#the batman x you

[neutron-stars-collision]

Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Epilogue - Always You

Chapter 20; Masterlist Summary: One December evening, Vengeance climbs into your apartment through the window. That's regular occurrence by now. What isn't regular, is the conversation you share. Warnings: 18+ (sorry, the gremlin in my brain insisted I describe some of that), swearing. Author's Notes: So, this is the official farewell. This epilogue turned out to be kind of an 'evening in the life of', but I think I needed that. Even if only just to say goodbye to those two. It's 6k of headcanons and fluff, so I hope you enjoy 💕 Once again, thanks for sticking around ✨ A playlist will follow bc of course I have that too. Feel free to let me know what you think? Tag list: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy, @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary, @nicklet94, @mcrmarvelloki, @shimmeringgrim, @ttae-yong, @freyadruid, @siriuslydestiny, @ms-dont-care, @raphaelaisabella, @itsmytimetoodream, @brightjimini, @castellandiangelo, @grunge-n-roses5

(gif credit: @1038276637)

No amount of thinking and consideration could have ever prepared you for the reality of being Bruce Wayne’s partner. Or girlfriend, a term you had sometimes relished teasing him with. If only to get that same deadpan look, complemented by a pink blush on his cheeks and one sentence reply.

Always the same: “You’re much more than that to me”. Every time the answer made you blush too, overwhelmed with love and hopefulness like never before. Because, as it quickly turned out, Bruce treated this seriously, daily putting in work to make sure whatever you had would survive.

And it did, at least until the rain showers had been replaced by snowfall, and the white coat covering most of Gotham almost made up for the plummeting temperatures. Long enough for you to get used to the idea that a solo night at your place did not mean loneliness. It did not even mean that you would be alone for that much longer, for, as it happened, Bruce’s patrol now sometimes led to your apartment instead of the Terminus. It was a substitute for the nights when you opted to stay at your place instead of perusing the Tower. All the heads-up he would give would be a quick text sent between the hours when you were likely still awake. But it was all you needed, instantly perking up at the idea.

That night was like that, as you were informed by a message on the burner phone: “I’ll come by after 2”. Easy fate to achieve - waiting for Bruce until 2 am. Although, the slow passage of time made you groan for the umpteenth time as you found it still to be only 1 am. An hour. A whole bloody hour. Your head dropped onto the table with a dull thud. The waiting for him was the worst part of it all, perhaps only next to the constant anxiety that filled your veins whenever Bruce was playing the part of Batman. Mostly because you never knew whether waiting up on him in the cave would be to get that desired kiss and help him with the amour or whether it would entail cleaning the wounds and bandaging the cuts. You already had a fair share of both. And there was no point guessing which you preferred.

Your favourite nights, by a large margin, were those when Bruce stayed home. Or at least stayed long enough to go to bed with you. Those were the nights of discoveries and enlightenment, leaving you breathless and wanting more. Always wanting more. Luckily now, you did not have to deny yourself what you had become addicted to. And the list was growing exponentially. Like the fact that after that first night when you had confessed your feelings for Bruce, the three words had only gained power. Enough so that when you whispered them at just the right time, with Bruce still buried deep inside you and inching towards his release - they were all the trigger he needed. All sense of control seemed to disappear as soon as you reminded him you loved him. And for that, the affection only grew.

You knew that was very much mutual.

The other discovery, which had led to many sleepless lonely nights, spent squirming under the covers, was that once Bruce had understood that he truly was the best you ever had, a new level of confidence was unlocked. Some might even call it smugness. But you could not possibly mind a bit of cockiness when it got you a man who would tease you with his fingers and mouth till you were a whimpering mess. And then, only then, he would lean in close, let his mouth brush your heated cheek and the shell of your ear, and whisper: “Come for me”. A request. A command even. You had no choice but to obey. Not that you didn��t want to. By now, the exact way he had spoken had become a go-to soundtrack to all your daydreams. A weak substitute for when you were apart.

It was still better than nothing.

Glancing at the watch to check the time, you were easily brought back from the pleasant recollections. It was almost 2 am. Not long now. You did not need a mirror to confirm your mouth stretched into a dumb smile. The reaction was involuntary at this point, transforming you into that type of lovesick individual you always scoffed at. The irony was infuriating. Feeling the tell-tale shiver of anticipation, you made one final lap of the flat. Smoothing out the bedsheets (even though neither of you cared about it), taking out the short-rimmed tumbler (in case he did want that whiskey you offered before Halloween) and dragging a hand through your hair to detangle any knots (even though he had seen you with bed-hair and mascara stains on your cheeks). Only then you could say you were ready.

And right on time, too, for before long, you heard the familiar light knock upon the window frame. A smile broke out on your face as you crossed the room to unlatch the window and stepped back. This part always made you laugh. You knew why Bruce deemed the window a better way of entering your apartment, but it was still a strange spectacle to witness. Using the grappling hook, he would lift himself to the level of your building and gracefully slip in. The only downside? The melting snow created puddles on your floor. This time you were prepared, a sweeping mop in hand.

The first glimpse you caught was a smile under the cowl. A look so strange for Mr Vengeance himself, yet something you had grown accustomed to. You returned the expression with ease, watching as he jumped in feet first through the window frame and landed on your floor with a quiet groan. That, too, was a sign – this night had been rough. Before you could process the realization, Bruce strengthened up and took off the cowl. As always, that first shared glance made you shiver. The smudged black makeup was smeared around his eyes, hair messy and unkempt, begging you to arrange it. There was no reason to wait.

“Hello, you” you closed the remaining gap and placed your hand on his shoulder.

The material felt cold and made you shiver as you rose on your toes to level with him. Bruce’s eyes traced your every move as he wound his arm around your waist, keeping you close and secure.

“Hey,” the whisper you got in return was the last thing you let him say before you crashed your mouth into his with a satisfied hum.

The coldness of his lips did nothing to stifle the spark of fire slowly building in your veins. As always. Carefully you let your tongue trace his bottom lip, prodding at the seam till Bruce opened his mouth, inviting you in. The familiarity of the feeling was enough to let you drop the remaining weight from your shoulders and sink into him, tasting and consuming all you could. All that he was willing to give you.

Bruce responded in kind to the tempo you had set, caressing your tongue with his and lightly nipping at your bottom lip. He felt like home. Even with the melting snow dripping onto your clothes and the hard edges of the armour digging between your ribs. The need to continue was stronger than anything else. Until neither of you could get deep enough breaths to continue.

You drew back with a quiet whine, frustration adding spikes to the warmth in your chest. The blue of Bruce’s eyes staring back at you smoothed the feeling, instantly making you notice the glimmer in his gaze. The love that was no longer a secret between you. It was impossible to escape the blush blooming on your cheeks and the pick-up in your heart rate. Ignoring the urge to hide from his perceptive stare, you returned to the task at hand.

One assessing look was enough as you raised your hand to cup his cheek and then up to comb through the hair falling into his eyes. You carefully brushed it away from his forehead, barely managing not to drown in the grateful look you got awarded. The only way of avoiding the shame of losing your mind and doing something utterly stupid like falling to your knees before Bruce, you grabbed the mop and pushed it onto his chest with a simple instruction:

“Now mop the floor” you eyed the growing puddle at your feet with a critical eye, adding, “You’ve made a mess” without waiting for a reply, you turned away towards the kitchen.

Just in time to hear the answer.

“Yes, ma’am” you did not need to see him to know he was smiling.

Approaching the counter, you opened the cupboard and eyed the contents. It was too late for a meal, but when Bruce visited, you would always share a drink before retiring to your bedroom. It was only a question of choice. What suited him better on this particular December night?

“What’s your poison tonight?” you asked and turned to face Bruce, finding him leaning the mop on the wall and the floors shiny and swept (naturally), “Coffee? Tea? Whiskey?” the first two had been staples on the menu, the last one was an inside joke.

An option you always gave him for the sake of it. And also, because you were yet to see Bruce Wayne relax with an alcoholic drink in his hand. Early on, he had told you he did not indulge in that too often, seldom, in fact, because alcohol did not exactly help the difficult thoughts springing in his mind at every possible chance. You knew the feeling too well, so you never pushed. But maybe-

“You know what?” Bruce’s question interjected your internal monologue as he eyed the tumbler you had taken out earlier, “Maybe it’s time. At last,” raising his head to meet your searching gaze, Bruce grinned.

Even now, when smiles no longer were rare, you still treasured each one. Mostly because they lit up Bruce’s beautiful face like nothing else, throwing everything into perspective. It was a point of personal pride you made him smile like that.

Without waiting for Bruce to change his mind, you took the bottle off the shelf and grabbed a second glass to fill. Two ice cubs per drink clinked in the tumblers as you poured the rich brown liquid and turned to hand it to him.

“Cheers,” raising yours to toast, you sent him another pleased smile.

You did not need to discuss the arrangement, wordlessly taking a sip from the glass and placing it back on the counter to free your hands for the next step in the routine. Bruce mirrored your moves, patiently waiting for you to start taking off the armour pieces. By now, the process was almost second nature. You did not need his directions, easily following the straps and buckles to undo them. Each plating would end up on one of your chairs, a dark heap covered with the cloak. Only once Bruce was left with the black thermals, you drifted to the sofa and fell against each other on the cushions. Multiple points of contact at every spot. Calves, knees, thighs, hips, and shoulders. At the least.

At first, you did not talk, quietly soaking in the calm. It quickly became evident that Bruce valued his peace, and each nightly escapade was enough to drain his battery. Both physically and mentally. That is why when he returned home or to your place the priority was letting him rest. Usually, you would put the tv on as background noise, but tonight as soon as you turned your head to look at Bruce, the remote control was frozen in your hand.

Suddenly it struck you. The strangeness of the moment in its entirety. It was nothing you could have foreseen, not in a million years. And yet, it made perfect sense.

You must have stared for too long because the next thing you registered was Bruce looking back at you with an incredulous glim in his eyes. He arched an eyebrow, his hand landing on your knee to gently stroke the skin beneath your pyjama pants. A question followed:

“What’s that look for?” the curiosity in his tone made you smile, barely resisting the urge to hide your face in the crook of his neck to avoid being stared at.

Especially by someone who could see through each wall you ever tried to raise. By now, you never even tried anymore, aware that it was pointless. Bruce (somehow) wanted all of you, so that is what he got. You could only hope he would never change his mind.

“It’s a lot to take in,” shrugging with one shoulder, the one not tucked against his side, you chose the safest answer.

All the while knowing Bruce would not let that be the end of that conversation. You only had to wait approximately 10 seconds for the follow-up question.

“What is?” you had to admit he was good at this.

Interrogation techniques that somehow fit right in the dynamic between you. And made it impossible for you to hide from him. While the thought had been terrifying once, it was almost easy to get used to. Almost being the keyword there.

“Oh, you know” feigning nonchalance, you chose to pace your answer, taking your time with the reveal, while watching him closely, “Having Vengeance in my living room” was the most obvious of hang-ups, something you did not think you could get accustomed to. Each time you saw tv coverage of Batman or had your work colleagues develop a piece on the vigilante, the thrill of realization felt like something new, something you had never experienced before. Now, you let your gaze stray to the half-empty tumbler in his hand, adding another layer to the confession, “Serving whiskey to Bruce Wayne” lifting your eyes to catch the growing smile on his face, you allowed the fondness seep into your tone. The feeling was almost drowning out the disbelief that still tinted your vowels. You never expected to get rid of that either, “Having that same Bruce Wayne as my boyfriend…” it was strange to let the term roll off your tongue this freely, but the strangeness could not contend with the happiness you could see in his eyes. It was enough to make you grin, the conclusion to the speech coming up effortlessly, “Never once saw that coming” no lies were to be found there, “I need to stare a little longer to make sure you won’t disappear on me now” the excuse was flimsy, but it had the intended effect.

Bruce smiled and pulled you closer again, your body falling against his chest like always. The warmth of the embrace kept the chill from settling in your bones. His arms tightened around your waist as he rested his chin on your head and let out a content sigh.

“I won’t” there was no need to question him, all sense of doubt disappearing like melting snow when he added, “I like you too much,”

It was both what he said and how he said it. Like it was no big deal. Like the admission did not cost him anything. Like the character evolution you had witnessed in Bruce was something he was proud of. Something he took joy in if only because it mattered to you.

That was a little difficult to get used to.

So much so that instead of facing the affectionate admissions head-on, you chose to go for a joke, using it as a protective veil:

“Damn, never imagined Bruce Wayne would be such a softie” you lightly swatted him across the chest, not expecting the delighted giggle that would erupt from your throat when he caught your hand in his and squeezed it.

“I’m not” it took one look at Bruce, registering the slight pout and the petulance in his eyes, to make you abandon the pretence.

You dove in for a kiss, pressing your mouth against his in a quick, firm peck balancing just on the right sight of not being too greedy. Or distracting for the conversation you were still hoping to have with Bruce.

“Sure, babe” you placed another kiss on the apple of his cheek, slightly tinted pink, and changed the topic, “So, how’s Gotham? Any hot goss I should know about?” you bated your eyelashes as a complimentary show of begging.

Not that Bruce would otherwise deny you the answers. He never did that, which quickly made you the second most informed individual in the city. After the Batman, of course.

Bruce shifted slightly - a sign you had come to associate with the conversation taking a more serious turn. Placing a comforting hand on his knee, you waited as he gathered his thoughts and replied:

“There’s some talk of the Penguin putting most of his resources into bringing back the drops business” you frowned, already knowing what a mess would result from such a move. Although, unfortunately, it sounded plausible, “I’ve got addresses to scout that might be their new labs” Bruce glanced at you, awaiting a comment.

And potentially wordlessly asking whether you wanted to accompany him during the recon. It was something you did together, from time to time. An unusual way of spending time and a first-hand opportunity to gather information for work. And if the pleasant side-effect were the heated kisses shared in the shadowed alleys, then it was nobody’s business but yours.

You already knew it was a yes if he asked.

“That’s probably something you should share with Gordon” instead of voicing that, you chose to offer him reasoning.

The close cooperation between them was still a surprising development. But it was getting stronger and sometimes made you wonder whether the GCPD lieutenant would not be the very next person to learn Vengeance’s identity. So far, Bruce denied it, but you knew better than to take his word for granted. After all, decisions changed.

“And I will. But once I’m sure there’s truth in what I’ve been told,” Bruce shrugged, a brief hint of petulance in his tone making you grin.

Bruce Wayne also did not seem to change. Not completely.

You could never let a chance like that pass you by. Shifting yet again to sit up on your knees and face him, you dropped your voice a notch, giving it an appropriately seductive timbre:

“Good boy” before Bruce could react, you patted his head and dragged your fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands.

That was another key phrase of your relationship. The magical two words, if used correctly, gave you complete control over Bruce. As it turned out, the Wayne heir was incredibly susceptible to praise. You could never have too much fun with that knowledge.

You watched with growing satisfaction at how he shuddered, the two words already having an impact. Bruce blushed, and his eyes darkened almost imperceptibly. To anyone else, the reactions would have been difficult to discern from the poker face he had slipped back on. But it was much harder to fool you.

Bruce knew as much. He shrugged off your hand with unnecessary care and turned to glare at you. The twitching corner of his mouth was an easy giveaway.

“Careful there,” the warning in his voice was another trick taken straight from the toolbox.

You already knew what this was. The rules of the game were familiar by now. You did not have to fake the heat blooming in your face at the tone Bruce had implemented. All you had to do was give him your brightest smile and amp the innocent flicker in your eyes to fit the intent. That was always fun.

“Or what?” enjoying the way his eyes followed your every move, you placed your hand on his chest, pressing it flat against the fabric to feel the heartbeat, “You’re going to jump me?” as the question left your lips, your fingers begun tracing their path up the length of his thigh.

More often than not, that was how those precious nights between you began. With a ridiculous conversation and increasingly risky touch, getting rid of the remaining inhibitions. Not that there were many left.

You could see Bruce ponder the assumption, using the ball you had placed in his court. The decision was strictly up to him. You liked to remind him from time to time that you both could share the control equally. And that whatever he chose did not change anything for you. You were there for the long run.

“I’d love to” he reached out to brush the stray hair from your forehead, eyes showing hints of remorse that spoiled the answer before he gave it, “Not tonight though, sorry” it was impossible to miss the subtle wince on his face as Bruce shifted on the sofa.

That told you all you needed to know. Your hand stopped all its wandering, resting atop his thigh and tracing lazy circles over the black fabric. You knew that before you both went to bed, you would need to take out the ointments bought specifically for evenings like that and ask Bruce to take off his shirt. And it was alright. Fine, even. Because seeing Bruce Wayne shirtless was a perk of every kind of evening. Full stop.

Hoping the convey the feelings through the softness of your gaze, you allowed yourself one last joke. One final tease to satisfy the need and drag that shy smile out of its confines.

“You’ll pay for your crimes soon enough” Bruce let out a breathless laugh, and you felt like the luckiest being on the planet.

Yeah, you never saw this coming.

***

It was well past 4 am when you finally turned off the ceiling lights in your bedroom and joined Bruce on the bed. Sometimes that part, the brief conversations whispered with your heads resting against the headboard, felt almost like the domestic future you never expected to have. Like the word, which began with an m and ended with an e. You were still too scared to say it out loud or even in the quiet of your mind.

Ignoring the thought now, you quietly settled against the pillows and turned to stare at Bruce. He looked as if he belonged there, nestled underneath your woollen quilt with his damp, dark hair falling in strands over his forehead. Your heart throbbed in your chest. It was almost too good to be true. Fearing another wave of feelings you could not control, you broke the silence with whatever sentence you could think of:

“You know there’s this gala Réal is hosting before Christmas…” admittedly, it was something you had wanted to bring up to Bruce.

It has been on your mind since the mayor’s announcement via press release weeks back. After the election and everything else that followed, she had taken decisive steps to fix the city. One of them was inviting the elites and the journalists to the charity gala this December. Although you were sceptical about the effects, the intents alone were admirable.

You knew Bruce had received an invite. But if that were not common knowledge, the myriad of emotions passing through his face at the reminder would have been the giveaway. You could easily discern discomfort, uncertainty, and fear among them. Without thinking about it, you took hold of his hand resting on the covers and squeezed it. That was a common way of assuring Bruce that you were there, of offering him comfort when he would not ask for it first. After what felt like hours of silence, Bruce let out a tortured sigh and replied:

“Yes, of course. It’s only every other day that Alfred reminds me I should show up” from that dejected tone alone, you could recognize that it was a touchy subject.

And that Bruce had already made up his mind about doing everything he could not to go. Unfortunately for him, with this case and with many others you were on Alfred’s side. You made a quick mental note to mention it to the butler the next time you saw him.

“Well, you should” as soon as you spoke, Bruce sent you a glare and let out another pained groan. His penchant for dramatics was something you never expected but was incredibly happy to discover, always making you laugh, “I know, I know, but… I mean, I’ll be there” once the bit of information was out, you winced. It was a stupid thing to add. While it was true, the fact was entirely unnecessary. For obvious reasons, “Obviously we can’t go together… which I don’t mind, by the way,” nervous laughter broke through the surface as you unconsciously moved away from Bruce and fixed your gaze on the swirling patterns of the duvet “I knew what I was getting myself into with you, so…”

And you did know. You never expected to ramble around Gotham’s public events holding onto Bruce’s arm. It was not even something you actively yearned for, finding the desired happiness and peace in those quiet private moments instead. It was another case of your mouth having a mind of its own and an incontrollable want to fill the gaps between reasonable sentences with bullshit. It was far from the first time that had happened.

Maybe that was why what Bruce said next did not surprise you but only made the pricks of conscience worse.

“I’m sorry” the apology was filled with enough sincerity to make your heart ache.

You knew that he meant it. In his eyes, something as silly as keeping your relationship secret was another way of letting you down. Of not being enough for you. It was another thing to nag him in the quiet of his mind when there were no distractions. You knew what that was like all too well. Before Bruce could drown in the spiral of his own making, you leaned in to cup his face and spoke:

“No, Bruce, I… I love you” the admission was an easy thing to say these days, falling from your lips like the tears you had once shed over it, “Nothing changes that. Plus, there’s an exciting potential in taking some time away from the other guests by perusing the bathroom” you wiggled your eyebrows comically, delighted to see him smile “It’s just a suggestion,”

It felt like a relief when Bruce grinned and gave you a forehead kiss.

“I’ll think about it. I promise” giving his hand another squeeze, you accepted the truce and made sure to meet his gaze. The tone Bruce used told you that was only just the beginning, “You’re not the only one who didn’t see this coming” slightly changing the grip on your hand, Bruce caressed your knuckles in broad, repetitive strokes.

The shyness in his eyes was familiar by now. Although, still, his openness could surprise you. Like just now. With an admission that he had no obligation to make yet seemed eager to anyway. You tightened the hold on his hand and asked:

“Yeah?” wincing at the wavering voice, you could hardly conceal the surprise in your gaze.

Because that was a line of conversation, you never expected him to follow. At least not tonight. But it did not make you any less curious, always happy to get another glimpse into the workings of Bruce’s mind and heart. Those were utterly precious. It was pointless to even think about getting rid of the gaping mouth and the dazed eyes.

Judging by Bruce’s smile, there was no need to try either.

“Yep,” he nodded and raised his arm in an invitation, soon followed by words, “Come here” you did not hesitate in scooting closer and letting Bruce pull you to rest with your back against his chest. You could feel him nosing along the tendons in your neck, voice slightly muffled yet still audible “You’re absolutely terrifying” you could picture his gleeful smile with your eyes closed.

The joy in his tone felt infectious. It was easy to say he meant it. That being called terrifying was one of the highest honours Bruce could bestow on you. You leant into the lingering kiss he pressed to the nape of your neck and breathed out the reply:

“That’s a new one, but I’ll take it” stringing together the words and ignoring the fire torched in your lower stomach from something as simple as his lips on your neck were too difficult a feat to achieve.

It became apparent as soon as you became aware of your breathless voice and heard Bruce’s low chuckle resonating through your body. It was a sound you came to like, very much. It meant he was finding you amusing and decidedly good enough. It was something to shove in the face of struggling self-confidence that could always try a little more.

“You’re terrifying because, with you, I can’t hide behind the cowl and pretend I don’t exist” the sincerity of the statement was enough to make your heart trip over itself in your chest.

Without thinking, you raised your clasped hands to your mouth and kissed his knuckles. A few days old scrapes scratched the skin of your lips. It felt real.

“Is that a good thing?” you had to ask, even if only to prolong the fragile moment.

Because no matter how much you enjoyed the loudest of nights and the blatant confessions, poignancy was something else entirely. Something you would always chase after if it stepped into your sights. Like just now.

“Yes, because you make me braver” Bruce did not hesitate, his grip around your waist tightening just a little bit as he continued, “I’m pretty sure you know this, but you’re the only person that gets to see me. The real Bruce Wayne as he’s supposed to be” you did know that which did not make the knowledge feel any less groundbreaking “It’s just that I know I’m not enough. For you-” it was once he started saying utter bullshit, that you had to interject.

That was not acceptable. Not on your watch. Gently peeling Bruce’s arms from your waist, you turned in his lap to straddle his hips and placed your hands on his shoulders. He did not expect that. You could tell as much from the hitch in his breathing and the widening eyes. Bruce still took it in his stride, steadying you with his arm around your shoulders, the other hand tracing invisible pathways along your thigh. You knew he was struck into silence, unable to do anything but wait on your next call. Something about the power you possessed over him was intoxicating if you did as much as stop and think about it.

Most days, you simply did not.

“You’re really dumb, but that’s okay” without hesitation, you cupped his cheek and carded your fingers through his unruly hair, smiling like an idiot. Because in the end, it was quite simple, you were astonished Bruce did not know it just yet. You waited for his blue eyes to meet yours and whispered, “You’re everything to me,”

It was an easy synonym to the familiar I love you, and to the less apparent I don’t want to imagine my life without you. It was the only way you could tell him the extent of his importance. The only way you could try to without dissolving into tears or doing something stupid like asking him to marry you. You did not think that would be quite the right time for it.

Bruce’s answering smile, softened by the persisting edges of disbelief, told you that you made the right call. He understood. As always. Unlike your very first kiss, you moved simultaneously, colliding somewhere in between with strangled gasps. Your tongues met in an electrizing touch, igniting the fire in your veins and making you fall against him with a whimper. Bruce swallowed the sound, his fingers buried into your hair as his tongue traced the sharper edges of your canines. As if he did not have the inside of your mouth memorized by now.

You could only step into the dance, letting him set the pace. His warmth overwhelmed your body as you kissed his lips with the hunger and thirst of a dying woman. Because that was the next best thing you could think of to show him you meant it. Because the pressure of his mouth against yours and the taste of his tongue sometimes were the only things that felt real. Real enough to make you believe hope could persist. That it had a place within your reality. With each kiss, each confession, and each day that passed with Bruce, hope slowly replaced the longing that used to fill your heart. You could only trust that one day it would be eradicated.

Your kiss stretched until it was nearly impossible to breathe. Then, and only then, you nipped at Bruce’s lower lip and softened the bite with the swipe of your tongue before parting. His eyes looked beautiful when nearly swallowed by the gaping black of his blown-out pupils. And it was all your doing. You always took pleasure in the seconds just after the kiss, the few ticks of the clock when Bruce had to forcibly shake himself awake from the spell you had put him under. You could see it in the slight shake of his head, clearing the daze in his eyes and the deep breath he took before even trying to speak.

You rested your forehead against his, the pounding heart slowing down. Until everything that was left was a pleasant hum of the passion coursing in your veins. There was no need to act on it, so you let yourself exist and bask in the warmth of Bruce’s body against yours. When he finally spoke, you were almost composed:

“See? Terrifying” happiness shone in his blue eyes as Bruce raised his hand to let his fingers trace the edges of your features.

It was impossible not to lean into his touch, greedily taking every ounce of tenderness Bruce would offer. He always took that additional second to brush the pad of his thumb over your lower lip, soothing the kiss-bruised skin. You could hardly stop the satisfied purr that rose in your throat.

Instead, you tried to focus on the sentiment. On how much it must have meant for Bruce to admit. Without needing to think about it too hard, you knew you understood the feeling. That the myriad of emotions swirling in your chest could be summarized with one response. One that Bruce would see through easily. One that would show him that you have this in common, too.

You leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek and whispered the reply:

“Quite right, too,” the unspoken meaning shone through the gaps between the vowels, highlighted by the slight waver of your voice.

When Bruce tipped your chin and met your gaze, you knew you made the right choice. Another ounce of hope replaced the longing. Another heavy sigh became unanchored and took flight within the safety of his eyes.

As the snow covered the city outside, you became aware of two things. 1) It was good to be seen if the gaze that pierced through your soul was kind. 2) Bruce Wayne could be many things, but above all that, he was yours. And that was enough.

#the batman #the batman 2022 #the batman x reader #the batman x y/n #the batman x you #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson x y/n #robert pattinson!batman x reader #robert pattinson!bruce wayne x reader #battinson #battinson x you #battinson x reader #battinson fic #battinson x female reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #batman x you #batman x fem!reader #batman x y/n #waiting for the night

[moonlight-prose]

BLOOD ALONG THE MOON

➛ 03. WICKED NIGHTS

a/n: honestly i didn't expect to take a year to ever post about this fic again. if i'm being honest i figured this would become an abandoned series. solely cause the inspo for this character completely left my head. but i couldn't let go of our reporter and their love story with this bat. so while the updates may take time, i'm ready to keep going with this. enjoy.

summary: halloween was always been your least favorite night of the year, but circumstances make it so much worse.

word count: 8.2k+

pairing: bruce wayne x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, cussing, angst, fluff, awkward beginnings, a small bit of romance, murder, death, crime scenes, grief, gratuitous prose about the darkness of gotham.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

Halloween. Your least favorite night of the year.

The city streets were crowded with people; a sight not unusual to the dark pit that Gotham transformed into. But that didn’t mean you had to like it. Even getting to work was a struggle due to the overcrowded platform of the subway and the scarcity of cabs. If you had your way you’d wish everyone would suddenly vanish—giving you a chance to find some reprieve before the onslaught of darkness that plagued this night every year. Although you were foolish enough to hold out hope. Foolish enough to believe that things would be different; that nothing wicked would befall this night.

If only you’d known.

Work was filled with people milling about, some in costumes, some not. You wore your usual black coat—a pair of boots accompanying your look. If someone were to ask you’d claim you were dressed as you were every other day of the year—as a reporter working yourself to the bone. It would be sure to get a laugh from a person or two in this office.

It always did in the end.

Only this time…you weren’t laughing.

The interview you had with Bruce Wayne yesterday continued to bounce around in your mind; the thought of how to write it, still missing. You didn’t want to sound like every other magazine that sprouted nothing but gossip. There’s a reason why you chose to work at the Gotham Gazette. So you could get into the nitty and gritty of the story—no matter how dark it got in the end. To you this was either a story people would talk about forever, or it would remain a forgotten piece that would later wind up in people’s trash cans come morning the next day.

“Day.” Henry leaned against the doorway of his office. A pencil behind his ear, his glasses propped on the end of his nose, and a cup of crappy coffee in his hand. “I need to talk to you.”

You hoped you would have at least five minutes of time to breathe before you were called into what you liked to claim was the equivalent of the principal’s office. But it seemed that Henry Goldfinch decided to pick on you this week more than anyone else.

The interview notes you’d jotted down during the night were crammed into your small black notebook—nearly burning a hole in your pocket. There was no doubt in your mind that he’d ask you about them; intent on seeing a full story by tomorrow night.

“Look Henry I did the best I could with the guy, but he barely even spoke—” You were cut off at the look on his face. “Am I in trouble?”

“I just got a call from Mr. Pennyworth.”

Shit, you were so fired.

“If he wants to retract any statements then I’ll work with what I've got, but you were the one who gave me this story and I think I can do a damn good job on it.”

“Would you let me talk?” Your jaw snapped shut, cutting off the remainder of your ramble; or what you’d like to call reasons why he shouldn’t fire you. “Don’t unpack your things.”

You felt your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently you caught Mr. Wayne’s eye,” he said, settling down in his seat. “That call was Mr. Pennyworth giving me notice that Bruce Wayne is heading down to The Gotham Gazette today.”

“What?” you exclaimed, nearly falling into the chair behind you. “What the fuck for?”

“He wants to take you to lunch, kid.”

You fell into the chair, staring wide eyed at Henry who regarded you with a smirk.

Bruce Wayne wanted to take you to lunch. He was coming to your work in order to…pick you up.

Any way you tried to string it together, the news still remained hard to comprehend. Still you caught on to Henry’s words from before. You’d caught Bruce Wayne’s eye and now you were going to have to deal with the consequences of that. This would be the first time in years since he’d left Wayne Tower to do something as mundane as go to lunch. Let alone with someone like you.

“What do I do?” you croaked, trying not to panic as the reporter in you attempted to take over. Was this only a social call? Or did he want to do a follow up interview?

Henry leaned forward, the damned smirk still on his face. “You go to lunch with him. Maybe he likes you.”

“Likes me,” you scoffed. “I’d no sooner learn the identity of The Batman before Bruce Wayne admitted to liking me.”

You wanted answers like any sane person would, but the idea that Bruce Wayne possibly liked you left words unavailable to you. That was the farthest thing from the truth, except coming up with some other alternative left you with nothing yet again. What the fuck were you being called to lunch for? You hoped it was just him personally asking you to rip up the notes you took from yesterday while he watched.

“They’ll be here soon. I’d get your ass moving.”

“Right.” You stood slowly, a feeling of unease spreading through you with every step towards the door. “Did—um—Mr. Pennyworth…did he sound upset?”

Henry scoffed, taking a sip from his coffee. “And here I thought you didn’t give a shit if you pissed people off Day.”

You felt the switch flip in your mind. A reminder of who you truly were on the inside coming back like lightning cracking across your body, and you stood taller in your place. You didn’t care. You never had.

“I don’t.”

“Atta girl.” He tipped his cup slightly your way, watching as you walked back out into the office—the straight set of your spine once again returning.

You didn’t come to Gotham to make friends. You came here to work, to build a career that would outlast you if you were determined enough. Pissing off Bruce Wayne had never been on your list, but you figured it was bound to happen eventually. It was either now or later in life. Thankfully everyone had their hands full worrying about The Batman and the election—so you pissing off the Prince of Gotham would go unnoticed.

Grabbing your bag, you did a quick sweep of your desk to make sure that everything was accounted for before you left. You weren’t sure how long this lunch would take, but you didn’t intend to come back later.

The elevator doors opened once again with a loud creak, thankfully revealing it to be empty. Your heart thrummed in your chest a mile a minute, the tension still in your shoulders as you walked towards what might be the end of your career. While you knew the possibility of this simply being a social call was high, you couldn’t ignore what might very well happen. The ding of your stop brought you out of your daze enough to get out and head towards the front doors.

Glancing up towards the sky you saw the gloominess still remained—a reminder of where you were, what this city was reduced to. While you may have called it pollution of the environment, others would call it weather. After all there was always a difference in opinion when the opinion came a bit too close to the actual truth.

A sleek black car sat directly outside of the doors, a man in a black coat was hunched beneath an umbrella leaning against its side. You recognized him the second he raised his head, his blue eyes practically singeing your skin. Henry really wasn’t kidding when he said Bruce Wayne himself was coming to pick you up from the Gazette. People stopped and stared at the spectacle that was this man. By all means he was considered a hermit from the rumors that spread through Gotham like poison, and yet there he was, meeting with an unknown woman—a reporter nonetheless.

“You don’t seem like the lunch date type of man,” you said, standing far enough under the awning of the building where you didn’t get wet from the rain, but still felt it splatter against your coat.

His lips twitched, eyes skimming your figure before flicking up back to your face. You wanted to ignore the flutter in your chest from that simple gesture, but your body wouldn’t let you. It seemed that whoever Bruce Wayne was…he had an affect on you—a hold that refused to be severed.

“It wasn’t my idea.”

Scoffing, you turned to glare at a man who stood only a few feet away, clearly eavesdropping in on the conversation.

“So you aren’t here to have lunch with me. You’re simply here by the orders of Mr. Pennyworth,” you retorted.

“Alfred,” he said, finally standing to his full height for the first time since you met him. He was taller than you actually anticipated. “He thought it would be a good idea.”

“He thought going on a date with a reporter was a good idea?”

He shrugged slightly, the tension in his shoulders made the movement awkward. “Would you call this a date Miss…”

“Day.”

“Day,” he repeated quietly, his lips forming around the word as if it was already familiar to him. “Interesting name.”

“Nick-name,” you replied.

He nodded slowly, his gaze so intense you found you had to keep looking away. “Your real name isn’t printed on any of your bylines.”

You smiled albeit rather ruefully as you stepped close enough to be underneath his umbrella with him. “I’m afraid you’ll have to earn my real name Mr. Wayne.”

Again you watched—entranced—as his lips twitched slightly. Almost like he wanted to smile, but forgot how exactly to do it. He’d been in pain so long, suffering the grief of losing those he loved most for nearly his entire life, and not once had he learned what the true meaning of happiness was. For some unknown reason, you wanted to be the first one to show him.

“Okay,” he murmured, turning towards the passenger seat door and opening it for you. “And it’s Bruce.”

The words were accompanied with an outstretched hand to help you into the car, his hold simultaneously gentle yet firm as you sat. Your eyes met his briefly, something flickering to life between your gaze, before the door shut entirely and you were left in silence for a few brief seconds. It gave you enough time to catch what little breath you had in your chest—the interaction far too electric for someone like you.

Get some fucking sense.

You weren’t the type of person Bruce Wayne would fall for. One day he would find someone as wealthy as him, someone who knew his life due to shared experience. You hated those fucking words with a burning passion. Shared experience with people never went over well in your line of work. For a reporter, shared experience meant you had nothing original to say. It meant that you were the same as everyone else around you and to you that was damnation itself.

“Where would you like to eat?”

The question was barely loud enough for you to hear over the traffic and rain, but his soft tone caught you in its hold until you were solely focused on him. Once again that unfamiliar spark of energy crackled in the air. You were afraid that if this continued, you’d walk out of this lunch date with a newfound crush on Gotham’s Prince. That thought alone was enough for you to tear your gaze away—settling in the seat and staring through the front window.

“You invited me, Mr. Wayne. Why don’t you pick?”

He fell silent, hands shifting from his lap to the steering wheel and back again. “I don’t know many places to eat around Gotham anymore.”

Of course Bruce Wayne of all people would eat at home day in and day out. Thus was the luxury of having a personal chef in the Wayne Tower. Although you couldn’t stop the small grin from forming at how funny you found all of this.

Going to lunch with this man. It should have been absurd—almost laughable—but there you were. About to tell him to drive into the heart of the city just to take you to your favorite diner. Reporters would murder you just to stand in your spot. To spend mere moments with him. Yet it seemed that all you had to do was exist.

Rather than dwell on the moment any longer, you told him where to take you and it seemed that he knew the city a lot better than you expected. Pulling out of the spot with ease, he swiftly swung the car around in a rather illegal u-turn before making a quick right turn. You had to hand it to him…he knew how to handle a car. Part of you wanted to call it sexy, but you killed that echo in your head before it could manifest into something else.

Feelings were dangerous in your line of work—having seen the pain several reporters went through when they fell into bed with lethal people. You wouldn’t wind up like them. All you could allow in your life was friendship, nothing more. A friendship with Bruce Wayne wouldn’t hurt you. Not when he refrained from speaking to anyone, let alone the worst of the worst that roamed Gotham.

He turned another corner, the rain getting worse the further you traveled into the city. Driving in this weather would have stopped you from going, but it didn’t seem to phase him. He took it in stride, focusing intently on the road with one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting between you. It would be so easy to pick it up, to run your fingers over the lines in his palm. And for a moment you indulged. You imagined what being with him would actually feel like.

Would he treat you the same way? Or would you suddenly become special. You couldn’t picture him treating anyone in a loving manner, let alone you and that’s where the fantasy died.

“That’s it,” you said, pointing to the flickering sign out front that only read DEM as opposed to its usual bright DEMETER’S TABLE name.

“Is it closed?”

You laughed, barely a puff of air, but you knew he heard it. Opening the door you ignored the downpour that threatened to soak you down to your very soul, and patiently waited until he got out himself. The expression on his face caught you slightly off guard as you watched him get out. You would have figured it was nothing—having seen him wear a grim expression all throughout your interview with him—but this looked different.

“I know it’s not the best place, but the food is—”

“I could have opened the door for you.”

That killed the worry filling your chest in an instant. He wasn’t upset that you brought him to what looked like the shittiest diner in all of Gotham. In fact, he could care less about that. He wanted to open the door for you…like a gentleman.

You nearly laughed in his face, but the rain was starting to seep into your shoes, causing your whole body to shiver and he fared no better. It caused his hair to stick to his face, the coat doing absolutely nothing to keep him dry.

The sign from the diner cast a luminescent glow across his face, highlighting his high cheekbones. You found yourself wanting to brush your lips across them. Though it was daytime and the sun remained stuck behind the clouds somewhere, you still felt as if night encased you in its cold embrace. Yet standing there with him in the rain, keeping his stare, you felt warmth flicker in your chest. As if he had placed a piece of the sun in your heart.

“You don’t have to do that with me,” you said softly, turning away before you grew too attached to this odd man.

The bell above the door rang throughout the building, alerting her of your presence. Your friend Dem stood behind the counter, her graying black hair wrapped up in a loose bun—a pen going directly through it to hold it in place. She looked up at the sound, a broad smile pulling at her wrinkled cheeks and bringing to light the soft lines around her eyes. When you first moved to Gotham she was the person who practically took you under her wing.

“Day! You are soaked hun. You shouldn’t be out in this weather.” She walked around the counter, immediately handing you a hot steaming cup of coffee. “Especially not since you just got over pneumonia. What are you trying to do, kill your…”

She trailed off, her eyes growing wide as the bell rang again and Bruce entered behind you, looking worse than you did. You knew the shock she was feeling, having gone through it about thirty minutes ago yourself, and did your best to drag her back to the present.

“Got a free table?” you joked, knowing the diner was practically empty.

That seemed to do it. The smile—though hesitant this time around—was back as she gestured to the second booth by the door. “I’ll be right with you sweetie.”

“Thanks Dem.”

You slid into the old brown booth, feeling your clothes stick to the fake leather. “Here.” You pushed the mug of coffee his way. “It’ll help with the cold.”

“I’m okay.” He reached up to push it back, but you held it in its place.

“I’m not asking Wayne.” Smiling, you leaned back. “Besides…can’t have one of the most important people in Gotham getting sick on my watch. I’d definitely be fired for that.”

Without another word, he lifted the mug to his lips, placing them directly where yours were mere moments ago. The spark flared to life again, cracking like a familiar bolt of lightning through your body and burning you to the core. Looking away, you clasped your hands together in an effort to seal in any heat that might try to escape your body. You weren’t sure if you liked the feelings that were causing your body to go haywire. For all you knew, you could have been imagining this entire thing.

You wouldn’t put it past your mind to play tricks on you as you sat across from him.

“Why this place?” Once again, his question caught you off guard.

“What?”

He set the mug down, pushing it your way. “Why this diner?”

His blue eyes were fixed on your face, as if attempting to see past the shield you wore day in and day out. When a person suffered enough pain to last an entire lifetime, they tended to become closed off. You were that person and from what you could see…so was he. The temptation to ask him how he survived through the pain, how he managed to come out of it at the end somewhat of a person, was on the tip of your tongue.

But you figured it was better to stay silent—keep it to yourself until the right moment came up.

“It was the first place I came to when I first moved to Gotham. I used to live a block away from here.” Sipping on the coffee, you tried to busy yourself to avoid his piercing gaze. “Though, I had to move because my apartment got broken into while I was sleeping.”

Something flashed in his eyes. Anger? No…something else.

Clearing your throat, you continued in the hopes of appeasing your now racing heart. “Anyways. Dem took me in, she took care of me and it felt nice. So I stayed.”

Before he could reply, Dem arrived with two plates in her hands. You smelled the burger before she even placed it on the table—your stomach clenching with hunger. Her specialty that you first ordered when you came here. It made your heart warm seeing her place it in front of Bruce, her smile kind and welcoming. No matter who he was, Dem always saw the good in people. Saw what they needed and willingly gave it to them without question.

She was a mother to the strangers that wandered into her diner.

“More coffee?” she asked, staring at the single mug that sat empty in the center of the table.

You noticed she didn’t ask if you’d like a second cup, her body language telling you enough. She thought this was a date. You weren’t sure if you should correct her or not.

“Please,” Bruce said, interrupting your thoughts. He handed her the mug, never asking for an extra one, but seemingly happy to share with you.

Once again your heart fluttered and this time…you let it.

“Dem’s burgers are possibly the best thing to be created.”

His lips pulled up in a small barely there grin. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You should,” you replied, smiling around a bite of your fry. “As a reporter all I have is my word.”

You didn’t catch the way he looked at you, his eyes shining with something that hadn’t been there in a very long time. Instead you focused on gazing out the window at the rain. The way it transformed the city into something dangerous. Yet even through the darkness you could see it. The small hints of the light seeping through the clouds and shining down on an otherwise grim place.

Carole King played on the old speakers—a favorite of Dem’s you learned early on—and it created a soft symphony of warmth as it mixed with the rain. You wanted to stay there forever. In a place of comfort and love.

You’d even include Bruce in it too.

He bit into the burger, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as the taste burst across his tongue. The sight caused your heart to lurch in your chest, warmth spreading up your neck and into your face. And you tried your best to shove it down. How ridiculous of you to find the sight hot, but there you were. Speechless, watching as he enjoyed one of your favorite meals.

Dem’s voice humming to the song snapped you out of your ogling; you looked to her to find something else to focus on. Except the small knowing smile she wore on her face and the wink she threw your way did nothing to help your situation. Rather than dwell on it, you began to eat. Content to remain silent until the both of you finished.

The singular cup of coffee was set down in between you two, dragging your gazes back to one another. You glanced at the mug, then back at him. As if that was the defining factor of whether or not this was a date. He chewed thoughtfully on a fry, his eyes still on you, while you mulled over whether or not you could magically turn the one mug into two.

It turned out to be an impossible feat, but one you found you didn’t mind.

“So tell me—” You pried your trench coat off, draping it over the back of the booth. He’d discarded his thirty minutes ago, his black button down now rolled to his elbows. “What’s Bruce Wayne been up to?”

His eyebrow quirked, lips twitching like he was fighting back a smile. “This isn’t a second interview is it?”

You shrugged. “I’ve gotten enough for my article already. This is me asking.”

“Hm.” He leaned forward, hands clasped together and hair falling back into his eyes. “And who are you exactly?”

The smile you’d been fighting for an hour came through. “I don’t think you’ve earned that yet.”

The coffee mug had been refilled three times now, your energy coupled with the spark of attraction (you were still denying) between you brought life back into your body. While he didn’t disclose much about himself—saying bits and pieces here and there—you still found yourself engrossed in his words. You wanted to know more, to see the man behind the mask that was Bruce Wayne.

Maybe if you were lucky enough he’d show you his true self one day. For right now you were content to remain just as you were.

A reporter who shied away from any aspects of love, sitting with a man who was discovering what the meaning of joy was all over again.

“I can wait,” he murmured, his eyes no longer resembling the cloudy skies outside. You could see the lightness in them—the shining blue unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

You glanced down at the mug, seeing something in it you hadn’t before. For whatever unknown reason Bruce Wayne—the man who had been reclusive his entire life—trusted you. Even though he didn’t say it outright he didn’t have to. You saw it well enough and something told you…he knew you could see it. He wanted you to see it.

Time was slowly ticking away, reminding you that you had a job to get back to, but you still remained. Sitting with your elbows pressed to the table—unconsciously trying to get as close to him as possible. Maybe if you never left the world would melt away. If you became a permanent part of this diner, the city that happily ate away at every resident would leave you be. You’d be forgotten in a place that thrived on the lost and forlorn.

“Why me?” you inquired after the beat of silence threatened to swallow you whole.

The soft lilting notes of Billie Holiday echoed in the empty diner. Dem was nowhere to be found and the only two remaining customers were you and Bruce. Still sharing that singular cup of cold coffee. It had created a ring on the table, your lipstick a slight stain on the white mug. The color smudged off from where Bruce had placed his lips. Sharing a hint of a kiss that would never be.

He leaned back in the booth, no longer stiff—the nature of a man who had hid from society for years now traded in for someone different. His body language was enough to make you stare. Transfixed on the way his shirt continued to hug his figure even though it had dried an hour ago.

“Why not you?”

You huffed. “Answering my question with another question. And here I thought I was the only reporter in the room.”

“I’ve had my fair share of interviews.”

“None that I’ve read.” You slid your plate to the side and clasped your hands together in the hopes of looking as intrigued as you felt. “Do tell Mr. Wayne.”

The tension was beginning to set in his shoulders again. A small overlay to the man that lingered beneath. As if he was bringing up a mask he constantly carried with him. He hid constantly day in and day out, but right now he didn’t sit before you the Prince of Gotham, but instead a man who was trying to relearn how to live. Whether you wanted to admit it to yourself or not…Bruce Wayne was like you in ways you couldn’t have imagined.

“Alfred keeps them from printing.” The admission alone was enough for you to change the subject, but he continued to talk—cracking open yet another small sliver to the impenetrable armor he wore. “People they don’t…they always look for something wrong.”

You nodded, digging your nail into your palm. “Flaws are sometimes easier to sell.”

The sad truth of being a journalist is more often than not people weren’t looking for the truth. At least not in Gotham. They wanted something to sell. A piece of the person that one would deem too vulnerable to be shown to the rest of the world. They wanted to satiate the greed that clawed its way to the front. Rarely was the truth their only reason for writing a story.

“You’re not interested in flaws.” His eyes grew softer, hand splaying on the table to trace a random shape as he watched you. Saw through the facade you wore. He dug right down to the depths of your persona and dragged it to the surface—a relenting and brutal act.

Yet you wanted it to happen all the same.

“I like the truth.” You distracted yourself with the shape of his finger, the length of it as it shifted. “It sounds better.”

For a split second you allowed your eyes to flicker up, to meet his in the dim lights of the diner, and you finally caught hold of that niggling emotion. The one that held you captive in your own right. You liked him. Despite only meeting him yesterday, you found yourself drawn in by his haunted eyes. The same ones that practically burned a hole in your skin, until he was forever a part of your form.

Bruce Wayne felt familiar to you.

Not in the way that a stranger finds a face in the crowd familiar. Not even in the way an old friend would feel seeing someone from their past once more.

He was familiar in the way two souls separated beyond time and space were familiar. You couldn’t quite explain it, but somehow you knew these eyes that traced the lines and curves of your face. Committing you to memory. You were two distant beings made up of different particles of the universe. Yet there in that diner you found one another—as if gravity had dragged your cells together all along.

Two halves of a celestial being finally forming to be one.

You almost wanted to laugh at the notion that Bruce Wayne and you had anything in common. Let alone that there was any physical attraction between you.

But there it was. The truth you’d been searching for all along.

You could almost laugh at how fucked it all was.

How horrifically beautiful.

Night was beginning to settle over the city, calling to the horrors that lingered in the shadows. Prompting them to finally emerge for the one night where fear ran rampant in the streets of Gotham. Being scared on Halloween wasn’t an unusual occurrence, but this year things felt different. You could practically taste the blood that would run through the grime filled streets come morning. The same one that you would later have to report on.

Bruce stood beside his car next to your apartment building. You had directed him here after another hour spent in Dem’s diner barely speaking yet saying more than you would have liked. For some reason he was able to unearth more about you than you had found out in the entirety of yesterday’s interview with him. If being a Wayne didn’t wind up working out for him, he’d make a killing out of being an investigative journalist.

You told him as much before you left.

“Got any plans for tonight?” you asked, already knowing the answer you’d receive.

He looked up to the slightly darkened sky, at the way that the clouds did nothing to allow even slivers of the sunset to break through. You had to hand it to the city. There was some irony in the way even nature plagued the city in darkness. As if its legacy was always meant to be this. An abyss that drowned everyone within.

A barely there quirk appeared on his lips. “I’ll be out of the city tonight.”

Convenient.

The thought crossed your mind of asking him to join you for a lonesome dinner and half a bottle of wine. But the line had been drawn in the sand long before you agreed to accompany him for lunch. An invisible border you couldn’t cross. He was a Wayne. A part of a world you could only reach through second hand stories and gruesome aftermaths.

If the lunch had been more than strangers sitting across from one another, you would have joked about your house being Capulet and his Montague. But something told you irony wasn’t his strong suit. Nor would it favor you being able to see him another time. That is…if he even wanted to see you. For all you could tell this was merely a social call placed on his shoulders by Alfred—the man you came to see as Bruce’s father figure.

“Well…”

“Would you—”

You smiled, feigning being professional for the sake of your giddiness. “You go first.”

He cleared his throat. “Would you be available in a few days?”

“Oh…” Rather than take it easy on him, you decided that the best course of action was to jab at his wall just a bit. Just to see if something would crumble even further. So with a smile you stepped closer, watching the rise and fall of his chest quicken just a bit more. “That doesn’t sound like Alfred speaking.”

A heavy breath left his lungs—washing warm across your skin. “It’s not.”

“So this is you asking?”

He nodded, probably irritated with the way you were clearly teasing him. But that’s the thing. He let you tease him. He gave in to your small ruse and let it play out until you felt like you were finished.

If you could get away with this, who knows what else you’d be able to get away with. Perhaps calling him a stupid nickname. Or even getting to know his favorite color.

Something told you it was brown.

“What’s your favorite color?”

His eyebrows rose, mouth parted slightly as if you’d thrown him for a bigger loop than anyone had before. And much to your own surprise…he answered. Honestly.

“Black.”

Ah…you were close.

“Tuesday. The rush of Halloween will be over and my paper should give me some free reign. I’ll be available then.”

Another solemn nod as if you just informed him that you were attending a funeral for a recently departed loved one. You learned to realize that his nods were simply a part of his personality. Eventually you would be able to decipher what each one meant, what they were attempting to say without using words. His voice seemed to be an afterthought—actions speaking louder than words could say.

“Tuesday it is,” he replied with a soft hesitant smile. You wanted to see it again, ask him to never frown again, but this was merely a fleeting moment in the grand expanse of things.

He stood there for a minute more as if leaving was the last thing he wanted. Then got into his car, turned the engine once, and drove down the street. And you watched him disappear into the already dark horizon. The day never existed to begin with, but the storm wouldn’t stop the chaos of the night. So you gave one last glance to the street before heading inside, ready to hole yourself in your locked apartment til sunrise the next day.

The shrill ringing of your cell phone startled you from your small nap on the couch. A throw blanket that was a mishmash of colors was thrown over your body, a half empty wine bottle on the coffee table and the book Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde face down beside it. Ever since finding it in the Wayne tower, you began to look through the old text. With the silly hope that you would find pieces of Bruce Wayne in the words.

“What?” you grumbled, rubbing a hand over your face to rouse yourself from the groggy state of sleep. Your brain was sluggish, body content to remain on the couch for many more hours, but Henry’s grim voice startled you awake.

“The Mayor’s dead.”

You sat up. “What the fuck do you mean the Mayor’s dead Henry?”

A quick glance at the clock told you it was nearing the middle of the night. The noise outside still persisted though. People always partied the worst on this night. Especially in this city.

“If this is a joke—”

“Shut up and listen will you.” Your mouth clamped shut, eyes falling to the book. “They found him in his home. And it’s gruesome. Whoever did it was a right fucked up person, but I can’t get there at this time. The streets are too packed.”

The breath caught in your throat, even as your eyes stung with exhaustion. “And I’m closer to the scene.”

“It’s a favor and it’s a big one Day.”

You sighed. “I’ll leave in ten. Who’s on the scene?”

“Gordon.”

Good. Gordon never gave you shit for being a reporter like the other detectives did. Many wanted your kind out of Gotham all together simply because of how good you were at getting your nose into places it shouldn’t be. With Gordon there at least you would have a chance to do some meaningful reporting—or at least help where you could in figuring this out.

Henry listed out a few details they told him, what was going to occur within the next few days. But all you could think about was Bruce. You’d miss your chance to see him Tuesday after all. Too stuck in the midst of a city wide crime scene that would take up more or less all of your time. Which left him on the outs. You scribbled down in your black notebook a note to call him and ask for a rain check.

At least then one good thing in your life wouldn’t disappear without a trace.

You grabbed your coat, shoved your arms in the sleeves, and locked up your apartment as the weight of the news rested heavy on your shoulders.

With the death of the Mayor came an investigation. One that would no doubt lead to more bloodshed in the streets and leave a city divided amongst itself. You had heard about shit like this happening in Gotham, but you were never around to see it yourself. Yet there you were. Right in the thick of it with no other option but to see the chaos through.

People filled the streets. Some drunk, some not. Which didn’t make getting to the scene easier. You fought through the crowds, managed to catch a train down there, and somehow came out unscathed. And above in the night sky…his sign hung like a full moon. It called out to the chaos of the night, and made a promise to those who liked the cover of darkness that they would only be safe for so long.

“Shit,” you muttered, feeling the rain strike against your cheek. It stung as you crossed the street.

Police cars lined the sidewalk, sirens blaring and bright, and for a moment…there was light in Gotham. You could barely see in front of you, but at least they illuminated the pathway to the front entrance. Many of them were taping off the building, others standing around and gazing at the sky—probably asking themselves if he would show up.

“If it ain’t Miss Day!”

You felt the weight lighten as you reached the top of the building steps. “Officer Martinez. Funny seeing you here.”

“You come to talk to me tonight?”

The smile was involuntary on your lips as he let you head in with him, holding the door open for you. Martinez always had a soft spot for you when things like this befell the city. After all he was usually around when it came to Gordon and with a job like yours, you ran into cops a bit too often for your liking. But Martinez was the exception. He brought you coffee on long nights at crime scenes, cracked jokes at the worst times, and even drove you home if he was around.

“Of course,” you said with a grin, bumping his shoulder. “I’m here to write a piece about the greatest cop in the city.”

He scoffed. “Flattery will get you everywhere chica.”

“Do you know what happened?”

Another flight of steps revealed even more cops scattered around the place. You could see the flash of a camera in the distance, whispered voices filling the air as you entered. Several cops gave you nasty glances, scoffing to themselves at the fact that you were allowed to enter. A reporter. Someone beneath them. To them you were the vulture that came to pick apart the mess they were left to clean.

“All I know is what Gordon told me. And even that’s not much.”

“Where is Gordon?”

Martinez shrugged. “Went out to fetch someone. Figure another detective.”

One more step into the room and you felt it. The pressure in your chest, the pinch of pain in your side where you were still healing. As if crime in Gotham called to crime. A horrid likeness that permeated the air. When Henry said the scene was gruesome he wasn’t kidding. You were ready to bolt the second you could smell the blood—the sight nearly too much for your stomach to take.

“Fuck,” you murmured, eyes wide and body wracked with fear.

“It’s not easy to see.”

“He’s…oh fuck.”

You didn’t need words to know Martinez was concerned about you. His eyes told you enough. They lingered a bit too long, tried to see past your mask you quickly pulled up when it came to scenes such as this. If you were lucky you would make it out tonight without any nightmares.

You were rarely lucky.

Someone called his name, causing him to leave you alone in the room with a few other people. Yet all you could focus on was the Mayor. The message scrawled across his head screamed so loud you could practically hear the voice of the killer. It punched right through your chest, made you pay attention without any barriers. Without mercy.

“What the fuck?”

You turned when someone’s voice filtered through the air, disbelief clear in their tone. Perhaps they found something worse. Something that would make you want to unsee everything that happened tonight. But what came to your attention was not what you expected. Your heart dropped to your stomach, a flutter going through your body, as the sight of him filled your view once more.

For some reason he seemed bigger in the room. He towered over everyone here, eyes still striking against the dark color of his suit. For a moment you couldn’t breathe, nerves filling your body with each heavy thump of his boot against the hardwood floor. How he would react to seeing you again took over your mind. Yet you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe…he forgot about you.

Maybe to him you were just another lost soul in a sea of tragedy.

Someone he saved once and didn’t think twice about second.

He stopped midstep, gaze falling to your form, and for a split second…he stiffened entirely. Recognition flashed in his eyes before something darker took its place. You were reminded of the night he dragged you home, the night he held you as you cried about death. As you begged him to keep you alive.

You wondered if he was thinking about that too. If you stepped close enough maybe you could see it in his eyes. Fragments of a memory that still burned bright and alive in your mind—a bad movie you could never turn off. So there you sat in the theater. Forced to watch it replay.

Maybe if you asked he’d sit with you. Keep you company in the darkness.

“Daywalker.”

Gordon had a habit of using the formal version of your nickname. A call sign that seemed to jolt you from your own mind—eyes snapping from The Batman to the man standing beside him. He regarded you with a confused look. A question lingering on his tongue.

One you quickly overlapped with one of your own.

“What the hell happened Gordon?”

His eyes went soft. “Chaos.”

The pain in your side flared to life again. “And what’s he doing here?”

The thump of his boots echoed behind you as he circled the scene. No doubt taking notes about what happened, what was left behind for them to find. Gordon held up a green envelope, writing scratched into the paper as if it was left there in anger—the pen nearly breaking through. A formal address to the man who still remained behind you. A call out to The Batman himself.

Either this guy was insane…or he understood what The Bat would react to.

“So all this…was for him?”

Eyes burned into your skin when you said the words, another thump letting you know he still remained, still listening in the shadows of the room.

Gordon shrugged. “That’s what he’s here to find out.”

You nodded, stepping back to let Gordon do his job with the others as you surveyed the room yourself. Every once in a while your gaze fell back to him. How he stalked about with purpose, each step measured and calculated. He understood the tension in the room, how cops hated that he stood amongst them.

After all, he fell lower into their likeability category than you. To them you were the vulture, but he was the thief. He took their image—their reputations—and made it worse. He took their jobs right under their noses. Not because they couldn’t do it, but because with him it would come to a final end.

You caught bits and pieces of the conversations at hand, heard how the Mayor must have died, but your attention still remained with The Bat. How he stood wary with his back to the window. Every now and then you swore his gaze fell to you, but that might have been your imagination. Your mind hadn’t stopped racing since you stepped past the threshold; the crime scene doing nothing but wracking your body with fear and anxiety. Two things that were an enemy to a good reporter.

“Killer may have come through the skylight.”

You glanced up, eyes tracing the metal lines of the glass above and tried to imagine the scene playing out before you. How they’d get in, how they’d hide. In your head it matched up, but something felt off—as if the scene itself was too perfect. Too pristine for you to gather anything notable.

Gordon’s voice peaked your interest, drawing you closer. “What does a liar do when he’s dead?”

“There’s a cipher too.”

Something flickered in the back of your mind. You remembered Henry having a book of riddles on his desk. Some cheap Christmas gift someone in the office got him in the hopes of giving their boss a sense of humor. You had flipped through it once or twice while waiting for him to show up for a meeting. But you could recall the same riddle being printed with all the others—in a list of nearly three hundred, you remembered that one for its dark flair.

“Lies,” you murmured to yourself, attention forced to the outburst towards Gordon.

But it was the darker and much deeper voice behind you that sent a cold shiver down your spine. “He lies still.”

The answer to the riddle.

Yet even that didn’t tell you much. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t going to give Gotham the easy way out. No, you could see the darkness lingering in the distance. The threat of something more on the way. And there wouldn’t a fucking thing anyone in this room could do about it. Except for him. His name was on the envelope, his sign in the sky and soon…Gotham would be turning to him for more than just an answer to a riddle.

“Happy fuckin’ Halloween,” the commissioner spat, turning away from the scene with enough anger to rival the killer. Grief plagued the air and while you should have stayed, asked for statements, all you wanted to do was go home.

So you bid Gordon goodnight with the promise to call him tomorrow for more than just this. Your stomach was in knots, bile filling the back of your throat, but you could barely move. His gaze still burned a hole in your back, watching as you left on semi-steady feet—the wound that lingered now a reminder that you were nearly this person. You were nearly another story in a newspaper.

Martinez came up beside you as you stepped out into the hall, a cup of hot coffee in his hands. He must have grabbed it from down the street, because he held his own. The rain still pounded outside striking loudly against the window but it had become a drowned out echo. Simply background noise to a tragedy that kept you locked tight in its grasp. You could see the headline of tomorrow’s paper. The words bold and loud amidst the gray color—a color that matched the sky.

GOTHAM MOURNS.

“Want me to give you a ride home?” Martinez asked, eyes still plagued with concern. You wanted to wipe it from his face, place his carefree smile back where it belonged. Except no one would be smiling tonight.

You sucked in a cold breath, sensing the presence of The Bat as he followed Gordon out to the hallway.

“Yeah. A ride would be nice.”

Tomorrow was a new day, but the truth still remained, waiting to break free. Darkness ran through Gotham so deep it would take prying the streets up to see it, but something told you exactly that would happen. This was not the end of the blood that would turn this city red.

It was only the beginning.

#bruce wayne x f!reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #the batman x f!reader #the batman x reader #the batman x you #battinson x reader #battinson x you #the batman #my writing

[madwomansapologist]

Mint chip — how did they court their lover? + Bruce/Batman 😳🙏

mint chip — how did they court their lover?

⤷ with: bruce wayne

I actually can talk about it with proper knowledge because he's my husband. So much easier that way.

It will really depend on who you meet first. The whole flow of your relationship (either it's as friends, enemies, lovers), can be decided in minutos upon Bruce meeting you.

If you meet Bruce Wayne first, his whole playboy persona will be an important part of your first interactions.

If you're a reporter who can see through his act, than there would be a sense of a shared secret between you both. You made through one of his many masks, which brings you closer to the real person. In cases like that, his courting will be more honest. There is no need to pretend to be shallow.

He will watch over you, both as Bruce and Batman. He will watch you on the news, hear all your programs during work (it help him focus), read your articles. Then when he talks to you, he can talk about the things that matter to you. He will also watch recording the news whenever he know you're on a dangerous place. He will protect you from afair without you even knowing.

If you're someone from his friend circle, another bilionaire of Gotham, than he have this mask he won't let go. But even tho you had to deal with his act, there is some sense of belonging. Of understanding him. Bruce can pretend from whoever long he need, but there is no way to foolish a real friend.

You care about him. You can see how he apparently doesn't sleep. That he's always in pain somehow. And when Bruce understands that his act didn't fully confused you, then he knows he have someone caring for him. Someone able to look at him and call his bullshit out. Someone that will kick him off parties saying he needs to sleep or he will never see you again.

If that's the case, than Bruce will court you as most imagine. Flowers, caring for you during your day by day, showing his more possessive side during events. In some ways, Bruce will be trying to give all you care back to you.

Now as an enemy, that would be kind of dificult for the both of you. You two have diferences that can't be overlooked. There is a abysm between you both, and somehow that's what brings you closer to one another. There is a sense of understanding, of longing, that can only be shared by two enemies.

You both have secrets. Masks and more masks to protect yourselfs. Is he Bruce Wayne, the man that suffers and loses and pretends, or is he Batman, the thing that endure and change and pretend? Which one is the real one and which one the act? How could he ever come to an answer for that?

And you, the love he feels for you, will just make those questions harder to answer. When he fights with you, he would rather not hurt you. If he sees you, he would observe you for more reasons than just the public safety. When he has the chance of really stopping you, somehow he can't.

What every situation has in common is that Bruce will love from distance before getting close. He will protect you, you being able to do it for yourself or not. He may stay away out of distrust, to protect, to learn more about you: let's not forget, he's a vigilante but first he's a detective. Bruce will make sure that he understands you before doing something.

You may know just one side of him, but do you really? Because when you care about Bruce's sleep, you are caring for Batman's rest. When you care about Batman agressive choices, you're caring about Bruce's heart. When you try to understand one side of him, you are also trying to understand the other.

Either way, that will make Bruce care about you. And isn't his whole identity about caring for others? Isn't it what makes him get out of bed every single day? Bruce cares. He deeply, really cares. And if you're on the list of people he loves, then you will be safe. Not matter what it takes.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

#madwomansapologist #ask box #mwa birthday #fic prompt #ice cream prompts #writing prompt #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman imagine #the batman imagine #the batman #the batman fanfictipn #the batman x y/n #the batman x you #the batman x reader #dc comics x y/n #dc comics x you #dc comics x reader #dc comics imagine #dc imagine #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne fanfic #bruce wayne fic #batman #batman fanfiction #batman fanfic #batman fic

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐓𝐨 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐨 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐎𝐟?

↳ summary: edward meets someone new

↳ warnings: slight mentions of suicidal thoughts, written from the point of a fucked up eddie, mentions of bombs, obsessive behavior, savior complex, incel behavior, teetering on yandere but i hate that word lmao. he's so pathetic without his mask on baby i love you

↳ song: malmo—mook

masterlist!

Love?

No. Insanity.

Edward can't remember where or how he first saw you, but if he had to guess, it was probably the night you moved two doors down from him.

He woke up that morning like any other day in his life. Full of bitterness and resentment for the city— his city, because it was his —outside a fog filled appartment window.

Once upon a time, it had been battered pane of glass that peojected this image to him as it did now; broken shards scattered on the dead grass outside reflecting 'GOTHAM ORPHANAGE' back to a much younger verson of him. Waking up as a child had always been such a disappointment. He used to hug himself to fitful sleep, a tiny part of him hoping he would pass in the unforgiving night like so many children before.

He didn't think that feeling of bile in the back of his throat would ever go away each time sleep was pulled from him and he woke up back in Gotham. No matter how many people promised change for the better on televisions or radios. Because Edward knew the truth.

Gotham reached out to him. It reached out to him in his dreams with its gleaming skyscrapers as hands and its screaming people as desperate pleas. Begging him to be fixed. To rid it of the scum plauging glamorous penthouses just high enough off the ground that just one push of the hand could send a sinner to his rightful death.

He thought about all of this before he had even finished brushing his teeth.

Careful hands pulled a frayed toothbrush from his mouth as Edward spit into the sink to wash his mouth out. A ratty towel swiped over his lips gently when he finished. Such a refined action for someone with a bomb built for a human neck sitting just outside his bathroom door.

It wasn't uncommon for him to get lost in the swirl of thoughts he called his conscious, but he needed to keep up appearances just long enough to carry out his plan. And that included not being late to work for the third time this month.

Eventually the knob of his appartment was being locked tightly with the end of a faux gold key — the toothbrush from earlier already drying on the edge of his sink.

He struggled with the lock for a moment more, silently cursing whoever had decided to make living on this side of town so hard, before eventually getting it with a pop.

From that point on, the sound of your voice would forever take over his mind.

Edward first noticed your smile lines. The crinkles by the sides of your eyes enticed him like a fresh baked cookie would to a child. How curious, that a person could have so much physical evidence of a happy life whilst living in this place. He wondered if you had been born here, or were new to the location. He found himself envying the thought of the latter.

The next thing he noticed about you, was that you were asking him a question for the second time in a row.

"Sorry, could you repeat that?" Edward nervously stuttered, usually steady hands fumbling to push his glasses up clumsily. Once again— or at least he thinks once again — you grin at him, holding a slightly beaten up moving box in your arms. Why he had noticed that later than the deep crinkles on your face, he wasn't sure.

"I asked if all the locks in this place were going to act like that one. Because in that case, there's no way I'm surviving a horror movie chase." You nodded with your head at his troublesome door instead of gesturing. Probably because your hands were full. Most definitely because your hands were full, actually.

Edward blinked slowly.

"Uhm, no. No no I don't think so." He supplied softly. It was a lame response to your quip. He remembered reading somewhere that first impressions forever solidified a figure in your life, whether minor or major. The thought of that made his heart beat faster.

A pregnant pause settled over the hallway. Edward felt his palms sweat. He wiped them on his pants. All it did was spread it around more.

"Well, nice to meet you." It was you that finally broke the silence. With a shuffle of one foot to the other he heard a few things clink from inside your little box. He wondered what was in it. A vase you bought for decoration? Photo phrames? China that your great grandmother left you in her will?

He stood there wondering about fucking plates for so long, that you had begun to turn your body away and make your way back down the hallways.

"Wait!" Edward lurched forward to place a stern grip on your lower arm. The look of momentary fear you gave him in that moment was enough for him to straighten his spine out.

Something about that barely concealed emotion in your eyes excited him. For a brief moment he was in a leather mask, staring at the bloody body of the mayor below him on Halloween night.

And then he was back. Looking into your eyes like they were last thing he would ever see.

"My names Edward." He released his grip on you while finally introducing himself. With his falling hand went your initial fear. "But my friends call me Eddie."

He didn't have any friends. And if he did, they certainly wouldn't call him Eddie. But the white lie was nothing compared to the way his name, both the formal and shortened verson, slipped from your lips.

"I'll remember that next time. It's very nice to meet you, neighbor."

And then you were gone, feet shuffling against stained and waterlogged carpet before disappearing into what used to be a vacant appartment.

In your wake stood Gothams soon to be savior and cleanser. A man that has committed unspeakable acts in the name of justice and planned to do even more. The very same individual that hid skeletons in his closet and so many more at the scenes of his cromes.

Somewhere in between there, Edward would have to install a camera in your bedroom.

#the batman #the batman x reader #the batman x you #the batman x y/n #the riddler #the riddler x reader #the riddler x you #the riddler x y/n #edward nashton #edward nashton x reader #edward nashton x you #edward nashton x y/n #paul dano #paul dano x reader #paul dano x you #paul dano x y/n #x reader

[hederasgarden]

sorry if u already talked about this but would u ever consider continuing your batman series? the way u write bruce wayne is literally SO GOOD😩

That is so kind!

Not to sound like a broken record but my muse has left the building on this story but I can offer you a future scene from the fic.

"Listen, Mr. Wayne, when I said I wanted you to get out more in the public eye this wasn't what I had in mind," Julian says, tapping a pencil against her ruby-red lips. "I meant charity functions and kissing babies."

"Just fix it," Bruce practically growls.

"I'm not Wonder Woman," she replies, shaking her head. "But there might be a way to salvage this… and help your image."

You glance between the two of them, feeling hopeful suddenly.

"A seedy one night stand is bad, " she starts and you close your eyes, body going hot all over at the rebuke. "But a man trying to spare his very sweet girlfriend the intense scrutiny of the press? Well…that's just understandable."

Bruce stands abruptly, chair scraping against the marble floor loudly. He looks thunderous but Julian doesn’t even bat an eye.

“Relax, it’s not forever. Just a few months, six tops. People will lose interest and move on to the next thing. We can quietly put out a press release that the two of you broke up, amicable. That makes you look less like a strange recluse,” she tells Bruce before turning to face you. “And you, honey…well the whole world will think you’re interesting and beautiful enough to snag one of the richest men in America. It works out for everyone."

"I can have you fired," Bruce threatens.

"I report to the board of directors. If you want a seat at the big boys table, you're gonna have to show them you're ready. Honestly, what do you even do here all day?" She asks.

#the batman x reader #the batman x you #is #batman x you #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x reader

[imagine--if]

Hm promt 14 with Batman! who doesn't love a fluffy emo Batman

A/N: I sure as hell love fluffy emo Bat 🦇🖤 here you are!!

Pairing: Battinson x reader (The Batman 2022)

Prompt: "Oh- I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you..." "It's alr- why are you so close to my face, honey?"

Words: 343

You know he has trouble sleeping at night, getting back home at extremely late hours of The Batman has finished his vigilante work. You briefly wake up to him slipping in bed behind you and wrapping his strong arms around your waist, pulling you snugly against him as he attempts to doze off with you.

This time, Bruce just can’t get to sleep. So he stops trying, and turns his attention to you, your face, as you roll over in your sleep to face him and lean against him. He expertly, gently, tucks a few loose strands of hair away from your face, studying the freckles and tones and beauty that makes you… well, you. And that’s all he wants.

You didn’t realise that this was one of the main ways Bruce Wayne calms himself after stressful nights and demanding days, but after drifting awake, you’re just about ready to relax into sleep again…

Until you realise how close Bruce’s figure actually is, shadowy and darkened by the night’s lighting. His fingers hover against your cheeks, mesmerised and concentrated peacefully, before his deep eyes widen a fraction in realisation as you open your own.

"Oh- I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you..." he stutters in a mumble, and you smile tiredly.

"It's alr-” you stop speaking when he moves his hand hesitantly away from your face, and you laugh slightly a you press yourself impossibly closer to him. “Why are you so close to my face, honey?"

You can tell Bruce is blushing at being caught red handed, and he looks away as he tries to find the words.

“I just… I like… memorising you?” He seems unsure of his words, them always not being enough when he tries to express himself, his incomprehensible love, leaving him annoyed with himself but soothed slightly by your amused, happy response.

“You do?”

Bruce nods. “It helps. I like… I like it like this. Us. Like this.”

You smile grows, and you nestle yourself comfortably in his arms. “I like us like this too, Bruce.”

#battinson x reader #the batman x reader #robert pattinson x reader #pattinson!batman x reader #batman 2022 #the batman 2022 #rob pattinson batman #robert pattinson fanfiction #batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #the batman imagine #the batman fanfic #the batman fluff #the batman x y/n #the batman x you #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fluff #bruce wayne x you #battinson fluff #battinson imagine #battinson x y/n #the batman movie #robert pattinson bruce wayne

[1-imaginary-girl]

One Last Time

Bruce Wayne x Reader

Summary: Reader is a vigilante-type hero who works with Batman. When a solo mission goes wrong, you call Batman possibly for the last time. Reader is gender neutral.

Warnings: Angst, possible character death, violence, descriptive injuries. 

Word Count: 3693

A/N: I love a good angsty fic! It’s a bit of an open-ended ending but I liked it better than a conclusion so apologies lol.

The metal door slams into the wall, sending an echo bouncing around the space as you stumble into the stairwell. Your breathing is ragged. You press your hand against your chest and wince at the pain. When you pull your hand back, you see red coating your skin. You can feel more blood bleeding through your suit. But you try not to focus on that.

As you grip the railing and slowly descend the stairs, you can’t help but think back to how your evening started.

You had been bored so you decided to leaf through some files for the case you and your partner had been working on. The two of you were working on taking down a major mafia gang that recently emerged in Gotham. Anyway, while looking through the files you saw a strange address.

It was an address for a pharmaceutical company which made you wonder how it was related to the gang. Upon further research, you discovered the company didn’t exist until a few months ago – similar timing to when the gang started to gain traction. You decided to visit the address in the file just in case you saw anything.

You dressed in your vigilante uniform which consisted of a skin-tight dark purple suit, a matching mask for your eyes, a utility belt with double holsters for your guns and black boots. You didn’t want to be caught off-guard in your civilian clothing. A dagger also sat tucked away in your right boot in case you ran out of bullets.

The address led you to a building on the outskirts of the city. Parking your motorcycle in an alleyway, you climbed the building opposite the one you were staking out. For the first hour you didn’t see anything and when you were about to pack it up, two black vans pulled up in front of the building.

Grabbing your binoculars, you watched as a group of men piled out of the vans. Your jaw had dropped when you realized that some of them were the leaders of the organization. By some incredible coincidence, you had stumbled upon a covert meeting arranged by the gang. You immediately pulled out your phone to call your partner, but they didn’t pick up. You tried a few more times before giving up.

You saw the men entering the building and decided that this could be your one shot at stopping these guys once and for all. Cursing, you watched as the men entered an elevator and got off on the top floor before you descended from your spot. Your first mistake of the night.

The elevator was guarded by two men which you easily took down with your guns. On the ride up, you counted your ammunition and prepared yourself. When the doors began to slide open, you hid in the corner of the elevator and waited for the guardsmen to come to you before striking.

Bullets flew around the room and one managed to graze your arm, but overall, the fight was over before the others had a chance. You locked eyes on a closed conference room and noticed movement in the room. Taking a quick breath, you broke down the doors and faced off with the leaders of the mafia.

They had time to prepare for you but they didn’t accommodate your speed as you dashed around the room, narrowly missing bullets aimed at you. You were doing well, either shooting your targets or taking them on in hand to hand combat and no one had managed to land a hit on you. You tossed aside your guns when you ran out of ammo and eventually found yourself facing off with the last man.

You unveiled your dagger and sliced his neck, his blood spewing on your suit, but you got distracted. You thought you had taken them all out and only realized your mistake when the gunshot rang out. You were quick to react but not quick enough as a bullet lodged itself in your chest. A gasp slipped past your mouth at the pain. You turned to see one of the men on the floor with a gun pointed at you and you tossed your dagger at him, officially taking him out. But the damage was done.

Your wound wouldn’t excuse any sloppy work, and so you tied the men up before leaving. You never wanted to kill your victims unless you had to and you figured they’re worth more alive than dead anyway. You decided you would call the police once you left the scene, knowing that the criminals weren’t going anywhere. The blood loss was beginning to take root as your head felt dizzy. In your weakened state, you foolishly thought that taking the stairs would be faster than the elevator. Boy were you wrong.

And that’s how you find yourself trying to walk down six flights of stairs while severely injured. You manage to reach the fourth floor but when you walk down the stairs to continue, you almost fall. Instead, you stop on the landing in between staircases, deciding to catch a break.

Panting, you lean against the white brick wall and slide down until you’re sitting. You try not to let fear or panic take hold of you. Instead, you take out your phone, though the touch screen is difficult to use with your bloodied fingers, and dial the one person who wanted to hear from.

You pray that your partner picks up the phone. You know they’re on patrol, but still you hold out hope that the ringing will stop. And then it does and your breath catches.

“Hello?” His voice is as deep as always. You suspect that it’s exaggerated to protect his identity, though you’ve never gotten him to admit it. Hearing his voice instantly calms your rising panic. In the background, you can hear the loud noise of an engine which you suspect is coming from the Batmobile. You had adopted that name for the vehicle, despite Batman’s protests. Though you think he secretly likes it.

“Hey Batboy,” you reply, managing a smile through your pain, even though he can’t see you. You imagine him behind the wheel, his gloved hands holding it tight. You imagine his bright eyes focused on the road before him, his serious demeanor on display.

“I’m sorry I missed your calls earlier, I hope it wasn’t important,” he says and it takes you a moment to remember what he’s talking about. When you do, you almost laugh. Not too important, just led to me bleeding out on some dirty floor. Though you don’t hold him responsible. You don’t have the energy for grudges. And after all, it was your choice to act.

“It’s okay, I handled it,” you say.

“I’m on patrol, what do you need?” Straight to the point as always. Though his directness can come across as rude, you never let it get to you. You know he means well and that he just isn’t a naturally positive person. Luckily, you are.

“Can’t I say hello to my partner?” You don’t want to talk to him about your situation because you’ve already come to terms with it. You wouldn’t make it. Even if you told him now, he’d still be too late. You remain calm even though your heart is begging you not to give up. You don’t want to die. But your fate is already sealed. Before you go, you just want to hear from your partner.

“I don’t have time for this. Call me back if it’s important,” he says and you almost cry out in a state of panic.

“Wait!” you say, letting too much desperation slip past your lips. You try to recompose yourself. “Please, it is important.” You wait with bated breath as you hear him sigh.

“What is it?” A sigh of relief escapes your lips, though you tense up again as your wound sends a wave of pain throughout your body. You bite your lip to keep from crying out as you put more pressure on the gunshot wound.

“I have new information on the mafia gang.” You try to focus on your conversation but your mind feels fuzzy and you find yourself staring at the brick wall in front of you. That plain, cold looking wall will be the last thing you see before you die. The thought causes your eyes to blur with oncoming tears. You had forgotten about the call before Batman spoke up.

“Y/N? Are you still there?” he asks, a slight concern in his voice. You smile and ignore your tears as one slips down your cheeks.

“Yeah sorry,” you clear your throat and enter your professional state. “I was going through some of our files when I found an address for a pharmaceutical company that I linked to the gang. The building is located on the outskirts of town, so I decided to stake it out.”

“What did you find?”

“Nothing at first, it looked like a normal building. But then two vans pulled up containing the leaders of the gang. I think it was a covert meeting spot.”

“Wait, what did you do?” His voice sounds suspicious and worried as if he’s figuring out exactly what you did.

“About that…” you nervously chuckle, waiting for his accompanying anger.

“You didn’t.” His voice is hard and you imagine a fire in his eyes. Eyes that you find yourself staring into all too often and yet it’s never enough.

“It was a once in a lifetime opportunity, I had to!” you argue, wincing again as you move and are reminded of your pain.

“You should have called me first!” Again, you want to laugh at his cluelessness. Some detective.

“I did,” you say. You’re met with silence as he takes in the news.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Your phone calls.” You can picture his shoulders slumping with guilt. “You still should have waited for me.”

“I didn’t want to risk losing them,” you admit. There’s another moment of silence as he prepares to ask his next question.

“What happened?” You then explain to him how you fought your way through the gang, leaving out the part where you wound up with a bullet lodged in your chest.

“Wow, I’m impressed.” You feel a little silly for the pride that suddenly swells in you at the sound of that, along with your blush. “So the gang’s taken care of.”

“Yeah, they’re now officially the GCPD’s problem.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” he says. He’s always so professional, so uptight. You often try to loosen him up and have even managed to make him laugh a few times, which remains some of your proudest moments, but it never lasts. You wonder if you were around him more, in a not-so-professional manner, if you could add more positivity in his life. Too late for that now. “If that’s everything, I should get back to work.”

Your breathing picks up at the idea of him leaving you. You try desperately to think of a way to keep him on the line. Unfortunately, only one idea comes to mind.

“Please wait!” you cry out, sounding even more desperate than the last time. It’s getting too tiring to contain your emotions. You prepare yourself to tell him and then – “I lied to you.”

“What?”

You take a deep breath and smile sadly. “I…they got me,” you say. “They got me good, Batman.” In moments like these, you wish you knew his real identity. You wish you knew his real name. Calling him ‘Batman’ feels impersonal. But I guess you weren’t meant to know him personally, and you respect his right to privacy despite him knowing your identity. 

Another moment of silence passes as Batman struggles to say something. “Are you okay? Where are you?” His voice sounds more concerned. You imagine his mouth turned down slightly. You wonder if his eyebrows are creased under his mask.

“No, I’m not okay,” you say, ignoring his second question. This isn’t how you wanted this conversation to go, but at least he’s still on the line. At least you’re not alone.

“Okay hold on, just tell me where you are and I can help you.” He sounds so determined you almost don’t want to tell him the truth.

“You can’t help me,” your voice cracks, but a smile still remains on your face. Somehow, you feel sad while maintaining a positive attitude. You figure these last moments should be enjoyable. At least you want them to be. Kind of a hard thing to ask for, but you don’t care.

“Yes I can, just—”

“It’s too late, Batman.” Your cheeks become wet as tears slip down them. They slide all the way down your neck where you’re finding it harder and harder to breathe.

“Y/N, tell me where you are.” It’s not his angered voice that convinces you, but the fact that you know he won’t let it go. Even if it’s pointless. Even if there’s not a chance in the world.

“I’m still in the building.” You give him the address and tell him where you’re located in the stairwell. You hear the screeching of tires and imagine Batman turning his car around. It pains you to know that despite all of his efforts, he can’t save you. And you’re not sure he’ll be able to come to terms with it.

“I’m on my way, just hold on for me, okay?” His voice is louder, trying to speak over the roaring engine. You hope there aren’t many drivers out tonight because you can’t imagine seeing that black car zooming down the street. Another wave of pain explodes from your wound and you let out a cry, too weak to try to hold it in. “Y/N?”

“It’s fine,” you say, trying to soothe the worry you hear. But your lie isn’t fooling either one of you.

You hear a growl sound from the phone. “Goddammit Y/N, why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have gotten to you quicker.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” you say,

“Stop talking like that, you’re going to be fine.” His insistence makes you wish he was right. You can barely keep your eyes open, trying to focus on a crack in the opposite wall to ground yourself. But it’s hard.

“It’s okay, Batman. I wasn’t even going to tell you at all because I knew this would happen. I’ve accepted it.” Even as the words leave your lips, there’s still a small part of you screaming to keep fighting. The pain is slowly drowning it out.

“You can’t just give up, I told you I’m on my way,” he says. “And why did you call me then? To tell me about the gang?”

“I…I didn’t want to be alone,” you admit and you feel a small weight lift off of your shoulders at telling the truth. You decide to keep going. “And I wanted…I wanted to hear your voice, one last time.”

Batman doesn’t say anything for a moment and you’re almost afraid you’ve scared him off, when his voice crackles to life, “Y/N—”

“I only wish I could have seen you too.”

“You will,” he insists. “You will when I come to help you. I’m almost there, just another minute—”

“Batman I need to tell you something.” The urge grips you hard to tell him everything you’ve always wanted to say. You can feel blood leak into your lungs and you know it’s only a matter of time before you can’t speak at all.

“No, you can wait to tell me in person.”

“I can’t.” You can feel blood start to bubble up into your throat. The pain is fading away, which only means that your brain is starting to shut down. “Batman—”

“Y/N don’t do this—”

“I love you.” The words echo in your mind and you smile knowing that you’ve said it. At least he’ll know. Even if you can’t be with him, even if he doesn’t love you back, at least he’ll know.

“Y/N.” Batman seems to be at a loss for words. You can’t tell if that means he wants to reject your feelings or if he’s just surprised, but it doesn’t matter. You start to cough up blood and your arm feels heavy as if you were holding up a brick instead of a phone. You stare at the blank wall and try to imagine that Batman is in front of you. You want that to be your last sight.

“Goodbye,” you manage to get out just before your thoughts dissolve into air and your eyes finally close.

“No wait Y/N—” Batman’s yelling falls on deaf eyes as your arm drops to the floor, your phone still in your hand but your grip has gone slack. Batman’s voice echoes in your mind as you finally allow the darkness to consume you.

†††

“Y/N? Y/N!” Bruce yells but gets no response. “Fuck!” He presses down even harder on the accelerator, so much so that it might be touching the floor. That doesn’t matter. There’s only one thing that matters.

Bruce refuses to hang up the call in case he hears something, anything on the other end. As Bruce zips down the streets of Gotham, he can’t help but feel angry. Angry at you for giving up and for not believing he could save you. Angry at himself for not answering your calls earlier and for letting you get hurt. Angry at the world for trying to take away one more fucking person that Bruce loves.

The moment you said those three words, Bruce almost stopped breathing. It wasn’t fair, he thought. He finally finds out that the person he loves loves him back and you’re on your deathbed. Maybe if he had let go of his fears and told you earlier, the two of you would have been happy together.

Stop, he scolds himself. There’s still hope for that. They’re not dead.

Bruce hopes that he’s right. He’s about to find out as he pulls in front of the building you’re in. So close, Bruce had been so close. He told you he was coming. Why didn’t you wait for him?

He doesn’t even turn off the engine of the Batmobile (your nickname for his car) as he opens his door and dashes towards the building. Time seems to speed up and slow down all at once as Bruce runs towards the entrance to the stairwell and keeps on running.

He runs as fast as he can until he reaches the platform you said you were at and he has to take a step back at the sight before him. Slumped against the opposite wall is you with blood covering your face and suit.

Time stops as he takes everything in. Your closed eyes. The blood leaking from your mouth. Your right hand lying against the pool of blood on your chest. But the sight that breaks his heart the most is your phone that you’re still holding in your left hand, still on a call with him.

Bruce feels like the wind has been kicked out of him, finding it hard to breathe. But he snaps out of his despairing trance and quickly rushes over to you. He holds one hand against your cheek. “Y/N?” he asks but you don’t respond. His heart rages against his rib cage as he rips his glove off of his other hand and reaches out towards your neck to check your pulse.

For one horrible moment, he doesn’t feel anything. He’s about to break down, letting out all of the emotions that have been rising inside of him since you told him about your condition. But then, he feels it. A faint flutter of a pulse against his fingers. He feels like he can breathe again. He can actually do something. He can save you.

Bruce briefly examines the wound only to see blood still leaking from what he assumes is a gunshot. He wants to apply pressure to it but he curses when he doesn’t find anything to wrap it in. He’s going to have to move fast.

Carefully, he scoops you up into his arms and his jaw clenches when he sees your head roll lifeless onto his chest. You’re the one who’s usually so full of life. He found it rather annoying at first, but he soon realized that you were actually brightening his life. It’s not fair.

He moves towards the stairs and hears your phone hit the ground behind him but he doesn’t have time. Bruce races down the stairs while holding you tight against him, forbidding any more harm to come to you. He exits the building and manages to set you down in the passenger seat.

As soon as he’s behind the wheel, he takes off towards Wayne Manor. He would take you to the hospital, but the Manor is closer and he can’t have anything more go wrong. He doesn’t trust that the doctors can save you, but he knows that he can. He has to.

Normally when he has you in the car, it’s almost never quiet. You’re either singing (even when he turns off the radio) or just talking about anything at all. He has never hated the quiet so much. He glances at his screen and sees that the call still hasn’t ended. Your words begin to flood his mind.

Hey Batboy. 

I lied to you. 

They got me. 

It’s too late. 

I wanted to hear your voice one last time. 

I love you. 

Goodbye.

Bruce’s vision begins to blur but he blinks back any emotion knowing there’s time to hurt later but right now he needs to focus on saving you.

A thought occurs to him to call the GCPD about the gang. Normally he wouldn’t care, but he doesn’t want your suffering to be in vain. But to do that he’ll have to hang up on you and he doesn’t like that implication. Glancing at you, he makes a promise.

“You’re going to hear my voice and see me again,” he promises. “And it won’t be for the last time.” Then he hangs up the phone.

#battinson x reader #battinson x you #battinson #the batman x reader #the batman x you #the batman x y/n #batman x reader #batman x you #batman x y/n #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x y/n #the batman #batman fanfiction #batman imagine #dc fanfiction

[rxtrovillans]

I’d die without you

Summary: Being in a relationship is hard and takes time, but being the Batman and being in a relationship is 10 times harder. Batman tries to push the reader away due to insecurity and worries about the readers' safety.

(I don’t remember who made the artwork but all credits go to them!)

Wc: 800+

Warnings: Angsty Bruce, POV lowkey switches throughout (if you squint), and the reader is slightly self-centered. Proofread once!

I can see it in his weary blue eyes, the weight of Gotham is collapsing on him now more than ever. Call this next feeling self-centered, but it feels like it’s my fault.

We’ve been dating for 5 months and he’s confided in me that making Gotham safer has been more critical than ever now that I am in his life. This news is comforting but also makes me concerned for his safety. 

“I don’t care what happens to me”, is something he has repeatedly confessed to me, after telling me that I refuse to go to sleep until he is returned back to me in one piece. For a while now I have been assigned to reside at the Wayne Manor per Bruce’s request, and honestly, I don’t mind staying here. This place has a haunting feeling to it, it’s beautiful, and it’s also Bruce’s safe Haven. 

He likes to know I'm somewhere that is safe and he knows Alfred is here if anything bad happens, I use to think this was very possessive behavior but after seeing the raw look of fear in his eyes. I understand now, I trust him.

Just like he trusted me with his secret identity, I didn’t think he’d give up that side of him so soon, I met Batman before I met Bruce, though Batman is almost all of Bruce Wayne. I love both sides. 

I love him.

                                                                             .

                                                     .

                                  .

“The Riddler, he’s planning something, something big. I’m not sure what it is yet” he groans out fighting through the pain of recovery after having his arm popped out of its socket. I had to force him to put something on it after he swore he didn’t need anything. 

“Lemme take a look” you offer, “Maybe some fresh eyes could help”, I reach for the straw-colored folders based on the recent killing manic the Riddler. He’s been terrorizing Gotham for a week by torturing Government officials gruesomely in public. 

He grabs my wrist fast but gently, “No” he softly mumbles. He barely makes eye contact with me as he says this. This action forces me to drop the folders back onto his desk, “It’s too dangerous”.

Is it too dangerous to look at the evidence?

“Bruce, I’m not a child, and how the hell is looking at the evidence dangerous?” I begin to slightly raise my voice getting tired of the sheltering I have been getting for months. I get his obsessive control for my safety but, this is getting tiring. He stands up after my response, he straightens his posture towering over me but I don’t back down.

I don’t like this tense energy I just created, I hate arguing with him. I try to soften the mood, by gently placing my hand on his face, pushing past his emotional wall, and embracing him in a hug, “God I love you Bruce” I sigh out in his damp hair, and he returns this hug letting his arms rest above my butt. “I don’t want you involved in this at all”.

“Bruce listen-” I try to get out but he abruptly cuts me off, “I know y/n, I know I've been sheltering you and in a way, keeping you hostage. But-” he pauses, taking a shaky deep breath before continuing. I can tell that being this vulnerable is hard for him, it’s no secret that Bruce is not the most…emotionally expressive person. “But, If anything would happen to you, I'd die”

Oh my god.

“Emotionally I’d be dead, the weight of Gotham would have finally broken me if anything, and I mean anything wore to happen to you. Then Gotham would really get dark” the tone of his voice shakes me to my core, the hair on my arms stands up and a cool shiver sends shock waves up and down my spine. He speaks in a cold and cryptic tone, his words become thick and throaty as he thinks about the possibility of something happening to me as he continues spewing out his feelings. 

Bruces Vision:

The image makes him sick, him not being able to reach you in time and seeing your duead body behind yellow police tape with your corpse being covered by a thin white sheet. The sound of the reporter's camera shutters begins to slow down, as does everything in this vision: the voices of those reporters asking to get more information on what just happened begins to slow down, the heavy beating rain around him slows down, and his blood pumping heart slows down.

End of Bruce’s Vision:

Everything in this sick vision that replays in Bruce’s head begins to slow down.

“Bruce” You put your hand on his shoulder when you realize his mind is no longer present, “Hmm” he hums as his eyes begin to focus back on reality. 

A reality where you're still alive, and warm, and still the love of his life.

#batman #batman fanfiction #battinson fic #battinson x reader #brucewayne #fem!reader #batman smut #rxtrovillans masterlist #angst #batman angst #bruce wayne angst #the batman x you #dc #fanfic #thebatman #brucewayne masterlist #bruce wayne imagine #one shot #bruce wayne oneshot #robert pattinson #robert pattinson batman #bruce wayne drabble #heavy angst

[majahu]

To Die on Your Lips

Chapter 1: Late Night Outbursts

Next Chapter

Robert Pattinson Batman x Gn Reader (angst, slow burn)

Note: This fic was just supposed to be a one shot but I got carried away so now it’s a full story lmao. Trying to use gender neutral language on this one. Let me know if I slip up. Comment or message to be added to the tag list.

Summary: With Bruce Wayne’s attention anywhere but Wayne Enterprises, Alfred makes the decision to hire outside help managing the company. After a while, you begin to share the butler’s frustrations with the company’s heir, the two of you constantly butting heads during working hours. Soon, however, your feelings towards your boss begin to change as you start to unravel one of his best kept secrets.

Warnings: angst, lots of yelling, graphic language, suggestive content (wink, wink) in later chapters. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 1.3k

  You had been working for Wayne Enterprises for the better half of a year, doing everything from book-keeping to meeting with potential and current investors and not once had you received any kind of help from the company’s owner.

 You rarely saw Bruce Wayne except for the rare occasions where he was dragged to a mandatory meeting with the company’s board. Your interactions with him were mostly countless unanswered messages that you left on his work phone, asking for clarification regarding various paperwork, transfers of funds, etcetera.

 Mostly, your communication to your boss was through Alfred Pennyworth, his butler, who you bet did more for the company than Bruce Wayne ever did. It wasn’t fair that he was the face of this whole company, when it seemed like he’d rather be doing anything other than his fucking job. 

You were currently at your desk, your office being located at the very top of Wayne Tower (which was a pain in the ass when the elevator was being serviced; at least all the stairs gave you some pretty killer calves). One hand rested in your hair, while the other clutched a mug of drip coffee; it was your third of the night and you had hoped that it would help you stay awake long enough to go over the book-keeping you needed to, but all it had managed to do was give you a massive stomach ache. The glare of street lights barely reached your office window, and illuminated by the light of a single desk lamp, the majority of your office was bathed in shadows. 

Wayne Enterprises had several branches, and though they all had their own team of accountants and managers, you were entrusted with giving everything a final look-over to make sure that nothing was amiss. With so many employees and branches, it would be relatively easy for someone to embezzle a couple hundred dollars, thousands even, without being noticed. It could easily get lost in piles of paperwork had it not been for your or Alfred’s tireless efforts. 

 “Thank god I’m getting paid overtime for this,” you sighed, eyes grazing over lists of charges  from the past month from Wayne Electronics. There were, of course, deposits of investments that you easily recognized; the withdrawals were the tricky part. Most of them had clear names, some money even being transferred to various branches like Wayne Tech, others, the ones that you didn’t recognize, you scrawled down in a small leather bound notebook to bring up to Alfred or try to decipher on your own.

 The numbers on the page started drifting slightly to the left as your eyes came in and out of focus. 

 God, you were tired. 

 You had been at work since 8:00 AM and it was currently—you checked your watch—9:47 PM. 

 Your eyes fluttered closed, and you had nearly drifted to sleep when you thought you heard your office door creak open. 

 “I’m really starting to lose it,” you muttered to yourself, eyes warily scanning the dark corners of your office. 

 Sure enough, your door was closed. You turned back around only to come face to face with a shadowy figure standing at the front of your desk.

 “Jesus, fuck!” You shouted, nearly falling backwards in your swivel chair. 

 “What are you still doing here?” the figure said, voice strained like he hadn’t talked to anyone in a while. 

You blinked a couple times, eyes coming into focus, and sure enough there was the face of your boss, dimly illuminated by the lamplight of your desk.

 “Mr. Wayne?”

 You said, tilting your head to the side, “What are you doing here?”

 As your eyes further adjusted to the man standing in front of you, you noticed what looked like some intense dark circles under his eyes. “Maybe you should go back home and get some sleep…” you muttered, not really meaning to speak the words aloud.

 “What?” he said, the beginnings of a sneer on his lips. He seemed more annoyed by your presence in your own office than you would’ve expected him to be, especially since you were working overtime to help make sure his company was staying afloat.

 “Look, is there something I can help you with?” you said, bitterness creeping into your tone. It’s not that you meant to give your boss attitude, but you had had a long day, you were tired, and you wanted more than anything to be back in your apartment under the covers of your bed. 

 He paused for a moment, opening his mouth as if to say something before looking away from you, “No, it’s nothing. I noticed a light was on and I came to check and see if everything was okay.”

 You said nothing, staring blankly back at him.

 “You can go,” he said.

 Your annoyance at your boss was starting to bubble over, a long rant about responsibilities and leadership pulling at the corners of your mouth. You were so so tired, and you probably shouldn’t provoke one of Gotham’s most powerful men, but before you could stop yourself the words were flowing out of your mouth, 

 “You came to see if everything was okay?” you scoffed, “since when do you ever do anything for this company?”

 The man stared at you, brows knitting together slightly, his expression hardening. 

 Gripping the arms of your chair, your knuckles began to turn white as you leaned forward in your seat, “I have been working myself to the bone, coming in early, staying late, all to make sure nobody is taking advantage of how fucking disorganized this company is. You only ever come to meetings when Alfred drags you there like you’re some spoiled little brat, and even then you look like you’d rather be anywhere else. You could at least try to care! Or put nearly half the work in that your employees do, who, by the way, make a fucking fraction of your annual salary when they’re the ones carrying this place!”

 You were shouting now, and only when you noticed the expression on Bruce Wayne’s face did you shut your mouth, wishing you could retreat into the cushions of your chair.

 What did I just do?

 You had just lost your cool; majorly, by the way, in front of your boss. You were almost positive you were going to be fired for this.

 Bruce Wayne looked like he was about to have an aneurysm, or wrap his hands around your throat, or spontaneously combust. You weren’t sure what was about to happen, all you knew is that it wasn’t going to be pretty.

 He placed his hands on your desk, thumb covering the corner of your notebook. He opened his mouth, speaking slowly, choosing his words carefully. He leaned in, bringing his face closer to yours as you fought the urge to shrink away from him, “do you think I chose this?”

 “I never wanted to run this company,” he said, “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he tore his eyes away from you, casting them to look out of your window, studying the Gotham skyline, “do you know how hard it is to live up to his legacy?” he said quietly. 

 “Mr. Wayne I-” 

 “Don’t speak.” he said, pausing for a moment.

 “Every time I set foot in this place, I am reminded of what I’m not.” 

 “And I don’t need you, someone who I hired not even a year ago, to remind me even more of it or to pretend you know me and what I do for this company, for this city.” He said, his tone venomous. 

 Bruce Wayne looked back at you, his eyes narrowing, “Do you really think you’re such an invaluable piece of this company? That you can’t be replaced? You have no idea what goes on behind the scenes.” 

 He looked as if he wanted to say something more, like he was holding back. 

 Instead, his eyes studied you for a moment longer before tearing away from you again, “Get out.” 

 Not daring to say anything more, you stood, not even grabbing your notebook, and walked out the office door.

--

Tag List: @lesyeuxdebritty @rat-theghoul @withbeautyandrage

#Battinson #the batman #the batman 2022 #the batman fanfiction #batman fanfiction #battinson fanfiction #angst #slow burn #robert pattinson #robert pattinson batman #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #the batman x y/n #the batman x you #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #batman angst #batman slow burn #minors dni #my writing

[iridescentprose]

Gotham Nights—Battinson x catwoman reader

summary; the aftermath of an interrogation gone a bit too far.

warnings; mentions of bloody knuckles, an unconscious body; a hint of floof

song; monsters (acoustic reverb version)—ruelle

author's note; happy fall.

The low, yet incessant humming of the generator in the background did little to ease the groans coming from the barely conscious body in the corner of the room. Stubbornly, you massaged the bloody nubs that coated your knuckles.

A pair of black boots approached you, offering a piece of torn, bloody fabric. Your eyes went to the body in the corner. The shoulder of his buttoned down shirt had been missing. You looked back at the cloth in your partner's hands.

It was better than nothing.

Reluctantly, you took it and applied pressure to the wounds on your hands before wrapping it intricately around your fingers. By no means you couldn't get it to stay wrapped around your fingers - the wounds too big to keep it secure.

A hand settled on top of yours just before you could give up. Your partner crouched before you, gently taking the torn fabric. Without any warning, he wordlessly took your injured hand and began to wrap it firmly. Weaving the fabric between and around your fingers, you winced in pain. Fresh wounds were always tender to the touch.

"So, what are you going to do with him?" You dared to ask as he worked on fastening the knot.

"I'm taking him to the police," he replied almost instantly, cinching the knot firmly. He did another knot for good measure. You gritted your teeth as pain prickled throughout your hand.

"The police?"

"I trust them. Some of them."

You begged to differ. The body in the corner was a petty thief layered in sheep's clothing - a closet drophead who had connections in the underground that stretched beneath the city like roots that infiltrated the government, the police department, and even the poor. Those same roots put a chokehold on those closest to you—pulling them down further and further to the ground until they were no longer there. Until their minds were far off - hung up on addiction, murder, and greed.

"I don't," You said, running your fingers over the makeshift bandage as he finished wrapping your hand. You balled it into a fist, making the tight cinch loose. "Everyone's corrupt—"

He grabbed your hand, not forcefully but enough to ease your anger.

"Not everyone," he said, fastening the "bandage" once more before looking at you.

You scoffed lightly and shook your head in amusement, a brief smile breaking through. "I know you're not corrupt."

"How do you know that?"

"Because actions speak louder than words." You looked down at your bandaged hand sitting in his gloved one. Despite the conversation being laced with frustration and debate, he had been nothing but gentle. His thumb lightly settled across your knuckles, his fingers curling around your palm gently. There was a mutual understanding between the two of you. Your curious suspicions about his trust in the some of the police department had already been answered.

Actions speak louder than words.

You both did little to break eye contact before a soft 'thud' in the corner brought you both back to reality. The body's boot kicked the generator one final time before it went still.

"He's dead," You said. A part of you hoped your observation was wrong as Vengeance stood to check his pulse. You knew very well you had caused too much damage before the real questions had yet to be asked.

"Unconscious," he reported a few moments after, causing you to sigh in relief. Vengeance removed his fingers from the Body's neck before he crouched down to sit him up.

You watched quietly as you nursed your hand, your fingers lightly massaging over the wounds. Your festering anger simmered down and was slowly being replaced with curiosity as Vengeance tied to the ropes around the Body's chest tighter so he couldn't escape when the police arrived.

You weren't sure if you had made the situation worse by knocking him unconscious, but the monstrous deed of revenge had been done...and for the sake of the person you trusted, you didn't feel guilty about it.

After all, you were just as much of a monster as he was in the eyes of Gotham.

#battinson x reader #the batman 2022 x reader #the batman 2022 #batman 2022 #batman reader insert #battinson x you #battison x y/n #the batman #battinson #the batman x you #batman #battinson x female reader #dceu dc fanfiction

[allfandomstan]

After Dark~(Batman x Vigilante Reader), Chapter 3.

Read chapters 1 and 2! Find it on my ‘posts’

Genre: Mystery

Setting: A café from ‘The Batman’ 2022.. Let’s just call it Gotham Café 😫

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of adult themes.

Word count: 3k

Author Notes: Hey, it’s me!! Back with chapter 3 of this series.. This one came out relatively quick compared to the last chap as I was quick to come up with ideas for this one😄. Anyways, this is also a chill chap and it basically gives you slight background info on the reader, a.k.a Red. Hope you guys enjoy and pls let me know what y’all think!😉

P.S There also might be slight ‘tension’ between Bruce and reader😳. It all depends on your perspective..👀👀

You walked through the dark city streets of Gotham to reach your final destination for the night- your apartment. Nothing too fancy, or special but just enough to serve the purpose. You walked and walked.. your legs ached from the uncomfortable heels you wore for the night, for your little trip to the Iceberg Lounge to meet up with Batman. You were all dolled up before, but now your mascara was running and your foundation fading from the heavy rain that hit. Despite all these years living in Gotham, and experiencing the heavy torrential rain that often fell without warning, you never learned what the importance of having an umbrella was in this city. Well at least now you did. “Fuck”, you groaned and kept walking. You made sure to stay in the shadows of the sidewalk and not attract any unwanted attention to you. Who knows what’d happen if some creep sees a young woman walking all alone in the middle of the night? Not that you were scared or anything, but you just didn’t feel like fighting anyone right now..

****

You opened your apartment door and it made of loud-ass creaking noise. “Stupid door” you mumbled irritated. It did that all the time and you particularly hated it, especially when you arrived home late at night after your tiring shifts at Falcone’s. You darn well hoped that it didn’t wake the neighbours.

You got inside and threw your fur coat on the couch. You were absolutely wrecked..Well, mostly from the rain and walking back in fucking high-heels..

You sat down, letting out a huge sigh and slumped onto the couch, resting your head on a pillow. You really needed a break. From all this. You needed a break from yourself and from this city. They were both wearing you out, but you knew you couldn’t because of this Godamn psychopath that has been running around and hunting down the Mayor for Christ’s sake. And you new he wasn’t done just yet. He had more victims in mind and he was going to strike again, soon..Very soon. The city is going to drown if someone doesn’t save it from this monster and you weren’t going to just sit around and let that happen. Even though you were pretty sure your contribution to the saving of Gotham was a bare minimum, you still had to try. The ratio between good people and bad people in Gotham was pretty uneven, so whatever you did was worth it in the end. Or so in your eyes…

It would take you years to be as influential as the Bat, but you weren’t gonna give up just yet. Besides you only had limited money and technology when Batman possessed both in vast amounts. Oh yeah, the guy had to be rich. You had some theories In mind of who the caped crusader could be, but you weren’t able to come to a conclusion just yet. Maybe you’re going to have to see of yourself later.. And you assured yourself you will. After all the cryptic riddles and enigmas have been cracked.

****

You once again found yourself walking on the cold city streets of Gotham. It was early as 6 in the morning and the cold morning air stung you. It was drizzling lightly and you were sure that it would only get worse, so you opened up the umbrella you actually bothered to bring, and held it up over you. You were walking to your workplace, this time not as infuriating and intense as the nightclub you did your nightshifts in, instead it was a cute little corner Café in Gotham Square. You were delighted to have this job, even though it meant working two jobs. You just loved the peaceful aura of the place, despite sometimes facing grumpy customers who weren’t the slightest bit nice at all…

When you finally reached the small building, you closed up your umbrella and stepped inside only to be met with the familiar face of a smiley barista waving at you.

“Hey, Red!”, she whisper-shouted and motioned for you to come over.

“Sam!” You smile, and go over to her.

“Girl, I haven’t seen you in ages.. Where have you been?”

You take off your raincoat and hang it on the coat hanger. You let out a defeated sigh and look up at her.

“I’ve been busy.. with things”. You look down to avoid eye contact.

Upon hearing your confession a look of concern finds its way across her face. She stays quiet for a moment.

“Red.. you-“, she stops mid sentence as she caught sight of your eyes once again.

“I know what your going to say, Sam”.

The barista takes a deep breath in before speaking again:

“You can’t keep doing this. It’ll take a toll on you, one way or another!”. Your childhood friend was genuinely worried for you and you didn’t complain. Instead your eyes found its way to the floor once again.

“Can we talk about this later?”

Sam gives you an incredulous look. She can’t believe you’re willing to put off an important matter at hand.

“No Red! I want to talk about this now and right now!”, Sam half-shouted and you gotta say you were lucky that no one else was around to hear her. It was a little early for customers too.

“Sam, please..”

You mentally facepalmed at the fact you told her you were ‘busy’. You figured you should have made up a suitable lie or something. But you just couldn’t. You found it impossible to lie to Sam, almost every time. Is it because she reminded you of your mother a bit? You didn’t know. Maybe it’s because you see her as your older sister. After all it was her who looked after you when you were put out on the streets, hungry and alone. It was her you grew up with after the death of your Father and the downfall of your family. She always looked out for you when you found yourself in trouble or situations you found almost impossible to get out of.. You couldn’t complain one bit because she cared for you and wanted the best for you. She obviously didn’t want to see you killed in some heroic act that’ll fade away with time. And that’s why she wasn’t very keen on your vigilante activities.

“I wanna know why my friend is sacrificing herself for this City, when all it did was take away what was most important to her, to us!”

“Sam, you wouldn’t understand I-“

“Red, you shouldn’t be so reckless! You have a future ahead of you and you should protect it instead of trying to protect this Godforsaken city!”

She was getting emotional, and you could see the tears that were threatening to spill. No matter how much you try to reason with her, she always sticks to her own perspective and refuses to see yours. And it was frustrating as hell..

“Sam, stop it!”, you yell.

She comes to an abrupt stop and stares at you. You look at her for a moment before rushing over to her side to envelope her in a big hug.

“Sam, I know you care but its my life! I can’t just sit around while more lives are snatched and taken. I need to be there to serve justice to those whose lives have been destroyed”. You stroke her back gently to calm her down. You could hear the light sniffles that were coming out of her. You back away and look at her, cupping her face gently. “Sam, it’s okay I promise you”. and with that you hug her one more time before letting go.

Sam around turns to wipe her tears and regain her composure.

“C’mon, we got a Café to run!” you chirp with as much enthusiasm as possible just so you can lighten the mood a little. You give her one last smile before going to change into your barista uniform. ****

An hour and a half passes and it was 8 in the morning. Some customers started arriving to get their morning coffee to start the day. You and Sam haven’t really talked much, apart from the occasional small talk you both had. The light drizzle from earlier had now turned to full on rain and it splattered on the window panes harshly. The sound of rain splatter accompanied both of you as you worked. It was kind of soothing, in a way..

“You must’ve heard about the Mayor”.

You were suddenly snapped out of your thoughts and brought back to reality. It took you a while to make out what Sam had just said, so you stare at her point blank for a minute or so.

“Oh yeah, yeah I did”, you stutter. Sam takes a minute to read you and raises an eyebrow at you in question.

“Do you know anything about this?”.

Wow, what a suitable question to ask.. Just great!

You send her a hesitant glare. You really didn’t want to let her know about all of this and especially about the Bat. But you found yourself struggling to lie and you soon realised you couldn’t lie, just not to her of all people.

“I think I have an idea, yeah. It was clearly a political terrorist attack. Whoever did this has a grudge against Gotham’s constitution and men in power”.

Sam hums in acknowledgment as she keeps working. “Great input, I see”

“Thanks”.. “You getting any help?”

You froze for a second.

“What?”

“I mean like, you have any work buddies or are you all on your own?”

You stopped what you were doing to look at her properly.

“Well obviously not, who can I possibly share this with and, and-“, you failed miserably in getting your words together.

Sam let out a worn out, low chuckle. You really could never lie to her..

“C’mon Red, you can tell me”, she said rolling her eyes at your pathetic attempt at lying.

You groaned internally. Why did things always have to go against plan?

You let out a tired sigh, and face her again.

“Well if you absolutely must know..” You say with a sarcastic tone and roll your eyes at her.

Sam smiles, amused.

“Go on”, she says as a smirk forms on her lips.

You send her a hard, steely glare before giving up and answering her question:

“Believe me or not but.. I may have ran into Batman”.

A moment or so goes by without any reaction from your friend. Then you see it..

Her pupils dilate into huge dark circles, enveloping the leaf green of her irises. “You’re joking”

“Well you’re the one that asked”, you shrug.

“Seriously?”, the look of concern was back again on her features.

“Yes”.

“Red.. Vengeance? Are you serious?”

You groan loudly and hold the bridge of your nose.

“You know, I knew it’d be a pain explaining all this to you, I should really get better at lying”..

Sam scoffs at your snarky remark.

“Well, I gotta say I am impressed.. You’re only one year into this and you’ve already made some interesting ‘friends’”.

You roll your eyes again… You really didn’t want to have this conversation right now. You really didn’t want to have it, ever.

“Well ‘surprisingly’ I’m not as dumb as I look.. I know how to get my way when it comes to certain things, y’know. A smirk forms on your lips. You hoped she got your little hint.

“Certain things like men”, she smiles back, a mischievous grin forming.

“Working at Falcone’s really did do you good eh? Hope the pay’s good”

“Yeah, but not fucking enough”, you let out a sardonic chuckle.

“I thought Falcone would be giving you extra tips since y’know, you’ve been a long-time employee”..

“Extra tips my ass”, you scoff and start pouring some water into the kettle for coffee.

Sam lets out a silent ‘Oh’ and looks down at the floor.

“Then why do you even bother working there?”.

You put the kettle on to boil, then turn around to look at her.

“The pay’s shit but better than anything else in Gotham.. At least it puts a roof over my head”.

You knew that was far from the truth. You had to lie to her just this once. What you told your friend was far from the reason you were working at Falcone’s… Let’s just say you had some set ‘intentions’ and there was no way you’d leave it undone..

Just as Sam was about to speak, the front door to the Café opened with a little ‘ting’ of the bell that chimed in response…

There stood a tall man wearing a raincoat and holding up a small umbrella over his form. The darn umbrella surely served him little to no use as he was already drenched by the rain. He had his hood up, so you weren’t able to make out his face just yet.. He walked over closer to the both of you, his steps slow and calculated. He really didn’t want to wet the floor from the raindrops that fell from his coat and boots. Hmm, how mannered and soo unlike most Gothamers.. You guessed he was a customer coming over to order his morning coffee or something..

The stranger lifted off his hood to reveal his face and speak:

“Hi, can I get an extra strong expresso for takeaway with no-“

Just as he was about to finish his sentence, he caught sight of you and paused.. And you came to recognise him.

Shit, it was Bruce Wanye..

What the hell is the prince of Gotham doing here?

You let out a silent gasp and stared at him. And he stared back.. There was silence. Noticing the tension between you two, Sam cleared her throat and greeted the billionaire with a warm smile.

“Oh Hi Mr.Wayne, it’s nice to see you again!”

But Sam’s greeting didn’t stop Bruce from staring. His eyes were glued on you..

How strange.

Wanting to subdue the awkwardness, Sam nudged you in the ribs lightly, snapping you out of your thoughts immediately.

“Oh”, you say and start making the coffee Bruce requested.

“Oh and did you say anything about not adding sugar?”, Sam asked the man.

As if realisation struck him hard, Bruce instantly snapped him eyes off you and turned to look at your friend instead. “Oh sorry, yes. Yes I did”.. Much to your surprise his voice came out softer and quieter than expected.

Sam nods at you to add no sugar, and then walks over to the till to bill Wayne’s coffee.

While you were preparing the drink, your mind was occupied with thoughts.

‘Why is he here all of a sudden?’ He’s only out and about in public once in a millennium and why would he wanna come to this boring little coffee shop?’ And most importantly why was he staring at you like that? Like he’d seen you somewhere before? ‘Could this be of any significance to you?’

Through the corner of your eye, you could see the man turn his head slightly to look at you once more. It seemed as though he was curious.. But why?

All your thinking got you to mess up his coffee before you even realised.

“Oh shit, I accidentally added sugar”, you whisper to your friend in a panicked tone.

“Red!”, Sam scolded you.

“It’s alright, I’ll take it..”, Bruce’s low yet soft voice made both of you jump. He was listening in.

“Oh no, it’s alright we’ll make you another one!”, Sam instantly responded, guilty that you got the billionaire’s order wrong.

“It’s okay, I’m in a bit of a hurry anyway”. His low, mellow voice was ringing in your ears. There was an undeniable familiarity in it..

“Oh well, it’s on the house then!” Sam said, faking a smile.

“No, really its okay”, he said adamant not to make her feel bad.

Just as you were done making his expresso, you took a marker out of your apron pocket and wrote ‘Bruce’ on the plastic cup to give his messed up order a final touch. You might as well do at least that little kind gesture to apologise..

You then turned around, and held the cup in your hand to give it to him. As you turned to face him, you caught his gaze on you once again and instantly he looked away. But shit, you caught him red handed.

Putting on a cheerful facade, you handed him the coffee with a big smile plastered on your face.

“Here you go, Mr.Wayne”..

Your eyes met his once again and you froze. There was something very familiar about them.. Dangerously so.

Quickly, snapping you out of your trance, Bruce whispers you a quick and quite “thank you”, before grabbing the expresso from your hands and them going over to Sam to hand her the money for the coffee.

He waists no time and reaches for the door.

“Have a nice day, Mr.Way-“, and Sam was cut off by the door which closed behind him. And there he was, out the door in no time..

Sam let out a heavy sigh, and turned to look at you.

“Well, What’d you think?.. He left just as fast as he came”.

You were there, staring at the door like an idiot.

“Why the hell was Bruce fucking Wayne here?”

“He comes here sometimes..”

You turn to face your friend.

“What?”

“Yeah, but it’s just since you’re part-time you never see him”.

And why the fuck didn’t she tell you that?

“And you never told me that Bruce Wayne comes here!”

Sam gave you a look of nonchalance and shrugs.

“What, it’s not like he’s some kind of extraterrestrial creature or something.. I didn’t think it’d interest you”. She gave you a sly grin afterwards. She knew she was playing with you.

“Ughh, Sam!”, you groan and roll your eyes.

Sam shrugs again and gets back to work.

****

It was 12 noon, almost time for you to finish work. Over the past few hours all you could think about was the man who showed up earlier..

All you could think about was ‘Bruce Wayne’.

‘Why did he look at you like that?’ Like he was suddenly captured by your eyes, and frozen in place by them.

Did he recognise you from somewhere?

Well you sure as hell haven’t seen him anywhere before..

Or have you?

****

#batman x reader #the batman 2022 x reader #bruce wayne fic #batman x vigilante reader #battinson x reader #robert pattinson fanfiction #robert pattinson batman #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne imagine #batman #battinson imagine #battinson #dc fanfic #dc x reader #dc comcis #dcu #fanfic #bruce wayne x reader #the batman x you #the batman x f!reader #the batman x reader

[neutron-stars-collision]

Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Chapter 20 - In the glow of the moon

Chapter 19; Masterlist Summary: Some conversations cannot be avoided. Especially when it is Bruce, who becomes impatient... Warnings: Swearing; angst. Too much talking. Author's Notes: Alas, we've made it. This is where the story ends *sniffles*. While I've got a short epilogue in mind, it's going to be more of a post scriptum, so I'm treating this as the conclusion to the journey. And what a journey it had been! 🥺 It only took me a year and a half to finish the series, but I'm so glad I did. Those idiots did not make it easy, but I'll sure miss them. This chapter is a long overdue punchline some of you had been waiting for. I hope it meets your expectations. Thank you for reading, waiting and supporting me in the very rocky process. You all made it much easier to convince my brain it was worth continuing 💕 And thank you, Shet, for dealing with my whining, doubts and endless drama - always grateful for you! Hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think? Tag list: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy, @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary, @nicklet94, @mcrmarvelloki, @shimmeringgrim, @ttae-yong, @freyadruid, @siriuslydestiny, @ms-dont-care, @raphaelaisabella, @itsmytimetoodream, @brightjimini, @castellandiangelo, @grunge-n-roses5 (let me know if you wanted to be removed/added).

(gif credit: @1038276637)

In the morning, you dared believe the universe must have a soft spot for you within its core. As soon as your eyes opened, your gaze noted two things. One, Bruce was gone. Two, there was a note with his handwriting on your bedside table.

Without letting your mind run away with the first fact, undoubtedly working itself into a spiral like no other you rolled over to pick up the page. The contents were simple: “Sorry I’m gone. The hospital called to say Alfred had been signed out, so I went to pick him up. See you soon.”

The spark of relief drowned out everything else as you dropped the paper onto the covers and smiled at the ceiling. Everything was still fucked. But this was something. Something that could take your mind off the reality. It was easy to admit that one thought. You missed Alfred. Missed his clever blue-grey eyes that saw through your bullshit. Maybe it was what you needed… Maybe.

The thought was a motivator to drag you out of bed and into the closet, absentmindedly searching for anything you could wear. The first proper wake-up of the morning came when you entered the ensuite and found yourself facing the mirror. Finding mussed hair and a red bruise on your neck. A few more below, scattered like flares across your body. Drawing attention to what happened. Making it impossible for you to deny it, even before yourself. A wave of shame rolled in your stomach, erasing the budding hunger. You turned your head the other way and never looked back until you were ready to leave the bathroom.

It was cold enough for a turtleneck, anyway.

The distraction kicked in as soon as you made your way downstairs. A chorus of voices could be heard coming from the kitchen. A sound you had not heard in the tower since the explosion. A quiet sigh of relief was all the noise you made as you headed into the room. Eager to see what was going on. Having reached the doorway, you peered inside. Bruce was the first one you saw, leaning against the kitchen counter with a timid yet bright smile. He seemed happy. Lighter than when you had first met him.

Another dangerous thought you did not want to entertain. Your gaze slipped over Bruce to settle on Alfred. He was leaning heavily on his cane, but no bandages were in sight anymore. Only a fading yellowish bruise and darker circles underneath his eyes. Dory was talking with him animatedly, her hands gesticulating broadly. A grin broke out on your face as you stepped through the threshold, immediately drawing attention to your arrival. All three pairs of eyes landed on you. Without meaning to, you met Bruce’s gaze first. The look in his eyes shifted, but his face was still open. As if he was happy to see you. Even after the previous night. You never had the time to pull that revelation apart.

“Glad to see you join us, darling” Alfred crossed the remaining space towards you with a bright smile.

Affection filled the caverns of your heart, making it impossible to get rid of that one feeling. The one that reminded you that you had not felt this welcomed anywhere in a very long time. That this, the three of them, almost felt like the home you had lost twenty years ago. You swallowed past the lump in your throat to reply, a cheeky smile masking the emotions tearing through your chest:

“Pardon me, I didn’t know we’ll be having a kitchen party” an answering scoff from Bruce was enough of a validation for the weak joke, “It’s good to see you back, Alfred” you met the butler’s gaze with a fond look of your own, not hiding just how much you had meant it.

You knew he understood, instantly adjusting his stance to open his arms and invite you in for a hug with a quiet croon:

“Oh, c’mere,” you did not need to be asked twice, returning the embrace with care, mindful of his lingering frailty.

But Alfred’s hug was everything but frail, instantly making you sink into the comforting touch you did not know you had missed. After a beat, aware of the company and the prolonged silence, you pulled back, squeezing his arms one last time. Over Pennyworth’s shoulder, you caught Bruce’s gaze again. The softness in his eyes was replaced with something more tender. Almost as if seeing you close to Alfred meant much more to him than he could say. You sent him a small smile as the butler spoke again:

“I see my boy at least had the decency to invite you to stay for longer” the older man threw a pointed look over his shoulder at Bruce before setting his piercing gaze back on you.

You did wonder whether the blush on your cheeks was as telling as you worried it might be. Because there was no escape from it.

“Of course, I-” Bruce’s offended rebuttal was never meant to be heard.

Only because you feared what he might say and whether you could mitigate the effects without the scene dissolving into chaos. You threw Bruce an apologetic smile and interrupted him with faux chirpiness:

“He did. At least until everything settles down in the city,” the apologetic note was not easily eradicated from your voice.

Because no matter what, you still felt like perhaps you were a nuisance to them. Like maybe you should have disappeared a long time ago and never bothered them again. But then Bruce was the one to ask… And the previous night, he seemed happy with you staying… You barely resisted shaking your head against the barrage of thoughts as Alfred remarked:

“Well, we’re certainly not short on space” he glanced at Dory as if awaiting her approval.

You followed his gaze only to see the older woman smile at you warmly. Giving her blessing with your favourite question of the morning:

“Coffee?” she raised the mug to accentuate the gesture.

“From you? Always” there was no need to think as you flashed her your brightest grin and joined the woman by the counter.

Perhaps it was alright for you to stay. Just a little longer.

***

The illusion of peace lasted approximately 32 hours and 27 minutes. It shattered in the afternoon of the second day of Alfred’s return as Dory left the dining room table, leaving you alone with the older man. As if he had been waiting for the occasion to arise, Pennyworth instantly settled his heavy gaze on your face. You got as far as awkwardly clearing your throat before he launched the first question:

“How are you doing?” you knew the nonchalance in his tone was only a means of keeping you calm.

And making you stay at the table, despite the alarm bells in your head urging you to run away. Because hell knew Alfred was damn good at seeing through your bullshit. Unfortunately.

“I’m good,” you pasted what you hoped was a convincing smile.

Hoping it would be enough to deter him. Foolishly.

Alfred leaned forward, putting more weight onto his forearms as he levelled you with another long look:

“Are you?” your heart stumbled in your chest as if begging to say: No, I’m not; he paused, seemingly to find the right words before driving another striking blow, “Because it took me a little over a day to see that things are not exactly easy between you” you could see the tactful turn.

The exact moment when Alfred noticed he needed to be gentle with you. When he saw your fragility and discovered the cause without you needing to say it aloud. That need to run and hide only grew stronger.

“Well… we get on just fine” you shrugged, aware that it was a futile attempt on your side.

It wasn’t a lie. Even after that night, things were fine. As in, Bruce talked to you, still shared his work updates, and checked in on you throughout the day. But he kept his distance. And you tried your best not to dwell on the fact fearing the heartbreak that would follow if you did.

“I know that you do,” compassion in Alfred’s eyes told you he noticed it too, “But I also know Bruce. And I can see that he’s desperately trying to fix something, but he doesn’t know where to start” the hint of hurt in his face was enough to crack your heart.

It was one thing to know you had been hurting Bruce. Another to hear it from someone else. Someone who knew him more than you. A wave of shame threatened to drown you as you gasped quietly and trained your gaze on the table. A lone tear slipped from the corner of your eye and dropped onto the cloth. There would be no more pretending.

“What do you want me to say?” the hysterical note crept into your voice as you heard yourself spill confessions you never dared put into words, “I’m scared, Alfred. Always had been. Because there are feelings that I can’t get rid of no matter what I do” more tears rolled down your cheeks as the desperation you had tried stifling reared its head “I don’t want to hurt him, but…” you trailed off, your voice breaking under the weight of emotions.

But that was it. The truth was spoken for the first time and somehow more terrifying. You knew how it sounded. How utterly pathetic it was to be afraid of the thing many were willing to die for. But you could not help it.

“You’re also hurting yourself, though” Alfred’s gentle statement was enough to make you look up.

You fixed your red-rimmed eyes on his face, resisting the sudden urge to scoff. He was right, but that did not change anything. After twenty years of hurting, what was some more? An eternity? Easy. Much easier than whatever was going on right now.

“That’s inevitable” you could only shrug, staring at him blankly.

Because that’s just the thing. It’s inevitable. There is no outcome where you could have this and walk away unscathed. No such variant of the reality.

From the disbelief on Alfred’s face, you knew he disagreed.

“What if it doesn’t have to be like that?” you opened your mouth to protest, but he did not let you speak just yet, “What if you could have everything you wanted and be happy?” the conviction in his eyes was something you wished you could share.

But you couldn’t. It sounded like a fable, a tale too good to be true. It sounded like your childhood before.

“I don’t think that’s possible” you levelled him with a resigned look and brushed the drying tears from your cheeks.

Suddenly you wanted nothing more than to burrow underneath the covers and disappear from the world until the morning. Only Alfred had one more thing to say…

“I beg to differ” with his tone urging you to listen, you fell quiet as he continued, “I can’t tell you what to do or think, but… You make him happy” his gaze softened as your heart panged, barely able to sit idly for much longer, “And I know that’s mutual” though there was no need, you nodded weakly, confirming the correct assumption “Love is terrifying, but it’s also worth the pain” unable to withstand the vulnerable moment, you closed your eyes, hiding the pain he could find there; he hit the metaphorical bullseye “Don’t let the fear take it away from you” as Alfred finished the speech you let out a long exhale.

As if sensing you were barely holding on, he stood up from the table and left the dining room. But not without reaching out to squeeze your shoulder first. Only once you were alone did you let the tears flow freely.

You desperately wanted him to be right.

***

Only two days later, things came to a head with the most unexpected beginning. Although it was late, you were still busy with work, reading up on different witness accounts of the aftermath of the flooding. While you were still officially off work for another week, you wanted to make sure you had something to write about as soon as you could. And as much as you wanted to, Riddler’s case was off-limits. The decision was difficult to accept, but it was a no-brainer. You could not write about events that hit so close to home and expect it to be unbiased. And any good at all.

So, with a heavy heart, you began a quest to find something new. To your utmost surprise �� Bruce offered to help. And help he did, sharing various stories he has heard during his patrols, dropping hints towards the whispers passed around in the dark. You were more grateful than you knew how to express.

Glancing at the clock in the upper corner of the laptop screen, you groaned at the late hour. Perhaps it was time to finish for the night… Perhaps you could- You never got to end the thought as sudden feedback sound rang out in the study. Its whine made you startle, head snapping up in rapt attention at whatever would follow. That was familiar. A memory from what felt like ages ago. It took you another moment to catch up and recognise the song. The subtle strumming was almost indistinguishable. And then…

You got up before you knew what you were doing. Like a siren call leading sailors to their demise, the increasing volume of the music dragged you down the stairs. Once you got closer, you could hear him sing. Quietly, as if he never wanted anyone to have heard him, but still. His low, gravelly voice was enough to increase the cadence of your heartbeat and make you pick up the pace.

‘You're just like an angel

Your skin makes me cry

You float like a feather

In a beautiful world’

You knew the lyrics well enough to feel the familiar tension fill your chest when you reached the study and held your breath upon the sight.

‘I wish I was special

You're so fuckin' special’

Bruce had his back to you, the broad plane of his shoulders covered with a washed-out black t-shirt. Body hunched over the guitar. Without seeing his face, you knew that his eyes were closed. As the volume grew, his strumming got angrier. Dexterous fingers hit each note as they were supposed to. The pain in his voice perfected the picture and made you tighten your grip on the railing. It was terrifying to think about the song choice and what it meant. Whether it meant anything at all.

The longer you stayed, frozen by the sight, the more you knew you should have never given in to the pull. Because now you could not walk away. Not without talking to Bruce. Even if only just about the music. The longing got almost unbearable.

The guitar’s tone slowed; the riff returned to its gentle opening. Bringing the number to a close. Bruce’s voice turned smooth, rolling over your torn heart like a soothing balm. But only just so. Before you realised it, a solitary tear had rolled down your cheek. You whispered the closing lyrics alongside him:

‘What the hell am I doin' here?

I don't belong here

I don't belong here’

Bruce finished the song with a long exhale. For a moment, you contemplated running back up the stairs like you had never been there. But you could not move. Your mouth opened on its own accord:

“You’ve got a beautiful voice” you winced as Bruce flinched, his body tensing as he turned to face you with a shock evident on his face; still, you trudged on and added, “But that was a rather gloomy choice, don’t you think?” an unconvincing smile graced your face.

Because you knew Bruce would see beneath the mask. He would notice the drying tear on your cheek and the pain in your eyes. That one look would be enough for him to tear you apart.

“It felt accurate” Bruce shrugged, his façade drawn up and ready to hide all hints of emotion.

But you could see him look at you, gaze searching and assessing. Noticing everything there was to see. Like he always did. Unable to withstand eye contact much longer, you let your gaze roam as well. Slipping over his forearms and hands, still carefully holding the instrument. As if he expected you to leave so he could continue. But it was not that easy.

“If you’re a creep, then I’m a weirdo” you gathered enough courage to look back up at him, finding Bruce still gazing back; it was enough of an encouragement to make you drop the nonchalance, a veiled confession ready on your tongue “Kindred freaks and all,”

For the first time since he looked at you, you saw Bruce’s mask slip. A flash of surprise passed through his blue eyes and, then, something more tender. The aching chasm in your chest grew wider as you stepped down from the landing and took a step closer to him. The movement woke him up. Bruce took off the guitar strap from around his neck and placed the instrument back on the stand. Silence echoed in the vast room.

“I didn’t think you’d hear me play” when he raised his head again, part of that wall hiding him from you was gone.

In its place, you could see wary curiosity. As if Bruce did not expect to see you tonight or have this conversation. As if you caught him by surprise. For some reason, the idea settled with heavy guilt in your stomach. Because maybe you were trespassing, bothering him with your presence when he would rather be alone. You swallowed past the sudden lump in your throat and whispered:

“I’m sorry” your body had half made up its mind to turn around on your hell and march up the stairs.

Like you should have done when he finished the song. A goodbye was ready on your lips before Bruce spoke, making you freeze:

“Did you mean it?” the cautious tone arrested your attention.

As did the fleeting hope in his eyes. Gone so fast you assumed you had imagined it. Your heart skipped a beat as you understood what Bruce was asking. There was only one thing it could be. As if eager to spite you, your mind readily offered the memory. A sentence blurted out in a moment of passion. Your undoing, as it seemed. Heat filled your cheeks as you felt yourself shake. Panic took over; its job was simple – you couldn’t admit it. Not yet. Ideally never. So, you did what you do best.

“Mean what?” a confused smile was ready on your lips, masking the descending terror with a weak attempt at deflection, “The line just now? I-”

You should have known better. Bruce interrupted your pathetic one-woman play with a simple injection:

“You know what I mean” frustration rolled off him in waves, making him clench his hands into tight fists as Bruce stared at you with growing desperation.

Urging you to drop the act. But it was too late. The cold panic had settled, freezing you on the hardwood floors. Freezing your mind on that one thought – you couldn’t tell him. He can’t know.

“Bruce, I’ve no-” you tried again, without the foreign smile and bullshit nonchalance.

In your head, a pleading chorus was rising in volume. Drop it. Please drop it. But Bruce did not want to listen. He took a step closer, briefly reaching out his hand before letting fall back down. As if he wanted to touch you but soon realised that would not do.

“Please, just- Don’t lie to me” his voice broke on the last word, pain squeezing your heart like a vice; it only got worse when Bruce added, “I don’t think I can do this anymore” he glanced at you almost passively.

Almost as if he had not just crushed your heart in the palm of his hand with that one sentence. Cold fear rose in your throat as you took a step forward, voice wavering as you asked the only question you could:

“Do what?” even though you knew.

You could feel it in your bones. Bruce was done with this. With you. You could even guess why. And if that was it, the end, then you could not blame him, only yourself. A new wave of tears rose in your eyes as you waited for Bruce to cut the cord and end your suffering.

“This,” he vaguely waved his hand at the space between you before turning to pace the room, restless energy permeating every cell of his body, “It hurts too much to pretend. And- I mean, it’s pretty obvious. You must know by now” what? The question painted itself in the crease between your eyebrows as Bruce glanced at you with passion in his gaze, begging you to understand, “It’s not like I’m good at hiding it anyway” the following scoff was self-directed, as if Bruce was angry with his actions, or lack of them, as well.

But none of that explained what he meant. The bewilderment was evident on your face. You could tell Bruce saw it because he let out a long frustrated sigh. He stopped pacing, eyes trained on the floor as if taking part in a heated debate you were no part of. You reminded yourself to breathe, still frozen in your spot with no pointers towards where it was going. What was going to happen next. You opened and closed your mouth in a question that never quite came and went back to staring helplessly at Bruce. Fully aware of the pained look in your eyes and the shaking in your hands.

Later, you could pinpoint the moment he snapped. When the silence became too much to bear, and Bruce rushed in to fill it with words. More words than you had ever heard him say, unprompted. He walked back towards you, eyes wide and awake despite the late hour. But nothing you could see in his face warned you of what was coming:

“I know I’m new to this whole thing, but… I think I’m in love with you” oh. Oh. The breath hitched in your chest. The sincerity of his confession was the reason why you swayed on your feet, only just managing to grasp the railing before you fell at his feet – literary and figuratively; before you could process what Bruce had said and what it meant, he trudged on, seemingly unable to stop now that he began talking “Hell, I know I am, because nothing has ever torn me apart and put me back together all at once. No one else, but you” remembering to breathe, Bruce took a greedy inhale as his eyes met yours; the blue of his irises was set ablaze with that emotion you could never quite decipher. Until now, “I’m tired of pretending this is fine when it’s anything but. Nights like that last one are the worst because, for a moment, I get to feel what we could have, but then you- You leave, and it hurts twice as much because I know what I’m missing. What I’ll probably never have unless it’s with you” tears rolled down your cheeks as you stared, feeling the fear and love wage war in your heart. It was almost impossible to understand what was going on. And why the pain in his eyes only seemed to grow with each confession, the words dropping heavily onto the space between you, staining the floorboards with blood and despair. Yet still, Bruce’s next words slashed your heart anew, “And sometimes, I think… I think that maybe you’re the same” he looked at you again, the unasked question evident on his face.

A question you could not answer. The fear had won, claiming reign over your head and heart as you stared back. Still too frozen to move. Still unable to understand what had just happened. Bruce loved you. He was in love with you. He reciprocated, even though he did not know it. Fuck. All at once, you wanted to howl - be it from joy or pain, you could not decide. What now?

Your thoughts rushed a hundred miles per hour, spiralling and panicking. Worrying about every single what-if you could think of. All your mouth could form was a plea:

“Bruce, please- Don’t-” you did not even know what you were begging for.

Mercy, mostly. But with every second passing, you began to understand there was no way out of this. For better or for worse.

As if reading your feverish thoughts, Bruce closed the gap between you and reached out a careful hand, letting his fingers skim down the length of your forearm. Immediately, he had drawn attention to the chill you could feel settling in your bones as goosebumps followed his tentative touch. The sole-minded focus was still in his eyes:

“I swear I’ll leave you alone, detach myself from whatever is going on between us, if you’ll tell me I’m wrong” softening his voice a notch, Bruce searched your face, looking for the answers himself, “Tell me you don’t think of me like that and I’ll let it go. I promise” his hand clasped around yours, squeezing your palm as a reassurance that he meant it “Just tell me- Tell me you don’t love me” there, simple.

Or not so simple at all. A shudder went through your body as Bruce repeated the cursed word. Now it was entirely in your hands. The weight was resting on your shoulders, waiting for you to choose. For a second, you considered taking the way out that was still there. Faint and going against every promise you had made to yourself, but it still existed. You could deny everything, tell him he had it all wrong, lie and flee the scene with only the price of Bruce’s wounded heart on your conscience. But you couldn’t. Could not make yourself consider it beyond the basic set of assumptions and potentials.

Instead, you could only offer him an incomprehensible stutter, a collection of sounds paired with the colour draining from your face:

“I can’t- I-” the desire to run was still there, growing stronger with each second Bruce had spent staring at you.

He must have read it in your eyes for the moment you turned on your heel, body poised to run up the stairs, his arms were around you in a second. Caging you with your back pressed to his chest. Your shocked gasp was the only sound you could make.

“Don’t run away from me now,” Bruce’s plea was whispered right into your ear, making you shiver, “Please” only once you had the time to breathe, you noticed how lose his hold was; it would not take much to free yourself, should you want to “I’ve got you” the reassurance got through the white noise in your ears, making you relax.

Even if just by a fraction. You could feel the rise and fall of his breath at your back, the wisps of air across the back of your neck and cheek. One of his hands traced small circles on your arm, slowing your heart rate to a manageable pace. That was it. You couldn’t run from it anymore. You took a deep breath before you spoke:

“I’m so scared,” the admission was easy enough to utter.

A fragment of truth you owed Bruce. The reason for everything, as he would come to understand very soon. His embrace tightened slightly as he pressed a fleeting kiss to the crown of your head. It was almost enough to quieten the panic.

“I know, my love. Trust me. I know” the gratitude at his understanding was quickly overshadowed by the nickname he used.

The heart stuttered in your chest, unable to process it. My love. Two words that had never been aimed at you; have never related to you. A term of endearment you had come to envy in the quiet of your heart, yearning for something you never expected to have. But here it was, within your reach. If only you were brave enough to take it.

You closed your eyes, willing the courage to fill your veins as you pressed your back to Bruce’s chest. He wouldn’t hurt you. The statement filled your head like a mantra as you slowly forced more words out:

“You see me. The real me and it’s scary because what if you come to hate me? I don’t think I could survive that” it all came out in a rush of breath, leaving you gasping.

But it was out there. The truth for Bruce to hear and take in. The bravery was draining the energy from your body as you waited for a reply, a comment – anything at all. Anything to show you he understood.

He did not disappoint, offering you another gentle squeeze before speaking:

“I could never hate you” the certainty in Bruce’s voice was what you later considered as the thing that tipped the scales.

Because, for once, you pushed against the denial and believed him. After all, Bruce was the one with more to lose. The first to reach out. To come clean before you. Goddamn it, if he was brave enough, maybe you could be too… Maybe.

Cold shivers ran through your body as you tried to give voice to the words that had been choking you for days. If not weeks. You never thought to keep track and were too busy keeping them in. Despite everything. Perhaps there was no better time than now.

You squeezed Bruce’s hand to assure him you were not running away and turned in the embrace. It was better that way. Proper. You met his boundless gaze, now filled only with hope and the feeling you had recognised as the love he spoke of. It was enough. With a shaking voice, you released the confession from the prison you had made for it:

“Christ, I- I- I love you” the words came out wavered, and your breath stuttered with each syllable, but the light in his eyes was a reason to go on, “So fucking much it kills me” now that you started, the admissions did not seem to stop, slipping through your lips in a steady stream, slowly gaining speed “I’ve no idea when it happened, only that now you’re all I can think about. Every day, I go crazy because of you. Because I want you so much, I don’t know what to do with all those feelings. Sometimes it feels as though they’re going to tear my heart apart” running out of steam, you swallowed hard against the sudden dryness in your throat; it felt like a fraction of the weight had been lifted, now drowning in the blue gaze that did not stray away from your face. There was one last thing to add, a conclusion stating the obvious “But I’m still afraid,” the cursed punchline you did not seem able to shake off.

Only now, once the words were out, you allowed yourself to look back at Bruce. His shy smile acted like a magnet, drawing out your helpless twist of mouth. Your eyes followed the line of his nose (slightly crooked to the right) up to his eyes. Instantly drowning within the depths of blue irises filled with affection. Almost as if what you revealed did not change anything for him. As if, somehow, it would be alright. He would try rather than run away from you and your complex feelings no one seemed to fully comprehend. Not even you yourself. Too lost in his eyes, you only noticed he had reached up to touch you when you felt the gentle thumb brushing over the apple of your cheek. Caressing your skin and quelling the worries.

“Of what?” Bruce’s simple question acted like the needed push in the right direction.

A reason to put into words and label what you never dwelled on. But now, you had no choice but to piece it apart. Even if only because Bruce deserved it from you. He earned an attempt at trying from you. Because, when faced with the reality that he felt the same, you knew you could not deny it anymore. It was terrifying. And oh, so hopeful. You let the feelings in his eyes anchor you in the moment as you spoke:

“That you’re going to leave. Or something takes you away from me” you could see the recognition pass through his face, making the addition nearly redundant “I don’t have a great track record with love” still, the sad scoff could not be kept in.

There was something freeing in seeing the knowing look on Bruce’s face. In knowing that he understood the feeling, perhaps better than anyone else ever could. That, no matter what happened next, you were placing your heart in the palm of someone who gets it. That you had fallen for that same boy you felt a kinship with days after your childhood ended. It was almost poetic.

“I don’t plan on leaving” when Bruce gave voice to the affirmation, you wanted to believe him.

Because he said it before. Every time you let your insecurities win. You clenched your teeth against the denial bubbling beneath the surface and asked a question:

“Why?” hoping he would know what you meant.

It was the only way you knew of asking him why you were the one to make him care. Why you? Bruce only smiled in response, leaning in to kiss your forehead before effortlessly meeting your gaze and baring his heart. Again.

“Because you’re incredible, beautiful, smart, and you see me. You see Bruce Wayne where everybody else sees a symbol, an idea of who I am” the sincerity of his words made your heart seem too big for your chest, each beat threatening to be the one that would make it implode, “Only you see me as I am” as did the gratitude and love in his gaze.

Showing you that the feeling was mutual. You saw Bruce just as he saw you. Like no one else did. The discovery was enough to make you sure – it was worth it.

Aware of the likely sparks in your eyes and the foolishly lovesick look on your face, you cleared your throat and whispered a question:

“Can I kiss you?” you did not know why it felt necessary to ask when you never did before.

When it was probably a given, considering everything he just said. The only thing you were sure of was that you had to let him know. Had to show how much it meant to hear him say it.

Bruce’s fond smile was an answer enough, but he still brushed away your concerns.

“You don’t have to ask” leaning in, he nudged your nose with his and waited for your decisive move.

After all, it was you who had asked. Getting onto your tiptoes, you returned the playful nudge and placed your hands on his shoulders. From then on, everything was a reflex and acting on well-practised instincts. Your eyes closed as you leaned in, slotting your lips over his in a tender kiss. Bruce responded immediately, tightening his hold over your waist and opening his mouth underneath your tentative tongue. The kiss quickly turned heated, drawing out a muffled gasp from your throat and a half-stifled whine from his. Your fingers tangled in the hair on the nape of his neck as you gently sank your teeth into his bottom lip. Enough so to make Bruce groan and pull you closer.

That long-buried, sentimental part of your brain could tell this kiss tasted different. More carefree, unrestrained. Nothing stopped you from tracing the confessions on his skin as your tongue whispered words only Bruce could hear. You did not think anyone ever kissed you quite like that. Like it was the only thing he wanted to do until the end of time. Like the time spent caressing your lips and body was his holy ritual and never a waste of time. Like it mattered enough to be something Bruce devoted his attention to. Until you broke the contact to catch a breath, you were only his, and he was yours. Then, as your eyes met again, wearing matching infatuated looks, the kiss became a promise of more to come. You noted his blushing cheeks and offered a remark:

“I like what you called me, by the way” from the way Bruce’s eyes lit up instantly, you knew it was no slip of the tongue.

Even more so, it was a reason for your heart to beat faster. He meant it.

“My love?” his gaze traced the movement of your tongue, licking your drying lips.

And collecting the remains of the taste of his kiss. A pleasant shiver ran through your body as Bruce repeated the endearment. You could get used to it.

“Yeah, that’s new” you nodded, not even trying to school your features and erase the hope blooming there.

Bruce smiled, drawing out a gasp from your lips as his fingers crept beneath your shirt, lightly touching the skin on your waist. It almost distracted you from his next words.

“It can stay if you want,” without needing Bruce to elaborate, you knew what it meant; the feeling only grew stronger as he added, “If you’ll stay,” a meaningful pause signing off the conditional.

If. You still had a choice. At least, Bruce seemed to think so. What he did not know was that you had already decided. Or that your heart has chosen for you. There was no alternative there. But the slightest bit of uncertainty in his eyes told you he needed an answer:

“I’ll try to” the honest reply was a perfect opening for another question, one that you had been holding back for a while, “Are you mine?”

It was the final assurance you needed from Bruce if only to convince your head it was safe to give him your heart, body, and soul. For as long as he was willing to have them. For as long as he would have you.

Bruce used his unoccupied hand to squeeze your palm as he lowered his head to catch your eye. You had no doubt he caught the nerves lurking there; impossible to be exiled entirely. Unknowingly, you held your breath, waiting for his answer as if the world depended on it.

“If you’re mine,” Bruce’s reply was simple, bringing out your chuckle at the banter you had fallen into.

The joy was reciprocated, too, if the creases at the corners of his eyes were anything to go by. Not for the first time since you had met, you had been struck by a thought, a recognition that he was beautiful. The sharp features and striking eyes always pulled you in and made it impossible to look away. To stray your eyes from his. To find anyone else worth looking at. At this moment, in the dark gothic study, lit up only by the fireplace and the lamp, you knew it was always a lost cause. You had lost a long time ago.

Instead of replying, you kissed him quickly, relishing in the sharp gasp you got in return. When you parted, an answer was easy to conjure:

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only one willing to put up with this” upon Bruce’s questioning look, you motioned at the meagre space between you, highlighting the truth he might have missed.

That there was no competition there. Only Bruce was willing to endure you for this long and in this way. He was the only one wanting your love and loving you back. You were not quite ready to piece apart why (or how) that could be.

“I’ve always been told I’m relentless” the cheeky uptick of Bruce’s mouth was a hypnotizing sight.

You did not miss the telling glimmer in his eye or the smooth move which resulted in your body being pulled closer to his. Almost flush against his chest. It was impossible to deny your brain’s desire to offer you a recap of every moment you had shared which had begun in that way. And to stifle the shiver and the knowledge that, if the universe were gracious, you would have many more coming. The reminder was enough to make you smile and return the playful smirk:

“Good for me” struck with sudden weariness and feeling the rapidly dropping adrenaline, you tugged Bruce’s hand and wordlessly led him towards the sofa; only once you had fallen onto the cushions with a sigh and curled up next to him, you asked the question “What happens now?”

You knew Bruce would get what you meant. He always did.

You felt him shift, one arm coming up to rest around your shoulders, drawing you closer. The other hand was placed on your knee, providing gentle warmth and helping you stay present with him. It was almost too easy to let go and fall back on his constant support to keep you grounded. The doubts were still there, rising and falling like the natural ebb and flow of the tide, lapping at the edges of your conscience. You suspected they would probably always be there, somewhere. Ready to take over at the tiniest chance of something going wrong. The best you could do was hope that would never happen.

As if sensing your mental chatter getting louder, Bruce leaned in to leave a trail of kisses on the shell of your ear and nuzzled your temple. The resulting sigh was effortless on your part. As always.

“We try not to fuck it up” he had his answer ready, eyes trained on you and waiting for whatever might come up.

You had to admit it sounded simple. Almost doable. But…

“And if we do?” you turned to catch his eyes with what you knew to be a wild gaze.

You needed Bruce to say it. To promise he would fight for whatever you were to become. It had to work. Please. You already knew you would be willing to sacrifice a lot for this fragile thing between you. It was already a fact.

A fact Bruce could undoubtedly see in your gaze, for the confidence bled into his voice as he replied:

“Then we’ll try harder” he grabbed your hand, which restlessly picked at the loose thread on the hem of your shirt and squeezed it.

On a reflex, you threaded your fingers through his and pressed your palms together. You had no choice but to trust him. To do the unimaginable and place your heart in his hands, surrendering control in the process. You swallowed past the fear in your throat and pressed your mouth to the corner of his lips. It felt like an apt conclusion to the conversation long overdue.

A little later, once another kiss had ended, and a new one had not yet begun, you raised your head from its comfortable placement on Bruce’s shoulder and fixed your gaze on the black and white guitar resting on its stand. An in-direct reason you had the conversation in the first place. You briefly contemplated sending a thank-you letter to the manufacturer but were struck with a better idea.

“Bruce?” taking pleasure in how his name rolled off your tongue, you marvelled at the rare peacefulness of the moment.

There was nowhere else to be, nothing else to do. Nothing, but feeling the low rumble of his voice as Bruce hummed.

“Mm?” he kept tracing letters onto the skin of your arm, leaving you to guess their meaning on your own.

Sometimes you were willing to bet he was repeating the confessions he just spoke of. The thought drew an involuntary smile onto your face.

“Play me something” you met his gaze with that same affectionate look in your eyes.

There was no need to specify the request - you knew Bruce would choose well. He only grinned at you in response and disentangled from your embrace to stand up and pick up the instrument. You watched his forearms flex, tendons dancing beneath the pale skin as Bruce placed the strap around his neck and bowed over the guitar. His eyes closed in concentration, but he was not tense. It was a far cry from how you found him over an hour before.

With a breath trapped in your chest, you awaited the first notes. When he began the rhythmic strumming, a fond chuckle escaped your lips. You had to admit Bruce was nothing, if not predictable. Humming the chorus alongside him, you met his questioning gaze. You smiled, mouthing the words that were no longer forbidden. Love you. Sweetheart.

“Something in the way, huh?” the laugh spilling through the gaps between the vowels.

“What? You did not specify” teasing edge you would have never even imagined becoming so accustomed to.

“I knew I didn’t have to,” and then, just to see him roll his eyes with that enamoured exasperation “Babe,”

#the batman #the batman 2022 #the batman x reader #the batman x y/n #the batman x you #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson x y/n #robert pattinson!batman x reader #robert pattinson!bruce wayne x reader #battinson #battinson x you #battinson x reader #battinson fic #battinson x female reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #batman x you #batman x fem!reader #batman x y/n #waiting for the night

[moonlight-prose]

My thought is simply a pussy drunk Bruce Wayne 🥰 I think it would be good for him (imagine him still with the makeup on too, oof)

◇◆ ── DREAM GIRL EVIL

a/n: okay but i literally couldn't stop myself from not writing this as a drabble. and you had to send THAT gif which just made the whore in me jump out. this is purely filth with a sprinkling, barely a dash, of feelings and i've set it in the blood along the mood universe. it's not edited in the slightest.

word count: 1k+

pairing: bruce wayne x fem!reader

warnings: explicit so MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, cussing, angst cause it's emo bruce, oral (f receiving), masturbation, hair pulling, biting, cum eating.

Words would have been good at a time like this. Fuck, they would have better before now, but they were stuck in the back of your throat—trapped as he continued to take you apart piece by piece. You were as much of a puzzle to him as he was to you and this was his time to finally solve you. You were almost embarrassed how quickly he managed to render you incapacitated—the sounds coming from you garbled the longer he kept going.

But there was no room for that small inkling of shame to last. Now when he was practically sucking it out of you.

“Bruce,” you whimpered pathetically, eyes rolling back when he gripped your thighs that hung loosely over his shoulders.

You were a journalist for fucks sake. Words were your life, your career, and somehow they were gone from your repertoire of skills as you were reduced to nothing but a whimpering mess of limbs. His fingers dug into your skin, blunt nails cutting into you, but that spark of pain only added to the sensations. They piled on top of one another, shoving the air out of your lungs as he just kept going.

Heat burned through your veins—the sound of him lapping up your slick audible in your already small bedroom. He was enjoying this. That’s what shoved right to the edge of another orgasm that would no doubt rip the remaining energy from your body. He sucked your clit into his mouth, scraping his teeth against it and watched your back bow off the bed. A cry of his name bouncing off the walls. You weren’t sure how much longer you would last, how much you could take, but if there’s one thing you knew about Bruce Wayne…he was determined.

“I—fuck—I’m going to come,” you stuttered, hands shoving into his already mussed hair.

“Good,” he mumbled. His voice sounded strange…off.

You made the mistake of looking down and found him staring at you, a glazed look in his eyes as he continued his ministrations. The black paint around his striking blue eyes only helped to enhance them even more and for a moment you forgot he was eating you out like you were his last meal. For a moment you were simply staring at the man you loved. Except then you saw it. The subtle move of his arm shifting and you focused entirely on what he was doing—your heart freezing in your chest when the realization dawned on you.

He was fucking his fist as he went down on you.

The sounds of his wet hand wrapped around his cock suddenly became louder the moment you figured it out. Gasping, you felt your walls clench down, suddenly reminded of how empty you were, but his tongue running over your slit—gathering up your slick—left you breathless. You yanked on his hair, falling back onto the bed while your hips rolled forwards until you were practically fucking his face. Only he didn’t mind at all. In fact, he acted like he wouldn’t be able to live until you came into his mouth again.

Groaning, his eyes fluttered shut as he shoved his tongue inside of you, hand working himself over even faster—the need to come building up in both your bodies. He was lost in you; desperate for everything you could give him and more. When it came to Bruce there was always more. After years of depriving himself of touch, turning away from the sensitivity of loving someone, you found that he wouldn’t stop until you said you were done.

“Oh fuck,” you panted, pulling at his hair even harder. “I’m going to—”

He cut you off.

Wrapping his lips around your clit he sucked it into his mouth like candy, eyes focused on you as your legs clamped around his head nearly suffocating him. The building pleasure snapped and you sobbed out something you figured was his name. It was too much. Your nerves were set on fire, vision going white, but he continued to lick at you. Until the bottom half of his face was shiny and slick with your cum. His eyes shut, a broken moan tearing from him, his tongue running from your entrance all to the way to your clit to keep your orgasm going.

It wasn’t until you yanked his head away did he stop.

His hand pumped himself faster, his teeth digging into his bottom lip and you dragged him up your naked body, locking his lips with yours. The taste of you was spread on your tongue as you licked into his mouth. It had a shiver running down your spine the more you kissed him, sucking his tongue into your mouth and biting sharply on his lip.

“Are you going to come for me?” you cooed, eyes fluttering open to see his cock red and leaking over his fist that looked to be covered in…you.

He spread your slick over his cock before touching himself. You felt your swollen clit throb the longer you watched him try to bring himself to completion. Reaching down you cupped his balls, watching his eyes roll back and the vein on his throat stand prominent against his pale skin. He didn’t even take off the suit before he was dragging you to the edge of the bed—his cock pulled out haphazardly.

“Do you want to come?”

He nodded, whining out your name. “Please—”

Squeezing him, his hips bucked into you, the wet sounds of him fucking his fist faster now echoing around you. “Come for me Bruce,” you breathed, sucking his lip into your mouth. “Come on me.”

A broken shout hit your ears as you watched his balls draw up, body tensing, and he finally let go. The warmth of his release hit the soft skin of your belly and you took control when he let go to grip tightly at your hip—pumping his cock rapidly as he spilled over your fist. You’d always say the hottest thing you had the chance to witness in your life was watching Bruce come and this only solidified that statement in your head. He looked ethereal—the broken parts of his walls now falling around him with every stroke of your palm.

“There we go,” you whispered, smiling sweetly at him when his eyes finally opened. “You’re so pretty Wayne.”

His cheeks turned red, eyes shutting when his cock twitched in your palm. “Menace,” he grunted, thrusting his hips one last time.

Laughing, you brought your hand up to your mouth, licking it clean and humming at the taste of him. He watched in disbelief.

“You taste delicious.” Bruce didn’t know how to take compliments. Which only made you layer them on even more, enjoying the sight of his brain short circuiting whenever you got the chance.

Rather than let you continue, he shoved his lips on yours, licking deeply into your mouth and groaning at the taste of both of you combined. Neither of you would get used to it. The dizzying high of being together. But you couldn’t complain. Not when he looked at you like he would happily suffocate between your legs, getting drunk on the taste of you.

#bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne smut #bruce wayne #the batman x reader #the batman smut #the batman x you #the batman x fem!reader #the batman x y/n #the batmn #bruce wayne x reader #my writing

[madwomansapologist]

Bruce Wayne meeting you would include

Masterlist | Taglist | Library | More Bruce Wayne | AO3

synopsis: When a new journalist moves to Gotham City (and by choice, can you believe that?), Bruce Wayne discovers that he isn't prepared to overcome everything and everyone.

warnings: fluff. grumpy x sunshine. optimistic reader. being a hostage in a bank robbery. threats of murder. fighting. no one dies cuz he is Batman duh.

note: basically, I love him so much that I took the reader-insert and turn it into a author-insert by making the reader a journalist :D

• Who, in full conscience and access to information, would choose to live in Gotham City? Well, you did. There were many reasons for you to not leave your old life behind and move to Gotham (the majority of them involving violence and death), but you also had so many reasons to forget about all that and at least try.

• You have a reputation in the journalistic world, and the Gotham Broadcasting Company has expresed interest in having you as announcer and columnist. And it turns out that Gotham is spending a lot of money into convincing people with degrees to stay there. Is not like you would be rich or anything near that, but it would be easier than in your hometown.

• Also, its not like the place you lived before was that good. You found a really great job that actually pays well, a great apartment that costs quite the same as your old one, and maybe there you could do something good. Thats why you chose this job: to spread knowlegde is to change peoples lifes. And in a city with such a bad political environment, anyone with good intentions will make a difference.

• Like Batman. Not that you think of yourself as someone as great as Batman, but you can't help yourself from daydreaming. Batman is there, making more good things than half of the elected politicians, and for what? He is not gaining money, or fame, or status. No one knows who he is. He is just helping because he can.

• Would he agree to be interviewed if you was a hostage in a bank robbery? A bank robbery happens at least once a week, so maybe...

• What you didn't expect was that, well, it would work. Not that you really was a hostage just to get a interview with Batman, you were just trying to solve a problem with your bank manager and then one person screamed to everyone to lay on the floor and one thing lead to another and suddenly you were a hostage.

• The only thing everyone need to do was to lay down in silence but what did a women just did? Yes, she runaway. While crying. Really loud. Obviously it wouldn't work, but it did start a clutter. You felt one of the thieves lifting you by your hair and demanding to everyone to shut up or they would start killing people.

• And then Batman came in. And he was... wow. He jumped into the bank by a windown, crushing a thief and fighting with two others near. The man holding you started to walk backwards, yelling something to his gang. They did fought back but who would win against Batman? When remained just the man holding you and Batman, he did threatened to kill you. But with just one move Batman threw his bat shapped blade and the thief fell back, already unconscious.

• You would have fallen to the ground if it wasn't for him. You may be dead if it wasnt for him. Batman was more than just a guy with a mask. He was a hero. Your hero. And when he asked you, with that rough and deep voice that chills you to the bones, if you were hurt... of course you said the only thing that no one with a good mental health would say.

• "Are you interested in giving an interview to Gotham Broadcasting Company?"

• Bruce Wayne is prepared to everything and everyone. He is ready to defeat any hero or villain. He knows how to use all kinds of weapons, and how to transform anything into a weapon. Bruce knows all types of combat styles, is polyglot and is can manage his family enterprises. And yet, that took him by surprise.

• Batman didn't answer you, not with words at least. Because that night, trying to sleep but failing miserably, you could still hear his laugh. And it was enough. At least by now.

• If only you could imagine that, at same time you were hearing his surprised laugh on your bedroom filled with moving boxes, Bruce Wayne was thinking about giving an interview to Gotham Broadcasting Company.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

#madwomansapologist #dc comics x reader #dc imagine #dc comics #dc comics x you #dc comics x y/n #batman #the batman #batman imagine #the batman imagine #batman x reader #batman x you #batman x y/n #the batman x reader #the batman x y/n #the batman x you #bruce wayne #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x y/n

[demigoddessqueens]

tea 🍵 and sugar 💋 💕

Just a little multi-fandom headcanon combo from some of my favorites.

lemon tea - what are mornings like with them?

Mornings with Alucard are an intimate setting, with a hearty homemade breakfast for you and a sweet morning kiss as well

peppermint tea - what do they get excited about?

Ezio Auditore de Firenze finds the excitement in many things in life, but a new place to meet secretly 😉 with you always gets his heart racing

chamomile tea - what is their sleep schedule like? does it change around their s/o?

Sleep does not exist for Bruce Wayne/The Batman as he goes out at crazy late hours to patrol Gotham, but if he does meet you, good luck trying to get him into bed. And staying for a good night’s rest (and cuddles)

earl grey tea - how did they court their s/o?

Who would thought fighting monsters would be the easiest way to woo you? At least that’s what Trevor Belmont thought when you still looked at him lovingly, even scuffed up

milk tea - what are their kisses like?

Xander’s kisses start off tentative, but as he grows more comfortable with you, it’s pouring every living feeling he has

coffee - do they get jealous easily? how do they show it?

Jacob Frye, Vax’ildan, and Dimitri were not raised to be jealous men but that still won’t stop them from side eyeing someone, or pulling you close, if a stranger gets too chummy

rosehip tea - how romantic are they? how do they show affection?

Jester has picked up more than her fair share of tips from the romance novels she adores

black tea - what do they look for in a person?

Hector and Isaac seek a kindred soul that just accepts them, a hand reaching out to them in companionship 💕

pomegranate tea - at what point did they know they loved their s/o?

You would occasionally go out on patrols with Ms. Selina Kyle, and the one time you take a hit for her is when she realizes that you’ve always made sure to put her first

matcha tea - how and when do they propose to their s/o?

Fjord and you were help fighting off a rogue pirate band, and you both knew your feelings and just ran with it. Cue to the rest of the Nein honorarily marrying you both on the high seas

Inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean

chai tea - how do they spice up their relationship?

Given that Claude has a knack for keeping his cards close to him, I could easily seeing him getting into role playing

hibiscus tea - what’s their favourite place to take their s/o?

Percy likes to walk arm in arm with you in Whitestone’s garden

green tea - how do they comfort their s/o? 

Dorian likes to hold you close, and let you ramble on if something’s on your mind.

russian caravan tea - how experienced are they with relationships?

Hubert was always dedicated to his work and never set much time aside for himself, so it would be rare of him to have had a past relationship

I was today years old when I realized Hubert and Dorian are the same VA 😆

english breakfast tea - would they want a family?

Sypha and Arno Victor Dorian would appreciate (and adore) the idea of creating a family of their own, to have a small one that bears their likeness

rooibos tea; what’s their favourite thing to do with their s/o?

When there’s some downtime, Greta appreciates picking flowers and enjoying a small nature stroll or a nap.

#critical role #headcanons #castlevania #fire emblem #assassin’s creed #writing tea prompts #the batman #critical role x y/n #critical role x you #critical role x reader #alucard castlevania x reader #assassin’s creed x reader #the batman x y/n #the batman x reader #the batman x you #fire emblem x reader #battinson x y/n #battinson x you #battinson x reader #castlevania x reader #the mighty nein x reader #bell’s hells #exu kymal #jacob frye x reader #dimitri alexandre blaidydd x reader #percy de rolo x reader #vax’ildan x y/n #vax’ildan vessar #trevor belmont x reader #ezio x reader

[hederasgarden]

Mistakes Were Made - Part 1

Summary: When you take the job as Bruce Wayne’s publicist, you’re prepared for some surprises but finding out he’s Batman isn’t one of them. The good news is you’re not fired. The bad news? Batman definitely needs some PR help.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne (The Batman) x F!Reader

Rating: Gen. Humor with a brief scene with threatened violence. Future chapters will include mature themes. 

Word Count: 1.6K

When you take the job as Bruce Wayne’s publicist, you’re prepared for some weirdness. Your time in LA working for out-of-touch celebrities and eccentric silicon valley types taught you to expect that much. Rich people, regardless of their occupation, weren’t normal. You’ve been screamed at, berated and even had a chair thrown at you once by a very intoxicated B-List celebrity client but still, nothing prepared you for the sheer awkwardness of every interaction with Bruce Wayne.

It’s hard to tell if he’s just painfully shy or actually nonverbal. Alfred does most of the talking when you first arrive at the manor and it’s apparent this wasn’t Bruce’s idea. Or if it is, he’s strongly regretting it. But you power through, talking enough for the both of you. The first time he does speak, it's a simple 'no' at your request for him to attend the Halloween-themed fundraiser for a children's charity. He ends up writing a nine-figure check that you yourself deliver and issue a press release about.

You’re slowly learning to navigate the different types of silences and minute changes in his facial expressions to understand what he wants. A lip twitch is a good sign but that little deep furrow that appears in his brow means he has concerns. Awkward silences punctuated by a sigh indicates he’ll go but the worst by far is how he stares at you, not quite making eye contact but fixating on a point just above your shoulder as you ramble through why he needs to attend certain events. Your crowning achievement was the one time he looked you in the eye for a second and grunted.

Now, four months later, he does speak to you… mostly in short, stunted sentences. Today you’re working on getting him onboard with a visit to benefit a children's hospital. It’ll be great press and make the board happy.

“I’ll have a makeup artist on stand by,” you tell Bruce, typing away at your MacBook. “In case you make another visit to your super secret fight club the day before.”

You have no idea what crazy rich person hobby Bruce has that leaves his face scraped up on occasion but you know he can’t attend the Children’s Cancer benefit with a shiner. It’s your own little joke, coming up with new and inventive activities to explain his injuries. Last week you asked how his spelunking adventure went. That earned you a longer stare than usual.

When you glance up Bruce is watching you, head cocked to the side. You fidget under his look but after a tortuous minute the skin around his eyes crinkle and you relax.

“An hour?” He questions.

“Two and you have to do a photo op with the mayor.”

“No photos.”

“An hour and two photos. One with the mayor and another with some kids,” you counter. It’s like arguing about naps and screen times with your nephew except Bruce is infinitely more grumpy.

When Bruce stands and purses his lips you know you’ve won. Internally you give yourself a high five, externally you stare at the computer and wait until you feel the heavy drag of his eyes finally leave you.

“Well done,” Alfred praises, appearing out of the shadows like Batman himself. You flinch and his expression softens in apology. He and Bruce have a habit of appearing seemingly out of nowhere from the endless supply of shadowy nooks in the manor. At least you’ve learned not to yelp. That was embarrassing the first time it happened. The second time you’d thrown your scalding cup of coffee on Bruce. In typical Wayne fashion he didn’t react but did kindly help you up off the floor.

“Honestly I’d have been happy with just 30 minutes and a single photo. But don’t tell him that,” you warn.

“I’m good at keeping secrets,” Alfred assures you. “I was about to set out some afternoon tea. Will you join me?”

“Yes. Will there be little sandwiches?” You ask hopefully.

“Yes, and scones.”

“You’re my favorite person, Alfred,” you praise before setting down your phone to look at him consideringly. “You gonna get mad if I ask for coffee again?”

“The tea will be served in 10 minutes,” Alfred replies.

“Tea it is,” you whisper to yourself.

✥

It’s 9 pm on Friday and you’re exhausted. Not even comfy PJs and a chilled bottle of white wine can wash away the intense week you’ve had. If it weren’t for your standing phone call with your best friend on the west coast you’d have been in bed already. You look forward to these talks. She always patiently listens to you complain about your job and Bruce.

“The man is the walking embodiment of My Chemical Romance in a $10,000 suit,” you tell your friend, phone cradled between your ear and shoulder as you heat up the leftover pasta. “Except he probably doesn’t listen to emo music. Honestly, he probably sits alone in silence,” you continue. Your calico kitty twines between your legs and you scratch behind her ears absently.

“Have you seen Batman yet?” Your friend questions, clearly uninterested in the reclusive billionaire of Gotham.

“No. I’m half convinced he’s some elaborate prank Gotham is playing on the rest of the world. What sane person dresses up like a freaking bat and fights crime?”

“He’s hot though, you gotta admit.”

“Oh yes, the three inches of his face you can see in costume are practically panty-melting.”

“It’s about what you can’t see,” your friend insists suggestively. “Listen, the suit fucks. God, why doesn't LA have a caped crusader?”

“If you want to see a crazy person in a superhero costume you can hit up Disneyland. Or downtown LA.”

“Ugh, the east coast has made you boring,” she laments. "How’s the dating scene there?”

“Wouldn’t know. Bruce Wayne is my full-time job right now.”

“Just promise me you’re going to get out and have some fun. All you did in LA was work. At least download Hinge and give it a try. Sex is a fantastic way to blow off some steam.”

“I’m hanging up now,” you warn your friend.

“You know I’m right,” she singsongs. “Anyway, did I tell you what happened to James?” She questions, launching into some crazy story about her latest date.

Later you’ll blame it on the wine, but after you get off the phone with her you download Hinge and set up a profile. What’s the worst that could happen? You go on a boring date and then delete the app?

✥

As it turns out, a boring date is the least of your problems.

Dinner is uneventful and its own brand of excruciating as you listen to Brad talk about himself and how he's got platinum status on American Airlines -whatever that means. You let him walk you to the subway station, even as he tries to pressure you into letting him give you a ride home. You know what the offer will cost you and you’re not interested in listening to him talk anymore about himself or cryptocurrency.

Brad keeps trying to rest a hand on your lower back and you’re so preoccupied trying to sidestep the touch you don’t realize the two men walking towards you are trouble. They brandish a knife and demand money. You freeze, too surprised to give up your purse but when one of them reaches for it you step back automatically, moving the purse out of his grasp. Your heel catches on the subway grate and you land on your ass hard enough to make you grunt in pain.

“Hand it over, bitch,” he snarls, lunging forward but before he can reach you a black blur appears and suddenly both men are on the floor, groaning. One stands up but gets knocked down immediately. The other tries to stab who you now realize is freaking Batman in the leg. The knife breaks off and Batman kicks him hard in the jaw, knocking him out.

You continue to stare as Gotham’s caped crusader makes quick work tying up both men. He turns towards you, offering his hand. He pulls you up easily and you teeter on your heels, steadying yourself with a hand against his chest. Whatever material his suit is made out of is hard and cold. You rip your hand back embarrassed.

“Are you ok?” He asks gruffly, staring intently at you.

“Peachy,” you reply automatically, almost wanting to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “I mean, uh, I’m fine.”

“You shouldn’t have tried to fight, you could have gotten hurt,” he chastises.

Maybe it’s the spectacularly bad date or the adrenaline of almost getting robbed but you find yourself stabbing your index finger into his chest plate, more than a little angry.  "I'm from LA. I can handle myself," you tell him. “Plus I really like this purse.”

The Batman growls. "Nothing is worth your life." He continues to stare at you, intense and brooding in a way that’s oddly familiar. “Things can be replaced, people can’t.”

There’s something in his voice, a strange undercurrent of emotion so at odds with his demeanor that you feel the fight go right out of you.

"That’s… fair. Um, thank you for your help. I kinda thought maybe you were an urban legend. Like bigfoot or the Loch Ness monster if he wore the smokey eye look,” you continue.

There's a brief twitch of his lip but otherwise no reaction.

"The police are on their way. Stay out of trouble," he warns gruffly before disappearing in a swirl of black fabric.

"Well, that was cool. Met the Batman." You turn to your date only to find him looking wide-eyed and terrified.

He shakes his head and promptly vomits on the concrete. You awkwardly pat him on the back. At least you could tell your friend you met Batman.

✥

Part 2 can be found here.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne #the batman x reader #the batman x you #the batman fanfic #bruce wayne fanfiction