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neutron-stars-collision · 2 years

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Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Chapter 13 - Forbidden bliss

Masterlist; Chapter 12 Summary: Unable to make peace with the recent events, you make your way back to Wayne Tower to check up on Bruce. What follows makes it extremely difficult to stay unattached... Warnings: 18+ (I mean it, that's it, your only warning, just in case you've missed my not-so-subtle hints); swearing; tiny bit of angst because it's them. Author's Notes: I'm sorry, both for how long this is (hello, 10k, I've missed you 🥲) and how long it took me to write it. I do hope it fulfils some expectations though. It's a scene that had been in my outline from day one, the scene that I had been daydreaming about from mid-March roughly. Writing it down wasn't all too easy for those same reasons but I did try... And I don't hate it, that's for sure. With that said, I hope you won't hate it either 🙈 Enjoy this whole spectrum of human emotions, and let me know what you think? 💕 Taglist: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy, @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary, @nicklet94, @mcrmarvelloki, @shimmeringgrim, @ttae-yong, @freyadruid, @siriuslydestiny, @ms-dont-care, @raphaelaisabella

(gif credit @casian)

You never made it home, choosing to wander the streets washed with rain and allowing the downpour to soak your clothes. It hardly mattered when it seemed impossible to escape the thoughts that plagued your mind, rousing anxiety and forcing you to question every decision. At least in the rain, shivering and tired, you had other things to worry about than Bruce, Alfred, and how come you had found yourself stuck somewhere you never wanted to be. Where did you make a mistake? When did you fuck it up?

So, you walked onwards past the trains that could take you home and past the cafes, which could serve as a haven. A couple of times, you had contemplated calling Bruce, if only to check whether he returned home and got the needed rest. But then you always managed to talk yourself out of it, unable to shake off the doubts about whether he would even want to talk to you. Because who were you for him? A nuisance, quite likely.

It was five in the morning when you finally managed to follow the logic and entered an all-night diner to order a cup of coffee and dry off. One glance at the television screen still reporting on the chase downtown was enough to trigger the decision-making process. It was not a process anymore, for when the newscaster switched the topic to the explosion at the Wayne Tower, you asked for the tab. It was pointless. You could never sit by idly and pretend everything was fine when it was not. Even if the price for admission of the truth could be your sanity. Even if, perhaps, you were giving in to the feeling which would be best ignored.

By the time you made it to the tower, the dawn was creeping on the horizon, bathing everything in a chilly glow which could be easily mistaken for hope. That is if one could still believe in it. Letting out a sigh, you quickly climbed the steps and followed the familiar routine, checking half a dozen times whether there were no witnesses. Bruce had enough attention for the day, if not for the month. Luckily, there was no one watching as you slipped in through the door and closed them behind your back.

The darkness of the foyer was no longer that intimidating as you easily navigated through the space to the lift. The smokey undertone of the air made you frown as you pressed the button taking you to the study and leaned on the cabin wall. It all could have been a mistake. Major one. The knot in your chest tightened, making it harder to breathe and pretend like you did not know the odds. Odds such as Bruce being asleep or simply unwilling to see you. The encounter at the hospital did not go down too well either. You could not ignore or forget it, blissfully visiting him as if he asked you to. But now that you were close enough, you could check on him, you could not talk yourself out of it. No matter the price or the embarrassment that would likely follow.

All thoughts were wiped clean as the lift stopped, and you opened the crate, immediately noticing the darkness of the study, interrupted only by the dancing flames in the fireplace. Yet it was not quiet, the faint noises drawing you into the room and behind the pillars. Your gaze fell upon Bruce, kneeling on the wooden floor in the centre of what appeared to be a spray-painted mind map. He was shirtless, facing the other side of the room and unaware of the company. The mind map was lit by a series of mismatched lamps, gathered around the perimeter and complete with a series of photos and documents. You quickly understood that you were looking at the case, pieces of the puzzle spread out on the hardwood floors with a nearly maniacal level of detail. As if he did not care that the spray had damaged the wood or that it was too late for him to figure things out. As if he could not stop thinking about it, driven close to the edge of madness. If not already past it. Damn it.

Your shuddering exhale was a giveaway even before you found the words to say. Bruce whipped around to face you as if burned, his mouth agape in shock.

“What are you doing here?” the harsh edge to his voice made you wince as Bruce glanced at the mind map and then back at you, evidently feeling guilty.

Nothing made any sense, but now you could no longer run, so you strode forwards, inching that little bit closer to where he was standing. Checking twice whether you had not crossed the lines on the floor, you allowed yourself a bite back:

“I could ask you the same thing” upon your incredulous look, Bruce visibly shrunk, dropping his gaze to stare at the ground “Thought I’ll check up on you… Now I’m glad I did” that was enough taunting for the occasion, quickly replaced with a slight frown “Alfred is going to be pissed about the floors, you know,”

Unable to stand still for much longer, you knelt on the floor, reaching out towards the markings. They seemed permanent enough to withstand mild pressure. Yep, Alfred is going to be very annoyed. The next time you looked up from the map, Bruce was staring at you, his gaze indecipherable. Feeling the heat of his eyes take you apart, you glanced down again, involuntarily letting your gaze skim over his bare chest. The muscles and the bruises all drew you like a magnet.

“I… I’m trying to understand him,” Bruce spoke suddenly, throwing you out of the strange ruminations into the darkness of your situation.

You partially welcomed the change, the opportunity to breathe a little deeper and focus on something else.

“Riddler?” sliding onto your backside, you sat on the floor and regarded him curiously.

It was as if your question had opened the metaphorical “floodgates”, for once Bruce started speaking the stream of words would not stop. Chaotic and frantic, yet raw and painful at the same time:

“Yes, he made us visit the old orphanage my father established under the Wayne Foundation and it… There was this movie, a clip from the day he announced he was going to run for mayor and on the wall, it said… It said something about the sins of the father and that I’ll have to pay, but how can I pay when I don’t even understand it?” he finished out of breath, panting as the outpour of emotions had left him nearly empty.

That was enough. You were up even before you knew you had moved, the heart pounding hard in your chest. Careful not to destroy his work, you crept closer and placed your hand on his shoulder.

“Bruce, breathe” lowering the voice to a soothing whisper, you zeroed in on the sofa near the fireplace and tugged on his hand to show the intent, “Come, sit with me,” the gentle tone was surprising, even to your ears.

You had no idea where it came from but somehow knew that trying to understand it would hurt even more. Instead, you waited for Bruce to acknowledge your plea and offered him a smile, fingers curling around his in what was becoming a familiar motion. He followed you after a second of hesitation, glancing with surprise at the daylight streaming through the windows:

“It’s dawning,” the matter-of-fact tone soon broken by a distressed ramble, “You should be sleeping or… Or-” shutting him up with your fingers against his lips, you pulled him onto the couch.

Perhaps surprisingly, Bruce did not fight you, instead settling onto the cushions with a defeated sigh. His eyes still fixed on your face as if hoping to commit it to memory. It was too easy to offer him a smile, tracing the shape of his lips with your fingertips and then over the curve of his jaw.

“I’m exactly where I should be” once you whispered the words, you knew they were true, “What happened?”

You could tell Bruce wanted to argue. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, never uttering more than a syllable. And then he slumped lower, his head dropping on the backrest. Once he started speaking, you had to creep closer to hear him:

“I was with Gordon. We were trying to catch Penguin, to somehow prove he’s the rat” the dark tone made you frown as you folded your legs and waited patiently for him to continue, “But then it all went to shit,” Bruce chuckled lowly, the sound devoid of joy.

You could not help but join him in the expression, leaning back as well. Close enough he could rest his head against your shoulder should he want to. Why would he? It was stupid. You were stupid. Ignoring the desire to groan with frustration, you filled in with a question:

“The chase? I saw it on tv” you never got to tell him off for it.

It did not matter anymore, but still, you made sure to convey the warning in your glare as Bruce gave you a cautious glance and nodded.

“Yeah, I… And you were right; it’s not Penguin. Turns out I’m an idiot” as if acting on impulse, he reached out to squeeze your knee before retreating, evidently sure it was not the right thing to do.

The distraction worked if that was what he was aiming for, making you blink twice, eager to clear your head and understand what he was saying. Once it clicked, you could not hold back the sigh:

“Sometimes definitely, but those riddles are confusing. Anyone could get it wrong” your fingers twitched in your lap, having a mind of their own, so you folded your arms across the chest to stop yourself from making mistakes.

Bruce was still staring at the ceiling, taking long pauses between the answers as if the whole act of speaking took too much energy.

“Not me. I should be smarter than him” the defiance in his voice at any other moment would have irked you.

This time, it only increased the ache in your chest and made you shiver. The anxious thoughts were not going anywhere, promising to drive you insane should this stretch on for a little longer. You pushed it away, any time but now.

“You’re not superhuman, Bruce,” whispering the words you could have predicted they would not do.

That he would argue. Yet nothing prepared you for the vacant look he gave you next, the ice cold of his blue eyes piercing right through your withering hope and turning it to dust.

“I should be better than this,” emphasizing to berate himself, even more, the emptiness in his gaze gave way to the same pain you saw hours ago in the hospital, “It’s clearly all my fault” as if punctuating the sentence, Bruce lurched forward, resting elbows on his knees.

Staring at the floor. Anywhere but at you. Closing off, raising the walls you secretly hoped had been long past you. But, as long as Bruce did not tell you to leave, you would stay. You would keep on trying. Slowly, you mirrored his position, all the while letting your feelings into the argument:

“I beg to differ. You’re already doing more than enough. No one expects the son of Thomas Wayne to hunt criminals after hours, and yet here you are. Bruising and bleeding for this city,” Bruce did not move, so he decided for you.

Ignoring the alarms blaring in your head, you reached toward him, coaxing him to meet your gaze as you pressed your palm against the blooming bruise on his ribcage. One of the many you tended to only days before. His skin was warm beneath your hand, raising with each shuddering exhale. It was almost grounding. If you were to ignore the heart hammering in your chest and how Bruce stared at you. He seemed grateful, but at the same time, the heat in his gaze was impossible to name. And terrifying, too. He pulled you in with every beat that went by without either of you moving, making it so much easier to caress his skin slowly. Aiming for reassurance while driving yourself mad.

Whatever it was, it passed the moment Bruce spoke up again, too lost within his pain to listen to a word you said:

“But it should’ve been me tonight. Not Alfred” you could feel his muscles tense underneath your touch as Bruce tightened the fists, his face once again closed off from anything but self-directed spite, “He’s never done anything wrong but still had to pay for my mistakes,”

It was hard to find something to say. Anything that could make him feel better when it seemed like Bruce was too deep in misery to care about anything else. The ache in your chest threatened to overcome your logic soon should you stay, but there was no alternative. You could not leave him. Your heart would not let you.

You did not notice when Bruce moved, so once he placed his head on your shoulder, you almost jumped out of your skin. Swallowing down the gasp, you slowly soaked in the feeling of the pleasant weight. Before you could get too comfortable, his whisper threw you right out of it:

“I’m so fucking tired of it all” it was not even what he said, but rather how he said it.

Utterly defeated and unwilling to fight the darkness within him.

Your hands clenched into fists in your lap as you asked:

“Of what?” the small voice sounded almost foreign in your ears.

Everything felt out of your depths. As if you tried swimming with the sharks and were about to meet your demise. Yet there was nowhere else you would rather be but with Bruce, feeling his soft hair brush against your neck and the warmth of his breath against your skin. Bruce swallowed hard.

“Losing everyone I care about. I used to think I’m over it all, but I’m not. I can’t- Loneliness terrifies me, but I can’t keep letting people in, only for them to get hurt or… or worse” with each word, his breath grew shallower, tinting the words with pain and lacing them with tears.

Once he finished speaking, Bruce was stifling sobs. You did not need more than that to find another buried spark of courage. Reaching out for his hand, you relaxed his fist and whispered:

“Hey, look at me,” gently tilting his chin so that he had to meet your gaze; your heart breaking over the tears shining in his eyes and falling down his cheeks “For whatever it’s worth, you’re not alone. I’m still here, and I’m not going anywhere” your voice broke at the end of the sentiment, betraying the truths you masked with the simple reassurance “I know I’m not anyone important, but I’m here” not trusting yourself to keep on speaking, you squeezed his palm and offered him a smile.

Ignoring the heart hammering in your chest and the tightness around the ribs. Pretending not to feel the warmth spreading across your body upon one, simple look at Bruce. Denying what you told him was a substitute for something else, something you were scared to think about.

Your crisis did not matter now. Especially not when faced with the heartbreak painting across Bruce’s face. He shuddered, the silent tears streaming down his cheeks. And then he broke, letting out a whimper which was soon swallowed by a sob, wrecking over his body as Bruce crumbled in on himself. You could only push yourself closer and gather him into your arms, allowing him to lean on you.

His crying must have drowned out the sound of your heart cracking in two, for you sure felt it break. But you held on, running your hands over his back, whispering nonsense into the crown of his head. You did not count the minutes passing by as you sat with Bruce, opting to keep your eyes closed and your mind focused on him. It was too late anyway. You have already moved past the point of turning back. He was too important, and you would have to pay for letting yourself care.

After a while, Bruce’s sobs have subsided, allowing him to deepen his breaths and relax in your embrace. With his arms wrapped loosely around your waist and the head nestled in the crook of your neck, you did not want to move. Instead, you shuffled a little closer still, choosing to pay no mind to the fact that your folded knees were partially in Bruce’s lap and let go of his hand to trail your fingertips up his forearm. The gentle touch made him sigh and tremble, somehow burying further into you. You allowed him to do just that, content to sit there and cradle him for as long as Bruce would let you. Nothing else mattered, not really. Not when you felt like you had already lost.

It took him another half hour or so to break the heavy silence. He raised his head from where it rested on your shoulder and pressed a kiss to your cheek so suddenly that you might have missed it. You did not, staring like a frightened animal straight into Bruce’s reddened eyes as he seemed to take you in, arrested by an invisible force. As if sensing your growing panic, he cupped your face cautiously, letting his fingers skim over your cheek in a simple caress. It took a lot of resilience to hold back the gasp building in your throat.

“You’re more important than you know” Bruce’s sudden admission was the one to break you out of the stupor.

Rather harshly at that. Your mouth opened agape as you processed what Bruce said and compared it with the depth of fondness you could see in his gaze. Both did nothing to slow the blood rushing through your veins or ease the worries. Because what if you were about to fuck it all up? What if he was only saying it because it sounded good? What if it wasn’t true?

It was the fear fueling your reply when you spoke:

“Bruce, I’d rather you didn’t say things you don’t mean” desperate to hide the vulnerability of the moment, you ended the eye contact and chose to stare at your lap, “Not right now,”

The addition came out strained with the weight of another realization. It was only now that the proximity of your bodies caught up with you, making your face heat up. With your legs folded, you were just a mere step away from what would constitute sitting in Bruce’s lap. His face was inches away, too reachable and tempting to do things that could not be undone. And it was beginning to seem like Bruce was no longer terrified of the closeness. No longer scared of you.

“Why?” his questioning whisper created another crack in the wall of defences you tried to enforce.

You were slowly running out of those, unable to fight the rebellion taking place within your heart. The heart wants what it wants, right? Fuck.

It was almost terrifying to raise your head and look at Bruce, never anticipating what you would find in his eyes. The way he stared back seemed impossible to name or mirror, showing you utmost affection and warmth. As if he did not hold any inhibitions anymore, accepting the pull between you for what it was. And for what it could be. Taking a deep breath, you chose to face it head-on:

“Because I feel like breaking all the rules I ever had”

Between the last syllable and the next heartbeat, Bruce crashed his mouth into yours, forcing a gasp out of your throat. For a quarter of a second, you considered letting the fear and doubts win this one and push him away. But the heart was victorious as you shifted onto your knees and buried your fingers in his hair to bring him closer. As if eager to contradict everything you thought you knew about him, Bruce was the one to deepen the kiss and run his tongue along your bottom lip, increasing the hunger coursing through your veins. There was none of the previous shyness in his actions as Bruce placed his hands on your hips and pulled you down to straddle his lap. None of the previous uncertainty in the teeth nipping at your lips, tearing whimpers out of your mouth, and breaking through the anxieties.

The selfishness woke up next, helping you admit that this was what you wanted. Why shouldn’t you reach out for it? Accepting his subtle guidance, you broke the kiss to take another deep breath and settle on Bruce’s lap, looping your hands around his neck. Before you could reach out to capture his lips again, he tilted your chin, the searching look in his eyes asking a silent question. It was a way out, an opportunity to back off. Maybe even pretend it did not happen or blame it on the recent week. Only you found that you did not want to. Not when Bruce was so close and looking at you like no one ever did. Your lips twisted into a smirk as you nodded and pulled him in for another kiss.

This time it was much slower, your tongue exploring the inside of his mouth and drawing out soft noises from Bruce. With his hands firmly planted on your hips and the thumbs tentatively brushing over the skin underneath your shirt, you felt the storm in your head quieten. As if the chaos was easing, and all that was left was a pleasant hum. As if it was meant to be, almost. Choosing to follow the rare, hopeful thought, you slid your hands down his neck and the broad shoulders to rest over his chest. Taking each kiss for what it could be – a chance to be with him, even if for this one moment.

Soon it became a familiar game, the silence interwoven with broken gasps and desperate whimpers. Your hands wandering over his skin, caressing each bruise and scar, and inching down his chest to feel the firm muscles underneath your palms. Bruce was not far behind, taking his time to take whatever he could from the kisses you gladly gave him, occasionally brave enough to toy with the hem of your shirt, earning your grin. You were happy to follow it with a precise peck on the corner of his mouth and then trail your lips to the edge of his sharp jaw, following the path you had trodden before. If only to distract yourself from the warmth incessantly pooling between your thighs and pulsing with the need, that would soon become unbearable.

It was too easy to lose yourself in the process, finding the perfect spots to make Bruce breathless and trembling. His hesitant fingers wandered further beneath your shirt, creating goosebumps in their wake. Until all you could think of was getting rid of the excess clothing and feeling his skin on yours. Learn how he sounds when he begs. That thought made you grind on his thigh, biting the skin over Bruce’s pulse point until he was gasping and digging his fingers into your sides. In the morning, you would be both bruised. But it did not matter. Once you allowed yourself to have this, the needs have been awakened for good.

Pulling back a fraction to finally look at Bruce, you were welcomed with a fascinating sight. His hair was in disarray, falling over his eyes; pupils blown wide and consumed by lust; the lips swollen and red, still tasting like you. He was beautiful. It was a thought and a sentence you smothered with effort, unwilling to taint the mood with what could be too profound. So, instead, you met his gaze with a smirk and allowed your fingers to toy with the band of his trousers and scratch down the thin line of hair covering his abdomen above it.

That is until you saw Bruce’s eyes widen, his hands suddenly reaching out to rest on your wrists, stopping all the intents you could have had. A question bloomed on your lips, but before you could say it, Bruce spoke, his voice wavering and raspy:

“I- I’m not sure- I’ve never…” faltering with frustration etched onto his face, he tried again, looking down upon his lap as if embarrassed to say it, “I’m not sure what to do…”

The resignation rang loud and clear as if Bruce was beyond convinced that his revelation would change your mind. That it was the last straw, and with it out in the open, you would leave. Despite the seriousness of the moment, you could not help but smile, shaking your head lightly at the idea. Idiot. It was nothing you did not expect, and even if – so what? You wanted Bruce, exactly as he is, not a seasoned lover. You just had to make sure he understood as much. Hooking your fingers over his chin, you tilted his head up to force him to meet your gaze:

“Hey, that’s alright” pouring the reassurance into your voice, you sent him a smile and added, “I don’t mind. Do you want to?” there, the most important of questions.

The one you had to ask and the same that could break you. Yet when staring right back into his blue eyes, you knew it would not. There was nothing but gratitude and desire there, written out for you to see for yourself. Bruce smiled bashfully, the pink tint on his cheeks close to a fixture by now. He swallowed hard, gathering courage, and replied:

“Yes, I… I want you” it was nothing more than a whisper, but it felt like a heartfelt confession.

You knew that it was one, too. Ignoring the chaos within your head, you leaned forward to press a kiss on his forehead and offered a wicked grin, giving into the feelings. There was only one answer you could give him.

“I’ll show you then” a quick look at your surroundings helped to take another decision as you stood up from Bruce’s lap and instantly tugged his hand to join you, “Just not here. Come on,” upon his questioning glance, you added with the mischievous glint in your eyes “I’d rather Dory didn’t walk in on… that”

You did not need to turn around to know what his sharp gasp meant. Bruce’s grip around your hand never loosened as you led him up the staircase and down the corridor. He did not protest when you entered his bedroom and closed the doors behind you quietly. It was challenging to remember that it was already morning, and soon the halls could be alive with the sounds of Dory’s bustling around. But it did not matter. Nothing but Bruce did. Once inside his room, you switched on the bedside lamp to provide a warm glow and turned to face him.

As if slightly frozen by nerves, Bruce was motionless, standing by the door, eyes darting between you and the bed, cheeks blushing red. That would not do. Closing the distance, you took hold of both of his hands and smiled lightly:

“Alright?” the simple question lightened up his face and made you beam.

Bruce reached out to brush the stray strands of hair behind your ear, caressing your temple in the process. The affection in his gaze had the potential to drive you mad with fondness.

“Yes, just… Just nervous” nodding once with a shy smile, Bruce leaned in to place a kiss on your forehead.

And adding to the issues piling up in your heart. Those had to be ignored for now. There was one last thing you had to tell Bruce before you would let the emotions and needs take the lead.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you” choosing to gaze up at him with the feelings present in your eyes, you lowered the voice to serious timbre, making sure he was listening “If at any point you want to stop, tell me. Just because you said yes once, doesn’t mean you can’t change your mind” and then, if only to hear another verbal consent, you added, “Understand, gorgeous?”

Where once there were eye rolls whenever you used nicknames, Bruce was now smiling, cupping your face tenderly, unable to look away from you if only for a second.

“Yeah, I… Thank you” it was the whisper that did it, sealing the deal in the best way.

Though there was no need for his gratitude. Not now, not ever. It was not why you were there, why you were doing everything for him. But it also had to wait for later.

“You’ll thank me later if I do everything well,” breaking through the seriousness with a wink and a hidden innuendo.

Bruce did not miss it, somehow enforcing the blush covering his cheeks. Before you could comment on it, he pulled you close, winding his arms around your waist and making you huff out a happy giggle. One shared look was enough for him to lean down and capture your lips in a drawn-out kiss, tasting and learning which of his moves earned your reaction. His teeth nibbling on your bottom lip did it. As did the careful way Bruce held you against his chest with his hands splayed over your hips possessively, yet not inflicting any pressure. But instead of moving away, you clung closer to him, looping your arms around his neck and burying your fingers in his hair. If only to pull at the strands lightly whenever Bruce hit the right spot. Or just as a way of spicing up the moment. Soon enough, you were both panting and gasping, utterly drunk on kisses and each other.

Without waiting for Bruce to lose his cool again, you gently steered him towards the edge of the bed, pushing until he was seated and gazing up at you with surprise and awe. It was impossible not to beam at him, running your fingertips over his sharp features and brushing the hair away from his eyes. A sudden strike of inspiration made you lean down to press a quick peck on his forehead before taking half a step back and throwing Bruce a wink. You did not have to ask to know that it was best to take things slow, and so, that is what you planned to do. Firstly, by assuring you no longer had the upper hand by being more dressed.

Keeping your eyes fixed on Bruce, you slowly unbuttoned your shirt, allowing the material to slide down your arms to pile up on the floor. Now you were even. Well almost. You wanted to leave the bra for a little longer, not quite ready to give him everything just yet. Without missing a beat, you grinned wickedly at Bruce’s widening eyes and spoke up:

“Do you like what you see, buttercup?” winking at him again, you strode forward, closing the distance to raise his chin with your finger.

Forcing Bruce to face you, no matter the pink hue spreading along his cheeks or the pupils dilating as he took in the sight. You could almost feel his eyes wandering down your torso, drinking in what was revealed and slipping over the skin as if he was aching to touch you. Darting back to look at your face, Bruce swallowed hard and reached out to place his hands on your hips, still below the band of the trousers. He met your gaze before whispering:

“You’re beautiful” the words left his mouth in a rush, tumbling over each other as if he was holding on to them for too long.

All witty comments disappeared from your head when you processed what he said. Only the affection was left in their place, making your face warm up and eyes glaze over. The emotions seemed impossible to name, so instead of finding a response, you straddled Bruce’s lap and kissed him gently. Letting him take the gratitude and fondness directly from your tongue and swallow them whole. He did not need further encouragement, immediately letting his hands wander over the curves and valleys of your body, caressing your skin. The feeling of his warm palms over your back made you gasp into his mouth, hungrily clinging to his body, craving the warmth and the safety he provided.

No one has ever said it like that. Sure, offhand comments and sweet compliments were building up your confidence. But it has never been this simple, this straightforward. As if Bruce believed it and was willing to show you by any means possible. As if he meant it. It changed pretty much everything.

Before you could process the emotions, Bruce broke the kiss with a sigh and started trailing kisses down to the edge of your jaw and then towards the spot underneath your ear. The same one that made you moan and clench your thighs days before in his bed. This time it was not any different. Your mouth fell open in a shallow gasp as he sucked on your skin, letting his teeth catch on it and inflict a bruise. The pain making you choke back another sound and latch onto his shoulders, digging the fingernails into his skin. So you had something to hold on to as Bruce followed the first bite with many more, tracing the path of your veins down your neck. Edging your sanity towards a fall from which it would never be recovered.

With his hands holding you close and the pleasure of his mouth ravishing your neck as if you were his work of art, needing completion even if it was the last thing he ever did, you could feel the steady pulse building between your thighs and in your veins. Once Bruce had reached your collarbone and licked over the faint red mark he inflicted, his hands continued their tentative exploration, grazing over your stomach and up over the ribs. Stopping at the edge of your bra to skim over the fabric, showing slight shyness in his movement. You did not mind it, allowing yourself to get lost in the sensations, in the firmness of his warm body acting like a lifeline. Even without any words spoken, the act felt like a confession. Like an admission of vulnerability and willingness to give him everything you had. Just this once.

As if reading your mind, Bruce raised his head and met your dazed look with a bashful smile before slightly changing his grip on your body to lay you on the covers beside him, switching the position. A surprise noise escaped your throat as you relaxed on the mattress, taking him in as Bruce knelt above you, so stunning in the warm glow. On its own accord, your hand reached out to touch him, your fingertips running along his abdomen, eliciting a change in his breathing. It was simple. Bruce grabbed your wrist gently, leaning down to press a kiss to your knuckles as he shifted to hover over you, curious fingers tracing the outline of your bra yet again. You grinned.

“You can take it off, you know” it was easy to take pleasure in his embarrassed expression.

It was an invitation as much as you could muster, taking hold of his hand to guide it to the clasp on your back.

“Can I?” Bruce whispered the question with a breathy voice, caught somewhere between fascination and uncertainty.

You did not waste time shooting down any qualms he could have had.

“I want you to” squeezing his palm you let go, beaming at him as he fumbled with the fastener before managing to open it.

The shyness in his eyes was endearing, making it hard for you to look away from his face as he gently pulled down the straps from your shoulders and removed the bra, tossing it on the floor next to your shirt. Never the one to shy away from showing your body, you could feel the slight tinge of hesitation rise in your heart as Bruce’s gaze roamed over your naked torso. Actually looking and seeing rather than consuming and judging for what you could never be. Ignoring the desire to close your eyes and make the discomfort disappear, you waited with bated breath for his next move. Entirely at his mercy.

A shiver ran over your spine at the thought, shaking hands searching for something to hold. Bruce noticed the tremor, immediately offering you his free hand while his other palm began tracing invisible pathways over your skin. Starting at the hollowness between your collarbones and running down the length of your sternum, creating goosebumps in his wake and making you tighten the grip over your joint hands. There was something almost mesmerizing in how Bruce looked and touched you, tenderly and without any sense of possessiveness yet entranced. As if with every passing moment, he was falling harder- No.

Shaking off the dangerous thread of thoughts, you guided Bruce to veer away from safety, positioning his hand to cup your breast. Upon his silent question, you only nodded, your head falling back on the mattress as he swept his thumb over your hardening nipple. The slight chill in the air and the pressure of his calloused fingertips were enough to make you writhe. Your mouth opened in a quiet moan, the arousal seeping into the fabric of the panties. Soon you would need him to touch you elsewhere. But for now, you were willing to get lost in this. The teasing brush of his fingers over your breasts and stomach making you squirm. The steady look in his blue eyes slowly consumed by the blackness of his pupils. The promise of satisfaction laying just around the corner.

You tugged on his hand, urging Bruce to lean over you again and raised your chin to crash your mouth into his. Letting the hunger and feelings lead the way as you prodded his lips to open before slipping your tongue in. Slowly curling it around his and sighing at the way Bruce leaned into you, his hands never stopping to caress your body, putting your skin aflame. Without breaking the kiss, you slid your hands down his stomach, once again grazing the edge of his trousers and then lower. Only to find Bruce already hard. The corner of your lips twisted in a smirk against his mouth. Careful not to pressure him in any way, you broke the contact with your teeth tugging at his full lower lip, bruised from kissing, and met the delirious gaze with a confident look:

“Bruce, I need you to touch me” the husky tone of your voice made you huff out a dry chuckle, aware that there would be no pretending about the effect he had on you.

His eyes widened, the familiar worry resurfacing as if Bruce was still doubting whether he was enough. The idea alone sounded like a joke, yet you stifled the desire to laugh. Taking hold of his hand, you slid it from where it was palming your breast down to the band of your trousers and below. Bruce swallowed hard, sucking in the air sharply as if unable to breathe, but still followed your guidance.

“Here,” stopping just over the edge of your underwear, you whispered the word.

His fingers traced the material as Bruce seemed to consider something before admitting sheepishly:

“I don’t know how to…” there was that same anxious glimmer in his eyes.

The one that told you he was half expecting you to back off at any given point. The one that suggested despite his beauty, Bruce was not used to being wanted. Not used to being the one people desired. You had to prove him wrong.

“I’ll show you” offering him a gentle smile, you guided his hand underneath the panties.

Inadvertently gasping, once you felt the warmth of his hand over your skin, slowly diving between your thighs as you spread your legs. The darkness of his pupils nearly swallowed Bruce’s irises; his lips parted as his fingers dipped between your folds. Making you bite your lip to stifle the noises and focus on him. On how he gasped as he felt the wetness coating your slit, his eyes widening, only for Bruce to stutter out:

“God, you’re-” grinning wide, you pressed your fingers against his mouth to shut him up, already preparing the reply.

“Mhmm. Soaking wet, for you,” once Bruce held your gaze you offered another mischievous smirk.

The pink tint on his cheeks was back with vengeance. Bruce’s breath hitched as he allowed his fingers to delve in, spreading the arousal over your throbbing parts. It already felt good, even as you patiently steered his touch to brush over your clit and then down to your entrance. Nodding upon his unspoken question, you released his hand to let Bruce take over and relaxed into the mattress. As much as that was possible with the fire raging inside your body.

A plethora of curses rose in your throat as Bruce started circling your clit, finding the rhythm that had you bucking your hips into his hand. Despite his shyness, he did not hold back, quickly meeting your parted mouth with a hungry kiss, taking over the words and praises. You circled his bicep with your hand, holding tight, bruising his skin, while your other palm found solace on the nape of his neck. Holding him close enough that you could chase his lips and whisper appraisal into his ear. Just like when Bruce finally delved his finger inside you, making you bite back a sharp moan and pull him close to huff out:

“Just- Yeah, like this” the breathy response was all you could manage as he continued the tempo, taking your cues to heart.

Later, once you could speak again coherently, you would have to tell him how he might be the most attentive man you had ever been with. If only to make him blush like that again. For now, it was enough to grab a fistful of his hair and give them a slight tug, pulling Bruce in for another fervent kiss. Gasping into his mouth and curling your tongue around his to give him a fraction of the feeling back.

The coil in your lower stomach kept tightening with every minute Bruce spent coaxing the shivers and moans out of your body. Upon adding the second finger and curling them inside you, he broke the silence with a simple question:

“Does this feel good?” he met your gaze, blue eyes now so dark that you felt like you could drown in them if you kept staring at him.

Yet it was impossible to look away. At his slightly furrowed brow and how he was focused only on you. At his bruised lips and the beauty chiselled into his sharp cheekbones.

“Fuck- Yes, it does” the curse wove itself into your answer as you dug your fingers into his bicep and closed your eyes upon the darkness gathering around the edges of your sight.

The last thing you noticed were the hints of a cocky smile building in the corners of his lips. He knew what he was doing, even if it was a first. As if sensing your incoming ending, Bruce intensified the moves, leaning in to plant kisses on the crook of your neck while his thumb kept stroking through your folds. Fingers so close to the spot inside you that would make you scream, perfectly spreading the arousal and intensifying the need flowing in your veins. Your body tensed like a bowstring, overwhelmed with Bruce. You came with his name on your lips and your fingers buried in his hair. Whispering nonsense until you could no longer form words and focused on breathing him in. Letting the high he gave you wash over your body like the ebb tide.

If he was caught aback by your reaction, Bruce never showed it. He placed a final kiss underneath your ear and raised his head, slowly meeting your gaze as you opened your eyes. The curious glimmer was there, eager to ask but not knowing how. Luckily for him, you had it covered.

“You’re a natural, darling” grinning you took hold of the hand he withdrew from your pants, “You’ve just made me come” without waiting for Bruce to react, you raised his fingers to your mouth, sweeping out your tongue to lick off the remains of your demise.

Never breaking the eye contact either, in time to see them widen as Bruce gasped sharply. He seemed frozen for a beat, unable to move or breathe, dark irises consuming you whole with the zeal of a starved man. By now, you knew he would be capable of it. It was time. But before you could tell him as much, Bruce covered your mouth with his, kissing you with familiar devotion and dedication. A broken whimper planted itself on your tongue as he licked over your lower lip and buried his fingers into your hair, grazing your cheekbone and temple. Making you feel wanted, maybe even loved. Not that you had much experience on that topic.

One painful thought was the more reasons to break the kiss and use his body as the perfect leverage to switch the position so you could be on top. A smirk was only the natural reaction upon seeing Bruce speechless yet again. Rising on your knees to look down upon him, you asked:

“Do you still want to continue?” not wanting to pressure him with your touch, you let your hands rest by your sides.

So he knew there was time to back away if he wanted. But he did not seem keen to change your plans as Bruce reached out to grab both your palms and squeezed them gently.

“Yes, I… I want you” the softness in his eyes had the power to kickstart your heart as he added, voice wavering with feelings, “I want to feel you everywhere” trailing off sheepishly, Bruce seemed to lose the momentum as if worrying that he took it too far.

You had to prove him wrong without any time wasted. Squeezing his hands back, you leaned in again, low enough to brush the shell of his ear with your mouth and whisper:

“Perfect, because I want you inside me” dropping your tone to a seductive timbre, you kissed his ear and straightened back up to add, “Soon, if that’s okay,”

Bruce nodded eagerly. That was all you needed. Sending him another bright grin, you slid off his lap and onto your feet, slipping off the trousers and inviting him to do the same with your palm outstretched. He took it without hesitation, only showing the tell-tale signs of nervousness when he pulled down his sweatpants, letting them join the discarded clothing on the floor. You quickly tuned in to what could be bothering him, your gaze wandering over his body with curiosity. Noticing the toned thighs and fitting black briefs. Now you were truly even, hiding behind nothing but the fabric of your underwear. And it was terrifying. It seemed like he, too, had insecurities, turning away from your taxing gaze, his cheeks dusted pink.

Confirming your earlier deductions, you could tell that, one – Bruce was already aroused. And, two, he had no room for doubts in that area as far as you could see. Soon enough, your face was burning as well, desperate for any means of ending the awkwardness. You found it in the slight shake of his fingers, the trembling hand begging for your attention. Taking a step forward, you took it between your palms and met the familiar blue eyes, now clouded with unease:

“Is it alright if I touch you?” the nervous timbre found its way into your voice as you asked.

As much as you still were filled with the need for him, eager to find a way past the sudden obstacle, you had to make sure Bruce was happy with it. That he really wanted you to continue.

“Yeah…” nodding stiffly, Bruce seemed to maul over his thoughts before admitting, “I’m just… I’m not used to people looking at me like that” he met your gaze with a crestfallen sigh, quickly adding an apology, “Sorry, I’ll get over myself now,”

Using the permission he offered, you closed the gap between you to a minimum and placed your hand over his heart, feeling the beat speed up in response. The compassion flooded your chest as you looked at Bruce, eyes roaming over the brilliant blue eyes and handsome features. You entangled your fingers with his, keeping the grip loose yet still present and gave him a warm smile:

“There’s nothing to get over” rising on your toes, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, already knowing what to tell him and how to (hopefully) soothe his insecurities, “Trust me, I know what you mean, but… Christ, Bruce, you’re so beautiful I don’t even have to words to express it” faced with his sceptical look, verging on willingness to believe you and being unable to, you just shrugged, offering an alternative with your hand still placed neatly over his heart “So let me show you instead,”

“Okay” this time, he did not hesitate, squeezing your hand within his grasp before releasing it.

A grateful grin you sent him made Bruce smile shyly, which you had to count as a win. Even if a small one, for a start. With both hands to aid your needs, you allowed them to caress his torso, skimming over the scars and the bruises. Gently brushing along the muscles on his stomach and testing the territory as your fingers traced the faint hair trail leading down to the briefs. Bruce shuddered upon your teasing but did not move away, deepening his breath with eyes half closed. It was not difficult to let the emotions back into your voice and actions, letting your hand travel lower as you met his dark gaze and whispered:

“Because I haven’t wanted a man this much for a long time. You’re all I can think about, Mr Wayne,” leaning close to press your lips to the corner of his mouth as your hand palmed him through his underwear.

Bruce gasped sharply, moving his head to chase after your lips and kiss you earnestly, proving your suspicions yet again. It was, without a doubt, going to be fun. Especially when knowing what you did about his… likes. The list was growing, even if only in your mind. It was easy enough to let him ravish your mouth as if his life depended upon it, all the while tentatively letting your hand explore him through the material. Simultaneously making Bruce bite hard into your lip, eliciting a whimper and making you press your palm a little harder against him in response. Breaking the kiss, Bruce met your gaze, the darkness of his blown pupils assuring you of what you already expected. He wanted to continue. You were happy to give him just that.

“How- How do you want…?” his tongue caught on the words, but Bruce got them out and glanced at the bed if you needed clarification.

The thoughtfulness made you smile as you quickly went through the options in your head before replying:

“Sit down, just like before” you nodded towards the mattress and gave him a final peck on the lips, “I’ll take care of you,” letting the whisper fill in the spaces between your bodies.

You waited for Bruce to cross the space, hesitantly settling on the bed with his back against the headboard before you slipped off the underwear and grinned at his dumbfounded look. Once again, he was rendered speechless, his cheeks burning from excitement and shyness you hoped to eradicate soon. But for now, it was enough to have Bruce watch you with that hunger in his eyes, staring as you crawled upon the bed and straddled his lap, immediately diving in for a kiss. Your own way of expressing what you saw in his gaze. You kissed him feverishly until he had been reduced to gasps, and his fingers were digging into your waist. Until Bruce had to be the one to lean back, desperate for oxygen yet unwilling to let go of you. That is when you met his gaze and wordlessly asked for permission to get rid of his briefs before taking them off and sealing the deal by taking hold of his hand and placing a kiss on his knuckles.

Only then did you allow yourself a shameless look, your gaze drifting from his burning cheeks to the bruised, kissed mouth and down the chest, marked with pain and history. He did not disappoint, making you swallow hard upon the sight of his member. Definitely, undoubtedly ready for you. Fuck. Ignoring the desire to stare, you dragged your eyes to his face again, willing to get rid of his doubts with a beaming smile and a lingering kiss on his cheek. Bruce chased after your mouth, catching your lower lip between his teeth and nibbling upon the tender skin. Adding on to the steady fire in the pit of your stomach and making the desire wet the slit between your thighs. Unable to hold back the frustrated groan, you broke the kiss to pant out a one-worded question:

“Yes?” you half-expected him not to understand it, considering coherence was nowhere to be found.

But Bruce knew what you meant, leaning close to rest his forehead against yours, his arms coming around your body to cradle you flush against his chest. The lust in his eyes made the breath catch in your throat, the butterflies in your stomach wreaking havoc.

“Please,” his husky voice was the metaphorical nail in the coffin.

Once you heard the desperation and need in his voice, you knew it was over. There would be no more pretending, no chance of playing it all off under the guise of ‘no strings attached’. There were strings, too many of them to count. Ignoring the desire to say three words too much right there and then, you leaned to an inch of space between your lips and spoke:

“Anything for you,” you meant it.

When you met Bruce’s gaze, you knew he understood it too, effortlessly closing the gap between your faces and kissing the confessions off your tongue. Lost in the kiss, he never noticed when you raised your hips and used your free hand to guide him inside you. Lowering down onto his length with a hiss that Bruce soon mirrored, gasping as he ended the contact and opened his eyes. A brief look of surprise flashed across his face as he seemed to take in the sensation, giving you a moment to settle with your arms on his shoulders, gazing down upon him. It was for the best you could not see what your eyes showed. Otherwise, you risked panic and worried Bruce would see that, which you did not dare acknowledge. That there was so much more to it than a release of pent-up sexual tension and a moment of comfort. That you already wanted more.

Because it felt right, good, as you allowed his length to fill you in, satisfying the need you stifled for much too long. His arms tightened around your waist as Bruce held you close, his eyes never leaving your face. Mouth parted and the shallow breaths sparse as if they needed too much effort on his side. The wave of affection rose in your chest as you cupped his cheek and grinned.

“Alright?” simply asking because you could, and he was there.

Smiling back at you even through the daze. Filling you in better than anyone before. That sanity and pretending were long out through the window.

“Yes, yeah,” especially as Bruce gave you a breathy chuckle after the reply and started trailing kisses down the curve of your throat, making it harder to speak, let alone think.

So, you did what you knew best, throwing your head back to expose more skin for his use and started moving. Slowly rising on your knees to create pleasant friction and then falling back down, accompanied by Bruce’s panting. His hot breath fanned your skin, flushing the warmth over your torso. Guided by his wordless cues, you build up a rhythm, rocking into him with a languid pace, willing to extend the bliss for the both of you. With his lips kissing a pathway down your sternum, the brave tongue sweeping across your sweaty skin and the euphoric bliss of the shared moment, you could no longer escape it. The feelings kept pouring into your heart, taking apart the act and the pretending, till it was just you and Bruce, joined in the most intimate of embraces.

Desperate to keep the anxiety at bay, you tilted his chin to meet his lips, giving him the scattered words and sounds the best you knew how. Without confessions and promises, that would destroy everything sooner or later. As if sensing your change of heart, Bruce did not allow the kiss to transform into another make-out and met your gaze. The blue depths pulled you in as always, making you lose the rhythm. Bruce was the one to surprise you by taking the initiative and thrusting inside you, eliciting a sharp moan out of your throat and making you dig your fingers into his shoulders, marking the skin.

You could see it in his eyes and feel the tension in his body soon after as Bruce whimpered and tried to hide his face in the crook of your neck. You did not let him, sensing the shame coming off in waves as you forced him to meet your gaze again and breathed out the encouragement:

“It’s alright. I’ve got you” sealing the words with a gentle kiss, you made sure to rock forwards again, letting Bruce inch closer to release he was approaching, “Let it go,” the dilemma ebbed away as the familiar darkness took its place in his eyes.

That was exactly why you chose to do two things at once. Or three, perhaps. Your lips quirked into a cheeky smirk that Bruce never noticed. Without a preamble, you pushed him with your hands firmly pressed to his chest, grinning as his back hit the mattress and made him gasp. With him lying down you could easily find a deeper angle, his length hitting that sweet spot at your core. Another moan broke through the quiet. Bruce’s eyes squeezed shut as his mouth opened in a breathless groan. Just as you could feel him giving in to the orgasm, you whispered:

“Good boy”

He shuddered, your name on his tongue as he came inside you, making you inch closer to your release. Fighting the trembling body and using your hand to stimulate the clit, riding him faster to chase your selfish pleasure. Bruce did not seem to mind it, his hands caressing your breasts. His eyes acted like a lifeline to pull you through whatever came next and back to safety, back to his arms.

You did not know what the trigger was, only that one moment you were grinding into him and the next you were collapsing onto his chest with his name like a mantra on your lips. Having already recovered, Bruce wrapped you in his arms and held you close, helping to ride the high till it eased and your bones turned into putty. Not wanting to let go just yet, you only raised your head to find his eyes and asked:

“Are you okay?” brushing the sticking strands away from his forehead and letting your fingers gently caress his cheek.

Feeling the faint stubble, and the sharp bones, his gaze still hazed over, drawing you like a moth to a flame. But it was wrong. You had already burned to ash minutes before and now could only stare, making peace with the fact that nothing would ever be the same. Never again.

Blind to your struggle, Bruce gave you a beaming smile, his hand steadily running down the curve of your spine.

“Yeah, it’s… It’s been amazing” it seemed like Bruce was not getting rid of the blush anytime soon.

Still, it was impossible not to share the slightly bashful grin and crawl up a few inches to steal a kiss from his lips before replying:

“Brilliant,” and you meant it, even if already feeling the repercussions of what you did not regret.

No, it wasn’t shame, either. More like the inability to shut up the part of your brain that was increasingly convinced admitting you felt something more towards Bruce would be like signing your death warrant. That nothing good could come of it, no matter how hard you tried. People like you did not deserve it. Just that.

Unable to ignore the unease, you shot him another smile and slowly untangled from the embrace, rolling off his body to rest on your side next to Bruce. Desperate for a distraction, you were raking your brain for something to say when he broke the silence:

“Is it- Was it… good for you?” finally getting out the words, Bruce turned a darker shade of scarlet yet still tentatively reached out to pull you closer.

You could not hold back a smile, feeling your chest warm up at his thoughtfulness, especially with the awkwardness that must have been nagging at his brain. Drawing into his side, you settled your head against his chest and snuggled, already knowing the response:

“More than that” there was no point pretending as the words poured right from your heart and into your mouth, “You were really good to me,”

Better than anyone ever before.

“Because I couldn’t last long and-” hearing the uncertainty rise in his tone, you raised your head again and interrupted him with your fingers pressed to his mouth.

There was no place for this here, with you. Not from Bruce, who already proved to be so much more than he dared believe. So much better. Once you had him quiet, you placed your head back on his chest and spoke:

“If this was your first, then I’m jealous of anyone who’s going to be with you next,” absentmindedly tracing the scars on his abdomen and letting the realization sink in.

The realization that it was true. You could do nothing about it without risking too much.

“That’s assuming there will be anyone else” Bruce’s quiet voice over your head was enough to make the breath catch in your throat, unwilling to believe you understood him correctly.

Could he mean it? You could not dare face his gaze again, so you stayed frozen in your spot, stopping the caress and choosing to stare at the wall instead. Mulling over the responses before settling for something that seemed good enough.

“Bruce…” the hint of a warning you did not mean yet chose to give anyway, “If you’re thinking what I assume you’re thinking, then don’t. I don’t want to have this conversation now” the tiredness seeped into your tone as you finished the sentence on a sigh.

Cuddling closer to what felt like safety. Closer to him.

“Why not?” even if, currently, Bruce was asking inconvenient questions.

Stifling the groan and biting hard into your lip to let the pain hide the ache of your cracking heart, you buried your head in the crook of his neck. Pressed your lips into his collarbone as Bruce’s arm tightened around your waist. Only when you felt like you could breathe again you opened your mouth:

“Because we could make promises we cannot keep” squeezing your eyes shut, you felt a stray tear trickle down your cheek.

When the morning light began falling through the crack between the curtains, you were both asleep. Denying the beginning of a new day and the traitorous passage of time.

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neutron-stars-collision · 1 year

Text

Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Chapter 15 - Mess me around 'til my heart breaks

Masterlist; Chapter 14 Summary: Vengeance comes to head at the Iceberg Lounge. Just as the Riddler has planned, all along. Warnings: Angst, canon-typical violence, swearing. Author's Notes: ...hi! Long time no see, right? The story isn't abandoned nor done yet, so here I am. Hindered by writer's block, depression and no strength, this update took longer than I wanted it to, but I hope it's worth it. It's short - 5k (but not sweet), it's chaotic, it's all I could manage. If anyone's still around waiting on my two idiots - this is for you. Thank you for sticking around, and let me know what you think? Happy holidays to all who celebrate! 💕✨ Tag list: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy, @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary, @nicklet94, @mcrmarvelloki, @shimmeringgrim, @ttae-yong, @freyadruid, @siriuslydestiny, @ms-dont-care, @raphaelaisabella, @itsmytimetoodream, @brightjimini, @castellandiangelo (let me know if you wanted to be removed/added)

(gif credit @jokerous)

The Iceberg Lounge was a venue everyone had heard of, even though barely anyone had ever been to. For some, it was the byproduct of the reluctance of being seen within the vicinity of Falcone and his posse. For others, it was simply out of fear. Because, yes, admittedly, the Lounge and its surrounding areas did not look welcoming. Least of all, in the middle of the night, with the driving rain pounding on the sidewalk in front. Yet there you were, the handbag clutched tightly in the shaking hands, hastily assembled outfit drenched. But there was no other way.

Not when you wanted to make sure Falcone paid for what he had done. To you and everyone else. Not when you no could no longer trust Bruce to bring justice. Not when you felt the weight of what happened on your shoulders and could not shake it off. Not without doing something, anything.

So, there you were, the gun weighing down your handbag without a plan or trust that you could pull the trigger when it came to it. You never used it before, after all. Always hoping it would never become necessary. But that, as with most things, turned out to be a false hope. Taking a deep breath despite the fear constricting your lungs you straightened your back. Only (false) confidence could offer a way into a place like this. That and flirting. So, you pasted on a smirk and knocked on the steel doors barring the entrance. Within seconds, the doors opened to reveal a set of twins. Both their faces stone cold and unwelcoming.

“What do you want?” one barked the question in place of a greeting.

The sour frown only deepened once they scanned you head to toe. But you did not let that deter you, turning up the sweetness to the max and replying with a coy tone:

“No need for hostility, gents. I only wanna come in and have some fun,” you bated your eyelashes, gaze sweeping from one onto the other “Maybe meet someone nice and… Oh, you know,” you winked, signing off the unspoken statement and hoping for the best.

The other usher twitched, sharing a glance with his brother and then staring back at you with less conviction in his gaze. The flicker of hope warming up your stomach.

“We don’t want any trouble inside,” the man levelled you with a hard look, promising a repeat of what happened to you at the Inferno, should you dare try anything.

You smothered a shudder, threatening to run through your body at the memory. This time, you would swear you would be much more careful.

But they need not know that.

“I’m no trouble” feeling a little less uncertain, you paused the sentence only to drop the punchline after a beat, “Unless you want me to be” in response, the twins rolled their eyes in tandem and stepped aside to let you through “Thanks, darlings” the heart was hammering in your chest as you passed them with a final wink and began descending into the neon hell below.

After experiencing the Inferno firsthand, you knew what to expect, yet still, the booming music made you flinch as you reached the bottom of the staircase. One look around the packed club was enough to increase adrenaline levels and heighten your senses. Falcone was likely upstairs in his private rooms, rarely mixing in with the clientele. And even then, it would happen inside 44 Below, where no random partier could ever enter. No, your best bet was to sneak upstairs, hoping everything else would fall into place. Whatever the fuck that meant.

Slowly, you steered your way through the crowd, searching for the way in. There was a lift, guarded and with surveillance. As you watched, you could see a woman in a short, skin-tight dress charm her way in, clearly familiar enough with the bodyguard that she was let off. Your best bet turned out to be a fire-route staircase close to the staff rooms. You just had to find the right moment.

Which landed your way before you could properly formulate the idea. A sudden commotion at the entrance to the club made you look - curious and alert. A distant sound of a fistfight bursting underneath the drum and base. A shout and a warning. That was it. Your blessing. You crossed the room, opened the door quietly and sneaked inside without as much as a second glance. You breathed out as the door closed behind your back, feeling the blood rushing through your veins. There was no time to waste.

Your legs carried you up the staircase, not daring to look back or stop even for a second. Because every minute of hesitation could be the last one you would ever get. And if your intuition was correct, the fight erupting at the door, which became your saving grace, had everything to do with Bruce. It meant that more trouble was on its way. And that your time was indeed running out.

Reaching landing on what should be the second floor, you tried the emergency exit to find it unlocked, the heavy doors opening with a slight effort. Leaning out through the crack in the doorway, you made sure the corridor was empty before stepping out onto the carpeted hallway. It was dark; the lighting sparse and warm, drowned out by the mauve wallpaper and coal-coloured carpet. Before you could decide which way to go in search of Falcone, the light was cut off entirely.

“Fuck,” the soft curse escaped your lips as you squinted down the hallway, desperate for a clue.

You got it the very next second, a shout followed by a gunshot blasting through the rooms on your left, further down the corridor. Despite the common sense urging you to turn right, you had to follow the noise. The yelling and the gunshots. Hoping you could get through to Falcone without getting shot first.

Crouching by the wall in the darkness, you took out the gun and armed it without hesitation. Then you started tiptoeing down the hallway, keeping your back close to the wall and the gun outstretched in front. Now more gunshots were ringing through the silence all around the second story, hinting at least two fights taking place simultaneously. You did not let that thought dwell, steeling your body for whatever was coming as you crossed the threshold and entered the room. The emergency lights provided feeble help as your eyes scanned the lounge for danger. It seemed empty, an upturned drink spilt on the table, a stray bullet lodged in the velvet sofa padding. Before you could contemplate it further, the sound of a struggle in the room next door was the one to shake you out of the stupor.

You crossed the space, eyes wide, the pulse pounding in your ears as you clutched the gun in clammy hands. Nothing prepared you for the sight you encountered next door.

Falcone had his back to you, leaning over someone laying on the floor, a cue pressed over their throat, choking them.

“You made me do this. Just like your mother,” he spoke with venom, putting even more pressure on the cue, making you act before you fully understood what you were about to do.

Praying to the god you did not believe that you could stay unnoticed by the man, you closed the space and kicked Falcone in the knee, making his legs buckle with a surprised yelp. Without waiting for him to react, you delivered another punch between his shoulder blades and raised the gun to finalize the blow with the weapon, hitting him in the base of his skull. Only once he collapsed onto the floor, you could look at whoever he was strangling before you stepped in.

The blood froze in your veins upon the sight. Selina was sprawled on the ground, breathing hard and clutching her throat with desperation. Of course. She was staring at you with confusion, evidently equally shocked at your intervention. A stranger, for all she knew.

“Who the hell are you?!” a startled yell was the one to remind you why you were there in the first place.

You raised the gun again, aiming it at Falcone’s head with all the peace you could muster. Now, towering over him with no one to stop you, it was easy to remember why you had to do it. Why he deserved it.

“Oh, you won’t know me” you watched as his eyes narrowed, searching for answers you were not too eager to offer, “You might’ve heard of my father, though,” you could see the moment the pin dropped, his mouth falling agape.

Behind you, Selina stood up, groaning quietly. Despite the lack of trust, you could not bring yourself to check what she was doing, your gaze fixed on Falcone, unwavering. The bravado had faded, leaving behind only the cold determination and overwhelming grief you could never get under control. No matter the years, the pain was always there. But maybe that could help. Maybe pulling the trigger would solve it. A dangerous flicker of hope burning in your heart at the idea. At a chance of peace within reach. You just had to do it. Easy, isn’t it?

From the shock on his face, you knew Falcone did not feel confident enough to talk you out of it, too scared of the look in your eyes and the sure hand holding the gun. And for a good reason, for the edge you had been tiptoeing ever since had never been closer. Just one step and…

You armed the weapon, placing your finger on the trigger with a quiet sigh. It would be easy. So fucking easy. You met Falcone’s gaze, making sure he saw the hatred and determination painted across your face. Before your pointer finger could pull the trigger, heavy footsteps rang out in the adjacent room, bursting into the space with a too-familiar voice calling out your name urgently. You did not turn towards the door, wincing as Bruce spoke:

“Don’t do it” judging by Selina’s quiet gasp Vengeance has joined the chaos.

But his attention was only on you, closing the gap with intent. You did not dare look at him, keeping your eyes fixed on Falcone, jaw clenched in annoyance at the interruption. All the while, you had been hoping he would not be there to witness what you had to do. Now it was too late.

“Just leave me to it,” your voice shook as you replied, the grasp on the weapon tightening as if to challenge the sudden nerves.

As if to show Bruce and everyone else you meant it.

He was not listening.

“I can’t” his voice grew nearer as he stepped up close, the heat radiating from his body making you shiver slightly; it was nothing compared to having him speak into your ear next “He’s not worth it,” the gravelly voice counteracting the feelings swirling in your head and heart.

You could feel his chest pressing into your back, arms enveloping you, trapping you there. You could not let him talk you out of it. The bitter scoff escaped your throat.

“Not worth dying?” Bruce’s name was right there, on the tip of your tongue, held back only by the strength of your common sense, “He has to pay for what he’s done,” your voice cracked, betraying the storm in your head.

An unbidden sob, building in your throat despite your wishes to keep it together. Everything has faded, leaving only Bruce and the gun in your hand. And the pain of what happened, tugging at the scars in your heart, begging for notice.

As if feeling your resolve crumble, Bruce tightened the hold over your body imperceptibly, lips brushing over the shell of your ear as he whispered, only for you to hear:

“But not like this” he took a deep breath as though taking a plunge into the unknown “You don’t have to pay with him,”

It was almost enough. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping to make it all disappear. But it was all still there. Falcone, the weight on your shoulders, the promise of vengeance in your reach. You would never forgive yourself if you let it go just like that.

“If I don’t do it, then no one will. And he’ll walk away from this just like that. I can’t let it happen” risking a glance at Bruce from the corner of your eye, you lowered your voice to a whisper, giving the confession to him only, “I’ve nothing to lose” there it is.

The gun was still in your hands. You could pull the trigger before Bruce would knock it out of your hold. You could still do it. The despair rose to a crescendo in your veins, the blood rushing in your ears, urging you to do it. To give in. Let go.

“You do, and I care too much about you to let it happen” his final whisper hung in the tense silence before Bruce closed his arms around you, forcing the weapon out of your hands, “I’m sorry,”

As soon as he let go, you took a step forward, out of his grasp, a pathetic sob uncovering the cracks in your heart before you could get it under control. You did not dare look at Bruce or anybody else. Instead, you stared at the floor, silent and motionless. You could hear Falcone’s attempts at backchat, some nonsensical, witty comments that were probably his way of making Vengeance lose his cool. You knew it was pointless. Soon enough, the man was being led away, undoubtedly bound to be arrested as soon as they reached the club level. Somewhere, deep within that misery slowly filling all the caverns in your heart, you wanted to see it officially happen. Even if only to further irritate the wound, which would never heal.

“You guys seem close,” Selina spoke suddenly, making you whip around to face her, surprised she had not left yet; almost enough so to miss the curious notes in her tone “How do you know him?” she eyed you closely, the taxing gaze scanning you from head to toe and back again as if it could answer the questions she had.

It was impossible to let go of the apprehension as you returned her stare, taking her in and weighing the options. The truth was not one of them, so instead, you settled for a half-truth:

“Through work,” it was difficult enough to keep a neutral facial expression, not letting her see that you knew more than you could admit.

And not allowing yourself to get consumed by the jealousy that still seemed hard to smother. Even when knowing Selina had no clue you existed or were in the picture. It still hurt.

“What kind of work?” the incredulity wove itself into her emphasis, making you frown inwardly.

You could not answer that question. Shrugging, you gave her a parting nod and fled the room without another second wasted. It was already too close for comfort.

***

By the time you had pushed through the rapidly gathering onlookers and managed to step outside, Falcone was already in handcuffs. You could see Gordon standing next to him, reciting the formula by heart with Bruce right by his side, towering over the scene like an avenging angel. Once his gaze fell on you, he nodded almost imperceptibly. You chose to turn your head away from him, unable to process the chaos in your head. Anger was there, clear as day, simmering and boiling with increasing ferocity. At what he took away from you. But resignation was there, too. Seeping the remains of energy and determination from your body till all you could dream of was to crumble and let the rain wash you away. Please.

“Goddamn rat,” a sudden menacing whisper from the doorway of Iceberg Lounge made you look up.

Along with everybody else. The Penguin had joined in on the gathering, looking down at Falcone with unhidden contempt. The sentiment was reflected in the eyes of the other man as he asked:

“What’d you say?” tone sharp, all but asking to be challenged.

Everyone was still, watching the scene with their breaths held. It seemed significant. Like a duel that would determine the future of Gotham, one way or another. Like impending coup d’état, which would either change everything for good or burn to smithereens without ever taking flight.

“Enjoy your night at Blackgate, Carmine” the sour look never left Oswald’s face as he added with a hint of glee in his voice, “Probably be your last”

Without knowing the details of the rivalry unfolding before your eyes, you knew he meant it. There was no friendly warmth there, no respect. Darting your gaze to Falcone, you knew he saw it too.

“Oh-ho. So, you’re a big man now, Oz?” the provoking edge only seemed sharper with each word exchanged between the two.

“Maybe I am,” the Penguin only shrugged, his gaze steely as it settled on the (former?) boss.

The scales were starting to tip one way instead of the other. The scene at hand was almost enough to turn your mind away from the pain and the anger.

“Really, Oz?” Falcone’s lips quirked into a smirk; although shackled, he still looked down upon everyone else, sure of his power and superiority, “Because to me, you were always just a gimp in an empty suit,”

As soon as the insult hit, you knew something was coming. A stray gasp escaped the gathering as your eyes again found Bruce’s. He felt it, too; you were sure of it.

“I’ll spray paint your ass!” the yell had not yet landed when a shot reverberated through the alley, and all hell broke loose.

Falcone had collapsed to the ground with a sharp gasp, the rapidly spreading bloody stain marring his shirt. From the corner of your eye, you could see the cops crowd the Penguin, convinced he fired the shot, mindless of his protests. Bruce was kneeling by Falcone’s body, tension radiating off his form.

You could not move, frozen in the spot, mind reeling from the gravity of what happened. Someone took it from you. Someone fired the shot. The one you were supposed to deliver. Falcone was gone. Dead. And you did not know why your heart shattered in your chest or why it was suddenly hard to breathe. Fuck.

The streetlight above the scene flickered, drawing your attention back to the moment. A faint thought begged for your focus, but you could not remember what it was supposed to be. What you had forgotten and why it felt crucial.

“Bring him into the light. And you’ll find where I’m at” Bruce’s whisper felt like the necessary push, making you stagger forward, joining the GCPD in surveying the windows and rooftops in search of the Riddler.

It had to be him answering his riddle in the most literal of ways. You should have realised it sooner. Should’ve known what to expect.

Before you could process it fully, one of the cops pointed at a window almost in front of the Iceberg Lounge. The unit clamoured towards the apartment block opposite, dispersing the crowds with their orders and threats. You watched as Bruce disappeared into the shadows, leading the task force into danger. Without thinking, you backed away into the alley, hiding from the rain and the prying eyes. The Riddler was close; you could almost feel it.

The text chime on your phone made you look at the screen distractedly. It was a message from work, calling you over to the Gotham Square Garden and report on Réal’s imminent victory. A wayward sigh escaped your throat as you buried your nose in the scarf around your neck and breathed in deeply. You would go soon. Only… just a moment longer. Just until you knew they had him. Just until you could talk to Bruce.

***

It was nearly half an hour later when your waiting paid off. Or when the burner phone vibrated in your pocket and you were welcomed by a simple text:

“We’ve got him. Can I talk to you?”

For a second, you considered not replying, letting him hang and determine the answer for himself while you dashed off to work as you should have done ages ago. But that voice was a mere whisper, quickly overshadowed by feelings lurking in the darkness and waiting for their time to shine. Same ones that made you come back to him each time. The same ones you did not dare analyse, fearing what you would find.

“I’m waiting in the side alley near the Lounge. Need to go soon” pocketing the phone, you took a hesitant step out of the shadows.

It was getting increasingly difficult to pretend the feelings were not there. No matter the anger and resentment simmering in your veins, you still wanted, needed to see him. Would wait for half hour in the cold and rain to look into his eyes and exchange a couple of words. Because he understood, he knew what had been kept secret from everybody else. Because Bruce might as well be the only person who saw you.

It was terrifying.

Before panic could kick in, you heard the approaching footsteps at the exit of the alley. Even now, after everything, seeing Bruce in the suit felt strange. You could easily see him there, underneath the cowl and armour. And yet, Vengeance looked nothing like the man you have come to… love?

“Is he arrested?” you blurted out the question to prevent those words from spilling outside.

He did not notice. Instead, Bruce came even closer and faltered, the previous confidence nowhere to be seen as his eyes roamed over the dingy alley, looking for somewhere to land.

“Yeah, he… I think he wanted to be. And now he’s asking to see me in Arkham and…” his voice was softer now, lacking the edge and certainty as his gaze settled on you, searching for answers, “I don’t know, it all feels like a trap, yet I can’t walk away. The Batman can’t walk away” breaking the eye contact, Bruce sighed quietly.

The resolve to be cold and cruel was waning by the minute. You chose to stare at the ground as you followed with another question:

“Are they inside looking at his stuff now?” the awkwardness was hard to shake off.

But it was either that or admitting how much it all hurt. And you had enough of vulnerability today. Least of all when it came to Bruce.

“Yeah,” as if understanding the intent behind your formal questions, he added, “If I learn something, I’ll let you know. For now, all we’ve got is his identity – Edward Nashton, an accountant” he met your eyes again, waiting for the nod to mirror the gesture.

Making a mental note of the surname, you could only flash him a thin smile, hoping it could convey even half of what you were feeling.

“Okay, I’ll check him out,” the next words were out before you could overthink them, staring at Bruce to make sure he knew you meant it, “Be careful… there, with him. He’ll probably try to rile you somehow,”

You did mean it, feeling a distinct flash of panic upon the thought of him alone with the Riddler. Even separated by the prison bars. There was no telling what he would try, what he could tell Bruce to reach his goal, which still was a mystery.

Something in his eyes shifted when your words sunk in, the awkwardness melting for the softness to take its place. Yet, still, what Bruce said next took you by surprise.

“I’m sorry. For taking it away from you,” his voice was barely louder than a whisper now, spoken with remorse and uncertainty you rarely got to hear from him.

The anger was not there anymore, replaced with aching resentment, making it hard to find the words you needed as you felt Bruce watch you closely. Steeling yourself for the umpteenth time during the evening, you sighed and kept your eyes fixed on the ground as everything came rushing out:

“I get it; it was probably for the better. It’s just… please don’t pretend you care when I know that you don’t” swallowing hard, you clenched your fist to stop the hand from shaking.

The vulnerability was always hard because it meant letting the other person know they had your heart in the palm of their hand. They rarely knew what to do with it, bruising and breaking it until you could not breathe anymore. It was always like that. You were always stupid enough to let it happen again. This time was not any different. Bruce wasn’t any different.

A sudden gust of wind made you shiver in the cold, almost taking your mind off his silence, extending far beyond shreds of comfort. The decision to cut the conversation short with a half-assed goodbye was just on the tip of your tongue when Bruce spoke again:

“I care” the desperation in his tone made you look up despite common sense.

He took another step, closing the gap between you to a meter. Too close and too far, all at once. But it was the look on his face that broke you, the sheer extent of confusion painted across his features as if Bruce really believed what he preached. As if it was you who had it all wrong, accusing him of indifference. It was the necessary push back into insanity and frustration, digging out the anger from its shallow grave. Enough to admit to what you thought you could never tell him. Taking a deep breath against the constricting lungs, you levelled him with a hard gaze:

“Bruce, I saw you. With her. In that man cave you’ve got below the tower, or whatever the fuck that is” he flinched as soon as your words hit the mark, only fueling the bitterness in your heart “I know my part here is done. I’ve shown you the ropes, now you can woo her. Just please, don’t make me believe I mean anything to you” as if to taunt you, your voice broke on the final vowels, adding an edge of despair to the speech.

And betraying your feelings as you could do nothing but stare, knowing well that Bruce was many things, but stupid was not one of them. All that he lacked now was a confession, damning you for eternity. And yet you still could not bring yourself to look away, frozen by an invisible force, unable to do anything but stare as the myriad of emotions passed through the familiar blue eyes. Surprise, disbelief, and frustration were easily identified. All overshadowed by that indescribable emotion you have seen before. One that you did not dare contemplate for the fear of losing the shreds of sanity. After all, it was simple. Wasn’t it?

“You’re wrong,” Bruce’s voice broke through the silence as he took a final step in your direction.

Your mouth opened in protest, daring him to call bullshit on what was pretty obvious. To you, anyway. But you never got that far.

He was fast, his hand curling around your jaw, angling your head so he could press his lips to yours without hesitation. You could only gasp as Bruce kissed you, hard and unrelenting. The pressure of his mouth against yours was almost dizzying, wiping your mind clear of anything that was not him. The taste of his tongue prodding your open. The bruising teeth catching onto your lower lip without an ounce of reservation. A deep groan escaped his lips only to be swallowed by yours. You wanted nothing else but to yield. Let him take your pain and confusion and make sense of it.

With each passing second, you felt the certainty wane, leaving nothing but confusion behind. Because Bruce kissed you like he meant it. Like the heat of his mouth was only yours to experience. Like he never wanted you to forget what it felt like. Your fingers curled around his jaw, brushing the exposed skin with a reverence that came from starvation. Because it could never last. No matter how much you wanted it to.

The sobering thought was the one that made you end the kiss and take an abrupt step away from him. Away from what felt familiar and right. Away from the temptations. You did not meet the searching gaze that settled on your face as you scrambled for reason in the haze.

You could not stay, called by duty and the smithereens of dignity. So, you did what you knew best. You ran. Sparing one last look at Bruce, you hoped your eyes could convey the apology you could not voice. Even if, in the grand scheme of things, it was inconsequential. Then you were off, walking away with your gaze trained on the ground beneath your feet. Hoping time and distance would do the rest. And knowing better that they would not.

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