Bruce Wayne Fanfiction - Tumblr Posts

bruce wayne snippet

“If Bruce Wayne doesn’t stop melting in your hands, he’ll collapse, and there would be no one left to save Gotham from itself. And there is nothing he loves more than this city, though you come begrudgingly close to it.”

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.

𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰.

Summary: In the late 1980s and early 1990s as they prepare for the eldest child's departure for college, the family finds themselves living for the first time without their beloved butler who has been forced to take time out due to an family emergency.  The only problem is that Dick mistrusting to every word I'm saying...

Character: Bruce Wayne x ScarletWitch!Reader; Jason Todd x Batmom!Reader; Dick Grayson x Batmom!Reader; Tim Drake x Batmom!Reader

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐔𝐬: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 (you are there) - more coming soon.

English is not my first language, please be patient.

If anyone wants me to tag you in the publication of the next chapter so they find out as soon as I upload it let me know.

Note: Hello, I hope you are fine. I want to apologize for the delay of this new chapter, I finally started college in person and had to move, in addition the coexistence with my classmates has proven to be problematic and I had family problems, so everything has been a disaster and i did not have time to sit down and write an appropriate chapter.

I hope you like the result and enjoy it, let me know your opinion and do not forget to ask if you want to be added to the tag list of this history. XOXO ELLA.

Tag List: @some-lovely-day @simonsbluee @yuki-chan23 @miyakana @myst3batz

You were walking down the stairs carrying a box with the word «books» written on the front for the audience to see, and near the door a couple more boxes labeled with different names. You put the box you had brought next to the others and sighed before passing your hand over your forehead pretending to dry the sweat.

“One less box” you commented out loud as Dick appeared behind you through the kitchen with a frown, the boy looked around skeptically, he was eighteen now “There are ten more to go” your final sentence, and you turned to jump in your place when seeing your son behind you. He wasn't supposed to be on the scene yet. But you quickly recovered and you have kept the character “Dickie, honey, I did not hear you come in” you said, reproaching him a little.

“What is this?” he said pointing to the pile of boxes, while you stood facing each other, making it clear to both of you that he was already taller than you, almost half a head ahead.

“Well, I decided to start bringing your boxes to this floor, so when your friends arrive they just have to put them in the trunk ready for their trip” you said waving a hand to play down the situation (nothing was out of place and nothing was weird) But Dick wasn't satisfied with your answer, the pieces were no longer fitting perfectly in his mind, and what had been anger and frustration yesterday at his teenage hormones was now confusion and worry.

“But why do I need boxes? Mom, what friends-” His words were cut short by Jason, stomping down the stairs, interrupting the unscripted moment to your relief. When Dick looked at his brother, he wasn't surprised at his appearance, he realized that unlike the first time he saw him this week, the now thirteen year old boy looked familiar. That feeling of relief quickly turned into one of anguish as he watched as Jay walked over and stood between them, forming a kind of triangle. What had happened? he wondered.

“Now that you're going off to college, you'll lend me your comics, right?” he asked, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans “You won't need them while they're out doing boring adult things” the boy mocked to which Dick couldn't help but laugh out loud.

“So you can sell them for a few bucks and buy yourself a new skateboard?” Dick asked him, raising an eyebrow “Don't even dream about it” he refused, smiling, almost ignoring his doubts as he interacted with Jason. Why? he wondered.

“¡Oh, come on!” the teen complained “Don't be a dick, Dick” he scoffed back.

“Jason” you scolded him calmly and without avoiding smiling.

“¿What?” your youngest son asked defensively “That's his name” he shrugged and smiled at you “Let's have breakfast” he said and the three of them went to the kitchen.

“Why do you want to sell my comics?” Dick asked puzzled, as the three entered the room “Just ask dad for a new skateboard, it's not like we're short of cash” he said sitting in one of the chairs around the counter while you magically organized breakfast and served yourself coffee in a cup at the same time.

“I want to start fending for myself and getting my own shit” Jason explained, sitting next to him, watching as the fresh toast flew towards them and pulling one out of the basket.

“Sure” said Dick incredulously “You stand on your own and get your own stuff selling MY comics. That makes a lot of sense” Dick exclaimed sarcastically, as he looked at the coffee, pouring itself into his cup in front of him. While you were making pancakes for the four of us.

“They won't be YOUR comics if you leave them to me” Jason explained raising a hand to his forehead and pointing to his temple “You have to work smarter not harder, Diky-boy” Jason bit into his toast, but Dick's back stiffened as if I just dumped a bucket of water on him. You noticed it.

“What did you call me?” Dick asked, confused, he had heard that before.

“Dicky-boy” Jason repeated casually, obviously not realizing what he had done and calmly eating his breakfast. Dick remembered that nickname, but he didn't know from where, he just didn't like hearing it from his brother's mouth.

“Do not call me that way!” he demanded sharply, causing you to immediately turn around with a plate of pancakes in hand.

“Richard” you quickly fooled him, Dick looked at you and saw in your eyes a silent plea to let it go, Jason didn't know, to which the older boy quickly relaxed and let it go. Jason doesn't know, he thought “Here, Jaybird, have some pancakes” you said to your confused youngest son, who had been taken aback by his older brother's aggressive outburst “Let me get you the honey” you said, putting the plate in front of him and turning around to search the refrigerator.

Jason wasn't stupid, he noticed Dick's sudden change in attitude, from the day before, or rather since the Talent Show a few days ago, as if he distrusted everything he saw, as if he distrusted you, what it did not make sense. Why would Dick distrust you?, he wondered as he looked at his pancakes.

DING DONG.

The doorbell interrupted the thoughts of both brothers, snapping them out of their questions and concerns, just in time as you had planned. You smiled happily at that, it was time the boys had someone else to spend time with, especially now that Dick was off to college.

“Are we waiting for someone?” Jason asked.

“Is it Alfred?” Dick asked, always asking the questions you didn't need him to ask.

“It's a pizza?” Jason asked excitedly.

“Why would it be a pizza, we haven't even finished breakfast yet?” Dick asked, looking at him, somewhat amused by the question.

“We could have pancakes and pizza for breakfast, duh” explained the younger with confidence in his logic, Dick laughed at that and you did too.

“No, it's not a pizza” you explained, smiling at the lightness of the atmosphere “It's a surprise, follow me” you said.

The three of them walked to the door, through the decorative glass they could see the silhouette of someone, no taller than Jason, but they couldn't see his features or guess who it was. It definitely wasn't Bruce, because his shadow would occupy the entire door, and he wouldn't ring the doorbell, his father had keys.

“As you have been complaining all week that you're going to be bored without Dick here, I decided to invite someone to spend a couple of weeks here with us” you said, approaching the door and opening it to reveal the special guest.

A thirteen-year-old Roy Harper stood in the doorway smiling, a suitcase at his side and a bag slung over his shoulder.

“What's up, dude?” he smiled, his audience applauded in excitement.

“Roy” greeted Jason happily, going over to his best friend and greeting him with a complex handshake “This gonna be sick!!” he exclaimed happily as he finished with the greeting.

“Without a doubt” agreed the redhead, taking his things and leaving them next to the door “Thanks for having me, Mrs. Wayne” the boy began kindly while looking at you “And I must give him an award for convincing my father to let me come, usually he doesn't let me travel that far alone, but this time he just agreed and brought me” the boy explained excitedly, to which I smiled and shrugged.

“What can I say?” you raised your hand. “I am a very persuasive woman.” You laughed. “Now let's go to the kitchen, there are packages ready for everyone” I said pointing in the direction of the kitchen. Jason and Roy quickly made their way to the spot, but when you were about to follow them, Dick grabbed your arm to stop you and came over to speak quietly.

“Did you manipulate Roy's father's mind?” he asked, to which you cringed a little and gave him a look accepting the accusation “Mama!!” exclaimed Dick surprised “You're not supposed to use your powers on people in the city, we're supposed to go unnoticed” he explained, looking at you as if he was seeing you for the first time, but you decided to dismiss it as his surprise at the situation, after all you hadn't done something like that since they had moved to the city.

“Dick, don't worry” you said calmly as you put your hands on his shoulders, looking up at him a bit “Oliver, he doesn't even live near the city” you laughed nonchalantly “Besides it wasn't anything big, just a little help to to let the boy have a little fun, you know how he is” you explained and left behind the children, before disappearing from the scene turning to look at him “Are you coming?” you smiled at him.

Dick looked at you for a moment, that smile that usually caused him to calm down and remember how much he adored you, now told him that there was something wrong in the house, so he made a quick decision.

“I'll go to my room” he said before leaving the room before you can stop him.

“Dickie-” he was gone before you finished calling him, you wanted to follow him to stop him and tell him to come spend time with everything together, but you decided that it didn't matter how hard you tried. He was no longer a child after all.

Later in the day, Roy and Jason were standing in front of the kitchen sink, which they had filled with water and bubbles. They were both struggling with the small four-legged creature, a German shepherd puppy, whose dirt was now peeling off thanks to the water, but his restless energy caused everything around him to fill with water.

“God, stay still, Buddy” Jason groaned, tucking the pup back into the sink when he saw him try to climb out of the water again.

“I don't like baths either, but this is ridiculous” complained Roy with his wet shirt and bubbles in his hair as he also tried to keep the puppy in place still.

“Jason, Ray!!” You called from outside the kitchen.

“Oh shit” Jason exclaimed upon hearing you.

“Are you in the kitchen?” you asked approaching the door, to which they turned around in their places to receive you, when you entered the room you sighed in relief and rested your arms on your hips “You know, I don't miss the complaints but Jezz Louise, did you have to disappear like that all the time?” you sighed “You two never stay put” you complained looking at them carefully for the first time since you entered: Jason and Roy are forced to smile in front of the sink, incredibly still and trying to look as innocent as possible, which was suspicious “Unless you´re innocently forming a human wall in front of the kitchen sink” point suspiciously approaching them.

SNEEZE.

“Bless you” you said automatically.

“Thank you” “Thank you” they both replied at the same time still wanting to keep their cover.

WOFF

“Now tell me which one of you just barked?” you asked seriously, the boys looked at each other in resignation, they had been discovered "Move" you motioned for them to move, revealing the puppy all wet and full of bubbles, in your sink which was now a mess “Oh boy” you exclaimed “Waiter, what's this canine doing in my kitchen sink?” you asked, turning me around to face the tweens.

“Learn to swim doggy style” Roy declared jokingly, to the audience laughing, but Jason nudged him.

“Can I keep it, mom?” Jason asked, making puppy dog eyes, a skill that despite his age he hadn't lost and was still very effective with you.

“Jay, I'm sure his owners are looking for him and they miss him” you said as you took a dishcloth out of one of the drawers to use as a towel for the little pup, you took it out and held it in your arms, taking a closer look “Huh. There really is no collar” you pointed out aloud when you saw that the animal had no way of identifying it.

“Please, mom” Jason continued to ask as you walked away from the sink with the dog in hand.

“The poor thing was crying in the woods, alone and abandoned, Mrs. Wayne” Roy pointed out, following behind you and Jason.

“Taking care of a living thing is a big responsibility, Jason, I think you're old enough to understand that. Right?” you looked at your eldest son.

“I totally get it, Mom” Jason assured confidently “And I'll take 100% responsibility for Buddy and his care” he smiled proudly.

“Buddy need food, exercise, training” you stroked the animal's head, which was trying to climb up to your face to lick you “Belly rubs, and cuddles” you let the animal come closer to lick your nose “and kisses between his little ears” you had distracted playing a little with the animal.

"Mom, where is-?" Dick burst into the kitchen with the intention of talking to you urgently, but he stopped suddenly when he saw the animal in your arms “Well, hello, unfamiliar weth animal” he said approaching you to run his hand over the puppy's head, you chuckle at that “Who's this?” he asked you to turn away to look at Jason and Roy, immediately assuming they had something to do with this.

“We're not quite sure, actually” you confessed leaving the animal back in Jason's arms “What did you want, honey?” you asked, to which Dick frowned at the strangeness of the sensation.

“Well, I was looking for my room and found…” he looked down and was now holding a small wooden dog house by the handle “Exactly the item we require” he said slowly, totally taken aback by the timing of events and the mysterious appearance.

“Well, I think it's a good time to name the new member of the family then” you said cheerfully as Dick put the house down and looked around strangely, realizing that no one seemed to have noticed the sudden nonsensical appreciation, successfully distracting everyone (including him) from the real reason he had been looking for you.

"His name is Buddy," Jason said happily.

“And I'm his proud uncle” said Roy, taking the animal out of his arms with a dramatic scowl on his face, he kissed the animal's nose and he was happily licking it in response.

“Well, should we make it official?” you asked, laughing at your son's happiness.

You raised your hand in the air as if to flatter, then moved your hand to make a red collar with a paw-shaped dog tag engraved with Buddy's name. Dick was stunned.

“Here you are” you said to the children while giving them the collar to put on the dog.

"Mama" Dick called, approaching you, clearly shocked.

"Hmm?" you turned to look at him, confused by his attitude.

“Roy is right there!” he points out to the redheaded boy that he was totally indifferent to what you just did.

“Well he didn't notice. He didn't notice when his best friend went from a toddler to a teen in less than a week” you joked calmly, without any concern for what Roy might or might not have seen, you knew he would ignore it. But you quickly changed your tone when you saw the expression of your oldest son "Dick, calm down, it's Roy, even if he sees something, the boy won't say anything, he's part of the family, he would have already adopted him if it wasn't for Oliver" you caressed his arm reassuringly, but Dick quickly took your hand to hold it in his.

“Mom, usually I wouldn't doubt your word, but right now I think it's not right to show your abilities so openly” he expressed with concern.

“Well, i'm tired of hiding, son” you exclaim seriously, not wanting to start an argument, but determined to put your family's life in order “And maybe you didn't have to either” you finally declared, smiling lovingly at him .

With that said, you left the room, following the boys and the new pet, leaving your bewildered son in the kitchen.

Dick was beginning to realize things, it was obvious to everyone in the control center outside the anomaly, that it was beginning to breed concern. Yes, Dick exposed his doubts, he could suffer the same fate as Alfred, which would not be so bad for him, but it would leave you, Roy and false Jason in total isolation with no one to question reality.

It had already been made clear by the start of the 80's episode that Roy probably wasn't going to fight the illogic in the world, if you had brought him in to join it was because you were sure he didn't want to leave and that he needed this reality so badly. like you. One way or another, they need someone inside the anomaly who knows the truth and is willing to show it to you when the time is right and you undo what you've done.

“Someone has to come in,” John pointed out, looking at the images on the computer, the first scenes of that day's episode.

“I don't think Dick is in the best shape right now to guide the situation, he just went through puberty again in less than two days, clearly the boy is as unstable as his mother and with good justification” he joked, which caused a silence in the room and even at the time of the screen he could feel the murderous look of Batman, using it "Bad joke, I apologize" he raised his hands in surrender, knowing that he should not push the matter further .

“How could someone walk into the anomaly without y/n getting into their mind and fusing it with their sitcom reality?” Clark asked, confused, having spent most of the last twenty-four hours talking about how even Alfred couldn't understand the whole situation until hours after he'd come out of the anomaly.

“We wouldn't, it would be impossible, since none of our magic can stand against the Scarlet Witch's” Constantine explained calmly, as if he hadn't just expressed a huge dilemma for the situation they were in.

“I don't understand,” Clark said with confusion painted on his face.

“The magic is not directly controlled by y/n, but by her trauma, so all that magic wants is for everything to look and act in a way that makes her happy and doesn't remember losing Jason. Keeping him alive is the priority of magic, and not letting y/n know the truth" Zatanna began to explain “Theoretically speaking, someone mentally strong enough could walk into the anomaly and still be aware of what their mission is, even if more subconsciously, while helping the situation without raising suspicion if they don't raise t/n's suspicion”

“And we try to help this process with some spells and runes on the clothes that we will make sure, it will not need changes for the time in the sitcom, but in any case everything will depend on the mind of the person who enters” Constantine finished expressing.

“Okay, we can work with theory” Clark said, not quite sure how that was supposed to work, but considering that there was no other plan to follow.

“It would be good a distraction to help the situation” commented Flash “If the barrier is connected to y/n as they say” he pointed to the warlocks “She will feel when someone enters, it would be good if she had something more worrying to focus on while we enter to the anomaly”

"What do you have in mind, redhead?" Zatanna asked, looking at the man who grinned from ear to ear like a mischievous child.

"You said that if we send something that doesn't need change, magic might be more likely to ignore it at a certain level?" the boy hinted before starting to explain his idea.

Jason and Roy stood in the living room on either side of Buddy, giving the dog commands and then rewarding him with a dog biscuit when he obeyed, the animal happily doing tricks while you watched with excitement as the children happily interacted with their new pet.

“Bravo” you applauded as the animal made its last lap on its own spot “I can't believe they've been able to teach it so many tricks in such a short time. You are two little geniuses” you point out happily.

“We are very good teachers” Jason said and both boys bumped fists “Where's Dick, I want to show him?” the boy asked, causing your face to lose its happy expression for a second, but you quickly recovered.

“Dick decided to take a break before his trip to college, he needs all his energy” you explained trying to downplay your eldest son's behavior these days.

“He needs to take a break from us,” Jason pointed out irritably. “It's not enough that he's going away from home in a few hours.” He sounded more hurt than angry, which immediately made you feel the need to reassure him that everything was okay.

“No, honey” you said as you stood up and walked towards your son, putting your hand on his shoulders reassuringly “Your brother has a lot on his mind right now, and he and I don't always agree like everyone else. Someday we too will have our arguments and you will discover that sometimes it is better to walk away a bit when you are angry instead of continuing to fight pointlessly” you explained as calmly as possible, when inside you were worried about your eldest son and what might be wrong with him. going on with him. Did he hear something from Alfred before you took him out, had the butler said something to your son that had corrupted him?

“Mom?” Dick called you from the stairs, concerned. You realized that suddenly there had been a noise from outside the house, a dead man and clearly not of this world. Buddy started barking and ran to the door which was now conveniently open.

“Buddy!” Jason said before running after the animal, Roy ran with him.

“Kids, wait” you said before running after him with Dick following you, calling his younger brother worried about him.

Leaving through the main door of the mansion, you quickly made sure to face the children, walking a few extra steps so that they were protected by your figure, while the four of them looked at a small old drone, appropriate for the setting of the episode, in front of the house ready to fire a missile. Fury bubbled up inside you and magic came to your children.

“Dick, take the kids inside and watch a movie” you said to your oldest son without taking your eyes off the danger, “Mommy would be right back”

Clark was the one waiting for you when you stormed out of the anomaly, dressed in the same pajamas and robe you were in when you fought with your husband. The night hung over both of them, contrasting with the afternoon you lived in your fantasy.

Don't push reality on her yet, John had told him before they'd started the plan. Go with the flow and for nothing in the world make any reference to the boy.

“Is this yours?” you asked him before throwing the broken drone at his feet aggressively, but with no real intention of hitting him. Clark looked at the device, whose wires were sticking out and causing sparks, he could hear (literally) Barry sigh sadly at the loss of such an antique.

“The missile was just a precaution” he started to speak, measuring his words carefully “You can hardly blame us, y/n” he pointed resignedly.

“Oh, i think i can and i will” you said, letting your accent drift through each of your words, so that you let those present know how intense the situation was. In all the years that I had worked with the Justice League, I had only rarely heard your accent take control of your pronunciations, none of them had been pretty situations “This will be your only warning” you said angrily “Stay out of my home”

"I wish it could be that simple" Clark said with real sorrow. He didn't want for anything in the world to have to confront you, but seeing you that way and hearing you talk like you did, made him think that the chances that he would recover you from that situation diminished every minute that the anomaly continued to function.

“You don't bother me. I won't bother you.” you told him, not wanting to fight him either, you weren't sure why. He wanted to get away from your children and hurt them, you should have all the desire to tear him apart, but you didn't, you wanted him to understand and accept your offer "It's that simple, Clark" you told him and you both looked into each other's eyes for a few seconds, so you understood that he would not give in “Why do you want to do this, Clark? You were my friend” you said, feeling how the betrayal hurt you.

“I still am, y/n” Clark replied quickly, taking a step forward.

“If he were my friend, you wouldn't want me, separate from my children” you pointed out furiously, causing everyone around to be alert for a possible fight “If he were my friend you would understand that there is no place where he is safer than here, it is his house, with me” you pointed furiously.

“Y/N I-” Clar stopped in her tracks, remembering John's warnings and reformulating her sentence “Just lower the barrier, y/n. Let us in, I promise that no one will move a hair if they don't want it if after that we will discuss what will happen next” Clark offered, although he knew you would not listen, they just needed more time to enter.

“You want me to trust you, but you treat me like a threat” you said pointing around you, at the men with the guns and the rest of the league “Well, i'm not the one with the guns, Clark. And I'm not the one who sends a drone to shoot at a house with children inside” you said and pointed to the device at his feet.

“But you're the one in control” said Alfred appearing walking behind Clark “I just let them in, Mrs. Wayne, they don't plan to harm anyone, they just want to talk” expressed the old man when your eyes connected with his.

“You still here” I said curiously as you formed your magic in one hand “I'm glad that in your betrayal” you looked between the butler and the superman “you both find time to make friends” you scoffed.

“y/n, let us help you” the man begged, sharing the same foolish hope as Clark in front of him.

“How? What could you possibly have to offer me?” you asked, making fun of both of them, you knew that nothing they said would make you give your children away like that. Out there, it was dangerous and they were safe.

“What do you want?” Clark asked, open to anything that would allow him to open a negotiation in this dilemma.

“I have what I want” you said with an impassive face “and no one will ever take it from me again” your voice broke at the end of the sentence, and it was as if for a second you understood the reality of everything that was happening. But in the second term, Alfred and Clark watched as you slipped back into your reverie, turning me around to use your magic to reinforce the barrier and then disappear through it.

“Buddy, come on buddy” Jason yelled as the three of them scoured the property looking for the missing dog “Buddy! Buddy!” kept calling Jason “Where is he?” he asked out loud.

“Don't worry, dude, he must be around here for sure” commented Roy “Your mom won't let him get far” he commented naturally and Jason looked at him strangely, without fully understanding the meaning of the phrase.

“I don't know where he could've gone” you commented while you continued looking for the pet. 

“Here, Buddy” Roy called out loud.

"Where are you, Buddy?" called Jason as the three of them resumed their search.

“Mom” called a concerned voice from the trees.

You turned to find your oldest son carrying a bundle wrapped in sheets as he walked away from the bushes.

“Oh no” Roy said, realizing that the bundle Dick was carrying was the deceased puppy that he and his friend had found that morning.

“Buddy” Jason said sadly, he called the puppy, but seeing that it was definitely dead.

“What happened to him?” you asked as you approached, not wanting the children to see the dead animal.

“Found him in the azalea bushes, mom” Dick explained to you as you approached “Don’t know how many leaves he ate. I don't' find him until it was too late” said the older one saddened by the situation, seeing the sad face of his younger brother as he looked at the lump of the corpse of what had been a happy puppy a few hours ago “Jay, Roy, I'm so sorry” he told the boys, clearly dejected by the news.

“Mama” Jason called you in a small voice and you immediately hugged him.

“I'm so sorry, my boy” you said while you caressed his head.

“It's so sad” said Jason, taking off from you and looking at you “You can fix anything, Mom. Fix the dead” he asked you as a little boy.

“What?” you asked confused looking at him “No” you said firmly despite the expression of sadness that brought to the face of your youngest son. You couldn't, you knew for sure you couldn't.

“You can do that?” Dick asked behind you, surprised by his younger brother's words. You turned to look at him for a moment, not knowing what to say, before looking at the floor and back at Jason.

“I am trying to tell you that there are rules in life, okay, honney?” you explained to your younger son while holding his hands “We can't rush aging just because it's convenient” you chuckle “And we can't reverse death” you stared at your younger son “No matter how sad it makes us” you caressed his cheek with some melancholy “Okay? Some things are forever” you felt the gaze of your eldest son fixed on your back as he listened carefully to what you said, you could almost also feel how the gears in his head were moving and you were worried that he might come now to claim you.

“You said family is forever” declared Jason “Buddy is family. Bring him back, Mom” he begged you with tear filled eyes.

“Jay, mom's right” your eldest son finally spoke, pulling you out of the predicament you were in “It's sad, but there's no going back” he pointed out, you turned to look at him and both shared a look before you hugged your younger son again with a lump in your throat that you couldn't explain for sure.

Back at the house, it was already night, Roy and Jason had already gone to sleep. He was finishing tidying up the kitchen when Dick comes in from the yard, his hands full of dirt from burying Buddy's body.

“How are the boys?” he asked her as he walked over to the sink to start washing his hands.

“A little heartbroken, but they'll be alright” she replied as we finished going over the counter and throwing the breadcrumbs in the trash.

“Well, it's not often you get a dog and bury them the same day” Dick said, looking at a fixed point on the wall behind the sink, not really paying attention to what he was doing.

“Well, life moves pretty fast out in the big city” you said calmly, ignoring the implications of your son's sentence. Dick turned off the faucet, leaned on it with both arms, and sighed heavily.

“Mom, we need to talk” he started firmly, and you tried to stay in character even though you knew where the argument was going. “Something's wrong here,” he said directly. To which you laughed a little and looked at him sweetly.

“Dickie, honey” you said leaving the towel on the counter “Can be just-”

“What, mom?” Dick cut you off somewhat annoyed “Sit on the couch, watch TV and turn off the lights, so you can change everything again” he accused directly.

“Richard Grayson-Wayne” you spoke in your mother tone, causing him to straighten instead “You're tired, tomorrow is a very important day and it's not the time to argue after the day this family had” you said in the most kind that you could have.

“Where's Bruce?” he asked, ignoring your request.

“For God's sake, Richard” you sighed tiredly as you walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. Dick followed you out of the room without a second thought, determined to get an answer once and for all. The credits began to appear on the screen and the ending music began to play.

“You said he would call him, he hasn't. Where is dad?” he asked as he followed you past the living room and towards the stairs.

“He's just busy, Dick” you told him, reaching the stairs and turning around to finally look at him.

“Why can't I find my room, mom?” Dick asked you, you couldn't answer him, you just took another step towards the stairs, going up one step, resisting the urge to run away from your son's questions “The mansion has more than 200 rooms, but we only live and have access to four of them. Why is that, mom?” he asked again.

”Dick, stop” you ordered quietly, feeling like your head was going to explode. The music stopped and the credits faded as you realized the argument wasn't going to end any time soon.

“Because every day Jason and I age up to five years? Yesterday I was in high school and today I am going to college. What's going on, mom?” he kept asking desperately.

"You really think I know everything?!" you asked him, breaking your calm “Really what do you think counting everything, every bird flying, every insect flying around the plants. EVERYTHING?!" you asked him, looking at him, but after seeing his expression puzzled by your reaction, you closed your eyes tightly, calming down "I don't even know how this all started" you let your legs give way and sat on the stairs clutching your head.

Dick was stunned for a moment. He wasn't sure what he was expecting him to pass by confronting him, but he wasn't expecting that. He felt the anger leave him, realizing that he wasn't going to fix anything about the situation, whatever it was, it wasn't the way to deal with it.

“Mama” Dick spoke calmly as he sat down next to her “You have to stop this, it's not right” he said, causing you to feel your head full of explosives again. He wasn't really listening to you, what are you supposed to do with all this “We can't-”

DING DONG

Dick, who had approached you, suddenly moved away from you at the sound of the doorbell, looking at me suspiciously. You looked at it before the sound, whose origin you do not know.

“I didn't do that” you told him and they looked at each other for a second. You knew your son had no reason to believe you, but you had hope, which faded when you stared into his eyes. “You don't believe me” you said with a broken heart, resigned, 

and got up to open the door.

“Mom, wait” Dick called to you, but you ignored him and continued towards the door.

You opened the door and froze for who was on the other side. He wasn't supposed to be there, it wasn't his place, he was supposed to be out where he belongs. He could protect himself.

“Dad?” Dick spoke, frozen behind you, looking at the man in front of both of us.

You couldn't speak, you were frozen in place, with a mix between relief to finally see him and terror for his presence there, what that could mean for you, for Roy, for Dick and for Jason.

“I forgot the keys at the hotel” said Bruce as he smiled at you, dressed in a black suit according to the time and a briefcase in hand, without having to fake the happiness of finally seeing you again despite the circumstances “I hope I didn't wake up to the boys” he said taking a step inside the house, causing you to automatically move to let him pass but still looking at him mesmerized. Bruce left the briefcase on the floor, then straightened up, facing you again. He gently grabbed your waist and pushed you towards his chest, he delicately kissed your forehead in a gesture full of love before speaking again “I'm home, honey” he told you before you walked away again to look at him again. You smiled lovingly at him, happy that he was finally there with you, they were family finally.

Dick stood there watching, before he heard footsteps upstairs, the doorbell had woken the boys up and when Jason appeared down the stairs he didn't miss his father's discomfort as the boy ran to hug him. Bruce watched him as he let his son's double hug him.

Tim looked at the screen, seeing how now the credits were starting to roll, with the image of the family reuniting with Bruce and then going to a black screen. He turned to look at the tattered suit covered in dried blood, silently praying that Bruce's plan would work.

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐔𝐬 (Batfam x Batmom!Reader)

ɢᴜɪʟᴛʏ ᴏʀ ɪɴɴᴏᴄᴇɴᴛ. ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪꜱ ɪɴꜰɪɴɪᴛᴇ, ɪ'ᴍ ɢɪᴠɪɴɢ ɪᴛ, ɴᴏ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴘʀɪꜱᴏɴᴇʀꜱ. ʙɪᴛᴄʜ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ, ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ ᴜᴘ, ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ꜱᴛɪᴄᴋ ᴜᴘ 'ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ɪ'ᴍ, ɪ'ᴍ ᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ ɪᴛ, ɪ'ᴍ ᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ ꜰᴏʀ ᴜꜱ, ᴀʟʟ. ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ ꜰᴏʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ — All For Us by Labrithn and Zendaya.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: The tragic death of Jason Todd seemed to be a point of no return for the Wayne family. Six months later, when things seemed to be starting to settle for the marriage, Tim Drake appears at the mansion with the intention of being the new Robin and Bruce does not accept.

The memory of your youngest son still haunts you like a ghost, walking the halls of Wayne Manor only to be reminded of the betrayal and how the life of another boy was doomed to for her lack of will.

When Tim is wounded on a patrol, something breaks within the Wayne matriarch and the magic that had accompanied her through her worst moments without once getting out of control gives her a gift, one that will become a nightmare she doesn't want to go out.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫(𝐬): Bruce Wayne x ScarletWitch!Reader; Jason Todd x Batmom!Reader; Dick Grayson x Batmom!Reader; Tim Drake x Batmom!Reader.

English is not my first language, please be patient.

The Tag List for this history is OPEN.

𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑(𝐒):

1. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞´𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐬 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨 𝐀𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞: In the 1950s, the Wayne family arrives at their new home on the outskirts of Gotham City, as the family's settle in, the children: Dick and Jason, seek adventure and cause trouble while their mother tries to keep the house standing for the visit of a special guests while also trying to hide her magical abilities. Can they get through the first day of their new life while the father of the family is away on business?

02/15/2022

2. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐂𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥: Now in the 1960s, the Wayne home is peaceful until sudden sounds start to shake the peace of the residents as they prepare for the town's annual Housewives' Parade and the Children's Talent Contest. Dick begins to get curious about the new town where the family lives, and a series of events leads Dick to ask himself some very strange questions and to see something he didn't even know existed. Is it a good idea to follow his instincts away from the safety of his mother's Magic?.

02/19/2022

3. 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫: The 70's and color TV come to the Wayne house, at the same time that our Scarlet Witch has to learn to deal with an overly curious teenager and constant outside interference.  The tension of reality within the home begins to accumulate and the discovery of how deep the interference is may leave irreparable consequences on the stability of the small family.

02/26/2022

4. 𝐖𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮: After Alfred Pennyworth is freed from the Wayne Manor anomaly, he begins to get some perspective on what happened and explains that maybe the only person who can stop it all is the one who created it.  In the Batcave, trapped within the confines of the anomaly, Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake begin to understand more of what they're up against, as they tune in to The Wayne's Show every moment of the day in the hope that they can finally be a part of it again.

03/15/2022

5. 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰: In the late 1980s and early 1990s as they prepare for the eldest child's departure for college, the family finds themselves living for the first time without their beloved butler who has been forced to take time out due to an illness. family emergency.  The only problem is that Dick mistrusting to every word I'm saying...

05/11/2022

6. 𝐀 𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥: With the new additions to the cast, in the early 2000s, the Waynes throw a Halloween party to spend some time as a family after so much time apart. But it seems that his father's presence has not calmed the need for children to cause trouble, only this time everything will get out of control. The question remains and grows in everyone's mind: What's outside Wayne Manor's property?.

06/20/2022

7. 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐥: In the 2010s, things aren't going well... not at all, with more people on the cast of The Wayne's Show, more problems are piling up for the matriarch of the family.

(coming soon)

"Trust me? You stole me!"

Stressed out and had this little story in my head so I figured, why not make a post. Maybe I'll continue it, who knows.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne X Black!fem!OC (Its actually X Reader but it's hard for me to write without an actual name for a character. So, reader if you squint)

Rating: E for everyone. No cursing (that I remember), No sexual content. Ambiguous backstory.

Series Masterlist

“It’s always gloomy here.” She spoke absentmindedly, her attention captivated by the rainfall hitting the window pane. Her tone was tinged with the boredom she was feeling. Bruce glanced over to the passenger seat. Her big hair hid her face but he knew her well enough to know those maroon lips would be shaped into a pout. She hated the rain and had no issue making the fact known. “When can we go on another vacation? I’d settle for Metropolis at this point.”

“We just got back. You should be grateful that I took you with me instead of leaving you here.”

“What do you want me to say? Thank you, Big Daddy, for dragging me along to the superhero playdate that almost ended my life?” Her exaggerated southern drawl had him clenching the wheel.

“You’re mad.”

“Fucking right I am.” She snapped, her head swiveled so fast he heard the joints pop. He sighed. He didn’t want to fight with her. She had every right to be upset. After weeks of boasting about the vacation to Dubai he scheduled, they arrive and see half the justice league there fighting sewer monsters. The dark knight had to lock her up in saferoom for ten days while he and his teammates fought to save the world. “I’m tired of being Batman’s pet. You won’t let me go out by myself. I have to stay at home all day. You don’t even let me have a real phone.”

“I can’t trust you.”

“Trust me? You stole me! I have every right to fight you every chance I get.”

“You’re acting like a child.” Her eyes squinted with rage. “You should be happy I go along with your whims. It’s not like I push you to do anything.” That wasn’t true and he knew it. Still, she kept her mouth shut. It was clear by the way he clutched the steering wheel that he was getting tired of her mouth. She leaned back in the cushioned seat and thought.

Bruce had parked the car in his garage by the time she looked at him again. He rose a hand to rub the bridge of his nose. She never waited for him to open her car door, acting out to salvage what little freedom she did have. Maybe he will get her a real phone if only to get back on her good side.

The pair walk quietly out the garage to the warmth of the manor. Alfred had already set up a spot in the great room near the fire for her to warm up with her favorite blanket and drink. He grimaced. On any other day, this would cheer her up but after the argument and silent treatment she decided to enact, fuzzy blankets and hot cocoa would do little to ease her ire.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred greeted with a slight bow before turning to the young lady greeting her the same. “I didn’t expect you two to get home so fast. Dinner will only take a few minutes before it is ready. Perhaps it would be best to change into something more comfortable?”

Before he could respond, her voice rang out. “Thank you, Alfred. Dinner smells lovely. Unfortunately, I am not feeling all that well so I will be turning in early.”

Both men watched her leave without a sound, turning to stare at each other when a door in the distance had been closed and locked. Alfred only blinked and moved on. “Shall I prepare the couch for you then, Master Bruce?”

“No. She’s not that upset that she’ll force me to give up my bed. Even she has a heart.” He said while walking to the table. Alfred hummed and turned off the fire under the pot, giving the food one final stir.

“Mistress Dove was upset enough to forgo my chicken noodle soup, I am not sure she what she is capable of.” Bruce only had to give his butler a look before Alfred turned and began serving a bowl of soup. He ate in silence, the only sound being the roar of fire in the fireplace and the hard hits of rain on the manor. Every now and then, Bruce’s ear would pick up the sound of her moving in the room down the hall. He wondered what she could be doing at this hour.

“If you are done Master Wayne, I’ll take that bowl you’re scratching up with your spoon.” Alfred interrupted his boss’s thought. Bruce stood without a word and looked in the direction of the only other person in the house.

“Goodnight Alferd.”

“Goodnight sir. And good luck.” The greyed man called out to the retreating figure of his employer. Whatever happens tonight, he knows he’ll need plenty of rest to navigate through tomorrow.

Bruce found himself hesitating, his large hand clasping the door handle but refusing to turn it. Memories of past dealing with her fire played in his mind. There was the time she moved all the furniture in front of the door, and later both the door and the windows after the first attempt failed. Another time, she barricaded herself in the bathroom for three days, living off of junk food and leftovers Alfred left outside her fort.

The most recent incident had Bruce living in the manor with a ghost of a woman. Dove refused to be in the same room as his, she left when he came and stuck to the shadows of the house. It would have been impressive if he attempted to catch her, but Bruce would simply let her go and hide his annoyance. Now he stood in front of the door of his suite, hand on the handle, cautious of what he’ll find.

Turning the handle, Bruce took in a deep breath and scanned the room. The window was open, the night breeze filling the room and chilling his bones. There was no crude escape made of bedsheets this time, so his steel-blue eyes moved on.

The bathroom door was open with the lights off. His ears could pick up the sound of dripping water in the shower, she more than likely forgot to wring out her loofah. Bruce could smell the scent of cucumber melon, Dove’s preferred post-shower scent. She should be out, yet the bed was still made with not a single indent as evidence she was once there.

His steps were silent, a perk from training Dove did not appreciate, as he slowly gaited to the middle of his room. The aloof billionaire closed his eyes and sighed out his nose. After their trip, he didn’t want to play any games. Tomorrow he would have to be up bright and early to attend a shareholders meeting. In order to get the best sleep possible and have a pleasant enough attitude for the meeting, Bruce would need to end this childish argument.

“Dove, let’s talk.” He expected no response and got exactly that. She could be under the bed for all he knows. Her life before he saved her had been active, to say the least. Bruce wouldn’t put it past her to hide in a bathroom cabinet all night.

“Dove, come out, and let’s talk like adults.” While he pleaded, Bruce undressed and entered the ensuite bathroom. If he was lucky, his physique would distract her long enough for him to grab her and force a conversation out.

He left the bathroom unlucky. No matter how many times Bruce called out for the mistress of the manor, she refused to appear. At one point he thought he heard her footsteps on the self-heating tiled floors, but after turning off the shower, Bruce realized it was just the noise of water dripping yet again.

It was when the sour man entered the closet that his luck turned around. Hidden behind tens of dozens of male suit jackets and coats, sat Dove. Her headphones, Wayne tech that wasn’t even on the shelves yet, plugged her ears and blocked all noise. Her body was cocooned in her favorite blanket, a ratty sheet he has unsuccessfully thrown away several times now. The reflection in her deep drown eyes showed the screen of her phone, heavily modified and monitored by a bot he created, playing a video ranking his costumed colleagues in a list of some sort. Bruce raised a hand to knock on the mahogany wood to alert the caged bird of his presence, but her eyes were quick to snap up and stare him down.

Dove did not frown not scowl, her plump lips remained relaxed in a neutral position. The amusement from the video leaked from her body as she sprung back up slightly, it was clear she was ready for a fight. He had no energy for that.

“Can I help you?”

“Come to bed.” She merely raised a brow.

“I don’t have anything scheduled for tomorrow morning. I think I might stay up tonight. This is a pretty important video I found.” Always quick to choose her words. She had his interest piqued and they both knew it. Before he could ask, she gave the answer. “It’s a rank of best to worst costumes in the Justice League.”

“Where am I on the list?”

“Number 7. The all-black aesthetic is kinda out of fashion right now but it’s still timeless. Super and Wonder are on the worst list though, Red and blue are outdated.” A half-smile graced her face and Bruce wanted to caress her lips. Instead, he tugged on her hair scarf. He doesn’t do playful. He agitates people into reacting, digging into the vulnerable crevices people leave unguarded. When she swatted his hand away, the dark knight knew he’s won. “Stop.”

“Come to bed.” Bruce didn’t wait to see if she’d follow him back to the bed. He didn’t care if she would. The fact that Dove wasn’t angry enough to ignore him counted as a win for him.

Dove emerged from the darkness of the bathroom, sans ratty blanket, with a neutral face. The anger she felt in the car had not been forgone, simply paused for the time being. Her brown skin glowed in the yellow lamplight, the skimpy silk nightgown only covered to the middle of her thighs. Bruce noted his bedmate wasn’t angry enough to wear her old ratty pajamas, another win in his book.

They settled into the bed in silence. He got in first, then turned the sheets down for her to slip into her side. When her head settled on the plush pillow, Bruce leaned over to turn off the lamp on his nightstand.

“Goodnight.”

“Mhm.” A disgruntled sigh escaped. A few minutes passed before one hand snuck over to clasp a feminine one. When Dove continued in her silence, Bruce took the chance to yank her body to mold against his.

“You’re an asshole, ya know?” Bruce only tightened his grasp around her waist in response. Brown eyes looked over to see his closed shut in mock sleep. Even placing her ice-cold feet against his warm flesh did nothing to warrant a response. "Ya know, If I could, I would leave you.”

“Yes.” He grumbled, burying his nose where her neck and shoulder met. He knew that the moment his back was turned and the gates were unlocked, Dove would run without a backward glance. He knew she would dive as deep as possible into the underground to escape him and his omnipresent watch system. He knew, but Bruce did not care. “I know. Now, sleep.”

I'm supposed to be studying!

I just posted but them ten notes have me hype. I have a small piece from the story I want to share. As a thank you for the ten notes and two follows. Enjoy!

His focus was completely on her lips, though it occasionally would dip down to her chest every time she breathed. Caution still filled his bones. A month ago, Dove would never entertain him like this. A month ago, she would rather bathe in acid than let his hands caress her brown skin. A month ago, his caged bird would not be leaning in closer to peck his cheek.

And yet.

Now, in the closet of their shared room-

That's it. Have a great day!

"Might As Well, Right?"

Well Darlin, look at us now. A continuation of "Trust Me? You Stole Me?" I'm having so much fun writing this, slowly piecing the past together. Enough of me.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Black!fem!OC/reader

Rating: T for Teen

Warnings: Hints of Abuse/Manipulation. (closest I can get to expressing what's going on. I'm not trying to be pretentious, I literally can't bc I don't know where this story is going either. Something isn't right, is what I'm saying)

Series Masterlist

In the time she’s been there, Dove has never seen a guest visit the manor in the daytime. Sometimes when he had a gala to host or bigwig to impress, Bruce would open the gates to outsiders. Only at night, though. And never for any time longer than three hours. Those were the nights she hated the most. Bruce would bring up the evening in question two days before it was scheduled to take place, usually while they ate breakfast, and ask her what she wanted to do.

He was kind enough to offer two options. One, be his date and hang off his arm all night with the chance to socialize with people other than him and Alfred. Or two, hide in a windowless room with tv or a stack of books to keep her company while he entertained his guests on his lonesome. Dove found both options to be unpleasant.

The prospect of socializing with outsiders always felt tainted with the knowledge of who she would socializing with. Other rich people that, like Bruce, were out of touch with reality. Those were the type of people that could look her in the eye and not feel a sliver of concern.

She knew if she asked, her jailer would dress her in the finest jewels and silks. He would think Dove had begun to lean into the life he wanted to have with her. She made that mistake before. And there were few experiences more infantizing than being put in a room while Bruce hosts, with Alfred checking in on her every hour on the hour.

The new man placed across from her, on Bruce’s left side, presented a third option.

“A carnival?” This new man, closer to her age than Bruce’s, didn’t falter or pause cutting his food up while looking her in the eyes. She held eye contact and when he showed no sign of breaking it first, Dove cut her eyes to Bruce. Acrylic nails ‘clicked’ against the glass cup as the woman picked it up to take a drink. “I’m surprised you trust me enough to let me out of your sight.”

“Dick’s almost as good as me. But if you disagree, you’re more than welcome to attend the party as my date.” Dick smirked at her, daring her to take the invite to the party instead of the golden opportunity to escape her reality for a night with him. Pushing a fallen braid out of her face, Dove looked at the pair. Alfred was in the kitchen a couple of feet away, cleaning up after cooking their breakfast. These men at the table with her continued their meal, unconcerned with the fact that she stopped eating. “Or stay in the room and watch tv. You’re a couple of episodes behind that competition show you showed me, right?”

“The carnival,” Dove started, her fork moving again as she began picking at her food. She wanted to ask who this man was but refrained. What would it matter in the long run, she wondered. Clearly, this ‘Dick’ knew who Bruce was and what he did, both at night in the streets and to her.

“If it makes you feel better, my date will be there and would love a normal friendship with a girl around her age. Also, you probably won’t get another chance like this for a while. Might as well right?” Her nails thrummed against the table as Dove thought. Was she that desperate for outside contact that she’d settle for a trip to the carnival with two strangers that knew her situation and didn’t care?

“Sure." Brown eyes caught the action of Bruce readjusting the grip he had on his utensil. Still, she pressed on. "When’s the next time I’ll get to eat questionable junk food like a deep-fried triple-battered butter smothered double stuffed oreo?” It was then Alfred appeared at her side, his sixth sense about her empty plate right as always. He placed a gloved hand over her tapping fingers and looked deep into her eyes.

“Please. Don’t.”

-------

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Bruce said while watching jittery hands apply makeup to an awfully eager face. As much as he wanted to ask her to tone down her makeup, the light in her eyes made him refrain. It’s been a while since his caged bird has looked this excited. Not even the trip to Dubai, before it got ruined, caused such a reaction. It broke his heart to stay home and host the gala while she would be outside the manor tasting the small bit of freedom granted to her.

“No, Dick said tonight would be the last day the Hex Girls would be in town. I’ve been a fan for years! This’ll be my first time seeing them live.” Dove murmured, careful to stay absolutely still as she applied her eyeliner.

While she was genuinely excited to see her favorite band and be outside with normal people for the first time in months, Dove felt a second rush of excitement at the thought of being away from Bruce. She warred with herself after that breakfast, worried about her mental state if she leaned into this outing. As much as she wanted to hold back, her mind has already tricked itself into believing the couple she was going out with were friends instead of babysitters.

Steel eyes watched facial features be redrawn and colored to perfection, slowly he watched the woman he was infatuated with, return to her former glory. She smacked her lips three times to ensure the gloss had been evenly distributed before turning to look at him.

“How do I look?”

“Breathtaking.” Dove could feel her cheeks warm. Bruce doesn’t lie. He tricks and misleads until his opponent was too confused to move, but he wouldn’t lie. A compliment from her captor shouldn’t make her heartbeat any faster, and yet the muscle hammered away due to his honeyed words. “Maybe I’ll take you out next.”

“Maybe…”

“Would you like that?” She didn’t answer his question, but the billionaire paid no mind to that. He’d give anything to have her on his arm all night instead of out with his former sidekick. Canceling the outing would only strengthen the discontent in her heart. That would be spitting on the progress they’d made recently. Dove no longer scowled at him when he hugged her before he left the manor. Bruce had no desire to go back to how things were. “Dick should be arriving soon. We can wait downstairs.”

“What about your party? It starts in an hour, you should be getting ready.” The trail of perfume she left in her wake scrambled his mind with ease as she slid past him to grab her jacket on the bed.

“I don’t take that long to get ready. This is fine.” Together they strolled down the hall until the stairs started. The plaid skirt flounced with every step-down Dove took, something Bruce found hard to ignore. It wasn’t obscenely short, so saying something about it would only sour her evening before it began.

“Mistress Dove, that is a lovely outfit you have on.” Bruce could tell by the way Alred sucked in air that the woman in front of him had graced the butler with a rare smile.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“Though, I’m not sure if that jacket will keep you warm in the autumn weather. Might I suggest taking Master Bruce’s casual jacket?” Gloved hands waved the article of clothing as an option just as Dove and her shadow reached the last step. “The oversized look is currently in trend right now.”

Dove merely hummed. Bruce crossed his muscled arms over his chest and watched her, not reacting when the security system alerted the presence of Dick on his doorstep. The large door groaned as it swung open, followed by the sound of two pairs of footsteps headed to the main den.

“What are you all standing around for? You ready to go?” Dick asked with hand clasped in his companion’s grip.

Bruce has only met Koriand’r a few times before now. Each time, the alien princess looked more and more assimilated into earth culture. Tonight, it appeared she successfully convinced Dick into wearing matching outfits.

“Hello, I am Kori,” The girls were quick to acquaint themselves with one another, giving the men time to talk before the three young adults left.

“Have her back by one. Not a minute late.” Dick scoffed and looked at the girls.

“Scared she won’t want to come back to you, old man?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Carnival closes at midnight anyway. Might get some food afterward, I’ll have her keep you updated.”

“Right,” Bruce pulled a phone out of his pocket and tossed it to his former sidekick. “Here. Add your number to it.” Dick complied without a word, though he couldn’t help but give his mentor a judgemental glance.

“Dove,” The women paused as the gruff man called to one of them. Dick watched with amazement as Dove walked over to them. It appears she had been taught the name recall command.

“Yes?” her voice came out timidly as if she was a child at risk of being forced to stay home.

"I updated your phone, My number, Alfred's, and the house's are all..." Bruce led them a few steps back and Dick lost his ability to keep up with the conversation. He walked over to his date and clasped her hand, and the two waited for Bruce to set his bird free for the night.

“Don’t let him work you too hard, Alfred.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Master Dick. I’m happy to let you know I’ve been taking pilates to strengthen my core.” Kori laughed at the perceived joke, but Dick didn’t put it past the old man to actually begin pilates.

“I’m ready,” Dove announced. She had ditched her jacket for Bruce’s, the sheer size of it covered her thighs more than the skirt did. Her brown eyes looked troubled, and her shoulders were tensed to high heavens. Whatever Bruce did had the woman on the verge of issuing a rain-check

Alfred stepped away for a second at returned with a miniature backpack. Dove nodded her thanks and slipped her phone into the front pocket of the jacket while taking the offered accessory.

“1 o’clock, Dick.” The only response to the reminder was a half-assed wave while the girls clutched the other’s hand. Bruce resisted the urge to call the whole night off, his event included, to fix his error. Instead, the two men watched the trio of twenty-somethings pile into Dick’s car and speed out the driveway of Wayne Manor.

“Sir-”

“I’m going to get ready, Alfred. I’ll be down before the guests arrive.” Back up the stairs, Gotham’s golden prince went. His steps pressed harder on the steps than Alfred thought was necessary.

“Of Course Sir.”

Lovely

Happy to say I started the framework to give this series some background. Still don't know what to call the series though. open to suggestions. Anyway, the teaser:

She stood behind the man, measuring tape around her neck and a kettle of tea in her hands, dressed head to toe in knock-offs.

Her shoes were fake Luis Vuitton and the purse she carefully placed at her workstation looked to be fake Fendi. Her slacks, though in style, looked like they came from a discount store. Her shirt was the worst offender, the signature Burberry plaid was all wrong. The older women of Wayne Enterprises would call her attempt offensive.

Bruce thought she looked lovely.

Jail

First of all, I'm about to succumb to a Cinnabon-induced coma, so if i start losing sense. Second, my Bruce Wayne x Black!fem!OC is going well and like sharing teasers with yall. Sidenote: researching the process of law is kinda fun. Anyway: here's a preview: A peak into the past

She’s never seen Batman in person, but the stories her customers told her about how intimidating he could be, rang true. Her mind couldn’t direct her body to move, there was nowhere to hide. The pickup scheduled tonight has been ruined, and the dripping woman could have sworn her ears were hearing the sound of police sirens.

Guess who’s going to jail tonight?

The darkness of the suit worked in his favor, and soon Dove found herself flat on her back looking into the lens of his eye cover. “What are you doing here? What’s your business with Joker?”

"A Bit Drunk But Still Fine."

Part 3 of We Flock Together, my Bruce Wayne x Black!OC series. No long rambles, let's get this shit.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Black!fem!OC

Rating: T for teen

Warning: suggestive conversation, hinted nefarious magicians, hinted abuse, and Stockholm syndrome. Yandere Bruce Wayne

Series Masterlist

The sound of stifled giggling chipped away at Bruce’s subconsciousness until sleeping in became a lost cause. The blinds blocked most of the morning light trying to brighten the room, but a small sliver made it through to land directly on his face. Next to him was his caged bird, cocooned in the blankets she insisted he kept on the bed now that winter would settle in any day. His vision went from bleary to focused when he noticed the restrained shake in her shoulders.

“What has you up early on a Sunday?” His rough voice traveled through the hills and valleys separating their bodies until it reached her pierced ears. Dove peered slightly to confirm his awakened state, only to turn away from the eye contact with a small gasp. “Hmm, Dove?”

The morning noise had been her acrylics typing loudly against the screen of her phone, followed by the sound of a message being sent. Whoever existed on the other side of the conversation responded within a minute and was the source of Dove’s amusement.

“Dove,” She looked back over to see Bruce inclined, held up by his thick forearms. “Who are you talking to?” She bit at her cheek, a nervous habit of hers that emerged after her first week in the manor. “I’m just curious.”

“Dick has been teaching Kori about memes and gifs, and now she won’t stop using them even though Dick asked her to calm down,” Her brown eyes snapped up to look at his reaction before continuing her sentence. “And I’ve been sending her new ones to use but Dick doesn’t know so now he’s demanding Kori to tell him where she keeps getting them from.”

“Wow.” The syllable left his lips without thought. He didn’t anticipate this outcome a month ago. Bruce couldn’t identify what the feeling building in his chest could be. The only thing he knew for certain was that she looked lovely with a smile so early in the morning. And he had an idea on how to make that expression last a little bit longer. “What’s a meme?”

Dove’s mouth shot off without hesitation, pulling her warm phone from under her cocoon to show example after example. Bruce chanced a lean, feigning it to see the screen better, and felt the warmth in him rise when she didn’t move in the opposite direction. Her lecture would be interrupted periodically with the notifications from the group chat. And every so often, when the conversation would lull and she looked close to getting up to start her Sunday, Bruce would ask another question to get his bird to chirp again.

Let the record show that Bruce Wayne, the aloof billionaire, and secret crimefighter, already knew what a meme was.

Only when Dove finally looked at the clock on her nightstand did the woman shuck the blankets off and get up from their shared bed to begin her routine. The warmth she left could not replace her actual body and the residual smells from her hair and body that had become infused with the silk sheets did not make up for the absence of the source.

Bruce joined her in the closet not long after she left, hopeful to continue what they started in the bed. “You make me feel so old sometimes.”

She huffed a laugh. His jokes have been landing more times than not recently. “I promise you, no old man looks like you do or does what you can.”

The sight of her brown skin being tinged with a deeper undertone of red made him preen. Ever since the carnival night that had Dick dragging Dove and Kori back to the manor, Bruce has noticed a difference. He noticed that night after the gala had ended and the house cleaned of all evidence of outsiders were once inside his home. Bruce met the trio in the foyer, eager to have his precious bird back in her cage. And his prize did not mind. She still did not mind. It was as if Dick brought home a new bird, a tamed bird, to his mentor.

“You don’t have to spare my feelings. There’s nothing wrong with being older.”

“You’re only in your thirties, Bruce. Besides,” Dressed in a simple set of sweats, Dove glided to his side of the closet and laid a hand upon his cheek. “I think older men are so sexy.”

Stormy eyes narrowed in suspicion. This was the first time in a long time she’d come on to him under her own sober will. There had been countless incidents since Dove began living with him, where the contents of her glass would be low but her libido high. Slowly, he wrapped his large limbs around her cinched waist. Already, he could feel his fingertips itch to trace her shape down to those wide hips he adored so much.

“Oh, is that so?” Dove nodded.

“Especially older men that are as strong as you, Bruce. I bet you can pick me up without breaking a sweat.” Pearly teeth became exposed to the cold morning air as Dove’s body was hoisted into the air before landing on the table in the middle of the room. Her sweats did little to cushion her landing, her lips parted to let out a short squeal.

“Anything else you want me to do to you?” Pale hands twisted the hem of her sweatshirt as the question sunk in. His focus was completely on her lips, though it did dip down to her chest every time she breathed. Caution still filled his bones. A month ago, Dove would never entertain him like this. A month ago, she would rather bathe in acid than let his hands caress her brown skin. A month ago, his caged bird would not be leaning in closer to peck his cheek.

And yet.

Now, in the closet of their shared room, Dove was letting him kiss and nip and suck at her plump lips to his heart’s content. Now, she moaned at every touch and sighed from every squeeze. Now, she embraced him like he’s always fantasized, pressing her body against his with excitement he could relate to.

Bruce groaned as her clothed legs, legs he knew were just as silky smooth as the rest of her, rose up and wrapped around his waist. He grabbed under a knee and yanked, pulling the rest of Dove with it, to rub his quickly hardening crotch against hers.

At the feel of him pressing into her, Dove broke the kiss but did little else to dissuade Mr. Wayne from turning his lips to her neck. “Oh, Bruce…”

“Yes?” The words seared itself to her skin. Dove could feel the fog surrounding them thicken. Bright yellow claws combed through Bruce’s unruly bed head, stopping right before his nape to gently pry the man off his dear bird.

“I’m sure Alfred is waiting for us with breakfast.” He conceded and backed away. Even though his heart and flesh begged him not to, Bruce knew logically it would be bad to keep going against her hint. If Dove wanted to slow down, he could do that. He would do that…

Dove was proved right ten minutes later. Alfred did have a generous display of breakfast food waiting on them. As well as coffee and infused water. Breakfast went down as a quiet affair, broken up by the unfinished war in the group chat Dove had masterminded.

“-telling them that there was no way I would allow our technology into the hands of some pompous overgrown manchild for a couple billion.” Dove nodded along as Bruce ranted, not at all understanding the situation but content to witness the stoic Bruce Wayne show some color for once.

“Who do they think they are?”

“Exactly what I was-” The conversation had been cut in by the sound of a call coming in on Dove’s phone. She pouted and looked away, knowing how both men felt about a phone at the dining table. “Its okay, answer it. I have to do some work in the cave, anyway.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly but she waited before Bruce had made his way to the discrete entrance of his cave before turning to look at her phone.

“Dove!” The excited alien princess called out. Her green eyes took in the setting of her friend’s location. “Are you at the table? I can later, I know that Mr. Wayne is not fond of outside communication during meals.”

“No, it’s okay. He said it was okay. What’s up?” Alfred’s mouth twitched while he cleaned up the used dishes and utensils. This was the girl Bruce raved about in the beginning. Talkative and full of life, not barbed and withdrawn like what he’s seen during her stay. The change in attitude breathed new life into the manor.

As the two chatted, Dove moved from the table to the den, where a roaring fire already awaited her. Down below, Bruce had become engaged in his own conversation. The computer in front of him had surveillance tapes from over a month ago rolling, the master detective watched with careful eyes for what he was looking for.

“Are you sure? Maybe she’s just had a change of heart since then. OR maybe-”

“No, something isn’t right.” The Dark knight admitted to his once sidekick. Dick Grayson sat on the other side of the line, listening to his mentor come up with theory over theory. “She’s...easier to deal with. Like she let go of all her rage.”

“So why are you upset over that? You finally get to cuddle up to the woman and the first thing you think is brainwashing?This is why you’ll never be happy.” dick mumbled out the last sentence, but they both knew it was heard by the paranoid billionaire.

“I got carried away. I should have investigated that carnival the minute she came home.”

“Why? She looked fine then. A bit drunk but still fine.”

“She hugged me and told me about her outing.”

“And that's not…”

“Normal? Coming from a woman like Dove who compared being here to being locked up in Arkham Asylum two days before the carnival? No. it wasn’t.” Bruce went silent which gave the opportunity for Dick to dwell on the entire situation. Ever since Bruce came home that night, talking non-stop about a woman he met, life has lost predictablitly. This woman changed something in Bruce, unleashed something that was better restrained.

“There. I see you all entering. Where did you go after stopping at the corndog stand?”

“HA! Kori loved those and ate so much she-” Dick paused to refocus. “We played a couple games, the girls were adamant about getting a bear or something, so we stayed there for a while.”

“And then?” Bruce prompted, his eyes never leaving the screen. While he had to constantly switch to a new camera, he could keep up with Dick’s recount. Coily hair blew in the wind in front of her face, but it didn't deter Dove from throwing another ring at the organized bottles. The dark knight couldn't find it in him to fight the wobble in his cheeks, his bird looked so happy.

“Then Dove wanted a turkey leg. Kori saw a stand near the motorcycle stunt cage. I ended up there somehow-” Bruce watched the interaction, there was no “somehow” about it. Without the sound, he could tell his former sidekick had made a bet with his date that involved the stunt cage. “I nailed it, of course, then the girls dragged me to some loony magician.”

“The magician? A tall woman with a green tent?”

“Actually, they were non-binary, Bruce.”

“ What did they do? I can’t get any footage from inside the tent.”

“Ah, you know? Basic shit. Pulled a rabbit out of their hat, guessed someone’s card. Dove went up with a group for them to do hypnosis-”

“She did what? What did they tell her to do?” Bruce resisted the urge to drag Dove down to the cave and interrogate her.

“Come on, calm down. It was basic shit. Quack like a duck, Slap yourself, Kori could tell you the rest of that. I got so bored I swear I almost went to sleep with my eyes open.”

Bruce watched in real time from the outside of the tent until the trio emerged, along with other patrons. At first glance, everything looked fine, but there was something peculiar about the gait of Dove. It’s like she was tipsy. “Did any of you drink before the magic show?”

“Uh, yea. Just a beer or two when we were playing games.” He scratched his chin and thought of another question.

“Did you-” Bruce paused when the sound of the door opening hit his eardrums. “Alfred? Is something wrong?”

Her Shadow stretched from the top of the cave to the base of the stairs, not far from where he stood. “I was wondering if you would like to watch a movie with me? Me and Kori got off the phone not that long ago and Alfred went to do the weekly shopping.”

“I…” Bruce looked at the entrance to find a glorious sight. Though she was completely clothed in unassuming sweats, Dove’s curves were on display for him to take in. He worried about how well he could pretend to watch a movie with a woman like her sitting next to him.

Shaking his head, the detective refocused. He had a mystery to solve. Dove was not herself. That woman up there looked and talked like her, but she would never be her.

“Bruce?” her voice echoed in the hallowed cave. He could see her head swivel, looking for him with those beautiful dark brown eyes of hers. As hard as she looked, Dove did not step into the cave, her feet stayed in place at the entrance, still on the hardwood floors. Good girl, he wanted to say.

“I gotta go.” He muttered out to Dick, ending the call before the last word left his mouth. He sped through the power down process then jetted up the stairs to see the mistress of the house. As much as he wanted to wrap his arms around her, show his happiness over her willingly seeking him out, Bruce had to correct his bird. Dove,”

“Yes?” She backed away slowly, nervous at the sight of his face. He had a certain look in his eye she knew spelled trouble for her.

“Hey, don’t back away, sweetheart.” Large steps closed the distance between them. Rough hands rubbed her covered shoulders in an effort to soothe the woman. "I just want to remind you how dangerous the cave is. You can’t pop in like you did, okay?”

“O-okay. I’m sorry.” This clearly wasn’t his Dove. She was so much easier, now. He shouldn’t be up here, the dark knight had a case to solve. But, her eyes looked so beautiful, filled with fear and hope at the same time.

He’s gone this long playing into the charade. What’s one more day, in the grand scheme of things? The batman could put in the hours later tonight, while his pet slept. And Bruce, he could pretend. For just a while longer, that this was normal. That Dove has learned to love him on her own.

That he finally won the long game.

Gripping her shoulders, he pulled her body closer to his, and suddenly they were back to the moment in the closet. Her eyes, as seductive as they were brown, stared into his. She wasn’t shaking, hasn’t shaken since that night. Pretty plump lips twitched.

This was normal.

Dove’s eyes stayed open when he leaned in to kiss her. His did too. Together they molded their lips to one another, waiting for the other to lower their lids and get lost in the moment. Dove went first, he followed suit.

He knew, eventually, the reason behind her behavior change would become uncovered. He knew the moment he fixed her -and he would because Bruce was a good guy and good guys don’t let their partners stay brainwashed- Dove would go back to being his untamed bird. He knew she would be in hysterics if she remembered what she had done. He knew, but Bruce did not care.

Breaking the kiss, He stroked her cheek until her eyes reopened. “What movie were you thinking about?”

Let's Add Caviar To It

My inspiration has been resurrected and it would be unfair to not use it in this series. I never thought I'd write this much for this story, but now its getting its own masterlist and taglist. Comment if you want to be tagged for future updates

Masterlist and Series Masterlist

Taglist: @prettyvintageafternoon

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: cursing, obsessive Bruce Wayne

When Bruce first met Dove, the sky had just opened up for the third time that week. The rain made wonderful background noise as he stood upon a platform, staying completely still as his tailor made adjustments to the newest suit in his collection. She stood behind the man, measuring tape around her neck and a kettle of tea in her hands, dressed head to toe in knock-offs.

Her shoes were fake Luis Vuitton and the purse she carefully placed at her workstation had to be fake Fendi. Her slacks, though in style, looked like they came from a discount store. Her shirt was the worst offender, the signature Burberry plaid printed all wrong. Anyone that didn’t know designer would be fooled. The older women of Wayne Industries would call her attempt offensive.

Bruce thought she looked lovely.

As the appointment went on, his sharp gaze followed her captivating form travel in and out the room. Dedication bled through her every action. This woman moved with an eagerness to learn everything she could from her mentor. She had enough knowledge about the business to complete a task before Spinelli could call out her name.

“I’ll make sure to deliver the suit two days from now, Mr. Wayne,” Spinelli announced after taking the last measurement. When Bruce failed to respond, the old man a glance up. His highest paying customer had set his focus elsewhere. To the side of the podium, tucked away behind fabrics and order lists, where Spinelli had set up his apprentice to work.

“Mr. Wayne?” That time, the tailor gained Bruce’s attention.

“I just remembered that I have been invited to the mayor’s birthday dinner. This time deliver it to my office.”

“Oh?”

“Is that possible?”

“Yes, of course. Whatever you want, Mr. Wayne.” Bruce’s focus drifted back to the young woman tucked away, working hard and not paying him any mind. Whatever he wants?

Two days had passed agonizingly slow for him. Between fighting crime and leading his company to new heights of success, his mind never strayed far from her. His morning thoughts revolved around her, curious about what she looked like fresh out of bed. Catapulting through the rain slickened streets of his city, he wondered if she had any hobbies or what she did to unwind. After shaking a shareholder’s hand, Bruce imagined what she smelled like and how soft were those working hands of hers, and if she touched his suit with them.

By the time Dove made it to Wayne Towers and knocked on his door for the delivery, Bruce had dug up the bare bones of her life. Where she lived - near Sheldon Station- what subway line she rode -the number 2 line all the way to the Fashion District where she walks the rest of the way to Spinelli- if she lived with anyone -just a roommate that’s barely home and pretends to forget about paying their share of the rent- and how old she was -mid-twenties and she just celebrated a birthday.

“Mr. Wayne. I have your suit, sir.”

“Thank you. I don’t believe we’ve introduced ourselves yet. I’m Bruce Wayne, but I’m sure you knew that.” A small snort she failed to suppress warmed his being. That’s good, humor is a key factor in a long-lasting relationship.

“Dove CartWright, sir. I’ve been Mister Spinelli’s apprentice for the past few months.” Her voice coated her words in honey, unknowingly making her all the more appealing to him. Bruce could hear it now, the sound of her sleep-laden voice croaking out a rough ‘good morning’ from their bed as he paces around the room getting ready for work.

“Spinelli hasn’t taken on an apprentice in a long time. You must be deadly with a needle and thread.” Her eyebrows shot up an inch at his alluded compliment. Apparently, the news and local anecdotes were true. Bruce Wayne was a charmer.

“Thank you, sir. I came into his store with a few tricks and talents but he’s been wonderful sharing his expertise. I watched him tailor your suit and it was like a work of art how he did it.” Only watched, he wanted to ask.

“I’ve been going to Spinelli since I was a boy. I don’t know a better tailor,” Bruce replied, taking the garment bag and unzipping it to peek inside. Pristine black fabric greeted him. He let out an audible hum to telegraph his satisfaction.

While he inspected the suit, Dove stood still as a statue, running the tip of her painted fingertips along the edge of her skirt. Did he make her nervous? “Good as always.”

“He’ll be happy to know that. Enjoy your evening, Mr. Wayne.” Her body wobbled for a minute, trying to figure out what the proper farewell gesture would be for a tailor’s apprentice to give her employer’s most important customer who was simultaneously the CEO of the richest company in the western hemisphere.

Bruce would remember the smile she gifted him as she departed for the rest of his life. They weren’t the whitest teeth he’d ever seen or the straightest. The gap between her incisors induced an extra pump in his heart. Gapped teeth, something so plebian to fixate on, yet he did. It made her endearing. He wanted to see it again.

He had to see her again. Already the warmness of her presence had vanished, plummeting the CEO back into the usual callousness that was his life. He just needed to see her one more time. See her toss a smile at him one more time. Show him that gap in her pretty teeth one more time.

Dove kept her shoulders square as she strutted out the elevator into the lobby of Wayne Industries. Her job was officially over for the day, freeing her mind to think about the personal side of her life. What would she eat today?

How much money did she have in her account?

The 15th was coming up, she should stock up on purple polyester in case she runs out.

Dove broke out her train of thought at the sound of someone shouting ‘miss’ over and over.

“Ms. CartWright, Please come back. Miss?” A ruffled employee said again, sighing in relief when Dove’s head swiveled at the sound of her last name. “Mr. Wayne has asked that you return to his office at once. There seems to be an issue with his suit.”

“An issue with his suit? But-” Spinelli didn’t make a mistake, she finished in her head, nodding at the employee and retracing her steps to the elevator. What could have happened, she wondered as the numbers increased at an alarming speed, showing off the superiority of Waynetech.

Her knuckles barely rapped against the smooth wood grain of his office door before the entrance gave way to reveal the surprisingly shy half-smile of Bruce Wayne.

“Sorry to call you back so soon, but I accidentally ripped the seam on the jacket.”

“Oh. Oh! Sure, let me see the tear and I’ll have it fixed in no time, Mr. Wayne.” And there it was, another smile aimed his way, just for him. Her purse that had remained hitched on her shoulder during her first visit, drooped off and fell to hang from her covered forearm. It opened with a light ‘click’ giving access to the emergency sewing kit she had.

“I put it on my desk so I didn’t ruin it further.” The apprentice strolled up to the piece of furniture, kit in hand and ready to take on the task. The structure of her blazer wasn’t too restricting, it would allow her enough mobility to give her best effort.

“Okay let’s see what...Oh, wow. Mr. Wayne, this is-”

“You can fix it, right?”

“Of course, I know a trick or two.” A third smile. Bruce could feel an addiction forming. “I’ll show you why Spinelli agreed to mentor me.”

Bruce watched as she settled her supplies and entered a zone. Her body mindlessly gathered the garment and created a station on the coffee table. Her fingers made no unnecessary movement. She took a second to decide her course of action.

“How about I order you dinner as a thank you?” Though he really wanted to take her out, he knew it was best to start slow. Watching her covered yet tempting form relax into his furniture was more than enough at the moment. If only her hair hadn’t been restrained into a bun just like the one she wore two days ago. What would her hair look like untamed? How did she wear it outside of work?

Her head leaned as she thought about the pros and cons of accepting free dinner from Gotham’s most coveted bachelor.

“Sure, I’ll have a wagyu steak covered in gold, please.” The sharp exhale of amusement eased her mind. This was the perfect time to build a repertoire with him, a little humor could go a long way.

“Gold doesn’t taste like anything remarkable, so I advise against it. But the steak is a good choice.”

“You don’t have to really, Mr. Wayne. I was joking.” Bruce disagreed. He did, it would be an even exchange for gawking at her exposed legs while she worked unaware.

“Maybe so, but now you put the craving in my mouth. And please, call me Bruce.”

Dove paused to think once again. Who was she, at the end of the day, to tell a multi-billionaire how to spend his money? If he wants to humor her with premium steak, it’d be stupid to protest.

“First name basis, already? I feel so special. Let’s add caviar to it.”

“Whatever you want, Dove.” And he meant it. The sensation of saying her name riled him. He wanted to say it again.

One more time.

We Flock Together

Synopsis: Safe? Or Imprisoned? It makes sense someone like Bruce Wayne wouldn’t be able to tell the difference and think a pretty gilded cage is the only reasonable answer.

Status: On-going | Taglist: Open, comment or message me to be added

Overall Rating: PG-13 (subject to change)

Act 1

~Trust Me? You Stole Me!

~Might As Well, Right?

-A Bit Drunk But Still Fine

~Let’s Add Caviar To It

~That it, Bossman?

~He Put Out An Ad?

~I Know What They’re Thinking

Intermission

~That Girl is No Good

~

~

Act 2

Main Masterlist

Just to go to the Bodega

We Flock Together part 5 teaser

“That little shop off Westward? Isn’t that a little out of your way, Mr. Wayne. We need to finish these plans as soon as possible.” Lucious reasoned. The extensive food court within Wayne Towers had more than enough options to satisfy the evolving palate of it’s well traveled owner.

“I won’t be long. I’ll bring you back those snack cakes you like so much.”

Bruce smoothed his overcoat topping his suit, slyly wiping the sweat that had beaded up on his palms away. There was nothing to be nervous about. Bruce just wanted to stretch his legs, get a sandwich, then return to his office.

This had nothing to do with it being late lunch hour, which just so happen to be what Dove favored to avoid heavy mid-day traffic.

"That it, Bossman?"

Chile, I been gone so long, I'm just gonna post and go.

Series Masterlist

Taglist [OPEN]: @prettyvintageafternoon @zennydaye @lalaooopsie @leahnicole121919

Rating: Pg-13

Warning: naughty dreams, cursing, obsessive Bruce Wayne

She’s been haunting his mind ever since that meeting. This was an outcome even the greatest detective could have predicted. Morning, noon, and night, her visage ghosted around the empty halls and intersections of his mind, interrupting his day to day thoughts with a coy smile and trail of department store perfume.

The growing desire to jolt his head up and scour his surroundings every time he heard her laugh was getting hard to control. His heart couldn’t cope with the delusions of his mind. Everything reminded Bruce of her. 

Torture sessions replaced his sleep schedule. After his patrol in the dank underworld of his city, Bruce would return home to his estate, shower, then sleep. That’s how it’s always been since he became Batman. Injuries and catastrophic events would interrupt this routine, of course, but Dove ripped it to shreds. His silk sheets buried him like waves, drowning him until the oxygen in his lungs were depleted and the hallucinations started.

“Bruce…Bruce...please Bruce,” It always started with pleading. The begging in her raspy tone would be the initial strike, the first nail in the coffin. 

Brown skin, gleaming with sweat, shining under the spotlight. Her marks and moles painted illustrations on her skin, something that his mouth wanted to trace to perfection. Her body twitching, bared and naked for his eyes only. The images were overwhelming. 

“Touch me, Bruce. Please.” The fingers, smaller and more delicate than his, cleaner than his could ever be, blessed his rosy skin with featherlight touches. Moans flooding his ears, taking over his senses. 

“Touch me here, Bruce.” After the second request to feel her form under his fingertips, he would always wake up tangled in his bedsheets. Even in his dreams he couldn’t take the plunge. It felt wrong somehow, his morality had drawn the line in the sand. Searching up personal information on the batcave’s computer system was one thing, touching dream Dove was another. 

Breaking into the security feed of a small ethnic grocery shop that sold a specific brand of popsicles he found in Spinelli’s shop one night after an uneventful patrol? 

That toes the line.

But ultimately, could be overlooked. If anyone asked, and no one could or ever thought to question the respectable Bruce Wayne, a casual remark about the growing diversity in Gotham City would explain his sudden detours to that side of town. No one could fault him for being curious.

Especially when the curiosity paid off in the board meetings. Everyone fawned over his dedication to creating strong cell towers throughout the city. No one needed to know that Bruce only discovered the discontinuity in connection strength by dealing with the five second lag he experienced watching closed footage from his batcave. 

Today was like any other day. Waking up from a dream that left him unbearably hard in his silk pajamas- an issue he would have to address in his morning shower-, completing his tasks at his company, shaking hands and making deals with Gotham's elite. A simple routine he’s followed for years. But now comes with a twist. 

“I think I’ll go visit that deli again for lunch. Want something, Fox?” The older man shifted his focus from the prototype blueprints on his desktop to gauge his boss’s movements. Swift, everything Bruce Wayne could be studied and classified as efficient. He never moved excessively or put in more work than required. A trait few picked up, fortunate for him or else everyone would see him for what he really was.

A walking contradiction.

“That little shop off Westward? Isn’t that a bit out of your way, Mr. Wayne? We need to finish these plans as soon as possible.” Lucious reasoned. The small food court within Wayne Towers had more than enough options to satisfy the evolving palate of its well traveled owner. 

“I won’t be long. I’ll bring you back those snack cakes you like so much.”

Bruce smoothed his overcoat topping his suit, slyly wiping the sweat that had beaded up on his palms away. There was nothing to be nervous about. Bruce just wanted to get a sandwich and return to his office. 

This had nothing to do with it being late lunch hour, which just so happened to be what Dove favored to avoid heavy mid-day traffic. 

The world class chef’s at Wayne Towers couldn’t replicate the sauce only available at the small hole in wall deli. Or offer the variety of international snacks found in its compact aisles and fridges. Like the popsicles he tried the other day. The same ones he found in Spinelli’s trash. 

The bell dinged and the men grunted a hello from behind the counter. Their idea of good service and Bruce’s idea were on two different planets, but the billionaire knew a thing or two about being cocky. The type of cockiness he wielded at socials and galas, where all his peers and onlookers whimpered at his feet and laughed at his pisspoor jokes. The type of cockiness being the best breeds in a person. Knowing no matter what you do, you’ll still be untouchable.

It was a heady feeling, akin to consuming the finest absinthe. 

“Yo! What can I do for you bossman?” Cold steel eyes scanned the walkways and mirrors in the corners of the store, searching for that familiar head full of tamed hair. Did he come too late? Too early? Is she not on her lunch right now? Maybe, Bruce reasoned as the man fixed up his order while talking loudly to his coworker, maybe she went to another shop for lunch. 

Still, this would be his third time coming to the store without laying eyes on his current object of intrigue. At this point, going back to the footage and coming up with a new plan seemed like the best next step-

The bell dinged.

“Oi, there’s our little princess! Where you been at?” Following the cashier’s gaze, Bruce’s heartbeat picked up with a shy bit of hope racing through his system.

Pretty brown eyes. Hair covered by a neon yellow beanie. Black stockings with the smallest rips along her outer knee and a pretty red scarf that had seen better days. 

“Po, you know I have to wait until the fifteenth to afford one of your sandwiches. Don’t play dumb.” Bruce’s ears perked. There was a sharpness in her voice he had only heard from tapping into audio tapes from around the city. How familiar was she with these two?

“You talking to me, the man that makes your food, like that?” 

“I never said a word to Sammy.” A raspy chuckle trailed her response. “Sammy, how are you darlin? Po not working you too hard, right?”

“He not, but you could.” Dove snorted, tapping along the laminate wood counter, bringing the line count from one to two. In front of her, A sharp dressed man dug in his pocket for his wallet and collected his sandwich. 

“Boy, stop playing with my emotions like you don’t got a husband at home and make my food.” 

“That it bossman?” Brown eyes finally took notice of the figure at the register and the woman felt her body temperature drop. Of all people to catch her outside of her work persona, it had to be the most important man in the city, the possible key to her upward mobility if she impressed him enough. 

Should she speak up? Call his attention and butter him up with her hopefully endearing personality? Would it be best to act like she didn’t recognize him? But, Dove scrunched her nose in agitation as her eyes tracked Sammy slapping her sandwich together behind the glass barrier, who in Gotham wouldn’t recognize Bruce Wayne? The real dilemma was would he remember her? 

Sure they shared a meal one time, but a man like him must be drowning with dozens of shared dinners with women. Nothing made her special-

“No caviar this time?” As if sensing her internal dialogue, Bruce’s smooth voice startled her and solved her issue at the same time. Their eyes met, and everything outside of the woman next to him faded away from his vision. It was alarming how she could fog his brain with a simple look, which only made Bruce want to be around her more, orbit around like the moon does the earth, tethered to her gravity with no desire to break free.

“Not this time, Mr. Wayne-”

“Princess, want it toasted?” Sammy asked, breaking up the beginning of what Bruce thought to be a beautiful moment. His trained ears could hear the swallow of saliva being forced down her esophagus.

“Yes, add it to my total.” Too distracted by the thought of a warm lunch for the first time in ages, Dove is blind to the intense look her sponsor gives Sammy. 

“Mr. Wayne, you keep paying for my food and Gotham will start talking. I’ll end at the top of the gotham gazette web page.” Dove protested lighty, enough to say she tried but not enough for him to change his mind about buying her lunch. 

Bruce fought the goofy smile looking for a place on his face, sliding his card over for payment. Buying things for pretty girls was familiar territory for the billionaire. He could consider it foreplay at this point. In his experience, nothing made a woman want him more than getting a feel for how big his pocket bulge was. 

A decorated palm rose to wave at the gentlemen behind the counter. Wordlessly, the pair exited the shop with Bruce holding the door for her, the door chime signaling their return to society, one where a man like him didn't pay much mind to women like her. But Bruce had so much more he wanted to say.

Every parting with her tugged at his heart, demanding he take drastic action to keep her in his sights.  A more impulsive man would clasp her hand and smooze her number out. 

“If anyone ever gives you trouble, kindly send them to my office. I’ll take care of it, Dove.” What a man, she thinks. There must be something wrong with him. She found it hard to resist his charm, or believe that the persona he donned for the general public and the man on a midday lunch break were the same person. 

“In that case, maybe you should give me your number.” Bold. He liked it.

Thank goodness.

"He Put out an Ad?"

~Hey my darlings, Let's cut to the chase and post part 6 of We FLock together. I'm truly excited to post this, the last part was kinda filler. Now we gettin into some shit.

Series Masterlist

Bruce Wayne x Dove (black OC)

Rating: PG-13; warnings: obsessive Bruce Wayne, plotting Bruce Wayne, silk press getting caught in the rain; cursing, barely edited.

Taglist [OPEN]: @prettyvintageafternoon @zennydaye @lalaooopsie @leahnicole121919

Bruce watched behind his cowl as dilated brown eyes became glazed with tears. Dried specks of blood had been splattered on the side of her head. If he hadn’t met with her two days ago to slurp down oysters at the newest restaurant in Gotham, he would have never believed the puffy mane on her head used to be straight. 

“Batman? Please, don’t hurt me…” A shrill voice called out, and oh, how it pained the man behind the mask to hear. As if he could ever hurt her, his sweet Dove. But he couldn’t let her know that. Batman doesn’t show compassion for criminals. Even someone like her, with a fearful expression and trembling body. Like a lone bird grounded by a broken wing. Later he would explain, over coffee at that diner she took him to, that Batman does what’s necessary for the public. 

For now, he had a job to do. 

His heavy shoes crunched on the discarded newspapers, stepping over unconscious bodies and pools of diluted blood. The tears in her eyes fell over her lower lid and blended in seamlessly with the raindrops hitting her brown skin. 

“Don’t, please! I’m not with them! Stay- Stay away!” Uncoordinated limbs attempted to move her out of his reach. Dove looked up at the vigilante. She’s never seen Batman in person, but the stories her customers told her about how intimidating he could be rang true. Her mind couldn’t direct her body to move, there was nowhere to hide. The pickup scheduled tonight has been ruined, and the dripping woman could swear her ears were hearing the sound of police sirens. 

Guess who’s going to jail tonight? 

The darkness of the suit worked in his favor, and soon Dove found herself flat on her back looking into the lens of his eye cover. “What are you doing here? What’s your business with Joker?”

“Nothing, nothin’. I promise I’m not a criminal. I’ve never even stolen from the self-checkout. Please don’t hurt me!” The taste of Gotham rainwater saturated her mouth with bitterness. Still, she spoke loud and clear, unwilling to give him an ounce of doubt in her innocence. 

The dark knight leaned further until they were a breath apart. She still smelt like how she did last time he saw her. His hands yearned to skim her body, the clothes she wore already glued to her frame, exposing curves he had only dreamed of prior. Focus, Bruce. 

“I won’t have to hurt you if you tell me the truth of why you’re here.” At the sound of her whimper, Bruce leaned back just slightly. Like a weight off her stomach, Dove sucked in air for all she was worth. “Don’t make this difficult. If you don’t tell me, I can promise the GCPD won’t be any kinder.”

“It’s just clothes. I-” Her heart pounded and her head felt fuzzy. This was all too much for her to deal with. A lone woman, out in the rain, with Gotham City’s fiercest defender on top of her. “Didn’t do nothing.”

He waited for her to elaborate. When her mouth didn’t open again, Bruce felt the ice-cold rain run down his back. A dark gloved hand lifted her neck to get a response. Her head fell back, Dove was no longer conscious to support herself. 

“Fuck.”

---- ----

“When you said ‘it’s just clothes’ what did you mean by that, Miss CartWright?” The detective probed. When Dove awoke from her unintended slumber, her wrists were cuffed and chained to the lone table in the room. This was an interrogation room. She’s seen the setup before in tv and movies, never did she think she would also experience them in person. 

“I said what?”

“When Batman apprehended you last night. He claims you said ‘it’s just clothes’ after he inquired about your connection to the Joker.” Long lashes fluttered, her mind racing and trying to catch up to her current situation.

“I meant that I’m just the supplier for his costumes. Well, all their costumes.”

“Uhm, What? Please explain.” The cop leaned back against the mirror, a two-way she thought. Clearing her throat, Dove pondered her next words carefully. She wasn’t a snitch, not against Gotham’s biggest menace. All she had to do was clear her name and pray they let her go without further interrogation. She would chirp as much as she needed to avoid a jail sentence. But if worse came to worse, she would sooner sew her lips shut with her strongest thread than snitch and end up on Joke’s shit list. 

“I’m a seamstress. You probably already knew that.” With a nod, the suspect continued. “I have an apprenticeship with Tailor Spinelli. It pays, but not enough. So I make the costumes and uniforms for Joker and his gang. Pays well. I don’t have to take up a second job or sell feet pics to men on the internet.” 

“Are you serious?” Her nose flared at the dubious tone in the detective’s voice. With a hard glare, she met the man’s eyes. 

“You think Joker is getting those purple suits off the rack? Or that he has his goons buying their matching outfits off the web in bulk? I’m serious.”

“Okay. Now how did you end up in this arrangement? He put out an ad?” The more the pig talked, the angrier her tone became.

“No. Miss Harley did.”

“Alright, enough bullshit. Tell me the truth.” Dove felt her temper rise and she had to fight to get a hold of it. Slamming the table and shaking her binds, she spat it out for the last time. 

“I told you the truth. I’m the Joker’s seamstress.”

His focus left the video in his hands and traveled to the smoking law enforcer. Letting out a cloud of tobacco, Gordon reached out to ask for the footage back. 

“Far as I can tell, she’s telling the truth. So why is she still in custody?”

“Miss Cartwright knew of illegal activity and knowingly associated herself with criminals. That’s enough to keep her at the station and guarantee a trial. We have a warrant to search her apartment.”

“She’s the closest connection we have to Joker right now, had in months,” Gordan admitted to the dark knight. Bruce frowned. The thought of someone he cherished being behind bars unsettled him. Regardless, the commissioner spoke the truth. The only thing he could do was wait for her on the other side of the trial. To do anything more, to tamper with the process would go against everything he fought for. 

If they tried to throw her behind bars, however,then he would have no choice but to act.

He left the rooftop in silence, something he knew Gordon had to be used to by now. The Batman still had a city to protect, a patrol to stick to. He made a note to set up alerts on his computer for any mention of Dove Cartwright. Hopefully, all went well, and she won’t be convicted of any crime. 

A week passed and he had heard nothing of what could be happening to Dove. The golden prince of Gotham planned on waiting one more day before he broke into the surveillance footage at the station. So he remained in his office, going over figures and reports when he got a call from the station. The caller ID flashed brightly in front of him, it beckoned him to pick up the phone and demand answers. 

Stay calm, Bruce. 

“This is a collect call from Gotham City County Jail for inmate Dove CartWright, say yes if you wish to accept this call.”

“Yes.” The silence on the other side deafened him. Concern crawled up his body and looped itself around his neck, constricting like a snake until he was on the verge of passing out. Then, a muffled sniffle came through the line. “Hello?”

“Bruce? Thank God you answered. I couldn’t think of anyone else to call.”

“Dove? Is that you? Are you in jail?” These were questions he already knew the answer to, but to get what he wanted, he had to play his part as a bewildered friend. Hammering down his role, Bruce cursed low under his breath, loud enough for her to hear. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. I ran into some trouble. Made acquaintance with the wrong crowd and now the police are charging me with being an accomplice. I-uh need a favor, Bruce.”

“Do you need a lawyer? Don’t worry, I have a team ready. They’ve never lost a case, you’ll be out in no time.” He expected a sound of relief but did not receive one. “Dove?”

“I don’t need a lawyer. I already accepted a plea deal. I was hoping you could uh..” The billionaire smirked. He knew where this was going. 

“You want me to bail you out?”

“...yes.” He sighed and leaned back into his chair, staying quiet until she broke the silence. Focus, Bruce, focus. “M’sorry Bruce. You know I don’t see you as a walking bank or nothing. But I need to get out of here. I didn’t do anything. And I’m not safe in here.”

“Whose after you Dove?”

“Bad...bad people Bruce. I fucked up. I-”

“Ok.” And that was the end of that. She’ll remember this moment for the rest of their lives, Bruce rationalized, how quick he was to help her any way he could. How he didn’t even question her innocence, not like the GCPD have been doing. This would be the first of many milestones in their relationship.

This would be the day Dove realized Bruce Wayne was someone, the only one she could count on. 

Thoughts raced in his mind, plans forming and disassembling at an inhuman speed. He had calls to place, guards to disarm, supplies to buy, but piece by piece, his next steps became clear. 

“Bruce?”

“I’ll see you later tonight, Dove. Take care of yourself until then.”

“I,” a harsh exhale filled bounced around his eardrums. It didn't take detective work to know on the other side of the phone, shuffling her feet next to the phone station, Dove was struggling to hold it together.  “Thank you, Bruce. Really.”

The line went dead, his phone screen still pressed firmly on his side profile. Lowering the device, Bruce stared absently at the black screen. 6 minutes and 17 seconds. It felt much shorter than that, but the numbers refused to change. It made him crave more.  A calloused finger pad tapped the touchscreen, raising the phone back to his ear. The cooing of a call yet to be answered riled his spirit. 

“Alfred. I need you to prepare the manor for a guest.”

“Absolutely Master Bruce. May I ask how long this guest will be saying.”

“Indefinitely.”

"I Know What They're Thinking."

I'm not sure if I want to call this part 7 or part 6.5, regardless I'm posting it. I feel like I say this every time, but it picks up after this. Inspiration comes and goes these days, so yall just gon have to bear with me.

Series Masterlist

Bruce Wayne x Dove (black OC)

Rating: PG-13; warnings: obsessive Bruce Wayne, sneaky Bruce Wayne, chipped nails, women's clothing sizing mention, cursing, barely edited.

Taglist[OPEN]: @prettyvintageafternoon @zennydaye @lalaooopsie @leahnicole1219 @ctrllovre

Her nails had been chipping since that night she got arrested. Dove couldn’t tell you when it first started. Maybe that night in the cold rain, pressed between the unregulated vigilante and the rough asphalt of the city. Maybe during the unconscious hours that followed that, when her body was moved to the soulless gray precinct. Maybe when damaged palms repeatedly smacked the steel table, straining to convey her innocence to the detective. 

Maybe afterward, when Dove had been rudely escorted to a cell, crammed already with other convicted bodies. When she had very little room to breathe, even less to turn and gather her bearings without hearing some sob story or boast fest. Perhaps a chip of mauve nail polish flaked off when that erratic woman stalked through the cell like a predator, grasped her hand to offer her a proposition. 

There were infinite possibilities when her nail polish began chipping, but Dove knew for sure that after her mild mind break, the polish had shed like a snake's skin. With it went her armor. Dove felt out of control, the itch she struggled with for so long came roaring back, filling her head with roaring thunder. 

It made her restless. 

She couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t look anyone in the eye. Everywhere she went, Dove could swear she smelled the sweet slightly nauseating odor of laughing gas and sweat. It made it hard to stay focused, and her an easy target for the police. Quickly the young woman earned the title ‘insubordinate’. Dove never knew loneliness like this before.

But then Bruce answered her call. And for a moment that dark feeling faded away.

She wasn’t prepared for it to return tenfold three months later.

***

Dove couldn’t help but fiddle with the buttons on the jacket he draped over her shoulders. The way it settled on her tense shoulders like a blanket soothed a toddler, it carried an inexplicable sense of security. The warmth of his body had remained trapped in the silk-lined fabric, thawing her from the horrors of being confined like an animal. 

A firm hand clasped the roundness of her shoulder, dragging her into the moment. The bustling movements and repetitive barking that characterized the police station rammed into her all at once. 

Her grip tightened on the button caught between her fingertips. 

“Ready to go?” No. Yes. Would the evening sun burn her after being deprived of it for so long?

“Yes.” Bruce led her through the corridor, out the door, and to the cherry red convertible that let all the sight-having citizens of Gotham know who was gracing their dangerous streets. The corvette played the perfect chariot for the golden Prince of Gotham, and Dove, in all her times of riding passenger, had never felt more unworthy. 

“Dove, are you okay?” Bruce watched her, her sullen attitude polluting the air around her. He hated seeing her like this, scared and broken. Luckily he knew how to fix it, but it would have to wait until the prerequisites were met. “You can talk to me, I won’t judge you.”

“I just,” her dam began to break. “Don’t know what to say. I-I don't know how to thank you. This was, you, what you did, how do I repay you?”

She couldn’t bear the look of pity she knew would be painted on his face, so burning eyes fell to her lap, watching her idle hands squirm in her lap. Her body flinched in the premium leather seat when a pale hand pierced her personal bubble to settle her restless fingers. 

“There is nothing to repay. You are someone I care about, I would do anything to help you.”

Dove looked at him head-on and opened her mouth to protest, to demand him to name his price because she’s lived long enough to know that nothing is free, but the gleam in his eyes stopped her before she could start. Even without getting to know him for the past few months, she had enough data in her brain to know Bruce Wayne was a stubborn person that came from a long line of equally stubborn individuals. 

By the flare of her nose, the billionaire knew the dragon had been defeated for now. Now for the next phase of his master plan. 

Dove’s demeanor slowly thawed out the further he drove them away from the precinct. Tense shoulders began to droop, twitching fingers calmed, her painfully stiff spine began to slouch, the fog of despair dissipated. The sullen woman worked up the energy to shift her focus from her lap to the window, watching the way the world passed by. 

Bruce had to resist jerking the steering wheel when a giggle escaped her cracked lips. 

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing to your billionaire mind. It always amuses me when people do double takes when they see this car. You can’t see their eyes but I know what they’re thinking. ‘Is that fucking Bruce Wayne?’ I always thought that when I saw you on my commute.”

Her tired voice perked up the longer she spoke, it warmed his ears. “Oh yeah?”

“The only other person that causes this reaction is Batman. He moves so quick and wears all that black so you can barely see him-”

Bruce slowed the car down to a stop as he waited for the light to change green. His jaw longed to clench and grind his molars against their opposites. It took no brain power to know what made his passenger stop her sentence. 

He hated that that was how she met his alter ego. The way her usually bright brown eyes were filled with nothing but panic and fear, fear of him, haunted him for days. He lost sleep thinking about how he was the one that turned her in, the reason she was detained in a cold cell downtown. 

It was all his fault and she didn’t know. Nor could she, not right now when things were so precarious. Bruce promised himself he would tell her soon, he had to. By his own hand, Bruce had trapped himself in a rock and a hard place. A splat of rain hitting the windshield broke the brooding man out of his thoughts.

“It never stops raining here. You know, I almost decided to move to Metropolis after hearing how bad the weather is in Gotham.” Dove said as her finger chased after a lone raindrop sliding down the tinted window, bare of the colored nail polish he remembered seeing the night of her arrest. 

“Oh yeah? What made you change your mind?”

“Bills. Everything is expensive in Metropolis. Rent, life insurance, cable, even car insurance and I don’t own a car! I calculated those numbers and signed the lease to my apartment the same day.”

“Gotham is cheap?”

“It's run down, Bruce. At least where I am. The same-sized apartment I got now is double the price in Metro. And it's not like rats are coming out the wall sockets or nothing, there’s too much crime for the landlords to charge an arm and a leg like they do in Metropolis.”

The light conversation distracted Dove from her demons. Instead of being mentally caged in the cell she could revisit the apartments she toured in the city before picking the one near Sheldon Station. 

“I think you just passed my turn, Bruce. Its a right on Rucha, remember-”

“Dove.” He spoke her name tensely. Bruce didn’t have to but for her sake, squeezed the wheel and twisted his grip to tell his unease. Like it pained him to deliver the next bit of news when it actually sent his heart racing with fervor. “I can’t in good conscious leave you alone there.”

Plump limps separated to express her shock. Before she could begin to protest, her savior put his hand up to stop her arguments. 

“Please, listen to me, Dove. I-” He sniffed his nose, seeming to hold back emotions he was too refined to express in public like this. “I don’t know who exactly you’ve gotten yourself involved with,”

Guilt coiled in her stomach like a cobra. Oh. Was she that awful and inconsiderate? For all he knew, Bruce could be getting himself involved with the biggest goons in Gotham for her sake. Was she really that self-absorbed? What was Dove thinking? Involving him in her plight. He was only trying to help her, the least she could do was hear him out. 

Paying no mind to the moving car, Dove failed to feel the increase in acceleration as she reached to touch his hand, soothe his mind, and coax out his thoughts. Times like this she wished he grew up normal, somewhere where showing emotions was okay.

“I don’t care either. I just want you safe. And the best way to do that is if you stay with me. At the manor.”

“Bruce-”

“I have the best security on earth. There isn’t another house for miles. No one pops up without a month’s notice. Alfred is trained in five forms of combat. You’ll be safe here. And that way, I won’t have to worry about you.” He ended that confession with a deep sigh, driving the point home. 

He cared so much about her, Dove realized. Her hips shifted if the premium leather seats. Outside the car, the beauty of Lemmars Park went ignored. The bridge that connected Uptown and the outskirts of the city loomed in the distance. Its overwhelming size didn't help to ease Dove’s nerves. She couldn’t even begin to see the other side of the bridge. The clouds and rain blocked what little light the streetlights provided the public. 

She wouldn't have to stay forever. Just a couple days, until her trial ended and her body found itself in the county jail or back on her worn mattress in her apartment she worked so hard to make cozy. 

Is Bruce asking for that much? A little staycation in the manor, being cared for and doted on by his lovely butler. Laughing and bonding with her friend. Learning new sides of his personality of the always posh and primped Bruce Wayne, sides that didn’t fit into his carefully molded character. Briefly, she wondered if he was the type to walk around in his draws or not.

Dove cast her eyes to his side profile. His jaw had tensed since he finished pleading his case. They neared the bridge. His grip on the wheel wavered before tightening until the leather squeaked.  Her hand had yet to move from his other. 

“I need to go home.”

Bruce cursed, out loud and at himself for falling for sucha stubborn mule of a woman. Was his tone not sappy enough? Should he have gone for a higher-pitched voice, and rubbed his jaw to showcase his distress instead of periodically gripping the wheel? It couldn’t be too late now. One last chance. 

“Dove-” 

“To pack up some clothes. Unless you have women’s clothing in a size 18 already in the guestroom’s closet?” Dove cracked the tiniest smile, those pretty crooked teeth lighting up the car. Bruce felt his chest concave. No, he didn’t have any clothing prepared for her in the guestroom.

Because he put the items in the master closet, next to his. 

“That wasn’t funny.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

“How?”

“How about some of my special étouffée for breakfast tomorrow?” The convertible dipped as it rolled off the streets of Uptown onto the paved smoothed concrete of the bridge. They were almost home. 

“Can’t wait.” Dove could feel the honesty in his response. Her heart skipped a beat.

Oh, dear.

"That Girl is No Good."

Act two is beginning to write itself, until then here are what I like to call intermission pieces.

Series Masterlist

Bruce Wayne x Dove (black OC) [mentioned]

Rating: PG-13 | warnings: none? public opinion and scrutiny, cursing

Taglist[OPEN]: @prettyvintageafternoon @zennydaye @lalaooopsie @leahnicole1219 @ctrllovre

“What the public wants to know is who is this floozy that’s been caught time and time again, dangling off Mr.Wayne’s arm?” Judy’s fiery red tresses shook from the conviction in her voice, comparable to an agitated horse. She eyed the camera lens, attempting to convey the emotion brewing in her chest to her viewers. After months of failed lives and low viewerships on her blog, the woman had finally found her niche. 

Celebrity Gossip.

And who was the biggest celebrity this side of the western hemisphere if not Bruce Wayne? At first, the man gave nothing exciting to report on that could rally public interest. But now, this woman, this Dove Cartwright, had garnered interest the more he was caught with her. And that made Judy a very popular woman. She didn't understand why so few public personalities talked about this hot piece of news.

“Mr. Wayne is not a saint, we’ve all heard of the legendary parties he throws and the somewhat questionable meetings he has with some of Gotham’s infamous. But this woman is different. Poor, fat, black, with a criminal record, a key suspect in an ongoing investigation with a gang that is known for terrorizing innocents. I’m speaking out of a place of worry for Mr. Wayne. 

“I’ll take some callers now. Caller number one you’re on the air.

“Hi, my name is Michelle and I know for a fact that woman is a gold digger! She lives in the same neighborhood my ex does and it's nothing over there but future criminals and loser has-beens.”

Thank you Michelle for your concern and support. Next caller.”

“My name is Rich and I used to get my pants hemmed by her at Spinelli. She’s nothing but a girl looking for a meal ticket. She used to feel me up and press her breast against my legs like a bitch in heat. It's a real shame Mr. Wayne doesn’t know what he’s inviting into his life. That girl is no good.”

“Thank you for sharing that information Rich, I’m sure Mr. Wayne will open his eyes soon. Next Caller.”

“What’s up Gotham, it's Santana in the mix and I just wanna say all of yall is some haters. Yall big mad Mr. Wayne done found himself a baddie and yall jealous and bitter cause yall wish it was you all snuggled up with -”

“I’m so sorry to my audience for letting that thing assault your ears with nonsense. Maybe we should take a small break-” Three sharp knocks on her oak doors shocked her still. No one visits Judy. Her family had all but washed their hands of her years ago and she never connected with any woman she met in the 10+ years she’s been alone. Glancing at the setup, she could see the chat asking her who was at the door. 

“One second. Let’s take a small break.” she addressed both groups at once. Giving a small smile to the camera, Judy did a swift pivot and made her way to the door. She opened it without hesitation. The sight that welcomed her made her insides coil. 

“Judith Snorfeld?” It was a singular man, dressed in a sharp business suit with a manilla envelope gripped securely in his hand. By the second, Judy could feel her blood circulate faster. 

“Yes. Why are you-” Her breath rushed out her mouth as her body recoiled from the thick envelope that found itself forced into her embrace. She scrambled to secure the papers, all the while staring the man down. 

“Mr. Wayne is asking nicely that any and all posts you’ve made about him and Ms. Cartwright be taken down immediately.” Judy gawked at the man. He displayed no emotion or hint of an opinion. 

“You…he can’t be serious. It’s celebrity gossip, what I’m doing is-”

“I am just the messenger ma’am. If you don’t believe me or listen to Mr. Wayne’s kind request, those documents from his lawyers in your hands are more than enough to explain the situation.”

“But-”

“Good evening.” Judy watched, shock still freezing her body to the threshold of her quaint home, as the man in the sharp suit left the way she assumed her come. Slowly, she shifted her eyes to her torso, where the manilla folder had been pressed and secured.

She didn't bat an eye as the oak door closed without her body acting as a doorstopper. Couldn't draw in a single breath down the hall back to her tiny office, back to her waiting audience. She can't think of what to say, her words had been silenced and locked deep inside of her as fear took hold of her.

Judy glanced at the computer screen, chat lines obscuring her reflection. Her lips separate to utter something, a flimsy excuse to cut the show short, but her eyes pick out a colored piece of paper in the mess that was her desk before she could get anything out.

She's sick to her stomach. She wants to vomit. Of all people to blab about, why would she pick Bruce Wayne?

Now she's going to lose her viewers. Her short-lived steady stream of income. And her apartment.

"Fuck you, Dove Cartwright."

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 :)

OUR MUM IS A WHAT?!

Pairing: Batfam Imagine/Bruce Wayne Imagine 

Plot: All is well with the Wayne family, however when Y/N’s past comes back to haunt her, she must not only face her enemies but unravel truths that may break her family forever. P.S. I’m terrible at titles for stories!

A/N: I’ve been so nervous to release the first story since I stopped writing two years ago. But nonetheless I’m so excited to share this with all of you. I worked really hard on it and cannot wait for you to see it for yourselves. Enjoy!

Prompts (If you would like to request a prompt, please include the name of the list and the number of the prompts along with the character of your choice)

70: “ This is why I fell in love with you.” (Love list)

24: “ You need to leave.” (Angst list)

SERIES MASTERLIST 

I settled myself down in front of the batcomputer, watching as my husband’s and son’s trackers flashed at a location within Gotham. I sighed heavily, weaving my fingertips around my necklace as I continued to write up reports from their previous patrols.

Gotham had recently been under siege by Bane and his followers, keeping Batman very busy. However with the leads found by Tim and Jason while they were on recon, they were able to find their base and decided to infiltrate it.

I had met Bruce at a dazzling art gallery opening where the finest socialites of Gotham had been invited to. I had been lucky enough to score a job as a curator, and just happened to also catch the eye of the leading man and Gotham’s richest playboy.

It was very early on in their relationship that he admitted to being the vigilante Batman, which in all honesty, I wasn’t too surprised by due to his sudden disappearances at events and the bruises he’d poorly cover when on a date. 

Eventually we married (in all honesty the wedding was for Alfred, but I couldn’t help but admit how much I enjoyed the first of many evenings of being called Mrs Wayne by my now husband).

Then in tow came the children, one by one. I loved them all so much, and though I craved to have a child of my own, I was happy with the four sons that I and Bruce were blessed with in my life—

‘They’ll be fine Madam.’

I yelped as Alfred’s voice echoed through the cave, turning to see him making his way down the stairs, only to fall back against the seat with a heavy sigh. ‘I know Alfred, I just can’t help but worry at times, especially when these sort of missions occur. Motherly instinct I guess.’

The butler chuckled as he placed down a steaming hot cup of cocoa beside me on the desk, ‘It is not a crime to worry Mrs. Wayne. You should have no shame in that. I know that they lean on you for support but you must remember you need someone to lean on as well. You can’t carry all the problems of the world on my shoulders. Speaking of shoulders, I brought down my shawl, its way too cold to be down here without it, especially with winter drawing closer.’

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