately was not a decision you had to think very hard on.

You’d considered every scenario of how this could play out and none of them ended with regret as far as you could guess.

You’ll still admit though, there was one scenario you had missed, apparently, which is why you were immeasurably confused when you showed up and he invited you to play chess.

He’s not wearing a fancy three piece suit this time, but his clothes are still very nice. With the sunlight peeking through the windows, you’re able to see the manor more clearly than you had been the other night. It really is a beautiful home, clearly very old and charmed, but there’s a lot of little details of character and history scattered around. There’s portraits and photographs of his parents from when he was young and furniture decorated with trinkets all throughout, kept absolutely spotless and dust free. Everything is neat and tidy but there’s still traces of the house being lived in with the patched throw pillows and worn carpets. Still, it’s very, very placid.

You’ve met new money plenty of times over the course of dealing with countless businessmen for Mr. Mullins but old money is something entirely different. You don’t really have a frame of reference here. New money is almost always brash and demanding, they like things done quickly and correctly the first time around. They’re usually not very interested in hearing what you have to say (even if it would save them a lot of trouble) and prefer it when the assistants women keep their mouths shut. Bruce has proven to be very different from these standards already and you’re not sure where to begin with placing new ones.

You’re about halfway through a second game, and while you’re not awful at chess, you get the impression that he’s easing up on you considerably.

You sit on the floor in front of a short coffee table, the game having no clear lead so far.

“I think this is stressing me,” you mumble, no actual weight behind your words.

“It’s just chess,” he says, not looking up from the board.

You watch him move his knight forward as you ask, “And that’s all we’re doing?”

“As it stands, yes,” he looks up at you, though you don’t return his gaze.

“Yeah,” you sigh, sliding your rook, “But later?”

“Later?”

“Well, you said...” you meet his eyes, “You said you wanted to sleep with me.”

He nods slowly, “I do. Is that alright?”

You consider it for a moment. You already knew that, if you really weren’t okay with it you wouldn’t have come here. And yeah, the idea makes you a little shaky, but in a good way.

“Yes,” you tell him, moving your queen forward two spaces.

“Are you sure?” he presses, moving to sit on the side of the table rather than behind it.

You do the same, sitting on your knees. “Yeah, I just..” you shift your weight, eyes wandering. “I’m not…overly experienced.”

He just smiles at that, like it’s endearing. Your words didn’t quite convey your meaning but your tone did. In any case, he understands the implication. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not going to throw you in the deep end.”

You nod, looking down again.

“You’re nervous,” he comments.

“No, I’m—I mean, maybe,” your voice is barely a murmur by the end of the sentence.

He’s quiet for a moment, observing the way you fiddle with your rings. “What if we get you something pretty to wear? Something that makes you feel pretty. Whatever you want.”

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, opening and pulling out a lump of cash without even looking. He holds the money out to you wordlessly and you can see from the bill on the outside that it’s at least a couple hundred dollars.

You shake your head instantly, “I can’t take that.”

He doesn’t put the money down but his eyes turn to begging. “Please. I just want you to feel good.”

“Bruce—”

He wavers a bit at that but it’s more of a falter than you’ve seen from him before so it’s easy to take notice of. “What?”

He shrugs barely, “I like when you say my name.”

Your eye contact holds for a moment and your resolve starts to shake almost instantly.

You exhale, “I’m not taking more than a hundred.”

“Two hundred.”

“Bruce.”

He smiles and picks out some of the cash and pockets it, handing you the rest. You don’t comment on the fact that it’s a hundred and fifty more than you’d agreed on.

You look down at the money in your hand like it’s a foreign object, shaking your head. “I don’t even know what to get.”

His thumbs start to rub reassuring circles by the bend of your knees, “Anything you want,” he tells you. “What do you like? Silk, lace, cotton, anything.”

You look up, tilting your head at him with a furrowed brow. “It doesn’t matter what I like, th—”

“It only matters what you like,” He says seriously, lowering himself to meet your gaze. “I’ll love it, no matter what you pick. Don’t worry about that.”

You lean forward a bit instinctually, “Okay.”

His eyes scan across your face in something that you can only recognize as awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.

“I want to kiss you again,” he says, voice even quieter.

Your eyes go to his mouth and you can only manage a nod, lips already parted.

He moves forward not a second later, kissing you with more fire than you’d gotten to see the other night. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing lightly as you hook one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

You hear the clatter of chess pieces falling over as he moves nearer to you, large frame leaning over you. You push up on your knees, meeting his lips up at his level. His hands caress around your hips as the kiss gets deeper.

You just start to fumble with the hem of his shirt when he takes your hands in his, pulling them away before breaking the kiss.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he smiles, nudging you back with little force.

You groan, “Why?”

He barks out a laugh at that, stroking your hips again. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on the floor.”

“Then let's go somewhere else,” you nod up towards the stairs.

He shakes his head, that soft smile still playing on his lips. “Not tonight.”

You sit back on your heels again, frowning.

He brushes your hair back, murmuring, “No. But for now, I'll kiss you ‘til you can’t think if that’s what you want.”

You really hope you didn’t perk up at that as much as you think you did.

🌾🌽 i heard a rumor that if you like without reblogging your crops will be cursed but hey what do i know 🌾🌽

⊹ ₊˚꒷꒦︶⊹ Late night talks ₊︶꒷꒦︶

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Pairing: Batman x reader / Bruce Wayne x reader.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Summary: After accidentally mistaking Batman as a criminal and spraying him with pepper spray, you both have seemed to form a friendship.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Warnings: Pepper spray, mention of Gotham being dangerous.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Word count: 1.5k

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

[ Masterlist ]

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Bruce has no idea how he got himself into this situation. Or rather... This habit.

It all started on that faithful night.

Walking alone at night in Gotham was like an one way ticket to heaven. A death wish, as some may say.

You sighed, looking around anxiously as you tried to walk as fast as you could. Every flicker of the night light, every random sound was making you jump in terror. You were half convinced that this was going to be your last day on earth.

You were just about to walk past an alley when you saw a shadowy figure stand menacingly at the entrance. The lights were flickering as the lamp above seemed to be surviving off of the happiness of the citizens of Gotham. Obviously, there wasn't much life left in it.

Red alarms started to go off in your head as the figure slowly started to move towards you. The heavy sound of its boot hitting the ground, the sound of your quickened heartbeat, the sound of the pained hissed that left the shadowy figure- Wait... Pained hiss?

It was only then you realised that you had sprayed the shadowy figure, Batman, with the pepper spray you were clutching while walking.

You gasped, staring at Batman in shock. He was hissing at the sudden attack, one of his eye half opened as he stared directly at you.

'I am so dead.'

Your eyes were wide before you shakingly reached into your purse, pulling out a small water bottle as you handed it to him, "I am so sorry! I thought you were some... Some criminal! Oh my- Splash this in your eyes! I am so sorry!" Half of the words sounded like nonsense due to how fast you were speaking.

He reluctaningly grabbed the water, splashing some water into his eyes as the affect of the spray started to subdue.

For a minute or two, nobody said anything as you both just stared at each other.

"What are you doing outside at this hour?"

"I am so sorry!"

Both of you decided to speak at the same time, which made none of you understand what the other person said.

"Come again?"

"I didn't hear-"

And it happened again.

"Speak."

"I am sorry-"

And again.

Finally, Batman seemed to have enough of it as he just stared at you broodingly, making you shut your mouth from fear.

"Why are you out at such an hour?"

You paused at his question, looking at him sheepishly, "Uh... Nightshift..."

Your answer made him raise an eyebrow which you didn't see because of his mask, "You shouldn't walk alone in the streets of Gotham with only a pepper spray as a weapon."

You nodded, looking at the ground as you suddenly felt like a child getting scolded by your parent.

Batman sighed as he stared at your figure, he can't just let you walk around at such an hour. Especially when it looked like you had the survival skills of a limbless cockroach.

"I will walk you home. Lead the way."

And that's how everything started.

"You haven't been paying attention to what I have been yapping about, have you?" You deadpanned, staring at him as he spaced out.

This made Batman blink, coming out of his chain of thoughts as he stared at the bowl of cereal you passed to him.

"Eat."

He blinked again, glancing at you in slight confusion before he started to eat.

He doesn't remember how this became a... Thing. It started out as occasionally walking you home from your nightshifts, then it shifted to him being injured after a rather brutal fight with a criminal near your apartment complex which made you usher him to your house for some patching up and now it has become a habit of Batman to swing by your window every once in a while, whenever he knew you would be awake or knew you had a day off.

You have come out of your shell fully, and now he knows you as the sassy and playful girl he once saved instead of the scared and timided girl.

"Eat up! You look like you have been starving since the dark ages, Mr. Dark knight." He let out an amused grunt at your words, rolling his eyes as he ate the cereal.

It was a comical scene, having him sit in your kitchen in his Batsuit while you lectured him about his poor eating habits in your pastel night gown.

You were an amusing person, a dramatic display of playfulness and sarcasm was always expected from you. Batman has seemed to grow fond of you and your shared time spent together over the past few months as he found himself looking forward to these meet-ups.

He has heard it all, from how much you dislike your job to how much you loved visiting animal sanctuaries to how you once crashed your friend's bicycle into different objects all under 15 minutes.

All these little stories would make him smile slightly while he worked in his Batcave. Alfred has heard all about you as well, the butler seemed to have grown fond of you as well despite never meeting you.

He glanced at you, watching you move around the kitchen as you washed the dishes. A thought passed through his mind.

He could help you.

Imagining him, Batman, helping you wash the dishes in his Batsuit. That would certainly be something you would die laughing at.

He shook his head slightly at the thought, focusing on eating the cereal you had given him.

"So, when are you going to leave your shitty job?" That made you look at him, slightly taken aback by his sudden question.

"Oh... Um... When I find a job that pays the same or more...?"

There it was again. The same answer you always give him. At first, he used to get irritated by your answer but now he understands your point. He knows the financial struggle you have gone through as a child, which has made you very anxious about having no job. All his attempts to help you fell on deaf ears as you firmly stated that you do not want money from your struggling vigilante friend.

He still has no idea why you think he is a struggling vigilante.

Does he look broke to you?

He sighed, glancing at the clock as he saw what time it was. The sun was about to rise.

"Do you have a day-off tomorrow or another night shift?"

You looked up from the dishes, glancing at him, "I have a day-off."

He nodded, walking up the sink to wash his bowl as you stepped aside to make space for him.

This is starting to feel oddly domestic.

"You should head to bed then." This earned a giggle from you as you looked at him with an amused expression.

"Aww, are you worried about my health?" You cooed jokingly as you leaned against the counter.

"You work at odd hours. From 8 pm till 3:45 am, it has to be one of the most ridiculous work hours I have ever heard of." He mumbled, scrubbing the bowl as he pretended to be annoyed at your playful behaviour.

You hummed, nodding your head in agreement before a small yawn escaped you, making Batman give you a 'I told you so' look behind his mask.

"See? You should head to bed." He grumbled, drying the bowl before putting it in its place.

"Alright, alright, I'll head to bed. Just make sure that whenever you leave, you close the window." He nodded as he watched you walked towards your bedroom, stretching as you glanced back at him.

He still has no idea how this has become something so normal to both of you that you just let him stay in your house while you sleep and he knows exactly where the bowl goes in the cupboard.

Bruce sighed as he flipped through the documents and files of the new Wayne enterprise project, his eyes narrowed as the sunlight from outside was starting to bother him. He could almost feel a headache coming in.

It has been weeks since he last saw you, he has been busy with his duties as a vigilante and the owner of the Wayne enterprise to the point he could barely find the time to visit you. Thankfully, you have left your old job for good so he knows that you are at least not walking around the dangerous streets of Gotham at night.

But he still can't help but feel worried about your financial state, to the point that he has voiced it out to Alfred a few times.

He sighed again, glancing at the door as he heard a knock.

"Come in!"

His eyes widened as he stared as you walked in, his new secretary.

Suddenly, everything makes sense. Alfred suddenly pestering him to appoint a new secretary, Alfred going out of his way to personal find him a new secretary. Everything is starting to make sense.

'That cunning old man...'