Bruce Wayne Imagine - Tumblr Posts

Expensive Things

Synopsis - When you start secretly dating Bruce Wayne, Gordon starts worrying about where you got all these new expensive things

Warnings - mentions of blood, injury, and gordon thinking the reader has a sugar daddy lmao

Masterlist 🧚🏻‍♀️

Bruce Wayne Masterlist 🌻

Bruce Wayne.

How could you describe him?

Self-centered? Loner? Smart? A bit Over the top? Shy? Handsome?

The last one made your heart leap in your chest when you thought about it. But you didn't think he liked you this way. No, to him you were most likely just his good only friend from high school, the only friend who he had somehow managed to keep for so long.

You weren't part of the high society of Gotham and had a tad of a passion for investigations. Sometimes you even thought your talent for quick conclusions spooked Bruce, causing him to push you away lately.

But then you met The Batman, and he left you and your little heart to be torn in pieces.

Your passion to play detective had landed you a good job as James Gordon's assistant, making you his right-hand woman when handling Batman-related things.

And of course, what you felt like Bruce didn't see in you, you felt like Batman did. When Bruce would often put you aside when things got rough, when you tried to help with your detective skills. Well, Batman seeked your help. He trusted you. He didn’t push you away from a mission, or didn’t push you away when things got rough.

And now you felt yourself list all the ways you could describe him.

Smart? Loner? A bit over the top? Trusting? Handsome?

Now you had to take a minute to rethink. Handsome? You had never seen the top of his face.

But your mind travelled to the times when he made eye contact with you. When his piercing grey eyes made your heart do flips and turn your stomach upside down. Your mind travelling to how his voice brought shivers down your shoulders. How his jaw line contrasted with the black of his cowl.

Fuck.

You had a crush on both Batman and Bruce Wayne. Batman had torn your heart in two, leaving you to doubt your feelings and being a mess in front of both.

The worst part was, that Batman flirted with you all the time. Even to the extent that Gordon would ask him to stop and to ask you out already, or simply stop for his own sake.

But everything became less confusing when Batman came tumbling down your window, all bloody and bruised up.

You panicked, the sudden noise making you jump awake and aware. You had been dosing off while writing a report and his sudden arrival made you wide awake. You grabbed the knife you always kept under your desk and quickly turned around, your face dropping at the sight.

Batman had fallen onto your white carpet in a pool of his own blood.

"Holy shit" You dropped your knife and came near him, crouching to get a better sight.

You placed a hand on his shoulder, slowly turning him around to see the half of his face that wasn't covered by the mask.

"Y/n-" He mumbled.

"Bats what happened?" You frowned, trying to calm your own panic down before scanning his body to see his hand clutching his side. The pannels of his suit had been destroyed to reveal black fabric soaked in blood. The side of his face was badly bruised and blood was smeared on his chin.

"Bad guys" He groaned trying to keep his eyes open.

"I'll be right back." You frowned again before standing up and making a mental list of what you had to grab; towels, warm water, your first aid kit, bandages...

You thought that maybe you should call Gordon, or a Doctor? No. You couldn't bring him to the hospital...

You breathed. You could do this.

You came back to him, your heart beating like lighting as you saw him sprawled in a starfish position, still in the same spot beneath your window. He was muttering something under his breath that you tried to understand but couldn't seem to make out, maybe trying to keep himself from passing out.

"Are you ok to move, bats?" You asked carefully and he tried to nod. "I at least need you to sit up against my bed, ok?"

He listened, and with your help he was sat up, his head resting against the bed as you held his shoulders. You analyzed him carefully until you spotted the bloody area.

"I'll probably have to take your shirt off, bats. Is that ok?" You touched the side of his armor and looked at him. His bright eyes looked back at you and he nodded before closing them back again.

"Never thought you'd be the one to undress me first."

"Shut up and let me work." You bit back a smile, the flirty comment reassuring you that he would be fine. You frowned again when he winced at your touch.

Each piece of armor was carefully dropped against your already stained carpet until only the thin black shirt was revealed to you. It was already torn into pieces from the fight, making the removal easier.

"I hope you own more black shirts."

"You'd be surprised." He attempted a smile but gave out a big 'oof' instead as you started patching him up, the gash on his side too distracting to make you blush at the sight of his toned body or even think about who was under the suit just by how his abs looked.

You had one mission; save him so he didn't die on your bedroom floor.

"I'm sorry." He broke the silence.

"For?" You didn't look up from the wound as you replied.

"Coming here, like this..."

"Bats, you know it's alright-"

"You're the only one I trust, Y/n/n" He cut you off, the nickname rolling off his lips as if he had been saying it all his life, making you lift your gaze up to meet his. You didn't know what was different about this, maybe the way he used your nickname for the first time, or the haze in his voice. But you felt your blood rush to your cheeks more than it already had.

Maybe it was a tiny bit more than a crush...

"What about Gordon?" You attempted.

"He doesn't know me like you do." Your hands stopped moving and your eyes kept focus on his face, trying to figure out what he meant.

That was a lie. Gordon had started to work with Batman even before you had arrived in the G.C.P.D.

You didn't seem to know what to reply, and the eye contact was getting longer by the second.

Batman grunted as he leaned on one arm to scoot closer to you, his other hand attempting to reach yours. He tried to focus all his strength on sitting up without resting against the bed - making you grab the side of his arm so he wouldn't fall over.

"I'm sorry about being so distant lately." He whispered, and if you weren't so close you might have not been able to hear him.

His words might have confused you, but something about the change in his voice felt so familiar, so comfortable - as if you had known him your entire life...

Before you could think of something to say or wonder what he meant, his lips were on yours.

Your eyes went wide open until you registered what was going on. Your eyelashes brushed his face as you closed your eyes, gripping his arm to deepen the kiss.

Your other hand wrapped around his neck as his held your waist. You subconsciously reached to place a hand in his hair but were quickly stopped by the edge of his cowl, making you come back to earth.

You didn't know who you were kissing...

But damm it felt nice.

As if he had read your mind, he pulled away - eyes scanning your face for any reaction, but all he could see was your hesitation to kiss him again.

With a small sigh, he kissed your cheek and slowly brought his hands to his cowl.

"Wait-" you took his wrist in yours. "Are you sure you want to do this? I mean-" He shut you up with a kiss.

"Yes." He mumbled, squeezing one of your wrists.

He took one of your hands in his making you reach for the edge of his mask. The fabric felt smooth and almost cold under your skin, contrasting with the warmth of his hand on top of yours.

He closed his eyes and took a breath, you blinked slowly - the moment almost feeling like slow motion as he made your hand hook with the back edge of the cowl and slowly slipping it off.

It was a staring contest as it slowly moved away from his face.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The same grey eyes that you had been staring at your entire life were staring back at you.

"Bruce." You whispered and he leaned against you, faces inches apart. Your breath was caught in your throat, and all you could do was keep your gaze on his.

Somehow it made sense. The way Bruce had been more distant. The little times you saw him he seemed more sleep deprived than usual and less talkative. More reserved.

Batman, on the other hand, he was everything Bruce had been during your childhood. Cheeky jokes and sarcastic comments with more flirting and a good extra dose of charm.

"I wanted to tell you" he stopped to sigh "for so long."

Your brain moved faster than you could comprehend and your lips were on his again. Shushing him with a kiss, trying to tell him it was ok, that you loved him, but also trying to convince yourself that he felt for you just as much.

You pulled away, and smacked his chest with the back of your hand.

"Ow!" He whined, "what was that for?"

"Not telling me sooner" before he could reply you kissed him again, but the kiss was broken by your growing smiles.

"So I take it you like me as well?" He raised an eyebrow and your eyes went wide.

"Like you as well? Bruce, I’ve been head over heels for you since high school"

And the rest was history.

It would be a lie to say that Gordon didn’t notice a change. You started coming to work with a grin and a small step to the way you walked. You seemed happier, more at peace.

It didn’t take him long to figure out.

And it only took a month for you to actually say it.

You were planning a mission with Batman, and like always: his flirting was annoying Gordon, but today in particular he didn’t seem in the mood to take it anymore.

Gordon's head was bowed over the map while you looked at it, trying to figure out where to put the little figurines of you and Batman to show where you would position yourselves to spy on your next mission. You smiled a little to yourself as you remembered going into the toy store and finding a little Batman stocked in the corner of a shelf.

Batman was collecting information via his computer, trying to focus on the little information you gad until a light smirk covered his lips when you slightly bent over the table to place the toy in your hand on the map.

"You look good in those jeans." He smirked.

You felt heat come to your cheeks and eyed him with a furious look. His flirts were only growing bolder since the two of you were together, and you 1. didn't want Gordon thinking something was going on between you two and 2. getting embarrassed in front of your boss.

Gordon who had way pass enough his tolerable dose of flirts for the night lightly slammed his hand on the table and glared daggers at Batman.

"Can you please cut the flirting, please" Your boyfriend raised his hands up in defeat.

"Yeah." You chimed in. "I should warn you, my boyfriend wouldn't like it" You gave him a cheeky smile and eye contact only he could decipher.

"I'm sure I could take your boyfriend down easily"

"You think so?" You teased.

Boyfriend

Gordon wasn't wrong, you had someone.

"I didn't know you had a boyfriend." Gordon thought at loud, his curiosity breaking the coded bickers between you and Batman.

"Oh yeah, I forgot haven't told you." You look back down at the map in a poor attempt to change the subject.

"How long have you two been together?"

"About a month." You nodded.

"What does he do for a living?"

"What is this? An interogation?" You looked up at Gordon who looked like he had been caught in the middle of a heist.

"I just want to know who you're dealing with-" You wanted to laugh at his choice of words and side-eyed Bruce who was trying his best to keep himself out of the conversation.

"My relationship is not a criminal case, Gordon. He's a great guy that I really like, and can you accept the fact that maybe I don't want to tell who he is just yet?"

"Why?"

"Because if you knew you would make a full case file on him. And don’t act like I didn’t see files of my ex opened on your computer after I told you his name back when we started dating."

"You did that?" Batman chimed in with a light chuckle.

"You're not in this conversation." Gordon snapped.

"Just please, trust me."

And even though you knew he didn’t, at least he stopped asking questions.

Until four months later where his worries increased.

And who’s fault was that?

Your dear boyfriend who kept showering you with gifts and expensive things.

"Bruce, you have to stop" you made a desperate face as your thumb glided over the fabric of the Versace heels he had just gifted you.

"I saw you eyeing them when I was getting a new suit" he gave you a light smirk as he watched you bit your lip. Your words might have told him the contrary but he knew you were fan girling over these shoes and couldn't wait to wear them.

"I love them but, babe, you have to stop." You whined as you put the shoes back in their box and went to peck his lips.

"My closet is becoming fuller and fuller of designer clothes and people around me are starting to notice" you squeezed his shoulder a bit. "I even feel like Gordon is starting to get suspicious"

"Then don’t go to work in the things I gift you"

"Bruce, it has taken over my entire closet"

And exactly a week later, your predictions came true.

"Y/n, Im worried about you." Gordon stopped you as you were heading out of the building.

"Umm ok?" You blinked, holding onto your phone a bit tighter in your hand. It was late, you had a diner reservation and Bruce's car was parked a block away, waiting for you.

"Well…" Gordon shifted his weight from feet to feet, sighing before digging both his hands in his pockets and looking at you. "I’m not going to deny that you look… happier."

You raised an eyebrow as you tried to guess where he was going with his statement.

"But, this man you’re dating, he’s been giving you an awful lot of fancy gifts" he pointed to your brand new Burberry coat and the expensive heels you were wearing. Not to mention that he didn’t spot the thousand dollar dress you were wearing under the beige fabric. You were speechless, almost instantly knowing where he was going with this. "And.. I can see that he makes you happy I just- I’m worried that- and of course I trust you, I know you don’t let yourself be seduced by fancy things- but” He took a breath for courage. "I’m worried he’s got a grip on you with gifts- and-"

"Are you worried that I have a sugar daddy?" You tried to hold a laugh.

"Well- I wouldn’t-"

"Gordon." You put a hand up to his shoulder. "Please do not worry" you let you a short laugh at his antics. "He’s my age. And I’ve known him forever" you bit your lip so another laugh wouldn’t escape you.

Gordon’s eyes seem to soften as you explained.

"Trust me, I ask him not to get me all this" you pointed down to your clothes. "But that’s just who he is, I guess" you smiled a bit as you thought to the little meaningless fight you’d have over gifts. "So no, I am not a sugar baby" you chuckled as the words left your lips.

"That’s good." A tight lip smile fell across his features and a short silence lingered, you knew he wanted a name, to put a face on the one who would make you late for work, make you mindlessly smile when you thought of him, the one that bought you all these new things you kept changing into after work.

"I know you want his name" you broke the silence. "But not yet." You shook your head. "I promise you’ll find out and can make your police report on him to make sure he’s a good guy for me or whatever-"

"I wasn’t-"

"Gordon we both know-"

"Fine but-"

"Please trust me on this one. As I’ve said, I’ve known him forever. He’s a good guy, but I just can’t tell you yet." Your phone buzzed as you said that, a red heart filling the space for the name.

"He’s waiting for me." You smiled as you showed him your phone, Gordon sighed before moving and letting you through to the front door. "I’ll see you tomorrow."

~

Your 6 months anniversary was supposed to be perfect.

Perfect.

And apart from the rain that was pouring out onto Gotham, nothing could stop this moment from being amazing.

You were both sitting at a restaurant that gave out a beautiful view of the city. Its skyline almost looked even more beautiful with the rain hitting the river and making the street lights flicker.

You were deep into conversation, half of your appetizers already gone as you let the night take its course.

Those big grey eyes were looking back at you as you smiled, it was almost intoxicating how much you were falling more and more in love with him by the second. Everything about the way he was with you was warm and brought you comfort. He somehow felt like home, a home that you could find refuge to forever. Even with the over-exaggerated amount of gifts that you knew you couldn't level up with.

Everything was quiet, you could barely hear the chatter from the other guests, your table being too far and too hidden from the rest of the big room, to hidden for anyone to even notice the prince of Gotham was there.

You were about to break the short loving silence that had slithered itself into the evening. About to express the burning feeling in your heart-

but of course your work phone cut you.

"You can’t be serious?" you sighed and a short ugh sound left your lips as you threw your head back in desperation, Bruce frowned.

You had specifically told Gordon not to call you in case it was a big, batman level emergency.

He melted a bit in his seat at the thought of this night getting cut off by some Batman business, he started picking at the W engraved cufflink as he watched your face for a reaction to the call.

"Hello?" You heard muffled noises. Sounded like car tyres and an engine, maybe even the heavy rain ringing in the distance.

"Y/n-" the sound became less muffled, and suddenly you heard gunshots. Bruce watched as your face twisted with horror.

"I need you to meet me at the bat-signal, now. Light it up, I’ll be there when I can."

"Gordon what is happening? Are you ok?"

"Yes, I will be. I have to go-" more confusing sounds came from the other side of the line until it was cut by silence, and Bruce’s voice.

"What happened?"

"I- I don’t know- I heard guns, he was in a car- he- he told me to meet him at the bat signal, light it up. It sounded really bad"

He had that calm collected look he always did when he was trying analyse the situation and his next moves.

"Alright let’s go."

He took your hand as you walked back to the counter. You chewed on your bottom lip in anxiety as you tried to figure out what could have possibly happen to Gordon while Bruce figured out the entire paying and getting his jacket and your bag back from the coat check. You barely heard him ask for his car keys instead of someone bringing his car to him, something about being in a hurry.

But now you had other worries.

Spring had called to you being dressed in a long sleeveless dress and shiny heels, not only will you be meeting Gordon like this but your shoulders were barely covered for the rain.

And of course, the parking had to be in another building, leaving you to walk a block in the rain. You heard Bruce mumble a complaint about how this fancy restaurant could at least have a parking in the same building.

The second you were met with the flooding rain he shrugged his jacket off and laid it on your shoulders despite your resistance.

The leather of the car ended up getting soaked, so did your dress and Bruce's jacket that was now securely wrapped around your shoulders. Bruce was soaked just as much as you, his hair was unevenly poking around like the back of a hedgehog.

The two of you would have probably laughed at the situation if this had been different, but right now his eyes were focused on the road and yours on trying to get news from Gordon.

The bag signal lit up in the sky as your answer. He probably was already there, safe and away from who ever was chasing him before.

"What an anniversary."

"Tell me about it."

He parked right in front of the abandoned building, watching you as you slipped the sleeves of his jacket on, an attempt at shielding yourself from the storm that was waiting for you outside of his sports car.

"I’ll see you in a few minutes" you leaned your forehead against his.

"I love you" he mumbled before kissing your lips and reluctantly letting you go. He made sure you were inside before firing up his engine.

Gordon looked pissed.

The side of his jacket was ripped out, his glasses were crooked, he was dripping with rain just like you, and he was pacing around like a maniac, mumbling things as he did.

The sound of your heels came before your voice.

“What in the world happened?"

His wide eyes scanned your figure for a second and you realised he had noticed your outfit.

Of course he would

“I didn’t have time to change, I was at a restaurant.” You defended, bringing Bruce’s vest a little closer to your body as a shiver passed down your spine from the accumulated rain.

“I’m sorry I cut your evening” he sounded really desperate, not mad at you or frustrated that you came into work dressed in clothes more expensive than 3 months worth of both your paychecks united and heels that would definitely made you unable to run in case of emergencies.

"It’s alright, I just want to know." You pleaded again, taking a step closer to him.

"I found them, the base we have been searching for. I found half of their crew trying to smuggle something- I don’t know what yet, but it’s at least another clue. I know where they’re hiding now. But as I made my way out one of their guys spotted me-" he continued explaining the goose chase that had been going on while you were at diner. You carefully took in the information, trying to piece out the puzzle of this case.

You thought that maybe this would lead you to the Joker, or some other villain trying to put any version of your boyfriend’s head on a spike as well as rule Gotham’s darkest corners.

As he finished up his story, there he was, Batman. The shadow you had fallen in love with, a different version of him from the one you had been with barely 10 minutes ago.

"Nice fit" he looked at you up and down, not bothering to cover the way he was checking every piece of you out - and if you weren't dating the man behind the suit you would have probably wished you could disappear into a puddle with the rain.

"What are we here for?" He asked as if he hadn't known the danger Gordon had been in 20 minutes prior.

"Found them, they chased me around, I need you to bring us back to the station, I had to crash my car so they would stop following me" He winced at the memory. "We need to figure out what they want and what they're dealing so we can attack again. " He removed a usb plug from his pocket.

"What's that?" you frowned.

"clues"

You had forgotten how being in the Bat mobile felt. It was almost like a race car but everything was ten times more intense. You thought it might have even been similar to how formula one drivers felt. A swarm of buttons covered the dash, and when the inside of the car lit up, you remembered you'd have to be in the cramped back seat. Half of the space had been taken by version engines. You didn't even know if you could call this a seat.

"Sorry, princess," Batman mumbled as he opened his door and moved his seat forward so you could climb in the back. "Promise I'll give you a better ride next time." He winked and you wanted to hit him in the ribs to stop, but you quickly realized that it would be really dumb to do when he had his suit on.

That's when Gordon noticed the shiny button of Bruce's jacket that you still wore. Your hand was placed on top of the car as you made a movement to get in, the street light was reflecting on it.

His eyes focused on the engraved letter on the button.

W

He closed his eyes as he realized.

How could he have been so blind?

'I've known him forever' your words came back to him.

You were dating Bruce Wayne.

Of course, you were.

The gifts, the fancy dates, the wishing to keep the relationship a secret.

He snapped out of his realization and slid into the passenger seat of the batmobile, a smirk lighting up his features.

~

"You need a ride?" Batman offered as you yawned. You smiled as you put a file back in a cupboard. It was 3 am, you were finally satisfied with what you had come up with: a small plan that consisted of the three of you kidnapping the main boss and getting the information out of him.

Gordon looked up from his glasses before you could answer.

"I need to talk to her alone before, I'll give her a ride. Sorry Bats." He gave him a tight slip smile and you could see Bruce trying to keep his expression neutral.

"That's alright" He nodded, giving you a 'i'll be waiting for you at your place' look "I'll see you guys around."

"Bye bats"

Before he was even out the door you opened your phone to text him.

"One second I'm just texting my-"

"Bruce Wayne?" He took the words out of your mouth.

"What?" You froze.

How did he figure it out? was all your mind could play as you tried to find words to get out of this.

"Your boyfriend, Bruce Wayne." He folded his arms.

"Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Don't change the subject, Y/n" You swallowed as you knew there was no good way out of this.

"No?" It sounded like more of a question. "I'm not dating Bruce Wayne- he's- he's my friend."

"Right the friend who you went to diner with and came back with his jacket" He pointed to the vest you were still wearing.

Your eyes went wide and you noticed the W buttons.

Great.

"I promise I was going to tell you- I was just waiting-"

"Y/n, it's alright."

"What?"

"I get why you haven't told me, and I promise you that this time I won't make a file on him" He smiled a bit.

"You're not mad?"

"No?"

"Why are you smiling you usually hate my boyfriends"

"Y/n. You're a family friend, I've known you since you were a kid. But you forget I've known him since he was a kid." He pointed out. "The two of you weirdly fit together, Bruce is a good guy, I approve"

"You do?" You stayed baffled for a few seconds. 'Well that went better than expected'

"So you will stop asking me questions about my relationship?"

"Yes"

"Oh thank god."

"But just one condition, you ask Batman to cut off with the flirting or else I'm calling your boyfriend to tell him what's happening when he isn't around." That made you smile.

"Alright, I will"

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Sticky Notes (Bruce Wayne x GN!Reader)

Hi I wrote this in 30 minutes bc I wanted to get the idea out before I forgot so I apologize if this is crappy in any way! I’m a bit rusty when it comes to writing so please bear with me <3

Also! I tried to portray B as accurately as possible so I apologize if he seems too OOC lol

Warnings: fluff, puns

Requested: Yes! When I replied to the ask I accidentally clicked ‘answer privately’ and I lost it so I tried my best based on what I remember from the request. If you want me to rewrite it please let me know!

It all started with a blue sticky note on the Batcomputer (as you affectionately named it).

‘Don’t forget to get some rest B <3 U need it.’

It had caught his eye when he went to sit down to document everything from the night. From the handwriting, Bruce knew it was you who had written it. 

You were also the only one who could call him B and get away with it.

Bruce found himself smiling as he picked it up and placed it on the desk. Once he had finished writing and analyzing everything, he placed the sticky note in his diary journal, not wanting to lose it. 

–

A few days later, he found another sticky note (this time yellow), on his bedroom door after a night of crime fighting.

‘You are doing amazing <3’

Bruce felt his face warm up at the note. The words on the small piece of paper seemed to make the weight on his shoulders disappear, and he slept more soundly that morning.

–

Sticky notes of various colors started appearing through the tower throughout the week, and Bruce collected them all like pokemon cards. He kept them with him at all times, not wanting to lose them.

‘Hey there, hot stuff’ (this was on his bathroom mirror, and he chuckled as he read it)

‘I love you like macaroni loves cheese!’ (this was left on a container of mac and cheese for waiting for him in the Batcave)

‘You take up so mushroom in my heart <3’ (With a drawing of a mushroom)

And his personal (not that he would admit it) favorite, written on a black sticky note in a silver sharpie: 

‘I am all a-bat you!’

–

“Thank you.”

You jumped before whirling around to see Bruce standing in the entrance of the study you were currently occupying. 

His blue eyes latched onto yours, affection and gratitude shining in them, something that he rarely showed.

“For what?” You asked, standing up and walking towards him.

He pulled out the notes.

“They were a nice surprise.” He explained, glancing at the notes before lifting his gaze to you.

“Oh! Yeah, you’re welcome. I wanted to do something nice for you.” You smiled shyly, looking down at the notes in his hand.

Bruce noticed you looking at the sticky note at the top. He let out a faint smile before leaning down and whispering in your ear:

“I am all a-bat you too.”

(If all these sticky notes ended up on a board in the Batcave for him to read before and after he went out, that was no one’s business but his own.)

-

Alfred bought him the board when he noticed that Bruce was sad because the sticky notes were starting to get wrinkled from being in his pockets for too long.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @a-little-disguised​ @myguiltypleasures21​

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HEAR ME OUT.

bruce wayne and the reader having the exact same music taste (i’m thinking nirvana or deftones) and they lay in bed at night with headphones in each ear and listening together. GOD

drive me far away

FUCK YEAH I LOVE THIS IDEA THANK YOU SO MUCH ANON I LOVE U!!!! i hope i did your idea justice, it’s a little corny but i think it’s cute :) anyways ignore how bad i am at ending stories and enjoy!!!

pairing: pattinson! bruce wayne/ reader

warnings: female pronouns used in the form of ‘mrs.’ once. i think that’s it but lmk if i missed anything!

-

the first thing you and bruce found out you really had in common, was your music taste. it brought the two of you together tremendously, and you still bond over it to this day. wether it was nirvana, deftones, or even bands like new order, (YES, i strongly believe bruce would listen to new order/ new wave in general) you bonded over it all. no matter what time of day, no matter what activity, there was usually a song playing that both of you enjoyed.

it was a gloomy monday, and you had decided you wanted to give alfred the day off, or at least help a little. which took a lot of convincing.

“alfred please, just let me do the dishes, or something!” you always felt bad for him, even though he clearly didn’t dislike his job, you still felt the need to help every once in a while.

“alright, fine mrs. wayne. clean away” alfred throws his hands up in surrender and exits the room. bruce gives you a questionable look from where he was working at the kitchen table. “what??? i wanna help out” you retort at his silence.

“i didn’t say anything” he shrugs, before unwillingly going back to his work. you stick your headphones in as to not bother bruce, and begin to play “mollys lips” by nirvana. you bop your head to the music as you wash the dishes, silently mouthing the words as you go. bruce notices this, and decides that nows the perfect time to take a break from his work. he walks up behind you silently, and snakes his arms around your waist. he rests his chin on top of your head as he speaks.

“whatcha listening to?” he takes an earbud out of your ear and places it in his own, and an instant smile crosses his face. you push out of his arms and grab a ladle from the sink, going into full theatre mode now that you knew bruce wasnt working. you mouth the lyrics into the ‘mic’ with much exaggeration.

she said

she’d take me anywhere

she’d take me anywhere

as long as she stays with me

bruce leans against the kitchen counter, watching with full amusement and a lopsided smile.

she said

she’d take me anywhere

she’d take me anywhere

as long as i stay clean

kiss, kiss mollys lips

kiss, kiss mollys lips

you continue to perform your heart out, dropping down to your knees like a true rockstar at the end of the song. bruce claps enthusiastically.

“amazing” his sentence comes out broken between his laughter as he helps you up from the ground. you smile as he pulls you flush against him and places a kiss upon your lips.

“can i help you do the dishes” he mumbles lazily against your lips.

“weren’t you doing other work?” you question, looking over to the papers scattered across the table.

“i was, but i’d rather do dishes. less boring.” your shrug, placing your phone on speaker and playing the music aloud. the two of you slowly but surely finished the dishes, although you both were drenched because you thought it would be funny to start a water fight.

later that night, you were settled into bed, laying on your side and nose deep into a book as bruce got ready in the bathroom behind you. this was one of the rare nights that bruce didn’t go out, and the both of you went to bed at the same time.

you smile to yourself as bruce places himself flat against your back, entangling his legs with yours and placing soft kisses on the space behind your ear and down your neck to your collar bone. you place your book down, he then takes one of his earbuds and places it in your ear. deftones fills your head and you smile softly to yourself as you turn to face him. you were quite literally centimeters apart as the music plays for the both of you.

“be quiet and drive huh?” you speak over the music, quirking an eyebrow at him.

he shrugs, “basic, but one of my favorites” a smile ghosts his lips as his eyes scan your face. he was admiring you, drinking in your beauty. something he did quite often without thinking about it, he could be in the middle of doing anything, and he would stop to admire you. you decide to move in, your lips moving in sync with his as the song continued to play. bruce tugs you impossibly closer as he faintly mouths the lyrics against your lips.

it feels good to know you’re all mine

now drive me far

away, away, away,

that night, the two of you fell asleep in each others arms, music still playing in your ears as you dreams came and went.

Solutions - Bruce Wayne

Bruce x fem!reader (Friend)

Dick x reader (Friend)

Jason x reader (Friend-ish)

Alfred x reader (kinda friend)

Warnings: mentions of abuse

Word count: 801

Summary: His sons have a friend that doesn’t have the best home life. Can Bruce find a way to help her?

Authors Note: If I made this into a series then Jason x reader might become more than friends. So far my favorite actor to play Batman is Christain Bale.

P.S. Till I make a masterlist for like BatFam Or something this will be under Harley & Jokers daughter Masterlist

Also - My birthday is in 4 days!

Masterlist

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

It was around 3 in the morning and Bruce was the only one out tonight on patrol. As he got closer to a neighborhood he was becoming all to familiar with, he saw who he was hoping he wouldn’t. Upon Laying eyes on the figure sitting on the rooftop, Bruce headed over to that specific building to have a chat.

“Why are you up here this late?” Bruce asked as he moved to sit down next to her on the rooftop. Bruce took off his mask and turned off the voice changer. She already knew who he was thanks to his sons. Not that he minded, he trusted the young girl next to him.

“Just wanted to get out for a bit.” Y/n shrugged her shoulders, kicking her feet.

“Are they fighting again?” Bruce asked having a good idea as to why she was out at this time. When Y/n nodded to his question Bruce let out a sigh. But when he saw her face when she looked at him he felt some anger coming up in his chest. There were fresh bruises forming on her cheek. An Bruce would bet anything that under jacket there were more. “It gets better.” Bruce tried to keep her spirits up. But even he knew the truth.

“When?” she scoffed. “Bruce, I’m only 13. I can’t get out till I’m 18 and then what?” Y/n sighed looking completely defeated. It’s not like she would have anywhere to go. 

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked her with concerned eyes. Wishing he could do anything to help the young girl he’s become close with. Someone who knows both sides of him and doesn’t treat him differently for it. 

“No. Sadly, there isn’t anything I can think of that you or anyone can do. Bruce Wayne and even Batman can’t help me out of this one.” Y/n sighed with a frown. “I should go Bruce- but thank you for the talk… and for caring.” she gave him an appreciative smile as she got up and headed back to the sad horrible place she has to call home.

Bruce felt the need to do something to help Y/n. She was not only Jason and Dicks friend anymore. She meant something to him and Alfred now as well. She needed help and Bruce was gonna do anything he possibly could to help her. Now he just needed to figure out how to do so.

^      ^       ^

“Alfred” Bruce called out from his home office.

“Yes, Master Bruce?” Alfred said as he entered the room.

“I have a dilemma and I wanted to run something by you.” Bruce looked up at his father figure, letting out a sigh from how stressed he’d been for the last couple of hours.

“What seems to be your dilemma Master Bruce?” Alfred questioned as he sat across from Bruce.

“What would you think to me adopting- or at least trying to, another kid?” Bruce asked curiously as to the older man’s thoughts on the subject.

“Would this have anything to do with that sweet girl Master Jason introduced you to?” Alfred tried to hide his smile. Master Dick and Master Jason would do good to have a sister around the house Alfred thinks.

“Her parents are always fighting to the point of it being physical. They have been verbally and physically abusive to her for the last couple of years.” Bruce explained, and Alfred could see the hurt those facts caused Bruce. It hurt the older man to see.

Alfred nodded in understanding. “I have heard. Master Jason, will occasionally come home ranting about how much he wants her out of there.”

“So Jason would be ok with it. What about Dick?” Bruce asked, mind running really fast.

“He cares about her almost as much as Jason does.” Alfred assured him. It was extremely apparent that Dick and Jason cared about this girl. Alfred had met the young woman in question a couple of times and he loves her as if she’s already family.

“What about you Alfred?” Bruce asked with what seemed like hopeful eyes.

“Master Bruce, with all due respect. As nice as it is that you are considering how the boy and I would feel about this decision. It is ultimately your decision.” Alfred told the young man he raised for most of his life. Alfred got up to leave Bruce to make the decision for himself. But before he left he turned to face Bruce before leaving the room. “For the record. I would love to have that lovely young lady join this dysfunctional little family you’ve created, Master Bruce.”

With all that said, and opinions put in. Bruce knew exactly what he was gonna do. An he’s gonna put it into action starting now.

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.

NGAWWWWWW

A Mother’s love : Bursts of Affection - Batmom x Batfam

So…I saw my mom this week-end, and she has a habit of randomly screaming “Oh my baby giiiiirl” and hugging me (too) tightly…Like for no apparent reasons. I’d just chill next to her and suddenly, she stares at me and just gives me (almost too much) affection, and it gave me an idea, and boom here’s a mini-fic about Batmom doing exactly that to her boys. Hope you’ll like it : 

You can find my masterlist here : @ella-ravenwood-archives

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Once, Dick asked you about it. When it was just him, you and Bruce. When he was still a tiny kid. He wondered…

Where it came from ?

Why do you do it ?

What makes you do it ? 

You weren’t really able to answer him at the time, but since then, you gave it a lot of thoughts and…you think it’s because your boys had it tough.

That you’re like that and doing that because they had harder lives than they deserve, and you feel the need to rectify this. To balance things. 

Or maybe it’s because your own childhood had been difficult ? 

You’ve never really had a mother to love you and take care of you in your darkest time. Sure, your brothers were always there (until their death at least…), but it wasn’t the same ? In your little kid’s brain, you idolized what would be the ideal mom, what she would do and say…and so though of course your brothers loved you to death, it just didn’t feel the same than if you had a mom. 

Because you never knew how it was to have a loving mother, you compensated by trying to be the best one ? 

…Maybe it was a bit of both reasons ? 

Maybe it was because your sons and you had tough childhoods, which made you that way ? Which turned you into what you are now ?

But whatever the reasons, you wouldn’t change the way you are…You couldn’t change, if we were perfectly honest. And though they might groan about it sometimes, they wouldn’t change that part of you either. 

That part that sometimes, just couldn’t hold it in…

The love. 

The love you had for them, the love you felt for your children. 

It was too grand and overwhelming to keep it in. Sometimes, it just suddenly popped out out of nowhere, uncontrollably. 

You just loved them so much, you didn’t know how to handle it, and so you just…did what they now called : “Mom’s burst of affection”.  

“Burst” was the right word. 

Because it really was that. 

Everything was alright and normal, and all of a sudden, you’d look at them, and be reminded that you love them so damn much, and that they’re growing up and needed you less and less and…Your affection just bursted out of you. 

Just like that. 

It could happen anywhere at any given moment. It was random. And even if nowadays, you kinda knew why you acted like that, you never understood what really sprout those bursts.

It just…Happened. You just suddenly felt the need to. 

And it was one of your quirk that your children liked the most (though they’d never admit it). 

Keep reading

Me, when somebody post headcanon about BatAffleck

Fuck yeah fart canons🤣

Bruce Wayne x Reader - Relationship Headcanons part 1/?

Already did the goodies here :  Bruce + Batboys headcanons 

As for the rest, here it is. I’m still not sure if I’m doing the “headcanon” thing right…Hope you’ll still like it, especially you anon and you @harlequin-swan : 

You can find my masterlist here : @ella-ravenwood-archives

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Lips-

How do they kiss?

It always depends on his mood. It can be rough, or sweet. But it’s always the best kiss ever. Every time you think he can’t out-do himself, and yet, every time it becomes more and more amazing. His lips always taste great, the way he massages your tongue with his is always so loving even when a bit rough…His kisses are just the best. All of his kisses.  He’s all for sweet cheeks and forehead kisses. Doesn’t mind much for small PDAs like that, and will kiss your cheeks, forehead, hands in public, to paparazzis’ great pleasure.

What sort of sweet nothings do they whisper?

He would NEVER admit it, but he’s one of the cheesiest person ever. So whispering sweet nothing in your ear ? Definitely. Wether you’re in public (he loves the way your cheek tints of red whenever he whispers something cute), just the two of you cuddling, or making sweet love to each others : 

✶ “I can’t imagine my life without you in it.” ✶ “How do you look so beautiful all the time?” ✶ “You brighten up my day every time I see you. Your laugh…” ✶ “You make my sadness disappear with your beautiful smile” ✶ “You’re the reason my life feels so perfect.” ✶ “You make me believe in soul mates.” ✶ “You make me feel weak in the knees when I touch you.” ✶ “Just hearing your voice in the morning makes my day.” ✶ “ I love you so much I can’t explain it even if I tried.” ✶ “You’re the one thing I’m most thankful for having in my life.” ✶ “I want to kiss every inch of you.” ✶ “You make my sadness disappear with your beautiful smile.” ✶ “I could stare at you forever and I’d still feel like I haven’t had enough of you.” ✶ “Spending time with you is the highlight of my day.” ✶ “You could have any guy in the world, and yet you chose me.” (you always thought that one was wrong, that it was the other way around, but he wouldn’t let you say it…oh no) ✶ “I start my day with you on my mind and end my day with you in my dreams.” (one of his cheesiest line)

Yeah you get it, so many things. He makes sure to always give you knew compliments every day, just to see your slight blush and incredible smile. And when he can make you laugh because of his cheesiness or jokes, then it’s even better. 

What do they like to talk about ?

With you : 

✶ You. You don’t particularly like talking about yourself, but he loves to hear your voice talk about your day, about what you think…It’s soothing to him. Holding you in his arms and you just talking, he loves it. And he always wants to make sure you feel comfortable enough to tell him everything. He hates when you withhold important things from him (if you feel sad, if you have a problem etc etc…). But you guys always say everything to each others. Best friends AND Lovers.  ✶ Your children. It’s always an entertaining subject. Always. Chances are, one of them did something that is worth talking about. ✶ Surprisingly, himself. It’s not that he likes to talk about himself, just like you don’t really like to talk about yourself, in fact, it’s more…he likes to tell you how he feels, especially when he’s not alright, because you always have the right words to make him feel better.  ✶ The future. Your future to the both of you. ✶ Gossiping with you bring him joy. Oh you two always know everything about what’s up with the League’s members and such. Only nice gossips though, you’d never spread rumors, you only talk between the two of you, because you two already suffer enough from lies from medias and such. Damn rumors. But harmless gossiping about Green Arrow being totally dominated by Black Canary ? Hell yes.  ✶ Your and his view of life. It’s always very insightful.  ✶ His childhood. Your childhood. It…Helps often. And tiny Bruce was adorable. You were such a daredevil as a child that your stories are also always great.  ✶ Naughty things. Oh the way you blush, or the way your words are the only thing that can make him blush…It send shivers down his spine.  ✶ Each others’ fears. Because it’s nice to admit he isn’t as emotionless and invincible as everyone seem to think, but he’d admit it only to you. 

With his close friends : 

✶ You.  ✶ His children.  he’ll enjoy talking about you and the kids to his friends. About how great you all are. Only close friends, because he can only endure Clark and Diana’s teasing.  ✶ Them, he also talks about their interest. It’s his friends, he likes to know about them, even if he won’t admit it, acting as if his interest is only polite, even though he genuinely care. When they need him, he’s here to talk.

With everyone else :

He doesn’t like to talk about himself or actual personal stuffs with others . And as a public figure, as the famous Bruce Wayne, he’ll act as if he likes to talk about his company, about his work, about whatever is in fashion, about politics…but really, he doesn’t enjoy any of those conversations. He mostly just like talking about you and his children (as annoying as he can be), but he doesn’t do it in public. His life is no one’s business. 

Can they sing?

No. Oh God he cannot. It’s quite incredible to you really, how great and soothing his voice is when he speaks to you, how much you love listening to him saying whatever…but when he tries to sing it’s just awful. He has no rhythm. He’ll always sing off beat.  But you know what ? You fucking love it. (Someone pointed out to me that he actually can sing very well, and I know. I remember him singing for Diana in “The Justice League” animated show (found the youtube video here :  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ncj-wpBhr5E but…man, I just love the idea of him having such a great deep voice and not being able to sing properly…I guess it’s the point of a headcanon :D)

Legs/Butt-

Are they fast?

For a non-meta human, yes. That guy could have run in the olympics really, with all his training and such. Usain Bolt fast yo. Damn long legs. 

How flexible are they?

Bruce isn’t that flexible. He’s all toughness and muscles. Dick is the flexible man in the family, because of his acrobat’s past. Bruce, just like Jason, are more…brute force. Even though they’re master at martial arts, they’re not smooth, they’re not super flexible. They can high kick someone easily, but putting their foot behind their head ? Nope. You however, are very flexible, and he loves it. Useful. 

Will they fart in front of an s/o?

Most people would peg it unthinkable to even imagine the always elegant Bruce Wayne farts but…Oh man. With you he knows he can be himself, and if it means farting and burping in front of you sometimes, then he’ll do it. At first, he was so shy about it, and the day you laughed your ass off because you understood he was leaving your bed, leaving the room to go fart elsewhere, he understood that you didn’t care. Farting contest are a thing between the two of you, and the best thing about it ? Only you guys know.  You hate it though, when you’re comfortably settled against him, wrapped in the blanket, his arms around you,drawing lazy patterns on your back with his fingers, caressing you all over lovingly…only for him to let out a huge smelly fart, to trap you under the blanket so you HAVE TO smell it and for his arms to tighten around you even more, so that you can’t escape ! Damn bastard ! 

Sugar on the Rim I

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

warnings: implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), mentions of sex, smut in next part

You twist the stem of the wine glass around between your fingers slowly. Your chin rests atop your knees as you stare vacantly at the tiny puddle left of the drink. You could go refill it, but then you’d have to go back out to the main room and man…you really do not want to do that. So you’ll sit here, swiping your tongue across the bumps of the roof of your mouth as if it's a fascinating new discovery.

The creak of hinges has you shooting upright, your back thumping against the stair step behind you. You’re not immediately sure how to act as though it’s normal that you’re sitting in the stairwell outside the gala rather than in it, fraternizing with old and new money alike. You freeze, trying to relax your posture so it doesn’t look like you’re alarmed at the sight of another person, but not so relaxed that you look as bored as you are.

Your neutrality stutters when you glance up to find the host of the fundraiser. The billionaire host of the fundraiser. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire host of the fundraiser. Your posture straightens right back up and your mouth snaps shut as you make eye contact.

Should you stand up? 

No, he’s rich, not royalty. 

You are in his house though—

He looks you over contemplatively, “I don’t know you,” It’s not accusatory, rather he says it like it’s something interesting.

You perk up at that, immediately formulating reasons to justify your presence. “Oh, uh, no—” the words nearly spill out of your mouth all at once. You clear your throat, “I’m just a plus one for my boss—”

“Who’s your boss?” he asks, relaxed. 

“Arthur Mullins.”

He looks to the side, squinting, “Mullins…he’s the executive at Williamson Industries, yes?”

You nod and he returns the gesture, slower, like he’s processing through something. “I’m Bruce,” he says warmly after a moment, holding his hand out to you.

You nod before you can even think to get any words to come out, “I—yeah, I know,” you accept his hand, shaking it as you tell him your name.

There’s a slight glint in his eye when he hears your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. “A pretty name.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Just your name. But rather than fill him in on that fascinating tidbit, you let the sentence die off.

He smiles kindly anyway, “What are you doing in here? Party’s out there, or so they tell me.”

“I…I’m hiding in here,” you admit sheepishly.

He leans in towards you slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret—so am I,” he smiles at you like it’s easy.

Your grin matches his, “It’s your party,”

“That’s why I need to hide.” He tilts his head, “Doesn’t give you much of an excuse though, does it?”

“I don’t know anybody here.”

He puckers his bottom lip contemplatively, “Your boss.”

You shake your head, “I’m just his assistant. I’m pretty sure he just brought me as a precaution in case he needed a designated driver.”

He laughs at that, “Based on the way I’ve seen Mullins’ attempts to operate, his assistant would have to be a hell of a lot more important than just a designated driver.”

Well, he’s certainly right about that. Your boss doesn’t exactly “have it together” per se. He’s an unorganized man with little to justify his importance in Gotham, so he tends to insist on taking on more responsibility than he has any business having. Not to mention, he’s a bit of a try-hard and you’re constantly left to sweep up the pieces of his reputation that he shattered himself. Not to say he’s necessarily unprofessional, he just will do anything and everything to prove he belongs in any given space. It’s honestly a bit exhausting to watch. It’s more exhausting to try and convince him that the exchange went well afterwards.

You nod slowly, eyes on his shoes. “Mr. Mullins has…a unique approach to business. It does usually leave me fairly busy, I’ll give you that.” You take a quick deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “But that means I occasionally get to go to fancy parties where I don’t know anyone, so..”

“Well then it sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” he ribs, “Or don’t you agree?”

You smile coyly, “I would never be so bold.”

“I don’t mind boldness. For example, the reason I came in here is because he spotted me.”

You laugh at that, “Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Mr. Wayne,” you suppress your smile as you pause, choosing your words carefully. “I think he’s just networking.” He doesn’t have the money to give.

He nods surely, “He’s definitely just networking.” He really doesn’t have the money to give. You allow just the faintest wisp of a smile to adorn your face as you look down again.

You check the time and realize that you’ve been hiding away for too long and that if he hasn’t already, your boss will notice soon. You sigh quietly to yourself, “I should..”

He turns his head to the closed door where the chatter can be heard from beyond, sighing in defeat as he shakes his head looking back at you. “So should I.”

You feel a bit insecure as you stand, the gown you’re wearing is pretty but it is very much affordable and you’re sure someone as wealthy as Bruce Wayne would know the difference.

If he does notice he makes no deal of it, motioning you forward gallantly to walk ahead of him.

He follows after you, hands behind his back. “Would it be rude of me to ask you to distract him while I run for the bar?”

It’s busy, even for a Sunday afternoon, and you have to sidestep past someone nearly every step you take. You stick next to the windows of the line of boutiques down the road, trying to balance window shopping and not bumping into other pedestrians.

You're in a nicer district of Gotham, truthfully an area you don't quite belong in. So far you’ve only managed to find a couple shops that weren’t several ranges above your budget. 

A call of your name has you blinking rapidly and turning around as if you’re lost. It doesn’t take long for you to pick the six foot two billionaire out of the crowd and it’s only half a second longer before you realize he’s walking towards you. A few people collide shoulders with you as they move past thoughtlessly, no regard for the personal space of the idiot that stopped in the flow of traffic.

You let him approach a couple feet closer before you ask him, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?” The presence of his figure in front of you allows for a break from being bumped into, as he seemingly makes for a far more easily seen and intentionally avoided target.

He sways a bit, “Bruce. I’m not sure yet,” he looks down to the couple of bags you’re holding, extending his hand out. “May I?”

It takes you just a moment to move past your surprise at the request, allowing him to hold them for you. “Are you in a rush?”

You shake your head quicker than you meant to, “No, I—not at all,” he gestures his head forward, allowing you to walk before him.

You traipse ahead in silence for a moment before deciding against biting your tongue, “What exactly is it you’re not sure about?”

He raises his voice a bit so you can hear him over the crowd, “Whether or not you’ve got plans on the 19th.”

You look back at him, “What’s on the 19th?”

He stops with you as you admire a set of jewelry inside a window display, “We’re hosting a gala for something or something else, hopefully less boring than the fundraiser.”

You blink, “You’re inviting me?” He nods. “Why?”

“I could use someone who wants to be there even less than I do.”

He said it so casually it takes you a second to even register his meaning. You blink, face contorting defensively, “That’s not—” you can barely make out the smile on his face as he continues on walking.

You shake your composure back together and trail after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t think Mr. Mullins would be very happy to hear that I’m attending a business gala without him.”

He shakes his head as he scans over the crowd, “He can’t fire you for that.”

“He’ll try.” He would. A petty little man, he is. 

He scans across the rows of clothes leisurely. “Well, then he can speak to me about it. Besides, it wouldn’t be for business.” And then he just lets that sentence linger.

It takes you a moment to recover from those words and begin to start processing the world around you again. After a few more feet down the sidewalk he pulls you gently to the side by your lower arm, out of the rush of traffic, and looks at you dead on, “What do you think?”

You try not to waver under the weight of the eye contact, “I don’t…uh, I don’t really have…” you look down, hoping to get the message across without actually having to say the words.

He glances into the store window next to you and raises his eyebrows, “Well then I’d say we’re in the right place.”

You can’t manage to tell him that this store is definitely far too expensive for you, walking through the door as he opens it for you, albeit apprehensively.

Well. Up close window shopping is more fun anyways. 

The spotless white of the floors and walls has you intimidated, and just as much so by less by the no doubt designer clothes lining the walls. The saleswomen all look pretty highbrow themselves, hair up in tight buns and uniforms chic.

You only break from gawking at the store to look behind you at Bruce. You note the way his eyes roam around blindly, looking for something and clearly having no means to narrow down where it might be. You take one more glance around, immediately finding the women's section with no such difficulty. 

“This way.” You say, nodding your head over to the left. He recovers nicely and lets you lead the way towards the section of dresses. You peer back at him, “You don’t seem like someone that does much of his own shopping.”

Thankfully, he laughs at that. “Well, special occasions.”

You keep your gaze ahead this time, asking as casually as you can, “Is this a special occasion?”

He hums in consideration, “I’d say so.”

You stop upon approaching the dress section, taking in the immediately stunning display of options. 

“What are you doing up here anyways?” you ask, hand brushing across a particularly plush dress.

“Ah, I was headed to a meeting.”

“Oh,” you frown, looking at him. “Don’t you need to go?”

He shakes his head with a puckered lower lip, “No.”

A few seemingly heiresses roam down the aisle mindlessly, not caring much that you’re in their path. 

Bruce sees them before you do, knowing well that they were not going to excuse themselves. “Sweetheart,” he nudges you gently to the side, closer to him as the group passes. His hand remained open-palmed and flat as he guided you to the side, seemingly very careful not to touch you with uninvited boldness. Though you’re quite shaken by the chivalry of the gesture, a brazen touch wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.

As your arm brushes against a rack of clothing your gaze follows, met with something rather appealing.

Bruce is quick to notice you admiring the sleek black dress that looks like something you’d see a model wearing on a runway. “You like that one?”

“It’s nice, yeah,” you murmur, not really thinking. You flip the price tag over and your face drops. “It’s $800.”

He nods thoughtfully, “We can find a nicer one,” he says, though it’s clear he knows exactly what your problem with the price tag was.

“I can’t—” you restart, “I would never have a reason to wear something this nice again.”

He shakes his head coolly, “That’s alright.”

Your shoulders drop and your head tilts seriously, “It’s not, though.”

“You like it?” He looks you in the eyes, his own searching for a truthful answer.

“I mean, of course, but it—”

He nods affirmatively, “Then we’ll get it. Problem solved.” He turns his back to the rack, casually observing the rest of the store goers. “Pick your size.”

Apparently not one to argue, you thumb through the row until you find one that should fit. 

You sigh, realizing that you’re running out of time to mention that you don’t have $800 to spend on a dress. “I can’t—”

“You don’t need to,” he says simply as he takes the dress off the rack and drapes it across his arm, making his way towards the salescounter.

You try to stop your mouth from hanging open as you follow, “It really is okay, I don’t need—”

His grin cuts you off, just in time for you to hear him mutter, “Sweet girl..” to himself. You stop right in your tracks, feeling very thankful that he’s not looking at you right now because you’re certain the look on your face would give you away.

He still doesn’t face you as he calls out, “Come on,” as he continues on.

Obviously you’re not stupid. You know what type of intentions a billionaire playboy must have with a younger girl that he doesn’t even really know. However, if said billionaire is offering to buy you a pretty dress…no, you’re not sleeping with him because he bought you a dress—of course not—and you’ve made absolutely no promises to do so, so what’s the harm in letting him? Really?

And yeah, maybe it’s a plus that he’s not bad looking, but how is that your fault?

You stand a bit awkwardly next to him as he puts his card in the machine, not even glancing at the outrageous number, and declines the offer for the receipt.

As you exit the store together and stand at the doors as he hands your original two bags back to you along with the new shiny black one that on its own looks like something people would pay for.

“You will be there?” he asks, eyes more hopeful than you were prepared for. 

You nod, gesturing the bag up, “Well you just bought me the dress.”

He shrugs that off, “I would’ve bought you the dress anyways.”

You linger in the midst of the ado wearing a dress that you feel far too overshadowed by, fidgeting with the half empty wine glass in your hand. Unfortunately, this time around you were invited by the host of the event and it would be extra rude to run away and hide. That doesn’t stop you from considering it, though.

A hand sliding across your lower back has you momentarily startled, and for reasons you couldn’t quite verbalize, you’d naturally assumed it was Bruce. The disappointment rings strong when you turn around to be met with the sight of an even older man, who looks considerably wine drunk. 

“Hello there, Miss.,” The words themselves are polite but the salacious smile on his face and the way his eyes have no trouble roaming your body gives you a solid idea of what this conversation is going to entail.

“Hello,” you fake a polite, tight smile and shift your attention to the rest of the room. 

This does nothing to deter him, as he takes a sizable step back into your line of sight. “Having a nice time?” 

The man is clearly from money, if his attire didn’t give it away his attitude sure did. There’s an heir of entitlement around him, like he’s inherently deservant of your attention—a quality you were notably surprised to not have found in Bruce. 

You give him your faux-smile again, this time tighter but half a second longer for the sake of politeness. A rookie mistake.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, gesturing to the bar.

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say, gesturing your wine glass up.

A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face, but to his credit, he does a better job recovering from it than you would have expected. Though, that’s not really saying much. “Well, pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone here,”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Both of your heads snap to the side, finding a much more welcome surprise than you’d previously received. 

Your counterpart's posture straightens immediately, “Mr. Wayne,” he fawns, “What a lovely event you’ve thrown. I’m sure the Bernsteins will be appreciative.”

Bruce hums, eyes narrowed slightly. “You are…”

The man startles and rushes to finish off his sentence, “Alexander Watson, senior executive to the accounting department for the research wing of the company.”

He nods slowly, no recognition actually present in his eyes. “Ah. The research wing of the company that just blew fifteen million dollars on prototype self-operating computers.”

You’re trying hard to fight the smile creeping up on your face.

“What exactly is a self-operating computer?”

Watson’s face drops, hurrying to justify his approval of the proposal’s funding. As he rambles, Bruce’s gaze lowers to where Watson has once again placed his hand on your hip, though he’s not close enough to you for it to rest fully or naturally. You don’t know him well but you can say confidently that he doesn’t look pleased. 

He looks back up to Watson, attitude challenging. “Surely you’re not poking around where you’re unwelcome?”

Watson stutters at that, blinking and shaking his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! I was just hoping to provide the young lady with some company. That’s all.”

“And so you have.”

“I—,” about two steps behind in this conversation, Watson finally decides to retreat, “Yes, good evening, Mr. Wayne.” He bows his head and shuffles away back into the crowd.

“Mr. Wayne,” you smile knowingly, turning to him. “How are you?”

The hardness of his gaze fades quickly as he takes in your appearance, quite liking how you wear the dress you’d picked out.

“Things are looking up,” he smiles, “You look lovely.”

 “Thank you,” you glance over to where Watson has made his way to the bar, likely about to down an entire glass. “Mr., uh, Mr. Watson makes quite the impression.”

His smile turns a bit sullen, “You know last year he tried to convince the board that battery-powered battery chargers were going to be the next big thing?”

You blink, tilting your head, “Thought you didn’t know who he was.”

His eyes are fixed on the wall as he tugs the corner of his lip down, knowing he’s been caught but not really caring. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long, it seems everyone needs my attention at these things.”

“At the gala that you threw? I’d imagine so.”

He rolls past that smoothly, “You’re having a good time?”

“I am,” you say with a confirming head bob.

He regards the room with a numb expression, “You know, I think I’m getting bored with all of this.”

You smile at him, brow furrowed, “It’s only been an hour.”

He looks at you, eyes wide. “It’s only been an hour?” He’s exaggerating his surprise to make you smile, and it works.

“I think we should go,” he says lower.

You stare at him, bemused. “You still have a whole room full of guests.” 

He shrugs, “They’ll filter out on their own eventually.” 

He clocks your hesitation easily, accurately noting it to be more out of politeness than actually wanting to stay at the party. “What, you’re not ready to leave?”

You look around at all the mostly old, posh guests, disinterested small talk evident all across the room. You take a breath, “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

He smiles and leads you out a side door and through a corridor that’s significantly longer than you’d expected. 

“Do you always ditch your parties this early?” you ask, following closely.

He makes a sharp right at the next doorway, “If I can manage it.”

You look around at the high wooden ceilings and grand furniture. “Aren’t some of them friends of yours?”

He shakes his head, “My friends aren’t here.”

You frown at that, “Then why do you throw them at all?”

“Why did you show up last weekend?”

You nod slowly, understanding. “It’s your job.”

He returns the nod, adding, “Only difference is, there’s not a chance in hell you get paid enough for the work you do for Mullins.”

For the sake of maintaining your wishful facade of professionalism, you’re going to not acknowledge that incredibly accurate statement. Instead you smile politely and continue on walking. He seems to get the implication, returning it with an even brighter adornment.

“Well, money’s money,” you say wryly.

His smile fades a bit, “You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that.” 

You shrug, “A day in the life,”

He looks sullen upon hearing that, with more sympathy than you’d have expected from someone of his stature. He’s done nothing if not surprise you, though.

“Here,” he says, taking hold of the handle of a glass door. It opens to a garden, lit up beautifully by the moon and outdoor light. A fountain sits in the middle, water rhythmically gushing out of the top and trickling down the sides. The bite of the Gotham night air burns at your cheeks a bit and you find yourself thankful the dress you’d chosen is so long.

Bruce leads the way to an expensive marble bench positioned nicely in front of it, allowing you to sit first before following suit. Your hands find a place in your lap, clasped together awkwardly in an attempt to find warmth through contact.

It takes Bruce less than ten seconds to stand, remove his suit jacket, and drape it over your shoulders before sitting back down. The material is thicker and warmer than you would’ve expected, surely reminiscent of the perks of being owned by a billionaire.

He doesn’t look at you to acknowledge the grateful expression on your face, simply carrying on like it didn’t happen. “Was hoping it was warmer,” he murmurs.

Your focus momentarily goes to the icy cold stone of the bench under your thighs, initially finding it uncomfortable before deciding the coolness actually felt quite soothing. You remove your gaze from the gray stone and turn your head to find Bruce already focused on you.

You start to say something, though you’re not sure what it would’ve been, when he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down.

Well, he certainly knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

His eyes stay on your lower lip as he murmurs, “You’re a pretty girl, you know that?” 

God, he’s a professional.

You look up at him and refrain from saying anything, waiting to see if he follows it up with something that will make you regret agreeing to coming out here with him.

He doesn’t.

You shift, moving your hands off your lap to rest on the stone under you. “You can’t just do this—”

He smiles and lowers his chin to look you in the eyes, “Then what can I do for you?”

“You—” you blink rapidly, “Stop it.”

His coy beam persists, “Stop what?”

You raise your gaze up to him ever so slightly, a pouty expression across your face that you’re trying to sell as serious. “You’re trying to make me nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head down further, a ghost of a smile echoing on his lips, “I don’t mean to, sweet girl.”

Your eyes drop to the ground, biting your tongue. “Yeah.”

His simper grows, “I’m serious. I’d hate to scare away a new friend.”

You laugh at that and he perks up a bit at the sound, “What? We’re not friends?”

You cock your head to the side, “You’re the one who said none of your friends are here.”

He hums, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

“You think so?” You should probably stop flirting so much. 

“Yeah,” he leans in a bit closer, “I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Maybe I want to be your friend,” his hand finds a place atop yours. 

Your eyes flicker across his face as he closes in, “What if I don’t want to be yours?”

His eyes are on your lips, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

You take a slow deep breath, “Your intentions are blurry.”

He smiles lightly, amused. “We’ll have to clear that up then, won’t we?” His lips are inches away and his voice is soft as he says, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

You look up at him eyes wide, barely processing his words as you nod. He gently grasps your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up. His other hand finds the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you with intention. Your hands hover in the air for a second before holding onto his forearms. 

He breaks the kiss only to give you another sweet one right after. Your mouths remain close when it’s over, eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. You stay like that for a moment until he kisses you once more on your cheekbone before pulling away. His hands drop to rest on your knees, the weight of them gentle.

He hums lowly, “Sweet thing..”

Being under the heaviness of his gaze leaves you feeling vulnerable. It’s starting to get you concerned with the potential levity and implications of kissing him. The expectations.

“You…” you stare down at where his hands meet your skin, not quite sure that you actually meant to start that sentence. 

“What?” he frowns, brow pinched. Your chin lowers further as your mouth forms a tight line. He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. What is it?” he asks gently.

It takes a surge of willpower for you to get the sentence out, “You just want to sleep with me..”

He frowns harder at that, pulling back a bit. “No. I’m…” he sighs, “I’m not trying to lure you in just to toss you out right after.”

That makes you look up again. His voice has a sincerity to it that you weren’t prepared for. 

He continues, “I would like to, yes. Yeah. You’re beautiful, of course I would, but..” he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you, “No, that’s not the most important thing to me.”

You break eye contact again, thinking over his words. If that’s not the most important thing to him, what is? You can’t think of what else he could possibly want from you, a billionaire who could have anything he wants..the only thing you could have to offer in his eyes is sex. 

Right?

He exhales, “If you want to leave, I’ll call you a car. No hard feelings.” He nudges your chin up gently so you’ll look at him, but he gives you the freedom to fight against it if you wanted to.

You let him move you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you tell him, looking into his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” he says it like it’s automatic. You physically can’t help but roll your eyes at the corniness of it. He doubles down, though, “Seriously. Anything.”

You smile in disbelief, shaking your head.

“Alright,” he returns your smile, straightening, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Do you need a ride home?”

You blink at him, “I’m going home?”

“You are,” he nods softly, “Do you need a ride?”

“No.”

He nods again, more like he’s working through something in his head. “Okay. You’re going to go home and think through what you want. If you decide you want to, come back here next Saturday.” he stands up, extending his hand out to you, “Then you can let me know what else you want and we can get to work on that too.”

You start to shake your head, “I can—” 

He drops his chin seriously, “Think on it.”

You relent easily, taking his hand and coming to a stand.

“Alright?” Again, his question is genuine. He does really want to know if you’re on board with this plan. 

Already going against his request, you agree without a thought, “Okay.”

He starts to lead you back over to the garden door with a head nod and a kind smile.

It ultimately was not a decision you had to think very hard on.

You’d considered every scenario of how this could play out and none of them ended with regret as far as you could guess.

You’ll still admit though, there was one scenario you had missed, apparently, which is why you were immeasurably confused when you showed up and he invited you to play chess.

He’s not wearing a fancy three piece suit this time, but his clothes are still very nice. With the sunlight peeking through the windows, you’re able to see the manor more clearly than you had been the other night. It really is a beautiful home, clearly very old and charmed, but there’s a lot of little details of character and history scattered around. There’s portraits and photographs of his parents from when he was young and furniture decorated with trinkets all throughout, kept absolutely spotless and dust free. Everything is neat and tidy but there’s still traces of the house being lived in with the patched throw pillows and worn carpets. Still, it’s very, very placid.

You’ve met new money plenty of times over the course of dealing with countless businessmen for Mr. Mullins but old money is something entirely different. You don’t really have a frame of reference here. New money is almost always brash and demanding, they like things done quickly and correctly the first time around. They’re usually not very interested in hearing what you have to say (even if it would save them a lot of trouble) and prefer it when the assistants women keep their mouths shut. Bruce has proven to be very different from these standards already and you’re not sure where to begin with placing new ones.

You’re about halfway through a second game, and while you’re not awful at chess, you get the impression that he’s easing up on you considerably.

You sit on the floor in front of a short coffee table, the game having no clear lead so far.

“I think this is stressing me,” you mumble, no actual weight behind your words.

“It’s just chess,” he says, not looking up from the board.

You watch him move his knight forward as you ask, “And that’s all we’re doing?”

“As it stands, yes,” he looks up at you, though you don’t return his gaze.

“Yeah,” you sigh, sliding your rook, “But later?”

“Later?”

“Well, you said...” you meet his eyes, “You said you wanted to sleep with me.”

He nods slowly, “I do. Is that alright?”

You consider it for a moment. You already knew that, if you really weren’t okay with it you wouldn’t have come here. And yeah, the idea makes you a little shaky, but in a good way.

“Yes,” you tell him, moving your queen forward two spaces.

“Are you sure?” he presses, moving to sit on the side of the table rather than behind it.

You do the same, sitting on your knees. “Yeah, I just..” you shift your weight, eyes wandering. “I’m not…overly experienced.”

He just smiles at that, like it’s endearing. Your words didn’t quite convey your meaning but your tone did. In any case, he understands the implication. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not going to throw you in the deep end.”

You nod, looking down again.

“You’re nervous,” he comments.

“No, I’m—I mean, maybe,” your voice is barely a murmur by the end of the sentence.

He’s quiet for a moment, observing the way you fiddle with your rings. “What if we get you something pretty to wear? Something that makes you feel pretty. Whatever you want.”

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, opening and pulling out a lump of cash without even looking. He holds the money out to you wordlessly and you can see from the bill on the outside that it’s at least a couple hundred dollars.

You shake your head instantly, “I can’t take that.”

He doesn’t put the money down but his eyes turn to begging. “Please. I just want you to feel good.”

“Bruce—”

He wavers a bit at that but it’s more of a falter than you’ve seen from him before so it’s easy to take notice of. “What?”

He shrugs barely, “I like when you say my name.”

Your eye contact holds for a moment and your resolve starts to waver almost instantly.

You exhale, “I’m not taking more than a hundred.”

“Two hundred.”

“Bruce.”

He smiles and picks out some of the cash and pockets it, handing you the rest. You don’t comment on the fact that it’s a hundred and fifty more than you’d agreed on.

You look down at the money in your hand like it’s a foreign object, shaking your head. “I don’t even know what to get.”

His thumbs start to rub reassuring circles by the bend of your knees, “Anything you want,” he tells you. “What do you like? Silk, lace, cotton, anything.”

You look up, tilting your head at him with a furrowed brow. “It doesn’t matter what I like, th—”

“It only matters what you like,” He says seriously, lowering himself to meet your gaze. “I’ll love it, no matter what you pick. Don’t worry about that.”

You lean forward a bit instinctually, “Okay.”

His eyes scan across your face in something that you can only recognize as awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.

“I want to kiss you again,” he says, voice even quieter.

Your eyes go to his mouth and you can only manage a nod, lips already parted.

He moves forward not a second later, kissing you with more fire than you’d gotten to see the other night. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing lightly as you hook one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

You hear the clatter of chess pieces falling over as he moves nearer to you, large frame leaning over you. You push up on your knees, meeting his lips up at his level. His hands caress around your hips as the kiss gets deeper.

You just start to fumble with the hem of his shirt when he takes your hands in his, pulling them away before breaking the kiss.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he smiles, nudging you back with little force.

You groan, “Why?”

He barks out a laugh at that, stroking your hips again. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on the floor.”

“Then let's go somewhere else,” you nod up towards the stairs.

He shakes his head, that soft smile still playing on his lips. “Not tonight.”

You sit back on your heels again, frowning.

He brushes your hair back, murmuring, “No. But for now, I'll kiss you ‘til you can’t think if that’s what you want.”

You really hope you didn’t perk up at that as much as you think you did.

🌾🌽 i heard a rumor that if you like without reblogging your crops will be cursed but hey what do i know 🌾🌽

Bruce Wayne and cunnilingis or somnophilia pls

set the night on fire

ೃ⁀➷ bruce wayne x afab reader

ೃ⁀➷ word count 358

ೃ⁀➷ a/n: this is just a short drabble! hope you enjoy!

ೃ⁀➷ warnings: somno, cunnilingus

ೃ⁀➷ please reblog & leave a comment with your thoughts 🫶🏻

╰➤ linktree ╰➤ pinterest╰➤ requests open check rules

there was nothing as delicious as the taste of your pussy.

it was still dark when bruce roused from his sleep. he stared at the outline of your curves. your breaths were deep, chest rising and falling softly. the bed sheets curled around your naked frame.

bruce leaned his face into your neck, taking a deep breath, relishing your scent.

he did not want to wake you up, but he just wanted a taste, just a small taste. he knelt at the foot of the huge bed, in front of your feet.

the fingers of each hand curled around each of your ankles, slowly opening your legs.

bruce crawled into your space, leaning his head on your inner thighs, his eyes honed into your glistening pussy. he swiped a finger through your cunt, sliding your folds open. collecting your juices. he brought the finger to his lips and closed his eyes in bliss.

yea, just one taste was not going to be enough.

he placed his head closer, his nose breathing in your delicious fragrance. it was instinctual, he licked a stripe up your cunt, his destination? your clit. he scraped it softly with his top teeth. your hips spasmed and you murmured something in your sleep but did not wake. he swirled his tongue on your throbbing clit, but he wanted more. he went lower, sliding his tongue inside you, lapping at every little drop of you he could reach. he felt your gummy walls clench around him, a strangled moan left your lips before his mouth was flooded with your cum, he licked and sucked every last drop, and did not stop. your hips jerking with sensitivity.

he let out a guttural moan when he felt your nails scrape his skull, he looked up at you through his lashes,

your back was arched in pleasure, thighs clenched around his head.

“bruce~” you whined.

“you taste so good baby, i can’t help myself, i don’t have the resolve to wait until you wake.”

“well, i’m up mr. wayne, how about you go back to what you were doing huh? bruce?”

he was more than happy to oblige

Bruce Wayne and cunnilingis or somnophilia pls

set the night on fire

ೃ⁀➷ bruce wayne x afab reader

ೃ⁀➷ word count 358

ೃ⁀➷ a/n: this is just a short drabble! hope you enjoy!

ೃ⁀➷ warnings: somno, cunnilingus

ೃ⁀➷ please reblog & leave a comment with your thoughts 🫶🏻

╰➤ linktree ╰➤ pinterest╰➤ requests open check rules

there was nothing as delicious as the taste of your pussy.

it was still dark when bruce roused from his sleep. he stared at the outline of your curves. your breaths were deep, chest rising and falling softly. the bed sheets curled around your naked frame.

bruce leaned his face into your neck, taking a deep breath, relishing your scent.

he did not want to wake you up, but he just wanted a taste, just a small taste. he knelt at the foot of the huge bed, in front of your feet.

the fingers of each hand curled around each of your ankles, slowly opening your legs.

bruce crawled into your space, leaning his head on your inner thighs, his eyes honed into your glistening pussy. he swiped a finger through your cunt, sliding your folds open. collecting your juices. he brought the finger to his lips and closed his eyes in bliss.

yea, just one taste was not going to be enough.

he placed his head closer, his nose breathing in your delicious fragrance. it was instinctual, he licked a stripe up your cunt, his destination? your clit. he scraped it softly with his top teeth. your hips spasmed and you murmured something in your sleep but did not wake. he swirled his tongue on your throbbing clit, but he wanted more. he went lower, sliding his tongue inside you, lapping at every little drop of you he could reach. he felt your gummy walls clench around him, a strangled moan left your lips before his mouth was flooded with your cum, he licked and sucked every last drop, and did not stop. your hips jerking with sensitivity.

he let out a guttural moan when he felt your nails scrape his skull, he looked up at you through his lashes,

your back was arched in pleasure, thighs clenched around his head.

“bruce~” you whined.

“you taste so good baby, i can’t help myself, i don’t have the resolve to wait until you wake.”

“well, i’m up mr. wayne, how about you go back to what you were doing huh? bruce?”

he was more than happy to oblige

Fateful Beginnings

II. “research”

parts: previous / next

plot: you make a very… rash decision about who you will interview, and when.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, head injury, substance use, threat of violence

words: 2.2k

You were helped into the police car by two men, one in a typical police uniform and one that looked more like a detective. The uniformed one had shined a flashlight at the back of your head and told you to take a cold shower when you got back. "The head always bleeds more serious than it is," he chomped away on gum and shooed you into the vehicle. They said they'd escort you back no problem, peppering you with some questions along the way. You didn't really have much of an answer for them. You'd never been to the club before, you hadn't seen the gunshots, didn't remember what a single face looked like in the club besides the vigilante's. Which set off a lightbulb for you. Holy shit, Batman. I could do my paper on him. I need an interview.

"Uh I do know the guy that saved me," you prattled. The uniform in the passenger sneered at you. "Uh huh, was it a big asshole in a mask?" The driver didn't share his humor towards the Batman.

"Yeah," you agreed. You didn't quite know how to phrase this next part, so you just put it bluntly. "I was wondering if you knew how to get in contact with him?"

"He sends up a bat signal, hotshot." The uniform was getting worked up, and you could tell you couldn't press the issue much longer. "What you need an outlaw for anyway?" The sarcasm turned to suspicion and you realized that the crimefighters of the town seemed out of harmony. Why didn't they like Batman?

"I've just never seen him before, I'm new here." You hoped they didn't prod you on how new; it might prove embarrassing to admit you'd been here over a year and hardly went out enough to know more than hearsay about Gotham's second claim to fame... behind the reclusive Bruce Wayne.

The rest of the short drive was quiet as the officers talked quietly amongst each other. You turned to look out the window at the pouring rain, mulling over the events of the evening. Shit. Your ears began to ring with anxiety. You went to grab for your phone but couldn't find it. Damn. You needed to contact Mar. What if she didn't make it? What if she's injured? What if she's still lying there, waiting for someone to save her?

You hastily thanked them for their time as the car pulled up to your street. You ran in the lobby and had to explain to the doorman that you'd lost your wallet, keys, and phone at the club that had been shot at this evening. This was common for them, and they knew you, giving you a spare key. You didn't have time to be worried about your belongings, you needed to know if she was safe.

You kicked yourself for not coming to your senses sooner as you opened your apartment door. You flung it open and shut behind you, racing through your kitchen as quickly as your busted scalp would allow without screaming throbs. Rummaging through the sheets you found your school iPad, opening the notifs to find 25 missed calls from her number, the last one only five minutes prior. You gasped a sob of relief and quickly pressed call. It was immediately answered.

"Y/N!!" Mar squealed from the other end, barely containing herself. You were so glad to hear her voice. You talked for the next ten minutes before you told her you had to get off and take a shower. "My head got like, split open. The officers said it was superficial, but the Batman guy—"

Mar gasped on the other end, rattling off run-on sentences of questions. She was shocked that you'd had an encounter, and wanted to know every excruciating detail. "I've heard his voice is super intense, is it?"

"Mar, I'm sorry, my head is burning. I'll text you after the shower, okay?" Reluctantly she wished you good vibes in the shower and to make sure to message her before you went to sleep so she knew you didn't slip. "Again, I'm sorry for forcing you to come with me tonight."

The shower burned your scalp even when it was cold. You felt the sting of every individual water droplet, and tried your best to trust the policeman who said it was okay. After an excruciating shower that felt good everywhere but your scalp, you went to grab your iPad and tried to take photos of the back of your head in your mirror. It was barely effective, only so much so that you could tell it wasn't bleeding anymore. You gently wrapped your hair and head in a towel and laid back against the pillow, going onto Verizon's site and requesting a replacement phone after sending a quick "I'm fine!" text to Mar. You thanked your precious self for getting insurance on your phone so you could get it replaced for free. After selecting 2-day shipping on an iPhone 14, you took an edible and tried to relax.

And relax you did. The small dose that normally chilled you out affected you differently tonight, making your body light with giggles and warmth. Maybe you were so exhausted it was hitting harder. After all, the rush of adrenaline and cortisol that had hit your system tonight were off the charts. You had a brush with death. You tapped along on your iPad aimlessly, until going into your notes app and typing up a few mock questions for the Batman. It would be really cool to get an interview with him. No one has ever spoken to him before outside of the police chief, Gordon. And it seemed like he liked to keep it under wraps, as the rest of the squad didn't much appreciate him. How would I get to see him? You didn't have much more time to think before you passed out, falling into a deep, restful slumber.

You woke up in the late afternoon with drool all over your cheek. Without thinking you tried pulling the towel off your head and then winced at the pain. You'd almost forgotten about the day before.

After getting some food in, you resolved to learning more about this masked madman running around in the night. Did he only come out at night? Where was he spotted most often? You only got a direct answer to one question: yes, he only came out at night. After hours of meticulous google searches and forum scrolling, you learned only a few things:

1. He only came out when it was dark

2. He responded to a bat signal, which was loosely placed in the sky above where criminal activity was present

There were a few stalkers in the forums who dedicated many nights a month to chasing crime in Gotham, hoping to catch a candid shot of Batman at work. A few had succeeded, since there was so much crime here. But it was very hit or miss, and largely depended on chance. If you wanted to find him you would have to spend nights prowling around Gotham, which didn't seem like a great way for a woman in her twenties to stay safe. Then it struck you: a ride-along.

You walked down to the lobby to use their public phone to dial Gotham PD. An annoyed receptionist answered, his voice gruff. "Gotham police department, how can I help you?"

"Hi uh, my name is Y/N and I'm doing a journalism project at GU. Do you do ride-alongs?" You tried to keep your voice clear and strong, like you could handle it. The men in this town seemed to greatly underestimate women, and you didn't want them to deny you based on stereotypes.

"Sorry ma'am, you'll have to ask the chief." He stayed on the line, loudly snacking on something that sounded dry and crisp. You cleared your throat. "Can I be transferred to him?"

You swore to god you could hear him rolling his eyes on the other line. He did a loud chew and swallow before responding in the affirmative. "Stay on the line."

You waited, helplessly counting beeps as another tenant stood behind you waiting for their turn at the phone. The lobby was so quiet you could hear the clock strike each second, mocking you for losing your cell, each one more frustrating than the next. Just as you were about to call it quits and go make up some random topic, a man answered the phone. "Chief Gordon speaking."

"Oh hi," you stammered, twirling the phone line between your fingers. "I'm a student at GU and wondered if I could ride along sometime, I'm doing a journalism project —"

A loud sigh interrupted things. "Let me guess, you want to see him."

The apples of your cheeks turned bright red and prickling warmth traveled up your spine. "I—"

"Listen kid, you gotta stay out of trouble. A school project isn't worth this, I promise." His accent was thick and just further proved to you how much you stuck out in this city. Gordon hung up on you and you tried not to hang around, hastily handing the phone to the woman behind you as you made a beeline for the elevator. He can't just do this. You grew more frustrated with every syllable. The paper was still sitting fully unwritten with only a week and a half left until the end of the term. You needed answers. If they weren't gonna help you, you'd go out yourself.

You went to your iPad and searched for the Gotham police scanner. You remembered a few people from the forums had mentioned using it to help track him, but you had to be online the moment they said the address otherwise you'd never catch it. This is how the few people who caught sight of him had managed to do it — keeping constant nightly tabs on the city, drowning out their lives with the sound of Gotham PD, only going to sleep once the sun began to rise. You sat there for about an hour, restless, thumbing through socials to try to find any leads. There seemed to be a lot going on in town tonight, people posting videos of themselves in the club with every single one full. It was a Saturday night, of course. The people in the city didn't have anything to do on Sundays, it was informally known as 'hangover day'. You could tell who the Dropheads were, their pupils wrecked, slumped over getting an energy drink at the corner store the next morning. It seemed like a normal Saturday until the most peculiar code came up on the scanner.

"Chief, 10-79, 10-80. 10-87 Fischer and Stark." The line started buzzing with inactivity, and you scrambled to write it down. Fischer... Stark... you pulled it up on your map and saw it was a fifteen minute walk north of your apartment. But before heading there, you needed to know what the code meant. Google searches came up with 'bomb threat' and 'explosion', prompting you to swallow your nerves and get ready.

You grabbed your taser, rain boots, and a rain jacket. You rummaged around your junk drawer to find your old Apple watch to have in case of emergency, and you needed 911. It also had a voice recorder in case tonight went how it should. Thankfully it still held a charge, however meager, and you clasped it around your wrist.

The rain was nearly a monsoon tonight, with wind whacking you side to side. Once again, what was common in Gotham was new to you.

You knew how unsafe this was, but you really didn't care. You knew you should care, but you were too stubborn for your own good. A part of you wondered if you got into enough trouble, the Batman might swoop in as he did the night before. The air was chilly, even cutting through the supposedly 'windproof' jacket you bought last year to help you acclimate to the harsh weather. There was no way he wouldn't show up to a bomb threat, right? Especially if there had been an explosion? How important is this paper? It is really worth risking my life all to get to interview a random dude? But this wasn't just some random dude... this was the Batman. While many members of the public had seen him, no one had talked to him. You picked up the pace and started jogging, ignoring the dull throb of the back of your scalp. If you were able to score this interview... it would look so good on a resume. But besides the material things, a part of you was excessively excited at the prospect of getting to see a side of someone no one had seen before. To be let in like that... priceless.

❝where two are joined, relentlessly❞ | bruce wayne

VIII. happy birthday, mr. wayne.

❐ parts: previously / next

❏ plot: celebrating the birthday boy is hard when he doesn’t want to be celebrated. baby steps. romance, humor, tooth-rotting fluff, domesticity, bruce wayne is a taurus agenda.

❐ pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader.

❏ words: 4.7k.

❐ warnings: none!

❏ a/n: I’ve proofread this once and I think I caught everything. lord help me if I haven’t 

May, last year.

The lack of ornamentation should have been your first and biggest clue as to where Bruce Wayne might be today, though you still ask, “Where’s the birthday boy?”

You’d expected the penthouse to be wrought with decorations the minute you arrived, baubles and flowers and desserts being set up around the house for the occasion. Alfred, of course, hadn’t warned you of any such plans before you left work yesterday. You’d just… assumed. 

Dressed in his usual attire (not even donning a chocolate covered apron!), Alfred laughs for barely a second, “Hiding away from people who call him ‘the birthday boy’. And what in the world have you got in your hands?”

You roll the piece of ceramic in between your hands with concern, more aware of the lopsided handle than before. You’d worked the thing into the best mug shape your novice hands could manage, carved a “W” on both sides, painted it black and gold, and hoped for the best, “It’s… a mug. Bruce’s present.”

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@superhero--imagines

This is the best book imagine I’ve ever read

One arm is nestled under your head, supporting your neck, the other wraps around you waist as he holds your books open. He watches your eyes flutter open and shut, a yawn spilling past your lips. His lips hum the words on the page, only stopping when snores leave your lips, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead before closing the book shut.

- Bruce Wayne, JASON TODD, Damian Wayne, Kita Shinsuke, OSAMU MIYA, Kageyama Tobio, Akaashi Keiji, Satoru Gojo, Nanami Kento, Yuuji Itadori, Edward Cullen, Zoro Roronoa

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

Little Things | Bruce Wayne x m!reader

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

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

 all bruce wayne x m!reader 🥺🥺

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

tws: mentions of injury, swearing

word count: 1008

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

Keep reading

kisses with them - DC Batboys Hcs

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

🥀Cw: fluff, shenanigans, a little suggestive

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

Dick Grayson :

lots of flirty, soft kisses!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason Todd :

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bruce Wayne :

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DC UNIVERSE MASTERLIST

i’m a batman girl at heart, sorry clark.

(R = request) ( ❥ = fluff) (❦ = angst)

Batboys/Batman/Batsis/Batfam:

BRUCE WAYNE

no works posted yet

DICK GRAYSON (not yj)

no works posted yet

JASON TODD

no works posted yet

TIM DRAKE

After hours. (R)- f!r- she can take care of herself, man.

DAMIAN WAYNE

Older Brother HCs (R)- gn!r. damian as an older bro

BATSIS

no works posted yet

BATFAM

Azalea Isley (R)- gn!r- you bring home a villain gf

Young Justice:

DICK GRAYSON (yj)

no works posted yet

WALLY WEST

no works posted yet

KALDUR’AHM

no works posted yet

ARTEMIS CROCK

no works posted yet

CONNOR KENT

no works posted yet

M’GANN M’ORZZ

no works posted yet

Miscellaneous Members of DC

Hi! i wanted to request a batfam where the reader is the youngest batsibling (maybe 14-15) and is nervous to introduce their first bf or gf to her family. they are all really confused why she's so nervous until they meet readers partner and realise they're the child of one of the gotham villains. eventually they realise that readers partner isn't evil like their parent(s).

Azalea Isley

WC: 2405

SYNOPSIS: Your girlfriend comes from different circumstances. You just hope your adopted family will look past her not-so-perfect family and open their minds. Maybe a flower can survive in a batcave? heh. maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

Pairings: GN!Reader x OC, GN!Batsib!Reader x Batfamily

Azalea Isley, or Zales, as you call her, has been your girlfriend for one year, two months and six days. You met back when you were 13 while on patrol. You ran into her when looking for her mother, Pamela Isley, aka, Poison Ivy.

~

“Robin, search the North wing, S/N, take the South. I’m going to scout the middle. Ivy is tricky and has eyes everywhere. Stay vigilant and stay on comms.” Batman bluntly ordered.

After escaping Arkham Asylum, rumors of Ivy’s whereabouts were spreading like fire, er uh, forest fire. People were saying she had been spotted hiding out at her old workplace; The Gotham Botany Preserve. It’s abandoned now, but naturally, it was your job to investigate.

You discreetly made your way to the South wing, feet silently walking as you listened for any signs of Ivy’s presence. You made your way down the cathedral-like hallway. The cascading walls were covered in thick, dark green vines climbed up towards the ceiling, and weaved around the stained glass windows that lined the hall. A yellow hue of light came from the door that sat slightly ajar at the end of the hall. You saw a shadow fall over the crack in the door, so you pressed yourself against the wall and held your breath.

“I’ve got movement.” You whispered into your comm.

“I have eyes on Ivy.” Damian said. “Someone else must be here.”

“S/N, do not engage. We don’t know who or what that is. Fallback.”

“Okay. On my way to your location now.” Curiosity got the better of you and your actions contradicted your words. Bummer for Batman ig. You slowly pushed the door open and looked around. The abandoned greenhouse had been turned into a make-shift bedroom. Beautiful fully bloomed Bougainvillea spiraled down the pointed ceiling and sporadically grew against the green glass. Leaves littered the floor and petals fell as the door shook some of the vines. Honey yellow lanterns hung on the walls giving a golden warmth to the room, and a small bed was to your left, tucked away.

“Woah…” Your hands unconsciously dropped from their defensive form.

Letting your guard down, what a rookie mistake. Hard vines wrapped around your body and pulled you off the ground. You let out a yelp as your legs were pulled above your head and suspended you above the ground. The vines tied your arms against your sides and held your legs together, completely eliminating movement. You groaned as the blood rushed to your face.

‘Damn Batman would kick my ass if he found out that I disobeyed a direct order, AND got my ass kicked by some foliage while doing so. i kinda deserve this tbh.’ You thought.

Out of the shadows, stepped a young girl. She was about your age, roughly 5’ 6” and was beautiful. So beautiful that even the most thorough words on a page would be far too simple to describe the way she lit up a room. She had dark fuchsia hair that cascaded down her shoulders and fell to the middle of her back. Her green eyes and pale complexion matched that of her mother.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Her hands were shaking, as if they didn’t hold immense power. Still, she was scared of you. She wasn’t used to this by any means. She avoided conflict and violence as much as possible. Her mother hid her away, not that she wanted to leave. She was Rapunzel and wanted to stay Rapunzel. Though, her mother never lied to her about the horrors outside. Call it what you will, Stockholm syndrome, fear, truth, at the end of the day Azalea Isley didn’t like people.

But eh. Who cares? You had a smart mouth and beautiful women oftentimes made you run it as much as possible. You took a breath and began speaking calmly as to not startle her.

“My name is S/N. I am a hero. What’s your name?”

“You lie.” She spat. ‘oh’

“S/N is not a real name. Tell me the truth.” The vines tightened around you. You gasped out.

“I can’t tell you my name! Don’t your parents give you rules you can’t break? This is one of mine.” She contemplated your words.

“As you decide if I’m lying or not, could you loosen these? I'm dyin’ here.” She swallowed and reluctantly loosened the vines, but kept you hanging.

“I am Azalea.”

“Like the flower?” She gave you a pointed look. “Right. Sorry, dumb question.” Her face relaxed into a small smile.

“Momma says there’s no such thing as a dumb question. Only dumb people.”

“Ivy? Yeah, that’s fair. Will you let me down?”

“No.” She came closer to you and began feeling your face and hair.

“That’s fine.” You replied, your voice coming to a whisper.

“I have not met a person like you before, S/N. You’re very warm, and your face is turning pink.”

“That’s normal, don't worry.” Your eyes met hers with a stupid grin.

~

Since then, you have met in secret every couple of days, both of your parents staying somewhat oblivious to your secret romance. Today was the day you decided your ruse needed to come to light.

Ow.

Your teeth bit through the skin on your lip. The anxiety of the entire evening was eating you alive. Your knee bounced under the table your family sat around in silence and anticipation.

“So, Y/N.” Bruce began. “Any specific reason you wanted this family meeting?”

Your eyes shot up to meet your adoptive father. You took a breath and decided it was best to be as blunt as possible.

“I have a girlfriend.” You crossed your arms. Your brothers held onto the silence for another beat.

“Oh it’s about time.” Jason said. “We’ve been waiting for you to come clean for like a year.” Your chest released the tension it held, and your face lost its color.

“What?! You knew?” Your eyes widened. How much did they know?

“Yeah, we kind of figured, N/N.” Tim said. You quirked an eyebrow. He shrugged. “Sneaking out without notice is hard to do in a family like ours. But we also figured you’d tell us when you were ready.” You nodded. They still don’t know though. Or they’re just being really cool. Nah, the batfam? No way.

“I invited her over for dinner tonight. I want you guys to meet her.” You fiddled with a leather bracelet. “I want you to have an open mind when you meet her.”

“Of course we will.” Dick said, putting a comforting hand over yours. You averted your gaze from the group as he held your hand.

“She means a lot to me.” cliché

-

A few hours later, you were getting dressed. Zales didn’t have a phone, but you knew she was coming. You buttoned up your shirt and ran a hand over your face. Please go well. In all honesty, you knew it probably wouldn’t go well. But hey! What’s life without risk, eh?

The table was set and you made your way towards the foyer to meet Azalea.

She rang the doorbell, and diligent as ever, Alfred opened the door with a knowing smile to welcome her in.

“Hello Miss Azalea, and Welcome to Wayne Manor. We have been expecting you-“

“Zales!!” You ran around Alfred, enveloping your girlfriend in a hug. She laughed, and hugged you back.

She pulled away, but continued to hold your hand. She can feel your anxiety flowing off of you in waves. She turned back towards Alfred.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Pennyworth. I am sorry sweet Y/N here seems to get a bit too ahead of themselves sometimes.”

Alfred nodded, softly smiled and guided the two of you to the dining room. Azalea looked around at the grand manor. The wooden paneling that neatly lined up with the pristine carpet that was cleaned especially well in order to welcome a new guest courtesy of Alfred. <3 Talk about marrying into the right family.

“Allow me to fetch the others.” Alfred said before politely exiting.

She grabbed your hand.

“Regardless of what happens my love, it is all going to be okay.” You nodded.

As you reassured each other, a crash was heard from the other room. You cringed and the voices of your brother’s bickering rang out.

“Shut up replacement, outta my way before you get smacked the fuck up.” Jason began.

“You irk me.” Tim crossed his arms in a pout.

“Both of you, be quiet.” Bruce said, crossing the hallway to enter the room. As the five men looked up, you and Azalea stood. You gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Hi.” Azalea said, riddled with nerves.

“Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian,” You began, pointing each one out to her, “this is Azalea,”

“Isley, right?” Bruce said. His gaze hardened and his jaw clenched. The renowned Batman Glare™ didn’t make Azalea back down. She knew what she was getting herself into. So instead, she stood tall.

“Yes, Isley. My mother is Poison Ivy.” After another glaring standoff, Jason suddenly broke the silence with boisterous laughter.

“YES! This is so golden.” He reached a hand out to Zales. “Jason Todd, pleasure to meet you. I am the household headache.” Tension slightly died down in Azalea’s shoulders, she laughed and took his hand.

You loved Jason. He was an arrogant, loud, shoot-first-think-later person, but he was the most loyal person you knew. He always had your back, besides he’s seen his share of kids in bad environments. Hell he’s been there. He has no room to judge and never would.

Bruce continued to stand stoically. Dick smiled, and walked over.

“Hey! I am Dick Grayson, and don’t take whatever Bruce and Damian say personally, they’re always like that.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Welcome!”

Dick was very motherly. He had his fair share of misfit kids in the teen titans, and Artemis stands to this day as one of his best friends. He has faith in people, and in you. Dick gave you a comforting pat on your shoulder.

“Three to go! Good luck, kid.” He walked past the two of you and sat down at the table next to Jason.

“Alright! Who’s next?” You clapped your hands together.

Tim looked around at the two most stubborn men in his family, or in the world, and then decided he should go next.

“Hey, I’m Tim.”

Tim’s reaction worried you to say the least. The uncertainty of how he would react made your stomach churn. At least you knew Bruce and Damian would be difficult. Tim, however, is usually open-minded. He is also protective. But above all else Tim wanted your happiness, besides, you’ve kicked his ass enough times for him to know not to worry about your safety. If you need help, you know where to go.

He took her hand and shook it. “You don’t need to worry about me. As long as you treat Y/N the way they deserve to be treated, then I'm no problem at all!”

Damian didn’t step forward when his time came.

“I don’t like criminals.”

“I am not a criminal.”

“By association, you are.”

“Oh shut up, Damian.” You snapped, coming to her defense. His eyes flew to meet yours, but he made no move in either direction. “Your mother is one of the most notorious assassins to ever exist, and your grandfather ran a league of them.” You crossed your arms. “You have no room to judge her about association.”

Damian huffed out of his nose and moved past the two of you with a resounding “Tch.”

Your eyes lit up and you spun around to your girlfriend.

“That was good for Damian!” You smiled excitedly. Damian might be a little rough around the edges, but he didn’t fight you. He is just looking out for you, and if you trust her, well, he still wouldn’t trust her, but he wouldn’t treat her as poorly as before. “Now! One more, the final boss.”

“Y/N.” He said.

“Bruce.”

“How long has she known our identities?”

“Like a year, and I only told her mine. She figured the rest on her own.” Eh. Mostly true.

He raised an eyebrow towards her.

“Hello.”

“Hi!!” She smiled.

“I don’t like your mother.”

“My mother doesn’t like you either, so it’s a good thing this doesn’t have anything to do with either of you.” She motioned between you.

Bruce hummed and moved forward. The three of you joined the boys at the table where dinner was served by the one, the only, the amazing, Alfred.

Dinner was awkward at the beginning, but whenever the conversation got moving it was easy. Your brothers liked her, it was Bruce who continued to be standoffish. However, he slowly, painfully slowly, warmed up to her throughout the night. Though it wasn't obvious to the naked eye, as Bruce’s kid, you saw his eyes soften every time you brought up a happy memory with her. She was making you happy, he knew that.

Dinner came to a close and the family was saying their goodbyes to Azalea. You stood by the door and hugged her.

“I’m so glad this went well.” You said, wrapping your arms around her. She kissed your cheek.

“Even if they didn’t like me, there wouldn’t be anyone’s opinion that could keep me from you.” You pulled apart, just as Bruce was coming down the stairs.

“Azalea. May I have a word in private before you leave?”

“Bruce I do-“

“It is okay my love. Yes sir.” Azalea motioned to the room over.

You sat on the stairs and tapped your foot, anxiously and impatiently. DAMMIT! So close to this going well. If he screws it up that would be major suckage.

When they returned, both had content smiles on their faces.

Azalea hugged you again.

“I will see you soon my love.” She then turned to Bruce. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, sir. It was a pleasure to meet your family.”

Bruce held up a hand.

“No need to thank me, the pleasure was all mine. Goodbye Azalea.”

She kissed your cheek.

“I love you.”

“Wh- I love you too- but what did you talk about?!”

Azalea laughed and cupped your face.

“Nothing much. Goodbye” She winked and walked out the door, a car pulling up outside.

“Bye I guess…” You held the door open for her, making sure she made it to her ride.

You turned to Bruce with an eyebrow raised.

He shrugged. “What? It’s my kid’s first relationship, I am not going to ignore that just because of their parents. Absolutely not.”

“Bruuuceeee, what did you say to her?” You groaned.

“I don’t remember.”

“Liar.”

He smiled and put a hand on your shoulder.

“Does she make you happy, Y/N?”

“Extremely.”

“Then I approve.”

“Thank you, Bruce.”

~ ❀~ ❀~ ❀~ ❀~ ❀~ ❀~ ❀~ ❀~ ❀~ ❀~ ❀~

A/N: tbh this was so fun to write. i ADORE botany (duh my username) and you gave me the perfect chance to use it in a fic! Great req btw i love the whole romeo-and-juliet-esc vibe of their relationship. Y/N and Azalea>>> fr flower power. thanks for the req! If you have anything else let me know!! <3 I’ve been out of town, but now that i’m back my writing can start back up! cant wait for more. Also mha fans should keep an eye out later this week!!

A Undead Replacement - Batfamily x Reader

Requested by Anon  - an imagine in which alfred is on vacation so lucius fox recommends you to take his place while he’s gone and at first the family doesn’t trust you but after a while they do. Then one day cause tim still doesn’t trust you he sneaks into your room and reads your diary only to discover that you’re a vampire which also explains why you didn’t mind being around blood when you were patching them up after patrols.

***

“So, Lucius recommended you?” Bruce Wayne asked from behind his desk at Wayne Manor. He narrowed his eyes at you as if looking into your soul. You sat in a chair in front of his desk with your suitcase sitting next to you.

“Yes, Mr. Fox said you needed a temporary replacement,” you answered coolly, meeting his gaze. “Since your butler will be away for three months.” He was trying to intimate you. You had to fight to keep yourself from laughing at him. 

Bruce hummed, sensing that you were amused by him. “And you know about our…’nightly’ activities?” 

You smiled at him, sending him a wink. “Yes, I know you are Batman, Mr. Wayne.” He frowned at your bluntness, studying you. You simply met his eye, waiting for him to make a decision. 

“You do understand your duties would include not just the house, but the downstairs as well?” Bruce mumbled, glancing back at your resume.

“The Batcave is the downstairs, yes?” He frowned at you again making him appear like a spoiled child. “I am trained to handle the types of situations you usually have, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce pursed his lips in thought. After a long moment, he finally spoke. “I guess I will trust Lucius’ judgement and hire you.” You smiled brightly at him, standing up to shake his hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne. I’m sure you’ll find my work satisfactory,” you stated cheerily as he took your hand.  

“Your hand is freezing,” he commented, his eyes flickering to yours in concern.

You shook your head. “My hands are always cold,” you replied unconcerned. Your eyes shifting slightly at the truth of the statement. You drew back your hand though, self-conscious. “Now, if you would be so kind, Mr. Wayne. I would like to be shown to my room to unpack before I start.” You picked up your suitcase.

“Of course…,” Bruce answered, guiding you out of the room. 

“You can call me, (Y/N), Mr. Wayne,” you interrupted. You sensed his discomfort at not remembering your name. 

“And you may call me Bruce,” he said, giving you a friendly glance as he led you out of room. You sighed, gazing around at the magnificent house around you. Somehow, you felt like you were about to embark on an adventure. 

***

It took you a few days, but you soon settled into a pattern around Wayne Manor. Each day, you would cook breakfast, lunch, and dinner for whoever was in the manor at the time. You also did the housework, which was a lot considering how big the manor was. At night, you would clean and manage the Batcave. Also, if they required it, you would provide medical treatment for the batfamily. 

The family was cold to you at first. They didn’t trust you, and you understood that since they held so many secrets, but you worked to gain their trust. 

Surprisingly, you gained most of their respect, not from your cooking or house cleaning, but for your medical skills. It was on one night when Damian came in with a deep cut on his arm.  There was a lot of blood, soaking through his costume. 

Dick carried him into the medical bay, minutes after they called to inform you of the emergency. Damian seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness, his head resting limply on Dick’s shoulder.

“Put him down on the bed,” you ordered as Dick moved to carefully lay him down. You started to inspect the wound, removing the temporary bandage.

“It was a knife,” Dick explained, studying you as you moved with the expertise of a professional. He seemed to be waiting for something. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Yes, I can see that,” you answered calmly, looking up at Dick to see the blood soaking through his costume. “Why don’t you change, Richard? I’ll take care of Damian.”

“It’s only a scratch,” Damian mumbled softly. You gently prodded the wound before grabbing cleaning supplies.

“I knew I shouldn’t have showed him Monty Python,” Dick remarked, leaving the room. He waited until he knew you would be able to help Damian. Honestly, he was surprised when you didn’t react to the blood at all. 

Damian mumbled some more, but you couldn’t understand him as you prepared the stitching. “This will sting a little,” you warned as Damian huffed before closing his eyes.

Halfway through the stitches, Bruce marched in, still dressed in his batsuit. “Is he alright?” he demanded with worry in his eyes. You looked up from the stitches to give him a smile before continuing. 

“Damian will be fine, Mr. Wayne. The cut missed the tendons, so there will be no permanent damage. He will just have to recover from the blood loss, but he won’t need a transfusion. Just rest,” you detailed, finishing the last stitch. Bruce stood on the other side of the bed, brushing the hair out of Damian’s face. Your heart melted at the tenderness of the moment. 

Bruce watched you bandaged Damian’s arm. “You are skilled as Lucius said,” he muttered to himself. Sending him a look, you rolled your eyes.

“Of course I am, Mr. Wayne,” you replied, not knowing what else to say to that. Suddenly, you found Dick, Tim, Jason, Cass, and Stephanie stumbling into the room. The others kept their distance while Dick came to stand at your side.

“He will be okay, right?” Dick asked, frowning at how pale Damian was. You smiled at him before glancing at the others.

“Damian will be fine. He just needs to rest,” you assured, finishing Damian’s bandage to turn to clean up the medical bay. “I have sandwiches ready if any of you wish for one.” Jason, Cass, and Stephanie left the room excitedly for they had grown to love your sandwiches. Tim remained, studying you with uncertain eyes.  

“We should probably get him out of his suit,” Bruce stated, glancing at you for permission. You nodded as Bruce scooped Damian up in his arms and carried him towards the changing area. Dick followed, leaving you alone with Tim. 

You felt his eyes burning into you. “Is there anything you need, Tim?” He narrowed his eyes at you before turning to swiftly leave the room without saying a word. You furrowed your brow in confusion before continuing your work. 

***

Tim didn’t trust you.  Everyone else insisted he was being paranoid, that he had trust issues. While Tim understood he had a hard time trusting people, with you it was different. He didn’t know what it was, but he felt like you were hiding something. 

Perhaps it was the way you avoided sunlight at all costs. If you did go outside during the day, you would wear a hat, gloves, heavy jacket, boots, and sunglasses as if you were trying to prevent any sunlight from touching your skin. Then, there was your eyes. They were this mysterious red color with yellowish circles around your pupils. Everyone else thought it was cool, but Tim was sure it meant something.

Finally, there was the fact you didn’t seem to eat. Everyday, you would make meals for the family, yet Tim never saw you take a bite. Even when you had to taste test something, you always called Damian over to do it. You appeared healthy enough, but Tim didn’t know what to think.

Eventually, after being yelled at by Bruce and Dick for being rude to you, Tim decided to take action. 

He waited until you headed off to the grocery store. Once he saw you disappear out the door, bundled to the brink even though it was seventy degrees out, Tim secretly made his way towards your bedroom.

The door was locked, but Tim picked the lock in a second before slipping into the room. Much to his surprise, it seemed rather ordinary. It was neat, as could be expected since you were the housekeeper of sorts, with only a pair of tennis shoes laying haphazardly in the center of the room. 

Tim inspected the shoes, frowning when they appeared to be normal. Quietly as he could, Tim searched the room. He checked the dresser drawers, under the bed, the closet, and even your bathroom cupboards.  

He was quite surprised when he found some empty blood bags in your garage can. Checking the label, he was even more shock to find they weren’t from the cave for they were blood types none of the batfamily had. 

When he could find nothing else of interest, and was about to leave the room to reveal his discovery of the blood bags to the family, Tim found himself tripping on a loose floorboard. He landed with a loud thump, gasping when all the breath was forced out of his lungs from the impact. Staying still for a moment to see if he had been heard, Tim turned to investigate the floor board.

Underneath the floor board, Tim discovered three leather journals. The first one seemed to be from the 1980s, the second from 1930s, while the last one seemed to date back to the mid-1800s. Fascinated with his discovery, Tim opened the oldest journal. 

After he finished the journal, he moved onto the next one with much anticipation. He was a fast reader, and in a half an hour, he finished all three journals with his mind whirling. Suddenly, it clicked.

Tim’s eyes widened as he ran frantically from the room with the journals in his arms. He searched for the family only to be startled beyond belief when he found you in the kitchen, putting away groceries. 

“Hello Tim, I’m planning to make Manicotti for dinner. Mr. Wayne told me it was your favorite,” you said, giving him a warm smile. He flinched, staring at you with wide, terrified eyes. You noticed the fear on his face, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re…you’re a…,” Tim stammered, backing away from you. You noticed your journals in his hands, knowing right away what he was trying to say. Sighing, you paused your grocery sorting to put your hands on your hips.

“Well, Tim, I’ll have you know it is very rude to go through other people’s things without asking,” you scolded, loving how his jaw dropped open in surprise. He must have been expecting you to attack him or something. 

“But…but isn’t it also rude to keep secrets from your employers?” Tim replied meekly before taking a step towards you. Your journals were clenched to his chest. 

You tilted your head at him. “I don’t believe any of you ask me if I was a vampire,” you remarked, going back to putting away groceries. “It also wasn’t a question on the application Mr. Fox gave me either.” 

Tim was stumped by your answer, his mind racing for a reply. You smiled at him as if you knew you left him speechless. “It’s something we should know,” Tim finally spoke, approaching the other side of the island in the center of the kitchen. He laid the journals carefully on the island. “What if you suddenly get the urge to drink our blood?”

“You’re stereotyping me, Tim. Not all vampires bite humans for their blood, and not all of us have an uncontrollable urge for blood. It’s no different then food to humans. I don’t see humans going crazy over a bit of food if they’re not starving to death. Besides, I prefer to drink from blood bags anyway,” you explained, meeting Tim’s eye. He seemed to relax a little bit. “It’s more satisfying in a way.”  

“Is that why there were blood bags in your garbage?” Tim asked, raising an elbow. 

You glared at him before nodding. “Yes, and before you ask, I paid for them with my own money. I didn’t steal them from your blood supply.”

“I know, none of the bags held our blood types,” Tim interjected, sinking onto one of the bar stools to watch you. His past fear was replaced with curiosity. “What about the sun?”

Chuckling to yourself, you found it oddly relaxing to explain yourself to someone. You had kept your secret for so long, it was nice to express yourself openly. “Due to my vampirism, my skin is highly sensitive to sunlight, which is why I have to wear so much before going outside. I notice that the older I get, the more sensitive my skin gets. 

“According to your journals, you are over one hundred and fifty years old,” Tim stated, his fascination sparkling in his eyes. “Is that true?”

“Yes, and what is with all the questions? Are you really that concerned about me being a vampire?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him as you finished with the groceries and started dinner. 

Tim paused for a moment, pursing his lips in thought. “At first, I was, but it was only because I thought you were hiding something from us, but now, I don’t know. I’m just fascinated with the idea.”

You hummed, nodding in understanding before dropping your voice to a whisper. “While I know you wish to ask me questions, but I would prefer if kept this between us. Judging about what I know of your family, I don’t think it would be a good idea to reveal this to them.”

“Your secret is safe with me as long as you’re still making Manicotti,” Tim whispered back at you with a playful smile. Your heart warmed as you felt Tim finally trust you enough to show his true colors, even if it was bribery.

“Alright, we have a deal,” you agreed before gesturing towards the journals. “Would you please put these back where you found them?”

“Yes, (Y/N),” Tim replied, leaving the room calmly. His mind kept racing, wondering about everything he could learn with having you in the household. Part of himself wondered if he should tell the others, but he stopped that thought, thinking of the expressions on their faces when they learned about it on their own. 

A Undead Replacement - Batfamily x Reader - Part Two

Part One

Requested by Anons -   a part 2 of the rest of the family finding out, or Bruce finding out. Everyone finds out.

Tim kept your secret, but as with many things, your secret would not remain hidden.

It was Halloween, and the entire family had been invited to a fancy Halloween ball. Since you were the hired help and not invited, you were excited for a night off. Ever since you started working at Wayne Manor, you were dying for a chance to use the pool. Due to glass walls surrounding the pool, you couldn’t use it during the day, and you were always working at night in the batcave.

As soon as you saw the family off, you ran back to your bedroom to change into your bathing suit. Once you had it on, you grabbed a towel and a small cooler filled with blood bags before sprinting to the pool.

The pool room was beautiful with moonlight filtering in from the glass walls and ceilings. Bouncing in your excitement, you placed your towel and cooler onto one of the lounge chairs. You climbed up the diving board before diving into the pool.

Warm water surrounded you, feeling like the brush of a lover against your naturally cold skin. You swam around the pool for a while before rising from the water, drying yourself off with your towel. Collapsing onto the lounge chair, you opened a blood bag and dumped it into a glass cup. You grabbed a straw from your cooler before taking a gulp of the blood. 

“Hmm,” you sighed with pleasure as you leaned back into the chair. You closed your eyes, the moonlight falling onto your body. The moonlight soaked into your skin like the sun soaks into a human. Somehow, you felt like this was the break you needed. You enjoyed yourself as you felt a pair of eyes observing you from the shadows.

“Hello, (Y/N)?” Bruce called out as he stepped into the Manor. 

“TT, I don’t understand why we needed to come back, Father. I’m fine dressed as I am,” Damian huffed. Bruce pulled him into the Manor before pushing him towards the stairs.

“We came back because you can’t go to the party dressed in your Robin suit,” Bruce explained for the fifth time. His voice took on a stern tone. “Now go upstairs, and put on the costume (Y/N) got for you.”

“TT,” Damian responded before stomping up the stairs. He muttered to himself, making Bruce smile at his child-like nature. Standing in the entryway, Bruce frowned when you still didn’t appear. His brow furrowed with worry before he set out to search for you. 

Bruce knew none of the alarms had been set off, so he ruled out the possibility of an intruder. Wandering around the manor, Bruce checked your bedroom, the kitchen, the laundry room, several of the sitting rooms, and his office. He didn’t see a sign of you causing him even more worry.

Just when he was about to head up the stairs to search, a splashing sound reached his ears. He frowned before making his way towards the pool room. Bruce stopped outside of the glass door as he was entranced by the sight of you rising out of the pool. 

His mouth dropped open at the sight of your bathing suit, and your beautiful exposed skin that shimmered in the moonlight. Bruce found a blush burning onto his face as his heart fluttered at the sight. 

You didn’t notice him, strutting over to a lounge chair to grab a towel. Bruce found his eyes glued to your hips as you ran the towel over your wet skin. He swallowed hard, blinking several times to calm himself. 

He watched with fascination as you collapsed onto the lounge chair before digging in the cooler. Bruce’s hand was reaching for the door handle when he saw you lifting a blood bag and a glass out of the cooler. His blood ran cold as he found himself froze in horror and shock.

You opened the bag like it was a juice box before pouring it into the glass and sticking a straw into it. Bruce felt sick to his stomach when you took a large swallow. He turned away, trying to comprehend what he had just saw. 

Taking several minutes to gather himself, Bruce entered the pool room silently. The moment he entered you sat up, meeting his eye as if you sensed his presence. 

“So, you know?” you asked, giving him a gentle smile. You studied him worriedly as your heart clenched from the threat of being fired. 

“What I know is that you drink blood. Unless you just drink something else that happens to come in the shape of a blood bag?” Bruce theorized as he found himself attracted to you. Up close, you were even more beautiful in the moonlight than you were before. 

You glanced at the cup of blood with sad eyes. “I’ll pack my bags,” you sighed, standing up from the chair. 

“What?” Bruce exclaimed, taking a step closer to you. He was about to reach out to grab your arm, but he stopped himself as he found himself imagining touching you elsewhere. “Why do you need to pack?”

“Well, I assume you’ll want me to leave since you know now,” you mumbled, not meeting his eye. You stood up to pick up your towel and your cup of blood. 

Bruce went against his morals and laid a hand on your shoulder to stop you. “No, you don’t have to go. You are a great help to us, (Y/N), and I have no right to judge you for what you do in your free time.” He glanced over at the cup of blood again, a shiver running down his spine.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you know why I drink blood, Mr. Wayne?” you asked as his hand remained on your shoulder. You felt like he wasn’t completely understanding the situation. 

“Like I said (Y/N) what you do in your free time is your business,” Bruce answered, realizing his hand was still on your shoulder. He pulled away, his hand sliding down your arm as he went. 

“No, Mr. Wayne,” you chuckled, loving how his brow furrowed in confusion. He was so adorable when he was confused. “I drink blood because I’m a vampire.”

Bruce froze, his eyes growing wide as his mind tried to absorb the new information. “But…they don’t exist,” Bruce began, stammering like an embarrassed teenager. A blush came to his cheeks as he realized he never notice the facts about you.

“Oh, but we do exist,” you replied solemnly. “I don’t harm people though. The blood I drink comes from blood bags, and I don’t bite people.” You stopped for a moment to let him say something, but he remained silent and in shock. “You can fire me now if you like. I understand if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No,” Bruce said in a hurry. His heart clenched at the thought of you leaving, though he didn’t understand why. “I assume if you intended to hurt us, you would have already. Besides, you are a good addition to the family, (Y/N).”

You looked at your feet, flattered beyond belief. “Thank you, Mr. Wayne.”

“However, I wish you would have told us about your ‘condition’,” Bruce interjected with worry in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have asked you to help us with medical emergencies if I knew.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” you replied simply, taking a sip from your cup. Bruce found himself not disgusted by it as he was at first. “I am so used to it, it doesn’t even tempt me.”

Bruce smiled, glancing down at your scantily clad body. “I’m glad, we really do need your help down in the cave.”

“Great,” you smiled, relieved you weren’t fired on the spot. Suddenly, you frowned at the fact Bruce was here and not at the party. “Didn’t you go to the party tonight?”

“We did, but Damian decided to wear his Robin suit, so we came back to change,” Bruce stated, rolling his eyes slightly. 

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne. I should have checked what he was wearing before he went out of the door.”

“Please, (Y/N), call me Bruce. I’ve told you that before, but you never listen,” Bruce whispered softly, taking a step closer to you.

“That would be unprofessional,” you excused, warming at his sudden closeness. You set down your glass, turning away from him. “Don’t you have a party to go to, Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce clenched his hand into a fist, trying to control his passion. “Yes,” Bruce said, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I suppose I should check on Damian, and be off.” He started walking out of the room, doing his best not to look at you. The way you looked in your bathing suit drove him wild. “Enjoy your night off, (Y/N).”

“You too, Mr. Wayne,” you called out in reply before sinking back onto the lounge chair. Your heart fluttered in a way it hasn’t since you were first turned into a vampire so many years ago. Taking a deep breath, you ignored the feeling, going back to sipping your blood in the moonlight  as it seeped through the windows.

“TT, we have a problem,” Damian began as everyone in the family, minus you and Bruce, gathered in his room. Damian had called a meeting, dragging everyone into his room at an ungodly hour. 

“Yeah, you woke me up before noon,” Jason grumbled as he sank into Damian’s desk chair. “That is a problem.”

“Deal with it, Jay,” Dick retorted before turning to Damian. “What’s the problem, Dami?”

“It’s about (Y/N),” Damian started as Tim entered the room to lean sleepily against the wall.

“What about (Y/N)?” Dick asked patiently, sitting down on the bed to reach Damian’s eye level. 

Tim interrupted, yawning in exhaustion. “This isn’t about the sexual tension between Bruce and (Y/N), because that is obvious.” He was carefully not to drop any hint about you being a vampire since he promised not to tell the others. However, he sensed it was out of his control now.

“No, don’t be stupid, Drake,” Damian snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at Tim. “This is about what (Y/N) is.” Tim’s eyes widened at Damian’s words, knowing what he meant. However, the true meaning escaped Jason and Dick.

“Oh boy, Damian is entering puberty,” Jason commented. Damian tried to attack him, but Dick caught him before he could reach Jason. Jason grinned at him wildly, enjoying the chaos. 

“You’re not helping,” Dick growled, tightening his grip on Damian. “Calm down, Dami. It’s okay if you like (Y/N), it’s normal for a boy your age to…”

“No!” Damian elbowed Dick in the stomach to get away. “That is not what I am talking about!” Damian turned to Tim, sensing he knew the truth. “I’m talking about how (Y/N) is a vampire.”

The room fell silent as Jason and Dick put the pieces together. Tim remained silence, wondering if you would ever make Manicotti for him again since your secret was out. 

“Oh my god,” Dick remarked, his jaw dropped. “It matches up.”

“Wait, vampires don’t exist though, do they?” Jason asked as Dick and him shared a glance before turning onto Tim and Damian. Damian glared at Tim, sensing Tim knew the truth before he told everyone. 

“You knew, didn’t you, Drake?” Damian accused. Tim shrugged his shoulders, deciding to play it cool. 

“No, I was just as surprised as the rest of you,” Tim lied, knowing everyone in the room saw right through it. Tim sighed, rubbing his eyes as his dreams about your Manicotti disappeared into the wind. “How did you find out, Damian?”

Damian huffed, raising his nose smugly into the air. “I overheard (Y/N) telling Father when we came back to change my costume for the Halloween party.”

Tim rolled his eyes, burying his face into his hands. “You are such a little sneak, Damian.” Damian opened his mouth to respond, but Dick interrupted him.

“Hold on, it doesn’t matter how we know,” Dick soothed, bring everyone back to the matter at hand. “What matters is that we know, and what we’re going to do about it.”

“What we’re going to do about it?” Tim snapped, not like the accusatory tone of Dick’s voice. “(Y/N) has been nothing, but kind and caring to us. They never made a move to hurt us. We don’t need to do anything about it.”

The room fell silent for a moment. “I agree with Tim on this one,” Jason added. “Since Bruce is obviously okay with it, I don’t see why we need to do anything.”

“You’re right,” Dick agreed after he thought about it. Damian stared at the three boys in shock before he exploded.

“Have you all lost your minds? What if (Y/N) drinks our blood?” Damian demanded, jumping up and down in sync to his words.

“Calm down, Damian. (Y/N) only drinks blood bags that they buy from hospitals,” Tim replied as the rest looked at him with curiosity. 

“How do you know that, Tim?” Dick asked. Tim shrugged his shoulders.

“I asked them when I figured it out,” he replied, leaving out the part when he broke into your room and found the evidence. Jason snickered, sensing what Tim wasn’t telling the group. Dick sighed in relief as Damian relaxed at the new information. “Now, I suggest that we continue like normal and pretend we don’t know.”

The four boys all shared a glance before nodding in agreement. However, each one found a little thought popping into their head about what they could do now that they knew.

Needless to say, you figured out the rest of the family knew about your vampirism pretty fast. You sensed something was wrong when Tim started apologizing to you without giving you a reason. He kept looking at you with this puppy dog face. You didn’t understand what he did wrong, however you had an idea about what it was.

Jason just came out and stated he knew. He said it while you were making dinner, so calmly you almost didn’t believe what he said. Chuckling at your surprised expression, Jason simply walked out of the room afterwards.

Dick was a little more secretive, leaving a wrapped package outside of your room. Inside was a plain white t-shirt with vampire written across it. You started laughing at it as you read the Dick’s note insisting he saw it and thought of you. Flattered as you were, you decided he was going to get a whole plate of cookies for his cleverness.

Damian was the most difficult for he outright avoided you. He dove out of the room when you entered. Anytime he had to be in the same room as you, he kept someone between you and him. It was from that act alone you knew he knew. However, he didn’t relax around you until he tried to stake you in the heart. You avoided the blow, laughing when he swore at himself for failing. Afterwards, you both had a long talk, allowing Damian to return to his normal behavior. 

About a week after everyone found out, Alfred returned from his three month vacation. You and Alfred shared notes about the happenings around the manor, smiling when you told Alfred how well the boys took to your vampirism. Alfred already knew you were a vampire before he had Lucius recommend you. 

Soon after, you were ready to leave with your suitcase in hand. You wore the t-shirt Dick gave you since you no longer had to be in uniform. The boys each gave you a hug, even Damian who pretended to be reluctant, but you knew he wanted to. They made you promise to come back to visit, which you gladly took them up on. Your heart warmed at the fact they accepted you even after they found out. No one had ever done that before in your two hundred years of life.

Finally, you came to Bruce, who was watching you with an intensity that sent a shiver up your spine. You stared into his blue eyes, captured by how purposeful they were. Unnoticed by you, the boys and Alfred left the room.

“So, goodbye, Mr. Wayne,” you said, finding yourself holding your breath as he took a step closer to you.

“You can call me Bruce now, since you are no longer my employee,” Bruce whispered. His eyes drifted to your lips before flying back up to your eyes.

“Goodbye Bruce,” you breathed, captivated by his lips. The feeling of desire found it’s way into your body for the first time in two hundred years. 

“I’m not ready for goodbyes yet, (Y/N),” Bruce replied, his voice dropped into a seductive deeper tone. Time froze for a moment before his lips came crashing down onto yours. His arms wrapped around you, while yours found their way around his neck. 

From the doorway of the room, unknown to both you and Bruce, the four boys watched the kiss ensue. Dick had his hand over Damian’s eyes, while the others look on.

“TT, let me see, Grayson,” Damian demanded. The others hushed him.

“I have to say it’s about time,” Jason mumbled as Dick and Tim nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, I didn’t think they’d wait until Alfred came back,” Dick added.

“Please, Alfred planned this whole thing,” Tim commented, causing the others to look at him with stunned expressions. “What? None of you figured it out. Alfred never takes vacations, and you thought he would suddenly want to take one.” Tim shook his head in disbelief before heading towards the kitchen. “I swear none of you notice anything.”

Dick’s hand dropped from Damian’s eyes as the three men shared a glance before tailing after Tim with the intention of interrogating Alfred for the truth.

Meanwhile, you and Bruce were still lip locked. In that moment, you knew it was a new path on your immortal life.