#batman 2022 fanfic

[readsandbreeds]

A Tipping of the Scales

ao3 link ao3 profile ship: batcat (reeves verse) warnings: none, smut 18+ word count: 10.2k

Selina Kyle didn’t believe in fairytales. Fables? Sure. Cautionary tales and Bible stories were more up her alley. After all, she had walked into her former kingdom, the prodigal daughter returning to slay Goliath and steal his crown. But the Bat had stopped her, stolen her vengeance, just like he had stolen himself away from her. 

Bludhaven was far more boring than she had expected. Despite housing the summer homes of the rich hedge fund types that she intended to knock down a peg, there were only so many jewels she could steal and resell. It didn’t bring her nearly the same amount of satisfaction as the Bat chasing her. Cat and mouse was the name of her game, or in this case, the cat and the bat. 

She often daydreamed about that night in Mitchell’s house, him holding her against the wall, his hand slapped over her mouth. The smothering of his arms was satisfying, and although she hated to admit it, those thoughts eventually raced into her head as she slept. 

That’s what had her returning to Gotham, and while she hated herself for being attention seeking, she couldn’t help herself. Something from the streets of Gotham would feel better than the empty loneliness she felt upstate. Even the strays she had found couldn’t fill the danger shaped hole in her heart. 

Her first break in was a testament to her roots. Lowering herself precariously through a skylight on her trusty rope, she landed almost soundlessly on her feet into the home of one Harvey Dent. While he took over Coulson’s role as DA, Selina was more than sure he was just as corrupt as his predecessor. A few stolen items would be the perfect welcome to his new position. 

It started with paintings. Forgeries of Rembrandts that were so close in detail that even curators couldn’t tell the difference. Somehow Dent never noticed, or maybe he didn’t even bother to check. She did replace the paintings, she wasn’t completely heartless. But… they were a tad explicit to say the least. Nudes of renaissance women were now completely scattered across the DA’s house. Maybe his coworkers would recognize him as a man with good taste. Or at least think he had a humorous interior designer. 

This was her third time hitting Dent’s house. He was new in town so to speak, so his security protocols were nowhere near as intense as someone like Bruce Wayne. Sometimes easy options are the best way to get back into an old trade, and if she had to fish for minnows, she was more than willing to do so.

But the Bat caught up, something that both scared and thrilled Selina. Yes, he played into her hand, but she doubted he would chase after her so soon. Maybe it said something about both of them. Her desperation for him to arrive, his desperation for her to slip up. 

“I didn’t think you’d stoop this low,” he said, revealing himself from the shadows of Dent’s dining room. 

“Had to tell you I was back in town somehow,” Selina replied coolly. “Besides, a stolen inheritance only lasts for so long.” 

“Then work with me again,” he replied. To anyone else’s ear he would’ve seemed nonchalant, but Selina had learned to read every little inflection of his voice and every single twitch on his masked face. 

It was the same voice he used when he told her not to throw her life away. Those few sentences were the most vulnerable she had seen him and the most vulnerable she had allowed him to see. 

This was his way of reminding her that she didn’t have to pay, no matter how she decided to do it. 

“Now why would you want me to do a thing like that? Did you miss me Vengeance?” Selina tried to say coyly. The waver in her voice gave her away. He remained silent for a few moments, long enough that Selina felt the need to fill the silence. 

“Yes,” he said. His heart was clearly pounding out of his chest. There was a crack as he said the word, both in his voice and in Selina’s heart. She felt herself step forward towards him, the Warhol she had intended to snatch ignored behind her.

“Yeah?” she whispered. Vengeance gave a nod so slight and short that she almost missed it. 

“Okay,” Selina nodded, swallowing her pride and every little word she wanted to say to him. This was not the reaction she had expected. She had expected anger, a reenactment of that first night at Mitchell’s house, maybe ending with her bent over Dent’s desk.

She didn’t expect a confession between the two of them that only needed one word. Selina is snapped out of her thoughts as the Bat begins talking again. 

“As in actually working together,” he said. “That means stopping… this.” 

“A girl needs to make a living somehow,” Selina shrugged. 

“Then I’ll pay you,” he said as though it barely meant anything. 

“You really are a rich boy,” Selina scoffed, her eyes returning to the painting. 

“I’m being serious, Selina,” he replied. “I’ll make you a real suit too.” 

“Are you too scared to be associated with a cat burglar? You want a thief to play buddy-buddy with Gordon?”

“He saw you save my life and me save yours,” the Bat states. “If he doesn’t trust you, then he doesn’t get to trust me.”

“Wow, determined to lose one of your only friends if it means spending time with me, huh?” A smirk grows across Selina’s face.

“If that’s what it comes down to, I’d rather say I was trading one out for another.” 

Selina refuses to acknowledge the blush that begins to spread across her face by staring at the Warhol, pretending to be intrigued. 

“Can I take this one still? As a last hurrah?” The Bat simply shook his head.

“It’s not like you would listen to me, Selina. I know my place,” he said while walking towards her. A black leather glove tilts her chin up to look at him. “Do you know yours?”

Selina miraculously avoids leaning into the Bat’s touch. She thanks whatever God above is stopping her from doing so. She could get used to his hand on her cheek, used to someone pretending to care.

“I don’t go so easily,” she says instead. 

“I wouldn’t expect any less of you,” Selina thinks that he gives her a hint of a smile. How is it possible that something so small could be so beautiful? 

“You should leave,” Selina nods towards the skylight. “Before you’re accused of any implications.” 

“You’re too smart to leave a trail behind,” he scoffs. 

“And you’d ruin my life,” God, Selina thinks. As if he hasn’t already. He shakes his head. 

“You don’t deserve that,” his hand trails down her shoulder, eventually gripping her own. “Especially after everything you’ve worked for.” 

Her heart is in her throat, she’s mirroring the panic he felt the moment he landed besides her. She’s always seen him as nervous, as hidden. It’s unfair that she’s carrying those same traits because of him.

“Meet me at the signal, next time it’s on,” his voice is a whisper. It’s her final out, his final plea. She caves and gives him a nod. One motion, one silent agreement. Two people, one silent confession.

He goes right away, leaving her with her tools and the soon to be stolen Warhol. She sighs while she readjusts her gloves, carefully sliding the painting off of its place on top of the mantle. She puts a painting of a woman fingering herself in its place. 

Just another day, but her final job. Her life was about to get much more interesting. To be fair, it was her own damn fault. Maybe she should’ve stayed in Bludhaven. Even cats have to be careful about what they wish for. 

*

The signal is on the next night. Selina doesn’t know what she expected, he was spoken for, that was why he had stayed. Gotham needed its knight, and it looked like she was about to be his sidepiece. 

She didn’t bother taking the elevator up to the signal, climbing the pulleys and scaling the building was much more fun. Gordon was already there, but the Bat was late. Typical. 

“Well,” Selina sighed upon seeing Gordon next to the signal. She couldn’t think of anything to say to him. They had interacted only a handful of times, all of which were at a major low point of her life. 

“You’re back in town,” Gordon nodded. “He didn’t tell me.”

“He only found out recently, even though all of the pieces were there,” Selina shakes her head. “He’s not nearly as smart as he pretends to be.”

She couldn’t tell if she said that to make her feel better about herself or if she truly believed it. The truth was that the Bat could have found her at any point. Hell, he could’ve been tracking her while she was upstate. He probably was. 

“How… are you?” Gordon was clearly just as uncomfortable as she was. Thank God that was when the Bat decided to arrive. 

His presence was not comforting, but it certainly made the tension in the air less thick. He nods at Gordon, who simply looks between the Bat and the Cat with a wary eye.

“What am I supposed to call you?” Gordon asks. 

“... Cat,” she says, trying to stifle a laugh. 

“Right,” Gordon turns his attention back to the Bat. “There’s been a series of robberies from Harvey Dent’s penthouse, would you happen to know anything about that?”

Bat’s eyes flicker towards Selina. 

“The situation has already been dealt with,” he replies, voice steady yet full of gravel. “The thief has been apprehended, but the paintings will likely not be returned.” 

“Let me guess, they’ve already been sold,” Gordon sighs. Selina has never had the urge to laugh this severely in her whole life. She notices Batman swallow. He clearly finds humor in this exchange as well. 

“I would assume so.”

“And the thief?” Gordon says, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Even some criminals are too slippery for my hands,” Batman replies. “But I swear that the issue is resolved.”

“But what if-”

“I made a deal,” he said, cutting Gordon off. “The thief is a source of intel now. They have very quick hands.” 

Gordon looks over at Selina, whose face is red as a tomato at this point. He nods.

“I see,” he turns back to the Bat. “And would this thief happen to be a cat burglar of some kind?”

“I think that’s an accurate description, yes.” 

Gordon’s sigh somehow becomes deeper. It isn’t out of frustration, more a sense of disappointment. Selina was clearly important to the Batman, and shutting her out would mean losing him as a resource. 

“I have to tell the department and the DA something,” Gordon rubs his hands together. “Otherwise they’ll go sniffing around like hounds.”

Selina resisted the urge to make a comment about cops and bitches. Instead she offered a half assed solution. 

“Well, I won’t pull any profitable pranks for the time being,” Selina began. “So you don’t need to worry about me. Maybe mention something about an art burglar in some city nearby. Throw them off their trail. There are other art thieves, I’m willing to expose a few of them.”

“Who knew that cats could become rats,” Gordon muttered. The joke didn’t seem to be out of malice, but Selina’s skin began to crawl. 

“I prefer to catch them,” she said defiantly. “If I reveal someone, it’s a bitch that deserves it,” Selina stares pointedly at the Bat. “Are we done here?” Vengeance looks at Gordon in response. 

“Yes,” Gordon nods, sighing at the two vigilantes in front of him. “I’ll see you next time the signal is lit. Get some rest.”

“Gotham never sleeps,” the Bat replies.

“Rich kid and you had an emo phase,” Selina grumbles. “Actually you’re still in your emo phase.” Ever perceptive, she notices a half smile on Gordon’s face as he takes the elevator down. 

“Is it alright if I take your measurements?” the Bat asks quietly.

“I’m sorry?” This question hits Selina from left field, stunning her out of the witty quips she had been planning. 

“For the suit,” he clarifies. Right, the suit. The special matching suit. The suit that he would make for her. His suit for her. And he would have to touch-

“Yeah,” her response thankfully stops her from overthinking too much. “That’s totally fine.”

The Bat had a goddamned measuring tape on his utility belt for some reason. God knows if he’s diligent enough to measure foot prints at crime scenes, trying to match shoe sizes with criminals. Selina wouldn’t put it past him. 

“I need you to raise your arms,” his voice is too soft. Why is it so soft? Selina obeys his request so that her head will hopefully stop racing. Unfortunately, her heart begins to instead. 

The tape goes around her throat, his lithe fingers carefully marking off the number of centimeters that would be required for the turtleneck hem that she'd grown to prefer. He’s careful every step of the way, from arm measurements to the tightness of her waist and hips. Selina prays for the first time in years that the Bat can’t magically sense her pulse as his hands gently touch her chest. It’s supposed to be a very clinical procedure, simply a girl and her caped seamstress. Yet every brush of his gloves against her body makes a part of her tense. 

He shouldn’t have this effect on her. It’s not as though he’s special in any way. The Bat is a man that hides behind a mask and beats up thugs in tight fitting kevlar. Just because he wants Selina to help him with work does not mean he wants her in any other way. He saved her so she wouldn’t sin. He saved her from herself. That was all. 

But it’s clear to Selina that touching her is having an effect on him as well. The Bat always tries his damndest to seem stoic, untouchable, unmovable, but Selina is more than sure that underneath his mask is a scared man. He was scared on that catwalk, enough to shoot his leg full of adrenaline to save her. He was scared that she’d say no as he found her in Dent’s dining room. And he was scared now, that she would leave, that this was too far. 

“Are you almost done?” Selina asks sweetly, trying to not let her voice warble. It’s the same voice she uses on the strays she finds in street alleys, coaxing them towards her gently. Little does she know that she pulled this stray in a long time ago.  

The Batman nods, putting the tape back into some unseeable part of the belt. Despite being around him for so long, Selina still couldn’t wrap her head around his equipment or how he got the funding for it. Maybe the rich kid theory wasn’t so far off. 

“Any requests?” he asks.

“About the suit?” Batman nods. “Then no,” Selina replies. “What do I call you?”

“Excuse me?” Despite not being able to see them, Selina knows that his eyebrows are knitted together. 

“I can’t call you Bat all the time. Or Batsy, or Vengeance. The nicknames clearly annoy you, and while annoying you is one of my favorite pastimes, I’d like a piece of you that’s exclusively mine,” she finishes.

Selina lets her nails trail up the Bat’s chest, running her hands slowly across his shoulders. She’s reaching up to him, like a sinner up to heaven. He’s so tall, she wonders how it would feel to cower under him. 

“I-”

“It doesn’t have to be too much,” she says, her voice once again turning to honey. “I understand the secrets. I kept mine from you, and yours certainly have more weight.”

“Secrets always matter,” he whispers. “No matter the size. No matter who they protect.” 

Did he mean her or him? Did he mean Gordon? Did he have anyone else to protect at all? She doubted it. Cracks of loneliness broke out of him every time she was near. He needed a way to get it all out. Not only was he clearly touch starved, he needed some form of love to fill in the gaps. 

“I’ll call you whatever you want,” Selina smiles. “It can be as ridiculous as you like. Honey-bunches of oats, sweetie pie, pumpkin, twat waffle, banana-”

“B,” he finally cuts her off before she can say something even more dumb. “You can call me B.”

“Not V for Vengeance? B for Batman,” she teases.

“No, B for me,” he says. It’s one less secret for him, and one more for her. She nods. 

“I’ll see you at the next light, B,” she whispers. He disappears into the shadows. 

*

Selina turns over a single initial in her head. B is what she has been allowed to call him. B is her name for him. It’s also clearly the start of his first name. Not B for the Bat, B for him. 

Her thoughts are disrupted by a knock at her door. She rushes to answer it, but is tentative as she peers through the peephole. A man walks away with a parcel in front of her door. She quickly opens it, trying to get a better look at the man.

“Hey!” she calls, stopping him in his tracks. She picks up the parcel, looking at a sticky note on the front. The man doesn’t make any moves to run away. He simply stares as she reads the note. 

“Let me know if it fits, B.”

“You know him?” Selina stares at the man. She gets a closer look at him. Salt and pepper hair and a clearly pressed suit. This was not her Bat. 

“Yes,” his British accent startles her. 

“How so?” she asks right away. Everyday her theories about the Batman were becoming more plausible, yet they were always an inch or two off. 

“I’m an associate of your partner, Miss Kyle,” the man says. He seems to be very straight forward, not hiding behind words like the Bat often does. 

“So he talks about me,” Selina says, inspecting the box. “I’m flattered.” 

“Well, he does not get out much. I would be remiss not to notice a new person in his life.”

“What do I call you?” Selina asks, trying to ignore that she must bring some sort of comfort to the Bat. “I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you around much more.” 

“Alfred,” the man says with a curt nod. “I look forward to working with you Miss Selina.” 

“Likewise,” she replies. “Thank you.” 

“My pleasure,” Alfred says. He walks down the shabby hallway, his oxfords the only nice thing to be seen in her apartment complex. 

Selina walks back into the apartment, opening her new package with care. Even the box seems special, not a reused Amazon parcel. It feels like she’s opening a gift from Tiffany’s as she pulls at the rope like twine holding the carefully wrapped box together. 

The suit is much more lightweight than she expected. The Bat must pay more attention to the way she works than she thought. The suit is paneled with kevlar in the most vulnerable and damageable places. It reminds her of the shoulder and knee pads she would wear as a child while roller skating. Of course the suit is heavier, but it’s breathable. She’d be able to move in it swiftly and wouldn’t have to adapt her style of attack. The Bat’s fighting strategy fit the bulkiness of his suit. Strong and armored to match the hard hitting punches he pulled. 

It fit perfectly, hugging her body skin tight. She didn’t ask for this specific fit. Perhaps the Bat was being self indulgent. Selina shook her head, he was just being practical. Something that hung off her even slightly would be uncomfortable, clinging to her skin with sweat like a wedgie. 

The material was so soft that part of her wanted to fall asleep in it, but she knew if she didn’t return the suit back into its box, it would be covered in cat hair in no time. Selina put away her suit, placing it with care at the top of her closet before going to feed her harem of cats. They were constantly needy, but she didn’t mind. She needed them just as much as they needed her. She wondered if the Bat was the same way. 

*

Another day and she was back at the signal, sitting cross legged on the concrete floor as she and Gordon waited for the Bat to arrive. 

“Is he always this late?” she asked. 

“Yes,” Gordon says. “I don’t mind, he’s likely in the middle of a street fight.” 

“I wonder if the Bat was this tardy at prep school,” Selina says off handedly as she inspects her nails. 

“What makes him so sure that he’s rich?” 

“When you don’t grow up well off, you tend to notice the little details. Besides, his budget seems insane,” Selina says all of this as though it’s incredibly obvious. “Also I think I met his butler the other day.” Gordon nods throughout her explanation. 

“I can see that. Any ideas as to who he would be?” Selina simply shakes her head. 

This is a lie. Every night she tries to pair the letter B. She thinks of bright blue eyes emphasized by black makeup. His jawline is sharp and his body is likely littered with scars. Selina isn’t sure whether or not he’s lean yet built underneath his armor or simply awkwardly bulky. It’s frustrating to her in a way. She can’t picture him clearly when she. . . 

The sound of the elevator snaps her out of her thoughts. 

“I got your message,” Gordon says. 

“You get actual messages from him?” Selina replies, mildly incredulous. “He just shows up at my house unannounced.” The Bat ignores her.

“Have you heard anything else about the gas?” he asks. Gordon nods. 

“There’s been a few incidents on the Eastside of town. The standard green type poison.”

“Care to fill me in?” Selina looks between the two of them.

“Mysterious gaseous poison is showing up around town, usually around poorer neighborhoods,” the Batman explains.

“Do you think the targeting is intentional?” Gordon asks. Some detective he was. 

“It wouldn’t make sense after the Riddler’s message. If it was a follower of his, the chemical weapons would likely target the upper class.”

“Do you know the effects?” Selina didn’t live on the Eastside of town, but she could already tell that she would be sent there as an on the ground scout. 

“It’s been different for the victims so far,” Gordon says. “All have been sent to Gotham General Hospital and are being monitored 24/7. The most common symptom is disfigurement, which makes sense. That being said, many of the victims are gaining… for a lack of better words, powers.”

“What, like superheroes?” Selina lets out a singular short laugh. “What lame fanboy is behind this shit?”

“I reckon it’s a scientist,” Gordon replies. “The goal is clearly experimentation. Maybe making some sort of army to infiltrate Gotham’s streets.”

Selina watches the Bat close his eyes for a moment, too fleeting for Gordon to notice. He had inspired the Riddler. He had inspired thugs. Maybe he was still Vengeance. Maybe he was too late to become Hope. 

“The chemical composition is particularly advanced,” the Bat says before he can overthink. “I’ve been trying to analyze samples at home, but I’ll need more. Since different types of gasses have different effects on victims, I should try to breakdown every type.”

“GCPD forensics is also on the case,” Gordon replies. “I’ll try to snag different samples of the variants for you.”

“I’m assuming you want me on the ground?” Selina says with a raised brow. Gordon nods, but the Bat’s jaw tenses. 

“I’ll take care of it,” she confirms before heading to drop down from the pulley. The Bat snatches her hand as she turns.

“Can I have a word with you?” he asks softly. Selina nods. 

“I’ll see the two of you later,” Gordon says, looking between the pair. The Bat does not release his grip on Selina until he hears the elevator begin to creak downstairs. 

“I don’t want you gathering samples,” he says immediately. 

“I’m sorry what?” 

“You’ll be put in danger.” Selina looks around in confusion, half of her wanting to scream ‘what’ and the other half wanting to scream ‘the fuck’. 

“B, you’re the one who asked me to be your partner.”

“Yes-”

“You literally attract danger B,” Selina says. “If you didn’t want me in danger, you wouldn’t have asked me to be here.”

“That’s different,” he insists. 

“How?” Selina almost yells. Her voice grows louder by the sentence. “You asked me to be a part of this team, that means contributing. You want me to be your bait every single time? Put me in the club to drag out the goons under Oz? What do you want from me B?”

“I want you safe-”

“Then why did you ask for me back?” Selina cuts him off. “The other day you asked me if I knew my place. I do, and that’s here.” She walks closer to him, trying to sooth herself and hide the rage that had bubbled up moments ago. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers back. “I promise I want you here, I do, I just-”

“Just what?” There is no malice in her interruption this time. If only people could see how truly expressive the Bat was. Everytime he and Selina meet, she notices the cracks within him growing and growing. 

“I almost lost you during the flood,” his voice still low. That softness is back, the kind that contradicts his entire appearance. “I almost lost so many people, and that is a sort of fear that I cannot let constrict myself while I protect this city.”

“B,” Selina walks closer, the two of them almost chest to chest. “Whether you like it or not, you are danger, and the people around you know that. They would willingly risk everything to be by your side.”

“Why do you think I keep my circle so small?” She can’t tell if this is a joke or a sad confession.

“Either way,” Selina says, shaking herself from her thoughts. “I’m honored to be a part of it. And I want to be. I want to be here.”

He knows this, no matter how much she doubts herself. Selina is a stubborn woman, and like a cat, she does not come quickly. He had given her several outs, but the Bat always had a way of talking himself down. 

“Okay,” he whispers. Selina is satisfied with his answer for the time being. She resists the urge to touch his face. To test him in the same way he had tested her at their reunion. Would he lean into her touch? Would he fail the task that she had succeeded?

She gives in, her gloves in her back pocket long ago. Her skin is on his, and despite the December chill, his face is warm. His scruff pricks at her fingers and Selina knows that her thoughts will be full of this interaction for the next few weeks. The Bat swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing at the sudden touch. She can tell that he’s starved of this. If his inner circle is as small as he suggests, there’s likely no one else tending to his physical needs.

“I-” he begins, voice half choked from such a simple touch. He clears his throat, hoping to get rid of the noise. “Alfred wanted me to give you something.”

His comment doesn’t deter Selina. Instead she trails her hand down from his jawline to his chest, resting her hand over the sharp emblem plastered across it. 

“And what would that be?” The Bat produces an envelope for her from God knows where. 

“I don’t know what it says,” he promises. Alfred has insisted that he not read it. Somehow, his self control won.

“I’ll open it later,” Selina stares at the stationary. “You can always reach me.”

“I know,” he nods. She feels dumb for stating the obvious. They both knew that she still had the contacts. The moment is over, they both should leave. Neither of them moves to do so. 

“I’ll be safe,” She only says it to reassure him. It doesn’t work. 

“You’re too curious for your own good.” Selina lets a puff of air come out of her nose. 

“Well you know what they say…” She trails off. 

“I don’t want you to kill the Cat.”

“You do know the rest of the saying? Right?” It’s a genuine question on her part. 

“Of course.”

“Then you know that I’ll put myself in harm's way despite your warning,” Selina says. “I’ll keep putting myself in danger.”

They both know what she means. There’s far too many of these between them. These unspoken promises. But there’s a sense of relief in knowing that she will stay. That she won’t run off to Bludhaven again. Selina hopes that she won’t break that promise, but fleeing is unfortunately in her nature. She flees now, nodding and trying desperately to ruin the moment. To ignore the feeling blossoming in her cheeks, her heart, her stomach. 

The two of them don’t say a verbal goodbye, simply scaling down the building. It’s better practice than taking the elevator. It’s much more practical. 

She opens the envelope when she gets home. Selina isn’t quite sure what she expected. Envelopes remind her of long meandering letters and missed bills. There’s only a small note inside with a phone number scrawled across it in perfectly neat cursive. 

“For emergencies, Alfred.”

“Thanks Alfred,” she whispers to herself. She’s sure that the Bat would disapprove if he knew she had this information. Not because he’s worried about risking his identity, but because it was one more tug into his world. Into danger. 

Selina promised herself she would only use the number in emergencies, just like Alfred had asked. She only wondered how much trouble the two of them would get into

*

The next time she sees him is two days later. Gordon has her number now. Not only is it a way to keep her in the loop, but it also seems like a way to keep her on a leash. 

They start planning simple patrols on the Eastside of town. The Bat has designed a mask to go with Selina’s suit that should filter any toxic gas she comes in contact with. He fusses over her suit, worried about how breathable the fabric is. Something about gasses seeping through the material and touching her skin. 

She doesn’t let him alter it, embarking on the mission with only the face mask as her newest wardrobe addition. It goes off without a hitch. She manages to capture several of the toxins successfully. Gordon takes any duplicates with him to the forensics lab for study, while the Bat takes his own samples home to analyze himself. Selina thinks he’s anal retentive, but understands his suspicions. Corruption does not go so easily. 

The third mission, he insists on going on the ground with her. It’s clearly a protective part of him. Despite their conversation, her words have not comforted him completely. It’s disappointing to Selina, perhaps she misread the level of trust in their relationship. Would there ever be a day where he could open himself up to her completely? 

The two of them stake out on different parts of the Eastside. Selina stays north while the Bat remains south. Selina tries to rationalize why he was doing physical work with her instead of analyzing her movements behind a computer screen. 

Part of her understands, he hasn’t done any ground work since Gordon, him, and Selina had started looking into this case. He was probably itching for a fight and in a sense, redemption. Being on the street means protecting the victims of Gotham’s brutality. It means gaining the faith of the city’s population. The flood was just the first step. Every day she sees the guilt behind his eyes, the thought that he has yet to do enough. As often as she calls him Vengeance, she knows that he is trying to distance himself from the moniker. Calling him Hope feels too personal, no matter how much she wants to know more about the man behind the mask. 

He is distant. He is the watchful eye at the side of rooms, calculating every single move, hearing every single whisper. Selina prefers to be in on the action, collecting the information first hand. She supposed that was why he eventually caved in to her pleas of doing groundwork. To be fair, he had given her that position first, long ago when she put on her earpiece at the Iceberg Lounge for the first time. 

Coms are set as they prowl the town, his voice in her ear and hers in his. Selina had always thought of the Bat’s voice as gravel. Hard yet small rocks that could cause you to slip, crafty enough to stick in your skin for days on end. She now realizes he is sand. Some call it coarse and rough, once again clinging on in the most irritating of ways, making its mark on those who dare touch it. But Selina has always loved escaping to the beach. Keeping the sand between her toes, soft like a blanket despite the heat of the sun.

Cats did like to sunbathe. 

“See anything on your end?” his voice startles her from her thoughts.

“Nothing of note. The blocks seem fairly clear at the moment, nothing rising up from the sewers just yet.” 

Victims had described the way that the gas had surrounded them, coming from potholes and sewer grates as they walked to corner side bodegas. The Bat had theorized about the creator of this weapon before. Experimenting on members of Gotham’s higher society would cause too much attention. However, the chemist's attempts had been successful so far, with almost every victim gaining some sort of ability after their attack. The disfigurement was the one constant among the patients.

“I think I’ll move back to your side of town,” Selina says. “He’s been striking over here most often. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants to test a different sample size.”

The Bat makes an affirmative noise in response, giving Selina the go ahead to jump on her motorcycle and speed across the Eastside of Gotham. All was well, the engine of her motorcycle the only noise comforting her as she rode. 

Suddenly there was a yelp. The Batman does not yelp, he barely even winces through pain unless he is knocked down flat on his back. 

“Baby?” Selina says. She is not panicking, there is no need to panic, she’s simply  overthinking.

“Selina,” he almost whimpers. The reassuring lies she had told herself immediately disappear. She can panic now.

“I’m coming baby,” she says, voice steady. “I’m coming, tell me where you are. I need to know where you are.”

The Bat lists off street names, teeth obviously grit together. Selina weaves through cars, her speedometer rising and rising and rising. She literally dumps her bike when she sees him lying down in an alley. A green liquid seeps through the mesh parts of his suit and realizes the horrible smell that’s wafting over her is the scent of burning skin. 

“B,” she practically screams as she runs towards him. “Oh my god. Okay, this is gonna be okay baby, you’re gonna be okay.” She still can’t tell if she’s telling herself this or him. 

She realizes what she must do. Her fingers swiftly dial the phone number Alfred gave her. 

“Miss Selina,” Alfred says after the first ring. “Is everything alright?”

“There’s been an incident with the chemicals. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know where to go-”

“Are you safe?” His voice is surprisingly level. 

“It’s not me, it’s him,” she tries not to cry. 

“Who, who are you talking, t-to-” her Bats manages to spit out. 

“He took the car, correct?” Alfred’s voice still sounds calm, but there’s a hidden fear behind his sterile words. 

“Did you take the car?” she asks him. He only nods in response, the movement jagged and sharp. She doesn’t bother asking him if he can move. 

Selina drags him towards the Batmobile, his arm draped over her shoulder as he limps along to help her carry his weight. She finds his keys on his belt before hauling him into the passenger seat and putting it down in a lying position. Selina straps him down in every possible area. By this time, the poison is no longer visible, likely soaking into his bloodstream from some unhealed open wound on his body. 

“Where do I go?” Selina chokes out to Alfred. He’s silent. He has a choice to make. 

“Turn on the car, plug your number into the touch screen,” he orders. She obeys at once. “I’ll send you directions. I’m sure you know how to drive a manual car?” Selina nods before she remembers that Alfred can’t see her.

“Yes.”

“Good. The mechanics of the vehicle are simple despite its appearance,” the directions suddenly appear on the screen. Alfred’s voice suddenly runs through the speakers once she starts driving. 

“Alfred,” Bats’ voice growing raspier by the minute. The poison must have some control over his airways as well. “Don’t let her see, don’t let-”

His eyes begin to close and Selina silently prays that he’s merely passing out. With the amount of times she’s prayed to God recently, she might have to take up mass again. 

The map leads her down into a subway system and she speeds despite the bumpiness of the tracks. She’s driving too fast to notice the name Wayne Enterprises plastered across the walls. Alfred is waiting for as she pulls in. The only sounds keeping her focused is the stall of the mobile’s engine and the screeching of bats. 

Alfred rushes over to the passenger side, unbuckling the Bat. Selina moves towards him, holding his feet as Alfred carries his head. He’s placed on top of a table and Alfred begins to dismantle the kevlar suit of armor that hides him from Selina. 

“How can I help?” Selina forces herself to ask. Focusing on the task at hand may help her forget the severe extent her emotions are having on her. 

“There’s charcoal water in the fridge. We’ll need to force feed it to him. If not, an IV. Hopefully it will bind it to the poison and stop further absorption into his blood,” Alfred says as he takes off the shoulder pads. “There should be a ventilator in the closet door by the elevator.” 

Selina does as he says, pushing the ventilator on rolling wheels towards the table before dashing to a mini fridge close by. When she arrives, the Bat is completely shirtless. Her eyes widened for a split moment as she took him in. He is lean like he had suspected, but defined and bulky around the muscles that he most often uses while fighting. She shakes her head before setting the water on the table next to Alfred, who has begun to run blood tests.  He stops once a needle is placed into the Bat’s vein. 

He stares at Selina. He looks as though he is about to cave in. 

“I need to run upstairs,” he says, looking between the body on the table and Selina. “I…”

“I won’t look at him,” Selina swallows. No matter how curious she has become, she knows that curiosity would kill her. And her curiosity could also kill him. “I promise.” 

“That is the issue Miss Kyle,” Alfred says. “I need you to check for head wounds.” Selina tries and fails to stop her mouth from gaping.

“I, I-” Selina begins to stutter. She berates herself. This was not the time to be at a loss for words and she quickly attempted to pull herself together. “Why can’t you do that?”

“Either way you will see his face, Miss Kyle,” Alfred says. “This is a two person job and our maid Dory is squeamish around blood.” 

“I can’t break his trust like that,” she says, tears beginning to prick at the corners of her eyes. “I can’t take a secret with that much weight. He isn’t ready-”

“We have no choice,” Alfred says firmly. “I will gather supplies upstairs while you check. I know you are far too intelligent to run off with this information.” Alfred begins to head towards the elevator before stopping in his tracks. His eyes soften as he turns around to look at her. “I also know you care far too much about him to tip the scales in your favor.”

Selina nods and waits for Alfred to go upstairs before turning back to face her Bat. Her B.

“Please forgive me,” she whispers. “I understand if you never can. You have given me bits at a time and now I have to take this, for your sake.” 

She slowly removes his cowl, much like a child refusing to rip off a bandaid. Selina doesn’t dare look into his eyes once it is removed, making herself move around parts of his hair to look for blood. There seems to be none as she maneuvers his head in her hands. After five minutes of avoidance she forces herself to finally look at his face. 

Selina gets to swim in those blue eyes up close. His makeup is smeared down the sides of his cheeks, raccoonish in a way that would be adorable if not for the circumstances the two of them were in. His hair is flopping down into his face now, covering his eyebrows. The Bat does not move at all as she investigates him. His skin is still soft despite the familiar stubble. 

There’s a flicker of recognition as she stares and stares and stares. Whatever could the letter B mean? He has a maid, he has a butler, and he clearly has connections. The rich part of her theory is correct. 

It hits her all at once. A man that she had once despised pops into her mind. This is Bruce Wayne. 

This is where the money goes. After the flood, the Wayne Foundation began to rebuild, donating millions of dollars to the rebuilding of Gotham. Wayne made frequent public appearances, moving onto the front lines to pull civilians out of the wreckage. His waders and mask made him fairly unrecognizable, but the media soon caught wind. It was clear that his actions weren’t meant as a publicity stunt. He gave no comment of his on the ground work when pestered by multiple journalists at press conferences. These small acts of kindness were what turned the tide on Selina’s opinion of Bruce Wayne. She had not been completely won over, but his dedication certainly made her heart crumble.

It seems that the Batman was not just a nocturnal animal, but rather a lonely child trying to fix his family’s broken legacy. The Bat began it all and the flood began to finish it. 

“Bruce,” she tries the name on her tongue. Despite her attempts to deny it, she had always found the man quite handsome. 

“Bruce,” Alfred whispers from behind her. She turns to face him, heart in her throat. 

“I…” Selina doesn’t know what to say. 

“Any head injuries?” Alfred may be asking out of concern for his adopted son, but also to distract Selina from the thoughts racing in her head. 

“No,” she says. 

“Well,” Alfred replies before changing into a new set of gloves. “Help me stitch him up.”

*

Bruce wakes up with a gasp and the weight of the world on his chest. Needles are pressed into both of his arms and he can feel cool sweat dripping down his forehead despite feeling overheated. 

He does not care about his condition, he only cares about-

“Selina,” Bruce yells, whipping his head around the room. Alfred, who had been sitting beside him, wakes up with a start. His hands instantly push Bruce back down on the table.

“She’s safe,” he says. “She’s upstairs. I told her to go to sleep.”

“She knows, doesn’t she?” Alfred nods. “How could you?” Bruce’s voice cracks. “Do you understand what you have done? The kind of people that she hates? I am dead to her now. I am nothing to her because that is what I have always been.”

“If you are nothing then why did I have to drag her upstairs?” Alfred asks. “Why did I have to force her away from your bedside so she could finally rest? Bruce, that woman has been beside you since she dragged you from that alleyway thirty six hours ago.”

Bruce swallows, looking down at the burn marks scattered across his chest. 

“Drink,” Alfred hands him a bottle of water. Despite wanting to spite the man, thirst takes over. 

“Were you able to take any of the poison?” Asking about the case will distract him from Selina. 

“I was able to separate some from your bloodstream. I wasn’t able to get much, but I sent a vial over to your friend at the GCPD and put the other in your lab.” 

“Thank you.” Bruce says. He genuinely means it, but his voice is still flat. Selina won’t be able to leave his mind for quite some time. 

“I’ll leave you alone for now,” Alfred says. “You should get some more rest before we move you upstairs to your room.”

Bruce stares at the wires and tubes extending from his body. He knows he has no choice but to comply. 

“Bruce,” his head snaps up to look at Alfred. “She cares about you.”

“She cares about the Bat,” Bruce says definitively. 

“No,” Alfred shakes his head. “Miss Kyle did not stop once she saw your face Bruce. She did not stop once. That worry she had when she took you home remained level the whole time. I dare say it increased once she saw the complete state you were in.”

Bruce tries to find comfort in Alfred’s words, but once again fails. Alfred leaves before Bruce can get another word out. He remains anxious until sleep overtakes him half an hour later. 

*

He sleeps in his room now. Alfred checks his vitals every day and brings him breakfast in bed. Selina has not visited despite living in the tower for several days. Part of Bruce wants to leap out of bed and confront her in his guest room, but cats spook easily, and miraculously he has yet to scare her off. He’d like to keep it that way. 

There’s an old episode of Buffy playing on the TV in his room. He’s too lazy to change the channel. Thankfully Alfred no longer forces him to have the IVs in at all times, giving him the chance to toss around in his sleep like he usually does. He tends to curl into a ball or sleep on his front, murmuring about case information as he barely gets rest. 

It’s while he turns over to the side that he hears a knock at his bedroom door. 

“What, Alfred?” Bruce grumbles.

“Not Alfred,” Selina replies, taking it as her cue to enter the room. Bruce’s head shoots up instantly, staring wide eyed at his partner standing in his room as though this was something that happened regularly. He might be clothed, but without the mask on he felt naked in front of her.

“Selina,” he whispers.

“B,” she whispers back, walking towards him. She carefully sits down next to him on the edge of the bed. There are words coming up her throat and she’s terrified they will come spilling out without rehearsal. 

“Why didn’t you leave?” Bruce’s voice cracks. Her eyes soften, just another tear for her to patch up. 

“You’re someone I care about,” Selina says, her hand reaching for Bruce’s. Her fingers carefully wrap around his. “I took something from you without your say. Secrets shouldn’t be stripped away like that.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Bruce replies. If this was the only reason she was here, he’d prefer for her to leave.

“I’m here because you are a solace,” she admits. “You are a rope to cling onto while we race through the streets and I cannot let you go.”

“You can’t let him go,” Bruce says. Selina shakes her head, a breathy sad laugh leaving her. 

“No,” she replies. “I can’t leave you. Not the Bat, not Bruce, I can’t leave you.” 

Her hand moves from his back to his cheek. She’ll never get tired of touching him, never get tired of his reactions to the feeling. He gives instead of holding out like the two of them have done before, leaning into her palm. He has some control, as he tells himself not to nuzzle into it. 

She rubs her thumb gently over his lip before pulling herself completely onto his bed, legs folded over each other. Bruce lays back down from his upright position, head on the pillow as she plays with his hair. It’s tender, it’s sweet. The sound of the television makes the whole exchange feel domestic and Selina can’t help but to place a kiss on Bruce’s forehead. He audibly sighs at the feeling of her lips touching his brow. It makes her laugh just a little. 

“You truly are touch starved, aren’t you?” Bruce scowls at her words. “I’m just teasing you. Besides, I can change that.”

A sweet sigh leaves Bruce’s mouth at Selina’s words. 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you baby?” Bruce can only nod. “Let me know if I hurt you, or if it’s too much.”

He once again nods, too nervous to say anything. Selina pulls the covers off of Bruce gently before straddling his waist. She’s still cradling his head in her hands like a delicate piece of china. It’s then that she decides to kiss him. A small press of her lips against his, her hands moving down his chest as she leans into him. Bruce is quick to reciprocate, wrapping an arm around her waist, trying to find a way to deepen it. Selina laughs against his lips. A part of it is out of joy that she’s with him, the other at his endearing eagerness. 

“Slow down cowboy,” she mumbles, her smile still pressed against his.

“I’m trying, I swear,” he presses a kiss against her jawline to emphasize his point. The soft presses travel down her neck, nothing open mouthed, no teeth in sight. He’s simply applying pressure to one of the most modest yet sensitive parts of her, and it seems like he can’t get enough. 

“You can give me more,” Selina softly sighs. “I can handle it.” Bruce blushes.

“I’m not entirely sure I know how,” he mumbles into her skin. God was his inexperience cute. 

“Let me show you,” Selina all but purrs, pushing Bruce gently against the headboard and pulling his shirt off. Bruce freezes slightly once the shirt is off, but doesn’t make any effort to stop her. Selina herself decides to stop moving her wandering hands.

She stares across his chest. A treasure map of bruises, scars, stitches and the recent burns. She understands now why he stopped. Bruce looks down at her to see not disgust, but pleading eyes. 

“You’re not hideously scarred,” she whispers. Her fingers trail across a prominent scar just under his collarbone. She kisses it gently before moving onto one mark after another, almost as if her love could heal every single one. Bruce runs a hand over her short hair as she travels across his skin, trying not to tear up at her actions. 

“I want to take care of you,” he says, hands moving down her waist. “Let me take care of you. You’ve taken care of me.”

Just like she did, Bruce carefully removes her top. He seems to be a student who responds quickly by watching and learning. She guides his hands up and down her chest, moving one of his hands to unclasp her bra. It takes him a few tries but soon enough it’s off and discarded, leaving her torso completely exposed to him. 

He stares. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Selina remains a patient teacher, moving to lay on her back so he can kiss down her chest just like she did to him. His tongue swirls a nipple, experimenting gently. Blue eyes watch her every move, searching for every little twitch and whine. His hands grip her closer, a desperate plea to make sure she doesn’t squirm away. He can’t have her escape now. 

They move down to the waistband of her leggings, teasing and snapping as he places kisses along her stomach now. Selina moves her legs wider in anticipation, not truly expecting him to make a move, but preparing in case he gathered the courage to pull her bottoms off. 

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “You can do whatever you’d like.”

“Do you promise to teach me?” Selina melts. 

“Whatever you want baby,” she rises back up to give him a soft kiss. “I’ll help you with whatever you want.”

That’s all Bruce needs to desperately pull off her leggings and panties. He spreads her legs, hands gripping her thighs tightly, already leaving red marks against her. He falters a bit, clearly realizing the situation he’s in.

“You don’t have t-”

“I want to,” Bruce nods enthusiastically. “I want to taste all of you.” Those words should not leave a shiver running down Selina’s spine, but they get to her nevertheless. 

Bruce situates himself back between her legs, pressing a kiss against the curls guarding her. He licks once, ever so slowly up against her cunt and feels Selina’s thighs begin to clench around his head. He takes this as a good sign, moving to do the action once again. This time Bruce stops at the little pearl at the top of Selina’s pussy. He was a smart man, he knew basic female anatomy, so Bruce decided that his best course of action was to suck. His tongue swirled around Selina’s clit, gathering the taste of girl onto his lips, leaving Selina to moan and beg and put her hands in his hair. 

“Fuck, you’re doing so good,” Selina whimpered. “That’s it baby, such a good boy.”

Bruce tries to ignore the way her praise goes straight to his cock. He distracts himself by tracing little figure eights on her hips, spelling her name out with his fingers. He kisses her hip bone, nipping at the fat of her thigh before tugging with his teeth. His tongue immediately soothes the red spot that follows.

“Fingers?” He whispers against her skin.

“Please,” she gasps out. “Fuck, please B.” Even as she lays in her bed Selina uses his name. Not the name he was given at birth, not the name that Gotham had given him, Selina uses his name. 

He fulfills her wish, his index finger breaching her and slowly moving in and out. He begins to explore, ever perceptive, ever the experimenter. Small crooks of his finger have her gasping and moaning the most. Her breathing halts when he touches a particular spot and that’s when he decides to abuse it. Adding a second finger into her, he pries her way open. The way she clenches around his fingers is delicious, but the taste of her is so much better. 

Bruce decides to dive back in, her clit on his tongue as his lithe fingers continue to play with her.

“Jesus Christ baby,” Selina groans. “Gonna cum if you keep touching me like that.”

“Isn’t that the goal?” Bruce replies, face slick with her. Selina nods vigorously.

“Yes, yes please, ye-” Bruce laps at her before she can continue to beg. She sounds like the crescendo in a symphony, rising higher and higher and higher before one final crest. Her breathing is a whole rest. Her sigh, the end.

“Are you sure you haven’t done that before?” Selina asks with a breathy laugh. 

“Don’t feed my ego like that,” Bruce says, chin still glistening. Selina kisses him then, the taste of her shared on their tongues as she grinds on his lap. She can feel his cock salivatingly hard through his boxers. 

“It’s unfair that I’m completely bare for you and I don’t get to see…” She plays with his waistband just as he had played with hers. Bruce gulps, simply out of nerves and the pleasure of being teased. “We don’t have to go further-”

“I need you to go further,” Bruce whispers. Selina obliges, taking his cock out with a gentle pull and tugging him up and down slowly. She doesn’t bother looking, she’d prefer to see this sight. Bruce Wayne in front of her with his eyes closed, head only supported by the headboard behind him. The first moan he unleashes at her first touch could easily be her favorite sound. She needs to ride him.

“Where do you want me baby?” She asks sweetly. She knows exactly where she wants to be. 

“Wanna feel, w-wanna-” It’s Bruce’s turn to stutter now. A time for him to get a taste of his own medicine. 

“Feel what angel?” Selina coos. “You can’t get it unless you tell me.”

“In you,” Bruce manages to sigh out. “Wanna be in you.”

“But where in me?” Selina asks coyly. She’s playing with her food just for the fun of it. “Come on baby, tell me.”

“Wanna feel your pussy,” Bruce whimpers, truly and beautifully whimpers. Selina has no choice but to say yes. 

“Of course baby,” Selina says, moving to put him inside of her. “How could I ever deny you?”

It’s then that she decides to finally look at his length, and God was it just the way she liked it. A little bit thick, a few extra inches, and enough for her to take everyday without being in pain. 

She sits herself down slowly, enjoying every single bit of the stretch. The noise Bruce makes when she gently puts the tip of his cock in is unhinged. Part growl, part gasp, Bruce swears that he is in heaven. Selina is the closest he would ever reach to it, and that was more than enough for him.

“You want me to move B?” Selina asks when she’s fully seated down. Bruce can only nod, too scared at what noise might come out of his mouth. She doesn’t tease him this time, merely beginning the slow bounce up and down as she rests her hands on his shoulders. 

Bruce reaches out to pull her flush against his chest, a hand on her back as he begins to thrust up into her, matching her rhythm. Selina sighs into his shoulders, clutching and desperately grabbing at his back. Despite her resolve, she claws at him. Long red marks traveling across his shoulder blades and spine. The pain seems to only encourage Bruce. It’s a sign that she’s more than enjoying herself. 

“Don’t know if I can-”

“It’s okay baby,” Selina coos. “You can cum in me.”

“Should’ve asked if-” Bruce gets out. “If safe, if-”

“I’m safe Bruce, I promise,” Selina presses a kiss to his shoulder. He was far more considerate than any man had been to her before when it came to protection. “You can cum in me, I want you to. Can you do that for me B?”

And Bruce could never deny her, just as he could never deny him. He finishes inside her with a sob, feeling slightly embarrassed at how soon the pleasure was over. Selina strokes his hair as he comes down, making no attempt to get off of him.

“You okay baby?” Selina caresses his face. It’s become one of her favorite things to do. Bruce is unable to speak, he only nods. “Do you wanna sleep?”

“Yeah,” his voice comes out hoarse. 

“Okay babe, let’s get you cleaned up,” Selina goes to move off before she’s tugged back against Bruce’s chest.

“No,” he grumbles. “Just stay.” He pulls the sheets up over them, maneuvering the two of them on their sides. Bruce’s cock remains in Selina as she wraps her legs around her waist. She’s too pleasure drunk to disagree, and if she felt this fuzzy, she could only imagine the high Bruce was going through. 

“Okay baby,” Selina pressed a kiss to Bruce’s head. “Sleep now.”

“Sleep now,” he mumbled. 

Selina remembered tragedy. She remembered her mother and Annika and the flood. She remembered the Waynes dead in the street and their son watching them carried in caskets down Main. 

She remembers that it brought the two of them together. That the scales would not have been balanced if not for their secrets. 

Selina Kyle may not believe in fairy tales, but maybe she could finally believe in the kindness of familiar yet distant strangers. 

She could finally rest. 

#batcat #batman 2022 fanfic #spicy time #batman smut #piper writes

[j3nny-jaws]

Help me find a stupid fanfic for my stupid brain... (Found it: Renewal Isn’t a Lie Anymore )

Okay , I KNOW someone will find this cringe, but I was reading this fanfic a few months ago, and I can't find it again. :( It's one where the reader is married to Bruce Wayne (from the 2022 Batman movie) and he cheats on them with Catwoman/Selina Kyle (queen <3). The Riddler/ Edward Nashton is like obsessed with the reader where he started to volunteer at the orphanage she opened up. Then, the reader finds out Bruce cheated because the riddler recorded them and sent a video to the reader. Bro... I just wanna know what happens next.. Help please <3 If you know, please link it

Edit: Someone sent it to me, thank you very much for the people who helped me.

#paul dano fanfic #the riddler 2022 #paul dano x reader #batman 2022 #robert pattison batman x reader #paul dano riddler x reader #help me #batman riddler #paul dano riddler fanfic #batman 2022 fanfic

[castl3inthesky]

gold rush - bruce wayne

chapter ii

chapter summary: in which bruce wayne is reluctant to be a wayne, alfred has to push him and carter receives a call from the recluse billionare's butler 

word count: 1k

notes: hi! enjoy! 

playlist  cast  ao3  chapter i chapter ii chapter iii

Alfred Pennyworth knew where Bruce would be when he woke up the next morning. He wouldn’t be in his room. He wouldn’t be in the dining area. Bruce would be below the tower, in his cave. 

When the elevator door opened, he found Bruce hunched over on his computer. Footage from his crime-fighting played on the screen. Alfred rolled his eyes as he approached him. 

“Good night?” 

Bruce turned his head. The black paint from his late-night adventures still was around his eyes.  He shrugged before turning back to his computer screen. 

Alfred crossed his arms, “You know you can help the city as Bruce Wayne too, not just as Batman.”

He looked down beside Bruce’s keyboard to find his suit from last night and a business card on top of it. Alfred took the card and spun it around in his hand before reading it. “You can donate to causes and build foundations to help Gotham.” 

“I have.” 

He wasn’t wrong. He signed large checks every month going to different causes in Gotham, taking in Bella Reál’s advice. But, that’s all he did. He never met who he helped or went to the places he supported. Nothing else.  

Alfred sighed. “But you just signed checks. Have you ever thought of going out and helping as Bruce Wayne?”

Bruce didn’t respond and instead was focused on the footage in front of him. 

“What about this?” 

Bruce cocked his head to see what Alfred was talking about. He responded, “I ran into this person last night and they dropped it.”

Alfred smirked. “And you kept it?” 

He shrugged again, avoiding Alfred’s eyes. Alfred noticed and his grin widen. He doesn’t say anything but placed the business card in his pocket. He started to walk away towards the elevator. 

“I’ll write a check for them.” Bruce muttered. 

Alfred didn’t turn to face him as he clicked the elevator’s button. 

“You’re not just going to write a check, you’re going to meet and follow this through.” 

                                                            ~

“Nothing from you either?” 

Carter shook their head as they sat at their desk with the old computer they’d found at a thrift store, slowly loading up. Lila sat on the desk, drinking water from the water fountain. The center was usually quiet during the day due to the majority of kids being at school. However, some would hang out in the center during lunch and if needed, use the restroom. That’s one of the reasons why Carter and Lila chose a building near the school district in case the kids needed somewhere to be or a break from the school day. As much as Carter cared about learning, they knew the overwhelming stress of school. When they were in school, that’s all they could focus on. That’s what help bottle up their emotions and deal with their parents. Just do homework, read books, and get out.  Education was their only way out of Gotham.  

Carter blew out a sigh and leaned back in their chair. “We need to think of ways to raise money. We can’t close this down.”

Lila tried to calm them down. “Look, we just need to find other ways to promote. Kiss up to Gotham’s rich folks just didn’t work.” 

“We could stand outside with buckets and tell people to give us money.” Carter joked. 

Lila sighed before jumping at the sound of a cell phone ringing. 

Carter looked around. “I’m not imagining that right?” 

“Carter! Answered your damn phone!” 

Carter searched through their bag until they found their phone. The caller ID was unknown, but Carter didn’t care. All they cared about is if this caller was going to help keep the center alive. 

“Carter Hume speaking!” They said into the phone after they accepted the call. 

The voice responded back. “Hi, Mx. Hume-”

“Carter is just fine.” 

“Oh, okay, Carter, this is Alfred Pennyworth, I help with finances at Wayne Enterprises.” 

Carter’s eyes widen. Wayne Enterprises? As in the Wayne family company, owned by Bruce Wayne, known as not only the prince of Gotham but also the richest man in Gotham. They knew of his story, everyone did. Besides the flood, the murder of Thomas and Martha Wayne that left their son, Bruce, an orphan was what Gotham was known for. Obviously, he still lived a very comfortable life due to him being born into a rich family, but he never made any appearances. It was rumored he was just hide out in his mansion and did nothing. The last time people saw him was at the funeral for Don Mitchell Jr. Carter had heard from murmurs that he started to give his money away and help Bella Reál rebuild the city but nothing else. 

They tried to hide their excitement. “Oh hi, Mr. Pennyworth, how are you today?” 

Lila whispered in the background. “That sounds like a fancy name alright.” 

“I’m fine. Mr. Wayne found your business card and was interested in contributing to your Gotham Rainbow Youth Center.” 

Carter could scream. This could help the center big time. Not only would a big-name donator help with the funds but also a name like Bruce Wayne supporting a center like this could normalize it in Gotham. 

“Tell Mr. Wayne we are very thankful for his contribution to the center-”

Alfred stopped them in midsentence. “Actually, he was hoping you could stop by Wayne Towersometime today. He would like to meet you in person, get to know about the center and give the check personally.”

When Carter was younger, they would always look up and see Wayne Tower. They always wondered what it looked like on the inside. Another thing they wondered was about Bruce Wayne and how he was in the flesh. 

“That works for me. I can come in about two hours, does that work?” 

“Yes. We will see you soon.” 

Carter smiled. “See you soon.” 

They ended the call and grabbed Lila’s hands and moved them up and down. Lila questioned. “Did you say ‘Wayne’? As in Bruce Wayne?” 

Carter nodded very quickly. “Yeah! He found one of my business cards from last night and wants to donate! He wants me to go to Wayne Tower and meet him.” 

Lila jumped off the desk. “Wayne Tower?” 

“Yeah, but I don’t have anything to wear. I returned my suit this morning.” 

Lila spoke. “Go back to the apartment and go into my room and take one of my dresses. I’ll cover here.” 

Carter smiled as they threw their bag over their shoulder. They hugged Lila. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.” 

#wayume #gold rush fanfic #battinson x oc #battinson #the batman x oc #batman 2022 fanfic #bruce wayne x oc #bruce wayne #batman #bruce wayne fanfic #nonbinary oc #batman fanfic

[ryuzakemo128]

DC Villain OC Headcanons Part One

Part Two

Her mother named her Thana with the Greek god of death in mind.

She's rather tall, she's around Six foot Five inches tall. Dark red hair that grows out extremely quickly. Her teeth are more similar to a shark's.

Her favorite genres of music are: Heavy Metal, Alternate, Classic Rock, Classical and a mix of others.

She hates people touching her or her hair.

She plays the guitar for her friend's heavy metal band called Nuclear Midwinter.

She spies on her targets for months, studying them and getting information on them. Often before going after them.

She doesn't care for those who pity her, as she doesn't want anyone's pity.

She loves challenging fights, as its one of the few things that excite her to certain level.

10. Her favorite games would be Doom 2016 and Doom Eternal. Mainly for the soundtrack.

11. She's the oldest in a family of seven, the youngest being her brother Liam.

12. She has a thing for smart guys, even though she thinks she has no chance with them. (Low Self Esteem)

#dc oc #dc oc headcanons #Batman Villain oc #oc fanfiction #oc fanfic #dc comics fanfiction #batman 2022 oc #batman 2022 fanfiction #batman 2022 fanfic #batman 2022 fic #the batman 2022 #original character #fanfiction #fanfic #imagine #oc #batman 2022 oc fanfiction #batman 2022 oc fanfic #batman 2022 oc imagine #drabble #headcanons #headcanon #head canon

[dreamtinblackandwhite]

give & take

summary: bruce wayne x female!reader learning what their partner likes during sex

word count: 832

warnings: NSFW, SMUT, mentions of fingering, oral (both receiving), p in v sex, overstimulated, praise kink, degradation kink, face fucking, i think that's it?

an: let me know what you think of this one! it's not much but i wanted to get it out of my brain :)

bruce is such a giver.

he was so touch deprived when you first starting seeing each other that he just wants to shower you in appreciation for giving this back to him.

every night before he heads out to patrol, he’d burry his face between your thighs and greedily fingerfucks you until you’re seeing stars

every time the two of you are required to go to a public event, he’d make sure to find a secluded room where he would get on his knees for you after seeing you in that dress

if your response after he asks how your day was is anything less than ‘great, love, yours?’ he’d tug you off towards his bed and spend hours kissing every single inch of your body

praising you because he knows how much you love it:

‘such a good girl’, ‘you are so gorgeous squeezing around my fingers’, ‘you are doing so good, darling’, ‘you can cum again, I know you can.’, ‘be a good girl and moan my name while I tease this perfect clit, beautiful.’

this man would worship the ground you walk on and is utterly obsessed with every part of you

there were signs of him wanting more though. the way his eyes would widen and he'd blush so cutely after you told him it was okay to be rough with you. you'd tell him every night how you want to shower him with the same affection he gives you. but he’d ignore you to burry his face into your dripping cunt again whimpering and whining about how much he loves you.

you could see him fall into the blissful high of your warm folds wrapping around his cock so perfectly and he slowly would lose his composure. fucking you as if he didn't know you, plowing into you like his access to oxygen depended on it. his rough strokes against your sensitive core seemed to speak how much he loved using you - you just needed to drag that out of him.

you waited in the batcave for him on a stormy night that you couldn’t sleep. ‘what are you doing awake, darling?’ He’d ask as he slipped his cowl off with a concerned tone to his voice. you didn't need to say anything. just walk up to him and slowly peel layer by layer of his suit off, dragging your finger tips across each muscle, bruise, fresh cut, or healed scar as you exposed his skin.

‘you could have waited in bed if you wanted me,’ reaching for you, wanting to see more of your skin than what you were offering. you’d stop his hands before they could touch you, using them as anchorage as you floated to the floor on your knees. never breaking eye contact.

he’d already be hard, even innocent touches from you were enough to spark that reaction. but there was something about seeing how well you were swallowing him down, drooling and gagging around him with no care in the world...

there was no denying that bruce craved control. that’s part of the reason he goes out, he wants to control the crime of Gotham.

but this was different. you were strong, independent, you didn’t need bruce, you had all the control in your own life. but here you were, on your knees for him. His. His beautiful and perfect equal.

you saw the shift in his eyes when he accepted how much he loved this. his fingers tangling in your hair as a low groan rumbled from his chest. ‘good fucking girl,’ his eye bored into yours, drinking up the sight of you degrading yourself for him as tears formed in the corner of your eyes. ‘you’re prettiest when you’re messy like this for me.' he's never respect you more - you had so much power but you set it aside for him. this was his bliss.

and that’s when you both found the perfect blend of kinks. he felt the whimper he fucked into your throat and saw the familiar glint in your eye as you desperately rolled your hips forward. ‘you like this, don’t you? love being my secret little cocksucker, fully knowing you’ll turn around tomorrow and command respect.’ you’d nod your head, still working your mouth feverishly around his cock.

‘i love it too, baby,’ a moan would escape him that belonged in a porno as he twitched in your throat, fucking his hips into your face. his head would fall backwards at the disgustingly lewd sounds coming from your perfect lips only making his grip on your head tighten and his pace rougher. ‘take my cock like a good slut. y’ve such a good throat for me.’

after you swallowed his sticky load, he’d all but fall to his knees in front of you and hug you close, whispering little thank yous as he kissed your hair. ‘you were right,’ he’d finally say before kissing you hungrily and starting his favorite task of forcing you to cum until you’re overstimulated.

#battinson #robert pattinson #bruce wayne #robert pattinson x reader #battinson fanfiction #battinson x reader #bruce wayne x reader #robert pattinson au #bruce wayne x y/n #robert pattinson x yn #bruce wayne smut #battinson smut #the batman #batman x reader #the batman 2022 #the batman fanfic

[shuichisweave]

costume party

riddler x (sort of bimbo) reader part one

halloween fic

suggestive

“Edward”

Oh dear god. Oh no. Oh fuck.

You did not call him Edward unless he had truly fucked up. What was it now? Had all of his plans of eventually letting you in on knowing who he truly was gone awry? He froze in place, unable to move or even look in your direction, as if he had been plastered down onto the cushion of the loveseat in your shared apartment. 

No. Impossible. It couldn’t be- he had done everything absolutely perfectly, everything falling into place just as it should have, slowly introducing the idea of him being more radicalized than he had let on when he first met you. It was going to be sublime. He realized that by now he had not responded to you for nearly a minute. Better late than never.

“Yes dear? Is everything alright?” He looked over his shoulder to see you behind him tapping your foot on the ground. Looking impatient, disappointed even. “Eddie, baby, what day is it?” His eyes swatted from you to the calendar on the fridge. October 26th. 

“Uhhhh… the twenty-sixth?” You softened your gaze slightly, realizing he had no clue how close the upcoming holiday was. “Eddie, we have a costume party coming up on the twenty-ninth of this month. There's only three days left counting today to get our shit together and put together some costumes. We’re going costume shopping today and that’s final” You turned back into your shared bedroom to get ready for shopping without another word. Edward let out a heavy sign he didn’t realize he had been keeping in.

-

The Halloween surplus store luckily wasn’t too bare bones for it being the end of October. A few shelves were sparingly stocked however most were full. Unfortunately for Eddie that just meant more for you to browse through and drag him into trying on. “Eddie, look at this! How cute! A playboy bunny costume! Isn’t it so pretty!” You showed him the vinyl wrapped costume package with a scantily clad woman with bunny ears on. He audibly gulped at the thought of having to share your presence with others while you wore that.

Even after having been together for over a year he still didn’t know how to respond to you in a situation like this. “It’s er- lovely sweetheart but don't you want these to be matching costumes? That means I’ll either have to be Hugh Hefner or a playboy bunny too, and I don’t know how I feel about having to wear that around some of your coworkers…” You took a moment to think on it, and placed the bagged costume back on its proper hook. “Good idea you’re so right! Plus Hugh Hefner is just ugh you know? I don’t want to think of you as a gross old guy” You went back to peruse some of the stocked costumes, taking your time to look through them carefully. “AHA! It’s so perfect, Eddie look! Look, look, look!” In your hands you held a skimpy little bo-peep costume, complete with thigh highs, a garter, and a baby pink shepherd's crook.

“So what do you think? Should I get it? That way you can be a cute little sheep and we’ll look perfect together! He nearly came in his work khakis at the thought of you, practically nude in that little get up and dragging him around the party like your sex slave. “Y-yes absolutely. I think you’ll look … so so pretty” You grinned and searched for a way to make him have a not too embarrassing sheep costume.

-

Finally making it home you squealed in delight at the thought of Ed seeing you in this costume and making his jaw drop to the floor. Although to him he just thought it was a shriek of happiness from finally having a cute outfit to wear for the party you would be holding. “Alright, I’m gonna go try it on! No peeking okay?” It was then that he realized it would have been a great idea to bug the bathroom, he would have made good use out of the pictures and videos that a hidden camera in there would produce. After a few minutes of hearing the sound of plastic bags and shuffling, the bathroom door opened and you appeared, donning the frilly costume. Your tits nearly spilled out the top of the corset top and the soft pink skirt left nothing to the imagination. You frowned slightly and said “Eddie? I’ve called your name three times by now. What do you think? Too much?” He nearly shouted “No! No no it’s perfect. Truly it’s perfect, you look perfect”

You strolled back over to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so happy you like it Eddie, I absolutely adore it” You gently wrapped your arms over his shoulders, hanging off of him. “So now that I know how you feel about it- do you want to try it out?”

“Try it out? What do you mean?” He looked at you utterly confused. “C’mon Eddie baby” You said, taking him by the hand and pulling him towards your shared bedroom. 

“Oh!”

Oh.

#fanfic #the riddler x reader #edward nashton x reader #bimbo reader #riddler #edward nygma x reader #edward nygma #the batman 2022

[hollandorks]

fright

battinson! bruce wayne x gn! reader

summary: in the midst of investigating a drug that kills people with their own fear, Bruce is drugged.

**not affiliated with middle of the night**

a/n: I'm back with something new, finally! I've been wanting to write this for a while, just for fun, because the battinson brain rot still hasn't gone away in over a year. Hopefully I'll be doing more oneshots from here on out! I tried to make this reader as gender neutral as possible but if I slipped up anywhere let me know so I can fix it!

word count: 7081

The abandoned subway station is cold and damp but comfortingly familiar. 

Alfred had simply waved you downstairs to get started on your work while Bruce was out on patrol. That was one thing about constantly being around a vigilante–it turned you into a night owl, the changes almost imperceptible until you can no longer fall asleep on your own before two in the morning, even in the comfort of your own apartment. Sometimes you aren’t sure if it was because you’re used to working late on your nights working with Bruce…

Or if you couldn’t fall asleep until you knew Gotham’s vigilante was home safe again after another night. 

So since you’re a night owl these days, you’ve taken to doing your work in the darkest parts of the night, comfortable with commuting after dark. Though Alfred and Bruce both insisted on you keeping a guest room in Wayne Tower when you work late, as neither of them are comfortable with you walking Gotham alone at night. Sometimes the city’s resident vigilante watches over you, but for those other times–those other times you stay in the drafty room set aside for you, one floor below Bruce’s bedroom. 

You aren’t sure you’re supposed to know where Bruce’s bedroom is, exactly. But unbeknownst to the man himself, you’ve helped Alfred twice now haul his huge frame to bed when he’d passed out from either exhaustion or severe injuries. And as it was, it never came up in conversation that you had seen his bedroom, the space just as cluttered as the subway station belowground was. 

You wouldn’t admit, either, that may or may not have snooped. His bedroom was neat, but organized in a way only his mind seemed to understand, the same as where he kept everything Batman-related. The bedroom closet was full of dark colors and clothes that were at least a decade old, and a full row of the black work boots he preferred to wear with his armor, some scuffed and torn beyond recognition, a couple of pairs almost new. 

It isn’t a secret, exactly, but you knew Bruce well enough by now to know he probably wouldn’t like that you’d seen his bedroom without permission. 

It’s his bedroom you think of now as you sit down to work at your designated desk in the abandoned station. The space was less lived in that the basement around you. Did Bruce prefer the bats for company? Or was the tower above too full of ghosts for him to face? Either way, he spends more of his time downstairs than up. There’s even a ratty secondhand couch shoved to one side where he seems to do most of his sleeping. You’ve seen him crash there more times than you could count. 

You stretch already-cold fingers and boot up the multiple computer screens that have become yours even though you only own the laptop. 

You’ve been working with him for a few months now, the connection pure chance, as most things in your life were. Your move to Gotham, your skill with computers, your meeting with a kevlar-covered vigilante. It was all chance, a force you believe in almost as much as you believe in gravity. 

It had been a beautiful night that night, which really should have been your first clue that it was all going to hell. You were taking a simple walk to clear your head after a long day at work. You’d hated the corporate job you were working at, which was, ironically enough, at Wayne Enterprises. 

That night was the first time you were acquainted with Gotham’s dark, violent underbelly. It was also the first time you met the man you’d thought was simply an urban legend–the Batman, a shadow turned savior at the moment you thought it would all be over. 

He’d disappeared as your thanks rose to your lips, swallowed up by the night before you could utter the words. 

The second time you met Batman was by chance, too. You’d gotten some information on a crime and, well, you had done the not-so-smart thing and used your computer skills to follow the lead. 

Batman had followed the same lead through different methods. 

Showing up at the same place at first led him to suspect you, but once you’d pulled out your laptop and proven how you’d gotten the information by using Gotham’s surveillance cameras to track the assholes down, he was curious. He wanted you to show him exactly how you’d done it. He’d revealed his curious mind to you that night, and that was the first piece of him you developed a crush on. 

The sharp jawline didn’t hurt, either. 

You smile to yourself as your fingers work over the keyboard to the computer in front of you. These days, he has you scouring surveillance cameras, police scanners, and internet forums for leads on cases. You also have your not-so-legal hacking skills to accomplish those things. And that’s in between the research you do on current cases. Not to mention the extra work you do behind his back to keep Batman’s identity from ever getting out–not that he needs to know that, not yet. It’s mostly deleting everything you can get your hands on that discusses his possible identity, whether it’s really far off base or a little too close to home.

It’s a lot of work, but you love it. You’d barely given it a thought when Bruce–before you’d known his identity–had asked you to help him. You’d said yes before the question had been fully finished. 

Tonight, Bruce is staking out the seedier parts of Gotham trying to track down a new drug. At least, you think it’s a new drug. Several people have turned up dead, their features marred by their own hands, with something unknown in their bloodstreams. The medical examiner said it seemed as if they had all been…frightened to death, the levels of cortisol and adrenaline in their blood sky high. 

Right now you have your computers working in the background to monitor police chatter, any hints from the dark web, and anything else you can think of to track down the source of the drug. While the program works to search for keywords and phrases on one of your three monitors, the other two screens are split between all of the ME reports and the information on each victim and real-time video feeds from every camera in the city you can get your hands on. 

Bruce doesn’t know that you’re trying to watch his back while working the case. 

You worry about him, even though he’s probably the most capable person you’ve ever met. 

The third time you’d met him he’d shown up at your apartment bleeding everywhere. He hadn’t even known he was bleeding everywhere. He’d gotten into a fight while tracking you down to get you to use your skills on another case and simply ignored his injuries in favor of keeping his goal. 

Luckily, a few days earlier you’d sliced your finger open while cooking and had some of the weird liquid bandaid stuff you’d been using. There’d been a ghost of a smile on Bruce’s face when you’d run and gotten it for him. He’d thanked you softly, and then gone back to being all-business as you worked on the gash on his arm. As you’d bandaged the cut, he told you about the case he was working, and how your computer skills would really help him out. 

He started turning up more frequently after that, asking for help on cases. Until the day he’d asked if you wanted a permanent position helping him–paid and everything. 

And now here you were, in his innermost circle, allowed to know everything about him. At least, as much of everything as he let anyone know. 

Your computer pings right as Bruce grunts over the comms. It’s another thing he might not know about, your nightly tuning in to the comms as he goes out. Not that you aren’t allowed, but it’s something you won’t admit to unless directly questioned. 

You sit up straight so fast it sends your desk chair rolling backwards. Fumbling for the edge of your desk to pull yourself forward, you frantically click through tabs to figure out where the alert was coming from. 

A connection. 

Your breath leaves in a rush as you scan the information. 

Then you’re scrambling back for the comms, flipping the mic on, and trying to string a coherent sentence together.

“I found a lead,” you finally manage. It sounds like he’s in the middle of a fight. Oops. You push on, knowing he can hear you even if he can’t respond. “They were all patients at Arkham Asylum at some point. And they all were treated by the same doctor, Jonathan Crane.” 

Bruce starts cursing. There’s a strange hissing noise over the comms. You lightly shake the computer, trying to figure out the source of the static. 

“I know,” he finally says. The hissing has stopped, but now there’s a new noise. A familiar noise. The sound of his motorcycle revving to life. 

“Wh–how?” you say, unsure how he found out before you did. 

There’s more cursing and the sound of the bike speeding up. 

“I’m–shit.” He coughs. “I’m on my way back. Tell Alfred to–” His breath stutters for a moment. “I don’t–” 

“Please tell me you haven’t been stabbed to death,” you say with more bravado than you feel. With one hand, you text Alfred to come downstairs with the first aid kit. 

But the comms have gone silent. Bruce is breathing heavily, the only way you know he’s still there.

“Where were you hit?” you ask. “What street? How bad is it?” 

No answer. Bruce makes a noise that raises every hair on your body. 

It sounds like he’s…afraid.

You scramble to pull up every feed you have and find out where he’s been so you could see what happened. 

In all your months knowing him, you’ve never heard Bruce make such a noise. You’ve never heard him afraid like that. Something about it raises every hair on the back of your neck. 

You search camera after camera on the streets of Gotham, looking for any sign of Bruce at the moment he said he was on his way back. You curse quietly to yourself, the sound of Bruce’s motorcycle engine through the comms filling the echoing space around you. 

Then–there. Grainy as all get out and the only angle is available from a building across the street. But it’s him–there’s no denying the hulking shadow that is the Batman. He’s helping someone, a woman who appears to be screaming though the video has no audio attached. She thrashes and hits at Bruce, seemingly hysterical. 

Then she goes utterly still. You realize that it was about this time where you flipped the comms on to listen. 

Someone steps out of the shadows of the alley in front of them and there’s a sudden small cloud of fog. 

Bruce darts away, hopping on his motorcycle as the figure moves fully into the light. He–because you can see now that it’s a man–looks down at the woman dead on the sidewalk. Then his face tilts upward and you see why Bruce said, I know. 

It was the doctor himself, the one who’d been treating all of the dead patients. 

Jonathan Crane. 

Even with the shitty quality, his face is a clear match for the identification photo linked to Arkham. 

You immediately save images of the video for Gordon to see. Here’s the proof you need–this and the Batman’s testimony of an attack surely are enough to at least get Crane investigated properly. 

Hopefully. 

The small printer starts to spit out the pictures as the roar of a familiar engine abruptly cuts off in the tunnels outside of the station. 

You straighten. 

“Bruce?” you call out uncertainly. Normally he comes tearing in, hopping the motorcycle up on the ramp to be worked on and showing off a bit as he does it, or parking haphazardly near his work tables so he can get straight back to work. In the months you’d known him, he’d never stopped outside of the station for any reason. 

Your heart is somewhere near your feet as you tentatively step forward. 

“Bruce?” you say again, this time much quieter. 

You’re suddenly yanked backwards off your feet as a gloved hand presses against your mouth. You squirm, panicked, trying to get away. You lament all the times you refused Bruce’s self defense lessons.

“Shh, be quiet,” a familiar voice says. 

You relax all at once. 

It’s Bruce. 

Even through his armor, you can feel his heart pounding rapidly. His breath comes in sharp gasps that he struggles to keep quiet. 

He lets you turn in his arms. His eyes are wild, panicked. 

“Where are you hurt?” you murmur quietly. Your eyes track over every inch of him. There’s no blood that you can see, but he’s still in his all-black armor and you’re both tucked in the shadows near the hangar door that opens into the tunnels. You probably wouldn’t be able to see the blood if there was any. 

Bruce is still panting like he’s been running. “They’re coming,” he whispers. You frown. You already checked all the cameras from his route home and the security cameras in the tunnel. He came in alone. 

There’s a quiet noise somewhere in the distance, probably just a bat going to bed for the day, but Bruce yanks you close against his chest and whirls with one fist raised. 

Now you’re afraid, too. Has someone followed him all this way and you missed it somehow? Has someone found his inner sanctum? Are you both in danger? 

Another noise startles you both. 

The elevator descending. 

Bruce’s eyes are wild beneath his mask. 

“It’s Alfred,” you whisper, but Bruce seems not to hear you. 

“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he murmurs into your ear, dragging you along with him into the recessed shadows by the elevator. You stumble along, still tucked against his side, the feeling of his breath on your ear lingering and making you shiver. Even though you’re afraid, you feel safe. “We’ll get you help, I promise.” You’re not sure what you need help with, but you remain quiet. 

Bruce has always protected you, whether he knows it or not. 

He physically protects you, sure, watching your back as the Batman, keeping you safe in a city as turbulent as Gotham. But Bruce also has always looked out for your mental health, too. 

There have always been nights where things are just…bleak, whether or not for any particular reason. You withdraw into yourself during those times, much like Bruce himself does. Somehow he always, always knows how to draw you back out. Sometimes it’s a quiet joke, sometimes a request to help him with something, sometimes it’s only his quiet company as he sits and works next to you. 

So even now, as you fear every moving shadow, every noise, thinking someone might be coming after you…

Even now, you know you’ll be safe and protected with Bruce. 

It’s part of why you love him. 

Not that he’d ever know that. 

“Stay put,” Bruce says into your ear, making you shiver all over again. 

He pushes gently on your shoulders in a stay put motion and steps away on silent feet. Even now his grace surprises you, even after months of watching him, being around him. He is a wonder to behold, a massive shadow that becomes weightless in a single breath. It’s like he becomes incorporeal at will, turning into shadow and smoke before he strikes. 

The elevator gates rattle open and Bruce leaps. 

Alfred is on the ground, first aid kit scattering to all corners of the station with a clatter, in barely a blink.

“Bruce!” you half-shout, the instinct automatic. Your voice overlaps with Alfred’s, the echoes sending the bats into a frenzy overhead. 

Bruce goes utterly still, one fist raised like he’s going to hit Alfred. Alfred of all people. He flinches at the bats but his focus is on Alfred. 

Alfred is as calm as ever despite the figure looming threateningly over him. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. “Are you hurt?” 

“Alfred,” Bruce chokes out and the sound is agonized. He seems paralyzed. “I’m sorry, I was too slow–” 

The three of you don’t move. 

You approach slowly. “Bruce?” you say softly, like he’s a wild animal backed into a corner. Because that’s what he looks like–wild, feral, and most of all, scared. You think of the ME reports and have to bite your lip to distract yourself from the fear that brings. 

“You have to–you have to tie me up,” Bruce says, his arm trembling like he’s holding himself back. “He dosed me with–whatever it is.” His eyes dart around the space. 

You straighten as if shocked. “Dr. Crane did?” 

“Yes, he–” Bruce flinches and then refocuses on Alfred, still beneath him and as calm as ever as if it were an everyday experience. “Oh God. No, no, no. No. I’m sorry.” 

Then Bruce does something even more shocking. 

He sobs.

You startle as if a gunshot has gone off. 

You’ve never heard Bruce cry. You’ve never even really seen him sad. Angry, sure. And frustrated. Those seem to be his two main moods, other than generally quiet. The happiness is rare, but you’ve seen that too. 

But you’ve never, ever heard him cry. 

“Bruce?” you say again, uncertain. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he groans. “I couldn’t save you, I’m sorry.” He scrambles away from Alfred. His eyes are still wild, darting every which way, his expression frantic under the mask. 

Your brain works quickly through all the evidence you’ve been digging into. 

“It’s making him afraid,” you tell Alfred as the older man gets unsteadily to his feet. Bruce whirls and throws a punch, but there’s nothing there. “Whatever he was dosed with, it’s making him afraid.” 

What you don’t tell Alfred is that this drug most likely scared the other victims to death. 

Your heart pounds with enough fear that you wonder briefly if you’ve been dosed too. 

“If he’s like this, he won’t react well to being tied up,” Alfred says, but he starts moving efficiently, pulling zip ties from Bruce’s belt as he fights invisible foes. 

In one swift movement, Alfred grabs Bruce’s wrist, kicks him in the back of one knee, and grabs the other wrist. 

You gape as he tightens Bruce’s hands behind his back even as he thrashes. 

“No!” Bruce shouts. “Let me go! I have to get there before it’s too late! No!” 

“How did you–?” You stare at Alfred with your mouth open slightly. Alfred is a man of many hidden talents, apparently. 

“We need to get him more secure,” Alfred says, still calm as ever. And maybe, with as long as he’s been around Bruce, this sort of thing is normal. You’ve only been around a few months–Alfred’s been around since the beginning. You wonder just how many times Bruce has gotten himself into messes like this. 

Alfred grunts as Bruce tries to get away. Apparently, Alfred’s strong, even with an old leg injury. You hold the man in high esteem but it just gets higher as you watch him. 

“Tell me what to do,” you say as you straighten your spine. Bruce needs you, and that’s all that matters. You need him to make it through the night–that’s your focus right now. 

“See if you can calm him down long enough for us to get him upstairs. His bed should be sturdy enough for us to tie him to.” Alfred grunts and manages to shove Bruce back to his knees as he rises. 

You quickly kneel in front of Bruce and take his face in your hands. “Bruce? It’s me. It’s okay. Alfred and I are okay.” 

Bruce’s eyes roll around without focus. His breathing is even worse now, each breath rasping out of his chest, his whole body heaving with it. 

You try to push the memory of the crime scene photos out of your mind. Bodies twisted with fear. People who were dosed with whatever this was who died scared out of their minds. 

You’re terrified for Bruce, but you push it away. 

“Bruce, please,” you say, softer now, fingers pressed tightly against his cheeks. You can feel the slight scrape of stubble on your palms. 

Bruce’s brilliant blue eyes finally meet yours. “No,” he says and the desperate word is like a bullet to your heart. His whole body strains towards you. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t die.” 

“Bruce, I’m okay,” you say. Your hands fumble before gripping the mask and pulling it off. Bruce cringes away. “I’m okay, I’m not dying.” Your fingers card through his hair. Damp with sweat, it sticks up with the movement. Bruce leans into the touch, and his breathing seems to ease slightly. 

“Y/n,” he mumbles. His eyes close for a second. 

“Bruce, let’s get you upstairs,” Alfred says in a low voice. 

Somehow, the pair of you get him up, hands still tied behind his back, and into the elevator. Bruce keeps repeating his apologies, every sound from his lips pained and terrified. 

“Alfred we need to–to get the drug out of his system somehow, if we can. I don’t know what else to do.” You whisper the words because you’re worried about setting Bruce off even further. You hold tight to his armored elbow. 

“I can get an IV started once we get him settled, that might work.” Alfred furrows his brow. “Y/n…how bad is this drug? What have you found in your research?” 

You hesitate, staring up at Bruce for a moment. His arms jerk in their restraints, but there’s nowhere for him to go in the small space of the elevator. “I don’t know how many people were dosed with it and survived,” you finally admit. 

Alfred goes still and stares at you while absently wrangling Bruce back into the corner. “How many died?” 

“I don’t know. Five, I think. Three for sure. Bruce watched a woman die from it right before he got hit in the face with it.” You chew your lip. Your eyes fill with tears as you meet Bruce’s anguished blue eyes.

“Then we will do everything in our power to keep him alive,” Alfred swears. “After he’s secured, I’ll get the IV started first and then we’ll make sure to monitor his vitals. If it gets too bad…” 

“He won’t be happy if he has to go to the hospital,” you say, but part of you wants to insist that you take him anyway. 

“No!” Bruce shouts as the elevators open. 

You don’t know what he’s responding to, but suddenly he’s frantic again, whatever slight semblance of calm he had in the elevator abruptly gone. He aims a kick at the wall and somehow leverages his bound hands in front of him. 

Alfred curses and shoves Bruce against the same wall. He braces the younger man with his whole body but his bad leg trembles. 

“Go get the medical bag!” Alfred says. “We need to sedate him.” 

You pause. “But what if something reacts with the drug?” 

Alfred curses again. “There’s nothing else to do. We’ll give him as low a dose as we can and keep an eye on him. Go!” 

So you run. Your feet slip over dusty hardwood floors as you scramble as fast as you can for Alfred’s medical bag. The bag is full of everything Alfred might need in a Batman-related emergency in case Bruce couldn’t make it home or even upstairs. The first aid kit is for general injuries–this bag is for when things go to hell. 

It feels as if hours have passed in the short amount of time it took to grab the bag. When you reach the elevator again, Alfred and Bruce are gone. You can hear them in Bruce’s bedroom now and hurry towards them. 

“Get his other arm!” Alfred says as he handcuffs one of Bruce’s hands to his massive wood headboard. 

You scramble up on the bed and over Bruce to do as Alfred says. 

“Let me tie you up, Bruce,” you say gently even though you aren’t sure he can hear you. “Please,” you say as he fights your grip. He’s so much bigger and stronger than you, it’s nearly impossible to even get the handcuffs on his wrist, let alone connected to the other side of the headboard. 

“Alfred,” you say around a grunt. You’re fully straddling Bruce now but he doesn’t even seem to notice. He’s seeing things that aren’t there. It sounds like he’s having an asthma attack, he’s breathing so hard and wheezing so much. God, what if he stops breathing and passes out from his panic?

It takes several more minutes of you and Alfred both yanking on Bruce’s arm–because damn is he strong–before he’s finally, finally secured against the headboard. 

You immediately start taking off the armor on his arms as Alfred preps the IV. You sit on Bruce’s legs to stop his incessant kicking, murmuring soothing words to him the whole time. You and Alfred will both be covered in bruises tomorrow, but you don’t even notice any pain at the moment. 

Bruce freaks out when Alfred sticks the needle in his arm. He shouts wordlessly and thrashes so hard the bed moves away from the wall. You curse under your breath and get off of him. 

“Hold this arm as best you can,” Alfred says. 

“Who knew he could cause so much damage while handcuffed?” The joke comes out wobbly, though, your worry seeping through your words. Even leaning all of your body weight on Bruce, he still makes it nearly impossible for Alfred to get the IV in.

You both breathe a sigh of relief when it finally goes in. Alfred works quickly and efficiently, still the perfect picture of calm even though he must be freaking out as much as you are–if not more. 

After another minute, Bruce relaxes marginally. He stops trying to escape and settles back into the pillows, still awake and staring with wild eyes around the room. Every so often he jerks one of his restraints, as if testing them.

You blow out another breath. 

“I’m going to monitor his pulse and blood pressure,” Alfred says as he pulls the necessary things out of the giant medical bag. “We’ll have to keep an eye on him until the drug passes through his system.” 

You nod, staring down at Bruce, feeling utterly helpless. How are you supposed to fight someone’s own mind? There’s nothing you can do that isn’t being done already–and there’s still no guarantee Bruce will survive.

As quick as it comes, you shut the thought down. Bruce will make it through this, even if it kills you. 

You finish undoing his chest plates and set them to the side. You brush Bruce’s hair back from his face. 

“You’ll be okay,” you say solemnly. “You’re too stubborn to die, and Alfred and I are too stubborn to let you.” When you look up, Alfred is frowning at the blood pressure machine and the pulse oximeter on Bruce's finger. “What?” 

“Talk to him again,” is all he says. 

You raise an eyebrow but turn back to Bruce. “Who knew Alfred was so strong, huh?” you say, aiming for lightness, but the words seem to fall short. 

You reach out and smooth his wild, dark hair. 

Alfred’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “I think you calm him down, my dear.” 

It’s your turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

“Whenever you talk or touch him, his pulse drops a little and his breathing gets easier.” Alfred gives you a knowing look. 

Alfred’s the only one who knows about your crush on Bruce. He’s told you, repeatedly, to admit your feelings, but you’re too scared. Bruce is so far out of your league it’s laughable. Just because he trusts you enough with his secret doesn’t mean he feels the same way you do. Bruce has so few friends–his only two are, in fact, you and Alfred–that you know he opened up simply because he could. Bruce needed a friend, a confidant, a partner. You were able to give him that. That’s all. 

You stare at Alfred then, resigned, climb up over Bruce to sit by his head. 

“How about a scalp massage?” you ask Bruce. “Because apparently it makes you feel calmer.” 

Alfred chuckles. “His mother used to do that. Rub his head to get him to sleep or to get him to calm down when he was upset.” The older man softens as he stares down at Bruce. 

Something inside you melts. You reach a slightly trembling hand out and run it over Bruce’s head. You feel for a moment like you’re taking advantage of him. You never get to touch him like this, to simply watch him, and you relish it. 

“Here,” Alfred says, handing out a small package. “For the black around his eyes.” 

You take a wipe with your free hand and gently rub at the makeup on Bruce’s face. Both of his arms jerk against the restraints at that first touch. He starts panting hard again. 

“The blood–” he says with a pained moan. “The blood–” 

“There’s no blood, Bruce,” you say. Each touch is careful, gentle. “Everyone’s alright.” 

But he keeps yanking at the restraints. His wrists underneath his long sleeve shirt are turning redder and redder with each movement. 

“I couldn’t save them,” Bruce says around a small sob. He stares at you but you don’t think he actually can see you. “It’s my fault. I couldn’t save them.” 

“Save who?” you ask with one final swipe of the wipe over his eyes. 

“My parents. Alfred.” A tear slips over his cheek. “You.” 

“Alfred and I are alive, Bruce,” you say as you sit back on your heels on the bed. You carefully reach over and tug each of his sleeves over his wrist underneath the handcuffs. 

But Bruce doesn’t hear. “Stop!” he shouts at an unseen foe. “Don’t hurt them!” 

His sleeves have ridden up again, exposing his wrists to the handcuffs. You can see a small bit of blood on the wrist closest to you. 

Alfred hands out a bandage. “This should help.” 

You each bandage a wrist even as Bruce continues struggling. His pleas fade to pained noises that rip your heart out each time. 

“We should give him more of the sedative,” Alfred says. He rubs a hand over his face tiredly. “Where are the autopsy records? Maybe I can find out what this drug contains and see if there’s anything we can safely give him.” 

“They’re all at my workstation downstairs.” 

“I’ll be right back,” Alfred says. He hurries off, his limp even more pronounced now. 

Bruce continues straining against the handcuffs. His face is red with effort, his chest still heaving, the veins on his neck sticking out. He brings his knees up and leverages himself so his back smashes against the headboard. It creaks and groans. 

Whatever Alfred gave him must not have been enough. He’s just as frantic as he was before. Except now he’s trying to break his wrists and the headboard at the same time. 

“Stop that,” you say calmly even as your heart pounds. You wouldn’t put it past Bruce to snap the entire thing trying to get free. You run your fingers through his hair again. He immediately settles somewhat, his tugs on the handcuffs slightly easier. 

You decide to use both hands and give him the promised scalp massage. The longer your fingers work through the tangles, the more he seems to relax. You glance at the small device on his finger. His heart rate is still too high, but it lowers slightly at your prolonged touch. It’ll have to be good enough, you decide. Anything to keep his heart from giving out. 

When you look back up, Bruce is staring into your eyes. 

“I thought–I couldn’t be afraid anymore,” he says quietly. He seems more lucid now. Maybe the dose wasn’t that strong. You silently pray to all the gods and entities that might listen that it’ll be over soon. “But seeing you die–” His breath catches in his chest. “I couldn’t save you.” 

“I’m here,” you say. You wish you could take his fear and pain away, but there’s nothing else you can do. “I didn’t die.” 

Bruce makes a noise in his throat that you can’t comprehend. “It’s my–worst nightmare.” His eyes close. He grimaces. 

You keep trying to sooth him with your fingers in his hair. “You’re hallucinating, Bruce,” you say. “I don’t know if you’re able to tell what’s real right now, but all the bad things? Those are hallucinations.” 

“You’re real,” he murmurs softly. His body is a lot more relaxed. 

“Yes,” you say. “I’m here. I’m real.” 

Alfred bursts back into the room, laptop tucked under his arms. “I think we can give him more.” 

“Are you sure it’s safe?” 

“No, but if this doesn’t work…He’ll need an ambulance.” 

“He seems a lot calmer,” you say. Bruce’s eyes are still closed but he hums. “I don’t think the dose was very strong. He probably took the guy by surprise.” 

Alfred injects something into the IV, and Bruce’s body goes slack after a few moments. Alfred checks his pulse and blood pressure for several quiet moments, watching each of them improve slightly minute by minute. 

“That should do it,” Alfred says. He brushes a hand over his salt and pepper beard. “You can go on to bed, my dear.” 

“No, I’ll–I’ll stay, keep an eye on him. You go.” You expect him to argue, but Alfred nods and leaves you alone with Bruce. 

Now that things are calm, all of your fear and adrenaline start to fade. Bruce isn’t completely out of the woods yet, but he’ll make it. You think.

You think back to the surveillance video you saw. Dr. Crane was likely experimenting on the woman who died when Bruce showed up–and used whatever drug he had leftover on him. So it was likely it hadn’t been a full dose, especially with the way he seemed to calm down some. 

It was lucky. Extremely lucky. You think about the way the force of chance, of luck, has worked in your life so far, and can’t discount this instance either. 

When Bruce wakes up, you’ll give him all of the evidence he needs to get Dr. Crane arrested. You’d call Gordon now, but it’s so late it’s early. It can all wait until you know for sure Bruce is going to be alright. 

Exhausted, you lean back against the pillows next to Bruce. You glance around and can’t help but laugh at the situation. Here you are, in the place you most want to be–in Bruce’s bed–in the least romantic way possible. You don’t even have permission to be here. Bruce will probably ask you to leave once he’s in his right mind again. 

You turn your head to watch Bruce sleep, your own eyes heavy. You want to undo the handcuffs, but you’re afraid he’ll wake up in a panic again. Better to leave them on just in case. 

Without meaning to, your breathing syncs with his. You watch his chest rise and fall and try to let the motion comfort you. You glance at the little device on his finger again and feel even better when you see that his heart rate has calmed significantly. It’s still a bit high, but it isn’t in dangerous territory anymore. 

You always knew being Batman was dangerous. You’ve seen him come back injured a thousand times. A couple of times he was half-dead. But something about this was worse. Maybe because it isn’t an actual injury–it’s his own mind fighting him. His worst nightmares come to life. Bruce is the strongest person you know and seeing him brought low is like…a physical blow. It was terrifying. Bruce had always seemed so…untouchable. Like a man who was never afraid. 

His fear is the most terrifying thing you’ve ever witnessed. 

Your eyes slip closed as you watch him breathe. His bed is startlingly comfortable. You half-expected Bruce with his martyr complex to sleep on a brick. But this bed…this bed is definitely the kind of bed a billionaire would own.

You wake with a jolt sometime later. 

Bruce is watching you. His breath catches and he lets out a long sigh. He closes his eyes and seems to gather himself. 

When his eyes open again a second later, they’re wet. 

“I thought you were dead.” His voice is rougher and lower than usual, like he’s been screaming. The sound of it scrapes over your skin like sandpaper. 

“I’m not,” you say, still struggling to shake off the cobwebs of sleep. The room is dim. You were pretty sure the lamps had both been on but now only one is lit–and you have a blanket over you now too. Alfred must have come in at some point. 

“I know, but–” He takes another deep breath. The handcuffs rattle as he shifts. “For a moment, I didn’t know if it was real.” 

“What did you see?” you ask slowly. You see the handcuff key sitting on the nightstand closest to you and grab it. 

Bruce shies away from you. “Don’t unlock me yet. I don’t–I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Bruce,” you say. You soften towards him. He’s scared again, but it’s different. You don’t know if it’s a leftover effect of the drug or if it's his propensity for self-flagellation, but he’s afraid of hurting you. “You won’t hurt me. You didn’t even hurt me when you were drugged. You protected me. Granted, it was from nothing, but…” You flash him a smile. He doesn’t return it. “Have you been awake long?” 

He ignores the joke and the question, eyes staring into the middle distance. “I saw…every variation possible of the people I love dying,” he finally says as you unlock the wrist closest to you. He groans quietly as he stretches the arm out. He must be in a lot of pain from having his arms lifted for so long, but he says nothing. “I saw myself killing you. Or I saw someone else hurting you because of me, to get to me. You kept getting hurt and I was always too late to stop it.” He’s breathing hard again. 

You can feel his breath on your face as you lean over him to unlock the other handcuff. 

He catches your wrist and keeps you close, staring up at you. His lashes are long and dark, his blue eyes bright as stars. He’s so beautiful it takes your breath away, even in his disheveled state. You still aren’t used to the sight of him. 

“Y/n, do you hear what I’m saying?” he says, voice almost anguished. 

And your brain finally catches up. 

I saw…every variation possible of the people I love dying. I saw myself killing you. Or someone else hurting you because of me, to get to me. 

You suddenly can’t breathe. People I love. 

“Bruce–” All the other words get caught behind his name. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and yet again you aren’t sure what he’s sorry for. “But seeing all of that–I couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to you without knowing…all of it. The way I feel about you. How badly I–” He shakes his head and presses his lips together. 

You want to pinch yourself. You’re still asleep, right? There’s no way in any universe that Bruce Wayne feels for you like you do for him. 

But he’s including you in the list of people he loves.

You’ve been silent for too long, still hovering over Bruce. His eyes shift away, a wall coming down behind them as he shuts himself off. 

“I just…wanted you to know. That’s all. I won’t mention it again.” There’s a slight pink tint to his cheeks. “It’s okay if you don’t…feel that way about me.” 

“Bruce,” you say again, softer this time. You sit back a little. “I–I’m sorry.” He deflates a little, rubbing one wrist absently. He still isn’t looking at you. “I’m not really good with words, but I want you to know I feel the same way about you.” His gaze snaps to yours. You can feel heat creeping up your neck to settle in your cheeks. “I was so scared last night. I thought–all the other victims we knew about had died and–I couldn’t handle it if you died, too. You are…so important to me.” Your voice catches slightly. 

He reaches for you, calloused hands soft as the touch of a butterfly wing against your cheek. 

“Please tell me this isn’t the drug,” he says after a long moment. 

You grin. “It isn’t. It makes you scared, remember? Are you scared now?” 

He smiles back. The sight of it steals your breath. “I’m terrified.” But his smile only grows wider.

You lean down, very slightly, going slowly so he has time to change his mind. Because it still doesn’t feel real, doesn’t feel possible.

But Bruce stretches his neck up and closes the gap between you. His lips brush yours and you feel a relief so complete you want to melt into the bed. His other hand comes up to join the first and he cradles your face like you’re something valuable, something breakable, something to be cherished. 

As his lips move against yours, your entire body seems to say, Ah, I’ve been waiting for this. 

His mouth parts slightly, an invitation that you quickly take. His hands are still careful against your face, but one of yours fists around his shirt. 

When you pull away, you smile at each other. 

“As much as I want to stay here like this,” you murmur with another kiss pressed quickly to his mouth, “I think we should get Gordon to arrest Dr. Crane as soon as possible.” 

Bruce sighs but nods. “You’re right.” 

“I usually am.” 

He laughs. “And maybe after that’s done with…we can talk more.” 

You can’t help but kiss him again. “Of course. We can talk and kiss.” 

Needless to say, it takes a long time for you and Bruce to get up to contact Gordon. 

#battinson x reader #battinson x you #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #batman x reader #batman x you #the batman #the batman 2022 #the batman x reader #the batma fanfic #fright #fright fic #bruce wayne #battinson

[imagine--if]

A/N: I've missed writing for Eddie 🥹 hope you enjoy reading! And happy 2nd anniversary to The Batman movie!! Can't believe I fell in love with the film and its characters two solid years ago, and super hyped for the sequel 🖤 A Bruce Wayne/Battinson imagine will be coming soon, so stay tuned!!

Wordcount: 1.3k

Time period: Riddler Year One, Issue 6 (beginning of The Batman)

He hated it when you were gone this long.

It was okay if he knew where you were, if you were working or out with a couple of friends, someplace he could track you through your phone. Through windows. Through anything. As long as the sun was still out and he knew exactly where you were, could reach you whenever he wanted, he could keep his grip on his mentality, and at least half-focus on his plans and preparations.

But he couldn't do any of that right now. Which led to the inevitable.

Pacing his shabby little apartment that you somehow managed to make a little brighter, tidier, something close to home, closer than he'd ever got before. But now, it was cold and dark and empty, painfully quiet, apart from his uneven, staggering breaths that Edward tried in vain to swallow down.

'Breathe.'

It was a simple job. Too simple. Sneak into the Penguin's rooms at the Iceberg Lounge, plant the bug, slip out again, unnoticed. And you would either be very much unnoticed, blending in perfectly with. there's of the deceptively beautiful girls and boys who danced and flirted and drank at the bars and around round tables and tall, glossy silver poles stretching up into the high ceilings of the club. Or you would be pulled aside by some pervert that thought you were as pretty as Edward himself did, maybe by the Penguin, or that pig Falcone.

He shouldn't have set you. Too risky. Send a follower? No, too complicated; not enough of them yet, everything still growing and finalising, piecing together in a lovely puzzle crafted by his mind. You might well go unnoticed, but if he dared go himself, it would be a horror show.

This was a baadddd idea.

The smooth click and glide of the lock twisting and opening up the heavy front door made him flinch out of his thoughts, murky green eyes jumping to the short hallway with hope and fear in his gaze. The same hope a puppy gets when its owner comes back home, the same fear a madman harbours in a dizzying craze, living off the what-ifs and obsessions their mind feeds them in the darkness.

When he speaks, it's in a rush, words tripping over each other and his voice catching, stumbling forwards to grip onto your shoulders with his soft but firm, trembling grip.

"You were gone too long," Edward insists, his fingers digging into the fabric of your sweater, searching for your warmth and reassurance, his eyes trying to take in every part of your face at once. "Too long... and I was worrying, and I felt sick, and I- you can't do it again, please, please, because-"

"It's alright, Eddie," you cut him short gently in amusement and sympathy, your arms fitting snugly around his neck as you embrace him. You easily fill him shiver at the contact, starving, aching, as he hugs you back with enough force to make you breathless, digging his face in your neck needily with a soft whining sound.

It's almost funny, how desperate and childlike he can be, all big green eyes sparkling with joy and awe at how readily you give your affections to him, his skin bare of any sweet touch from another being in Gotham other than yours. But he doesn't want anyone else's now, anyway. The rest of Gotham can sink into its corruption, and his hope incarnate can dance above the waves.

He gazes up at you in a slight daze, speechless, and you smile at him the way you do, the way that makes him smile back in giddy wonder, his thoughts spinning around and around like a carousel, all bright, pure lights and ethereal tunes.

"I miss you," Edward mumbles, half to himself, his stare wandering to study your eyes, your nose, your lips. "Always."

"I missed you too," you reply earnestly, "but it was worth it. I did what you said."

He blinks at your words, his attention circling back as he looks up into your eyes in curiosity and a sweet, almost innocent light, one that doesn't at all match the moment.

"I bugged his office," you clarify, nodding, "in and out. No one saw my face, and if they did, they won't remember it."

Edward lets out a slow breath, his expression loosening from intrigue and thought to the depths bubbling to the surface, his eyes spiked with venom and his words hushed with a small smirk.

"Oh," he mumbles, before giggling slightly, blinking up at you in pride and unhinged malice. "I love you."

You beam at his words, your fingers stroking down the plump curve. of his cheek, an action that makes him shudder and his breath catch in his throat, his eyes round and adoring.

"I love you too, Ed."

"I- I'll give you everything," he promises, his words rolling into lovestruck rambles between repeating your name, "everything I have. Every... everything."

There's that strange but familiar feral hunger in his eyes, not violent, but full of untethered passion and obsession, of love and lust, of everything he's never experienced before. And now that he is, he wants it all, wants it now, to feel everything at once and lose himself in endless spirals of pleasure and ecstasy that rakes up his spine and makes his voice crack and break-

"I'll never," Edward continues in a whisper, tugging you deeper into his arms, walking back and down onto his couch and pulling you with him, "never let you go. Everything will happen as it should, and I'll be there to get you... again, and again, and again, and again, and-"

You let him keep rambling on, his cheek rubbing against yours and ducking into the hot curve of your neck like a cat, his damp lips skimming your skin mindlessly, hanging onto you with his surprisingly strong grip, even though there's nowhere else to go. Tonight, there's nothing but the Riddler, his arms trapping you inside all that he is.

Black and green screens of computers running code down their displays absently fills the night with an eerie but almost comforting glow, polaroid pictures of his targets, red ink scribbled harshly in question marks and accusations over the glossy print. For you, there's a separate case of shots, most taken with you knowing, across the room in his apartment, with Edward grinning and giggling when you glare at him weakly in amusement and protest at the constant flashes and printing of pictures and mugshots.

No escape. None at all. You're with him for life, because you let him in, and like a virus, he ran through everything that makes you, you, drinking it in and fantasizing up until this very moment. A moment where Edward forgot about the blood he shed and the streams up for his cult following, the big board pinned with pictures and news clippings and rage in the form of black and white. He just clung to you fiercely, inhaled you, to do it all again the next morning, still trembling with the warmth and tremors of raw desire and love.

I am there, but cannot be seen," he whispers in your ear, nuzzling impossibly closer to you, his fingers lacing with yours, "to have me costs you nothing. To be without me costs you everything. What am I?"

You've heard this one before. It was in one of the little notes he left you during your first few meetings with him, and every one of his riddles seemed to have something to do with you, with how he saw you, absolutely angelic with no flaws, no blemishes, gorgeously unharmed by the wicked world of Gotham.

"Hope?" you guess correctly, glancing up at him expectantly, and he giggles again, his fingers tracing over your lips boldly, caught up in the moment and his own wonderful world of puzzles and clues.

"Or," Edward smiles brightly at you, resting his forehead against yours... and answering with your name.

✧༺ 𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ༻∞ (message me know if you want to be removed. ghost blogs/dead accs have been removed.)

@misadventures0fdes @junebugp @simestandswithtaylorswift-blog @carley-carley-carley @lostbunn @dragovegogrimborn @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @edwardspumpkinpie @murderbimbo00 @sweetums0kitty @beel-mcburger @cml-san @jervis-tetch-my-beloved @bimboanime @phoenixgurl030 @dangerouslittlefairy @yoyoanaria @yaeyuuki @vinxlsketches @beenz-beenz @ghoulsgraveyard @birds-have-teeth @repostingmyfavs @r3ptiliaaa @for3v3rda1sy @glitterycheesecakegladiator @moonwritesblog @lilyevans1 @httpsunflowersleep @hxney-lemcn @callsigncrash @bokksieu @skateb0red @philiasoul@felicityofbakerstreet @deadlights-darling @ireadandream @tinyryder @kpopgirlbtssvt @truecobblepot @jessicainhell

#paul dano x reader #the batman x reader #the riddler 2022 #paul dano riddler #dano!riddler x reader #dano riddler x reader #the riddler x reader #yandere riddler x reader #riddler x reader #edward nashton x reader #the batman fanfic #the batman riddler #riddler year one #danonation #paul dano nation #dano nation #the riddler fanfiction #riddler fanfiction #the riddler imagine #riddler imagine #edward nashton imagine #edward nashton fluff #dano riddler #edward nashton fanfiction #the batman fic #the batman 2022 #the batman imagine #the batman movie #dano!riddler #dano!riddler imagine

[indyanapolis898]

A Tale of Two Tombstones

bruce wayne x f!reader

Synopsis: Batman needs a break after endless nights of work. He decides to visit his parent's grave as Bruce Wayne, where he's able to open up to his parents and someone else.

The roaring of his motorcycle halted as it pulled into its intended parking spot. The rider slid off the bike, falling heavily onto the dusty ground of the cave in which his headquarters resided. 

A few grunts escaped his lips as he lay idly in the dim lighting of the cavern. Batman moved his gloved hands to his face to remove his dirty cowl, bloodying his gloves in the process. His messy, damp hair covered his forehead; the sweat combined with the blood on his face and head. 

He took a few unsteady breaths, trying to gain his composure. He'd finished another late night of work at the cost of his physical health. His body armor would need serious work and repatching. He blinked a few times, shutting his eyes to sleep for a few minutes.

***

Bruce Wayne opened his eyes, shifting his body, which resulted in a painful shout.

"Hey, easy there," said a concerned Alfred, rushing to the operating table in the surgery room- located in the south wing of Wayne Manor. 

"Where- what-," Bruce breathily mumbled. 

"I found you in the cave after the computer alerted me of your presence. You took a heavy beating. I stitched up most of your wounds, but you've earned some rest, Master Bruce." 

"No. I-" Bruce cut himself off with ragged coughs. Alfred sat the bed up and raised an eyebrow with an I told you so, look. 

"Fine," Bruce finally accepted his fate and lay back on the pillow to rest more.

*** 

Bruce garnered a total of eighteen hours in and out of sleep, healing very slowly from the brutal fight he'd gotten into in a gang-filled subway station. They had tech and brute weapons that Batman hadn't seen before. They were strong enough to plaster him and his suit. The gang was still on the loose. It was plaguing Bruce's weary mind, but he knew he was in no state to get back into crimefighting. 

Sometimes, while laying in bed with his eyes open because his mind wouldn't stop running, Bruce wondered if his thoughts would ever quiet down. The only thing that could help was getting things off his chest. It was a temporary high; however, his ego and insecurity kept him from sharing with Alfred. That's why, with Alfred's permission, Bruce found himself limping to the mansion's garage in a simple gray sweater, black trench coat, and jeans. His hair was messy and unkempt, only kept out of his face with the pair of sunglasses that rested on his forehead.

Bruce entered one of his vehicles, a black SUV with tinted windows, and let his driver take him to the Gotham Graveyard. 

***

After a morning of light showers, the sky had cleared up into a baby blue. Bruce struggled out of the car, leaving the driver to wait on the curb outside the cemetery. It was an empty scene. Rows and rows of headstones sat under a canopy of trees with no people to visit. The graveyard resided in a more rural area of the city, so the memorial area was quiet besides the occasional squawking of birds and the wind rustling the autumn-kissed leaves.

Bruce stepped onto the damp, all-too-familiar grassy path leading to the headstones of his late parents. 

Their monuments were big and overly fancy. The cleaner Alfred hired twenty-six years ago still came every month to polish and clean the headstones. In honor of the Wayne's, a bench sat on the side of the stones, so Bruce sat there, idly taking in the silence. 

Breathe in, breathe out.

Speaking in a tranquil but emotional voice, Bruce began to talk to the air, confessing how he missed them, his beloved mother and father. 

"...and that's why I came. I just needed to talk. I needed to be in your presence again. I believe Alfred still cries over you, Father. He acts strong, as you taught, but deep down, he's like me: broken."

"I wish I could be fully capable of feeling, but all I think about is the injustice and monstrous side of the city. The city that took you two away."

Bruce stared at the ground, trying to focus on the words he was saying when a leaf crunching from behind alerted him to whip around. 

A woman, maybe five foot, stood behind him, wide-eyed and embarrassed. 

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you..." she caught her breath, most likely at the realization of who she was talking to, but regained her train of thought. "My mother... her grave is just behind them," she explained, gesturing to a headstone behind the Wayne's. 

Heather Lycona. 

Bruce resorted to nodding in reply. The woman approached closer to the headstone but stopped, clearly wanting to say something the way her mouth opened and closed. Bruce cocked a brow. He decided to attempt to be conversive. "How?" he nodded his head at her mother's gravestone.

"What?"

"How did she pass?" he tilted his head. She clutched the ends of the scarf she was wearing, a shade of black to contrast the white dress under her jet puffer coat. 

"Oh, um, gang violence. Three months ago, Mom was out at night just trying to get groceries, and, she um..."

Bruce nodded in indication he understood. "Mine as well."

"I know- I mean, I know the story, of course," she awkwardly laughed as a buffer. She looked around and then back at Bruce sitting on the bench. "I'm sorry for intruding on your moment. I-I can come back later."

Bruce shook his head wordlessly. "No, that won't be necessary. I did what I came here to do," he answered raspily. 

"May I sit?" 

Bruce didn't expect the woman to want to be in his presence any longer, yet he wasn't against her sitting with him. Her eyes could tell a story, one that he wanted to hear. His eyes traveled to the open space beside him, barely nodding at it. 

She sat down on the wooden bench, breathing in the mossy air. "There's something about the cemetery that's so peaceful. Everyone says it's scary because it's the resting place for hundreds of people, but I believe it's just a reminder of all the lives that came before us. Everyone is just asleep here, and we sit with them."

Usually, Bruce wouldn't be a fan of the conversation, yet he decided that she was intriguing, a type of thoughtfulness he appreciated. 

He hummed at her words. "Bruce Wayne," he introduced even though she knew very well who he was, leaning back into the bench. 

"Y/N Lycona." 

"Why did you visit today?"

"Sometimes I just enjoy being around her. It's peaceful here."

"I understand."

"What about you? Why did you visit, Mr. Wayne?"

He glanced at her before looking back to the swaying tree branches. "Same as you," he breathed out. He wasn't sure why she was asking him. Not that Bruce believed he was too good to answer questions, but because he'd assume she wouldn't be interested in him. Usually, people were interested in his position. 

"Do you ever feel they were the only people who understood you? I feel like that with Mom."

Bruce nodded, barely moved his gaze to her, then studied her with his signature deadpan expression. Bruce picked up once again on what he'd thought earlier. Y/N seemed warm, like in the right situation, she'd open up. She probably thought a lot. The woman stared off at the trees like he'd been earlier, looking deep in thought. 

"Your mind... is it always running?" 

She quietly sniffled in the chilled air. "Yes. I got approved for the investigative division of the GCPD. I want to help find and eliminate the gangs of Gotham. I don't know what my mother would've wanted me to do for her case, but I know she wanted me to help bring justice to the city. She got me through school for criminal justice. It's what I wanted to do from the start, but it was for the sake of others. Now, it's all for her- for her justice."

"You seem very driven, detective. I hope you do what you set out to do," Bruce stated. 

"If I can contribute to bringing criminals and killers to prison, I'll do what I must. I can't just watch someone turn into the next Heather. Gotham needs change." 

For the first time in a while, Bruce's lips slightly twisted up. "Then we are very alike." 

The two sat in comfortable silence for ten minutes, occasionally making small comments. 

Bruce decided he'd stayed his welcome, opting to stand up suddenly. He nodded down at Y/N. "I give you my best wishes on your assignment. I'll be using my resources to continue assisting the work," he said, his tone void of emotion, but they could both tell he meant it. 

"Good to talk to you, Mr. Wayne."

"Bruce is fine," he mumbled audibly, turning to leave. 

"Thank you for understanding. You don't say much," Y/N chuckled, "but I could tell you understood me."

Bruce gave a close-mouthed smirk, walked out the gates, and got in his car. 

"Thank you for your patience, Gerald."

The driver nodded and drove the pair back to the manor. 

Bruce came out of his visit knowing two things: 

First, he'd have to visit the cemetery more often. 

And second, as soon as he could get back his vigilante work, he would thwart every gang he could get his hands on. If it would help fulfill Y/N's goal, he'd devote all his energy to it. 

#battinson x reader #the batman 2022 #batman #batman x reader #batman x fem!reader #robert pattinson #battinson #robert pattison #fanfic #dcu #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader

[lena-after-dark]

Pairing: Edward Nashton x Reader

Prompt: "It's been so hard to love you from the shadows."

Requested By: Anon

Warnings: Stalking, delusional thoughts, surveillance, restraint.

Hyper vigilance was something anyone in Gotham had to practice to stay safe. Keys between your fingers when you walk to your car, or a taser at the ready. Never distracted, always focused on those around you. Some might consider that paranoia, but anyone who lived there knew that that was how you survived.

Eddie admired that trait. Especially when he watched you – so focused on looking out for criminals. Not that he'd let anything happen to you, of course. He was always watching, even if you didn't know it. He wouldn't blame you if you didn't notice it. Eddie thought of himself like background noise. Another face among many in the crowded streets. It was a good thing, he thought, to blend into this sea of nobodies that you had to pass through to make it home. If you didn't see him, then neither would anyone hoping to harm you.

Then one day his thoughts turned. Perhaps you knew he was there; your silent guardian. Always a few paces behind. Always in the shadows when you stopped for dinner, or to meet with friends. He liked your friends. They were funny. They made you laugh. They watched your drink when you'd leave the table. Did you know he was there, too? He felt hopeful. Then your eyes met his for one shining moment and he knew. You were aware of him all along. Eddie had to cover his mouth to keep from making a scene. Others couldn't notice him – not like you did, anyway, or you wouldn't be safe. You knew he was there. You knew he was following behind. You knew he watched from outside your home. And he knew that if you wanted him to stop, you would've made him. After all, he saw that you were always prepared for some criminal or thief to bother you. You hadn't turned that taser on him. You wanted him to follow you.

You looked at him again when you stopped for breakfast on your way to work two weeks later. A smile. A secret smile only for him. It was different than the polite smile you would grant passing strangers. He could tell. You meant to smile at him. You knew him. Your guardian. Your shadow. Your Eddie.

He took it further, then. He left you surprises and treats; sometimes in your mailbox, or in front of your door. You knew they were from him, he was certain. He knew what you liked. He knew your favorite color, favorite snacks. He knew what you wore to bed, and what type of toothpaste you used. He knew when you were running low on something, and started to replace things. After all, he'd already made a spare key for himself. He knew that you left your keys visible to him so he could do so. And the cameras, too. They were secret, but how could he keep you safe unless he knew what was happening around you at all times?

Maybe he crossed a line when he started leaving things for you inside your home. You sounded panicked while you were on the phone with a friend. Did he not make it clear enough that it was from him? It was time. Eddie had to take things up a notch. It wasn't enough to be behind you. He had to be beside you now - to reassure you that there was no danger. It was only him. It was your Eddie taking care of you.

He rushed over; staying hidden until he was inside. He was very practiced at moving silently. He brought some things with him - tape and rope and the like. He knew he wouldn't need it, but it was already in his coat. That's what he told himself, anyway. He waited for you to notice him - to see him standing just out of sight. He didn't want to frighten you, so he waited. He expected relief, and joy. When you reached for something heavy, telling him to get out, he was confused.

"Y/N..." he whispered softy.

It was tough for him to restrain you. He didn't want to cause you any harm, but the more you fought him the more angry he got. He didn't understand the things you were saying, or the way you swung at him, ready to hit. Why would you do that? You were being irrational. He had to calm you down.

He got you, at last, tied sloppily to one of the kitchen cabinets. It wasn't ideal, but he needed you to hear him. To understand him. He was straddling your legs to keep you from kicking. You'd been yelling, but he didn't want to cover your mouth. He had a plan. It was fine if others heard you.

"It's been so hard to love you from the shadows," he whispered as he leant in close, a trembling hand reaching for your face.

"Who are you?"

Buy Me A Coffee?

#edward nashton #edward nashton x reader #the riddler #the riddler x reader #dark!edward nashton #dark!riddler #dano!riddler #dano!riddler x reader #dark!dano!riddler #darkfic #the batman #the batman the riddler #the batman 2022 #the batman edward nashton #the batman reader insert #the batman fanfic #the batman darkfic #reader insert #danonation #tw: stalking #stalking

[mylifeisfruk4ever]

“Do you think those two are making out?” Lois asked as she and Selina went to sit down.

“Is your friend willing to take the first step?” Selina asked, not-so-carelessly stepping on the foot of one of the guests. She didn't feel guilty. The guy was about to put his hands on her and Lois's bottom. Selina had just reminded him of his place.

The other woman snorted, “Why would Clark make the first move? Mr. Wayne seems to know what he wants."

“A boy wants to be wooed,” Selina retorted.

Lois gave a delightful giggle, “Is the rich boy old fashioned? I would never have said it."

“You wouldn't say many things about him.”

“Yeah, in fact I had no idea that he was interested in men…”

Selina shrugged, “He had a very strict upbringing and only recently came out as bisexual.”

Alfred seemed like a good guy to her, but certainly not the best one to ask questions about why guys were hot too. Though she had to give him more credit considering how much he had to put up with Bruce.

Lois accepted the explanation. She then asked, “And what does he think of Superman?”

“Superman?”

“You in Gotham have Batman, we have Superman.”

Selina smiled, “I know, I'm surprised you ask about Superman.”

“Oh, you know…curiosity. Now it seems like everyone has to have an opinion on something.”

Nice save there. Lois Lane lived up to her reputation. But Selina certainly couldn't tell her oh Bruce is a first rate paranoid and is convinced that Superman is secretly evil or something.

There it was necessary to maintain a certain image.

“He enjoyed flying with Superman Airlines, and he would probably repeat the experience at the first opportunity.”

“Because of the arms,” Lois said.

“Because of the arms,” Seliana agreed. “He couldn't stop singing them to me. They were so toned Selina. They could have broken me in two and I would have thanked him.”

“Very interesting,” the reporter said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Who knows what her brilliant head was working up at that moment.

Selina didn't investigate. What she had to do was direct Lois towards the conclusion she wanted.

They finally took their seats. The chairs next to them were still empty. She smiled.

Read more Mission: seducing Superman

#superbat #battinson #superbattinson #batman 2022 #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #bruce wayne #cassandra cain #kid fic #cute fic #batsad #batdad #superman x batman #batfamily #batfam #fanfiction #crossover #au #quote #cute guys

[finniestoncrane]

Hey, I like the new prompts :)

Please could I get 🍃for farrellozzie?

Thank you x

The First Night

Farrell!Penguin x GN!Reader, word count: 600 i'm always feeling sappy and this really spoke to me ;-; wanna be snuggled in his stupid fancy pjs and then hugged all night ough 💜🐧 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: fluff

It was kind of a strange way to move in to a new place. Oswald already lived there. There was nothing you could bring that he didn't have or couldn't replace with something better. And even though he told you repeatedly to bring whatever you wanted, decoration, furniture, whatever, you knew it wouldn't fit in with the lavish decor of his place. Your place, now.

You left the two suitcases full of items you deemed worthy enough to take with you in the hall as Oswald wrapped you in a warm hug and ushered you through to the kitchen. He'd been cooking, making you dinner to celebrate this first night officially together.

"It's just pasta, but it's my grandmother's sauce. Family recipe, well-kept secret. I'll teach you how to make it later, if you want?"

The gesture was filled with warmth and openness, a sign that you were truly being welcomed into his life as a permanent fixture, and not just a flavour of the month he'd decided to keep in his house for easy access.

And while that had worried you before, all of the anxieties melted away as you looked around the space. It was spotless, and you didn't doubt for a second that Oswald had spent all day tidying it himself to make sure it met his exact standards for you. The dining room was set up for two, with champagne resting on ice, and there was a small just below that of the rich tomato sauce. Lavender, your favourite, and Oswald's. A set of three candles on the dining table were likely the source.

"Everything is perfect, Ozzie. I'm excited to see what else you have in store. I feel like I should be dressed better for this."

Mid-way through a tasting sip of the sauce, he mumbled and gasped, before dropping the spoon and rushing round the kitchen island to you.

“Oh, sweetheart! I can’t believe I forgot, I’ve got just the right thing for you to wear. A little gift from me to you.”

As he guided you up the stairs towards his bedroom, you let your mind wander. Oswald was forever buying you gifts, and new outfits were something he was particularly fond of spoiling you with. You’d be pleased with anything, but you hoped it wasn’t too extravagant. As lovely as the house looked, and as romantic as dinner would be, all you really wanted to do was get comfortable in your new home and settle in after packing all of your things up.

Stopping you before you entered the room, you felt his hands cover your eyes from behind.

“Ok, no peeking. Wait until you’re in. And… tah-dah!”

When you were allowed to look, you noticed there were two, neat piles on the bed. One was Oswald’s usual pyjamas. Purple, silk, monogrammed with his initials, O.C.M. And next to them, an identical set, but with your initials in place of Oswald’s. It wasn’t something fancy, it was exactly what you wanted.

“I figured you don’t wanna get all dolled up just to eat somethin’ messy, kid. Besides, you’re home now. You gotta be comfy. And I… hate to sound presumptuous, but if there comes a, uh, time when you change your name for whatever reason, we can get you a new pair, huh?”

Turning to him, you threw your arms around his neck, burying your face against his chest as he held you close to him. It really wouldn’t have mattered what you were wearing, or whether dinner was something as special as his grandmother’s pasta. It felt like home in his arms.

#penguin x reader #the penguin x reader #penguin x you #the penguin x you #reeves!verse #finnie writes #oswald cobblepot #the penguin #rogues #rogues gallery #the batman 2022 #colin farrell penguin #the batman fanfic #the batman 2022 fic #oswald cobblepot x reader #oswald cobblepot x you

[gwenkatana]

Battinson needs a Superman like the Superman in My Adventures with Superman. Bruce at the end of The Batman no longer wants to be vengeance and instead wants to inspire hope in Gotham. And I think meeting someone as altruistic and kind as Clark would be inspiring for him. Give him something to aspire to.

#the batman 2022 #the batman #bruce wayne #batman #clark kent #my adventures with superman #battinson #fanfic ideas #lois lane #jimmy olsen

[the-toulouser]

the sexiest thing to ever happen to me was someone bookmarking one of my fics and leaving a little hate comment along with it. the complexity. the drama lmaooo

#fanfic #ao3 #fanfiction #saltburn #cattonquick #quickstart #riddlebat #the batman 2022 #like hold uppppp made me blush a little bit #idk is that just something people do on archive? #and can i count this as flirting?

[ryuzakemo128]

Immortal

Chapter Two

Trigger Warning: Cursing

A/N: I have an update version of what Thana looks like. Created in Art Breeder. So here it is.

Chapter Three: Thana's Early Life (Part Three)

2000

"It's been like twenty years and he still hasn't decided to fuck off" Thana started ranting, beyond annoyed at this point. "I swear God or Satan had something to do with this shit. No one has this much bad, I swear, maybe orphans do, but that's not the point"

Thana was done, done being stalked by angels and done with almost everything. Betty sat there on her couch, listening to her rant while texting the other girls to come over and listen to her.

"Sandra and Cynthia will be on speaker phone, Tamara is coming over and bringing cheesecake," Betty said to her.

"Does she have the answer to my stalker problem any chance we'll get any answers for that. I suggested murder. But apparently that's not something I should be considering" Thana shouted from the kitchen.

"No, unfortunately we don't have the answer for that problem" Betty laughed, as she greeted Tamara inside the house.

"Well you got better at interior decoration at least." Tamara looked around the in progress renovated house, "Although the fact that you have decided to sleep on the couch isn't a surprise."

"Tamara, lovely, come look at the kitchen, you'll love it I swear."

"I certainly doubt that, but I have been surprised by your interior decoration choices in the past"

"It's a work in progress for sure. But it's better than what I decided last time."

"Michael is here." Betty yelled out to them. "He also wants to speak to you Thana"

Thana walked over and Betty walked into the kitchen a few steps away from her. She closed the front door behind her to block out any possible yelling and most of the argument.

"I don't want to talk to you, but due to you being whatever you are now. We need to." Thana explained crossing her arms.

"I finally found out what you are." Michael started, "The reason why you have been hiding the entire time."

"Wow you are incredibly dense." Thana commented as she watched him pace in circles.

"Just let me continue ok? ok." Michael growled taking a step towards her in an attempt to be somewhat threatening, "My father would kill me if he found out I slept with someone like you."

"I hope he does. Kill you that is." Thana responded, "I'm tempted to kill you right now. If you don't stop stalking me or whatever the fuck you think you're doing. I will send you back to your daddy in person."

"Deal." Michael replied, then Thana proceeded to break his arm before he could attempt anything else.

"Fuck off"

2010-2021

Ten years went past, Thana finally earned another bachelor's degree although this time in Electrical Engineering. Her friends are either extremely old in hospice or now deceased. She doesn't know what to think of humans, outside of her friends and she hasn't formed a complete opinion of them.

Thana didn't know what else to do with her life. She had no idea if there was anything else to look forward to. She even started volunteering at various orphanages just to pass the time during the past ten years.

As 2010 came around, Thana is still volunteering at Gotham's orphanage. She's still trying to find out how to get caught out as a demon. Unfortunately the building was later burned down.

"Things just get worse." Thana thought to herself, "Who burns down an orphanage? A church burning down make much more sense. Who? Who does this shit?"

"Why are humans so fucked up?" Thana pondered on her walk back home.

#Batman 2022 #The Batman 2022 #Batman 2022 Fanfiction #The Batman 2022 Fanfiction #Batman 2022 Fanfic #The Batman 2022 Fanfic #Batman 2022 Imagine #The Batman 2022 Imagine #Batman 2022 fic #The Batman 2022 fic #The Batman Fanfiction #Batman Fanfiction #The Batman Fanfic #Batman Fanfic #Batman 2022 Reader Insert #The Batman 2022 Reader Insert #Batman Reader Insert #The Batman Reader Insert #Female Reader #Reader Insert #fem reader

[dreamtinblackandwhite]

The Blood in the Truth - Part One

Summary: Y/N is the niece of Alfred Pennyworth and childhood friend to Bruce Wayne. Feeling disappointed with her career, she goes out of her way to investigate the cases nobody else wants to.

Note: This is part one of an idea I have been toying with! It takes place prior to the events of The Batman (2022) but is inspired by Robert Pattinson's Batman. Y/N, her, she is reader - I kept the physical descriptions to minimum.

Warnings: physical assault, brief/implied sexual assault (nothing graphic), swearing.

Word count: 7412

Y/N Pennyworth is the niece to Alfred Pennyworth, who has worked for the Wayne’s for many years – she even considered Thomas and Martha Wayne to be an aunt and uncle with how they happily welcomed her own family when they moved to town. They were often invited to family gathering and public events simply for being family to their butler.

The manor was busy and chaotic by 11:00pm that cold night in 1999; it seemed like the entire police department had shown up to help investigate the murder of Mr. and Mrs. Wayne. Bruce, who had been there when it happened, was escorted back to his home by the chief of police. Y/N, whose parents were away visiting family in Britain, had been sleeping on the sofa in the large living room when she was woken up by the panicked and worried voices of the staff.

Alfred rushed young Bruce, his dress clothes were stained with the bright red blood of his parents, into the living room. Y/N noted the puffy redness of her uncle’s eyes as he fought off his emotions so he could focus. “Stay here with Y/N, Bruce,” he commanded hurriedly, but kept a loving tone to his voice. “We need to take care of a few things before I can get you some new clothes.”

Bruce, looking detached and frozen, simply nodded and sat on the sofa. Y/N didn’t say anything, she’d heard enough of the conversations from the other room to understand what had happened. She sat next to her long-time friend and gently intertwined her fingers with his, squeezing his hand gently. He didn’t squeeze back, he just stared ahead as his mind attempted to accept what he had just lived through.

Eventually, the eight-year-old fell asleep, his head leaned against Y/N’s right shoulder. No one came to check on them; there was a specific protocol for each member of staff to follow in the event of the untimely deaths of their employer and it had sprung into action within minutes of the attack at the theatre. Y/N, though she certainly wasn’t a member of Wayne’s staff, allowed herself to think that her role was to comfort Bruce.

So that’s what she did, that night and the years following his parent’s death. She was right there, by Bruce’s side: she was the first one he talked to about what had happened; she stayed next him while he gave his statement to the police; she stayed next to him at the funerals; she stayed next to him at each public appearance his families name required.

Bruce was happy she was his friend through it all, he was happy she never pushed him or asked him more questions on it. She made him feel more alive slowly over the years, bringing back that small light that died with his parents. Even when Bruce went away to boarding school, when he returned home, it was like no time had passed.

Alfred, who was named Bruce’s legal guardian, had started Bruce on sparring lessons after he received a worrying letter from the Headmaster about Bruce’s attitude at school. It helped as Bruce learned to fight and put his anger into something new. Y/N watched most nights, memorized their movements, and practiced in the safety of her own home after she’d leave them. But it didn’t take long before she asked her uncle to teach her as well.

By the time Bruce settled into his secrete role as Batman, he and Y/N had fought together thousands of times. Alfred, not entirely happy with Bruce’s choice of vigilante lifestyle, supported him under the condition that he wouldn’t tell Y/N; he worried it would encourage her to follow a similar path. Bruce agreed, only because he knew after those first few months that he’d need someone to help stitch him up and who else could he trust other than the man who had stepped up to be his father.

Y/N went a different route with her life anyway. Her parents had moved their family out of Gotham before Y/N had even graduated high school, she attended university and got her degree in journalism before returning and joining the staff of ‘The Gotham Times’ as a photo journalist. She was early in her career which didn’t allow for many distractions. Bruce and her friendship suffered only slightly, it wasn’t uncomfortable between them but they didn’t know each other anymore, not like they used to.

Alfred had promised her parents to keep an eye on her in the busy city and forced Y/N to join him at the manor for a home cooked meal once a week. She agreed, mostly so she could see her long-lost friend again, who would sometimes join if he were feeling up to it. She never pushed, just as she never did when they were kids; she was happy to spend the time alone with her uncle.

Most of the dinner conversations each week focused on Y/N’s career: what stories she was working on, what stories she wants to write soon, what she will do to reach her goals, etc. Alfred was very proud of his niece, she seemed to love her position and was continuously getting praise from her bosses. But Y/N hid her own disappointment from him. She wasn’t doing the journalism that she wanted to do – she was fluff for the newspaper. They never gave her the big pieces, always putting her on assignments that called for her to interview people who found a chip that resembled the chief of police or their dog has the world record for the highest jump.

She went out of her way to collect her own stories, posting them anonymously when her boss would again skip over her for the job after assuming she didn’t have the guts to write it. That’s what she was doing now, working a story. She had gotten a job at the Iceberg Lounge under the pseudonym of ‘Lucy Porterfield’ in order to investigate a new drug that has hit the streets. She worked as a waitress and bartender, and even had proven herself enough to be a drug run for the Penguin himself. She always kept her ears open as she worked these shifts, taking mental note of the information she’d hear and then returning home to write all of her notes.

It was midweek, Wednesday, finally. Y/N worked on her articles from her work desk until 5pm; it was a simple day and nobody bothered her. She rushed about of the building by 5:02pm, she had to go to the store before heading to Wayne Manor for weekly dinner. Wednesday’s she always woke up and went to bed with butterflies in her stomach. She spent all week looking forward to the minor possibility of seeing Bruce, even if he just happened to walk through the kitchen as she cooked. The sight of him alone, alive and breathing, was enough to keep her going at her menial job for another week.

Today was no different, of course. She fidgeted anxiously with the paper grocery bags in her hands as she rode the subway towards the manor. She knew it was stupid, she knew he thought of her as his sister from his childhood, but she couldn’t erase the feelings she had developed over the years. She had thought after she moved away that maybe her school girl crush would fade. And when that didn’t work, she forced herself to go on handfuls of boring, soul draining dates just in hopes she’d meet someone who affected her the way Bruce did.

As she left the subway platform and started the short walk towards the manor, she mentally examined her outfit choices. She had decided on blue jeans that hugged her comfortably and a black turtle neck that would show an appropriate amount of her curves. She paired it with a dark brown woolen coat that stopped just above her ankle and black slip on boots that gave her just an inch of height.

It wasn’t much, and again she knew it was stupid to worry about what Bruce thought of her appearance. But she almost enjoyed the nervous pit she had every time she thought if he’d like the outfit or not. Y/N had her own codes to get through the main gate and into the service door that lead directly to the kitchen. This was the first thing Bruce ‘decided’ when Alfred decided he had reached the age to begin making decisions for the house. He’d wanted his best friend to be able to come and go as she pleased.

Y/N set the two grocery bags onto the counter and leaned against the door frame to remove her boots. Bruce, who had surprisingly woken up earlier than he normally would have after the night he had, was waiting to hear the door open in just the next room over. As soon as he knew Y/N was in the house, he made his way into the kitchen. He paused in the doorway, waiting to announce himself as he examined her.

So, yes, Bruce also had a crush on Y/N. He refused to admit it to anyone, wouldn’t even allow himself to imagine telling Y/N of his feelings or what sort of relationship they could have. He had convinced himself that after all the years and everything Y/N had seen him through, he surely already alienated himself for her. He was positive there was no way she’d ever learn to love him after she’d seen his grief and anger in such a first-hand point of view. That’s also what made it easier not telling her he was Batman, he already had practice with pushing her away.

He examined her, enjoying the way her hair fell in front of her face as she bent over to take her boots off, noting how her soft, small hands moved as she tugged off the shoe, before finally deciding to let her of his presence. “Hi, Y/N,” he breathed, his voice was still raspy with sleep and cracked from his long night before. She looked up at him with a surprised look on her face. After a beat of silence, a smile bloomed in replacement.

“Bruce!” Y/N greeted happily, setting her boots neatly onto the mat so she wouldn’t track rain water all over the kitchen. “How are you?” She stepped further into the kitchen as she examined him. He was comfortably dressed, wearing black joggers and a deep grey crewneck that barely managed to stretch around his thick biceps. She started to take her coat off, feeling her cheeks heat up as she looked at him – it would never not baffle her with how Bruce could make anything look attractive.

“Here, let me help,” Bruce quickly said as he approached and helped to tug the garment off her arms. “I am doing well, yourself?” He was happy he managed to catch these few moments with her before Alfred would monopolize the conversation, though he would enjoy that time as well.

He hung her jacket on one of the hooks just above her boots as she answered. “I am doing well, how is Wayne life? Busy recently?” She asked as she busied herself with taking the ingredients out of the grocery bags.

Bruce suppressed a sigh, he wasn’t as involved with the Wayne business as he implied to her when she returned to Gotham. “Oh, you know, always something,” he replied, he hoped she wouldn’t ask for details. He didn’t like to lie to her, unless as it was a lie of omission (like Batman), that was easier. He clocked an odd-looking bruise on her forearm as she stretched across the kitchen island to lay out her ingredients. “What happened here?” He asked as he stepped next to her and allowed his fingers to trace the shapes he could see, taking a secret joy in the feeling of her soft skin.

Y/N quickly tugged her sleeve down as she pulled her arm back. “You know me,” she smiled over at him, “I’m clumsy!” She quickly dodged his eyes as she folded the now empty bags in her hands. Bruce furrowed his brow together, from what he could tell that wasn’t a bruise that appeared from simply bumping into something. In truth, Y/N had received the bruise after one customer at the Iceberg Lounge had gripped her arm slightly too tight while attempting to flirt with her.

“See, the intention behind agreeing to teach you to fight was so you’d be more stable on your feet,” Alfred’s voice came from the door behind the two causing both of the to inhale sharply. “But you still seem to always come with new bruises.”

“Hi Alfie,” Y/N greeted, ignoring his jab about her poor coordination as she approached him and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Hi, love,” he replied, grinning at her. “What’s for dinner this week?”

“I was thinking some chicken gnocchi soup! Dad’s recipe, of course,” Y/N replied as she rounded towards the sink to wash her hands. Bruce decided he’d need to find a time tonight to separate Y/N from Alfred so he could ask her about the bruises again, he knew she wouldn’t tell the truth with her protective uncle in the room.

“Would you happen to have enough for three tonight?” Bruce asked, smiling at Y/N as she dried her hands.

 She smiled and nodded, “Bruce, there is always enough for you.” She gave him a look, hoping he’d understand that she always wanted him to join these meals. Bruce knew what her eyes were saying immediately, but he only allowed himself to do this once a month; maybe two times if he was having a particularly hard time. He couldn’t allow himself too much time with Y/N, it only made his feelings more difficult to ignore, even though she made the pain easier.

They all chatted as Y/N cooked their dinner; Alfred would help with prepping ingredients or grabbing spices she’d needed but Bruce, being that he has never cooked himself a meal, simply sat and watched the pair together. Once the cooking was done, and three bowls were filled to the brim with the soup, they all walked together to the dining area and sat down.

“Well, Y/N, I talked to your father a few days ago, he said you’re dating an army man now?” Alfred asked after eating some of the soup, eyeing his niece. Y/N had a skill for convincing her parents everything was perfect for her here in Gotham, but it was Alfred’s job to confirm the stories she told. Bruce tensed at this new information, he felt a wave of jealousy rush through him as his jaw set tightly.

Y/N rounded her shoulder’s uncomfortably with a sigh. “I told him I had a date with an army guy, not that I was dating him,” she grumbled as she shoveled more food into her mouth.

“Is there a difference?” Alfred questioned, an oblivious look on his face. Y/N rolled her eyes, Bruce stifled a laugh. Alfred was old, though he didn’t always act it; he hadn’t been on the dating scene in a minute.

“Yes, Alfie, there’s a difference,” she replied as she thought back on the date with a shiver. He was nice at first, but the way he awkwardly complimented her before talking about woman as if they were accessories and not partners was a major turn off. “And I certainly would not want to be dating that man, so you can report back to dad that he has nothing to worry about and I am still happily single.” Alfred looked into his soup with a light blush, he was embarrassed that Y/N could tell he was just collecting information on her and relaying it back to her parents.

Bruce opened his mouth to say something, feeling more relaxed now that he knew Y/N was still single. He knew he’d someday need to accept that she would find someone who she loves and live a life without him, but he wasn’t ready to do that yet. He wanted to ask Y/N about the article he read of hers from last week when her phone rang from her pocket. She quickly pulled it out, Bruce watched her face light up slightly and ached to know who would have texted her.

“I, uh…” Y/N coughed slightly, pulling the phone into her chest and forcing a smile at the two men in front of her. “I need to leave, it’s work…” she trailed off as she quickly stood up. “This was a lot of fun, I will see you both next week!” She quickly rushed back into the kitchen and grabbed her personal items before heading outside so nobody could ask her questions. She had a contact at the morgue who would tell her of certain overdoses before they made it to the public record. There was a boy, a John Doe, who overdosed in the same way as 25 other victims who was found down by the pier. Y/N decided to make her way there to see if anything was left behind.

Bruce helped Alfred bring everything back to the kitchen before excusing himself to begin his own night-time job. It was easy for him to forget about Bruce Wayne when he put the body armor and cowl on, it was comfortable. He was happy to leave Bruce Wayne in this secret garage and comfortably allowed his more confident personality to shine through Batman.

Batman had a rotation of grids he used to patrol the city, tonight was Grid D which started him at the pier. He got onto his motorcycle and left the garage, and Bruce, behind. With the bike, the drive was only 15 minutes, though it could have gone faster if he hadn’t stopped to beat up and deliver a prick that was robbing a gas station to the police station. He hid the bike in an abandoned building before climbing to the top of it for a better vantage point of the scenes below.

There was a normal amount of illegalities surrounding the pier; drop heads getting high, gangs fighting amongst each other… But Batman was watching for something different. He chose carefully each night he went out, he needed to send a very specific message to a very specific group of criminals. He planned to stay and watch for another 10 minutes before moving towards his next grid. A taxi pulled up and dropped a woman off; this was the type of change he waited for. Batman crouched on the roof top slightly as he watched this newcomers’ movements.

Y/N had stopped at home and changed into more moveable clothes: black leggings and a black hoodie which she kept securely over her head for a sort of anonymity. She knew going to the pier at this time of night wasn’t smart, but she needed to see it before the authorities came through tomorrow to clean everything up. She kept an eye on her surroundings, some people already trying to follow her through the shadows, as she made her way to where the body was discovered.

She was next to the sea wall now, looking at the random mix of trash, bottles, and needles on the ground. She’d hoped there would be some sort of clue as to how the drug is ingested. She took a picture with her phone of the items that laid around where the body had been found. “Hey there, pretty,” a slurred voice came from behind her. She closed her eyes with a sigh as she turned around, a group of men surrounded her; she counted 7 of them. “What brings you out this late, gorgeous?”

She backed against the wall her heart starting to race in her chest. She could probably fight off these men, they all looked to be high or drunk meaning they’d be weaker. Batman watched the scene below, not moving yet, he wasn’t sure if this was an arranged meeting or a chance meeting. “Stay away from me,” Y/N warned, keeping her voice even. Some of the men laughed, another stepped closer to her.

“Why would we do that?” He smirked at her, grabbing her arm roughly. “You look real tasty.” Y/N rolled her eyes and punched him square in the nose, breaking it under her knuckles. The rest of the group lunged at her fast, they had been prepared for her to fight back. She held them off for longer than Batman had expected as he made his way towards the fight.

“Get the hell off me!” Y/N yelled as one of them men grabbed her from behind and another punched her gut. She quickly stomped on the foot behind her and twisted his arm back, dislocating his shoulder and sending him to the ground. The man who had punched her grabbed her throat roughly and held her against the wall.

Y/N, her hood now resting on her back so her face was exposed, clawed at the hand around her neck as he crushed her windpipe. He was stronger than her, and he wasn’t afraid to kill her like this if he needed to. As she struggled against him breathlessly, she watched something in his eyes flicker. He enjoyed this, he was getting off on it even. His free hand started to explore across her body as she choked out protests.

Batman ran faster towards the scene now seeing that this mysterious woman was restrained. As he got closer, he felt his heart drop and his brain struggled to comprehend what his eyes saw. Pinned against the wall, with a hand squeezing tightly around her neck, was Y/N. He worked fast to knock the men who had seen him coming unconscious but the man who was enjoying seeing Y/N’s face turn dangerously towards a blue color as he deprived her of oxygen, didn’t seem to care about the commotion behind him.

Batman ripped him off of her as soon as he was in reach, ignoring one of the other men who hit him in the back with a bat. Y/N collapsed, coughing and gasping, as her head spun from the lack of oxygen. Batman didn’t let himself waste time with the rest of the group, either knocking them out or injuring them enough to send them running away. Within a minute, he was kneeling in front of Y/N as panic surged through his veins.

“Are you alright?” His voice was deeper in the cowl out of habit, but now he forced it even lower; he couldn’t risk Y/N recognizing him as Bruce in the Batman suit. He swiftly pulled off his gauntlet and glove and pushed two of his fingers into the pulse at Y/N’s wrist to check her heart rate as she continued to sputter and gasp beneath him.

Y/N, ignoring the tears that had streaked down her face, finally looked up at the masked stranger that came to her aid. She was afraid to speak, but she needed to tell him she was okay. “Thank you,” she could barely get her voice above a whisper, and it cracked at the end of each word. She swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes shut at the pain. Batman helped her stand up, keeping his hand on her elbow incase she wasn’t strong enough to be on her feet.

“Let me get you to the hospital,” he said, still nervously examining her pale face. She shook her head at him, finally taking her first full and clear breath. His mind raced, he didn’t understand why Y/N would be here, why would she put herself in this sort of position.

“No,” she croaked, “I’m okay.” She looked at him again, his eyes were ocean blue underneath his dark black mask and makeup. “I can get myself home,” she finished, her voice still strained. She pushed away from him slightly, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to keep herself steady.

Batman bit his tongue when he almost said her name, and grabbed her arm again. “You really should get yourself checked out,” he nearly growled. He knew Y/N hated being taken care of though; even when her appendix burst when they were 11 years old, he had to tell Alfred because she didn’t want to cause drama.

Y/N rolled her eyes at the vigilante, “I am fine.” She stared at him now, did everyone he save have conversations with him? He examined her eyes, he could already see them turning pink as blood pooled behind them. There were gun shots in the distance now, he sighed silently as he closed his eyes. Y/N is alive, he reminded himself. She is alive and you need to take care of other things right now.

“Get home safe,” he grunted at her before jogging away towards the commotion of a different group. Y/N watched as he left before quickly making her way towards the main drag, she didn’t want any more unwelcome company for the night. After she found a cab and told the driver where to take her, she looked at the photos with a disappointed feeling in her chest. Tonight, was a major disappointment with no obvious tell as to what the drug was handed off in.

Batman worked his grid through the night, anxiously thinking about Y/N as he did. Her apartment was towards the end of the grid though, he couldn’t let himself check on her yet; the city needed him. Finally, around 5am, he was in her area. He climbed the rooftops until he saw her living room window. Relaxing slightly seeing the hood she had been wearing tossed over the edge of her sofa. This wasn’t the first time he checked on her, but it was the most important after last night. It was slowly becoming an addiction to end each of his nights by seeing her off to work safely.

Today wasn’t different. He sat in a spot positioned across from her building and watched as Y/N left her bedroom at exactly 5:30am. She didn’t sleep easily last night, only ended up falling asleep because her body won over her mind. She couldn’t look in the mirror yet, she knew she’d have her work cut out for her with covering bruises from last night. She made herself a cup of coffee before getting ready for the day.

She’d spent an extra 15 minutes getting ready today. She didn’t have a choice but to wear a turtle neck again today; her neck was black and blue. She settled for a tan turtle neck paired with black skirt, tights, and boots. She kept her hair down again, hoping it would help to cover more bruises. Thankfully, she would be working in the lab on photo development today and nobody would see her bloodshot eyes.

Batman waited until he saw her leave the building to quickly get to his bike and follow behind the taxi she got in. He stayed in the shadows, taking side streets when he needed to, and only relaxed once she was walking into the Gotham Times building before deciding to turn back towards his garage. He quickly took his contacts out, letting the images from the night download into his computer and rushed to take his armor off. Normally, he’d take a moment to watch the images and journal through the night but he had an idea on his drive home to see Y/N again and make sure she was okay.

“I’m home!” Bruce yelled as he came up the elevator into the main part of the manor. Alfred walked into the main hall with a confused look on his face as he watched Bruce jog up the stairs and towards the shower. It was abnormal behavior, Bruce knew that. But he didn’t have the time to care about what Alfred thought. He quickly washed the night off: the grimy dirt, the dried blood, the makeup. He tossed on black slacks and a white button up that he didn’t bother to finish the top two buttons of, an appropriate outfit for a public appearance as a Wayne.

Alfred was in the kitchen, aimlessly filing away paperwork he would have Bruce examine later after he slept, and was equally confused and surprised to see Bruce join him. “Bruce?” He asked watching the man anxiously go to the fridge. “Has something happened that I am unaware of?”

Bruce considered, for one weak moment, if he should tell Alfred about Y/N’s night but he decided he needed to figure out why she was there before tossing her to the dogs – he didn’t want to feel like he was tattling. “Pretty sure you’re aware of everything,” Bruce smiled at his dear friend after pulling out the container of leftovers from last night. “I am just going to run some errands.” Alfred pursed his lips but didn’t push the subject as Bruce rushed towards his less secretive garage. He assumed the playboy was off to meet a fling, maybe one he cared about slightly more than the other girls.

Y/N was happy to be in the dark room, she had a migraine from being deprived of oxygen last night and the florescent lights would not have helped. She absent-mindedly rotated the developing photographers in the developer while reading over some of the notes she’d taken on the drug case. The intercom beeped, indicating someone needed her for something. She groaned slightly but walked over to the door and clicked to button.

“What’s up?” She asked into the microphone, hoping it wasn’t anything too important.

“You have a visitor here to see you,” the front receptionist said in a kind voice. Y/N noted a small giggle in her tone and wondered who this visitor could be.

“Would you tell them I will meet them on the deck just outside the offices?” Y/N asked, she’d need an excuse to wear sunglasses so she could hide her eyes. She ended the call and grabbed her long black coat and sunglasses before heading out of the development room and up the elevator to the 12th floor where the offices lived.

As she walked outside, she glanced around wondering who would be coming to her work until she found the eyes of Bruce who smiled and waved at her. Y/N smiled softly, no wonder the receptionist was giggly; the billionaire, whose reputation as a playboy stuck with him everywhere he went, Bruce Wayne, was standing right in front of her. Y/N tucked her hands into her jacket as she walked over to him, she didn’t need him seeing the bandages wrapped around her knuckles. “Bruce?” She asked, her voice was rough and coarse, it was obvious something was wrong.

Bruce frowned hearing her, “are you okay?” He noted the high turtle neck and sunglasses she wore and felt a strange relief. He didn’t know how he’d handle seeing her hurt in that way. He forced his eyes to stop from trailing down her body. He had already noted how attractive she looked when she stepped out onto the deck, and he couldn’t risk her seeing his desire this close.

“Yeah,” Y/N smiled, trying to brush him off with a laugh that got caught in her throat. “I woke up with just the worst sore throat today. Probably caught some bug that’s going around. What are you doing here?”

“Well, you left so fast last night you couldn’t grab your leftovers,” he spoke slowly, he was trying to figure out how to lead the conversation how he needed it to. He needed her to tell him what happened without him asking her.

“You didn’t need to come all the way here for that,” she replied with a smile as she took the container from him.

He brushed her off with a small wave, “I was running errands anyway. Now you have lunch.” Y/N nodded and awkwardly turned her body trying to single that she was ready for the conversation to end. Bruce wasn’t ready though: “What articles are you working on right now?” He asked, casually leaning himself on the railing next to him.

Y/N sighed as she looked at him, “I’m actually working on film development for this week’s release – nothing exciting.”

"Okay, then next week, any articles?” Bruce pushed. The obvious guess was that she was working on an article; it would be a big jump for what she has typically been putting out, plus she didn’t have her camera with her last night.

“Listen, Bruce, I really enjoy chatting with you,” Y/N said, more bitterness in her voice than she intended. “But all of my deadlines were pushed up, I have to get back to work.” Bruce furrowed his brow at her, she’d never been so dismissive with him before.

“Of course,” he said after a long beat of silence. “Can I walk you back to your desk?” He smiled at her and motioned a hand forward.

“No, I’m good,” Y/N replied before walking away. Bruce stared at her back as she left, he felt a small tinge in his chest. Her actions hurt, that’s for sure, but it was worry that overwhelmed him. He wasn’t sure if this reaction was work stress, or was it because of what happened last night? Were there other nights that he wasn’t there and she’d gotten hurt? His mind raced as he drove back to the manor, guilt filling every single one of his bones.

Two days later, Y/N was back at the Iceberg Lounge. Her bruises looked worse now, but it didn’t matter, the men there would see them an assume it meant she would let them do anything to her. She wore a tight black mini dress that would sparkle when the light caught it right, and a pair of black heels. She blew her hair out and did her makeup thick; she’d learned within the first month of working here that the sexier she looked, the looser lipped people became.

The Iceberg Lounge was a popular hangout spot for a lot of people. Drug lords, dirty cops, dirty politicians, rapists, murders… anyone who wanted a place to do their bad things under non-judgmental supervision. The Penguin didn’t have many rules, only if you kill someone you don’t do it in the club. Y/N’s night was passing quite fast, she’d even managed to get some information from one of the cops that had come in on how the overdoses were intentionally being hidden from the media.

She only had 30 minutes left of her shift when she was delivering a drink order to a table of drug pushers. One of them had been eyeing her all night, normally when she saw this she’d trad tables with another girl; but since they were drug pushers, she had to hope he’d slip and give her some information.

“Here you are, boys,” Y/N smiled as she set the drinks in front of each of them. “Is there anything else I can get you for?” She gently rested a hand on the shoulder of the man closest to her, winking at him. The man who had been staring at her, who also seemed to be the leader of the pack, slowly stood up. “What’s up, baby?” She asked, blinking her eye lashes at him and she stepped over to him.

He smirked at her and gently grabbed her waist, pushing her against the wall behind him. Y/N would have protested, but he’d been so gentle with his movements that she had no reason to worry yet. “You,” the man slurred, tucking some of her hair behind her ear before letting his fingers trail across the bruises on her neck. “Are a beautiful woman.”

“Why thank you,” Y/N smiled at him. “What do you do for work, hon?” She carefully snaked a hand across his chest.

“That doesn’t matter, sweetheart,” he slurred as his hand traced down to her chest now, the other still gripping onto her hip. She grunted softly as he roughly grabbed her left breast.

“I’d prefer we didn’t do this,” she croaked, pushing against his chest now.

“Shut up,” he said, slapping her across the face. She gasped and pushed harder against his chest now.

“Get off of me!” She yelled, straining her voice. His friends laughed as they watched what was happening and his hand finding a spot between her thighs now. “Fucking asshole!” Y/N groaned, punching him hard enough in the jaw to hear the bone snap and bringing her knee up into his groin. He doubled over in pain and Y/N quickly took the opportunity to walk away and rushed into the back room where the liquor was stored.

Her hands were shaking as she sunk down against the floor, feeling the tears stinging in her eyes. She spent the last 15 minutes of her shift there, allowing silent sobs to escape her body, before heading to the locker room and grabbing her items.

She happily allowed the cold rain to brush against her skin and wash that man’s skin away as she stepped into the alley behind the lounge. She started to walk down the alley, towards the main drag where she would get a taxi, when a hand clasped around her mouth. “You’re a fucking cunt,” the familiar slur filled her ear, thicker now that he couldn’t move his jaw. Her eyes widened and she started trying to fight against him.

She escaped his arms but he quickly punched her in the side of the head. Y/N groaned and followed up with a punch to his ribs, feeling the bone crack. The man grunted and mirrored her actions, punching her hand enough to break more than one rib and send her to her knees. He grabbed her by the hair and punched her face multiple times. Y/N’s vision blurred from both pain and blood, she yelled out as he busted her lip and sent another blow into her gut.

He stopped for a moment to catch his breath, Y/N forced herself to stand up and quickly grabbed his head and pounded it into the brick next to them. He fell to the ground unconscious within a second of the blow. Y/N ran, she didn’t care to check that he wouldn’t bleed out, she knew someone would find him.

She ran all the way back to her apartment before the pain started to catch up to her. She grunted, leaning against the brick of her building. She didn’t want to be alone, she needed someone to help stich up some of her injuries, she needed her uncle. She quickly hailed a taxi, keeping her head down as she got in.

Bruce had returned home early that night and already had rid himself of all things Batman. A drop head had found the inconvenient gap in Batman’s body armor and sunk a knife in a little too deep. He was sitting in the living room while Alfred worked on stitching the gash in his abdomen. It was 2am, neither of the men had been expecting any visitors when they heard the service door open from the kitchen. No alarms went off so it was somebody who used a code.

Alfred was busy cleaning the blood off his hands and hiding the evidence of the medical procedure, while Bruce walked over to the kitchen entrance. He pulled his shirt on just as whatever visitor flipped the lights and his jaw dropped at the site. “Y/N?” His voice was panicked as he rushed over to her. Y/N leaned herself against the door frame, one hand cradling her side where her broken ribs were.

“Bruce,” she whispered, groaning slightly at the feeling. “I need Alfie…”

“Alfred!” Bruce yelled, gently scooping Y/N up in his arms and walking with her back to where Alfred was. Y/N blushed at the contact, leaning her head against Bruce’s muscular chest sleepily.

“Y/N?” Alfred’s voice was filled with fear as he saw his niece bloody and beaten. Bruce laid her on the sofa and Alfred rushed to assess her injuries. “Who did this to you?”

Y/N shook her head, and pushed her self to sit up. “Just stitch my hand, and my forehead,” she whispered, leaning her back against the sofa now. She cradled her ribs still with a grunt, “I may have some broken ribs though…”

Alfred would ask questions later when she wasn’t losing blood. He quickly numbed the areas and started to expertly close the open wounds. Bruce anxiously paced in front of the fire place while he watched Alfred work, he would also wait until she was okay but as soon as he knew who did this he would be beating them to a pulp.

Y/N started to feel better after Alfred had given her a small dose of morphine.  She could breathe more evenly and used the damp rag he had given her to wipe the blood from her face while he stitched the cuts on her knuckles. “Y/N,” Alfred said, keeping his voice stern but calm. “You need to tell me what is going on, right now.” He cut the surgical thread once his last stitch was finished. Noting that he was done, Y/N stood up.

“Nothing is going on, I handled it,” she said, moving to look at herself in the mirror nearby. She examined the injuries, both new and old, that covered her face.

“Your neck is bruised, but not from tonight,” Alfred pointed out as he stood up straight. “You obviously have been fighting tonight, did you know them?”

“No, Alfie,” Y/N sighed, “I did not know them. I’m going to go home and rest now.” She turned towards the front door, she didn’t want to answer anymore questions.

“Enough,” Bruce spoke, his voice was harsh and dark. Y/N turned to look at him, shocked. “Tell us what the hell happened, now.”

She examined his face and noted the look she had only seen once before; he wasn’t going to let her leave without answering their questions. She looked at her uncle next, the worry and fear on his face broke her heart. She sighed and closed her eyes, swallowing hard as she prepared to tell them the truth. “I work at the Iceberg Lounge,” she admitted, Alfred stepped forward confused. “Well, I don’t… Lucy does. I’m a waitress and I do hospitality.”

“Why?” Alfred asked, needing to sit on the sofa as the shock washed through him.

“There’s a new drug,” Y/N sighed, starting to pace. “I go to the lounge and collet information for my articles.”

“What happened tonight then? Who—” Bruce’s voice caught in his throat. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to center himself. “Who did this to you?”

“I don’t know who it was. I served him a drink and when he made certain advances, I broke his jaw…” Y/N avoided the eyes of the men in the room as she explained. “After I left, he met me in the alley and well,” she motioned over her body. “After a bit of a fight, I knocked him out and came here.”

“You are quitting that job tomorrow,” Alfred commanded after a whole 2 minutes of silence.

Y/N snorted slightly, “I am not.”

"It wasn’t a request, Y/N!” Alfred yelled, his anger getting the better of him. “You will not be risking your life in this way!”

“I did not become a journalist to take pictures of Gotham’s celebrities and write about what they and their fucking dogs are wearing!” Y/N shouted back at him, ignoring the pain this caused. “I became a journalist to inform people what is happening in their city, their neighborhood, or up the block from them! I became a journalist to touch the lives in my little corner of the world and to help people!” Alfred and Bruce both watched her shocked, they hadn’t expected such fight from her especially with her injuries. “I love you, both of you, but people are dying out there; people that have nobody to care about them. There is nothing either of you can say or do to stop me.”

As soon as the door slammed to a shut behind Y/N, Alfred looked at Bruce. “I don’t care what you have to do,” he stepped towards him. “You keep my niece safe, understood?” Bruce gave one nod in agreement. He knew in his bones that he would never rest until he ensured Y/N would be safe.  

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