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hollandorks · 1 year

Text

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

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anitalenia · 10 months

Text

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 ₊˚⊹♡

⋆˙⟡♡ SYNOPSIS ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑓, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑡𝑦. ℎ𝑒 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑛… 𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑙 ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑤 ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡. 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

╰✦･ﾟ✵ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆: how he acted 𓂃⊹ the beginning of how it started. a part detailing how Batman initially treated you and handled the relationship.

╰✦･ﾟ✵ 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏: how it happened 𓂃⊹ how Batman fell in love with you and all the things that happened leading up to it. all the signs and actions that made him love you.

╰✦･ﾟ✵ 𝒄𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒙: how it was 𓂃⊹ how Batman handled the reality of being in love with you and all the things he did to try and hide from it. better yet, his confession.

╰✦･ﾟ✵ 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈: how it all fell together 𓂃⊹ yours and Bruce’s relationship and how he was with you. some relationship headcanons for fun.

⋆˙⟡♡ PAIRING ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ battinson x fem!reader

⋆˙⟡♡ CONTENT INCLUDES ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ mentions of sex, mentions of fighting and threatening, rough kissing, mentions of sad!Bruce / undertones of depression, mentions of alcohol & insomnia, bad words, sweet kisses, tears, hair pulling, love confessions, not really a whole lot of sexiness just headcanons mostly

⋆˙⟡♡ WARNINGS ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ mature content, emotionally tortured Bruce Wayne, maybe not my best story telling :(, mentions of blood and fighting cuz this is Batman, alcoholism

⋆˙⟡♡ AUTHORS NOTE ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ thanks to @diavolosbaby for requesting this!! Hope you enjoy and it lives up to your standards 🩷

OTHER LINKS ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ 𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

𝓫𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓸𝓷 ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ He told you what this was before he even started it. Told you this was strictly business, no feelings involved; you knew who he was during a chance encounter and you were the only one he could really come to after that. It was simple, straight forward; you needed his dick and he needed your pussy.

╰✦･ﾟ✵ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆: how he acted 𓂃⊹

⋆˙⟡♡ Bruce came to you a lot, which was a little odd compared to how you perceived him to be. You thought he was a very busy man, always fighting crime or hiding away in his mansion, always too busy to bother with someone as unimportant as you. But no, you couldn’t have been more wrong. He was there at least three times a week, standing by your window in that black suit of his with his cape blowing with the wind, waiting for you.

⋆˙⟡♡ He was always quiet, head filled with whatever torturous pain lingered in the shadows of his mind, brimming with the secrets he never told you and you never asked for. He never spoke, unless it was a command spoken in a gentle gruffness. He never smiled, tried not to grunt or make too much noise, but some nights he couldn’t contain himself and the sounds just escaped him. Those were the nights he was particularly frustrated.

⋆˙⟡♡ He never let you take off his mask at first, he’d leave it on and you were left grasping at leather and air. He didn’t like affection, having you touch his scars and his body, it was too vulnerable, too intimate, for his liking. So, naturally, he didn’t stay to cuddle afterwards. The business was over, your job was done, he’d slip out the window as you’d bask in the aftershocks.

⋆˙⟡♡ His heart was cold but his body was warm, always warm. He was like a furnace when he’d be flat against you, fucking into you with his head in your neck and his hands gripping your jaw, your waist, your thighs. You’d always get so hot, craving his warmth like a bug to a bonfire.

⋆˙⟡♡ He never bothered to ask you anything about yourself, but you had a suspicion he had to have done some research on you during those long lonely days in the darkness of his home. He was too cautious not to, too curious. And he did. He found out everything about you but didn’t share a single detail about himself. He was Bruce Wayne, rich son whose parents died by day, and then Batman, vengeance personified by night. That’s all you needed to know.

⋆˙⟡♡ Batman only came to you in the middle of the night, sometimes bloody and beaten, your fingers running over tender bruises that would make him grimace. A part of him liked the pain, figured he deserved it. Sometimes you worried for him on the nights he was particularly beaten up, but he didn’t give you time to ask questions before he was shoving you against your dresser and pressing himself against you.

⋆˙⟡♡ He didn’t like being in the light, being too seen. He liked it with all the lights off, your room glowing with the dim light of the moon and the streetlights, your face pressed into his neck or shoved into a pillow so you couldn’t look at him.

⋆˙⟡♡ In the beginning, he liked it when you just submitted to him; he mostly cared about his own pleasure at first as he told you what this was, why he was doing this. That didn’t stop him from making sure you came at least once though. He couldn’t help it, didn’t want you to feel completely used.

⋆˙⟡♡ You noticed he always had this way about him when he touched you, almost like he yearned to hold you closer but knew he shouldn’t. His hands were rough, long fingers and hot palms, lingering on your skin before he’d move them away, never touching one place too long before he’d move on. It was almost a tease.

⋆˙⟡♡ He spied on you, a lot actually, would watch you from his spot on a roof top, stare at you through your big office window. He didn’t know why, just bored and curious, he always told himself. He’d see you stress yourself out, fill out paper after paper while your boss did nothing but throw more at you. You took it anyway and Bruce was confused by why. But he never asked, didn’t want to make a connection with you and risk losing you.

⋆˙⟡♡ He remembered sneaking into your house, waiting for you, but you were late coming home from work and he wasn’t sure if he should leave or not. He felt wrong about it, but he looked through your photos and your notebooks, saw a glimpse into your real life outside of him and work and he quickly put everything back the way it was and left. He didn’t want to see, he didn’t want to see you as anything different than what he already did.

⋆˙⟡♡ He would lie to Alfred about where he was going at night, why he would be so late coming home. But Alfred knew he was lying, he wasn’t sure about what exactly, but Alfred knew Bruce would come to him in time.

⋆˙⟡♡ Bruce tried hard to keep his and yours personal lives outside of your mutual situation, he really did. He didn’t want to know you, hear you talk about your problems and your dreams and fears and learn what made you you, from your own words. He was alone and knew he was meant to be alone, planned on being alone forever. Being with him would only put you in danger, a bigger target on his back he didn’t need. It was for your own protection, for the sake of both your lives and both your hearts.

⋆˙⟡♡ He vowed to himself to keep it that way, strictly professional, a hobby almost. He really didn’t plan to fall in love, he really really didn’t…

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ Your living room was dark when you came home from work, later than usual because of your infuriating boss; he was lazy, relied on his employees to do his work while he sat in his office and ate his donuts. You hated him, loathed him, absolutely couldn’t stand him, but you understood he was just another obstacle, a milestone you needed to get through before you reached where you needed to be. So, you didn’t make a fuss, you didn’t complain, didn’t speak up. You did what you were supposed to as you were supposed to do it, just another hamster circling the wheel of business over and over until you finally got the balls to break the cycle.

Unfortunately, your ambition was almost too much for you sometimes, tonight was evidence enough.

You set your keys in the ceramic bowl by the door with a tired sigh, soft rain pattering on your windows, furniture lit up with a dim orange glow from the street lamps outside. All twisting shadows and rain drops. Your nose tickled with the scent of vanilla bean and raspberry, remembering the candle you had forgotten to blow out before you left. Oops.

Your hair was damp, gray suit littered in dark spots from the rain outside. Your limbs were sore and heavy, eyes burning and fluttering for a semblance of rest. Your heels were sore from the heels you’ve been prancing around in all day, your whole body exhausted in general. This was normal for you though, you always came home lagged and tired. You regretted being such a hard worker, but knew it would ultimately pay off in the future.

You walked to your bedroom, your heels clacking on the floor unevenly, dragging on the wooden boards as you navigated your way through the darkness. You held your purse loosely in your left hand, a shiver crawling up your spine as an unexpected gust of coolness swept up your legs and down your neck.

Your foot stuttered, lingering by the doorway in your bedroom as the rain seemed louder, less dull, wind whistling your black bed sheets. You furrowed your eyebrows at that, knowing you left your window closed before you left. Your eyes strained to see anything in the darkness as panic blared in your chest like a fire alarm, trying to make out any figure in the shadows of your room. You slowly crept forward, preparing for the worst, your exhaustion melting into hot fear that made your bones go stiff.

You swallowed, eyes immediately going to the open window to see the empty street below, the sound of a car alarm in the distance overpowering the rain that seemed to just pound harder. Your window was wide open, sheer purple curtains flapping from the breeze like a set of violet wings. Your eyes narrowed at that, hearing nothing but buzzing silence ringing in your ears. Then, it just hit you.

You couldn’t describe it exactly, but you felt a sensation of calmness wash over you as you let out a hefty breath, fear gradually melting away as your body relaxed and hands unclenched. It was like your body knew it wasn’t in any real danger, that there was nothing lurking in the shadows besides what was supposed to be. This was all too familiar to you; a setting you’ve come home to many times before. The open window, the darkness, the buzzing calm.

You felt excitement spark through you in recognition as you felt your neck tingle, a barely there whisper of a breath wash over your neck and tickle your hair.

You felt a smile quirk on your lips, turning around slowly, sucking in a sharp breath when you were met with the large bulking figure of the man in black standing just an inch away from you, a shadow hiding in shadow as he stared down at you with those black soulless eyes. He was big, a thing you liked about him, dirt encrusted on his suit and so out of place in the cozy warmth of your home. He was big and bulky, comically large for your small bedroom.

You looked back up at him, your purse dropping to the floor as instinctual arousal flooded your belly at just the mere sight of him. You couldn’t help it, your body knew what he was capable of and yearned for it. Your throat became dry, you swallowed once more as his eyes, those dark blue gems of his, looked over your face with a certain pained look in them, calculating and tortured, covered in black face paint that hid the beauty of his raw skin.

His pink lips were set in a firm frown, a faint scratch on his chin, breaths slow and even, calm. That damned mask of his covered his face, the fluffiness of his brown hair you seldom ever felt run through your finger tips. He always wore this expression, always so serious and somber like he was going through a dreadful ordeal every second he continued to live. You were always curious as to why, but knew he’d never answer, nor appreciate your nosiness.

You let your thoughts drift off, looking back up at him with a false confidence.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight…” You mumbled quietly, losing any conviction in your voice as he took a small step forward, closer to you, his heavy boot thudding on your floor. You took a small step back, crumbling under him way too easily, as always. He always loved to completely invade your space, but never let you do the same to him.

You looked up at him, he looked down at you, breaths mingling together as a dark look washed over his oceanic eyes, his strong jaw clenching as he ran his eyes over your face like this was the first time he’d ever seen you. You felt your thighs tighten at the look in them, at the way he looked at you.

You were being honest though, you didn’t expect him tonight. You had seen him two nights ago, expecting not to see him for another few weeks at least.

“Shhh…” He shushed you gently, voice gravelly but gentle, tired but awake, undertones of desire.

He leaned down towards you and you found yourself holding your own arms back from wrapping around him and taking him already, just as he always took you. His gloved hands reached for the edge of the dresser behind you, trapping you between his strong arms and chest, completely invading your senses as your eyes looked into his, almost begging. His cape flowed down his shoulders and shrouded around you both until all you could see was black, the heady smell of smoke and rain tickling your nose, captivating.

He pressed himself against you, a brick wall, the mahogany’s edge digging into your lower back as your breath stuttered. You found yourself looking at his lips, his nose, his eyes, his closeness overwhelming you as you couldn’t figure out where to look, your skin feeling hot and stuffy, the confidence you had previously now a pile on the floor as your stomach twisted.

You could see the rain on his black suit, dripping down all his gear and heavy armor he wore and down to his waist, some falling to the floor in soft drips. You licked your lips, minding the mess, feeling lightheaded and fluttery as you looked back up at him with sparkling eyes.

He cocked his head at you, dark eyes running over your lips before looking back into your own, “Take your hair down.”

He always used such a gentle, tired voice, like he didn’t want to scare you and he could never find enough sleep, but the demand was obvious in his tone, eyes dark and predatory as they stared down at you intently. He didn’t need anymore command, knowing you’d do as he said just like you always did.

You didn’t dare disobey, sensing his need sizzling in the air just as strong as your shared want. You managed eye contact as you brought a hand up to the back of your head, taking out the black hair clip holding your hair together, the rain pattering on your roof almost too loud in your ears. He stared as your hair fell down your shoulders, cascading down your back in silky waves and framing your face. You swallowed, feeling the need to clear your throat as you put a hand through your hair and brushed it over your shoulder.

You saw his eyes run over your hair, the way it fell around your cheeks, his jaw clenching once more. He brought a hand up, big and heavy, running your locks through his fingers, imagining the softness of it as the sweet smell of apricot and citrus filled his nose, the signature flavor of your favorite shampoo.

You sighed at the pleasurable sensation on your scalp, head titling back as your eyes drooped, your hair clip falling to the ground noisily as you brought your hands up and grabbed his forearms. You might’ve been a little dramatic at just a few touches, but you were so needy, needy for this dangerous man you knew absolutely nothing about besides the obvious. He was a stranger in a suit, a stranger to you, but he somehow knew how to touch you better than any man you’ve ever been with.

He took note of your reaction, his own body twitching to touch you as he noticed the look in your eyes. He felt an intense need spark through him, his hand grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling your head back. He remained calm looking, but his eyes gave it all away.

Your head was yanked back, a pleasurable gasp leaving your lips as you squeezed his arms, looking up at him with your lips parted and breaths heavy. Your head stung, hair being pulled on in just the right way that had a familiar wetness pooling between your thighs, your body buzzing alive with feeling.

Bruce looked down at you, pressing the broadness of himself against you even harder, your breasts smushed against his suit, completely at his mercy. He looked down at you with an unraveled look in his eyes as he tilted your head up towards him.

He kissed you then, rough and hot, groaning into your mouth as his tongue played with yours, teeth clashing and breaths hot against each other. You couldn’t help but moan against him as he finally granted you what you’ve been wanting for so long now, scalp burning from his hold on your hair as your hands flew up and gripped at the leather of his mask, arms wrapped around his neck.

He was forceful and rough, his other hand crawling around your waist and lifting you off the ground with such ease it almost caught you off guard. You gasped into his mouth, his hand tightening on the hold in your hair as you grimaced at the pain.

You didn’t break the kiss, stuck on him as your heels fell off your feet and hit the floor. In two big strides you were suddenly lied flat on your bouncy mattress with Batman himself between your thighs, still holding your waist and head against him as he kissed you fervently.

Your skirt slid down around your thighs as you wrapped your legs around him, pressing him harder into you as all you wanted was him, him everywhere and him all over you. You moaned against him, helpless and desperate, as the ridges in his suit dug into your stomach, his lips movingly hotly against yours as he grunted against you. His cape flowed around you, thick and smooth, trapping you underneath until all you could see was blackness, unable to discern the space between his body and yours.

You knew this was going to be quick; he was too rough, too impatient and needy. It must’ve been a bad night for him, but you didn’t pry no matter how much you wanted to, no matter how much the questions bubbled in your throat and ached in your chest you knew you were in no place to ask. A part of you liked it that way, liked that this was strictly this. You liked that you didn’t have to answer to him, that you weren’t bound to him and he wasn’t to you. It was just simple, secrecy for a night of shameless lust-filled sex in return.

You both got what you wanted and that was enough. You appreciated that he didn’t go beyond that just as you didn’t. Outside of this room he was Batman, a dangerous vigilante some trusted and some hated, he was Bruce Wayne, an orphan child with more money and pain than he needed. But in the shadow of your bedroom, under the covers with you, there was no identity, no obligation, just two strangers seeking each other out in search of the one thing they both wanted, blessed with none of the other drama that followed a relationship.

With Bruce on top of you in this very moment, his hands gripping your body for no reason other than pleasure, you knew he would be gone before the night was over, and you’d be alone in your bed with bite marks and handprints on your skin to serve as a reminder of the man who gave them to you. You knew he would silently leave, slip away when he thought you were sleeping, you knew he wouldn’t talk or tell you any of his problems. He’d give you what you wanted and then slip into the shadows… you had to admit, It was the most perfect arrangement.

╰✦･ﾟ✵ 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏: how it happened 𓂃⊹

⋆˙⟡♡ Batman didn’t plan on ever falling in love with you, but when he did, it had happened after a couple of months of doing what he did with you. But before he did, things had been going so well. You never intervened in his life and he never intervened in yours. Just as he expected, just as he preferred. It had been perfect, but somewhere along the way he had gotten too involved, started to trust you without even realizing it.

⋆˙⟡♡ At first, it started with him staying in your bed longer than he used to. You didn’t argue, comfortable with the heat his body gave you in the coldness of the night. He found himself dozing off after you would, your fluffy blanket soft on his skin and the mattress like a cloud for his broken body. He’d always be gone before you woke up though. You didn’t want to say anything about his little sleepovers, scared you’ll frighten him and he’ll stop. So you let him do as he pleased, enjoying his company albeit his silence.

⋆˙⟡♡ He never cuddled with you though, ever (don’t worry, he lets that slip too). Always stiff like a board on his side of the bed, expression crumbled with pain and peace. Sometimes he’d flinch, nightmares you never questioned him about but always noticed. Still, he’d wake up after about an hour, slip out your window, but not before giving you one last look, seeing how the moon shined down on your soft skin…

⋆˙⟡♡ Then, it was following you home after work, making sure you got home safe on those dark nights where it seemed like every shadow was following you. He’d be on the rooftops, claiming he was just curious and bored, cape flapping in the wind, when in reality he just needed to make sure you got home safely.

⋆˙⟡♡ You didn’t know, but he was watching you much more than you’d ever suspect. He watched your home on the nights Gotham was quiet, his body knowing you were so close but oh so far. He thought about you when he wasn’t thinking about you, thought about the routine he had found in you, the unfamiliar closeness, the comfort he had found between your body and your bed sheets.

⋆˙⟡♡ He started kissing you more, flinching less when your fingers would graze his back. He let you look at him, look deep into his eyes when he was inside you, have your hands touching his face and his back without the security of his suit to hide him. You loved when he did that, feeling him under your hands, skin to skin as it should be.

⋆˙⟡♡ He let you see his scars in the light, didn’t care when he took off his suit and your bathroom light was on, shining down on his body and the sculpted muscle of it. He had learned you wouldn’t judge him, but he was still hesitant, suffering inside when he looked down at the floor as you gazed at him in awe… you thought he was so beautiful.

⋆˙⟡♡ He would watch you when you worked, watch as your boss would storm in and demand more from you. Bruce didn’t like that, would clench his fist and grind his teeth when you’d get scolded like a child, told to work harder when all you did was work. He’d have to control himself when your boss would walk past him on his way home every night.

⋆˙⟡♡ He started conversing with you more, holding you against his chest when you two were done. He’d ask you profound questions as you two stared up at the ceiling, you’d tell him your answer. He didn’t talk a lot, just liked to listen. It would be intimate, almost romantic. He’d listen to what you’d have to say and he’d learn, learn more about who you were, where you came from, and he’d find himself not wanting to leave, a dull ache in his chest every time you’d fall asleep and he’d have to slip out your fire escape.

⋆˙⟡♡ He never admitted it to himself, but he started to look forward to seeing you, found comfort in your small bedroom and the absence of life’s problems that came with it. He started to enjoy the smell of vanilla bean and raspberry from those candles you always forgot to blow out before work. He started to pick up on your little quirks.

⋆˙⟡♡ While gradually falling in love with you, Bruce would deny, deny, deny. He acknowledged that he was starting to feel things he didn’t want to, and he’d be incredibly disturbed and moody, more than usual. Alfred would even be a little peeved with him.

⋆˙⟡♡ Bruce would find himself asking you how work was. He would be concerned about the bags under your eyes and the wrinkles in your clothes, not outright concerned but he couldn’t stop himself from asking. He wanted to hear your voice.

⋆˙⟡♡ He would be very hesitant around you, scared he was doing too much when he’d touch you now. It wasn’t like before, when he would just grab and control. Now he was really touching you, trying to feel you, every dip and curve of your skin under his fingertips.

⋆˙⟡♡ He had gotten way too comfortable with you now, even he knew that. He relied on you and the comfort you gave, a feeling he’d been without for so long. He was like a cold soul lost in the woods, searching for something, anything, hollow, a warm body to bring him back. He found that with you, and he didn’t even realize it until he started to feel pain when he wasn’t around you, a pain in his chest like a knife was stabbing into his heart. He missed you but he didn’t want to…

⋆˙⟡♡ He stared at your face a lot, too intensely for your liking, thoughts behind those dark eyes of his he’d never tell you about if you confronted him about it. He just liked to look at you, watch you giggle and smile. He’d do it without realizing how intimidated it made you feel, how you’d have to blush and look away, pretend you didn’t notice. He just liked to look at you, soak in your expressions before he’d leave again.

⋆˙⟡♡ The signs were all there when you thought about it. The lingering touches, the admiring stares, the countless nights he’d watch over you. He felt like a creep, following you around so much, but he couldn’t help it. You were a pleasant distraction and he was a fool, easily succumbing to those feelings he had for you without even knowing it. They had been growing inside of him like a blooming vine… they started out small but grew into so much more, and he ignored it, until he just couldn’t take it anymore…

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ It was a quiet night in September, it had been raining for days and the coolness of autumn had just started to blow into the city. The trees danced with orange and red leaves, strewn all over the road and sidewalks, getting stuck under peoples rain boots and car tires. Your window was cracked, letting a cool breeze into your room that made you shiver, the savory smell of someone’s cooking wafting into your noses from the apartments across the way. You looked at your tv, black screen shut off but reflecting the blurred forms of your mingled bodies on your bed, arm outstretched on Bruce’s stomach, head lying on his chest. You could hear his heart, slow and calm just as he always was, pumping in your ear and lulling you to sleep.

You wanted to stay awake though, listening to the sounds of cars driving in rain puddles and horns honking, the occasional laughter of a passerby. A candle was lit on your dresser across the room, with the faint scent of vanilla bean and raspberry in the air just as Bruce liked. Your legs were a little sore, thighs tender from where Bruce had gripped them so hard, lips puffy from where Bruce had kissed them so much. You felt satisfied, pleasant even, comforted by his presence, the knowledge of his identity absent in your mind as you didn’t register him as a millionaire, or as a crime fighting vigilante, you never really did.

He was neither of those things to you. He was… he was Bruce, just Bruce, your Bruce. Not Bruce Wayne or Batman, and that was enough for you. You took him as he is not as he was, never questioned him about his parents or how Batman was even created. He appreciated that, didn’t like answering questions about himself he wasn’t comfortable with. He was comfortable with silence, but he didn’t mind hearing you.

He was awake too, didn’t want to fall asleep before you, something in his mind telling him he should leave already, not sink into the mattress any further and let himself relish in your warmth. He had responsibilities, duties, people he needed to save and crime he needed to stop. It was Gotham, something was always wrong and someone always needed help. But he couldn’t think about any of that stuff around you, his thoughts always either empty or crowded with your smile.

His suit was a mess on the floor, scrambled just like his mind, bat mask clear as day in his vision, lit up in a red glimmer from the light outside. It stared at him with its blank eyes, watching, the buzzing of a neon light loud in his ears. It’s like it was mocking him, patronizing him. He frowned at it, turning his head slightly away from it, like it was a reminder of what his true purpose was, where he should really be this late other than here in your arms. He knew he should go, felt his arm twitch like he was about to get up and unwind from you.

“Don’t you have somewhere you should be? Or are you gonna stay?” You mumbled sleepily, voice so quiet and sweet he almost didn’t hear it.

His eyes drifted to you, rubbing his fingertips on your rib cage and savoring the feeling of your smooth skin underneath him, against him. You were so unblemished, unlike him. A few scratches and scars here and there that held stories and memories, none like his. His were ridged and pale, covered his skin, they held memories but none of them good. Memories that served as reminders of why this was so wrong, of who he really was and who he needed to get back to once he left these four walls.

He thought about it for a minute, frowning at the ceiling fan.

Did he have somewhere to be? Yes, yes he did. He always had somewhere to be, that was the problem. He couldn’t be everywhere at once, he could be somewhere else, but he was here instead. He was here with you, here with you. He had somewhere to be, could be anywhere else, but he was here. Everyone always expected him to be where they were, expected him to save everyone. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t save everyone and he couldn’t be everywhere they wanted him to be. He was with you but he shouldn’t be. Guilt settled in his gut as he swallowed, hands itching like it was wrong to touch you.

His eyes, dark and somber like storm clouds, especially just as captivating, looked over your frazzled hair like he could see your face, knowing how exhausted you must’ve been from work and sex, how it was so late already and how you’d have to leave so early. Your breathing was slow and even, warm breath brushing over his chest from your parted pink lips, all cues of how you’ve already fallen asleep. He thought about your question, yes, yes he had somewhere he needed to be, he always did.

He didn’t bother speaking, just turned his head back and looked at the ceiling as his arm held you just a little tighter against him, hearing the splash of a car racing through water from somewhere outside.

He’ll stay for a little while.

╰✦･ﾟ✵ 𝒄𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒙: how it was 𓂃⊹

⋆˙⟡♡ When he realized he was in love with you he left, he left for a long time. He refused to let those feelings blossom into anything more, grow into something more… dangerous. Love was dangerous, he was dangerous. He isolated himself from you, in a worse mood than usual. Alfred had picked up on it, knowing there was more going on than Bruce wanted to say. You couldn’t help the disappointment as the days turned into weeks, weeks of hope being crushed on with every night he wasn’t there.

⋆˙⟡♡ He told himself it was for the best, heartbreak was something you could heal from, death was something you’d never come back from. With his life, you would die. He couldn’t lose anyone else, he couldn’t. He couldn’t subject you to that same fate his parents had.

⋆˙⟡♡ Still, he couldn’t stop himself from watching you when you’d walk home, still sitting outside your job, your home, watching you from a distance to make sure you’d be alright. He couldn’t sleep if he didn’t.

⋆˙⟡♡ He couldn’t sleep anyway. Eyes a dark purple and the ache in his chest getting so much worse. It was because of you he couldn’t sleep, bed empty and cold without you, mattress hard and firm unlike yours. His nightmares consisted of your death and his inability to save you. He was better off seeing nothing with his eyes open than your blood with his eyes closed.

⋆˙⟡♡ Alfred was concerned. Confronted his Master Bruce during breakfast when Bruce was silent and gloomy. Yes, Alfred knew he would confess eventually, just needed a little shove. “I can’t stop thinking about her, Alfred.”

⋆˙⟡♡ You couldn’t stop thinking about him either… work was slow and long, your thoughts muddled together as you couldn’t stop racking your brain for a reason, any reason, as to why, why he left. Did you do something wrong?

⋆˙⟡♡ You didn’t want to say you missed him, you didn’t want to admit that to yourself. You felt almost stupid, like he had used you and discarded you, but wasn’t that the whole point? You were a mess, confused and feeling a different kind of lonely only a sad heart could bring you. You felt abandoned.

⋆˙⟡♡ Bruce would hide up in his room and think, read books but not pay attention to the words. Alfred would bring him his tea and advice whenever he could, but it seemed nothing could cheer him up. Bruce felt a different kind of loneliness now than he had his whole life. When his parents died they were taken away from him, he didn’t choose to give them up like he did you. He felt like he had lost yet another person.

⋆˙⟡♡ He really thought about moving on from you, a part of him arguing thats what was best for you. But the thought of fully giving you up to anybody else angered him. You weren’t his but you’d always been in some way, his. He yearned to be near you again, an itch in the back of his mind only you could scratch.

⋆˙⟡♡ He drunk, a lot. Spent his free time as Bruce Wayne drowning in whiskey and scotch, heavy liquor bottles empty and discarded on the floor. He almost felt like crying, but he’d just pass out on his bed, too drunk to crawl under the covers. Sometimes he’d pass out in the common room, leg hanging off the couch and hair unraveled, Alfred cleaning up the mess and putting a blanket over him.

⋆˙⟡♡ He drowned himself in his work to distract from you. He was frustrated, angry, weeks having gone by without you having set him on edge. He was beating petty criminals to a bloody pulp, sending them to Gordon barely conscious. He needed to take his anger out on something, anything. Alfred would just sigh when a bloody Bruce would storm past him, ensuring his suit was cleaned before the next day.

⋆˙⟡♡ It was a late Friday night when Bruce let his anger take control of him. It was some petty thief thinking he’d run off with the bags of cash he’d stolen. Bruce didn’t let him speak, anger taking over him like thick ropes of lava in his blood, anger that had festered in his black heart for weeks, simmering under his skin waiting for the moment it could boil over.

⋆˙⟡♡ He was bloody and dirty when he came to you in a blur of anger and love, adrenaline running through him with a determination boiling in his bones.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ It was a dark cloudy night when you saw Bruce standing outside your window; you lay in bed, cozy and under the covers, bathed in the dim golden light of your lamp. You were pretending to read a book you’ve meant to finish with a frown on your face, mind full of memories and the fruitless desire to have it all back. It was a melancholic pain that throbbed under your skin, sharp and persistent like a plant rash, the memory of forgotten things plaguing your mind and wishing it could just all go back to the way it was.

You almost didn’t see him if it wasn’t for the thud on your fire escape; you jumped and the book flew to the floor with a thud. Your eyes widened and you felt a wave of excitement and relief flourish through your veins as you scrambled off your bed. You couldn’t believe it, heart pounding as you rushed over to your window and swung it open like an eager baker opening an oven door. It was a big window, one with a giant view of the street below and the park across the ways, big enough to fit a grown man in a heavy suit.

Your hands were almost frantic, eyes wide in disbelief to just see him standing there in all his glory, back to you like he used to be all those weeks ago before he left, left you, left you behind. The memory of his loss and betrayal flashed back like a pull to reality, all those sad feelings you pushed away coming full frontal in your head like a tidal wave in your fragile brain.

Bruce’s heavy stare burned through you and it was like you could feel it on your skin, like a million microscopic bugs crawling all over you, your body buzzing with electricity and your hands almost shaking. You felt a flurry of difficult emotions coursing through you that all muddled together in one big mess in your head; anger and happiness, relief and irritation. You couldn’t pinpoint on one, feeling everything all at once when you opened your window and Batman was stood on the other side of you in all his threatening grandness.

You hated that he looked so good despite the grime.

You were left stunned as all you could do was stare at him. This was a moment you’ve only dreamt about, wished for for days and countless weeks, fantasized about for hours on end. How you would react, what you would say, how it would all go… and especially how he’d apologize on hand and knee for you, atone for his sins and plead for your pardon. It was all meticulously planned and carefully thought out, and now here it was, the moment you’ve been waiting for for so long; it was finally here, staring at you in the face. And it was so funny how all those ideas and all that confidence you had just seemed to vanish now that it was time to confront them; you were frozen as you stared back at him, unsure of what to do next and too tongue tied to formulate a thought. All that planning, pointless in the face of its precipitant.

Bruce stared back at you longingly and painfully, breaths hard and heavy and knuckles bruised and sore. His eyes were smeared in that black paint he always used, thick with an unspoken emotional torture, like he was being tormented in his own mind at the mere sight of you. He was in a way; you were his reminder of why he left, the catalyst of his destruction but at the same time his anecdote. It was all very confusing and contradictory; all he could understand was that it pained him to look at you, but he couldn’t find it in himself to look away.

Blood was splattered over his cheeks and suit, his heart pumping in his ears as he looked you over, putting all the pieces of you back in his mind; from your face, to your pink pajamas, to the black socks on your feet, then back to your cautious eyes. You were all right, you were okay and he was so relieved. He felt a weight drop from his chest, knowing you were in no certain danger but he always worried for you if he couldn’t see you, a consequence of everyone he cared for always getting hurt some way or another. Bruce felt what he could only describe as happiness, a feeling he only got with you, hit him full on like a train, smacking into his heart as his throat closed up.

He had missed you.

He had missed you a lot, more than he ever wanted to admit, but he would gladly do so for you. He had missed your pretty eyes and sweet voice, soft hands and smooth skin, and your voice, calming and rich like honeyed pastries. You were beautiful to him, so beautiful, and he couldn’t believe he had shown up here once more, that he would risk ever putting it in danger. But he had to come, he couldn’t take it anymore… and if his love for you was that perilous then his soul be damned.

He noticed the subtle way your face crumbled as your initial excitement died down, settled into pain and sadness and concern; your eyes running over the blood on him, wondering if it was his, really looking at him and realizing that he was really here, back on your fire escape. He couldn’t believe it himself, but here he was and he didn’t plan on leaving, not unless you ordered him to. You were nervous, eager to touch him, feel the suit under your palms like you used to, but you were also too stubborn to welcome him back into your home so easily, hurt once and not wanting to be hurt again. He understood that notion all too well.

Bruce felt an unfamiliar form of courage jolting through him, a type of courage so different from the one he used to fight criminals every night. This was a type of boldness that made him just want to grab your face and kiss you, hard, make up for all the lost time between you and spill all his confessions in the space between his lips and yours, make you taste the apology on his tongue. All he wanted was to be here again, here in your room; his nose was already filling up with the smell of vanilla bean and raspberry, his muscles relaxing instinctively at the sweet smell of it, knowing he was safe here. He wanted so badly to be here again, but now that he was he didn’t know what to do.

Bruce admitted that he was a little disappointed at your reaction to him, that you didn’t welcome him back in with open arms and gleeful smiles, kiss him and hug him and show him how much you missed him. But he knew that was too optimistic. He knew your antipathy was to be expected; he could only imagine the amount of hurt he’d put you through if it was anything compared to his own. He could only imagine how many nights you came home hoping he was there, waiting for you like he always did, how many days you kept looking at the clock, wishing it would hurry up and you could just go home already, how many days you hoped it would be different from the one before, how much hope he must’ve killed.

He felt horrible, regret and guilt spinning in his stomach as his muscles twitched, itching to touch you again; you were a drug coursing through his veins, and after two months of withdrawal he could say he was positively hooked once more. But, he knew he couldn’t just grab whatever part of you he liked like a greedy child in a toy store. He needed patience, he needed to wait for you to warm up to him on your own terms, no matter how long that took.

So, Bruce just stood on your fire escape with his hands holding the frame of the wall, blood and vanilla heavy on his nose as he stared at you, breathing hard but calm, waiting for you to make a move, any move or semblance of invitation.

Your eyes ran over the blood on him, the awkward silence deafening with all the unspoken words and yearning you both wanted so badly to address. Your eyes narrowed at the red spots and stripes on his suit and face, dripping off his gloves, worry shooting through your buzzing veins. You took a step back away from him in discontent, curious as to why he has suddenly appeared after so long away, eyes looking him over like the situation has really dawned on you. It had been weeks, two months even, since you’ve seen him, seen his black eyes and pointed ears, seen the vague Batman symbol on the chest piece of his suit.

Memories were coming back wave after wave at the sight of him, ones that wanted you to embrace him, ones that were gradually persuading you to give up this act and just be thankful he was here again, back to you. But you knew better than that, knew better than to just simply overlook a mistake as monumental as the one he made. You needed to have some damn pride.

Despite that…

Were you happy to see him? Yes, yes you really really were. You wanted him to just take off his mask and kiss you already, hell, you didn’t care if he left it on because you just wanted him to kiss you again. You wanted to feel his big arms around you once more and feel his warm palms on the dip in your back. Have him lift you up and smile into his kiss and say those magical words you yearned to hear. You could try to act tough all you wanted but at the end of the day you were still just a girl, a sad girl who wanted to be held by the man she missed so much… but your anger was still so present, lingering cold in your veins and greatly overpowering any positive emotions you had.

You wanted a damn good reason for why he did what he did.

“What are you doing here, Bruce? I thought you had moved on.” You licked your dry lips, crossing your arms and glaring at him with distaste and a false sense of confidence, a faux act of strength and apathy to cover up the real pain you felt. Your tone was anything but friendly, standoffish and disinterested, conveying the anger you felt almost perfectly; if it wasn’t for the waver in your voice and the glimmer in your eye you would even believe yourself.

You frowned at him, a cruel part of you hoping he was feeling any kind of hurt, any kind of hurt like the hurt you’ve felt. But at the same time, you just wanted so badly to hear that he came back for one reason and one reason alone. You. You wanted to hear him say that he missed you dearly, that he was so sorry for what he did and that he’d never do it again. If you heard that, then maybe, just maybe, you’d forgive him. No, you definitely would.

Bruce almost flinched at your tone, but knew it was well deserved. He looked at you with guilty eyes, like he’d committed the most heinous crime (which in his mind, he did), frown deep on his lips where a cut was on his skin, swallowing down the nerves in his throat at the look in your eyes.

A string of fear curled in his chest and made him nervous, made Batman nervous, a fear of being rejected, of him telling you how he really felt and you not reciprocating it. He couldn’t bear it, the uncertainty. But he was also afraid of hurting you any more than he already has, arguing with himself that he shouldn’t have come. But he was already here and he couldn’t leave now, couldn’t disappoint you any more than he already has. He looked up at you, his chest fluttering when he looked into your eyes.

“‘Could never move on from you…” Bruce grumbled in that deep voice of his, sounding pained and earnest and genuine, pulling at your heart like a trained harpist and making your eyes burn with brimming tears. He meant it, meant it more than you knew, staring at you with so much emotion in his eyes it almost scared you to see it; it was so unlike him to be so emotional, a part of you grateful that he trusted you enough to show it.

You felt a tingle on your skin when you looked back at him, a spark of joy peeking through the dark clouds around you. I could never move on from you…

Bruce’s dark eyes flickered between yours, gauging your reactions, intense and brooding as they always were. They bore into you like he was laying your soul bare in front of him, seeing deeper inside of you than you thought was possible. It made you feel flustered and agitated at being examined so fiercely. His voice, my god his voice, so soft but so gravelly, made you flustered, especially hearing it again after so many weeks of going without it. It washed over your skin like a warm blanket and made goosebumps pop up on your arms, a chill going through your spine that made your heart spike. You were trying so hard to fight it, fight that feeling inside of you that wanted him so badly.

You almost scoffed at his proclamation, looking at him offended, almost too theatrically, too rehearsed.

“Well it seems like you did, so.” You shrugged stubbornly, not knowing what else to say, really, not wanting to speak too much or else you’re afraid he’d hear the longing stutter in your voice. You shook your head incredulously and looked at the wall besides the window, where he stood outside in the cold air still. Secretly, you wanted to bring him inside already, bring him between your arms and hold him against your chest until he was one with you, unable to leave and bound to you forever, souls entwined and breaths shared. That may be a tad dramatic, but that’s what you felt; you knew he needed to cross that barrier on his own… you also knew that the moment he stepped back into your sacred space, the moment his heavy black boot stepped onto your wooden floor, you wouldn’t be able to keep your composure anymore, and you’d collapse in his arms like a dying bride.

Obviously, that couldn’t happen. You needed resistance, strength, a reason.

You couldn’t look at him, didn’t want him to see the tears welling in your eyes and the vulnerability staining your face. It was too embarrassing and too real; you didn’t want Bruce to see how easily you got worked up because of him. You didn’t want him to see all of you just yet, wanted him to feel guilty for what he did to you. He hadn’t even said much, just a single sentence, and you were already a desperate mess hiding under a false security. It was always so easy for him to get to you and you wished you were stronger for it.

Bruce knit his eyebrows at that, subtly shaking his head with a frown as his eyes still searched for yours. He wanted you to look at him, to see the honesty in his words and the sincerity in his blue eyes. He wanted you to see that he was hurting too, just as much as you.

“I didn’t… I just needed some time away… I needed to think.” He confessed vaguely, his voice gentle like he didn’t want to spook you, quiet but just loud enough for you to hear. Bruce always treated you like you were so fragile, a slippery glass vase between his clumsy hands. He never wanted to drop you, hurt you and watch you crumble into a million pieces… but he already did, and now he was trying to glue them all back together, put you back together, but only if you’d let him.

That was something you had come to appreciate about him; his gentleness, so opposite of the image he represented, what everyone believed him to be. He wasn’t just Batman, vengeful and harsh and dangerous. He wasn’t just bloody fists and sharp edges. He was incredibly genuine and tender, complex and multilayered; he was more than the bat, the symbol, the orphan, the millionaire. He was intricately sewn together with all different threads, and over the course of the year you and Bruce shared together you’ve managed to pluck and pull them all, see the warm center inside his cold shell.

Those were sides of him only you got to see, only you got to witness, only you got the privilege to marvel at and cherish. It might have been foolish to think, and you certainly think so now, but you had thought that made you special, that you were the only one he trusted enough, cared for enough, to show that side to… that there was more affection sizzling between you than you both wanted to say… but that just made it hurt so much more when he left, it just convinced you that you were too gullible for love, too naive to tell the difference between love and infatuation. When he left, he made you feel stupid.

You furrowed your eyebrows at his response, your face twisting into an anger Bruce didn’t want to see. Your eyes flashed to him immediately, burning and piercing and blazing, his words bouncing around in your head like a twisted game of racquetball. To think? He left, for months, because he needed to think? It sounded so phony, a simple excuse to disguise the truth, a simple excuse that only angered your unspoken pain.

“To think? To think about what? You’ve been gone for weeks, Bruce! You just left, didn’t tell me anything, didn’t tell me why, but now you’re telling me it’s because you had to think? That sounds ridiculous. I think I deserve a better explanation than, you had to think.” You mocked him, scoffing in his face. You were frustrated and lonely, wanting, deserving, a better reason to justify the pain you went through when he left. You couldn’t believe he couldn’t at least grant you that, a credible reason why.

Bruce grimaced, eyes closing like the sting of your words had just stung him. He slouched, frustrated that he couldn’t seem to get the words out that he wanted to. They were stuck in his throat, itching his tongue and wanting so badly to get out, but he was mute, could only try to explain himself. Besides, there were no words to express just how sorry he was, but he knew how right you were. You were always right. You did deserve more than that, you deserved a better explanation.

Bruce swallowed down his dry throat, clenching his jaw as he looked back up at you, aching to step through the threshold of the window and grab your face between his broken hands and kiss your tears away. He felt hot coils of guilt and regret wrap around his heart and squeeze, his chest collapsing in on itself.

“I-I know how it sounds, but it’s the truth. I needed to think… and to do that I had to leave. I just needed to understand why.” He spoke raspy, voice gritted with anguish and sincerity, looking at you with such desperation it made your foot itch to step towards him, made your heart yearn to comfort him. He was downright pitiful, fingers holding onto the brick so hard it could crumble under his strength. He was slouched down, looking up at you with sunken eyes, begging and pleading without an ounce of shame.

You stared back at him, clenching your jaw so hard your teeth hurt. God, you really did just want to hold him again, kiss him again… the need was too much, burning inside you and crawling under your skin. You had your hands crossed over your chest like you were physically trying to hold yourself back, like you were trying to protect yourself against his woeful whims of persuasion.

You frowned at his statement, the rational part of your brain that was still logical and loyal to you making you want to question him more, learn more, find out more. Your shoulders slumped as you looked back at him confused, lips pulled in a frown.

“Why what? Think about what? Can you stop being so vague!” You said exasperated, wishing he would just say what he meant and stop being so damn secretive all the time. Especially now, especially here. He was the one who showed up here after all this time and now he was trying to just sneak by with it. You refused to let him, forced him to confront his own dilemma. You couldn’t see it any other way, blinded by your own rose colored rage that needed an explanation.

Bruce grit his teeth, working up the nerve to answer you as he looked down at your feet, looking physically pained. He wanted to tell you why, he wanted to tell you why so badly, but just as soon as he wanted to say it he was found at a loss for words, struck with that same fear again that made his words stutter. That same fear of being rejected, ridiculed, that fear of putting his heart on his sleeve and having you pierce it with a silver dagger. He was Batman, the shadow of shadows who dealt with worse pain than you could ever imagine. He’s been shot, stabbed, cut up, pushed out of a window, and any other horror you could ever imagine but somehow… none of that hurt would ever compare to the pain caused by your rejection.

You had the power to destroy him and you didn’t even know it. You didn’t know how much of him you carried with you, how easily you could make him fall. Against Gotham he was the Dark Knight, relentless, strong and menacing, capable of things you didn’t want to think about. Against you… he was nothing, powerless, a twig in your hand you could crush without a thought. He was weak against your beauteous thrall and he just wished he could’ve admitted that to himself so much sooner.

Bruce felt his heart constrict, his palms suddenly clammy and his throat suddenly dry; he swallowed roughly. His own heart pounded in his ears, beating under his hot skin, the reality of what he was about to say hitting him full force and he felt like he could pass out, right here on your fire escape, light headed and heavy chested.

He let out a big breath through his nose, gripping the wall between his bloody gloved hands, mustering up the confidence he needed and pushing his fear down, down and deep so it couldn’t be acknowledged anymore. He smothered his insecurities and doubts like a candle wick, clenched his jaw and cleared the smoke from his mind. Bruce looked up at you, eyes glimmering like fire light as they looked over your form once more. He looked up from your socks and your feet, up to your smooth legs and pink nightgown, up to your face, where he focused intently on your lips and nose and eyes.

You looked back at him, where he was staring at you with a type of ferocity and intensity it had your breath stuck in your throat, chills going down your spine.

“…Why I was in love with you.”

You swore your heart stopped.

╰✦･ﾟ✵ 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈: how it all fell together 𓂃⊹

⋆˙⟡♡ Of course, you loved him back, and Bruce couldn’t have been happier about it. But, during the actual relationship he was very much still the same, but you could see that he was trying to be closer to you, it was just hard for him. You helped him, made him feel not so scared.

⋆˙⟡♡ You were patient with him, never judged or pushed him to do things you knew he had a hard time doing. He always wanted to talk to you about his parents but he would stop himself before he went in depth about it. That was something he needed time with, and you understood it.

⋆˙⟡♡ He was always doing small things for you that you probably wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t so focused on him. He would always smooth out your pillows for you, make you breakfast and be shy that he made something you didn’t like, he would even blow out your candle for you if you ever left it lit. He would give you small gifts, sometimes expensive, a bracelet or a necklace, a set of earrings his mother adored. You loved them all.

⋆˙⟡♡ You had to buy him those vanilla bean and raspberry candles you had. He set them up around his home because the smell reminded him of you and your house, his safe space.

⋆˙⟡♡ He still didn’t like to talk, but he loved to listen. He’d ask questions that were deeply intimate and personal because he wanted to know everything about you. He’d apologize for prodding but he really had no shame about it. He wanted to know you more, learn everything.

⋆˙⟡♡ He loved holding you in his sleep, you made his nightmares go away and made him feel less lonely. He would still flinch sometimes, keep his hands at appropriate distances away from your precious parts. He was a gentleman, that was for sure.

⋆˙⟡♡ He didn’t sleep a lot still, so he’d always stare at you when you slept, brush his hand on your cheek when he’d leave in his Batman suit for the night. He hated leaving you, but knew he had responsibilities to his city he couldn’t abandon.

⋆˙⟡♡ He introduced you to Alfred, rather, Alfred went to clean up Bruce’s room early in the morning and found you two in a rather compromising position. He just chuckled and walked out while Bruce awkwardly scrambled to compose himself. You were mortified.

⋆˙⟡♡ Bruce liked to draw you a lot, most of the time from memory when he was bored on a late night, sitting on a rooftop with charcoal scratching on ripped paper. He didn’t show them to you, but you found them anyway.

⋆˙⟡♡ Bruce was soft, gentle with you, but sex was a different story, just depended on his day. Most of the time he was sweet, making up for leaving you and hurting you. He always carried so much guilt about it, even when you told him you were over it and understood why he did it.

⋆˙⟡♡ He didn’t come out with you as a couple to the press, as Bruce Wayne. He didn’t want them to badger you and question you, make you feel uncomfortable. He came to you a lot, his house was always under constant scrutiny from the public.

⋆˙⟡♡ He threatened your boss when you refused to quit your job. It was late, he was Batman, and your boss just so happened to walk past him. Bruce threw him against the wall with promises of pain if he didn’t treat you right. You had a sneaky suspicion your boyfriend had something to do with your now positive work atmosphere and sudden raise, but decided not to question him.

⋆˙⟡♡ He was always touching you, or kissing you, hesitant to show outright affection so he was subtle when he did it. A hand on your lower back, hovering over your jacket or gently pressing into it. A hand on your arm, a peck on your forehead, a kiss to your cheek when you’d fall asleep.

⋆˙⟡♡ He told you he loved you every night, rarely ever during the day. It was in his bed or yours, when it was silent and cozy, he’d whisper it in your hair or against your skin, and you’d smile and tell him the same.

⋆˙⟡♡ You never expected anything from him besides his love, but he always felt like he owed you something, grateful that you gave him this chance to be with you despite what he did.

⋆˙⟡♡ He was constantly worried about you, on edge when you would be out by yourself or come home later than usual on the nights he couldn’t see you. He would always think the worst, think you were dead and he was too late, someone found him out and was using you to blackmail him. All the worst scenarios to prepare himself for the worst outcomes.

⋆˙⟡♡ Bruce is constantly having negative intrusive thoughts. You’ll leave him, he doesn’t deserve you, he should’ve stayed gone. He’ll go quiet and try to isolate himself when that happens, so you always try and support him and reassure him in any way you can.

⋆˙⟡♡ He still has such a hard time being vulnerable and talking about his past, but he tries with you. He’ll get tongue tied sometimes or a sentence will drift off before he can finish it, but he’ll try.

⋆˙⟡♡ Bruce is always so busy he forgets to eat. You’ll constantly remind him food is good for you. So, some days he’ll go eating nothing at all, despite you and Alfred’s insistence. But when he does, it’s a big feast Alfred prepares for him.

⋆˙⟡♡ He is very sweet, a complete gentleman. He has the best manners. He always says his pleases and his thank yous. He’ll follow a question with, when you have a chance, if you can. With Alfred though he’ll be so distracted he’ll just walk away. He doesn’t mean to, just makes sure he’s extra gentle with you.

⋆˙⟡♡ He likes black and white films to play in the background when he’s not doing anything. Or slow, almost gothic music to really set the tone. He’s emo like that and I just know it.

⋆˙⟡♡ He goes to Alfred a lot for relationship advice, scared he’ll mess up and you’ll leave him. He wants to avoid making mistakes with you, so he’ll ask for help or reassurance on what to do.

⋆˙⟡♡ Bruce has a tendency to ignore any problem until it goes away, especially to avoid a fight with you. He’s confrontational when it comes to you, so he’ll let you have your way a lot of the time. He doesn’t like to fight with you.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ Bruce was sweet and shy, always making sure you were comfortable and had everything you needed. He never judged you when you’d tell him your stories or your past, he never accused you of things, and he never raised his voice at you when things would get frustrating. He loved you too much, appreciated you too much. You had no idea how happy you made him even if his face didn’t show it.

He was still wary, scared you’ll leave him, scared one of his enemies will find you out and take you away from him. But he was always there, watching and protecting, hiding in the shadows, being the shadow, on the nights you didn’t know. He may have been Gotham’s protector, but he was also yours.

He loved you and was grateful for you, so grateful he met you when he did and that you trusted him enough to let him see every lovely part of you. He vowed to protect you, to cherish you, and he made good on that promise. Even going as far as to blow out your candle every day before you’d leave for work. Couldn’t have you burning your house down, now could he?

Honestly, I could go on and on about this man so I think I have to end this here. But thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed, especially @diavolosbaby who requested this. I really hope you like it, and if you’re not satisfied or I didn’t answer your ask correctly then don’t be afraid to tell me 💕💕 constructive criticism isn’t bad mmkay ☺️💕

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devilfic · 10 days

Note

girl. the honeymoon series. LIVING FOR IT. this is a really like loose request, but could you do like a charity event night? not really sure what to happen but the thought of having to reallllly sell the whole marriage thing to everyone at the event is just quite interesting. thriving rn

❝honeymoon❞

IV. sugar-coating.

parts: previously plot: an ex corners you, bringing up bad memories. bruce offers you super illegal catharsis. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: arranged marriage, friends to enemies to (fake) lovers, implied history between reader and bruce, angst, eventual fluff, reader has a scummy ex, bruce is allowed to be a little bit chaotic as a treat and so are you. words: 2.8k.

"So. Wayne, huh? How's that going for you?"

You laugh behind your glass, feigning innocence with a light and fluttery "What do you mean?"

Coulson is a family friend, as much yours as he is Bruce's, and even though he's the competition, he treats you and Bruce with as much respect as you could hope for in your line of work. Bonds formed in boarding school tended not to break easily, "It's just... gotta wonder what you did to make it up to him. Last I checked, you didn't even exist to him."

You swallow your champagne, just for something better to do than flinching, "Yeah, well, he found it in his heart to hear me out. Love like that doesn't really go away."

Coulson's eyes narrow for a second. He doesn't fully believe you. In an attempt to steer toward calmer waters, he elbows you in the side, "Must've learned some impressive tricks if it got that skirt-chaser to commit." But calmer didn't mean desirable.

You really don't want to discuss what you and Bruce (don't) do in the bedroom right now, so you steer the conversation a different direction, "And how is your new girlfriend, Coulson?"

He has a lot to say about her. A violinist in the Gotham City Orchestra with two degrees and a tour coming up later this year. He tells you he'll send you and Bruce tickets, tells you that one of the tour dates is in Spain and it will line up with your anniversary next year. The mention of your anniversary makes your stomach knot up a bit; the wedding was still weeks away, and you'd only just gotten on decent speaking terms with Bruce.

If anyone here knew how thin your marriage's facade was, it would be more than an embarrassment. Your mother would waterboard you in your own blood and tears.

It helped that most people didn't have a clue. Sure, there was gossip and the occasional rumor, but it was all for "fun". It never went anywhere, and any whisper that got too big for its britches could be easily stamped out with a little effort.

But Coulson? He was a friend. He'd known you a long time. If anyone were to put weight to a rumor about you and Bruce, it would be him. Which is why you couldn't let him figure you out.

"...For a while there, I swore you and Bruce weren't on speaking terms at all." Your ears catch the last bit of Coulson's rambling, right as he settles into a silent, knowing smile. "Care to catch me up on the rekindling?"

Well, you see, there's this little thing called blackmail- "When the board appointed me as acting CEO, I felt it time to reach out and make amends. It'd been years since we'd even talked, and with him so busy with his projects, we never really saw each other either. I was surprised that he even had the time, so we met up and just talked. About everything. About the company, about his work, about... what happened. It was a little while after the flood, so it just sort of lined up at the right time."

Coulson nods, impressed and seemingly unaware you'd just pulled that out of your ass, "Damn. Near-death experiences really do wonders for the heart. And now you have a wedding coming up." He catches it before you do, the micro-expression of discomfort. You swear his smile gets bigger, "What's that? Don't tell me there's trouble in paradise already?"

"No, sorry. Not trouble. Just stress. Lots of wedding planning and company business at once. I was kind of hoping to get away from it all here, focus my efforts on alleviating others' stresses." You tip your glass in the direction of the giant banner at the entrance that reads, "Hope For Homes: Housing Gotham's Youth One Helping Hand at a Time".

Coulson doesn't take his eyes off you for a second, "Had I known you were ready to settle down, I wouldn't have let Bruce beat me to it."

“I’m sorry?”

Your friend's smile doesn't waver. You feel a chill settling in your chest, a warning that he’d taken control again. You try to casually scan the crowd for Bruce but you find him in deep discussion with some business partners and your stomach twists. He’s turned, he can’t see you. You can’t call for help.

“Ah, you know,” Coulson steps forward, a friendly distance to anyone else, “saw you and Brucie together and just got to thinking about us. You remember, don’t you?” You keep a solid expression, much to his amusement, “Or was I just a step on the ladder too?”

It’s supposed to be a joke. You ought to laugh it off. You do, stiffly, pressing your sweating glass to your inner wrist to ground yourself, “We were… 17. Weren’t we?”

“The first time, yeah.”

“How could I forget?”

“You did always like Bruce better.” Coulson comes closer. He’s close enough now that anyone would think you were just two childhood friends gossiping, reminiscing on your youth and laughing all about it. Coulson keeps up a pretty smile even as your heartbeat accelerates, “Always worried about him. Always running after him. He didn’t even give you the time of day.”

You keep smiling, “He was angry. I understood-“

“Bullshit,” and he says this so loud that a few people turn and look, but with such a joyful expression that they don’t look long, “you were obsessed with the guy! Couldn’t stand the idea of him knowing what you really are.”

Your blood curdles. You know you should correct him, but your jaw is locked tight.

"That's okay. Bruce is... fickle. One day he's in love with you, the next you're a bug on a windshield. You're no bug now, are you?"

Now he's pushing it. The hand that captures your chin is lightly scented with cardamom, what should smell pleasing and sexy and disabling. It should sweep you into familiar arms, whisk you off into a whirlwind affair that gets the whole party talking. It should spark controversy. It should make you excited to ruin your mother's plans.

Your heart pangs as you remember the look on Bruce's face. Standing in the hall, one hand on the door to the library, yours and your mother's faces illuminated in flickering candlelight. You must've looked like a monster to him the way he fled-

You grab his wrist and tug, peppering a laugh in as if this is all just one big joke, "Let go."

Coulson's eyes spark alight, "I like you the way you are. You know what you want."

"I am not a gold-digger."

"But you are. Even if mommy's pulling the strings, you like being pulled. Only someone with something to gain would play along."

He'd looked at you once like you'd hung the sun in the sky, and now you were the devourer of light. You had consumed it, put out its burning devotion in one fell swoop. And then nothing. As if you were nothing before and would never be anything after. You were nothing as he told you, in no uncertain terms-

"Coulson, let go."

"I wouldn't mind, you know. Brucie is too soft for you. My girlfriend, you know, love her to death, pretends she's not in it for the money. People like that? They come into our world and think that we don't see how it changes them. How they're driven by it just like the rest of us are. She thinks she has to prove to me that she's different. You don't have to. You're committed, I respect that. But it doesn't have to be Bruce."

Your hands tremble at your sides. Almost more than you've ever wanted anything in your life, you want to give him a shiner that would put you out of high society. Your dominant hand curls into a fist, delighted by the idea.

You go to bat off the hand that touches your hip, but when your skin meets theirs, you recognize it isn't Coulson's. You feel the coolness of their ring against your sweating palm and almost sag into it, "I leave you alone for one second, and vultures descend." Bruce places a cool, gentle kiss to your temple. His lips hover there as he turns ever so slightly towards your ex. Coulson releases your chin. "Coulson. How's Lydia?"

You shouldn't delight in the way Coulson tightens up as much as you do, "Bruce! Good to see you. She's fantastic. Tour starts later this year. You lovebirds should come."

"It's a shame she couldn't make it."

"Oh, you know how it is. I'm still in good company. Right?" Coulson turns to you, winks. His smile is rigid.

When others are around, Bruce would snap back into a Wayne: all propriety and good will. You take a look at his expression and it is unreadable. There's a faint smile there, but nothing else he gives away. He is studying Coulson quite intensely though. You don't think he's blinked in a minute.

His eyes flicker down in fake-bashfulness, "I should thank you for that. You know once the board starts talking numbers, they can't stop. Not even for a good cause." Coulson nods politely along, half-listening, "You did good seeking this one out instead. I'm sure you've heard more than enough about numbers after this past month."

It was a simple statement. Most of the people in this room had been spending their days stuffed into board meetings for the end of the fiscal quarter, talking about finance, watching the stock market, money and more money... but it was the bit at the end that did it.

Coulson's eye twitches just so. He hesitates on asking but just can't help himself, "How do you mean?"

Bruce's smile takes on a patronizing color, "Oh, the boys and I were just discussing... sorry, I thought... I assumed it was public knowledge by now, forgive me." He laughs, just a touch awkward enough that it looks like he didn't mean to say anything at all. Now Coulson's smile is falling.

Even you are curious.

Coulson crosses his arms, hugging himself, "It was... a minor error reallocating funds. Nothing more. It isn't public knowledge because it's been handled. Who told you about it?"

"Has it? Been handled, I mean."

You glance between the two of them. For the first time since he'd come over, Bruce looks back at you.

Coulson clears his throat, "It has. Anyone saying otherwise must not have anything better to talk about."

Bruce hums. His mouth falls from your temple to your cheek, placing another kiss there, then another behind your ear. The hand on your hip moves to close around your neck, holding you close so not a word slips out of the space between you and him, "Let's go."

You keep your eyes on Coulson's, watching the gentle flicker between annoyance and politeness. You throw in a giggle for good measure, "Sure thing."

Bruce peels back from you, acknowledging Coulson with little more than a nod, "Good seeing you, Coulson. I'd stick around longer but I think I'm gonna steal them home, if you don't mind."

"Not at all! I envy how much you two are obsessed with each other, truly." Coulson sips his champagne and in a bitter tone, shifts his focus to you, "Think on what I said, hm?"

The nerve.

Bruce is whisking you toward the front doors without giving you a moment to respond. He kisses you more, leans into you with an arm thrown around your shoulders and a giddy smile as he sets his barely-touched champagne on a waiter's tray.

It isn't until you two are outside by the curb that you break your silence, "Thank you."

Bruce doesn't fully acknowledge you with his body, even as his arm remains slung about you, helping keep the chill of the night off you. He sends off a message for your driver, "What for?"

That was right. You'd never actually gotten to talk to Bruce about Coulson, "He... he was questioning the marriage. Questioning if you were the right fit for me. Saying that maybe I'd be better off with someone who understands me," you grit the next part out, "the real me."

"And?"

You look at him. He's watching cars pass as your eyes prick with tears. "I don't think he understands me at all. He never did."

He appraises you out of the corner of his eye, "Could've told you that years ago."

"You wouldn't even give me the time of day four months ago."

You've got him there. You're shocked to find that he isn't annoyed, or defensive, or even ignoring you. He sucks his teeth and shrugs. Presses the bottom of his shoe into an old cigarette on the sidewalk, snuffing out a flame that had died a long time ago. "You were going to hit him. I saw you." You feel heat crawl up your neck as you remember. "I don't know what he said, but he would've deserved it."

"I... couldn't. You know I couldn't."

Bruce turns up his nose as if he's smelled something foul, "It would've felt good, though."

"Yes."

The two of you wait there, just wobbling in the wind, watching cars go by as music and chatter and people flutter out of the ballroom behind you. You don't know what you're waiting for, but you can indulge yourself once in a while. If Bruce wants to stand on the street with his arm around you doing nothing, then maybe you ought to take the time to do nothing.

A few minutes pass before Bruce releases you, nodding for you to follow him up the street. You do, even confused.

He stops right in front of a bright red convertible, a shiny and expensive thing, parked just far enough out of the way that the music is fainter here. "C'mere," Bruce instructs, walking around the front of the sports car, and you follow him, watching your step lest you fall prey to a puddle, "hold this."

He removes the handkerchief from his front suit pocket and lays it over your open palm, much to your bewilderment. Then, reaching into the inside of his jacket, he drops a batarang into your hand.

"Bruce-!" You instinctively close your hand around the thing to hide it, thankful that his handkerchief kept you from slicing your palm open, "what are you-"

"One tire is a spare. Two is a tow."

"Have you been drinking? Like actually?"

You're startled by the grin he gives you, "If we stand here all night, someone'll catch us."

You go to argue when you recognize something hanging from the car's rear view mirror. A pair of dingy, fuzzy dice. Dice you've seen before in older, just as expensive cars. This is Coulson's car.

You grab Bruce by the arm and turn him to you, "Are you insane?"

"It's better than punching him."

The batarang weighing in your hand feels a little lighter at that.

"Couldn’t stand the idea of him knowing what you really are.”

Who Coulson thought you were wouldn't slash the tires of a backup option. They'd be nice, wait it out, play the game for maximum benefit. Jump ship at the first sign of trouble. They wouldn't risk making enemies. They'd let their mother keep pulling their strings.

You sink the batarang into the first tire's sidewall sharp and quick. If Bruce is curious as to how you know how to slash tires, he doesn't ask. He moves beside you and blocks onlookers from seeing what you're doing. When you move onto the next, the entire left side of the car is beginning to sink toward the ground.

Bruce confiscates the batarang from you and quickly tucks it back into his suit pocket, calmly walking you back down the street to where your ride is waiting.

As he is holding the back door open for you, you turn to look up at him and find your breath catching at the still present grin on his face. You haven't seen him this happy to be alone in your presence in a while. It feels... familiar. He meets your eyes and you're reminded of a younger you. A you that could kiss Bruce with all the bubbling adrenaline in your veins. A Bruce that would let you. A Bruce that thought you hung the sun in the sky.

That grin of his softens but doesn't fully go anywhere. You drink it all in. You don't know when you'll see it again.

Bruce touches the small of your back as a taxi whips by, driving cool air up into your faces and breaking the moment. You indulge in the touch for as long as he lets you.

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes @angxlictexrs @moonlightreader649 @thescarletfang @navs-bhat @yehet-moi-ohorat @bluestuesday

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne scenarios #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman scenarios #batman fic #the batman #battinson x reader #battinson #dc #mjwrites #bw; honeymoon

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mysterycitrus · 4 months

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it’s been rumored that dick will appear in the next battinson movie (please matt reeves do it for the people 🛐) but i was wondering magic wand, full creative control ceded to you, what villain(s) would you want to see featured? i love what they did with the riddler in the first, managing to maintain a level of camp and absurdity while still positioning him as a dangerous and serious threat. same with the penguin and falcone. i’ve seen rumors that hush may be the central villain in the sequel? which would not be my first choice, but i’m also not mad at it

obviously (hopefully) if they’re doing dick they’ll include tony zucco but beyond him what would be your dream villain(s) appearance? (and who would you cast! if you have one in mind)

if i had full creative control via magic wand i think there’s only one right answer — an actual batman film where two face is the primary antagonist.

hush super sucks for a lot of reasons, not least because his whole shtick only works if a) tommy elliot is well established in canon prior to faking his death and b) bruce has the sufficient pool of allies to make the story beats work. the batman canon has neither. cringe. get him outta here.

unlike a lot of gotham rogues, harvey dent has a relationship with both batman and bruce wayne. he’s a literal symbol of what bruce is trying to achieve in costume. he represents how a lack of supportive infrastructure can harm anyone, even those trying to do good. his internal morality, his desperate desire for control when he lost everything by another’s actions, is a really really good foil to the batman mythos.

i also think he’d continue the riddlers ideology from the first film — here’s someone who does want to change things for the better, and loses literally everything by doing so. harvey in general is just a really interesting character who’s never gotten proper respect on screen, and i think that’s a shame!! he’s a really fascinating dude!! his relationship with bruce as a civilian might inspire bruce to develop his public persona. so many options!

in an ideal world, dick grayson would feature in the first half of the film, then two face in the second. you’d have to ignore long halloween + dark victory canon to make this work, but that’s fine. maybe harvey would be disfigured while in court with zucco — a fun connection to the acid that snapped the graysons lines. harvey also has an interesting history with robin, and this would be a great start to that too.

idk who id pick to cast — someone who could portray harveys trauma in a way that’s engaging rather than disrespectful. if colin farrell hadn’t already played the penguin id say he’d be a pretty good choice. michael b jordan or daniel kaluuya would also do a phenomenal job, and keep him around the same age as bruce. someone very charismatic and charming. as long as it isn’t jacob elordi or tom holland i think there’s a lot of potential

let bruce have tender moments with gothams district attorney and adopt an orphan!!! that’s all i want!!

#batman #bruce wayne #harvey dent #dick grayson #robin #dc comics #the ask and the answer

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dudethatsmyundeaduncle · 1 month

Text

IK sometimes Bruce and Zatanna are friends, or just friendly tbh, but I want them to be like FRIEND FRIENDS. Like they were both semi-famous Emo Teenz™ growing up in the public eye! Come on now!

I imagine they're a little like sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Houdini, as in two silly little guys who could be hyper competent on their own but together are a walking, talking, unlikely friends comedy show.

Just thinking about emo Battinson and his goth Bff Zatanna who go on a spooky zaney adventures as teens whenever the Zataras are in Gotham. (This doesn't just apply to Battinson tho, observe)

Thinking about 16yrold Bruce needing to understand magic on a mathematical, scientific, and logical level and Zee being like " uhh, sorry bud we just say shit backwards it's like uh..it's like magic"

Thinking about them in their 20s, after Bruce's round the world in 80 days training montage, meeting John Constantine and being both DISGUISTED and kinda having a crush on him. ( It's the accent, they both think the accent is kind of hot, they will take it to their graves)

Also thinking about Zatanna showing up to Wayne manner to meet Dick for the first time looking at Bruce like " OH NO BRO! Baby??" And then immediately bonding with him because they're both performers and showmen at heart. (Aunt Zee is fun and cooky and will do magic anytime a nephew or niece asks, she will also let them wear the hat)

Not thinking about Zatanna coming to Wayne manor after her father's disappearance and death. (Or the way Bruce would feel gutted for one of his oldest friends having to experience his own trauma)

Not thinking about Bruce in the desperate throws of depression and grief after Jason's death or how Zatanna would come hold vigil beside him. Performing whatever magic rites she can to let Jason's spirit rest easy. (Bruce does not ask her to find a way to contact Jason, Bruce does not ask her to bring him back, he wants to tho so badly)

Anyway I just think it would be neat.

#JUST THINK ABOUT IT OK #DC #Batman #Zatanna #Bruce Wayne #Battinson #this could be all about batinson if that floats ur boat but i think itd work in any universe #just the two goth kids in the corner with eyeliner like racoons talking about cultz grizzly murders and the new greenday album #can u imagine the absolute hilarity of them giving eachother datinh advice #theyve got all ghe brain cells in the world but cant use them in 50 ft of eachother #zee would probs become part of his backup plan against supes cuz magic #she was rib him about every woman hes ever dated like his ass comes home crying and shes like SELINA! AGAIN!#yeah they probably kissed once or twice but in like wouldnt it be funny if we were exes way which no one actually thinks is funny but them

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inkfinch · 1 year

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{ the world’s other greatest detective }

Petition for the next Battinson movie to introduce Robin and inexplicably crossover with the Benoit Blancverse

[ ID: A two panel comic with Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne. Panel one is Dick smiling, in a hoodie with a Robin patch on the sleeve. He is exclaiming “google say you’re the WORLD’S GREATEST DETECTIVE!” with stars decorating the speech bubble and the background. Panel 2 is Bruce with bags under his eyes and a bruise on his cheek. He has no mask but still in his batsuit and a striped bathrobe, holding a water bottle that says Holy Semantics, Batman! He looks to the side, saying “Chum, let me make this clear - I am Not Benoit Blanc.” At the corner of the panel is a chibi head of a frowning Dick who says “You’re no fun, B”. End of ID ]

#batfam #batman #robin #the batman (2022)#benoit blanc #glass onion #comics #fanart #forever thinking about that post where Dick wants Battinson to give him nickname #and ‘Chum’ was the best he could do #canon in my heart

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superbatdisasterblog · 2 years

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Another day, another thought:

Autistic battinson being hesitant about really letting his new bf Clark get too close because what if Clark thinks he’s weird? What if he makes fun of Bruce when he asks if they can watch the Grey Ghost? What if he gets mad when Bruce wants to go slow with their relationship?

#autistic bruce wayne #autistic headcanon #superbat #superbattinson

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ellesthots · 7 days

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NSFW Alphabet — Bruce Wayne (Battinson)

my first time writing a post on here! here’s my headcanons for Battinson, which follows the vibe of his character in my fic <3 enjoy!!

18+ MINORS DNI

AO3 link Wattpad link

Aftercare

He’s a bit entranced. Very doting. Usually is in general, but the playful jabs and jokes stop at this point. There’s usually a conversation that happens after initial cuddling (he always wants to cuddle after sex, none of the disappearing shit! sex is too intimate to him), where he asks what you liked and what you’d like better next time.

Body Part

Bruce doesn’t really think about his body much outside of its potential for combat; however, he does love hands. Not necessarily the aesthetics of his own, but the tactile nature of them. Makes him feel really connected, whether it be punching a jaw or the electricity of gentler skin on skin. On you, his favorite part of your body is a split tie between your waist and your eyes. It ties in well with his hands, which can nestle neatly in the fold of your waist as a handle.

Cum

He has very normal loads. Normal amount, scent, texture, appearance. He’s not weird about it either; for better or for worse, not having parents around allowed him more of a free-from-judgment exploration of his body and all its processes. He seems to have a shorter refractory period.

Dirty Secret

Bruce loves the idea of public sex. It makes him feel immensely guilty when he thinks about it, and he wouldn’t necessarily do it where anyone could hear, but the inherent stigma and lawlessness of it he is drawn to like moth to flame. Once when he sat down and reluctantly journaled about the thought out of guilt, he realized it may be because he’s so micromanaged in public as a Wayne that it feels like an impossibly private and luxurious scenario.

Experience

He had sex once, back when he was at university. He’d been convinced into going to a college party as a senior and got roped into 7 minutes in heaven—needless to say, it was not the most incredible nor romantic experience. At least it was in a spare bedroom so there was a bed. It felt pretty intuitive to him at the time, and he spends enough time getting to know himself that he doesn’t feel particularly inexperienced all things considered. The woman he’d been with seemed particularly enthused from the start.

Favorite Position

Cowgirl and missionary. Missionary feels intimate and warm, but cowgirl is provocative and fun. He loves to see your chest bouncing up and down, and your belly and thighs trembling too.

Goofy

He feels immense pressure to make it good for you, so at first he’s pretty serious; sex feels wildly intimate, almost uncomfortably so for someone so reclusive. He does however smile often, and his eyes light up. He is slow to warm but once he does, he becomes slightly bratty with his humor (in a very hot way).

Hair

He’s groomed. Not bald, not cut so short as to be looking microscopically for hairs, yet not a full bush. Halfsies. Carpet matches the drapes for sure, his hair is dark and surprisingly soft? He tried to shave once, then tried to keep the hair super short, but the suit and fighting caused massive chafing both times.

Intimacy

He’s deeply rooted in the romance of it. Not so much as to become cliché or performative about it, but he’s not one to lose attention or let anything get the better of him. He’s not aggressive, not pushy, and highly attuned to your pleasure. He loves to praise you, and speaks so sweetly. Sometimes you wish you could bottle up the phrases that come out of his mouth in gentle whines.

Jack-Off

He does it occasionally. He’s not obsessed with masturbation or anything, but he’s not a prude. Usually happens in the shower after a long night out, when the hot water feels especially good on his sore muscles and he can start to fully relax.

Kink

He has a surprising amount of kinks: Breath play (but only with him. He couldn’t imagine choking another person, it scares him too much. But your hands around his neck, feeling that desperate surrender… it gets him going). He also likes being dominated (though sometimes he likes to be bratty about it. He can be a bit of a switch though, honestly whatever turns you on the most becomes immediately hot to him). He’s also a bit of a masochist (you yanking on his hair or drilling your nails into his body only heightens his fervor). Finally, orgasm control (see: being dominated. This is the aspect of domination that he adores, edging is infuriatingly satisfying to him).

Location

His bedroom, your bedroom, his kitchen or your kitchen. He also doesn’t mind some back seat car sex with the partition up. He feels like a guest at your apartment and like a child at Wayne Manor; eventually he purchases a penthouse of his own for this reason, and gives you a key. Then you alternate from there and your place.

Motivation

Banter. You’re quippy and know exactly where to poke him, and it excites him how well you know him and how unafraid of him you are. Also, on the rare occasion you go straight to flirting… you can beat around the bush so much those times always leave him positively swooning with their sultry genuine nature.

NO!

No play with bodily fluids or excrement, like piss play or scat play. No ‘daddy’ or ‘little’, none of that (triggers him back to his parents and losing them). He also doesn’t like tying you up in any way, shape or form, it’s a huge turn-off as it always reminds him of the criminals on the street. Humiliation is a no-go too, a turn off immediately to degrade you. However, he does enjoy some sarcastic humiliation directed his way during the banter phase of things (see: M). It’s very touch and go and dependent on how close he feels that day whether or not it’s an immediate no or hot as fuck if you degraded him during sex, so it’s here too since it’s to be used witj great caution in sparing dosages.

Oral

Bruce is a giver. If you’re going down on him he has to be doing something to you; either heavily praising, fingering you, eating you out, he can never just let you please him. Blowjobs make him weak, though, so you occasionally get away with pushing him sat on the bed while you sink to your knees. Nothing is better to him though than holding your hips, your waist, and watching your face as he tastes you.

Pace

Bruce never loses control; while not fully measured and not necessarily tentative, he is usually slow and sensual, but if you beg him he’ll be fast and rough(er). He loves sinking into you, devouring and soaking up everything rather than a fast, transactional fuck. He likes to keep anything aggressive and rough out of his relationship with you, and firmly in the role of Batman.

Quickie

He likes to take his time so he doesn’t like quickies much; it doesn’t give him enough time to focus on you. However, he does like a quickie when it focuses entirely on you—it’s like a small moment of worship, and happens when you beg him at a public event to come with you to a side room or bathroom.

Risk

Not usually. He’ll try most things once, especially since he knows he can be a bit of a stick-in-the-mud and BIG on routine; besides that, he doesn’t take too many risks (and doesn’t need to, it’s fire enough anyway).

Stamina

That’s the thing about him… he can LAST. He has incredible self-control, which is unsurprising given the life he leads but still impressive. This is what makes edging so exciting to him, because he can but he doesn’t want to. He can go for round after round, his height is probably five rounds total before he’s entirely drained of all energy… and cum.

Toys

The closest thing to a toy he has is a cock ring; he went to a fundraising event where there was a local sex shop sharing some SFW toys and giving away condoms, and they wanted to give him something. He didn’t know what the circle was, so he took it. He’s used it once or twice, makes him a bit more sensitive which is fun, but he forgets to use it (see: J).

Unfair

Oh he loves to tease; you like to think he lives for it. Sometimes he’ll wear a certain outfit, cologne, piece of jewelry, in order to be extra provocative. If you’ve been particularly dominant in the bedroom recently, he likes to tease you by pretending he’s unavailable for the foreseeable future. Resulting in banter, resulting in… see M.

Volume

He loves moaning, groaning, even the occasional whimper and whine. He is far from stoic and lifeless in the bedroom, he lets you know how good he feels in the most alluring ways. He never full-on grunts, doesn’t scream, none of that. Half-grunts, half scream maybe when he’s super close after a longgg edging session. He’s louder when he’s outside of Wayne Manor; he’s afraid of Alfred hearing, even when he’s a good few levels above. This makes for some especially fun playing in the bedroom when you want to tease him, adding another level of spice.

Wild Card

Bruce is very diligent about consent; he makes sure to never come off pushy, always ask before switching positions, checks your body language and response after putting a hand anywhere on your body during sex. He regularly asks permission before kissing you, keeps condoms stocked and makes sure they don’t break. It might seem cumbersome, but it’s really sweet and feeds into his naturally doting nature. It makes you trust him quickly, and he’s so different from every other man in Gotham.

X-Ray

Above average length and girth, not HUGE by any means but enough to be good in any position. Perfect boyfriend dick. Definitely more on the grower side when soft but that has its own advantages, like being able to see and feel him growing. ;) Slight, slight curve, almost imperceptible, but you can feel the difference inside you, especially in missionary.

Yearning

Moderate. He doesn’t have a low libido/drive for sex, but he isn’t on the other side of the spectrum either. He has a pretty responsive libido, so he feels it when he’s already worked up from a night out or he’s in a flirty/romantic/sensual situation. It’s not very sporadic, in that it doesn’t usually happen on its own without prompting.

ZZZ…

It depends… he never falls asleep immediately, even if sleep is clouding his eyes and his entire soul was just drained from him. However, it can be minutes if you’re already tired, or it can be hours if you’d like to stay up. He rarely goes to sleep before you, to make sure you have everything you need.

#battinson x reader #battinson x yn #bruce wayne #the batman #robert pattinson #battinson #alphabet #wattpad #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #ao3 writer #batman

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emo-batboy · 6 months

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A Wild Battinson (Social Media AU)

Part 43 (Masterlist)

(Part 44)

Me, to myself: I just think the series was better when I posted several times a week because the pacing felt more natural, and it translates better when people binge it.

Also Me, holding two jobs and a bat: If you try to post once a day again, I will disconnect your head from your shoulders—

@bruciemilf guess who’s back

Anyways, folks! :D So I'm thinking of a new upload schedule where I spend a bit preparing the next ten or so parts then post it all in two weeks? I think that would be fun (and much better for my creative process.)

I’ll be posting the next part very soon :) But it's going to be drastically different from what I've done before. Let’s see if anyone can guess why.

Yada yada don’t die LOVE Y’ALL

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hollandorks · 7 months

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haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter eleven

Summary: After the sudden deaths of your mother and grandmother, you’re forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke your heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, you vow to get to the bottom of your former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what you’re expecting. a

a/n: I'd like to say week was crazy and that's the reason the update took a little longer than usual, but actually I had the week off and I was just taking a break! Anyways, things are starting to get a little crazy now...oops

Series Masterlist

word count: 2.3k

How many more women would die?

And how much time did that buy her before she was next?

Two nights after the second murder–another woman who eerily resembled y/n–she finally got a text from that same unknown number.

11 tonight, same place.

She was almost giddy. She had been hiding in her room for two days like a good girl, trying not to bug Gordon or even Martinez as they investigated the second murder. But she’d be damned if she wasn’t going crazy again already.

The news was calling it a potential serial killer, but she knew better. They all knew better.

It was the Gallo family hunting her down.

She dressed in warm, dark clothes again and texted Alfred where she was going. She wanted to leave early, but knew it was a bad idea. She waited until a couple of minutes after eleven to go downstairs, just to be sure the Batman was out there. As she stepped into the elevator his one word text came through. Outside.

She was excited to see him. She finally had something to look forward to, and it was talking to a vigilante, of all things.

And there he was, leaning against the motorcycle without a care in the world. She let her eyes trail from his legs crossed at the ankle to his crossed arms to his masked face. Despite the fact he was literally covered head to toe, a thrill went through her.

“Hi,” she said lamely when she was close enough.

He simply handed her the helmet and got back on the bike.

Some of the excitement went out of her like a balloon deflating. “No hello?” she said, her voice light and teasing.

“Hello. Ready?” he asked when her arms were around his waist. She rolled her eyes.

“Ready.”

They sped off into the night. She let her eyes close. She was almost at peace for the first time in weeks, and it was in the wake of another murder and on the back of a motorcycle with a vigilante she barely knew.

But she had not been made to be idle. Sitting at home, hiding from mobsters, was doing her in. Add to that not only boredom, but grief and painful memories from all sides, and she was surprised she really hadn’t jumped out of a window yet. It was the reason she and Bruce were constantly sneaking out as kids, the reason she had taken extra classes for fun in college, the reason she did things that were objectively stupid. The reason she was an investigative reporter and not in a more steady, safe job.

The motorcycle jolted to a stop.

She opened her eyes and slid off, tucking the helmet under her arm.

Even though she knew what to expect, the fear still stole her breath. She really, really hated heights, and yet she was willingly going up onto rooftops. Stupid. She muttered to herself as the soft noise of the grappling hook split the quiet air.

Y/n tried really hard not to embarrass herself by clinging to Batman, but it didn’t work. At least this time, she let go quickly and didn’t fall on her ass.

She cleared her throat as she stepped away and murmured a thanks. She inched carefully towards the center of the rooftop to get her bearings. It was a different roof this time, next door to the one they’d been on that first night.

“Thanks for doing this,” she said quietly as she set up her camera. The pub below was twice as busy now that it was the weekend.

“Is it so bad at home?” he asked after she had taken several pictures, startling her. She glanced over at him, but he was busy studying the street below. His gloved fingers tapped an idle rhythm on his leg.

“Yes,” she said without thinking. She looked through the camera’s viewfinder and adjusted another setting for the low light and the distance. “I mean–sort of. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?”

The camera shutter was the only sound between them for a minute. “I told you my grandmother and my mother died.” A soft noise of assent. “And to start with, Wayne Tower, as nice as it is, is full of memories of my grandmother. She raised me. Every time I walk around a corner I–” The words stuck in her throat as the grief rose unbidden within her. “–I have no idea if something is going to remind me of her and then I have to remember that she’s gone. It’s like getting punched every time. Or having the breath knocked out of you.”

“I understand,” he said softly, and she knew that he had lost someone too.

She blinked back tears and nodded. She focused on the pictures to distract herself. “On top of that–” She couldn’t admit it. Because how pitiful would it sound? How stupid, how childish, would it sound to say, On top of that, I told Bruce Wayne that I loved him three years ago and he broke my heart and I still can’t stand to be around him. “It’s complicated,” she finally said again. “Someone broke my heart, and I haven’t gotten over it. I’m not sure I ever will.” Her voice lowered until the last words were almost a whisper, choking her until she could barely speak.

There was a sharp intake of breath next to her.

She faced him but he was staring below.

She frowned and tried to see what she had missed that made him make that noise, but she couldn’t see anything.

They lapsed into silence.

“Got any snacks in that fun belt of yours?” she asked a while later. Her voice was falsely light to her own ears. But what else was she supposed to do? She had basically trauma dumped on a virtual stranger. It was awkward, too awkward. She grit her teeth and silently cursed her mouth for running away from her, like usual.

A huff that might have been a laugh. “No. No snacks.”

She faced him fully this time, one hand on her hip while the other still held the camera. “No snacks? What kind of vigilante are you if you aren’t prepared for everything?”

He shrugged but he was smiling. “A bad one, I guess.”

“I’m making my own belt for next time and filling it with snacks,” she muttered.

Things were a little easier after that. Batman still didn’t talk much, but she did come to learn that he made most of his gadgets too–like the gauntlets that held a grappling hook–and most of those things he had added after bad experiences.

“One time I fell in the sewer because I didn’t have a flashlight,” he said in a low voice. She had to smother her laugh so as not to draw attention. “Now I have two.”

She was also able to elicit an answer about his favorite snacks, learning that he had a surprising sweet tooth. She asked if he ate healthy in order to stay in shape for being a vigilante, and he answered that his diet focused on strength and stamina. She made a joke about protein shakes that had him turning a cough into a laugh.

It was nearly one in the morning when she saw him.

They had been chatting quietly, the music coming from the perpetually open pub door drowning most of it out, when a man stepped outside.

Y/n almost dropped the camera.

“He’s here,” she said in a whisper. She quickly snapped pictures.

She hadn’t expected to recognize the man who had escaped.

But there he was, standing below her, talking to one of the women smoking as she leaned against the bricks by the front door.

“You’re sure?” Batman asked.

She could feel her pulse pounding in her throat. Her hands shook so badly she had to fight to steady them so as to get a good picture.

He had been closest to her that night. His face in the most light.

He had been holding the gun.

It played in her mind again, the noise drawing their attention, the almost slow-motion turn of four heads.

“Fuck,” she whispered.

And, somehow, it was like the man heard her.

He looked up, across the street and to the roof, and met her eyes.

Y/n scrambled back away from the edge.

“He saw me,” she whispered. “He saw me.”

Batman was crouched next to her, hidden by the low wall that ran around the entire edge of the building.

“You’re sure?” he said again, but his eyes were on her face this time. It was too dark to tell what color they were. Probably not brown–they were too light.

She mentally shook herself to focus. “I’m positive.”

It was his turn to curse. “Fuck,” he muttered. He grabbed his phone and texted something quickly. He was actually good at texting–she had expected him to text like an old man with just his pointer finger.

He put the phone away and crept closer to the edge of the building. He peeked his head over the wall, barely clearing it, but it was enough. He ducked back down as a shout rang out.

“Oh God,” y/n said. The fear threatened to overwhelm her. If the pub was a hangout for the Gallo family–and at this point, she was certain it was–that meant a lot of armed men and maybe women were right there.

They were trapped there, the motorcycle hidden next to a dumpster down below.

Next to a very convenient fire escape that led straight to where the two of them were currently crouched.

“Listen to me,” Batman said, drawing her focus. He was crouched over her where she was still splayed in a half-crouch from her mad dash to get out of sight. He touched her chin. “Do exactly as I say. We’re going to have to move fast. The priority is getting you and that camera out of here and not leading them home, do you understand?”

She nodded frantically. “Yes,” she said on a breath. “What do we do? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s not your fault.” He was grabbing something off of his belt and texting at the same time. “Gordon’s on the way but it’ll be too late. If they’re smart, they’re going to surround the building. Someone will be sent to the roof from inside, someone up the fire escape.” He held three small flat disks in his hand and pocketed the phone again. “When they’re distracted, we’re going to make a break for it. Can you drive the motorcycle if you have to?”

She stared at him, openmouthed. “Yes,” she said after a second. “Bruce taught me, years ago. I can figure it out.”

“Good. I’ll stay to fight if–”

“No!” she said, the word too loud in the darkness. Below, it had gone quiet. Too quiet.

Batman seemed to realize it at the same time, his head tilted. “The music’s off,” he murmured. “We’re going to have to move.”

He crept to the edge of the wall and peered over.

A gunshot echoed through the night. A chunk of brick exploded close to Batman’s head. She squeaked and covered her mouth to hide the sound. Her eyes were wide as he came back to her side.

“Hold on tight. Run if I say run. Do you understand?”

She nodded. She had never been so afraid, even that first night she had met him. She hadn’t been surrounded then. She hadn’t had to do anything but run and now–now there was so much more on the line.

“If you have to leave me behind, do not go straight home. Ride around as much as you can, as randomly as you can, and try to meet Gordon somewhere. Got it?”

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her, still crouched, to the spot closest to where the motorcycle was.

He was giving her so many instructions she could barely keep up. Run, stay alive, get to Gordon. Leave him behind if she had to.

She didn’t want to leave him behind. She didn’t know if she could.

He let go of her long enough to throw each of the three flat disks in a separate direction. Two landed in the alley below, one at each end.

“Ready?” he asked, an echo of the start of their night. He held something out to her. The motorcycle key.

She shook her head but he was grabbing her anyway. There were three small explosions. Smoke poured out of the ground. There was shouting, gunfire.

She realized her face was wet with terrified tears.

Batman leapt.

The ground rushed up at them fast, too fast, and she fought against the instinct to hold on tighter, to close her eyes. She needed them wide open, needed to be ready to run.

With a yank, he pulled up right before they hit the pavement, and landed impossibly softly on his feet.

There was smoke everywhere now. She could barely make out the dumpster the motorcycle was hidden behind.

“Go,” he whispered in her ear and gave her a shove.

She ran.

There was more gunfire behind her and she ducked on instinct. Her hands smacked against the side of the dumpster as she lost her balance.

“Over here!” she heard from somewhere in the smoke. There was a loud grunt and more gunshots. Her heart was pounding so loud it echoed the gunfire in her ears.

She sobbed through her teeth as she ran the last few feet to the motorcycle. She could see nothing in the smoke other than shadows and the vaguest outlines of the streetlights at either end of the alley.

She almost dropped the key but managed to slide it into the ignition. She waited to start it, waiting for one shadow in particular to materialize into a familiar form. Where was he? He hadn’t told her to leave without him, but what if–

She screamed as hands grabbed her and yanked her off of the motorcycle.

Next Chapter

taglist:

@ktficworld @grunge-n-roses5 @anon-cat-posts @projectdreamwalker @warsaur @lachillona02 @crazyunsexycool @doetic @alexiris @that-girl-named-alex @harry-bowie-mercury @vaniasagitaa @widows-writings @missing-loki @exactlyelegantwizard @miriamnox @mavenmoon @eclipsedplanet

#the batman x reader #battinson x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #the batman 2022 #battinson #the batman #bruce wayne #haven #haven fic

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